Three more days passed. Days of anguish and silent misery such as JoBeth had never spent before in her entire life. JoBeth was well aware that the whole Cady household seemed to be walking on eggshells as they tried to avoid mentioning the subject of Wesley Rutherford around her.
Finally a note from Wes came, asking her to meet him. Heart racing, she slipped out of the house at a time when no one would miss her and hurried to their favorite place.
Although she had prayed, hers had been rather undirected prayers: for courage, for strength. She had not dared pray for Wes to change his mind. In her heart of hearts, she knew that the parting she dreaded was about to come. Even knowing that this was inevitable, she had no way to prepare herself for it.
When she reached him, they clasped hands silently. Was it her imagination, or had Wes aged overnight? He looked pale and there were dark circles under his eyes, as though he had not slept. JoBeth’s heart winced in sympathy, as if his pain were her own. Only she fully understood how heart-wrenching it was for him to leave the home that had been his own since childhood, to say good-bye to the aunt and uncle he cherished. Worse still was the way of the leave-taking. In disgrace. As a turncoat. A traitor.
For a minute, they simply looked at each other wordlessly. Then Wes said brokenly, “I’m so sorry, JoBeth. The last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you.”
“I know.”
“I thought it would all be so different—our future, I mean. I even dreamed we might be married this summer. Now that’s out of the question. Your relatives would never let you marry me now.”
Impulsively JoBeth burst out, “Oh, Wes, I’d marry you tomorrow, with or without permission.”
He looked at her with a slight smile. “I wager you would, JoBeth. That’s your sweet, generous nature. But I wouldn’t ask that of you. It was wrong of me to even—”
“No, it wasn’t. I love you, Wes. I say yes, now or whenever,” JoBeth rushed on, knowing it was unseemly, unladylike, unheard of, but she didn’t care. What did all that matter now? There was so much more at stake here than that.
“Bless you for saying that. If it weren’t for you”—he paused—“I would feel totally alone, abandoned. I hope to God I’m doing the right thing, that it’s worth all the people that are being hurt by my decision.”
His sorrow was too deep for tears. Anything she might have said to ease his suffering would have seemed shallow, banal.
They walked along in silence, holding hands. There was so much they wanted to say to each other, but it was difficult to speak. Each was locked into a private sense of desolation. Memories still fresh of the past, dreams of the future they had hoped to share. They were both conscious of the heavy shadow hovering over them, the good-bye that must be said.
They climbed to the top of the hill, where they could look over the town. A soft summer dusk began to fall, and as it deepened, here and there a light winked on. People were setting their oil lamps at the window to welcome others or on a table ready for a family dinner. A kind of timelessness stretched over the scene. From where they watched, it all looked so safe, secure, almost like a toy village. It seemed impossible that such a picturesque scene could harbor hostility, anger, and flaming antagonism.
Reluctantly JoBeth said, “I’d better be getting home, Wes. There’ll be questions…”
“Yes, I know, we have to go. But first …” He drew her close, pressed his cheek against hers. Gently stroking her hair, he said, “Before we do, I have something to show you.” He drew a small chamois bag from his pocket. “I guess I was too optimistic—took too much for granted. Here, look for yourself.” He pressed the bag into JoBeth’s hand. She untied the string that closed it, and shook out the contents. Two rings fell out into her palm. Each was a narrow band with two sculpted clasped hands. “Press it gently on the back,” Wes instructed in a low voice. JoBeth did and the tiny hands sprang apart, revealing a heart.
“Oh, Wes!” she breathed softly. “How lovely!”
“I had them especially made from a twenty-dollar gold piece, by a Philadelphia goldsmith. One for you and one for me. The smaller one is yours. I intended to give it to you at the end of the summer, when I planned to ask you to marry me. Like a betrothal ring.”
“They still can be, Wes. Betrothal rings.”
“You mean that? You still would marry me, in spite of—”
“Of course, and not in spite of, Wes—because of. I admire you so much. I respect your courage.” She hesitated. Then, with a catch in her throat, she said, “I love you.”
He drew her into his arms, held her hard against his pounding heart. “JoBeth, it’s you who is brave. How did I ever deserve you?”
She clung to him, feeling her heart throb wildly, feeling dizzy with the enormity of what was happening. After a minute, he released her and took one of her small hands in his. “Here, I’ll put yours on, then you can put mine on.”
She tugged her hand away. “But Wes, I can’t wear mine on my finger, where everyone will notice—” Her voice faltered. “I wish it could be for all the world to see.”
“Of course. I should have thought of that myself.”
“I’m sorry—”
“No, I understand. It’s better, safer that way,” he said quietly.
“I’ll wear it around my neck on a chain. That way it will be closer to my heart.”
