A Quiet Strength

by Janette Oke

  Virginia was having an inner argument that either way she would lose.

  Virginia could not wait for the day to end, yet she dreaded its ending. She could not wait for Jonathan to come home, yet feared his coming. She fidgeted and fretted and paced about the kitchen until Grandmother Withers said, “Is something wrong, dear?”

  Virginia could not answer with a lie so she said nothing in reply.

  “It’s been a long day for you, hasn’t it? It’s always that way when one has extra time and no way to fill it. I know. I used to nearly go crazy for my Damaris on those days when I couldn’t pour my heart and soul into my work. Sundays. I never allowed myself ordinary work on Sunday. But I had no church service to attend. No real understanding about why one went to church. Just a hanging on to the past. A knowledge that my mother and father felt that church was important. That the Sabbath, the day of rest, be honored. So I just lolled about on Sunday. Agitated and wishing the hours to end. I was so thankful to go off to bed knowing that the next morning would bring me more work than I could handle in a single day.”

  Virginia listened. She was relieved that the elderly woman did not understand what her real problem was. All the same, Virginia was more than thankful to retire early. Perhaps if she tried hard, she could be asleep by the time Jonathan returned home.

  CHAPTER 7

  Virginia was awakened by Jonathan’s arms drawing her close. She stirred, then snuggled against him, struggling for wakefulness and understanding. “Virginia,” she heard his voice next to her ear, “we need to talk.”

  Virginia pulled back and tried to see his face in the dark? ness of their bedroom. “What is it?” she asked sleepily. “Are you all right?”

  His arms tightened around her, drawing her close again. “Are you awake?”

  She mumbled against his chest. Her body insisted that it was the middle of the night.

  He kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep,” he said softly. “We’ll talk tomorrow. We both need to be wide awake to sort this out.”

  Suddenly Virginia was jolted out of her dreamy state. Jona? than was back from the farm. They’d had a disagreement before he’d left. Somewhere deep inside she still felt anger and confusion. She tried to pull away again but his arms held her. “I’m awake,” she said firmly, and this time she really was.

  He was silent for what seemed to be a long moment; then she felt more than heard his deep sigh.

  “I’m afraid I have been dreadfully selfish,” he began. “I had missed you so much when I was out west and never wanted to be without you again. But it was wrong for me to ask you to marry me before the house was ready. Before I was established on the farm. We should have waited.”

  “But you said that might take months. Years,” interjected Virginia.

  “I expect it will.”

  “We never could have—would have—waited that long.”

  His arms tightened around her, and he pressed his cheek against her forehead. It was several minutes before he spoke again. “I hadn’t realized how hard this has been for you. These months of being with Grandma.”

  “Jonathan, it is not your grandmother that’s the problem here. I … I love her. As if she were my own. It’s not seeing you. Never having you to myself. No … private times. How can a marriage grow if we aren’t allowed to … to even get to know each other?”

  Again he was silent.

  “Being with you like this is enough for me … for now,” he finally answered.

  “Well, it’s not enough for me.” She put both hands on his chest and pushed. Jonathan released her.

  She heard him sigh again as though he was deeply troubled. “What would be enough for you?” he dared to ask, his voice still gentle.

  “Being able to be like a normal husband and wife. With time. Time to talk. Time to … enjoy each other. Time to care for the needs of the other. I don’t even get to cook for you. Grandma makes your breakfast, fixes your lunch, gets supper.”

  “I didn’t know that cooking was that important to you. I’m sure Grandma—”

  “That’s not the point.”

  “But …”

  “I’m not being a wife. I’m just here … when you finally come home at night. Then you’re gone again in the morning before I’m even up.”

  “Virginia, we talked about this before we were married. You knew. I tried to tell you how it would be. I thought you understood….”

  “I thought I did, too, but I guess I didn’t. Not really. I mean, these are supposed to be the … the honeymoon days. And we’ve missed them, Jonathan. Totally missed them.”

  “Totally?”

  “Totally!”

  “You haven’t been happy?”

  “I’ve been lonely.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Only the hall clock’s tick sounded in the quiet for a very long time.

  He had not tried to take her back in his arms. His stillness and his silence frightened her. She would have felt much better, more secure, had he chosen to argue the points she was making.

  At last he spoke, but still he did not move. “I’ve really messed it up, haven’t I?”

  It was Virginia who moved. She leaned toward him and slipped her hand up and over his shoulder, curling her fingers in the thickness of the hair at the back of his neck. “You haven’t messed it up,” she said, for the first time with contrition in her voice. “I was as anxious for our marriage as you were.”

  “So what do we do? How can we fix this?” His arm encircled her again.

  Virginia felt hot tears as they streaked down her cheeks. She had no answer.

  “We do need a house,” he continued. “We do need the horses.”

  Silently Virginia agreed.

  “I need you.”

  His arm tightened and Virginia’s tears increased.

  “I can’t promise things are going to get any better,” he admitted honestly.

  The thought was scar y, but Virginia knew she had to accept it.

  “Can you … can you manage … somehow … for a few more months?”

