A Quiet Strength (22 page)

The three went to the service together by cab to the old-style stone church. They slipped into a back-row pew and sat stiffly while the organ played. Virginia thought she was able to pick out Hayden’s current widow in a group of young adults toward the front. Old before their time, their faces were ravaged by hard living and by the despair of death with no hope.

The service was short and dismal. The minister did make reference to “the dear departed, who has ended his earthly journey and is now enjoying the rewards of that unknown land.” It left Virginia feeling cold and hopeless. She wondered if Jenny—sitting beside her in stony silence—was feeling the same way.

She was thankful to leave the dimness of the building and get out into the fresh air. But what would happen to Jenny now?

Mr. Woods tried to talk Jenny into going home with him, but she refused. He was hesitant to leave her in her present condition and her obvious dependence on drink. Virginia sup? posed he would understand better than anyone else. Realizing that there was little he could do, he reluctantly left.

“I have to get home, Jenny,” Virginia told her two days later. “You understand.”

Jenny nodded. “I know. I know—you’ve got kids.”

Jenny had not even asked about Mindy.

“Yes. And Grandmother Withers is not well. We have her with us.”

Jenny did not answer.

“Why don’t you come back with me?” Virginia offered. “It would be good for you to get away for a while.”

But Jenny shook her head. “There’s nothing to go back to.”

“Is there anything to stay here for?”

Jenny sighed. “Maybe not. Maybe there’s nothing to live for at all.”

Her words frightened Virginia. She knelt before Jenny, taking her hand in her own. “Jenny, listen, please. We love you. Your father and I both love you. We’d … we’d help you if you’d let us. If there was any way at all …”

To her surprise Jenny leaned forward and pulled Virginia’s head up against her chest. “I know that, Virginia,” she admitted, her voice choked with tears. “I know that. That’s why I sent for you. You’ve been a good friend, Virginia. All these years when I’ve been a … a bad friend for you. And I love you for it, Virginia. Don’t think I don’t. But I … I’m not ready for a change yet. I have a lot of thinking to do. I can’t face it yet.”

Virginia held her close, then rose to her feet. The cab was waiting to take her to the train.

Virginia was so thankful to be home. It seemed like she had been gone forever. Her eyes moved from one to the other of those she loved dearest, thankful they were all there, whole and healthy. And each one of them welcomed her in a special way. Mindy pressed close and shadowed each step she took for the first half hour. Martha covered her with sloppy kisses, then busied herself with tugging the valise around the kitchen. Grandmother smiled her welcome from her chair by the fire? place. And Jonathan grinned when Virginia noticed the new trim round the main-floor windows.

“Slate’s been a big help with the horses. And Mother said it was about time I kept my promise to finish off the house. Long way to go yet, but it’s a start.”

There had been other subtle changes, as well, even in the short time she had been gone. Mindy had opened up to her Grandmother Damaris. She followed her around the house chatting nonstop. Martha, on the other hand, had claimed Slate. He could not get through the door before she ran to him, insisting on being picked up and carried about. He seemed to accept it good-naturedly. Virginia wondered if he might even be a little flattered by all the attention from the child.

Murphy’s frantic barking drew Virginia to the kitchen window. He was in the corrals, a place he had not been since his accident. Virginia watched as he stood, four paws planted firmly, challenging the approach of the stallion Warrior. Warrior was the one horse that Virginia feared. Though Jonathan was able to handle him, he advised everyone else to stay clear of Warrior’s corral. The stallion was very protective of his territory and totally unpredictable. One never knew when he might decide to whirl and kick or bare his teeth and charge.

Now Murphy seemed about to reap the wrath of the snorting animal.
That foolish dog
, thought Virginia.
This time he will get his head kicked in for sure
.

But then Virginia saw Slate running toward the corrals.
Oh, I hope he doesn’t go in there to protect that dog
, Virginia’s thoughts hurried on.
Better to lose a dog than have the boy injured
.

It was then she spotted the patch of blue inside the cor? ral fence.
Blue. Martha is wearing blue. Surely Martha …
Panic struck. Virginia whirled and raced from the house. Martha was out in that pen with that half-crazed stallion. It was not Murphy that Slate was running to save—it was Martha!

Even as she ran, Virginia saw Slate crawl over the rails and move slowly down on the other side. He approached the stallion cautiously, hand outstretched.
No, Slate. Get out of there
, Virginia wanted to scream, but she could not. They had to get Martha before the whirling, tramping hooves came down on her little body.

At the appearance of the boy, Murphy had wisely backed off. The horse now needed to be calmed rather than driven.

As Slate approached, the stallion tossed his head, mane whipping wildly over his arched neck. He snorted, reared and tossed his head again, and came down, pawing the ground.

But as Slate drew nearer Warrior backed a step. Then another step. Another. He was still blowing and snorting, white eyes wild. Virginia was frozen to the spot. Like Murphy, she knew that Warrior needed no other distraction. She put her hands to her mouth to prevent the scream that felt like it was choking her. Would Warrior charge? And if he did, would it be right over the hapless Martha?

