But three weeks ago, in one of her sympathetic frames of mind, she had decided to write him, ostensibly to inform him that their daughter had caught cold and had been ill for two weeks. An angry mood followed when she received absolutely no reply from Logan. A while later that was replaced by worry: what if something had happened to him?
She tried another letter, this one studiously devoid of anything approaching the personal.
Still no answer.
It had now been a week since her third letter, and she knew there would be no answer to that one, either.
Pausing in her walk at the crest of a small knoll, she surveyed the view. She had come west of the castle about a mile, taking no road but rather traipsing across open fields of heather and gorse. She had descended a bit from where the walls of Stonewycke stood, yet she still stood high enough to see some sparkle from the sea off to the north. Allison thought of how much she had grown to love this place. Why couldn’t Logan feel the same way about it?
But he had to have his busy city and flashy jobs! He didn’t care about anyone’s happiness but his own. The day he left he’d said he realized he wasn’t cut out to be a family man. And so, that was it—it was too much effort for him to try, and so much easier just to forget the whole thing. What did it matter to him if she was miserable, and that their child was abandoned to a broken home? Oh no, it was perfectly all right as long as Logan Macintyre was happy!
Suddenly, in the midst of her thoughts, it dawned on Allison how quickly her despair had turned into anger. It was the first time she had seen the transformation so clearly. How could she feel sorry for him one moment and despise him the next?
It was not right of her. Even in the midst of her irritation with Logan, she suddenly realized her own attitude was not all it should be either.
But then, how could it be? Nothing about this whole mess was right. Everything was so cockeyed, so mixed up. How could she possibly figure anything out if she couldn’t even decide whose fault it was?
At that moment, her eye caught an especially vibrant clump of heather. Taking a few steps to reach it, she bent down and plucked off a twig.
“I should pick a bunch to take home,” she murmured under her breath, as she immediately began to break off more branches and fashion them into a little rustic bouquet.
She had several in her hand when all at once she stopped. She had been thinking of something before she spotted the heather. It had seemed important. What was it? . . .
Oh yes—blame . . . fault.
No wonder she had allowed her attention to be diverted!
Why was the laying of blame so important to her? What was it her mother had said? You both have a lot to learn about marriage. If Allison was going to lay blame, it was on both of them. Could she trust her mother’s perceptions? All this time she had blamed Logan for everything. Was it possible she was just as much at fault? Did she truly have as much to do with their problems as he? Did she really understand marriage that little? Was Logan right—she did not let herself see things as they really were?
She wanted so desperately for things to be ideal, perfect, problem-free. Maybe she had let herself be blinded to realities. If that was true, then she would have to face that fact squarely.
Oh, God, she prayed silently, help me to see . . . help me to understand. Show me what to do!
Allison paused in her anguished prayer. She had prayed many times before. She had poured out her heart to God over the course of the last eight years upon many occasions. And she believed that He heard. But something happened to Allison in that moment following her heart’s cry which had never happened before.
For the first time, she paused to listen . . . to hear the voice of God in response. Rather than continuing her own petitions, she waited, silencing her mind, her heart, her voice—and listened. Her heart was at last ready to receive the truths He had been waiting to give. The first answer came through the words of Allison’s mother.
Allison, there has to be some self-sacrifice in a marriage, she had said. At the time Allison had argued, defending herself on the grounds of what she thought she had given up. All at once now she saw that she had completely misunderstood her mother’s words. Joanna had not been speaking of externals at all, but of heart attitude, of having her mind and heart fixed in an orientation of submissive and loving sacrifice. What a far different thing that was than giving up this or that while maintaining a resistant and self-centered posture!
If you both stubbornly try to hang on to your own personal desires, you might never work things out.
How right her mother had been! People so often mistake what marriage really is all about. That was certainly true of her! She had wanted to get out of it what was best for her. Laying down her life for Logan, in loving and sacrificial service to him, whether she ever received anything in return, had not been her idea of marriage! She had expected Logan to go at least halfway—maybe even just a little more. After all, the husband was to be the leader, the provider. Wasn’t it his responsibility to care for the wife, and make the marriage pleasant for her?
Oh, she had had it all backward! She had been placing false expectations on him—expecting him to serve her! Both her mother and Logan had been right! Her eyes had been blinded. But now in response to the cry of her heart, God was beginning to open them at last.
There was something else her mother had said, only the other day. She had scarcely been paying attention at the time, had not even wanted to hear. But now the words came ringing back:
“You are responsible only for yourself, your own reactions, your own responses. You cannot expect Logan to do his part. Your eyes must be focused only on your self-sacrifice to him, not his to you. Nor can you gauge what you give by what you expect to receive in return, nor by what you think you deserve.