  “I’ll have to.” Virginia’s voice trembled.

  “Would you be happier … back home?”

  The very thought made Virginia cringe. To go home would be to admit defeat. It would be saying to the world that they had made a mistake. That they weren’t strong enough to see their commitment through. “No,” she said with emphasis. “No. I don’t want to go home.”

  “You want to bunk in the barn?” His voice was teasing.

  “It’s tempting.”

  He kissed her. First on the nose. Then on her forehead. “What are we gonna do?” he asked into her hair as he pulled her tightly to his chest.

  Virginia felt tears again. She could not speak. Could not express all the mixed emotions whirling around inside her, making her feel both joy and sadness at the same time. All she could do was cling to him.

  Their routine changed somewhat. Jonathan still got up before the sun and prepared to leave for the farm. But he brought his second cup of morning coffee to their small bed? room and with it a cup for Virginia. Sleepily she would prop herself up in the bed and sip until her mind cleared and she was able to talk. And they talked. Pointless conversation by many standards. But discussion about their daily lives that strengthened the bond of care and concern for each other and helped to bridge the miles and hours they were apart. Then Jonathan occasionally teased her about getting up to make his lunch, when she knew full well his grandmother had already placed it in the small sugar sack Jonathan carried to the farm.

  Virginia made a greater attempt to stay awake until Jona? than came home at night, and if he was especially tired she rubbed his back and arm muscles with the vile-smelling linament from his grandmother’s medicine cabinet. And they talked then, too.

  Virginia worked hard to fill the fall evenings with projects that would be needed in the new house. Grandmother Withers clucked and fussed and beamed her approval, seeming to enjoy every moment of having “a daughte
r” in the house. Virginia tried not to feel too confined and restricted. But there were times when she longed for a wee bit of solitude; if her hours could not be spent with Jonathan, she would have preferred to be mostly alone.

  With fall closing in on winter, Jonathan was in even more of a hurry to get the building to the place where it could be heated so he could do the finishing work during the winter months. Virginia was taken out for the occasional Sunday tour. She approved of what she found, and it made her that much more anxious to be in a home of her own. A real wife. A real homemaker.

  “Perhaps by Christmas,” Jonathan promised, and Virginia mentally crossed off the “perhaps” and clung to hope.

  In the meantime, she was marking time. Trying not to become impatient. Trying hard to be pleasant company for Grandmother Withers. Trying to be supportive and understanding of Jonathan. At times she felt that she walked through the entire day holding her emotions at bay. Like holding one’s breath.

  Snow came earlier than Jonathan would have hoped. The house still did not have its chimney. There was no way he could heat the building without the chimney being in place. Without his saying the words, Virginia knew it worried him. She tried to be extra supportive, but she didn’t know what to say that would take the frown of worry from his brow or the troubled look from his eyes. It was especially hard when Grandmother Withers chattered on about local happenings or a bench that needed a nail pounded in or a hinge that squeaked for oil. Virginia saw Jonathan fight for pleasantness and at times wished to hush the older woman and banish her to her room.

  But there was no way she could protect Jonathan from the reality of the situation. She had to accept that. There was not even a way she truly could comfort him. And the new house seemed to have a will of its own—lagging behind Jonathan’s projected times for a particular section, dragging its feet in advancement. Virginia chaffed inwardly but tried to smile outwardly. It was taxing. Without verbally agreeing, they stopped talking about it.

  “So, Jonathan, how’s the house coming?” Virginia’s father posed the question at a family dinner. Jonathan and Virginia exchanged glances, and she held her breath. She had not heard a progress report for a number of days. She knew Jonathan would answer the query honestly. Now she was afraid that what she was about to hear would be terribly disappointing.

  “It’s slow,” he said, buttering a slice of fresh bread.

  “It’s a shame we can’t help you more.”

  Jonathan nodded. “If my time wasn’t so taken up with the stock, I could have made use of more help with the building,” he said frankly. “I have to spend a good share of my day working with the horses, so the house gets piecemeal attention. I could hardly ask family and friends to try to fit those hodgepodge hours. Nor could I expect them to keep on working while I went to break a yearling.”

  Drew nodded. His legal office kept him at his desk both long hours and off-hours.

  Virginia had never been able to understand about the horses, about all the attention they required. Jonathan had tried to explain, but it had never made much sense.

  “How are the horses?” This from her father again.

  “Got some real promising yearlings. But they won’t be of much value unless they’re proper broke. Might as well buy you a mustang if it’s not trained. These are spirited, so they need time and attention. I don’t hold to the manner of breaking a horse’s spirit in order to be in control. They’re much better if they’re gentle broke. That takes time. Lots of time. And patience. You need to work them some every day. I’ve got five at the moment, and it takes a good share of my day to just keep some progress on the breaking in.”

  “It has to be done now? Immediately?” asked Belinda, seeming not to understand any more than Virginia did.

  “Now’s the right time. If they are left to themselves any longer, they can pick up bad habits. Can get more determined. I’ve been handling these fellas since they were foals. They trust me at this point. Now’s the time to work with them before they become too independent. Especially the young stallions, and I’ve got a couple of those in the lot.”

