It was the best answer for now. And who could tell? Before very long both Allison and Logan might be able to join them!
The morning of their departure came, and Allison sat in her room dressing her daughter for the trip. They had chosen her pretty heather-colored frock in honor of the return to Scotland. Allison tied the sash at the back into a bow, then spun the giggling child about in admiration.
“You look absolutely lovely in that color!” exclaimed Allison. “It was Lady Margaret’s best color too. She always loved the heather, and its mysterious shades suited her perfectly.”
She turned pensive a moment, then smiled again at her daughter. “A wee Scottish lassie ye are, my bairn!” she said.
They both giggled together. “Come, let me brush your hair.”
Allison boosted her up onto her knee and began brushing the silky amber locks.
“Will you come to Grandma’s soon, Mama?” asked the girl, as she snuggled close to her mother.
“Oh yes, I will,” answered Allison. “I couldn’t be away from you for too long.”
“Daddy too?”
“We must keep praying for Daddy. I know he wants to, dear. We must give him time.”
“Daddy know I love him?” she asked pensively.
Tears struggled to rise in Allison’s eyes. “Yes, dear,” she said softly. “Daddy knows that. And you keep loving him with all your heart. He needs that from us now more than anything.”
“Will he get hurt like Uncle Nat?”
A knot suddenly tightened Allison’s throat.
“We must trust God, my wee bairn,” Allison replied in a trembly voice. “Whatever God does is because He loves us and wants the best for us—even sometimes being apart from those we love. But that doesn’t mean forever. It was the best thing for Uncle Nat to be with Jesus. Just think how happy he is right now!”
She wrapped her arms around her daughter and hugged her tight. “Jesus is with Daddy, honey! Daddy will be back with us soon, just like you and I will be apart only a short time. We’ll see each other again before you know it. I promise!”
Allison shook off the sorrow trying to envelop her at the thought of parting with her daughter. She wanted this day to be a happy one.
“I’ve got a special present for you, honey!” she said.
“Oh, goody—what, Mama?”
Allison opened a drawer in her dressing table and took out a small velvet-covered box.
“This has been in Mama’s family for a long, long time,” she said. “Long before you or I, or even Grandma was born.”
“Ooooh!” exclaimed the wide-eyed child.
“Many years ago, when your great-great grandmother, Lady Margaret, was a girl, Great-great Grandpa Dorey gave this to her,” continued Allison. “They were in love, and were going to be married. He wanted to give her something special. And this was it.”
She opened the box and lifted out a delicate gold locket.
“Before Lady Margaret died, she gave it to me. It’s always been very special to me ever since. Now, I’d like you to keep it for me a little while—so you have something special to remember me while we’re apart.”
Tenderly she placed the chain of the locket around her daughter’s neck.
“Will you take good care of it, and think of me a lot?”
“Yes, Mama.” She put her arms around her mother’s neck and planted a wet kiss on her mouth. “Thank you, Mama!”
“I will pray for you every day,” said Allison in a husky voice, filled with emotion.
“Me too, Mama. I pray for you, too.”
“Thank you, dear. I love you.”
When the train chugged slowly away two hours later, Allison did not try to hide her tears. Suddenly everyone she loved was gone from her, and she could not help but doubt her decision.
But she was being selfish again, she chided herself as she walked out of the station. This was the best thing, and it would do no good to get melancholy over it and start feeling sorry for herself. Certainly she would be lonely. But what she had told her mother was true; she had much to keep her occupied here in London.
Back out on the street, the sounds of aircraft winging overhead reminded her that this was wartime and her services to the needs of the country were vital. It reminded her, too, that London was never completely safe these days. Her daughter would be better off at Stonewycke, far removed from harm.
She was glad they weren’t flying. At least the trains were safe enough.
Shaking off thoughts of war, bombs, and explosions, Allison turned and hailed a cab.
60
Glances Forward and Back
As the train slowly pulled out of London on its northern journey, Joanna’s thoughts were not far divergent from her daughter’s.
Her anticipation of being home again was tempered with ever-present reflections on the war. Sometimes she felt she could not bear another single moment of it. And she prayed she would not have to bear another loss as a result of the fighting! How could she? Yet she knew the answer. Her Father in heaven had always upheld her, and would continue to do so whatever further blow this nightmare of world war might send their way.
Oddly enough, one of the most difficult aspects of the ordeal of Nathaniel’s death had been the brevity of Alec’s furlough for the funeral. After so many months apart, the time should have been a joyous one. But more than the tragedy of their son’s death had marred it. Alec had tried to put on a brave show, but Joanna knew him too well; plainly, the years of war were wearing away at him.
In an unguarded moment he had shared with her about the bloody battle of Tobruk that June, just weeks prior to the funeral. Rommel had captured the stronghold and the 8th Army was pushed back all the way to El Alamein, after sustaining fifty thousand casualties.
