The Gypsy Moon (7 page)

“Well, some other time, then. Thank you so much for all your efforts. They’re greatly appreciated.”

As the pastor turned away, Lang approached Gabby. “Guess who I found down the way. An old friend of yours.”

He turned and grinned as a woman appeared from behind him.

“Betje!” Gabby exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

Betje was wearing an artistic sort of dress, loose fitting but gaily colored. She laughed and said, “Why are you so shocked that I would come to a church event? Where have you been? I haven’t seen you for so long.”

The two women embraced and spent a few moments catching up while Lang stood by idly. Betje had become an artist. She had spent several years learning to paint in France. It was
also apparent she had picked up some bad habits, and Gabby noticed a hardness in her friend she hated to see.

“Listen, we’re going out on Frederick’s boat. You must come with us—you and Lang.”

Gabby shook her head. “You know I can’t do that.” Frederick Godfried was a wealthy friend of Lang’s who owned a yacht, albeit a small one. The boat had earned a bad reputation, for it was the scene of frequent parties that ended in drunkenness and immorality, so it was believed.

“Come along,” Lang said. “You need to relax. We’ll have a good time.”

Betje nodded. “Gabby, you work all the time. You need to have some fun once in a while.”

The argument went on for a considerable time, and finally Betje grew angry. “You’re going to be a stale, dried-up old woman!” She turned and walked away, leaving Lang alone with Gabby.

“She put it badly, but she’s right. You need to learn to relax and have some fun. Besides, nothing bad will happen on the yacht. I promise you that.”

“I don’t think you can promise that, Lang. You know what Frederick is like. You’ve been on that boat before, haven’t you?”

He flushed. “Once or twice.”

“And people were always drinking and partying and doing all kinds of things, weren’t they?”

“We don’t have to take part in any of that.”

“I wouldn’t find it much fun to be around a bunch of people who are drinking.”

Suddenly, Lang stepped forward and put his hands on her arm. “Look, you know I want to marry you, don’t you?”

Gabby was startled at his words. Lang had tempted her before, testing her virtue, but she had always drawn a strict line. Now she stared at him. “You’ve never mentioned marriage before.”

“Well, it’s time I settled down. I think we’d have a good
marriage. You know I care deeply for you.” When she was silent, he added, “And I believe you care for me.”

Gabby was confused by his sudden mention of marriage. She did like Lang Zeeman very much, but it was a big leap from liking someone to marrying him. She felt as if she were on a huge cliff about to step off into nothingness. For lack of a better answer, she said, “It’s something we’ll have to talk about, Lang.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her. His lips were demanding, and she gave herself to him for a moment. She was not unaware of the desire she felt for his affection. She had never denied that part of her nature and thought women who did deny it were foolish. She was stirred by his kiss, and when he drew his head back he laughed.

“You see. There’s a tiger in you somewhere. Come along. I’ll take you home. You can get out of that garb, and then we’ll go out for coffee and talk about it.”

Gabby nodded with relief. “That will be fine.” She pulled all her things together, and they went to the edge of the park, where the horse and wagon waited. On their way to her great-aunt’s house, they spoke lightly of how the evening fund-raiser had gone, but Gabby’s thoughts were elsewhere. Her relationship with Lang was the most serious thing she had faced since the loss of her parents. She had thought of marriage often and prayed that God would send her the right man. She knew that Lang Zeeman was not a Christian, although he was a member of the church. She kept up the light banter with him but knew she would have to make a decision soon.

CHAPTER FOUR

A Change of Direction

Gabby strolled along the dike, looking out over the choppy water held back by the structure in the never-ending battle with the ocean. The August sun beat down strongly, warming the back of her neck and nearly blinding her as it struck the water. Blinking, she turned away and continued walking slowly, occupied with fond thoughts of this country she had come to love so dearly. Ever since she had made her life in Holland, she had been intensely aware of the constant struggle between water and dry land. She often found herself quoting Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner” under her breath: “Water, water, everywhere . . .” She had heard one Dutchman summarize the goal of the country in one sentence: “It is to possess the land where water wants to be.”

