What could the words mean? Did they mean more than even Bobby intended?
109
Heartbreaking News
The letter which arrived at Heathersleigh Hall fortuitously came when Charles was home after his initial training exercises at the naval facility at Portsmouth. He had not yet been assigned a ship, and would be home for an undetermined period of time. George was presently training in the Orkneys.
Jocelyn saw the familiar handwriting and tore open the envelope, hardly noting the Austrian stamp.
Moments later her face went ashen. She collapsed rather than sank into a chair. The letter fell to the floor. Charles stooped to retrieve it and read,
Mr. and Mrs. Rutherford,
My husband Ramsay felt it proper that I inform you that he and I were married three days ago in a private civil ceremony in Vienna, where I have been living the last few months with Ramsay’s mother, Lady Hildegard Halifax. You may be worried about me because of the war, but I assure you that I am safe. However, you will probably not be hearing from me again.
Yours sincerely,
Amanda Halifax
Charles exhaled a deep sigh of heartache, for he had come to recognize all the more clearly the character of those individuals with whom Amanda had become involved. After her brief return home in March, they had been hopeful that a change of her heart was at hand. This was indeed a severe and crushing blow.
He reached down and took Jocelyn’s hand, pulled her to her feet, and slowly led her outside. It was time to seek the heather garden.
Jocelyn was already weeping as they slowly walked across the grass east of the Hall.
“Oh, Charles,” she said, “I don’t know if I can bear any more heartache. It seems everything we worked for and hoped for as parents was for naught.”
What could he say? Never had he felt so low as a father, as a man, as a Christian. What had his faith accomplished if he could not even pass it along to his own children? What did it mean? What manner of man could be so despised by his own flesh and blood? Perhaps Amanda was right. Perhaps he was a hypocrite, an empty shell of a man spouting meaningless spiritual words of pretended faith that had no substance.
What comfort could he offer his wife? What did he have to give anyone!
They sat on the familiar bench. Both knew they should pray. But how could prayers rise out of such despondency and emptiness? For ten minutes husband and wife sat silent . . . staring blankly ahead, stunned by the deepening shock of this devastating turn, so brusquely and unexpectedly delivered.
Everything had suddenly changed. Amanda was married. And they had not been part of it.
“Oh, Lord,” cried Jocelyn at length, “how much more must we endure?”
She paused briefly, then cried out in anguish, “God, I want my daughter!”
Jocelyn broke down in convulsive sobs the moment the words were out of her mouth.
Charles rose and walked a few paces away, tears streaming down his face, his heart in an agony of sorrow. He had no words with which to comfort his wife, for he had no words with which to comfort himself. Never had he been acquainted with such despair.
The cry of her frustration and grief briefly stilled the tumult of Jocelyn’s heart. Presently she rose and followed her husband, slipping her hand into his. Slowly they made their way along the curving familiar trails of the heather garden.
“I know we ought to consider Catharine and George,” Charles sighed at length, “and tell ourselves it hasn’t all been for nothing. Yet I can’t make that help ease the suffering I feel for Amanda. I feel like such a failure as a father, and as a spiritual example.”
“I know,” said Jocelyn. “Yet poor Amanda is going to suffer in the end most of all. As much as I hurt, I feel awful for her. She is the one who has jeopardized her future. When she wakes up and realizes what she has done, not only to us, but to herself, how she has thrown away her purity for a man who may not genuinely love her . . . it will be a burden she will have to carry for the rest of her life.”
“The poor girl . . . the poor confused girl,” said Charles. “Why . . . why did she do such a thing!”
“Don’t you think she was manipulated into it?”
“No doubt. But that doesn’t change the fact that she is now married. I know everything Timothy told us about praying for her, and that God himself would continue to woo her, but it is so hard to hold on to belief after so long, seeing no results. And now this. I wish there were something we could do.”
“What else can we do but keep praying for moments of clarity, and that her eyes would eventually come open?”
“It is so hard to pray with any kind of faith at all. We have been praying so long and hard. Why would God allow it, in the midst of so much prayer for Amanda? I don’t understand. We prayed for protection . . . and now this.”
Charles sighed and shook his head.
“I have to tell you, Jocie,” he went on, “I am very confused. This situation with Amanda is testing my faith to the depths. Not my belief itself, but my faith. I know God is good. If I didn’t have that fact to hang on to, I sometimes think the despair would overcome me entirely. But if he is good . . . then why are our prayers seemingly unheeded?”
“Perhaps because they are only seemingly unheeded,” suggested Jocelyn.
Charles pondered his wife’s words.
“I have heard you yourself talk many times,” she went on, “about his larger purposes that we cannot see. Perhaps now we must begin to pray for Amanda’s future, for how God might be able to use her—even use this present season of her life—to help other families and other young women not to experience such breaking and heartache.”
“I’m certain you are right,” sighed Charles. “But it seems that every time I pray for Amanda I must add the words, ‘Lord, help my unbelief.’”