“Fifty thousand men, Joanna!” he had exclaimed. “I still canna believe it. All I could think when I saw the dead an’ wounded was that all those lives were lost fer nothin’. Even if we hae hung on to the city—what was it all fer? ’Tis hard oot there t’ keep sight o’ a madman in Berlin. There are some o’ oor troops who actually tend t’ admire Rommel an’ his Afrika Korps. ’Tis crazy . . . senseless! When I heard aboot Nat, I wanted to hate, to find some revenge. But I couldna—it jist wasna there!”
“You couldn’t, Alec,” said Joanna, “because such feelings are foreign to your nature—foreign to the Spirit of God within you.”
“Then why am I oot there at all? Am I not bein’ a mite hypocritical?”
“Perhaps it’s because of who you are. If there were no men like you on the battlefield, I’d hate to think of the kind of insanity it would become. Aren’t good men needed everywhere, even in the most ungodly of settings? Maybe especially there!”
Alec sighed and shook his head. “’Tisna sae easy to understand—when ye’re oot there in it every day.”
“I don’t know what to say, Alec. I suppose there will always be lingering doubts.”
“Ah, Joanna—it wouldna be sae hard if ye were wi’ me.”
He put his arm around her and drew her close. “Fer all yer retirin’ ways, my dear wee wifie, ye are strong an’ wise beyond my ken. I knew it that first day I met ye. Ye were all green about the gills watchin’ old Nathaniel’s cow give birth, but ye stuck it oot.”
“Probably more from stubbornness than wisdom or strength,” said Joanna. “I was not about to let an ill-tempered veterinarian get the better of me!”
“Despite mud an’ manure on yer fine city dress!”
“Oh, the smell of that byre!” laughed Joanna.
Alec threw his head back and roared.
It had been one of the few times during their brief time together that Joanna had seen that side of her husband surface. And now Joanna tried to keep that pleasant memory of Alec in her mind.
Oh, Alec, she thought while gazing out the train window watching the concrete of the city as it began to give way to the more open spaces of the countryside, one day we will laugh again!
Though three years of war, with its sorrows and separations, might do its best to sap them of their very lives, Joanna clutched her Father’s promises firmly in the depths of her heart: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”
Still, she did at times wonder what tomorrow would hold for her and her family. She did not question the future as one might who had no hope. She did not look ahead in fear, but rather in a kind of anticipation. Despite its grief and pain, each day held promise for Joanna. To her belonged the uncommon privilege of being aware of God’s purposeful moving in the lives of men and women, not measured in mere weeks, months, or even years, but rather in the very generations of her predecessors.
For some fifteen years, since she suddenly awoke to the realization that her grandmother Lady Margaret would eventually die and the legacy of her life be gone, Joanna had been keeping a careful chronicle of the Ramsey clan. It had begun with the memories of Lady Margaret’s life, as the older woman passed the details of her story on to her beloved granddaughter. But the more the two women shared and talked, the more intrigued Joanna became to record for her posterity the saga that involved others of the family as well, even stretching back into times long past to the very beginnings of Stonewycke. As it grew, her writings were not simply a recounting of events—births, deaths, marriages—but rather an attempt to trace spiritual and emotional journeys as well, telling tales of growth and development, heartaches and joys, that could never be measured by years, by statistics, by money. And every moment Joanna recorded from the past helped give her hope for the future.
She gazed down at the child, now sound asleep, nestled in the crook of her arm. This little one was part of that future. What would the coming years hold for her? If she did not someday become the literal heir, she was certainly bound to inherit the tradition handed down through the generations of women who helped keep alive the family bond with the ancient estate of Stonewycke. This child, in less than four years, already had an attachment to the land with its rugged seascapes, hills of scraggly heather, moors of barren heath, and lush green pasturelands. She would carry on for the austere Atlanta, for dear Lady Margaret, and even for Eleanor, Joanna’s own mother, who had never even set eyes upon the heather hills. Yes, and for Joanna too, and Allison.
Was it too much to place the burden of such a legacy on a woman? Especially on a child, scarcely more than a baby?
It had nearly destroyed Allison. Yet, whenever it seemed the spiritual traditions were about to be swallowed up in the passage of time and in new generations, God had always stepped in faithfully. He had miraculously brought Joanna herself to Scotland. He had restored Margaret and Ian to their rightful places despite their advancing years. He had brought Allison into the fullness of her mother’s and father’s faith. And now, after ten years of God’s refining fires in Allison’s life, that faith was becoming deep enough for others—especially this little daughter—to be able to draw from.
Joanna recalled Lady Margaret’s prophetic words of many years ago, spoken on the day Allison had given her heart to the Lord: “I do not doubt that as the history of Stonewycke continues down through the years, Allison, you will play a pivotal role in it. And as you look back, it may be that this moment when we three generations of Duncan women can join in oneness with our Lord will prove an important crossroads.”
God was faithful.
If for nothing else, the Ramsey clan could proudly claim they mirrored that one abiding truth. And as the Stonewycke legacy would carry on despite death, despite separation from loved ones, despite turmoil and war and loss, so would the eternal legacy of God’s unfailing love continue on throughout all eternity.
That thought alone was enough to make Joanna content. And soon she would be home, a bonus she could only at that moment appreciate. Grief and loneliness had forced her away for a season. But now she could anticipate her return with true Ramsey/Duncan zeal. Of course, the presence of her little granddaughter would help immensely!