She had studied her history well and knew that little by little the country was sinking into the sea. In fact, half of the country now sat below sea level. The Dutch had fought for centuries to stave off the attacks of the sea and to control the rivers, which were prone to flooding. They had constructed an amazing system of dikes, along with canals and pumps to drain the land. Without this elaborate system, much of the country would be under water, including the main cities and ports.

Overhead, a flock of sheldrakes scored the summer sky, which was as blue as she had ever seen it and seemed solid enough to strike a match on. She had recently been reading about the social changes that the challenging sea had made
in the Dutch way of life. As flooded lands were reclaimed for farming, some fishermen adapted their skills to growing crops, and later many of these farmers became industrial workers. Gabby had always been aware of the Dutch character and admired their courage, their tidiness and humor, and the smugness and the conservative streak that ran through them. She believed, as did others, that the Dutch had been formed by the waters surrounding them.

Gabby stopped by an orange cat lying on the dike that had been watching her approach with heavy-lidded eyes. It rose and stretched and then pressed against her leg. When she bent over and stroked it, it purred loudly.

“Nice kitty,” Gabby said. She stroked it again, and suddenly the cat jerked away and slashed at her with its claws. The claws caught in her sleeve and ripped it, and she jerked up. “Aren’t you a fine one!” she muttered. “See if I ever pet you again.” The cat looked at her and then lay down like a sphinx, paws out straight and head held high, looking out at the canal.

Gabby shook her head and laughed. She continued her walk along the dike and then turned and crossed one of the many bridges that spanned a still stream. She stopped at the top of the arch and looked down. The water was so clear she could see her facial features, and she studied them for a moment almost clinically.
I’m twenty-four years old now,
she thought,
and where am I going? I’ll never win a beauty contest, but that’s all right. I don’t want to anyway.
The thought amused her, and for a time she sat there taking in the sight of the three windmills that stood like silent sentinels watching the sea. Usually, the blades turned slowly, sucking the water up from the land and pumping it drop by drop back into the sea in an endless cycle. She had always loved the windmills—they seemed to have a graceful beauty for all their size. No sight stirred her more than a series of windmills spinning rapidly in a stiff breeze.

She crossed to the other side of the bridge and leaned over
to pick up several small stones. She tossed one of them into the stream and watched the circles spread from the spot where it had hit the water. She threw another stone a little farther down the stream. She listened for the
plop
and watched the concentric circles form. They struck against the first ones, creating small areas of confusion that disturbed the pattern. The circles reminded her of life.
When you throw one stone,
she thought,
it’s very simple. It sends out circles with nothing to interfere, and everything is orderly and neat and systematic. But when you throw another stone, that pattern is broken.
She impulsively threw the rest of the stones. They scattered, and there was no pattern of geometric circles at all. Simply confusion.
That’s the way it is. But life isn’t one stone falling into the water making a pattern. It’s a dozen or twenty, and soon everything is confused.

“Oh, God,” she prayed quietly, “it’s so hard for me sometimes to see a pattern in my life. If life were only like that one stone making one set of circles, I could understand. But it’s not like that. There are so many things about my life and about being a Christian that I don’t understand, and I’m troubled about them, Lord. But I know that you are never confused and that you’re not the author of confusion. So even when my life becomes confused and shattered, I know you understand each tiny thing that touches my life. And you have said that all things work together for good to those who love you. So, Lord, let me love you so that the patterns of my life will always be under your gracious and merciful hands.” She smiled and looked up. “Thank you, Jesus, for listening to this foolish person!” Gabby had never been able to establish a regular prayer time. She preferred to pray spontaneously, dialoguing with her Lord whenever she felt the desire to commune with Him.

She watched until the patterns in the water were completely dissipated, and then she continued on her way, looking up at the opaque sky, where a pale sun cast down its beams with a benevolent warmth.

****

“You haven’t said anything lately about your plans, Gabby.”

