The Tender Years (8 page)

When she reached the edge of the poplar grove, she made sure that she avoided looking toward the Parker house. Care? fully, her head turned slightly away, she made her way out into the open and dropped the handfuls of skirts. She stood there, the full sun beating down upon her head. For a spring day, it felt dreadfully hot with her layers upon layers of clothing. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be pacing. She began to walk back and forth, pretending to peer into the secret depths of the poplar trees. Two horses, feeding at the other end of the pasture, lifted their heads and stared in curiosity. She heard one snort and then they returned to their feeding again.

Back and forth, back and forth Virginia paced. She was getting tired of the game and terrible impatient with Jenny. Why didn’t she come? What was she waiting for? Surely by now Mrs. Parker would have gotten out her spyglass—if indeed she had one—and was focused on the spot down in her own pasture.

As Virginia paced, she got warmer and warmer. Her face flushed beneath the broad-brimmed hat. Her shoulders felt weighted down with the yards of heavy material. Her nose began to tickle from the dust her boots were raising. Why didn’t Jenny come?

And then there was a rustling from among the branches and out poked Jenny’s brown hat. She looked about stealthily, first checking one way, then the other. Slowly, ever so slowly, she advanced, brushing aside small imaginary bushes, looking, reaching, feeling her way across the short distance, continually turning one way, then the other, as though she were wading through some dense jungle. Virginia was so intent upon watching the strange maneuvers that she totally forgot that she was to rush to meet her.

“Run!” Jenny hissed. Virginia hiked up her skirts and, fearing she was about to be attacked by some beast or run over by the Parker horses, with one wild look about her, would have headed directly toward the Parker house.

“No,” squealed Jenny. “To me.”

Virginia then remembered and changed her course and her actions. With outstretched arms she headed toward Jenny. It was almost her undoing, for she had taken only two steps when she tripped over the hem of the cumbersome skirt. Quickly she reached to jerk the skirt up from the tanglement of her foot, but she heard the sickening sound of tearing cloth as she did so. She did manage to keep herself from going down, but she staggered along for several steps before she totally regained her balance. Jenny did not look amused.

Virginia plunged into Jenny with such force that both of them nearly went down. After doing an awkward two-step, trying to support each other, they managed to untangle themselves enough to stand upright.

Virginia could feel Jenny’s arms encircling her shoulders and pulling her close. “Kiss me,” she hissed in Virginia’s ear.

Automatically Virginia pulled back and felt Jenny’s arms tighten.

“Kiss me,” Jenny hissed again.

“But—?”

“Just do it. Haven’t you kissed anyone before?”

Of course she had. She made the rounds each night, giving her mother and father their good-night kiss. But this … this was so … foolish.

“Kiss me,” Jenny ordered for the third time.

Virginia leaned forward and gave Jenny a quick peck on the cheek.

“Not like that. That’s not the way lovers kiss,” Jenny exploded scornfully.

But Virginia pushed away from Jenny. “How do I know how lovers kiss?” she returned, anger making her own words come hissing forth.

Jenny used some nasty words. “I thought your sister had a boyfriend.”

“She does.”

“And you’ve never seen them kiss?”

Virginia’s face flushed. The fact was, she had seen Troy kiss Clara. Once. Once when she’d had no business being where she was. She had spied on them. Secretly and disobediently spied. If her mama had known about it—or if Clara had found out—she would have been in enormous trouble. But she was not going to kiss Jenny the way Troy had kissed Clara. Never.

“Kiss me,” Jenny said again. “Mrs. Parker will never believe we’re lovers if we don’t kiss.”

“But we’re not lovers,” insisted Virginia and pushed back from Jenny again.

“We are supposed to pretend, that’s all.”

“But I can’t pretend—that.”

“You are a dead fish,” Jenny exclaimed disgustedly. “If you aren’t going to play the part, what did you even come for?”

“You never told me what the part was—remember?” Virginia shot back heatedly.

“I told you we’d be lovers. What did you think they did?”

But Virginia took another step backward. And as she did her feet again tangled in the hem of her skirts, and this time she could not recover her balance. With a wild grasp for something to hang on to she flung out a hand that sent Jenny’s brown hat hurtling toward the poplars at her back. Down tumbled her mass of flaming red hair, reflecting the gold of the afternoon sun.

