Wayward Winds

by Michael Phillips

  Amanda saw the hesitation. She was no more prepared than Jocelyn for intimacy right yet, and tried to ease the awkwardness with a light comment.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t write ahead,” she said.

  The words finally unlocked the mother’s heart, even if the tidal wave was still kept at bay, and she gave Amanda as much a hug as she dared. Amanda returned the embrace somewhat stiffly, but with genuine affection.

  “Oh, Amanda,” said Jocelyn stepping back, “you are welcome any time. I’m just sorry George and your father aren’t here. They would love to see you!”

  “Where is George?” asked Amanda.

  “In Exeter, and your father is in London. How long will you be here? He is due back on Friday.”

  “Only for a day or two—”

  Jocelyn winced but did her best not to show it. The hope had already burst to life within her that possibly Amanda’s appearance signified something more than a mere visit.

  “—I have to get back.”

  “I am glad you came, Amanda. It is so good to see you!”

  Just then another form appeared on the stairway. Amanda glanced up.

  “Hello, Catharine!” said Amanda, smiling and taking a few steps toward her. “Goodness, you have changed since I saw you last—you’re beautiful!”

  Her twenty-year-old sister, rarely at a loss for words, did not reply immediately.

  Catharine stood, hand on the balustrade, displaying the same awkward indecisiveness as had her mother. She made an attempt at a smile at this unexpected guest whom she remembered so well, yet hardly knew. The big sister of her memory was confused with images of her own childhood. Now before her stood a young lady appearing so much older and refined. Catharine’s eyes told her it was Amanda, and the voice was the same. But her feet, brain, and voice all balked together.

  Amanda observed the look on her sister’s face and it puzzled her. The confusion lasted only an instant. For the first time in all her twenty-four years, Amanda Rutherford suddenly realized they were afraid of her. Her own mother and sister!

  The stunning revelation stung her to the quick. The power it might have caused her to feel at another time in her life now felt positively dreadful. She didn’t want to be fearsome . . . she only wanted to be herself.

  Within seconds Catharine recovered her shock, confusion, and reticence all at once and bounded down the stairs. She did not hesitate a moment, but immediately confronted Amanda with her outstretched arms and embraced her as if they were children. From the momentary observation of fear on her face, Amanda now found herself smothered in loving sisterly delight, swallowed up in the presence of one whom she had always considered, and whom she had continued to remember, as such a little girl.

  Lo and behold, her younger sister was now at least four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than she! She herself had become the smallest member of the family. Catharine’s physical appearance reminded her of how long she had been away.

  “Amanda! I can’t believe it!” exclaimed Catharine in girlish laughter. “You look so nice! And you’re here—I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

  “What about you?” rejoined Amanda, caught up in Catharine’s good spirits and laughing with her. “You’re so—”

  “Big?” said Catharine.

  “That’s not what I was going to say—but . . . grown up.”

  “It’s all right if you say big—I don’t mind.”

  “We were just about to have lunch,” said Jocelyn, feeling great relief at how easily Catharine had broken the ice. “Won’t you—that is . . . you can stay long enough to join us?”

  “Yes . . . yes, of course, Mother. If it is all right, as I said, I would like to stay for a day or two.”

  “Oh, Amanda,” said her mother, some of her pent-up emotion now escaping, “of course.” Her eyes flooded as she spoke. “That would be wonderful! This will always be your home.”

  Amanda did not reply. The word sounded strange in her ears.

  Home.

  This hadn’t been her home for years. But neither was there anyplace else she would call by that name.

  Then the question struck her: Did she even have a home at all?

  “I’ll ring Hector to take your bag up to your room,” Jocelyn was saying as Amanda tried to shake off the momentary reflection. They began making their way toward the kitchen.

  “Why can’t you stay longer?” asked Catharine. “Why can’t you just . . . stay?”

  “I’m leaving for the Continent next week,” replied Amanda.

  “The Continent!” exclaimed Jocelyn.

  Amanda explained the offer. “I am no longer involved with the Pankhursts, you see, and it is the opportunity of a lifetime.” As she spoke the words, Amanda did not divulge her own ambivalence.

  Jocelyn’s heart sank. She had hoped perhaps Amanda’s coming signaled something else.

  “Yes . . . yes, I see,” she replied, doing her best to sound positive. “That does sound like a wonderful opportunity.”

  They entered the kitchen. Sarah Minsterly, who had heard the voices but hadn’t imagined who might be their guest, nearly dropped the tray of biscuits in her hand onto the floor.

  “Miss Amanda!” she said.

  “Yes, Sarah, it is me,” replied Amanda. “How are you?”

  “Very well, miss—thank you.”

  She turned, set down the tray, and began flustering about nervously to set another place on the table.

  86

  Strange Sensations

  Once initial pleasantries, greetings, and exclamations were past, the conversation languished. It was not for lack of trying, but were it not for Catharine, it would have proved awkward indeed. There were just at present too few connecting points in all their lives.