Looking up from the sink where she was washing dishes, Gabby regarded her aunt with a questioning look. “Well, there’s nothing much to tell, Aunt Liza.”

Liza Burke picked up a Delft saucer and polished it carefully before putting it in the cabinet. “I haven’t said anything before, but it seems to me that you’re not very excited about your engagement to Lang.”

Gabby started to answer but then pressed her lips together and moved the small dishrag around the surface of the bowl. The heat had raised a fine sheen of perspiration on her brow, and a tendril of her luxurious brown hair fell over her forehead. She brushed it away with a quick gesture. “Well, he’s been in the army for two years. We haven’t seen all that much of each other. It’s been difficult, but then, I suppose it’s difficult for all couples while the men are serving their time in the service.”

Gabby’s answer did not satisfy her aunt. She turned and studied the profile of this young woman who had come to fill such a large part of her life and that of her husband. Being childless, Liza had once turned her interests to other things, but since Gabby’s parents had died, she had poured herself out for the young woman. Never a day passed that she didn’t thank God for her. “I don’t mean to be critical, dear. It just seems that you’re not very excited about your upcoming marriage.”

Gabby swirled the dishrag around, dipped the dish into the rinse water, and set it on the drying rack. “It’s just hard to be engaged to a man while he’s serving somewhere far away.” She whirled around and asked her aunt, “Are you unhappy that I’m engaged to Lang?”

“Your uncle and I just want you to be happy.”

“Well, I
am
happy. Of course, it’s simply not my way to
set off sparks. I wish I could be as romantic and overflowing as the movie stars in those silly movies.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t want you to imitate them,” Liza said with a smile. She was troubled, however, about Lang. Although she did not let it show in her features, she was thinking of the many conversations she and Dalton had had concerning Gabby’s relationship with Lang Zeeman. They seemed to be the only ones who were concerned, for Zeeman was handsome, wealthy, and likely to do well in the world of business. His father was not in good health, and one day Lang would run the large factory and have control of the family fortune. They had often spoken of something in the young man they found disturbing. “He’s not steady, Liza,” Dalton had said many times. “And he’s too easy in his ways. You know how many affairs he’s been accused of having with other women.”

Liza had never mentioned Lang’s freewheeling history to Gabby. He did go to church fairly often, but there was little to indicate any true devotion to the Lord.

Her aunt’s silence troubled Gabby. She truly loved Liza and Dalton Burke. They had taken her in when she had nobody, and she not only owed them her devotion but was glad to give it. Now she suddenly laid the dishrag down and put her arm around Liza’s waist. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “Don’t worry about me.”

Liza returned Gabby’s smile and said no more, but she felt a heaviness in her heart she could not deny.

****

Three days had passed since Gabby’s conversation with her aunt concerning Lang Zeeman, but Gabby couldn’t get the brief encounter off her mind. When such things happened, she usually assumed there was a reason for it. Every night she prayed, “God, show me if there’s something I need to know about our engagement. I want to please you in this as in all other things.” She spent hours walking along the
canals and delighting in the tulip fields. She thought about her relationship with Lang and tried to put it into perspective. She remembered throwing the single stone into the canal and watching as the clear symmetrical circles made their way outward from the first tiny splash. She longed for the same simplicity in her own life. But then she also remembered how the other stones had disturbed this pattern. She felt there was a parallel to this in her life, although she could not put her finger on it.

Lang was by far the most fascinating man she had ever met. His dramatic good looks and charm drew people to him—especially women. Gabby was aware that he had known many women, but she had resolutely decided not to let that bother her. It was her conviction that when a man and a woman came together in marriage, they needed to shut the door on the past. Of course, she had nothing in her past to shut out, but she felt a disquietude in thinking of the many young women Lang had dated. They had not been innocent flirtations—she knew that, for Betje had kept her informed. Betje, in fact, had warned her, “You can’t expect a man like Lang to stop looking at other women. They look at him, and he’s a man. He’s going to look back. So don’t let him break your heart.”