Wayward Winds

by Michael Phillips

  Chiefly they gathered, not to grieve, but to celebrate the new life to which Bobby McFee had always looked forward and had now gone. Tears were of course shed in plenty, for sorely would they miss him, but the tears were accompanied with many smiles and much laughter.

  With a man of faith like Timothy Diggorsfeld officiating, with a wife like Margaret McFee left behind, and with friends like Charles and Jocelyn Rutherford to give testimony of Bobby’s impact into the lives of the generations that followed him, how could it be other than an occasion of praise and rejoicing? One after another spoke of now this, now that, in which Bobby’s practical faith had touched them.

  From the church to the graveside, the community then retired to the Hall, where the stories continued all afternoon and into the evening. By the time she lay down again in her own bed in the cottage that night, Maggie could feel her Bobby was with her still.

  The loneliness in her heart thus made room for a new kind of happiness, for she saw how blessed she was to have been allowed to share her life with him.

  105

  A Man’s Decision

  The lone figure of a man strode slowly yet purposefully across a wide meadow which bordered a gentle hillside sloping up toward a region of woods. It was midafternoon. In his hand he held the envelope which had arrived from London about thirty minutes earlier.

  Charles Rutherford knew the decision he made would affect his entire family, perhaps even the whole community. He was now fifty-five years old. His age alone would preclude his being expected to resume his commission in the Royal Navy unless the southern shores of Kent and East Sussex were actually invaded. No one had breached the Channel in 850 years. Napoleon had been unable to conquer Romney Marsh north of Dungeness, and the Germans were unlikely to make such an attempt now.

  But Charles was a patriot, however unambitious as a politician. The military had always interested him more than politics. And the fact that his twenty-four-year-old son George was almost certain to serve had turned the elder Rutherford’s thoughts in recent days more and more toward Winston Churchill’s request. He loved his son with all his heart and was not ready to part with him just yet.

  Perhaps a way might be arranged whereby they could serve together, he in the advisory capacity which his age and experience would make necessary, and George in more active duty on the same ship. If the navy wanted him, perhaps under such circumstances he might agree.

  He had mentioned the possibility to Churchill. Now the first lord of the admiralty had replied.

  His request had been approved.

  A final decision must be made within the week, at which time George, with him or without him, would begin training with the British fleet.

  Charles entered his prayer wood as he had so many times in the past. He paused and glanced pensively around him, knowing this might well be his last visit to this most beloved corner of the Heathersleigh estate for some time.

  It was not a large meadow, hardly more than fifty feet by twenty-five or thirty. Its seclusion made it special, surrounded on all sides by thick pines and birches. The babbling little stream which came through added to the enchantment of the place.

  He well remembered the day as a boy of seven when he had discovered it, thinking it the most delightful fairy-tale place imaginable. Throughout the remainder of his boyhood he had convinced himself that no one but he knew of it, though now he chuckled at the naïve notion. He had been a thoughtful and introspective boy, and this had been his childhood haunt, his retreat, his private grounds of play, his haven for solitude.

  Here he had learned to dream. Here, after he was grown, he had discovered intimacy with God. Here he had learned to pray.

  He had brought George here at fourteen. The boy understood the sanctity of the place and had come on his own many times since. He shared it with Catharine four summers ago, when he saw signs that her own spiritual self was quickening within her and coming awake. They had shared an afternoon that he would treasure as long as he lived.

  He had always wanted to bring Amanda here too, to talk with her as only a father and daughter can, in hopes that perhaps the Lord might use the occasion to intrude into her life more deeply. Just being here had always made him somehow feel closer to God. That too was part of the mystery. He hoped it might have the same effect on her.

  He had waited for a right moment which never quite seemed to arrive. The years had passed, Amanda had become silent and drifted away from them . . . and then suddenly she was gone. He never had come to the hidden meadow with her. It remained one of his deepest regrets.

  He sat down on one of the three large boulders which appeared as though they had been tossed from the sky into the middle of the otherwise grassy spot, drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He always felt more peaceful when he came here, though today matters of high import were on his mind. It was the ancient conflict between faith and defense of one’s country, between the Master’s words of love toward enemies and devotion to one’s nation. Decisions had to be made, and he must know what his Father wanted him to do.

  “Lord,” he sighed, “show me what you would have of me, what path you would have me walk in this hour of trial that has come to our land.”

  He paused and exhaled slowly again.

  Today’s prayers would not require many words. He could not have articulated his multitude of thoughts had he tried. The sigh came from a place in his heart too deep for words. But God’s Spirit knew his inner groanings and would answer his deepest heart’s desires by praying in his stead.

  What lay before him was the agonizing choice between two of the four people he loved most dearly in all the world. Did he remain with his wife, or go with his son? It was a decision too grievous not to crush a tender and loving man such as Charles Rutherford. He would be unable to do either without a certainty that God was making the decision for him, and he obeying it.

  Charles emerged from the wood an hour later and walked directly home. There were things to talk over and settle with Jocelyn and George. They would pray tonight as a family, along with Catharine. More than ever at this moment he regretted that their family was not whole.