But, no, as Slate moved forward, he was gradually—oh, so gradually—turning the horse aside. Virginia could hear the soft murmur of his voice now. He was coaxing, talking, charming the animal. But his words were not just for the stallion. Virginia heard the words, spoken in the very same tone of voice: “Go to the fence, Martha. That’s a good girl. Get out of the corral. Good girl.” And all of the time he was drawing closer and closer to the horse. Warrior was no longer backing away, though he still stomped and snorted. And Martha—bless her little heart—was crawling toward the corral fence, eyes big, blue dress dragging in the dirt. She was almost there. Almost.

Virginia knew she should not run forward and risk spooking the horse. Yet it was all she could do to hold her ground. Surely Martha would not turn around and go back to Slate. Surely not. And then, miraculously, Slate was rubbing the stallion’s nose. The horse flinched, muscles rippling in the morning sun. Slate’s hand stole up warrior’s neck, patting, massaging, while the animal stood as though uncertain what to do. Slate moved his head just enough to check on Martha, gave the arched neck one more pat, and backed slowly away. Warrior snorted again, tossed his head and whirled around to race to the other end of the corral, head and tail held high.

Virginia dropped to the ground in a heap, hands to her face, tears flowing uncontrolled. The next thing she knew, Murphy was licking her face. She placed her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in his tangled coat. “You crazy old dog,” she cried. “You crazy old lame dog.”

And then Slate was placing Martha in her arms.
Slate
. He would always be someone very special in Virginia’s eyes.

CHAPTER  22

O
ne did not travel halfway across a continent for only a short visit, so Virginia was quite prepared for her guests to be in her home for at least some weeks. For the most part they were good weeks for her. Damaris soon made her forget her concern about measuring up as a daughter-in-law, helping with meals and dishes and even garden work. The children loved their “new” grandma. The afternoon breaks for tea while Martha slept and Mindy watched the men work the horses were special, as the three ladies talked about their lives, their dreams—or the latest Martha escapade.

When September arrived, with it came one of the most difficult adjustments Virginia had faced in her entire life. Mindy was off to the local schoolhouse to begin her days as a student. She looked so small. So vulnerable. So sweet. It made Virginia weep. This was her little girl. The shy one. The one who clung to her. And now she was going off to face the world. Alone. Well, not exactly alone. Jonathan and Virginia both walked with her on her first day, and one or the other continued to do so for the remainder of the first week. Then Mindy announced in quite grown-up fashion that she knew the way down the country road. She could walk the mile on her own, she explained, and would meet up with the Ellison kids from the next farm over. That brought another tear to Virginia’s eye.

Every afternoon when she thought it time for Mindy to return, Martha pushed a straight-backed chair over to the kitchen window. She climbed up on her perch to be the first to announce her big sister’s appearance. Though she enjoyed the extra attention she received being the only child in the house for some period of each day, she loved Mindy and missed her during those hours of school.

The change of seasons into autumn was so subtle it hardly was noticed. Still Damaris and Slate stayed on. There were frequent letters posted to and received from the West, and occasional phone calls made from town. But nothing was said to Virginia until one day when the two women were working a flower bed together, tucking plants in for the coming winter.

“You must think I’m planning to stay forever,” Damaris began.

Virginia looked up from the rose she was trimming back. “

It’s been wonderful having you,” she said simply.

Damaris continued to heap mulch around the roots of the bush Virginia was trimming. “I’ve had some thorough talks with your uncle Luke. He says that Mother’s heart is continuing to weaken. I find it hard to go home thinking that something …” She didn’t complete the thought.

Virginia went suddenly still, her heart constricting. “Did he say … when?”

Damaris eased back from her kneeling position and shook her head. “He doesn’t know. Not really. Anytime. But who can say? Sometimes even the weakest heart can go on beating for a long time. But if it doesn’t upset your household too much, I’d like to stay for another week or so. I’d like to be here if anything …” Once again, she did not finish her statement.

“Of course,” said Virginia, swallowing away the lump in her throat.

“Thank you.” Then Damaris’s voice picked up on a cheerier note. “Did you know that Slate wants to stay on?”

“Jonathan told me.”

“They get along well together, don’t they? Both with their love of horses and all.”

“Like two peas,” responded Virginia with a chuckle.

“He does seem to be a help to Jonathan.”

“A big help to me, too,” Virginia was quick to say. “Jona? than never would have found the time to finish the trim and paint the rooms without him. Slate now works with the horses almost as much as Jonathan does.”

“He sure does love the animals.”

“He’s a good boy,” said Virginia, her eyes misting as she thought back to the incident in the corral with small Martha. Slate was now handling the stallion Warrior with the same sure hand as Jonathan. But Warrior had been moved to a new cor? ral much farther away from the house. Jonathan did not want to take any chances. As an added precaution he had nailed chicken wire all along the bottom of the nearest corral fence. Flying hooves and tiny tots did not go well together.

“Yes,” she added, “I hope his folks will agree to his remaining here with us.”