  The two sisters and mother did their best to keep up the conversation, but had succeeded mostly in exchanging a series of superficial questions and answers. None of the three knew how to find a place to link with the deepest parts of the others they had never known. They had all grown in six years. Catharine and Jocelyn had become best friends, and sad to say, Amanda was no longer part of their lives.

  Catharine and Jocelyn were full of questions. But many of them involved subjects and individuals Amanda knew they would be uncomfortable hearing about. She did speak freely about Cousin Gifford’s family—omitting mention of the most recent exchange with Geoffrey. And she and Catharine enjoyed a laugh about Hubert Powell’s casanovian attempts to woo both their affections. But mention of his name brought to the minds of both Amanda and her mother the argument which came on the heels of Amanda’s seventeenth birthday and her leaving Heathersleigh for London. A period of strained silence followed.

  Jocelyn’s and Catharine’s hearts both ached as they all sat in the kitchen together an hour after Amanda’s arrival, prolonging the meal with an extra cup or two of tea, yet it was obvious to both that in many ways Amanda was now a stranger. That Amanda was herself aware of the awkwardness made the timid exchanges all the more clumsy.

  When lunch was over, after an unsettling attempt by mother and sister to make Amanda comfortable in her former room—which was exactly as she remembered it, and yet so changed to the eyes of her adulthood—Amanda wandered outside.

  The emotional homecoming followed by an admittedly awkward meal had put her in a thoughtfully receptive mood.

  A peacefulness hung in the air. Devon was certainly different from London—much different. She used to hate it so. But she had to admit . . . it was nice here.

  But quiet.

  So quiet. . . . She heard birds chirping somewhere off in the trees.

  As Amanda strolled about the lawn near the house, she realized that the stillness was not just because she was in the country. There was something missing, an energy, a vitality—voices, laughter, things going on, projects and discussions, questions and banter. And she knew what it was that was absent.

  Or rather . . . who it was.

  She had always resented her fathe
r’s overpowering influence. And yet she realized as she walked that his absence was responsible for the giant hush that seemed to have descended over everything. She had always considered him drab and lifeless.

  Had he in fact been the spirit and soul of Heathersleigh all along?

  But she was glad he wasn’t here just now. She couldn’t bear to see him.

  Amanda hardly knew what to make of the questions that rose and fell within her consciousness like a quietly bubbling sea of inner reflection. She could feel that there was a difference about the place with her father gone. Everything looked the same, but nothing was the same.

  Had it all been worth it, she wondered, doing the things she thought she’d wanted to do when she left here? What had her efforts accomplished in the end? Had she really made any difference about anything? Now she was back at Heathersleigh, and, except for the remarkable change in Catharine, everything was the same. What had it all been for?

  She came upon what had once been but a small plot of heather between the east wing of the house and the wood at the edge of the lawn. She paused to gaze out over what had now become an expansively cultivated garden area. She remembered her father and mother working here, but had had no idea into what a magnificent little world they had transformed it.

  More thoughts of her father slowly infiltrated her memory. She recalled hearing him talk about wanting some particular species of heather in bloom year round. It was all nicely trimmed too. She had despised any memory of him until this day. But as she thought about him, and imagined what it would be like if he chanced to walk up right now, she realized he would have a great smile of love on his face, and would speak kindly and warmly to her.

  The thought stung. He did love her. Was that really such a terrible thing for a man to feel about his daughter?

  Why had she resented so deeply just the fact that he loved her and wanted the best for her, just like he wanted the best for everything and everyone? Was that really such a terrible thing for a man to want? But, she argued with herself, he had such a way of controlling everything, always trying to make everybody be like him.

  Amanda turned away and began walking again. These were unwelcome questions. Her thoughts had become suddenly far more personal and uncomfortable than she had bargained for. She was not ready for them. Yet she could do nothing to prevent them.

  She continued walking, more hurriedly now, as if the mere movement of her legs and arms would rescue her from the unsought introspection. Leaving the trimmed lawn north of the Hall, she found herself walking across the open fields with no particular destination in mind. Activity was what she needed right now, anything to keep her mind from dwelling on unpleasant thoughts and melancholy memories.

  Behind her, in a second-floor window, the silent silhouette of her mother watched Amanda recede toward the rolling hills in the distance.

  Moisture again slowly filled Jocelyn’s eyes, and she blinked it back, watching now through blurred vision the back of the girl who had made herself a stranger to her heart. How she longed to hold the daughter who had always resisted her embrace. How could the precious child she had carried in her womb . . . how could those happy times and optimistic hopes have . . .

  She could not complete the thought. Her eyes flooded with tears and she turned away from the window. Thoughts like these were not what she had anticipated on that joyful day of Amanda’s birth when first she held the tiny, wonderful, helpless form in her arms.

  Jocelyn sought her bed, lay down upon it, and wept.

  There were no answers to such questions. At least tears would temporarily wash away their sting, and soothe the ache of her heart with their sad balm.