Virginia gave a gasp, then wildly scrambled for her own broad-brimmed hat that had tumbled away from her with the impact of her fall. Both of them—
both of them
had been totally exposed right before the very eyepiece of Mrs. Parker’s spyglass. What in the world would the story about town be now? She could only imagine. What would her father and mother say about this escapade? What about the people of the church? The pastor? Virginia could feel her cheeks heating. They would be the laughingstock of the whole town. Why had she let Jenny talk her into such a ridiculous stunt anyway?

Angrily she scrambled to regain her feet and started toward the cover of the trees. With one backward glance, one that shot arrows of malice Jenny’s way, she hiked up the remnants of the tattered skirts.

To her surprise Jenny was not hurrying after her. She was not even clamoring to retrieve the wayward hat. Instead she was standing, fully exposed, facing the yard of the Parkers, dancing from one leg to the other, mane flying, hands up beside her ears as she pulled some of the most hideous faces Virginia had ever seen a human being manage. She even heard her little chant, “Ya, ya, ya, ya, ya.”

Virginia sucked in her breath. Harmless fun? They were
sure
to be in great trouble. Without stopping to think, she straightened to her full height and yelled in her loudest voice, “Jenny Woods—you stop that this instant and get over here.”

Jenny stopped her prancing and spun to look at her, an expression of unbelief on her freckled face.

But Virginia was not finished. “Get over here,” she said with an angry jerk of her hand. “You’re acting like a moron, and you’ll get us both in huge trouble.”

Jenny threw her a defiant look, tossed her red hair, and turned back toward the Parker house, starting up her weird sporadic dance and “ya, ya, ya’s” again.

“Okay for you, Jenny,” Virginia called angrily. “I’ll never speak to you again.”

She turned to run, trying desperately to draw the cumbersome dress over her head as she did so. It was not an easy task, but at length she was able to wriggle free of it and cast it aside.

“You’re right,” Jenny’s angry voice called after her. “You won’t talk to me ’cause I’ll never let you that close to me again. Not ever again. Do you hear me, Virginia?”

In spite of her anger, or perhaps because of it, great rasping sobs welled up within Virginia. This was so stupid. So unfair. Why did Jenny think of such dumb things to do anyway? Now they would never be friends again. She had broken off all possibilities of any further relationship, and besides—now she would have to bear the brunt of Mrs. Parker’s gossiping tongue. It was all just so totally unfair—and humiliating.

At the end of each day that followed, Virginia breathed an audible sigh as she climbed into bed at night. She still ached for her friendship with Jenny. She so much missed being a part of the little group. But, as yet, there had not been one snippet of gossip about the incident down in the Parker’s pasture. Perhaps Mrs. Parker did not spend all of her time with a spyglass in hand after all. Maybe she didn’t even have a spyglass.

CHAPTER 7

I
t rained steadily for four days straight. Virginia humped her shoulders and leaned into the wind and slashing rain. She hated foul weather, and it put her in a very foul mood. She wished she didn’t have to go to school. She arrived dripping and out of sorts, face shiny from cold spring rain, hair whipped and plastered against her head. It didn’t help one bit that everyone else arrived in the same condition. She hated it.

Many of her peers seemed to share her feeling. The halls of the small school echoed with disgruntled comments. People groused at one another about soggy coats dripping on text books, rubber boots left in the walkway, musty smells from wet coats, and umbrellas left
up
when they should have been
down.
Even the teachers seemed to be affected by the weather. Especially when they attempted to dry out their drenched charges so they wouldn’t sit shivering in their desks, too cold and miserable to concentrate on the morning lessons. Mr. Noraway complained that they were burning more firewood now than they had during the cold of the winter months.

Some good did come of the storm, Virginia decided. While cooped up in the classrooms at recess and over the lunch hours, Jenny started talking to her again.

At first it was just little snippets. Small comments that were not quite as acid as they had been of late. Then they became actual bits of conversation. They led to subtle little invitations for Virginia to join the small group again.

Virginia’s heart lightened. It seemed so important to be part of the group. Accepted. Her world, even with the continual dump of rain, became a brighter place. And when the clouds finally rolled off to the east and the sun actually came out again, Virginia was in totally different spirits. The world wasn’t such a gloomy place after all.

She almost skipped her way home from school that Thursday afternoon. Mr. Adamson, as usual, was out working in his garden. Now his dirty pant knees were not just covered with soil but practically dripping water. Virginia knew it was much too wet for the elderly man to be gardening, but apparently he could stay indoors no longer.

“A little wet, isn’t it?” she asked as she looked at his soggy clothing.

“Trees are a bit drippy,” he replied.