“I know, Charles. Yet we must continue to pray. ‘Help my unbelief’ is a legitimate prayer. It was after the man uttered those words that Jesus healed his son. Perhaps out of your own honest admission of weakness before God, he will work a miracle in Amanda’s life. Even if our own hope is gone, we must continue to pray. Jesus told his disciples to pray and faint not.”
In one accord, husband and wife stopped and, hand in hand, sank to their knees.
Their emotional entreaties on this day were silent. No audible expressions were capable of giving vent to the outpourings flowing through their hearts on behalf of their daughter.
110
Kaffe Kellar Again
Though the British fleet commanded the seas, initial losses were heavier than anticipated. Off the coast of India, on September 10, six British steamers were captured by the German cruiser Emden. Two weeks later a German U-boat sank three British cruisers, the Aboukir, Cressy, and Hogue. On October 15, the British cruiser Hawke was sunk by another German submarine.
Meanwhile in Vienna, the blue haze of the Kaffe Kellar hung thinly suspended over the heads of its patrons as the cloud of war now hung over the map of Europe. Its clientele had shrunk and changed. Uniformed soldiers now made up many of its declining number.
The low voices at its now half-vacant tables were no longer discussing potential communist revolt but rather the very present war against England, France, and Russia.
Two months of fighting had resulted in nothing decisive. In the west, the German advance into France, in a wide sweeping von Schlieffen arc through Belgium had been halted at the Seine, the Marne, and the Meuse. Already the Germans had begun a slow retreat. A long, protracted struggle seemed in store. Their own Austrian army had just been badly defeated by the Russians at Lemberg in fierce week-long fighting.
A young man in his late twenties sat with two older individuals—a woman of Hungarian blood and an Englishman with pure white hair. The youth had been here many times throughout the years. But what he now heard exceeded all previous and naïve notions of socialist ideals. No more would he be a mere spectator and minor player in the coming of the new order. That had all changed the day
after his arrival. The ruling duo had been expanded to a leadership triumvirate of power.
He had been given a test and had passed it.
His own moment of destiny had come, and he had shown himself ready to step into it.
111
Arrows of Clarity
Jocelyn awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. All about her was black and still. Not even a moon lit the sky outside. Charles slept soundly beside her.
Something had prompted her to wake.
Immediately her thoughts gathered themselves about Amanda. She knew she had been roused to pray.
“Lord, send a piercing arrow of light into Amanda’s heart,” she whispered before she had a chance even to think what to pray.
An urgency lay upon the mother’s heart. Amanda was in need of light and truth at this moment. Jocelyn sensed it more than ever before.
“Oh, God,” she prayed, “bring dear Amanda awake. Open her heart. Send a moment of shining clarity into her consciousness. Make that moment of enlightenment explode and awaken decision, Lord. I have been praying for moments of clarity all along . . . now, Lord, illuminate something deep within her. Wake her will, Lord . . . wake her will!”
112
Terrifying Discovery
Amanda’s eyes shot open.
The house on Ebendorfer Strasse was silent. What could possibly have awakened her?
Some sharp, stinging light had penetrated her brain from unknown regions beyond consciousness. For a few brief moments the mental stupor vanished. She was thinking more clearly than she had in years.
Ramsay was not in bed beside her. An inner compulsion told her to get out of bed.
She shook her head as if trying to clear her brain. Why did she suddenly feel so clear of thought?
Her mother’s face came to her—smiling but urgent, as if trying to speak. Then in her mind’s eye rose the face of her father.
No anger accompanied the vision. For the first time in recollection, with the reminder of his face came the fond memory that she had once loved him . . . loved him with all the affection of a daughter’s heart.
How could she have forgotten? For an instant she was a little girl again, and he was her father.
Father. The word brought with it feelings of warmth and contentment, security and safety . . . and love.
All these thoughts and emotions passed through Amanda’s brain in less than ten seconds. Then just as suddenly as they had intruded from some unknown place as she lay awake came the reminder of her present situation.
Now she remembered. Ramsay wasn’t home when she went to bed.
Amanda shivered. The night was warm, but she felt suddenly very cold and strange.
What time could it be?
She rose for a glass of water. As she approached her sideboard, through the crack of her bedroom door, faint voices filtered into her hearing.
An impulse told her to listen.
Carefully she opened the door a crack. The voices came from the sitting room below. Its door must be open. She could just barely make out the words.
She crept along the carpeted floor, making not a sound, careful not to betray herself. Gradually the voices grew louder.
It was Ramsay and his mother. They were talking with Hartwell Barclay and, from what she could make out, another man whose voice she did not recognize.
Amanda strained to listen. Did she hear her name? Were they talking about her!
Now she heard the name of Princip’s friend.
“ . . . Mehmedbasic said he knew about the lighthouse operation,” Barclay was saying.
“Impossible,” replied Mrs. Halifax, “ . . . no way to know.”
“ . . . might also know about the signals . . . have to change the code.”
“ . . . use only Morse,” said the third man. “ . . . U-boats have nothing sophisticated . . .”
“Don’t worry, Generaloberst von Bülow,” rejoined Barclay. “If we must, our people will find him . . . kill him before he can pass the information off . . . time the assassin got a dose of his own medicine.”
