by Janette Oke
Virginia fretted and stewed, then prayed, felt peace, then fretted some more. There was a house payment coming due at the bank, and the money would be needed. And they would need funds in reserve. It would be a long time before another string of horses was ready for market. Last year’s foals were just in the early stage of training and development. To sell them now would mean a big reduction in price and would jeopardize future profits.
Jonathan worked daily with young Cinnamon, massaging, heating, icing, rubbing—he did everything he could think of, and all to no avail.
“Can’t you just sell her as she is?” asked Virginia anxiously.
“No one wants a horse that isn’t sound.”
“Will she need to be put down?” Virginia finally expressed her deepest fear.
“No. Certainly not as she is now. She’s mobile enough. Doesn’t seem to be in a lot of pain. She just wouldn’t do for riding or driving.”
“Maybe she’s faking it,” suggested Virginia.
“Faking it?” Jonathan’s eyebrows rose.
“You know how she loves attention. Well, she’s getting plenty of it now.”
“Horses are smart, all right, but I don’t know that even Cinnamon could figure that out.”
Virginia shrugged. But she couldn’t help feeling a little irritated with Cinnamon. Was it possible? Could a horse fake an injury just to get attention? Virginia decided to keep a discreet eye on the little bay.
But though she spent more time at her kitchen window than she really could afford, Virginia never did catch the young filly moving about the corrals without the limp. It looked like Cinnamon really was in trouble after all.
CHAPTER 14
Virginia was surprised to hear a motorcar chugging its way up their driveway. The day was cold, and a brisk wind whipped up the snow and swirled it about before depositing it in fence-line drifts. No one traveled on such a day just for the pleasure of a drive. Virginia crossed to the window and pulled back the curtain. But she had to clean a spot in the frost before she could see who had pulled to a stop in front of their porch.
Her father stepped out of the car. This deepened the puzzled frown on Virginia’s face. Her mother and father had been out to the Lewis farm just the evening before to “see how everyone’s doing”—which Virginia immediately challenged. “You’ve come to see Martha,” she had told her mother with a knowing smile. But now her father was back so soon. And he was alone.
Virginia was at the door before her father could knock.
He stepped into the kitchen, brushing snow from his shoulders. “Brr. It’s one nasty day out there” was his first observation.
“So what brings you out in it?” asked Virginia frankly. “There’s not bad news, I hope.”
“Well … it’s not good news. But it could be worse, considering.”
Virginia waited.
“Mrs. Withers had a bit of a fall.”
“Was she out? In this?”
“No, no. She fell in her kitchen. The boy that shovels her walks found her. He always checks on her each time he comes round.”
Virginia felt her legs go limp and dread creep up her spine. “Was she badly hurt?”
“Luke thinks her leg is broken. Just above the knee. He’s at her place right now getting it set, but he thought you and Jonathan should know right away.”
“Jonathan’s in the barn,” she said, turning toward the door.
“I’ll go on down.” Drew placed a hand on her arm, then turned to leave.
Jonathan hurried into town behind Drew. It was not the kind of day to risk taking babies out on the roads, Virginia had agreed, but it was difficult for her to wait for further news. It was after dark before she heard the car and looked out to see headlights faintly through the swirling snow. Thank God he’s home was her silent prayer. On top of concerns for Grandmother Withers, she had been worried about her husband.
She pushed the kettle forward on the stove as she heard Jonathan stomping the snow from his boots on the porch. She was there to meet him at the door.
“How is she?”
He lifted his heavy jacket to the hook on the wall. “It’s broken, all right. But she is resting quite comfortably now, thanks to Luke.”
“Oh, Jonathan.”
Jonathan took her into his arms and patted her shoulder. Virginia felt too emotionally drained to even cry.
“Your mother says she’ll look after her for the next few days.”
What then? Virginia’s mind jumped immediately to the future. What will we do- Her mother would not be able to keep that up for long. And there was no way Virginia could get into town daily.
Our town needs a hospital, her troubled thoughts swirled on.It’s too far to go to the city in cases like this. Occasional help certainly is not sufficient. She needs someone with her full time….
Virginia pulled away from Jonathan with a sigh and reached to brush a strand of hair from her eyes. “I’ve got the water hot. You must be chilled.”
“Has Martha had her last feeding yet?”
His query, so totally off the subject at hand, surprised her. “No. She’ll want to eat once more. I’m surprised she hasn’t wakened yet.”
“Good,” he said and crossed to the baby’s cradle. He lifted her gently and headed for the rocking chair. Virginia decided that the weightless bundle in his arms would bring him far more comfort and warmth than a cup of hot chocolate. She moved the kettle to the back of the stove.
After many discussions of the situation, there seemed to be nothing else to do but to move Mrs. Withers in with them. Jonathan went to town and packed up her bed and dresser into the wagon. They pushed together living room furniture and squeezed the items in where the fire would keep the invalid warm and Virginia would not be required to run up and down the stairs.
The coming days were not going to be easy, Virginia knew, but she was hopeful that the leg would heal quickly and things would return to normal. She had agreed with Jonathan that there was really no choice about the matter. Virginia’s mother had bundled the indoor violets against the winter weather and rushed them next door to the warmth of her own kitchen. With no one to see to the fires in Mrs. Withers’ little home over the weeks ahead, the violets could not stay on her kitchen shelf and wouldn’t have survived the chilly transport to the farm.
In the days that followed, Virginia tried to present a cheery face when she interrupted a huge pile of laundry to get Mrs. Withers another pain pill or laid a not-too-patient Martha aside, half-fed, to assist with the commode. By the end of each day her back ached from lifting, running, and scrubbing.