When the conductor ambled by a while later announcing dinner in an hour, Joanna could hardly believe they had been traveling for nearly two hours. All signs of the city were well behind them now. The hues of autumn clung to the Middlesex countryside. Off in the distance she could see a lovely picturesque little stone bridge, its sides, about waist high, arching over a bubbling burn. Beyond it, in a crook made by the sides of two adjoining grass-covered rises in the terrain, sat a cozy-looking little thatch-roofed cottage, constructed out of the same stone as the bridge. Out of the chimney a thin wisp of smoke curled skyward. Inside, no doubt, thought Joanna as she watched the pleasant scene pass, a homely farm woman is kneading out her ration of flour into a fragrant loaf of hearty bread.
Yes, Joanna was truly a country girl, although when she had first come to Scotland thirty-one years ago, she had hardly been able to tell one end of a cow from the other. But now the thought of the earthy sights and sounds and smells of Port Strathy warmed her heart as it could only to one who truly belonged there heart and soul.
All at once a horribly discordant sight intruded upon the pleasant scene. Ugly lengths of chain-link fencing stretched out in the midst of the rolling countryside. The ten-foot-high fence was topped with three or four rows of barbed wire. There was no sign identifying the installation, but it needed none. Joanna recognized the fenced area as one of the revolting by-products of war—an ammunition dump, most likely.
Joanna sighed. What a contrast! A storage dump for ammunition to kill thousands sitting just across the tracks from such an idyllic country scene of peace.
Joanna was just vaguely aware of the sounds of aircraft whining over the monotonous clatter of the train when she was distracted from the unpleasant scene by a friendly voice in the aisle to her left.
“Lady MacNeil! What a nice surprise!”
Joanna turned with a reciprocal smile on her face, when she saw who it was that had greeted her.
“Why, Olivia!” she said to Allison’s old school chum, Olivia Fairgate, “this is delightful!” She knew Olivia was married now, but could not for the life of her recall the girl’s married name. “It’s been a long time . . . I forget how you young people grow up.”
“Yes, we do. Why, I’ve got four children now.”
“My goodness!” exclaimed Joanna. “But you are traveling alone now?”
“Oh no! Everyone’s two cars over. I was just seeing about having some formula warmed for the twins.”
“Twins! . . . I didn’t know.”
“Two months old tomorrow—what a handful!”
She began rummaging through her purse, but then stopped. “I was going to show you a photo,” she said. “But why don’t you come and see the real thing—or things, I should say?” She giggled at her unintentional joke.
“I’d love to,” answered Joanna, realizing that it would feel good to stand. “I need to stretch my legs a bit.”
She turned to the nurse. “Hannah, you don’t mind, do you?”
“Not at all, mum.”
Gently Joanna eased her granddaughter out of her arms and into the lap of the nurse. Still asleep, the child snuggled into the nurse’s arms and sighed contentedly.
“I should only be a few minutes,” said Joanna; then she walked away with Olivia, both chatting, filling in the gaps of the years since they had seen each other.
“Was that Allison’s daughter you were holding?” asked Olivia. At Joanna’s nod, she added, “What a precious child. We really ought to get together more often. My little James is just about her age.”
They made their way through the next car, and on to the one beyond it. Joanna had little trouble picking out Olivia’s brood—in that particular corner of the railway car, all the activity for the entire train seemed concentrated. A four-year-old lad was sitting on his knees, backward on his seat, straining to see everything that was going on. Next to him, an older boy of about seven was occupied with a book, though only about a minute out of every three was spent reading. Above the clacking of
the train’s wheels along the tracks could be heard the unmistakable infant cries of two hungry babies. A frazzled nurse looked up with pleading eyes as the two women drew near.
In all the mayhem of the moment, Joanna no longer noticed the drone of approaching aircraft, now much louder than before.
“Hey, Mother,” called out the seven-year-old as Olivia walked up, “look at those airplanes! They’re coming right toward us!”
But before Olivia could reply, suddenly an ear-splitting explosion burst through the air, forcing their part of the world into chaos and upheaval. There was but an instant for Joanna’s sensations to register her shock and terror. She did not even have time to think about Hannah and her granddaughter two cars away.
The train jerked violently, knocking her from her feet and into unconsciousness.
61
A Higher Plane
Joanna awoke with an audible gasp. All around her were the white, antiseptic sights and smells of a hospital room.
She struggled to rise, but a firm hand settled her back into place. She opened her mouth, but no words would come. Her bedclothes seemed drenched in perspiration. In her groggy state, scenes from her long, traumatic sleep assaulted her mind—wild, terrifying bursts of deafening explosions, blinding flashes of light. And always the screams, especially the one childish scream she could never seem to reach.
Now she was being wheeled along a corridor. Voices spoke softly above her, but she could see no faces. Was this but a horrifying nightmare?
But more flashes of memory continued to penetrate her consciousness. The nightmare had been real! Snatches of the scene came back to her. Scenes that would forever haunt her, in sleep and in waking, from that awful day.
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