Wayward Winds (38 page)

 73 
A Visit and a Conversation

When the invitation from her aunt and uncle Wildecott-Browne arrived, Amanda took it in stride, not pausing more than a fleeting moment to reflect upon how they came to know her whereabouts or what might be their purpose in suddenly contacting her out of the blue. She took it, as she did most things these days, as a matter of course. At Mrs. Halifax's urging, she accepted.

It was neither a particularly pleasant but neither an unpleasant evening. Amanda did her best to enjoy herself, though she scarcely knew her mother's sister and almost did not remember her husband Hugh at all.

Aunt Edlyn and Uncle Hugh were full of questions about her present life, and what it had been like growing up at Heathersleigh. They were especially inquisitive about her parents. Amanda gradually warmed as her aunt and uncle seemed sympathetically inclined toward the annoyances and grievances which she was only too willing to freely share.

They parted, if not exactly kindred spirits, certainly on amiable terms, with many promises to see one another more in the future now that Amanda was residing in London.

Mrs. Halifax was more than ordinarily interested in what had transpired, and Amanda recounted her recollection of the evening the next afternoon at tea.

“Is your uncle—what is his name, dear?”

“Hugh.”

“Yes, your uncle Hugh,” Mrs. Halifax went on, “is he an influential man?”

“I don't know how influential he is—he's a solicitor.”

“What are his . . .
views
on things?”

“On what?”

“The world, government, politics, religion.”

“I don't know. He didn't strike me as overly interested in any of that. We really didn't talk about it.”

“Is he the sort of man who is interested in making the world a better place?”

“I don't know—better in what way?”

“Throwing out old outmoded systems,” replied Mrs. Halifax, probing a little more directly than she had previously with Amanda. “Equality for everyone.”

“I'm beginning to doubt there's any such thing,” laughed Amanda cynically.

“But, Amanda dear,” said Mrs. Halifax, “the fact that the world has its injustices does not mean we should not do our part to change it.”

“What's the use? How
can
we change it? I tried. It didn't do any good.”

“There are other ways, my dear. There
are
groups and political systems which are inherently based on the very sort of equality your suffragette friends are striving for.”

“Such as?”

“Such as systems where all men and women are equal, where no one lords it over another.”

“I don't see any of that in England.”

“Change is coming, Amanda. This is not only a new century, but a new era. The light of true equality will dawn one day very soon. We will be part of it . . . you can be part of it too.”

And thus, by many vague comments and indistinct conversations, did Amanda's mind come gradually to be filled with new ideas and lured in leftist directions. Though she did not recognize them, doubts toward the English system of government were dropped as well, invisible seeds cunningly sown into her consciousness, which silently sprouted in the soil of Amanda's general spirit of alienation.

Amanda did not know she was being brainwashed. She considered the occasional new thought that popped into her head from time to time entirely her own. Perhaps, she convinced herself, she was at last growing up and starting to see the world in more of its true perspective.

It was in measure a sardonic outlook, to be sure. But better, she told herself, a cynical realism than idealistic fancies of someday becoming the first woman prime minister.

 74 
Another Letter

Charles found Jocelyn late one afternoon sitting in the sun-room quietly weeping. Two sheets of paper lay in her lap. He sat down beside her.

“What is it?” asked Charles.

“A letter from my sister's husband,” she replied softly.

“Hugh?” said Charles with a look of question.

Jocelyn nodded.

“What can he have said that is so painful?”

“He and my sister have spoken with Amanda. This is the result.”

She began to cry again as she handed Charles the letter.

Dear Jocelyn, he read,

Edlyn and I have had the opportunity to spend some time recently with your daughter. I must say Amanda is a delightful young woman whom I have every confidence will grow and mature into a wonderful lady.

I know enough from things I have heard and from what Amanda has told me to realize the method you employed in raising your children was a complete failure. The control you imposed upon Amanda, I can think of nothing else to call than parental cruelty. You know in your heart and mind what the truth and facts are. God will not protect you just because you are obeying your husband's demands. God never intended for a wife to live under the authoritative and controlling conditions that you have had to put up with these last
twenty-five years. You will certainly not gain a loftier place in heaven because you have endured his persecution.

Amanda explained to us of your continual lies to bolster your husband's reputation. Edlyn was shocked, as am I, to learn of your refusal to face what must, in everyone's eyes but your own, be his very obvious faults.