  He reached the little knoll just beyond the lawn which led the rest of the way to the house, then paused. Squinting his eye in the sun, unconsciously he sent his gaze along the drive leading toward the main road, as if the mere gesture of his look might cause his daughter to appear on the road on her way back toward them.

  He was always looking for her, anticipating that moment when he might run to meet her and throw his fatherly arms around her and welcome her home. Past experience, however, did not rouse optimism in his heart. Nor was today different than hundreds of days before.

  After a moment or two he pulled his gaze away from the road with a sigh, then continued on toward the Hall.

  106

  Welcome Face

  For several days Amanda was beside herself.

  A change had come. The moment Mr. Barclay had spoken the words “I am afraid that will be impossible,” all at once he seemed frightening and sinister. When she looked into his eyes now she saw the glint of submerged threat rather than warmth. Mrs. Halifax seemed distant and aloof. Suddenly everything had changed. She had become a stranger among strangers.

  What was she going to do? Was this her new home now, as Mrs. Halifax had said? Was her past indeed behind her? But . . . surely she couldn’t stay here forever.

  One warm tedious afternoon she lay down on her bed and fell into a lazy sleep. Her mind was so dulled by Mr. Barclay’s influences that it was not even capable of dreaming. She didn’t want to dream . . . didn’t want to think.

  When she awoke the sun still shone into her room. No time seemed to have passed.

  A voice intruded into her consciousness from somewhere in the house, soft at first as she came gradually awake, then more pronounced . . . a strange yet familiar voice. As wakefulness increased, its sound spoke of sudden new deliverance in the midst of this dreary hopelessness.

&nbs
p; It was a voice of help and comfort.

  Suddenly she recognized it—he would know what to do!

  She leapt off the bed, flew out of her room and along the corridor to the stairs, then recklessly down them to the entryway. There stood the new arrival greeting his mother and one or two others.

  “Ramsay!” Amanda cried. A few tears of relief and joy attempted to escape eyes too long dry.

  She ran into his arms, which opened to receive her. Suddenly she was safe again.

  “When did you arrive!” she exclaimed.

  “Only a moment or two ago,” laughed Ramsay. “As you can see I have not even left the entry.”

  “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming!”

  “The war threw everything into a tizzy. It was all very hastily arranged.”

  “You can’t imagine how glad I am to see you!”

  “Come, everyone,” said Mrs. Halifax, “we shall all have tea together. Amanda and I want to hear how you have been, Ramsay dear.”

  Feeling more secure than in a long while, Amanda kept close to Ramsay’s side. He stretched his arm around her shoulder, gave her another reassuring squeeze as if to say all her worries were over now that he was here, and they followed Mrs. Halifax toward the kitchen.

  107

  Surprise Proposal

  It was two days after Ramsay’s arrival. He and Amanda walked slowly through one of Vienna’s parks not far from the house. Amanda had been pouring out her fears and uncertainties upon Ramsay’s sympathetic and understanding ears. She had no inkling that she had been the subject of a conversation between Ramsay, his mother, and Hartwell Barclay the day before, a discussion which was destined to change her life forever.

  “I didn’t know what would become of me,” she said, “especially with all of Europe at war.”

  “You don’t need to worry about a thing now,” Ramsay replied. “I’ll take care of you and make sure nothing happens to you.”

  “I’ve been so afraid, Ramsay.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “I don’t know, everything’s . . . so strange here.”

  “You’ve been safe with my mum. Vienna is not about to be overrun by the Russians anytime soon. You’re safer here than you would be anywhere on the Continent.”

  “That’s just it, I don’t know if I want to be on the Continent.”

  “Where else would you want to be?”

  “I want to go home, Ramsay.”

  “Home,” he repeated. “But your home is with my mother and me now. This is your home. You have nothing to go back to.”

  The words plunged like a cold knife of harsh reality into Amanda’s heart. Ramsay was right. It was just as his mother had said earlier. Where would she possibly go?

  “But why can’t we both go, Ramsay? Why can’t you take me back? We belong in England together. You’re as much English as I am. We could be happy there together, away from all this.”

  For a moment Ramsay seemed to flinch.

  “Why can’t we just go back to England?” repeated Amanda.

  “Because the whole Continent is at war,” he replied after a brief pause. “We would never make it. Don’t you see—you’re in danger, Amanda. You’re English and the daughter of an important man. Now you’re behind enemy lines. You have to stay here, out of sight.”

  “But what about you—you’re English.”

  “I have dual citizenship.”

  Amanda turned toward Ramsay with confused expression.

  “What do you . . . ? I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I have both British and Austrian passports. I thought you knew. I can travel about freely anywhere I want.”

  The revelation silenced Amanda briefly. The question did not exactly raise itself to the level of her conscious mind: What else about this man don’t I know? Nevertheless his words brought with them a sudden chill of discomfort.

  They walked on.

  “Are you part of all this, Ramsay?” Amanda asked at length.

  She hadn’t intended so blunt a question. She hadn’t even consciously framed the idea to herself that something more than met the eye was going on here. But suddenly out had come the words. They hung momentarily in the air between them.

  “Part of what?” he said.