  Belinda nodded, seeming to fully accept Jonathan’s words.

  “Couldn’t you just sell them and let the buyer break them?” This question from Francine.

  “Could. But I’d lose a lot of money. Well-broke horse is worth five or six times what an unbroken horse is. No, Francine. If Virginia and I are going to make it raising horses, I’ve got to do the training.”

  Virginia did not miss the inclusion of her in the plans for the farm. It gave her an odd little thrill—though totally undeserved, she felt. She’d had nothing at all to do with any of the horses, save to hang over the rail fence and feed one or the other an occasional apple or handful of oats.

  “Hopefully next spring there will be more foals to work with. That’s good news for the future. But once you get behind, you never catch up. The little guys have to be halter broke and handled. Mostly just petted and pampered, used to having you around. The touching and gentling is important.”

  “Oh, I could do that,” put in Francine, her eyes shining.

  “I’m sure you could,” responded Jonathan with a chuckle and a nod for the girl. “I might just call on you come next spring.”

  Francine looked pleased.

  “That mare you were worried about—still doing okay?” Drew wondered.

  “Right as rain. She gets friskier every day. Don’t think I would have saved her without Danny’s advice. Is he planning on being a vet around here?”

  Drew shook his head. “I don’t suppose so. Has these big dreams of working with exotic animals rather than just farm stock. Wants to work in a zoo or some big game farm or something.”

  “We sure could use him or someone like him around here. Lose one prime animal and it can cost you a lot of money. Sometimes the entire year’s profits.”

  “I suppose so.”

  It sounded dreadfully risky to Virginia.

  “Have you heard anything from Jenny?” Belinda changed the topic after a pause in the conversation. Virginia shook her head. There had been no word from Jenny over the several months since she had made her sudden appearance—and disappearance.

  “Things must be going all right. At least I hope so. Otherwise we would likely have heard from her again. She knows she can come here if she …” Virginia let her words trail off. She had been about to say, if she needs to get away from her husband. Somehow that didn’t seem to be the proper way to be speaking about a marriage.

  “I do hope she is feeling better. She looked so weak and pale it broke my heart. And that poor child … Her eyes still haunt me.”

  Virginia knew the feeling. There were many days and even more nights when the eyes of the child would haunt her, as well. Such a fragile, mournful little thing.

  “I can’t help but wonder what the future can hold for her,” Belinda said, her voice low.

  “It’s painfully true, as the Scripture says, that the sins of the parents are burdens to the children.” Drew, who had not seen Jenny or her little one during their short call, had taken Belinda’s word for the state of their well-being. “Jenny has pushed God away for many years. It’s a shame that the little one might bear the brunt of her rejection.”

  The words were sobering, and all those around the table fell into thoughtful silence.

  Francine broke the spell. “You should see Anthony throw the ball,” she enthused about her little nephew. “He just about put out a window all the way from the back fence. Troy was playing with him, and he had no idea the little fellow could throw that hard.”

  All eyes and ears tuned in to the latest story of Clara’s young son. It seemed quite natural that thoughts concerning the responsibility of parents to their children would turn to parents who were taking their role seriously—parents who adored their youngsters and sought God’s help daily in leading them in the right way.

  “Then Jeffy had to try to mimic his older brother. He has to do everything just l
ike Anthony does. Only he could hardly get his tiny fingers around the ball. And when he threw it, he didn’t quite know how to let go.”

  They all laughed, and the conversation turned to much cheerier things than delayed houses, ailing mares, or errant mothers.

  Virginia was relieved. The dinner table talk had been rather depressing. She had been telling herself—and was almost convinced—that once the house was finished, things would change. Jonathan would suddenly have time. Time to be a husband. Time to learn to know his wife. Time for them to share and grow together. Now with the discussion of how much time the horses took, how important it was that they receive the proper training, it didn’t seem like that time would ever arrive. Was that true? Was that how it would always be? Would Jonathan never have time to be a real husband?

  The thought frightened Virginia. She had so longed for a real husband-wife relationship where things would be shared. Joys and struggles and talk and laughter. Now it was sounding like she would only have an absentee husband—someone to cook and clean for, like a hired hand.

  But, no. That was silly. Even in the few moments that she and Jonathan were able to have together, there was so much love. So much devotion. If she had to choose, she would do it all over again. Marry her Jonathan just for those few moments of the day that she had him all to herself. But it was not easy. She was honest about that. Knowing and loving Jonathan as she did, she was conscious of how wonderful it would be if her dreams had worked out as she had expected. Oh, it would be glorious to have his time and attention most hours of the day.

  Virginia lowered her head and blinked back tears. She would not be spoiling the family dinner.

  Thankfully, Indian summer meant that the sun came out again, the snow melted, and Jonathan was able to apply himself to putting in the chimney at the farmhouse. Virginia was almost as thankful as he was when the task was finally completed. She was able to select the stove that she wanted in her kitchen, while Jonathan picked the heater for the upstairs rooms. The living room would be heated by a large fieldstone fireplace, which as yet had not been built.