Kill him! thought Amanda. Who were they talking about . . . Mehmedbasic?
“ . . . if we decide to land an invasion . . . lighthouse . . . cannot be compromised . . .”
Amanda heard a door open below. Then footsteps. Another voice. It was Gertrut Oswald, the lady who always sat at the side door at night. She spoke at the entry to the sitting room. Amanda could hear her every word clearly.
“Mr. Halifax,” she said, “there is a young lady at the door. She said you are expecting her—a Miss Grünsfeld.”
“By all means, Gertrut, show her in!” said Ramsay, with obvious emotion, now hurrying out of the room. The new arrival, however, had not waited, but had followed Oswald. The two met in the corridor just below where Amanda stood.
“Ramsay!” said a female voice.
“Adriane darling!” said Ramsay.
In the brief silence which followed, in horror Amanda realized the two were in each other’s arms!
“You made it without incident?” said Ramsay, leading the newcomer into the sitting room where the others waited. Oswald returned to her post at the side entrance.
“Yes, of course—hello, Mrs. Halifax,” replied the young woman in a voice oddly familiar. “It is wonderful to see you again.”
“And you, my dear,” replied Mrs. Halifax. “We are glad to have you safe and sound at last.”
In stunned shock and repugnance, Amanda could not believe her ears. She and Ramsay had been married less than two weeks!
They had . . . and now . . .
This must be a dream! A horrible nightmare . . . he would not . . . how could he do such a thing to her!
But they were talking again. In nauseating torment Amanda knew she must listen.
“ . . . sorry, darling,” Ramsay was saying, “but you will have to sleep alone—for a while, that is.”
“A problem you have not told me about, Ramsay?” said the young lady.
“Only a minor one. But it will be taken care of before long.”
Hot tears of shame, defilement, and mortification rose in Amanda’s eyes. She had been duped . . . she had married a—
She didn’t even know what to call him!
Suddenly she realized she knew the voice of the new woman!
Annie McPool deserves better than the likes of them! rang the words in Amanda’s ears. I was born for the opera.
It was the actress Sadie Greenfield she and Ramsay had seen at the theater! But her real name was Adriane Grünsfeld—the name from the article!
The charges in the newspaper were true all along!
Ramsay had lied. He did have a German mistress in Morocco!
It was all too horrible! How could she have gotten mixed up in something so sordid and awful? And been convinced to write that horrible pamphlet.
She was going to be sick. She felt unclean, filthy, as if she had been defiled. Her own husband, the man she thought loved her, kissing another woman and calling her darling!
Words from her father’s letter came back to her.
. . . listen to my cautions . . . dangers involved . . . these people are not what they seem.
Why hadn’t she listened!
Tears burned her eyes, but not so bitterly as the disgrace and humiliation that burned deep in her heart.
Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted.
She heard her own name again!
“ . . . use her for barter . . . now that she is securely ours . . .” It was Ramsay’s mother speaking—her own mother-in-law!
“ . . . English will pay handsomely for the return of Sir Charles Rutherford’s daughter.”
“ . . . knows too much . . .” said Ramsay.
“She knows nothing,” rejoined his mother.
She couldn’t listen to any more! Involuntarily Amanda clasped her hands to her ears, but not before Barclay’s reply reached her.
“ . . . don’t think I would actually turn her over . . .
once they pay . . . find some means to eliminate her.”
Barclay stopped abruptly.
“What was that?” he said. “I think I heard a sound.”
Amanda heard his footsteps approach the door, then walk out into the corridor.
Terrified, she shrank back into the shadows. She could feel his presence below her looking up the stairway onto the landing above, probing the dark corners of the house.
He took one or two steps up the stairs, paused again listening, then seemed to think better of it, and returned to the others in the sitting room. This time he closed the door behind him.
Amanda now crept noiselessly back to her bedroom.
She climbed into bed. Sleep was impossible. She could do nothing but lie in trembling disbelief.
About an hour later the door opened. Ramsay entered, undressed, and climbed into bed beside her.
His body pressed close to hers. Heart pounding in terror, Amanda pretended to be asleep. She shuddered at his touch, fearing every moment that he would speak. He must know she was lying awake beside him!
Slowly the seconds passed, then a minute, then three. Gradually Ramsay began to breathe deeply. She felt his muscles relax. At last she knew he was asleep.
113
Ancient Mystery
It was the same night. Wakefulness had visited a third house. Arrows of sudden clarity were being launched earthward in many directions. Years of prayer at length were culminating in the release of heaven’s answering rains.
In Heathersleigh Cottage, all at once Maggie McFee started out of a deep slumber. She had no idea that as she lay alert and questioning of the Lord, both Jocelyn and Amanda were likewise awake at the same hour.
Bobby’s words filled Maggie’s brain.
A hidden legacy . . . different than folks think . . . ye must find it.
With new revelation suddenly she knew what they must mean.
Maggie rose, turned on the light that Master Charles had installed in the cottage, and sought her great-grandmother’s Bible.
Twenty minutes later she still sat, smiling to herself.
Wayward Winds Page 42