We both honestly think you should leave your husband. But from what Amanda says, you worship the ground he walks on, so I doubt you will heed our advice. I speak for us both—Edlyn finds this whole thing too painful even to write you about. You are my wife's sister and therefore I feel it my duty to speak up and hope that you will listen. I feel sorry for you, and for your whole family and hope that someday you will come to your senses and do what you know is right.

I remain, my dear sister, your loving but disappointed brother-in-law,

Hugh Wildecott-Browne

Charles threw down the letter, not knowing whether to be furious or heartbroken, rose, and walked straight to his office. Five minutes later he was talking on his telephone with Timothy Diggorsfeld in London.

“Timothy,” said Charles, “would it be possible for you to come for a visit after the weekend? Jocelyn and I need a friend.”

“Of course,” replied the pastor. “What is it?”

“It continues to be very difficult,” replied Charles. “I'm afraid we've had a bit of a setback today about Amanda. We need your perspective.”

“I will see you in a few days.”

 75 
Another Conversation

Jocelyn had been subdued ever since the painful letter from her sister's husband. She and Charles had not spoken much of it, desiring to wait until Timothy was with them to let out their feelings on the matter. He arrived late the following Monday afternoon.

It did not take long for the three friends to get around to the subject which had prompted the invitation. Charles showed Timothy the letter from Hugh Wildecott-Browne.

The pastor read it, then set it aside with a pained sigh.

“It is remarkable to me,” he said after a moment, “that people can be so oblivious to the true signs of character. I don't know the man, so forgive me, Jocelyn, if I seem a bit harsh toward your brother-in-law. But it is abundantly clear that he knows neither of you further than I could throw those two sheets which he tries to pass off as brotherly concern. His suggestion is so ludicrous it merits no response. What does he mean, ‘come to your senses and do what you know is right'?”

“I can't imagine what he means,” answered Jocelyn. “Amanda's been gone three years. We've had almost no contact with her whatever. I shudder to think what she has told him.”

“
Leave
a man like Charles,” exclaimed Diggorsfeld, “—who is your brother-in-law, anyway? I take it he is not a Christian.”

“Actually, he is a devout churchman.”

“It gets worse and worse. What kind of mockery to truth is that! And coming from a Christian!”

“Charles is the best thing that ever happened to me,” said Jocelyn, first to Diggorsfeld, then glancing with a smile toward her husband. “Were it not for Charles, I cannot imagine where I would be. He's the one who helped me accept myself. I could never have learned to accept God's love had he not helped me come to terms with who I am first. Charles' love for me is—”

Jocelyn glanced away, tears rising in her eyes. Charles placed a gentle hand on her arm. It was silent a moment.

“You haven't answered this letter, have you, Jocelyn?” asked Diggorsfeld.

She shook her head.

“Don't. It is not worth it. His ears are closed, at the moment at least, to anything you might say. What does he have against you, Charles?” Timothy asked, turning toward his friend. “What in the world can account for such a bitter attitude?”

“Honestly, Timothy,” sighed Charles, “I haven't an idea. Until this came, I assumed that Hugh and I were on friendly enough terms. It isn't as if we are close, or see one another with any frequency. In fact, we rarely see each other and have never had a serious and personal conversation.”

“Ah, perhaps that partially explains it, then.”

“How so?”

“Accusations are often easier to make the less you know about someone. Facts tend not to get in the way.”

“Perhaps you're right,” sighed Charles. “But I am still shocked by his words. I always took Hugh for a decently reasonable man.”

“An angry son or daughter who blames mother and father for every ill and inconvenience visited upon them is hardly the paradigm of balanced perspective and truth. This Wildecott-Browne is a grown man and I would assume reasonably intelligent—what is his profession, by the way?”

“He's a solicitor.”

“Worse still!” exclaimed the minister. “A man who earns his bread sifting truth from falsehood. Why cannot he see Amanda's bitterness in an instant? I return to my original question—how are some people oblivious to the signs of character?”

“That is why I called you, Timothy,” laughed Charles. “You're supposed to be giving us perspective to understand this.”

“I am sorry,” replied Diggorsfeld, shaking his head, now disgusted with himself rather than the sender of the letter. “Forgive me—this kind of thing has the tendency to anger me. But,” he went on, still trying to make sense of it, “he must know you, Jocelyn—how can he say such things of you?”

Jocelyn laughed lightly. “To tell you the truth, Timothy, it actually feels good to have someone else be angry on our behalf. Up until now I thought this pain in my head, not to mention in my heart, would never subside. And to respond to what you said, no, I would say my brother-in-law doesn't know me in the least. Nor does he know Charles. He hasn't spent ten minutes with Charles in twenty years.”