“What a girl you are, JoBeth,” Wes said softly, taking her tenderly into his arms again. They kissed and in the kiss was tenderness, sweetness, commitment, and promise. Finally they drew apart and, arms around each other’s waist, started back down the hillside.
As they passed the churchyard, Wes paused, looked at the old brick building heavily hung with ivy. He glanced at JoBeth as if for consent. She nodded, understanding what he meant. He agilely hurdled the stone wall and then, putting his hands around her waist, lifted her over it. Winding their way through the cemetery with its monuments, crosses, and stone lambs, they moved into the arch of the entrance to the church.
Wes took out his ring and handed it to JoBeth, and she gave him hers. Then he took her left hand and said solemnly, “JoBeth, if anything should happen, or if I shouldn’t come back, I don’t want you to feel that this is binding—”
“Don’t!” With her right hand, she placed her fingers on his mouth, stopping whatever else he was going to say. “Never! Don’t even think it!”
“All I meant was, if—if that did happen, I would want you to feel free to find someone else—”
She slipped her hand down from his lips and placed her palm against his heart.
“Wesley, let’s pledge ourselves to each other for now. No one knows what’s ahead. What we feel at this moment is what counts.”
“You’re right.” Wes’s voice was husky as he slipped the ring on her third finger.
“I, John Wesley Rutherford, pledge my life, my faithfulness, my enduring love, to you now and forever. Now you,” he coached gently.
“I, Johanna Elizabeth Davison, pledge myself to keep this promise to love and wait for you. However long the separation, however long the war lasts, I will be true.”
Wes leaned down to kiss her and discovered that her cheeks were wet with tears. He wiped them away gently with both thumbs. “Oh, darling, don’t cry.” Then they were in each other’s arms again. She heard the drumbeat of his heart where her ear was pressed against his chest. At length Wes said gently, “It’s getting dark. I’d better get you home.”
“When will I see you again?”
His mouth tightened. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I’m packed, ready to go. I could see that things were not going to get better. Too much has been said that can’t be unsaid. The sooner I leave, the better, the less unhappiness and resentment I’ll cause.” He hesitated. “I’ve decided to leave tomorrow. On the morning train.”
“So soon? Oh, Wes!” she exclaimed, then said, “I’ll come to see you off.”
He pressed her hands, shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” he said slowly. “To be seen with me might—well, it would get back to your family. They would be angry. It would just make things harder—”
“Oh, it’s so unfair. So cruel!” she cried. They stood there in the darkness, heart to heart, both fighting to hold back tears. After a moment, hand in hand, they walked on, not talking.
On the porch post of the Cadys’ house, a lantern had been lit and shone out, illuminating the way from the gate. They walked up the path with lagging steps. Just before they reached the porch, Wes pulled her gently back. Turning so the light shone on her face, he took it in both his hands, lifted it, and looked down into it. “I want to remember how you look, so after I’m gone, I can close my eyes and see you.”
“I’ll send you my picture,” she whispered.
“Yes, do that,” he said huskily. Then he took one of her shiny dark curls, wound it gently around his finger. “Good-bye, darling JoBeth. I do love you so.” He drew a deep breath. “Maybe it won’t be long, and after the war, when I come back, we can marry”—he halted, adding in a voice that shook a little—“and live happily ever after.”
Before she went in the house, JoBeth took off the ring Wes had placed on her finger and put it back inside the small chamois bag, then into her pocket. All evening long, every once in a while, she would put her hand down and touch it as if to see if it was there and if what had taken place between her and Wes that afternoon had really happened. She amazed herself that even while her thoughts were on Wes, she was able to carry on a conversation at supper, help Annie clear the table and assist her in the kitchen, then hold her aunt’s skein of yarn while she rolled it into a ball. Was he packing, making his sad farewells, meeting coldness and disapproval as he prepared to leave? Not once did she give way to her feelings. Perhaps this was preparation for what lay ahead of her in the time she and Wes would be separated by this cruel war.
It wasn’t until later, when she was alone in the privacy of her own bedroom, that she took out the ring. Inside the little bag, she found a piece of paper folded in tiny squares. Unfolding it, she saw that Wes had written something on it. Taking it closer to the oil lamp by her bed, she read it.
My Darling JoBeth.
In medieval times, the exchange of rings in betrothal was made in church. I found this and thought it appropriate for us. It’s from Hosea 2:19-20: “I will betroth you to me forever, I will betroth you in loving kindness and understanding, I will betroth you with faithfulness.”
Ever your loving,
Wesley
JoBeth reread the Scripture several times. She wasn’t familiar with it. However, Wesley was right. They were pledged to each other. Whether anyone else knew it or not, she intended to keep the promise she had made that day forever.