Interlude (24 page)

“But, little by little, I found myself confronting each of those moods with the truth—that God was in charge, that I wasn't paying for past sins, and that He was going to set me free.”

“So how did you prepare for your freedom?”

“By believing it was coming! By planning my conversations with you. By exercising and trying to stay in some sort of physical shape. And by refusing to give in to all the negative feelings.”

Betty suddenly remembered the woman who had spoken at Erica's women's group. Ruth somebody. She had virtually said the same thing. “Jon, do you know what God's purpose was in letting you be kidnapped?”

“I'm really not sure, at least not yet. But maybe somehow I can help other people who are struggling with something. Do you know what I mean?”

Betty nodded. “Trapped is trapped,” she said, remembering some of her own desperate moments.

“That's right,” Jon smiled. “And truth is truth.”

“Jim? It's me, Betty! How are you?”

Jim's voice was sharp with excitement. “Betty! Is Jon with you?”

“He's right here and he wants to talk to you. But listen, Jim. You've got to tell me what to do. The State Department paid my way here from Nairobi, and they'll either pay my way back to Kenya or to California. But Jim, I never even got to Uganda. All that airfare has been wasted. Should I just go on to Africa and meet Jon in California later?”

Oh, God. Please make him say no.

“Betty, you can't leave Jon now.”

“I don't want to leave him, Jim. And of course he doesn't want me to go. But what about the money? We're talking about more than two thousand dollars.”

“You come back here with Jon, and we'll figure out some way to pay for it. There's no way you're going to Africa now, Betty. That would be ridiculous at this point. Maybe you can both go together in a few weeks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. Now let me talk to Jon.”

Betty listened with a smile as the two friends joked with each other about Jon's Beirut interlude. Jon's face almost glowed as he spoke.

With every passing day, he had become much more his old self. His mental focus had improved, his fear of crowds had diminished, and he was beginning to talk about the future with genuine interest. The only thing he couldn't seem to grasp was his international “fame.” After the call to California, he and Betty briefly greeted the throng of reporters lining the fence. And as they walked around the hospital grounds, Jon grew thoughtful.

“You know, I've worked in the media for years, and I've seen these flash-in-the-pan stories happen to other people. I've even contributed to them. But this is my first time on the receiving end. You've been faced with this for months, haven't you? How have you handled it?”

Betty had to laugh. “Well at first it was rather fascinating. In fact I'd say the intrigue of being on the news sort of numbed me to the initial pain of your kidnapping. And in the beginning I got a lot of supportive letters from complete strangers who were horrified by your disappearance and the canceled wedding. Most people really do have big hearts. But it doesn't take long to get tired of the intrusion.”

“I'll tell you what I don't understand. Why are they treating me like a hero? I sat out six months of life in my underwear, and then all of a sudden I was released. Some guys have been in there for years, and it sounds like they're still sane and hopeful. They're the heroes.”

“I guess it's the same thing you were talking about before. Lots of people are stuck in their own miserable circumstances, and for the moment, you symbolize freedom to them. You overcame adversity and survived. Maybe it gives people hope just to see that you made it.”

Jon looked at Betty, still marveling at the miracle of her presence beside him. He abruptly changed the subject. “When are we getting married, Betty? Shall we find a chaplain and get it over with here?”

“Get it over with? Is that how you feel about marrying me?”

He shook his head. “That's how I feel about waiting. What are we waiting for?”

Betty considered his question with ambivalence. She envisioned a romantic, candlelit wedding. She remembered her ice-blue silk dress, still encased in plastic. Then she thought about all the phone calls she would have to make, the invitations that would have to be written, all the arrangements another ceremony would require. Jon was right. It would be easier to get it over with. “There's just one thing that bothers me about getting married here, Jon.”

Jon felt an unexpected rush of insecurity. “What's that?”