Jonathan brought the letter home with him. They knew by the return address that it would indicate if Slate had permission to stay as requested or was to accompany his grandmother home at the end of the month.

Virginia thought the boy would tear the letter open then and there and inform all of them of the decision. But Slate accepted the letter from Jonathan’s outstretched hand and went wordlessly from the house. She heard the door click shut behind him and saw him cross the yard, the letter still in his hand.

He headed straight for the barn. Virginia assumed he was going to the loft to read the letter in private. It was not until that moment she realized just how important the news would be to the boy. If he was instructed to return home, he would do so, but he would be deeply disappointed. He loved the work with the horses.

“O Lord,” Virginia began without conscious thought—then checked herself. She would not tell the Lord what to do. He knew best. “Thy will be done,” finished Virginia meekly. She turned back from the window.

Not many minutes had passed when they heard a wild whoop. Slate was running back across the yard, the letter waving over his head. With each leap in the air, another shout rang out. It appeared that Jonathan had himself a co-worker.

They had a bit of warning. Not much, but enough for all to gather around her bed and give her one final embrace and whispered words of love. And then it was over. So quickly. So peacefully. Grandmother Withers had slipped away from them to a home far better than any Virginia could offer her.

Family and friends gathered in their little church to celebrate her homegoing. The day was decked with sunshine, the slight breeze causing autumn-colored leaves to drift gently onto the graves of those who already had taken the journey before her.

Virginia’s eyes were dry as she stood in the close cluster of family. She had wept. She would weep again. But for the moment she had no tears. Her heart was numb, her mind wrung dry of ability to think or feel.

People around her moved and spoke and touched her arm with comforting hands, but she was far away, trying to work through what it would be like to have a living room without an invalid’s bed. A morning without a cheery greeting. A supper hour without a thankful nod and smile. Afternoon teatime without shared chats.

The children will miss you so much
came to her clearly as she turned from the grave.

And then she wept.

Damaris packed her bags and caught the train as she had planned. Virginia was truly sorry to see her go. And now she would travel alone, with young Slate staying to help Jona? than. Virginia was undecided who was the most pleased by the arrangement—Jonathan, who desperately needed the help; she herself, who would enjoy seeing more of her husband; or Slate, who adored the horses.

The household adjusted itself to the new living arrangements. Grandmother’s things were removed from the living room. The extra space looked bare and empty, and Virginia turned away from the sight of it with a pang in her heart. Slate took the guest room upstairs. With the nights cooler now, it was much better for him to share the house than use the barn loft.

A blanket of loneliness seemed to have settled over Virginia’s world. She had known she would miss Grandmother Withers, but she had not realized what a deep sense of loss she would feel. Though she could not—would not—wish Grand? mother Withers back, she felt her days had somehow lost a good deal of meaning. Each new bit of learning that Mindy brought joyfully home from school, each new word that Martha added to her vocabulary, each new recipe or pattern found and tried—all reminded Virginia that she now had no one to share the little details of life with, moment by moment, as she had with Grandmother Withers.

There were many days she went about her tasks with a heavy heart, blinking back tears. There were many nights when she buried her head in her pillow, hoping her weeping would not disturb Jonathan’s sleep.

When winter’s chill moved in around them, wrapping them in snow-white blankets, with swirling icy fingers to pinch cheeks and chins, Virginia knew it would be a very long time until spring returned.

With the arrival of Christmas, Virginia and Jonathan carried on for the sake of the children, doing the same things they had done since they had started their lives together. But it wasn’t the same. Virginia kept remembering past Christmases, with Grandmother Withers.

On the thirty-first day of December they celebrated Mar? tha’s second birthday. The excitement in her face shone in the glow of the candles, and she ate birthday cake until Virginia feared she’d be sick. But even though Virginia was able to smile and offer all the right responses, her heart still cried,
Wouldn’t Grandmother have enjoyed this?

January’s cold intensified, and Jonathan took Mindy to school each day in the cutter and picked her up again at day’s end. In between, the two menfolk tried to keep the stock fed and the barns cleaned. Virginia spent her days saying, “no, no,” to a lively Martha and trying to keep the fires going while she did her household chores.

When February arrived with a break in the weather, Virginia felt a need to break free of her gloom. She asked Jonathan about the possibility of a visit with her grandmother. An older, wiser person—someone like Grandmother Withers—was what her heart was yearning for. Jonathan seemed to understand her need and nodded in agreement. “I’ll take you over there and go on into town. Pick you up on my way back.”

Virginia bundled Martha up and carried her to the car. She wished she could have time with Grandma Marty alone, but she knew Slate would not be able to watch Martha and get much of anything done in the barn.

When Virginia climbed from the car and reached for the child, Jonathan stopped her. “She can ride along with me. Let you have this time without chasing after her.”

Virginia smiled her thanks and pointed out the bag with Martha’s things for the day. He grinned and waved her on with, “We’ll manage just fine, won’t we, Martha?”

Virginia was warmly welcomed with a long embrace and ushered into a kitchen smelling of spices and hot cider.