Kathleen Winsor - Forever Amber

But when John came to tell her goodbye before he left for the army, Lord William rode out to meet him in a threatening rage and ordered him off the grounds. Judith cried for hours when she heard about it, for now he was gone away to war with never so much as a kiss between them.

A few days later Lord William and her four brothers went to join the King and with them went most of the able-bodied men on the estate and from the village. The war began to seem real to her now and she hated it, resented the intrusion into her life which had been so secure, so gracious and happy.

As Lord William had predicted, success ran with the Royalists. His Majesty’s nephew, gigantic, handsome Prince Rupert, won victory after victory, until almost all England but the southeast corner was in the King’s hands. But the rebels did not give up, and the months began to drag on.

Judith was busy, for there was a great deal to do now that the men were gone. She had no time to practice her dancing or singing, to embroider or to play the spinet. But no matter how much work she did she continued to think of John Mainwaring, wondering when he would come back to her, still planning for a future untouched by civil war. Her mother, who guessed easily enough at the reason for Judith’s thoughtful quietness, impatiently ordered her to put him out of her mind. She hinted that she and Lord William were planning another and more suitable marriage, to a man whose loyalty was unquestioned.

But Judith did not want or intend to forget John. She could no more have considered marrying another man than she could have accepted some strange new God thrust suddenly upon her.

When John had been gone five months he managed to send her a note, telling her that he was well and that he loved her. “We’ll be married, Judith, when the war’s over—no matter what our parents have to say.” And he added that as soon as he could he would come, somehow, to see her again.

It was mid-June before he was able to keep his promise. Then, making up some story to tell her mother, she rode out to meet him by the little stream which ran between the two properties. It was the first time in all the years they had known each other that they had been perfectly alone, free, and unwatched; and though Judith had felt apprehensive and nervously embarrassed—now she was off her horse and into his arms without hesitation or misgiving. Never before had she felt so sure of herself, so right and content.

“I haven’t long, Judith,” he said swiftly, kissing her. “I shouldn’t be here at all—But I had to see you! Here—let me look at you. Oh, how pretty you are—prettier even than I remembered!”

She clung to him desperately, thinking that she could never let him go again. “Oh, John! John, darling—how I’ve missed you!”

“It’s wonderful to hear you say that! I’ve been afraid—But it doesn’t matter, does it—that our parents are quarreling? We love each other just the same—”

“Just the same?” she cried, her throat choking with tears of happiness and dread. “Oh, John! We love each other more! I never knew how much I loved you till you were gone and I was afraid that—Oh, this terrible, terrible war! I hate it! When will it end, John? Will it end soon?” She looked up at him like a little girl begging a favour, and her blue eyes were large and wistful and frightened.

“Soon, Judith?”

His face darkened and for several moments he was quiet while she watched him anxiously, fear creeping through her.

“Won’t it be soon, John?”

He slipped one arm about her waist and they started to walk, slowly, toward the river. The sky was blue with great puffs of fleecy clouds, as though a shower had just cleared; the air was full of moisture and the smell of damp earth. Along the banks grew delicate alder and willow trees and white dogwood was in bloom.

“I don’t think it will be over soon, Judith,” he said finally. “It may last a great while longer—perhaps for years.”

Judith stopped, and looked up at him incredulously. At seventeen, six months was an age, one year eternity. She could not and would not face the prospect of years going by in this way, separated.

“For years, John!” she cried. “But it can’t! What will we do? We’ll be old before we even begin to live! John—” Suddenly she grabbed him by the forearms. “Take me with you! We can be married now. Oh, I don’t care how I have to live—” she said quickly as she saw him begin to interrupt. “Other women go with the camp, I know they do, and I can go too! I’m not afraid of anything—I can—”

“Judith, darling—” His voice was pleading, his eyes tender and full of anguish. “We can’t get married now. I wouldn’t do that to you for anything in the world. Of course there are women following the camp—but not women like you, Judith. No, darling—there’s nothing for us to do but wait—It’ll end some day—It can’t go on forever—”

Suddenly everything that had happened this past year seemed real to her and sharp and with permanent meaning. He was going away, soon, this very day—and when would she see him again? Perhaps not for years—perhaps never—Suppose he was killed—She checked herself swiftly at that, not daring even to admit the possibility. There was no use pretending any longer. The War was real. It was going to affect their lives. It had already changed everything she had ever hoped for or believed in—it could still take away her future, deny her the simplest wants and needs—

“But, John!” she cried now, bitter and protesting. “What will happen to us then? What will you do if the King wins? And what will become of me if Parliament wins? Oh, John, I’m scared! How is it going to end?”

John turned his head, his jaw setting. “God, Judith, I don’t know. What do people do with their lives when a war ends? We’ll work it out someway, I suppose.”

Suddenly Judith covered her face with her hands and began to cry, all the loneliness that was past and still to come flooding up within her, bursting out of her control. And John took her into his arms again, trying to soothe and comfort her.

“Don’t cry, Judith darling. I’ll come back to you. Someday we’ll have our home and our family. Someday we’ll have each other—”

“Someday, John!” Her arms caught at him desperately, her face was frightened and her eyes reckless. “Someday! But what if someday never comes!”

An hour later he was gone and Judith rode back to the house, happy and at peace, content as never before in her life. For now—no matter what happened, no matter who won or lost the war—they were sure of each other. Sometimes they might have to be apart, but they could never be really separated again. Life seemed simpler to her, and more complete.

At first the thought of seeing her mother again, of looking her squarely in the face, confused and frightened her. She felt as she had when she was a little girl and Lady Anne had always known —even without seeing her at it—whether she had been into mischief. But after the first few uncomfortable days were safely past Judith let herself settle into the luxury of remembering. Every smile, every kiss and touch, each phrase of love, she brought forth again and again like precious keepsakes, to solace her empty hours, comfort her doubts, banish the dark enclosing fears.

Only a month later news came of a great Royalist victory at Roundway Down and Lord William wrote his wife to expect peace at any time. Judith’s hopes soared with wild optimism, heedless of Lady Anne’s stern warning that neither John Mainwaring nor any member of his family would ever set foot on Rose Lawn again. If only the war would end, ho matter how it ended, they would work out their problems someway. John had said so.