“The people that prayed for you, for us. There are so many new friends you've never even met. The guys that recorded my song. The men and women at Erica's church. Even some of the reporters in L.A. really seemed to care. A lot of those people made me promise that they'd be invited to the wedding. And I said yes.”

“Well, if that's a way I can thank people for praying, then let's do it.”

“I think that's what it's really all about. And there's another thing. Erica's husband Ken is an Episcopal priest. And I've been thinking that I'd like for him to perform the wedding ceremony. You'll like him a lot. And for some reason, I just know he'll have some wonderful things to say to us.”

Jon brushed his hand across her hair. “Your life has changed a lot in the past six months, hasn't it, Betty? And I have a feeling the changes have been more good than bad.

Betty had yet to describe her own ordeal for him. The bitter tears. The crippling depression. The brutal disappointments. The near-breaking point.

All at once she remembered the inner promise she had received in answer to her most desperate prayer. “Jon is alive . . . he stills loves you . . . he will soon be free.”

In Jon's ordeal, and in hers, there had been a common ground. They had both been powerless. God had met them in their despair. He had revealed truth to them.

And it was that truth, once they had chosen to believe it, that had set each of them free—first in spirit, then in actual fact.

10

D
ense fog had shrouded Laguna Beach all night. By eleven in the morning the sun was beginning to make its presence known, and by the time Betty and Jon arrived at Victoria Beach the sky had taken on a delicate blue opalescence. The sea was almost silent, lapping against damp rocks. Seabirds cried out across the still gray water as the couple made their way over stone and sand to the base of the old tower.

“It's cold,” Betty shivered, untying a teal green sweater around her shoulders and pulling it over her head. “I thought it was supposed to be in the seventies today.” She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets, trying to keep them warm.

“I'm going to see if my cameras still work,” Jon said as he started to tinker with one of his Nikons. Vince Angelo had shipped Jon's equipment to Betty after the kidnapping, and he wasn't quite willing to believe that the sensitive controls had survived the journey.

She watched him as he tiptoed around tide pools, focusing and refocusing on the beach's picturesque vistas. Soon Jon was actually to become her husband—the wedding had been rescheduled for the Saturday after next. With growing hope, Betty was beginning to imagine that their unusual love story really might have a storybook conclusion after all.

Betty and Jon had returned from Weisbaden just over a month before. By now the media attention had died down, and although their wedding might have been fair game for the press, they had taken every precaution to ensure a meaningful and private ceremony at Ken and Erica's church. With that in mind, invitations had been re-sent, arrangements had been remade. More importantly, Jon had sworn on a Bible, on his grandparents' grave, and on all the stars in the heavens that he would not leave California before the wedding no matter what.

Betty noticed a folded piece of paper in her pocket. She reached in and pulled out a poem she had written.
Oh good. I almost forgot.
She'd intended to give it to Jon that day but had decided to read it one last time.

As diligently as she'd tried to write a joyful tribute to their love, the shadows of past fears and uncertainties still fell across her words.

Good grief. I hope he understands.

Oh, come into my silence, Love,
and teach me how to sing;
lovely the song but I am afraid
and courage is everything.
Oh, come into my stillness, Love,
and teach me how to dance;
I feel the rhythm, I know the steps
and now I must take the chance.
Oh, come into my darkness, Love,
and teach me to believe;
Bright is the treasure, dazzling the gift
So how can I not receive?

She smiled to herself as she looked up at Jon squinting through his viewfinder. His love for her was a dazzling gift indeed. He was the only man she'd ever met who really cared about her, wholeheartedly loving the person she was on the inside. He'd helped her understand herself and had endowed her personality with a dimension of self-respect and confidence that had never been there before. Combined with her limitless admiration for Jon, their powerful spiritual bond, and a healthy physical attraction, they seemed to have everything they could possibly need to be happy together.