  In her own room, Catharine too had been observing Amanda. She was not quite yet ready to cry for her—a sister’s ache could not extend so deep as a mother’s. But her thoughts were quiet and her heart sad. She too eventually lay upon her bed, and likewise tried to pray for Amanda, though she hardly knew how.

  Meanwhile, as her mother grieved and her sister prayed, Amanda found herself standing quietly in the middle of her father’s prayer wood. She had not even realized this to be her destination until she was here. She remembered the day she secretly followed him here. She had not even thought of the place since.

  But she could not remain more than a few seconds. A strong sense of Presence filled the silence, and she was not prepared to encounter it.

  Amanda turned and left the private sanctuary.

  Maggie and Bobby McFee came to her mind. She would go visit them. They would take her mind off her father. . . .

  ————

  Two days later, after a generally hospitable yet nonetheless awkwardly formal visit, Amanda Rutherford returned to London.

  87

  Departure

  With thoughts of the Titanic in her mind, and trembling just slightly as a result, Amanda followed an exuberant Mrs. Thorndike up the steep gangway onto the deck of the luxury Greek cruise ship Ianthina.

  They found a place along the crowded rail, among many hundreds doing likewise to see their friends and loved ones, and after waving one last time down to Mrs. Halifax onshore, went to find their stateroom.

  The two days back at Heathersleigh had thrown Amanda into an odd state of perplexity concerning her future. It was obvious after the visit that she did not belong there.

  Yet London too had grown strange, cold, and unfamiliar. Even as she arrived back in the great metropolis, it seemed different.

  She was glad for the upcoming cruise. She had nothing else to look forward to.

  At Mrs. Halifax’s suggestion she had withdrawn the final £107 from her account. She didn’t exactly like the idea of having nothing to come back to. But she had gone along with the idea. If friends of Mrs. Halifax’s were going to put them up in Vienna, she wanted to do nothing to ripple the waters of the friendship now. She would watch herself and make sure she didn’t foolishly spend so much as a shilling.

  And maybe it was time to cast caution to the wind. She was either about to have the adventure of her life, or end up a pauper! Perhaps both, Amanda thought mordantly.

  Two hours later the Ianthina was steaming out of Portsmouth, bound for Lisbon, her first port of call. From there they would pass through the Strait of Gibraltar, with stops to follow in Algiers, Marseilles, Naples, Malta, and Crete, before entering the Aegean Sea and the islands of Greece. Three weeks from today they would be in Athens.

  After that, Mrs. Thorndike’s plans were indefinite. Mrs. Halifax was to meet them in Vienna for the summer, at the home of her hospitable friends. They planned a thorough visit in the Austrian capital and talked of taking the Orient Express back across the Continent to Paris, or else traveling the southern route from Belgrade to Venice and Rome and then north to France, before returning to England.

  She would probably have to think about her future then . . . but at least for now she could put it out of her mind and try to enjoy herself.

  88

  Churchill and Rutherford

  The First Lord of the Admiralty for the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland walked thoughtfully along Downing Street where he had just left a meeting with the prime minister and his top military advisors.

  Confidential documents seized less than forty-eight hours earlier indicated that the situation in the east was more grave than they had realized. A plot appeared afoot to assassinate a major world leader.

  The only question was . . . which leader?

  Tsar Nicholas II of Russia was the most likely. The Bolsheviks were growing increasingly restless, and it was only a matter of time before the whole country exploded. The Russian colossus to the east was a huge mysterious unknown, whose private inner workings were as shadowy as its military might was fearsome. The military planners of Europe usually looked to Russia first, and internal unrest threw a great unknown into the equation of potential war.

  Threats had also been made against Emperor Franz Joseph of Austria by Serbian nationalists, and against Greek Prime
Minister Venizelos. The king of Greece, George I, had been assassinated only a year before during the First Balkan War. Factions in that country seemed intent on adding a second murder to the list.

  But what if the threats pointed elsewhere . . . to Paris, even London? There were those who feared that the lives of England’s Prime Minister Asquith, or even George V, might likewise be in danger.

  Nor was this all. The documents hinted at a clandestine operation, planned for years but only recently put into effect, whereby foreign agents were being moved in and out of England without detection.

  Churchill and other British leaders had been aware of the danger posed by internal sabotage, espionage, and counterespionage for years. The Agadir crisis had prompted frank discussions concerning German spies and agents in many British ports. Further investigation had uncovered an extensive system of British men and women on Berlin’s payroll. Lists began to be compiled for the War Book.

  Coded language concerning this new discovery apparently pointed to some Irish connection, though they had not been able to fully decipher it. Immediately upon learning of it, Churchill had ordered a thorough combing of the Irish coast, especially between Dublin and Cork, which seemed the most likely, as well as updated intelligence files on the region.

  This was serious news indeed. If spies were able to move freely throughout England without detection after all the attempts to root out their identities and organizations, what security was left them? Churchill had been issuing warnings for years. Now it seemed his worst fears were being realized.

  Churchill’s thoughts drifted to Charles Rutherford. Could any of these developments have to do with the suspicious group that had tried to recruit him? Perhaps he ought to talk to Sir Charles again.