  “Of what’s involved at the house, the secretive comings and goings, the peculiar people—did you know that the assassin Princip was there? He tried to kidnap me and take me to Sarajevo with him!”

  “No, of course not,” he replied, laughing off the suggestion.

  “What is it all about, Ramsay? I’ve got to know if you’re part of it.”

  “You know me better than that. I would never be involved with assassins.”

  “What about your mother?”

  “Certainly not—what kind of a question is that? Heavens, Amanda, what do you think we are, revolutionaries and terrorists?”

  “She said it was her house.”

  “What—no, you must have misunderstood her. Mum just knows people here—she’s of Hungarian descent, you know. This is where we always stay when we come to Vienna.”

  Amanda nodded, wanting desperately to believe so simple an explanation could dismiss her misgivings.

  “And in this part of the world,” Ramsay went on, “well—there are more radicals and strange customers than one meets in England. You can’t help running into them almost everywhere. No one here knew what Princip was up to.”

  Again they walked on in silence. Relieved somewhat by Ramsay’s account, however, Amanda yet remained confused and on edge. Ramsay was the next to speak.

  “There is a solution to all the troubles and uncertainty,” he said.

  Amanda glanced over at him. A flicker of renewed hope stirred within her.

  “We could get married,” he went on, then stopped and turned to face her.

  Had she heard him right!

  “As my wife you would be safe,” Ramsay went on. “You too could apply for dual citizenship. Who knows, after we’re married, perhaps then there might be a way for us to return to England.”

  “Ramsay, do you . . . do you actually mean it? Do you really want to marry me?”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied with a light laugh. “I assumed you knew that long ago. I’ve merely been waiting for the right time. That moment has now come.”

  He took her in his arms, kissed her, then held her close.

  “Marry me, Amanda Rutherford,” he said, “and you never have to be afraid or without a home again.”

  So many thoughts floated back and forth in Amanda’s brain in the few seconds following Ramsay’s unexpected proposal. Somehow she did not feel as she had always expected to feel at such a moment.

  “What about your mother?” she said drowsily. “Will she approve?”

  “Of course. She is the one who suggested it. She said we ought not delay a moment more than is necessary.”

  Ramsay was probably right, thought Amanda. It was her only way out of this predicament. A war was on. What else could she do? She had dreamed of what it would be like to be married to Ramsay Halifax. After the ball in Cambridge, she had thought of it even more. She almost had expected him to propose that night. It was just that she hadn’t heard from him in so long, she had begun to forget.

  No doubt it was for the best. She probably loved him.

  Maybe she had loved him from the very beginning without realizing it.

  108

  A Recollection

  Maggie McFee sat slowly rocking back and forth in her favorite chair in the sitting room of the cottage. Her Bobby had now been gone two weeks.

  She was slowly growing accustomed to the silence. But would she ever accustom herself to the isolation?

  She knew this season of a woman’s aloneness to be in the usual order of things. It was a time, as in youth, to kindle afresh one’s vows to the Bridegroom of all believers.

  She missed Bobby. Yet her thoughts of him were so pleasant—always with his smiling face and cheery disposi
tion—how could she think of him and be sad?

  As she glanced about, Maggie’s eyes came to rest on a piece of unfinished tatting she had been working on the last time Catharine was here. And with Catharine in her mind, Amanda soon followed.

  More and more these days she found herself reflecting anew on the daughter of Master Charles and Lady Jocelyn. Amanda’s brief visit to them the previous March had been fortunate. Otherwise she would never have seen Grandpa Bobby again.

  Had Bobby possessed some premonition of what was coming? He had spoken to her almost with similar benediction as he had uttered on his deathbed to the others of her family. Maggie had only heard a portion of his words, for as she came upon Bobby and Amanda outside the barn, they had already been talking for several minutes. But the words remained with her, as if they contained more significance than he intended, or even knew.

  “ . . . recall when ye was here as a lass,” Maggie had heard him from a distance as she slowly approached. “We spoke t’ ye then about yer father an’ the heritage that is yers on account o’ his faith. ’Tis time ye woke up, lass . . . woke up t’ discover that heritage. Ye’re wastin’ the best years o’ yer young life, lass, with this foolish rebellion o’ yer heart toward the two best friends ye’ll ever have in this life. . . .”

  Why Amanda had stood listening was a wonder. Even as a youngster she had not put up with their sermonizing with such tolerance.

  “ . . . afore it’s too late,” Maggie recalled Bobby’s voice. “Ye can’t go back an’ get the years ye waste, lass. Someday the pain an’ regret’ll come upon ye, and then ye’ll shed bitter tears o’ remorse. An’ ye’ll say, ‘How could I have been so blind!’ Open yer eyes now, lass. Don’t wait too long. Ye got t’ discover yer heritage. ’Tis different than folks think, different than ye imagine. ’Tis a legacy ye’re given t’ discover, though it be hidden from yer eyes at present. A hidden legacy, lass, do ye hear me? Find it. Ye must find it!”

  Now on this day, Bobby’s words rang over and over in Maggie’s brain.

  A hidden legacy . . . different than folks think . . . ye must find it.