“Marriage is not a fifty-fifty proposition as so many modern thinkers would have us believe, Allison. Each partner must give everything, expecting nothing in return, to make a marriage work. The standard has got to be one hundred percent-zero percent—from each person’s vantage point. The moment you say, “I’ll only go ninety-nine percent of the way and I’ll expect the other to do his fair one percent share,” the false and selfish expectations begin to creep in, and the whole marriage begins to be undermined. That one percent you place on the other is the open door to every problem in every marriage. You’ve got to sacrifice, lay down, give, and love the full one hundred percent. God established marriage, and in His economy, that’s the only way it can work. Whenever man tries to make it work using a different formula, it can only end in self-centeredness, disappointment, and misery.”
As bits and pieces of her mother’s passionate plea came back to her, Allison’s eyes gradually filled with tears. She had, indeed, been guilty of expecting Logan to go not one percent, not ten or twenty percent, but fifty percent of the way—probably even more! She had expected him to meet her needs, to love her, to sacrifice for her. And what small so-called sacrifices she had thought she had made had all come grudgingly from within her, and she had held them against him. Everything she had done had been self-motivated!
Well, now it was time to turn it around. God had spoken to her. And now He was indeed showing her what to do. He had given no easy answer. But then she had not asked for one.
Oh, but how hard it would be to go back, to humbly have to admit defeat, to admit wrong attitudes! How easy it would be to expect Logan to share in the blame! How easy it would be to become angry with him all over again if he listened to her words of contrition and then turned upon her a haughty reply! How could she possibly keep from expecting from him at least a fifty percent response, or ten, or even one?
She didn’t know if she could face him with apology in her mouth and renewed commitment to laying down of self in her heart. Especially if his response was hostile or skeptical, as perhaps he had every right to be.
Then, as if she were struck by some heavenly bolt, a kind of revelation dawned upon her. God had not told her to
succeed. He had only said to take the first step!
That’s all she had to do! What became of it, Logan’s response, what she would do next—that was all God’s concern.
She had to go back to London. That much was clear. She had to find Logan; she had to talk to him; she had to make herself vulnerable even to his possible rejection, and she had to tell him of her commitment to be to him at last a wife after God’s fashion.
What he would say, what she would do then, she did not know. For one of the first times in her life, she truly felt in God’s hands. He would guide her steps. She was sure that somehow He would restore their marriage.
But the first step had to be her obedience.
19
Back to London
World events appeared in perfect accord with the direction Allison believed God wanted her to take. In June of 1941, Hitler shifted the force of his interest away from Britain. His mighty Wehrmacht and stunning Luftwaffe suddenly did an about-face and turned upon Russia. It would be for historians to debate why he made such a move, and perhaps for the Third Reich to lament. But with the fifteen-thousand-mile Russian front to occupy his troops, Hitler could not now hope to win the tiny island forty miles across the sea west of France, one of the few bastions of freedom now left in Europe. Thus, Britain was granted a respite after nearly a year of relentless blitzkrieg. And for Allison, it meant that she could return to London that autumn to make an attempt to heal the wounds of her marriage.
As Allison waited for her cab in front of Victoria Station, she was horrified at what met her gaze.
Yes, the Battle of Britain had been won, but it had been a victory for which the brave British people had paid dearly. In many places heaps of brick and stone lay where familiar buildings had once stood. She had heard that the civilian death toll ranged in the multiple thousands. Huge portions of old Londontown lay in rubble. Ancient cathedrals had been gutted, parts of St. Paul’s and the House of Commons were destroyed, and bombs had even fallen dangerously close to Buckingham Palace.
Yet amid all the destruction it was evident that the British people themselves were largely untouched, at least in their undaunted spirits, which, under the leadership of Winston Churchill, remained typically stoic and courageous. Perhaps it was because they knew there was no time for despair—the hedonist enemy may have been turned from their door, but he was by no means defeated.
“Where to, mum?” asked the cabby as Allison ducked inside the black automobile.
“To 314 Clemments Street,” said Allison.
“Right-o!” replied the cabby. “Been away long, mum?”
“Throughout most of the bombing, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be ashamed of that, wot with the little one and all.” He cocked his head toward little Joanna, who inched a little closer to her mother while under the scrutiny of this stranger. “Many’s the wife wot got out of the city last year.”
“I never imagined it would be so bad,” said Allison while the cab maneuvered into the traffic.
“It were a livin’ inferno at times,” replied the cabby, “but we’ll kick the tar out o’ them krauts yet! I ’spect yer ’usband’s out doin’ jist that, eh, mum?”
Allison did not answer, pretending not to hear. Yet she had to ask herself: was the reason for her silence that she was ashamed of Logan? She didn’t know, but at least she finally had the courage to face the question. Or was her reluctance a further reminder that she didn’t even know what Logan was doing?
No, she was not ashamed. She knew Logan had anguished over being perceived as a coward for not being able to get into the army. But she knew he was a brave man.
She had to remember to tell him that. There was so much more he must know. Since leaving Scotland, it seemed she was growing and changing minute by minute. With every humbling she was able to bring to bear upon herself, God seemed to give her more insight concerning Logan and their relationship. She was coming to understand how self-sacrifice and humility went hand-in-hand, and thus she could see how her pride had been a terrible barrier in their marriage. And when some of her old thinking tried to creep in, telling her that Logan was a proud and stubborn man too, she could remind herself that she was only responsible for her responses.