“But your knees. Your knees are all wet.”

“They’ll dry.”

“But how about your lumbago?”

He shrugged. His little gesture told her that he considered the matter of no importance. “Rain sure been hard on the flowers. Had to spend the day staking ’em up. Awful hard on ’em. Martha would be heartbroken seein’ ’em in such a state.”

Virginia looked again at his wet pant legs. She figured that his Martha might be a little upset about his own condition as well, but she did not say so.

“They’ll come back,” she said instead. “Plants are hardy.”

She had heard her grandmother make the statement, and though she had no proof, she trusted her grandmother’s word for it.

The old man nodded, but his eyes looked doubtful. He turned from the flower beds and approached the fence. His muddy hands made dirty marks on the pickets.

“You seem chipper today,” he commented. “Been goin’ by here lately with yer tail between yer legs, chin nearly draggin’ on the ground.”

Virginia smiled.

“Change of weather make ya feel thet much better?”

Virginia nodded. But she knew that wasn’t the whole story. She had her friend back again. Ruthie had been pushed to the side. She, Virginia, had been reinstated. It was good to be back as Jenny’s chosen cohort.

“Jenny and me—we’re best friends again,” she admitted to the old man.

“Jenny? Thet sassy little gal with the carrot hair?”

Oh
, thought Virginia,
Jenny would not like that comment
. But she nodded. Mr. Adamson had the right girl.

He stood, looking at her quizzically. She was afraid he was going to take off his hat and scratch his head with his dirt-caked fingers.

“Never could figure out thet one,” he went on. “’Bout as different as day and night, the two of you. What makes ya friends?”

It was a startling question. One Virginia was not prepared to answer. She had never even thought about it before. Jenny was just … just Jenny. Full of life. Of ideas. A leader. Anyone would have been happy to be Jenny’s best friend. The fact that Jenny had chosen her was … was some kind of little miracle. She was sure that every girl in her class must envy her.

But an old man like Mr. Adamson could not be expected to understand any of that.

“We like each other,” she said with a quick shrug.

He nodded, but he still seemed to be looking deep inside of her. Searching for an answer to the puzzling question.

“So yer friends agin?” he said at last. Virginia sensed that he did not seem too pleased. “Well, ya best git on home, an’ I’d best git on to my gardenin’. Tell yer mama thanks fer thet last batch of ginger cookies.”

“Clara likely baked them,” said Virginia. Some of the sun had been robbed from her day. Clara.
Clara the good.
The dull. The dependable. Mama’s
special helper
.

“Good little cook, Clara,” said the man. “Make a good wife.”

Yes
, thought Virginia,
and the sooner the better, I’m thinking.

“Well, be off with ya. I’ve still got some plants to stake.”

Virginia nodded. “Good-bye, Mr. Adamson,” she said politely as she moved on down the sidewalk.

She glanced back over her shoulder. The old man still stood there, shaking his head. She wasn’t sure if the pensive look was because of his chat with her or because of the damage done to his flower beds.

Friday morning brought a return of full sunshine. It felt so good to pull on a light sweater and head off for school without worrying about wind and rain. Virginia even allowed Francine to walk along with her. She was sure nothing could daunt her new spirit of joy. But as she neared the school and Francine scampered on ahead to join some of her little classmates, Ruth seemed to appear from nowhere. She fell into step with Virginia, not waiting for any kind of invitation, spoken or otherwise.

“Ya comin’?” she asked without preamble.

Virginia’s head came up, eyes showing her confusion. Ruth seemed to take great pleasure in the fact.

“Hasn’t Jenny asked you?” she continued, tipping her head to one side and looking very smug.

Virginia could only shrug.

“She already asked me.”

The words were said with such cockiness that Virginia felt the anger rise within her and her cheeks begin to flame.

“She’ll ask me,” she retorted sharply. “She just hasn’t seen me yet.”

Ruth gave her a smirky smile that told Virginia she wasn’t going to keep her secret. “Maybe not. You’ve already said no so many times. We’re going to the creek after school. Sam says thet the rain has made it a river. It will be perfect for rafting—and other stuff.”

Virginia wasn’t sure what the other stuff would be, but she suddenly had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach again. They were all going to the creek. She had just found her way back into the little group, and she would have to say no again.

The temptation to turn around and head for home, pleading illness when her mother confronted her, was almost too much to overcome. But what if her mother knew she was faking? Her mother was a nurse. She knew the signs of real illness. And what if … what if her mother decided that she really might be ill? She’d insist on Uncle Luke seeing her. He’d know the difference for sure. No, she couldn’t risk that. She’d just have to go on to class.

