Chapter 19: Broken Trust

I did my best. God forgive my weakness.

I thought Brian Frost was a decent boy who just needed a little guidance to reach a decision for Christ. Though they were young, I wanted to be sure that any boy my daughter was remotely interested in would be worthy of her. And during that summer I was frankly impressed with him. He attended church with us every Sunday. He recited the Bible verses he’d memorized over the week as we rode in the car. He memorized the books of the Bible and was fastest in his Sunday School class at finding verses.

Yes, I saw an occasional touch of hands in the back seat of the car. It was never prolonged and I saw it as a normal part of communication, not anything that had to do with them being a boy and a girl. They were only twelve years old! Physically, they looked nearly the same.

It came as much a shock to me as it did to my daughter when he quit going to church with us. It broke my heart to see my daughter looking at the empty spot in the car with such sadness on Sunday morning. It was like I didn’t know who she was.

And suddenly, she was in junior high school.

I believe one of the most fearsome things a father must face is his daughter becoming a woman. It certainly was for me. Dealing with Cassandra as she reached her thirteenth birthday was a series of bubbling giggles and screaming rages. Bea dealt with the feminine issues but Cassandra seemed to be a rudderless craft on the high seas of hormones. It seemed she had only one friend—a little redhaired girl named Liz. I was a little uncomfortable with the relationship as her family were papists. But Bea convinced me that Cassandra needed a girlfriend and was going through a difficult time in her life.

I didn’t go spying on my daughter. Not intentionally. After a particularly turbulent confrontation near Valentine’s Day, Bea took Cassandra to the mall. I never quite understood the connection between shopping and women, but it was definitely a soothing activity to the two of them.

“What would you know? You’re just one of them!” she’d shouted at me. I’d been near to striking my daughter and Bea rushed her to the car. I sat for a long time in my office staring at charts of airfields within a hundred miles. I had slightly more range than that with the little Piper, but it was really a Sunday brunch plane. I flew just to be in the air. Perhaps, I could heal things with my daughter if I took her for a little ride Sunday. We’d cut church—something that was unheard of. But where?

I wandered to my daughter’s room, a place of mystery where I seldom entered. It was as neat and tidy as she had been raised to keep it. Her bed was made, her clothes were hung. The drawers of her bureau were closed. On her walls were a few pictures. A reproduction of Dürer’s Praying Hands with her nighttime prayer printed on it. ‘Now I lay me down to sleep…’ A school pennant she’d received with her welcome packet to St. Joe Valley Junior High. Photos of the family, one I’d taken from the air of our home and airstrip, and one of the party she’d attended last spring.

There was something about that photo. Twenty or so children lined up in rows, almost like a school picture in its formality. I was quick to pick out Cassie and realize how much she had changed this year. Beside her stood Brian Frost. I picked up the picture to look more closely. They were holding hands!

This was, perhaps, more serious than I thought. The photo was in a cheap dime store frame and the back practically fell into my hands as I held it. I started to reassemble the photo when I saw the folded piece of paper and a small piece of fabric concealed behind the backing. I opened the paper.

‘Wednesday at 1:00. Memorize this map and then burn it!’ There were various landmarks and I could easily recognize that it was a map into the woods. That boy! Was this what had upset Cassandra so much last summer? She followed the map and he assaulted her? I was so furious, my hands shook. It would not do to confront her directly. She had been seduced. I carefully reassembled the frame and her treasures.

Trust.

It is easy to say that a child has broken her parent’s trust. But she is a child. How hard it is for that parent to admit he has broken his child’s trust.

I wondered for the thousandth time how my father had known I was getting in too deep with Emily Brown when I was sixteen. I never dared ask him. Had he simply assumed that because I was a teenager in the fifties, I had normal teenage drive and would seek to mate? Or had he discovered something. Found some sign in the garage. Followed me after school. Looked in on me in the youth fellowship. He had never accused me directly of doing anything inappropriate with Emily—only that in the future it would turn out badly.