Any doubts she still held about the future had nothing to do with Jon's failures and weaknesses. She feared only her own shortcomings. The fact was, Betty's behavior in Germany with Mike Brody still troubled her. It reminded her of a long-ago incident during her first marriage. An old flame had erupted into a bit of an inferno one night during one of her husband's absences. Betty had barely escaped being consumed by the heat.

Was she a faithless lover by nature? The old question “Will love last?” had been answered months ago with the rather unsettling response: “It's up to you.” Was Betty capable of making and keeping a marital commitment? No one on earth could be as perfectly suited to her as Jon Surrey-Dixon. She knew that to the depths of her soul. So why had she allowed someone else even to touch her?

When she glanced at Jon again, he was taking a photograph of her, the poem still in her hand. Before she could think to smile, the shutter clicked.

I'm glad he can't capture my thoughts on film.

Jon turned his back to the sun, removed a film cartridge from the camera and dropped it into his camera bag. When he sat down next to her on the cement step, she handed him the poem without a word.

He was silent for a few moments as he read it. Finally he said, “You're still afraid?”

She bit her lip. “Well, I'm really not. At least not as much as I was a few weeks ago. It's funny, because I wasn't really concerned at all when we were going to get married the first time. I was just starry-eyed and anxious to say you were mine once and for all.”

“I guess we've both had a lot of time to think about marriage over the past seven months.” His eyes narrowed as he appraised her sober face. “I hope you aren't changing your mind about getting married, Betty. Because I certainly haven't changed mine!”

She shook her head. “Of course I haven't. I would never change my mind.”

He gently touched her face. “So what is it you're worried about?”

“Making sure our love lasts, Jon.”

“Well if we made it through my captivity, surely we can make it through anything else. Is there something wrong, something I don't know about? I've noticed you've seemed a little, well, distant.” He hesitated, weighing his words. “It's not something about that man you went out with in Germany . . . what's his name, Mike?”

“Oh, Jon,” she groaned, wondering if he had been reading her mind a few moments before. “Please don't start that again! No, there's nothing wrong. I just don't want anything to
go
wrong. Everything is wonderful, and I guess I just don't want to ruin it somehow.”

“Betty, I think our love is a gift from God. He's in it too, you know. Maybe it's more than a matter of believing in human love. Sometimes that isn't enough. Maybe it's about believing in Him too.”

Teach me to believe.

Betty looked at her shoes for a full minute before she spoke. “Jon, there's something I haven't told you.”

“What's that, Betty?”

“Something happened after you left, and I just think I should tell you.”

“So tell me.” His voice was gentle, but she could hear a subtle note of fear in it.

“About six weeks after you left I was feeling terrible— exhausted and lightheaded. I was in Washington D.C. at a hostage family get-together. In fact that's when I met Vince Angelo. My period was two weeks late. And Jon, I thought I was pregnant.”

“So what happened?”

She shivered. There was no way he would ever comprehend the times of inner darkness she had passed through during his captivity. It was impossible to explain it now.

“I . . . I was feeling pretty despondent. You were gone, maybe forever. Here I'd been on television all over the world and was still being bombarded by reporters. And all I could think about was the shame of finding myself publicly pregnant and unmarried.”

“Oh, Betty, I'm sorry. That was my fault . . .”

“No! No, it wasn't. If there was anyone to blame, it was me. I could have very easily said no, and I didn't want to.”

He squeezed her hand. “I hate to say it, but I'm glad you didn't.”

“I know. It was a fantastic night. But I want to tell you what happened. I actually called an abortion clinic and made an appointment. I hadn't even taken a test for pregnancy yet, so I wasn't sure whether I was or not. Of course they were very accommodating. They said I could be tested at the clinic and then just go ahead with the abortion if it came back positive.”

“So did you go?”

“Well I struggled with the whole issue. The morality of abortion, the humiliation of pregnancy, the birth of a child without a father. I didn't know at that point if I'd ever see you alive again. I couldn't seem to come to any conclusion, so I got into a cab, and . . .”