“Yet he is willing to pass judgment on the basis of Amanda's skewed accusations.” Timothy shook his head in irritated bewilderment. Again it fell silent.

“Why is Amanda doing this to us, Timothy?” asked Jocelyn at length. “Why does she tell people such things when we tried to do our best for her?”

“Doing your best for people is not always what they want,” replied the pastor. “In Amanda's case, she resented what you tried to do. She didn't want your
best
. Most people don't. They want what is comfortable. The best means growth, change, personal development. None of that comes about without a recognition and a facing of our personal weaknesses. How can we mature if we don't come to grips with our problems so that we can overcome them? Such is the essence of growth. You both have been down that road, and it was painful at times.”

Charles and Jocelyn both nodded and smiled. They remembered all too well their own struggles early in their mutual walk of faith.

“When an individual doesn't want to look at his or her problems, they do all kinds of things to try to cover them up and hide them,” Diggorsfeld went on. “It is a way to pretend they don't exist. If they do admit their shortcomings, they blame others for them. Parental accusation is a convenient means for refusing to look yourself in the eye. Saying that your parents caused your selfish habits, blaming them for everything that is wrong in your life, is the easiest way in the world to avoid facing who you really are.”

“But we tried to help Amanda face herself realistically and see her self-centeredness, just as we were rooting out problem attitudes within ourselves.”

“Exactly. You were doing your best to help Amanda face her own self and learn personal accountability. You wouldn't let her hide from her problems. And she despises you for attempting to carry out that function in her life—exactly as God ordained that you should. Those who look to accountability, and try to make other people do so, will always be blamed and accused.”

“But why, Timothy?” asked Jocelyn.

“Because accountability is uncomfortable. We'll squirm out of it any way we can. It's human nature. But the only way to grow and mature is to
face
what you are, what you have made of yourself, what has been the result of your choices. There's no one to blame, no one to point the finger of accusation at but yourself. As uncomfortable as we find it, personal accountability is the straightest and quickest road to maturity.”

“That is why Amanda resented me, all right,” sighed Charles, “almost from the first moment I tried to impose an accountability to scriptural principles in our home.”

“But why is Hugh so hostile?” said Jocelyn. “At least Amanda's resentments make some sense. But this letter from Hugh utterly bewilders me.”

“There will always be those who will encourage blame of others, as your brother-in-law has done,” replied Timothy. “I doubt he understands the basic principles of accountability and authority, otherwise he would have encouraged Amanda to get her own heart right. How he cannot understand them, being a lawyer, is a puzzle. But the world functions according to different principles. I do not know the man, but the fact that he offered such a willing ear to a young person's complaints tells me that he does not grasp some basic and essential principles about the proper ordering of relationships. He had an opportunity to help Amanda, to turn her heart in the only direction where help is to be found, back toward you. Instead, he has justified her anger and done her the gravest disservice possible. I am sorry to say it, but your brother-in-law is not Amanda's friend.”

“Oh . . . I feel so bad for Amanda!” Jocelyn sighed.

“It is her own
self
that she has never faced,” said Timothy. You tried to help her see herself clearly, as it is a parent's duty to do. You did not coddle her self-will, you exposed it. Thus you are temporarily seen as the enemy to her independence.”

“Will she ever come back to us, Timothy?”

“I cannot say, Jocelyn. Such is certainly my prayer. But there are two kinds of responses prodigals make. The one, when the knock of personal accountability comes at his heart's door, answers it and begins to look at himself or herself honestly and realistically. Suddenly the blame and accusation of others falls away, and he sees his condition for what it is—of his
own
making. Such a one is at that moment ready to arise and go to his father, and say, ‘I am at last ready to be a true man, because I am at last ready to be a son.' Or, if we are to be fair in this age of equality, ‘I am at last ready to be a true
woman
, because I am at last ready to be a
daughter
.'”

“And the other?” said Charles.

“Sadly, there is another kind of prodigal,” replied Timothy, “who, when that same knock comes at his or her heart's door, turns
away
from the call of accountability, and retreats yet deeper into the self-imposed dungeon of blame and accusation toward others. It is at such times when they need wise friends and mentors and elders who will speak the truth to them of their need to come out and into the light of self-examination and personal accountability. Unfortunately, there are many who will feed such attitudes of self, for reasons and motives of their own.”

“How do you know which kind someone like Amanda is?”

“One cannot know,” answered Timothy. “All you can do is pray for light, for an opening of the eyes . . . and wait.”