If my father had, indeed, spied on me or found some evidence, he had never told me. I realized that was the burden of trust. Was my daughter in immediate danger? I thought not. She’d had nothing to do with the boy since the beginning of the schoolyear. In fact, it was likely that she had defended herself, thus ending the problem. Something I should be proud of. I would talk to her, certainly. It was time that a father had a talk with his teenage daughter and explained the facts of life. Boys have but one goal. If she submitted to them, she would end up pregnant and unable to support herself. She must shore herself up and put on the whole armor of God. Her loins girt with truth and her breasts with righteousness. Her shoes, the gospel of peace. A shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the spirit.

I went back to my office and the charts on my desk, praying all the while for my daughter’s protection and safety.

“Are we here to see another Bible College, Daddy?” Cassandra sighed. “I’ll just do Bethel when the time comes. There’s no need to cart me to other schools.”

“Honey, it’s too soon to be considering college,” I sighed. I had considered touring Grace Bible College while we were in Winona Lake, but I discarded that idea quickly. She hadn’t really wanted to fly today, but seemed to jump at the chance to skip church. I’d also noted the times for the spring revival but recognized the draw for my daughter was not going to a church service. “I was thinking Sunday brunch at the Winona Village Hotel. I hear it is a beautiful place with a view of the lake.”

“Okay.” It was a simple answer and we walked from the shuttle along the lakeshore and village street for a bit before we mounted the steps of the grand old hotel. I’d brought Bea here a year ago. The whole village grew up around the tent meetings and eventually the college. No alcohol was served in the city limits. It was generally a wholesome place. Even the various gift and craft stores that had grown up around the main street had a clean look.

“Oh, look at the animal prints,” I said, pointing in a shop window. It was a collection of wild baby animals in pastels. “Those would look nice on your wall.”

“Um… Maybe. I like things with brighter colors.” I thought about her frankly dull bedroom walls.

“Well, if you see something you like, there would be nothing wrong with adding a little color to your room.”

We were seated at a table by a window overlooking the veranda and on out to the lake.

“We hardly do anything together—as father and daughter. We should do this more often,” I tried again.

“We go to church.”

“As important as it is, there is more to life than church?”

“Is there?”

“Cassandra, what is the problem?” I tried not to sound irritated. Having a conversation with my daughter was taxing my patience.

“The problem? Other than I don’t have any friends? That I don’t go to any school events? That I don’t belong to any clubs? Even 4-H? That I’ll spend the entire summer learning to sew or recite Bible verses or something? Nothing. Nothing is a problem at all!” She stood up. “Excuse me, please. I need the restroom.” She ran in the direction of the ladies’ room. I bowed my head.

I freely admit that I know very little about teenagers. I was forty years old, trying to understand the mind of a thirteen-year-old girl. I supposed there was nothing wrong with her having friends outside our church. I’d simply never considered it to be necessary. At the same time, it was obvious that I’d somehow inadvertently cut her off from some part of growing up. By thirteen, I’d already had my first lessons in flight by participating in CAP. I’d found a passion for something that stayed with me through my life, though it had led me through perilous times.

I never mentioned having found her secret map. Perhaps I had been the problem that drove her to a secret meeting in the woods. And what had they done? Probably climbed a tree. Played pirates. Gossiped about their friends. Had a silly argument that drove a wedge between them. Maybe about church.

I tried to lighten up.

That was easier said than done. And during her freshman year in high school, she began to talk about dating. I understood the social pressure. It seemed to move downward every year. The pressure to grow up and become more mature than their years would allow. Bea and I had lived through the so-called sexual revolution. We had not survived unscathed. I remembered desperate nights craving a drink, companionship, a blissful unawareness. I just wanted my daughter to never have that experience.

I was firm. Sixteen. And I scowled at Bea when I told her I expected exemplary behavior.

It went well through the fall. I agreed that Cassandra could go to home football and basketball games. I even let her attend a Halloween party at the Frosts’. I cringed at the thought of her attending such a satanic event but rather than dressing in the ghoulish costumes the holiday was known for, she dressed as a fairy princess. She was fourteen years old and the only costume I’d seen her in was when she played Mary in the Church Christmas Pageant. She’d only been ten, but seeing her enter the manger with a pillow stuffed in her robe to mimic pregnancy made my skin crawl. The party was well-chaperoned and true to their promise, the Frosts ushered guests out to waiting parents at ten o’clock.