And with these changes within herself, Allison’s love for Logan was restoring itself as well.
She could hardly wait to see him! She cautioned herself, saying she couldn’t expect overnight changes. But it would be good just to be with him again, and she held an assurance in her heart that she would be able to accept things as they were. As silent and uncommunicative as he wanted to be was fine with her. She just longed to be his wife again!
All at once the cab jerked to a stop. Her heart raced within her and her stomach fluttered. She couldn’t help it—she was nervous.
“’Ere you go, mum,” said the cabby, opening the door. Allison climbed out, while he rushed around to the boot of the car for her suitcases. “Please, ’low me to carry these up fer ye, mum.”
At the door of her apartment she paid him and thanked him for his kindness.
She waited until he had gone before raising her hand to knock. When no answer came, she pulled out her key and glanced at her watch.
“Daddy here, Mummy?” asked her daughter.
“I don’t know, honey,” replied Allison. She hadn’t wanted to barge in unannounced. But it was only four-thirty in the afternoon. He was no doubt still at work.
She inserted the key, but the door did not open. A panic seized her. But there was their name, still on the door! She tried it again, gave the key half a twist to the right, then jammed it forward, twisting it to the left. The lock clicked and the door opened. It had been so long she had forgotten about the trick to the lock. Still, it seemed a little tighter than usual.
A dank chill greeted her the moment she stepped across the threshold, and a mildewy odor permeated the air. A more objective visitor would immediately have realized she was stepping into a place that had not been occupied for some time—months perhaps, or more. There had been no heat turned on to dry out the dampness, nor had the windows been opened to air out the stale odors. Yet Allison clicked on the lights and wandered half through the place before the truth dawned on her that Logan was gone.
From all appearances he might have never been here after leaving Stonewycke in April. Or if he had been back, his stay had been brief, for it had been weeks and weeks since anyone had been here. He must have paid the rent up in advance, and then left. Slowly, painfully, the reality began to settle in upon Allison—he had gone away, and not even bothered to tell her.
For once she didn’t care for her own sake—it didn’t matter how he wanted to treat her. She could cope with it, even love him in spite of it now. But he had a child. Didn’t he feel any responsibility for their daughter? That was the painful question.
She had been receiving regular checks from him all along—at least she always assumed they were from Logan, though they had always been cashier’s checks, with no name upon them but her own, accompanied by nothing, not even a note. Yet was there no duty laid to his charge beyond money? What if something happened—an emergency? The recent illness had proved minor. But what if it had been something worse? Had he stopped caring for everything?
Already, without even noticing what she was doing, Allison had slipped back into the old pattern of casting blame onto Logan. Suddenly she realized what she’d been doing. This was not going to be easy—changing all her old ways and habits of thinking!
“Where Daddy?” Jo’s pleading voice interrupted Allison’s thoughts. She sank down onto the sofa, then looked full into the sweet blue eyes that were reminding her more and more of her great-grandmother Maggie’s.
“Oh, dear little pumpkin,” she said, “your daddy loves you . . . and me. But he’s not here right now. It’s only that he’s a little confused—”
She had to stop, for tears had begun to rise to the surface of her eyes, accompanied by a thick knot in her throat.
“Oh, my little darling, what are we going to do?”
She sat, taking the child onto her lap, and held her tight while she wept softly. It was not many minutes before she awoke to the selfish element in her tears. No one would have blamed her for crying at that moment, but she had not given a single thought to Logan.
Where was Logan? What was he going through? He was no cold, unfeeling man without human emotions and compassion as her old self tried to tell her. He needed her love, her prayers, not her accusations. Yet even as she tried to lift him up before his Father and hers, some deep inner resistance prevented her from saying the words. The struggles would be many before she would be able to completely forget the hurts of the past, the seeming unfairnesses. She wanted to pray for him, but the thoughts and words would not focus.
In the midst of her mental tussle, a noise outside the apartment door distracted her.
Her ears perked up at the sound. She jumped to her feet, hoping against everything her rational mind told her that it might be Logan. The doorknob was rattling, as if someone were fitting a key into the lock. Her heart leapt into her throat. She stood staring at the door.
The next moment it swung open, and there stood the bent and wizened figure of Billy Cochran. He stopped short in his tracks, looking every bit as surprised as Allison did disappointed.
“Well, I’m blowed!” he exclaimed when he found his voice. “I sure didn’t mean t’ barge right in on you, Miz Macintyre.” His normally irascible tone was noticeably softened, almost deferential. Lady Allison Macintyre was the only member of the nobility he had ever known personally, and notwithstanding that most people in the twentieth century gave not a fig for such distinctions, Billy could still remember a time when it was not thought comical for a man to bow in such a presence. Though his hunched back seemed to give the appearance of that action, in fact he merely afforded to Allison what respect the tone of his voice could command.
Shadows over Stonewycke Page 13