Ruthie was speaking again. “—an’ Georgie knows where we can sneak a raft—ready-made. Mr. Taggart keeps one down by the bridge. What he uses it for—”

“You can’t do that,” Virginia said, shocked that it would even be considered. She stopped short and stared at the girl before her.

“Wha’dya mean?”

“Can’t take something that doesn’t belong—”

“Boy, are you stuffy!” Ruth’s words were more indignant than Virginia’s. “We’re only gonna borrow it. Not steal it.”

“But you still—”

“We’ll put it back. Okay?”

“I still—”

Ruth gave her a withering look. “No wonder Jenny hasn’t asked you. She likely doesn’t even want you along. Boy! What a deadhead.”

Virginia swallowed. Was that what Jenny thought? Was there really the danger that she wouldn’t even be asked?

Anger filled her again. Anger at Ruth, who had somehow gained the inside edge again. Anger that Jenny might not include her. And though she did not formulate the thought, anger with her parents for bringing her up with such a strict set of do’s and don’ts.

She brushed past Ruth and proceeded up the school steps. She had no desire for further discussion.

She was already in her desk when Jenny slipped into her seat. Virginia did not look up. Did not wish to meet the eyes of the girl across the aisle. Would there still be friendship there, or had Ruth eroded it once again?

But as soon as the opening exercises had been completed, the class assignment had been given, and Miss Crook had settled herself with her head bent over correcting lesson books, Virginia felt a little tug on her sleeve. The eraser was being “loaned” again. Self-consciously she accepted it. The small scrap of paper under it nearly scorched her fingers, her anxiety was so heightened.

She laid the eraser on her desk and slipped the paper scrap under the cover of her text. Nervously she cast the smallest glance in Jenny’s direction and saw the girl give her a brief nod and a knowing smile.

Virginia turned her eyes back to the front of the classroom. Miss Crook was still busily engaged in correcting. Virginia eased the bit of paper from under her literature book and uncrumpled it.

“After school. At the creek. You coming?”

Virginia bowed her head. Her eyes wanted to shut and block out the words. To allow some kind of concentration. To think. Think. But she willed them to stay open, staring straight at the small scrap.

Her mind went back to the conversation at their supper table a few weeks back. The creek had been dangerous then. Now with the heavy spring rains, it was swollen and even more so. It was risky to go there. Not just an act of disobedience—but a risk of getting hurt—or worse. But if she didn’t, if she failed the test now, she knew she would never be invited to be a part of Jenny’s crowd again.

Her head whirled with the enormity of her decision. What should she do? What could she do? At last she picked up her pencil, flipped over the small scrap, and with her chin set firmly in stubborn resolve, she wrote just one word and slipped the note back under the eraser. Without even looking up she passed the small rectangle of rubber back across the aisle to Jenny. She would not meet her eyes. Could not meet her eyes, but she heard the faint rustle of the paper as Jenny unfolded her message, then a contented sigh and Jenny’s little exclamation of “Good.”

She did not hurry home first for permission. She knew that such permission would never have been granted. Instead, like a fugitive on the run, she sneaked her way out of town, staying to back alleys, ducking from fence to clump of trees.

In a way it was exciting, but her pounding heart also raced with conflict. She would be in trouble. Real trouble when the act was discovered. And it would be discovered—she had no doubt of that.

They had agreed to meet at the small stand of trees down creek from the bridge. As soon as Virginia was past the houses of the town, she struck out directly for the spot. Two of the boys were already there.

“Boy, ya oughta see it,” exclaimed Sam. “It’s wild!”

Excitement made his voice crack. It also made Virginia shiver. In the distance she could hear the sound of rushing water, and she knew that the boy’s words were true.

“Georgie’s gone fer the raft,” Freddie whispered conspiratorially, edging close to Virginia.

Virginia subconsciously moved away a step. She didn’t want Freddie’s flannel sleeve brushing against her ginghamed arm.

“Where’s Jenny?” she asked. Her voice sounded weak. Squeaky.

“She’ll be here. She had to stop fer somethin’.”

“What?”

“I dunno. She didn’t say.”

Virginia cast a nervous glance at the sky, at the sun making its steady descent in the west. Already she would have been missed at home. Each minute that passed put her in further jeopardy. She did hope that Jenny hurried. That they got it all over with quickly.