To make matters worse, Mindy resented this further intrusion in the family. Her temper tantrums increased, leaving Virginia at wit’s end to know when to discipline and when to cuddle. If only she could foresee what Mindy really needed.
Fairly soon, she was noticing that Jonathan could walk out the door each morning to the reasonably peaceful barn with only half-broken horses to face. She found herself envying him. At least he had a sort of routine. At least the animals he’d face were somewhat predictable. At least they didn’t throw themselves on the floor and kick and scream, or cry when they needed to be fed, or ask sweetly, “Would you mind, dear?” or “Could you please bring me …?”
He didn’t freeze his fingers hanging wet laundry out on frozen clotheslines or have to duck diapers hanging across the kitchen over the heat of the stove. He didn’t have to run to keep two fires burning or have to remember to punch down the bread dough in between washing one pile of dishes and making another with the next meal’s preparations.
There were days when Virginia was afraid she would snap. There was too much to do and too little energy to get it all done. And soon little niggling resentments began to wear down her already depressed spirit.
Why was she the one so overburdened with others’ care? Why did Jonathan’s life seem to continue on as before? Oh, it was true that he had assumed some of the care of the child they had taken in. But why should
n’t he? It had been his decision as much as Virginia’s. They both had known they couldn’t stand by and let little Mindy be placed in some institution for unwanted or homeless children.
And he had wanted to be a father just as much as Virginia had looked forward to being a mother. Yet his only responsibility to the baby seemed to be to rouse her from a nap each evening so he might have the pleasure of holding her for a brief time. And it was, after all, his grandmother whose bed filled their living room so there scarcely was walking space. Why was it Virginia who ran all the invalid’s errands, maintained her care?
The wearier Virginia became, the more unfair to her it all became. And the more unfair it felt, the more her limited energy was depleted.
“Mindy, could you get Grandma the book off that table?” Virginia heard Grandmother Withers ask.
“Why?” asked the little girl sullenly. “You get it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because my leg is broken.”
There was a moment’s silence. Virginia held her breath, wondering if she should intervene.
“What’s ‘broken’ mean?”
“It means the bone broke when I fell.”
“What you got bones in your leg for? Chickens got bones.”
“So do I. So do you.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. If God hadn’t put bones in your legs, you wouldn’t be able to walk. Or run or jump.”
The child seemed to think about that for a few moments. “You got them,” she replied, “and you can’t.”
“I could if it wasn’t broken.”
“Make it unbroke then.”
“I am. That’s what’s happening while I’m in bed. I’m letting the leg get unbroke. This is the only way to fix it. To let it heal.”
Again there was silence.
“How long’s it gonna take?” asked Mindy, her voice holding just a trace of sympathy.
“It takes a long time.”
“When it gets better will you get up?”
“Yes.”
Another thoughtful silence.
“ When you get up will you go back to your flower home?”
“Yes.”
Virginia heard Mindy stir off the rocking chair.
“I’ll get it for you this once.” It seemed to be quite a concession. “But your leg better get unbroke quick.”
But in the days that followed, Mindy did agree to get this or reach that for Grandmother Withers. Virginia felt that the little girl, in her own way, was trying to heal up the broken limb so normal routine could return to the household as quickly as possible.
In spite of all of Jonathan’s ministrations, Cinnamon continued to limp. It became clear that she would not be ready for the spring sale. Virginia herself held back from asking the obvious question: If the filly didn’t sell, what would they do to meet their financial obligations? The concern gnawed away at Virginia day after day. Would they be able to make it? If they paid the bank loan, would they have enough left over to carry them through the months ahead? It was true they were able to supply most of their own food. The farm produce made them almost self-sufficient, but there were other needs. Could new terms be negotiated with the local banker? Just how much would this set them back? Would they need to forfeit their future in order to protect the present? Virginia’s worry about their financial uncertainties added to her own inner heaviness.
They tried to carry on as usual, but she could feel the tension affecting the entire household. Even Mindy seemed to notice it. Virginia would turn from her baking to see the little child studying her face intently as though trying to sort through what was wrong. Mindy watched Jonathan with the same puzzled expression. It made it even harder to push the troubling thoughts aside and pretend that there was nothing the matter.
Mrs. Withers must have felt it, too, though Virginia and Jonathan made a point of not discussing any difficulties except in late-night chats in the confines of their own bedroom. In the evenings while he sat in the rocker with baby Martha and talked of the day’s simple happenings, the elderly lady began to ask gently prying questions of Jonathan.
Virginia, fashioning a knitted sock in a nearby chair, listened in amazement at how much Grandmother Withers seemed to already know when they had said nothing. And Jonathan answered each of her questions honestly without elaboration. Yes, it had already been a long winter, but it wasn’t over yet. Yes, it would be some time until their own pastureland produced enough grass for the horses. Yes, he was rationing out the hay, hoping it would see them through. Yes, it was terribly disappointing to have his prime animal unfit for sale. Yes, he had counted on the income. No, he hadn’t talked to the banker as yet, but he figured to go on into town as soon as there was a break in the weather.
Virginia’s knitting needles clicked on. She wondered just what that next trip into town would be able to achieve. She also thought that it probably was easier for Jonathan to answer questions from his grandmother than from her.
It was not good news that Jonathan brought back from town. The banker had agreed to a three-month extension on the loan payment. That was the best he could possibly do.
But they needed more time than that—at least until the next spring sale when additional two-year-olds would be ready, eight prime young horses. Jonathan was pleased with the new lot. They were training well and were magnificent animals.
And a number of the mares would soon be dropping new spring foals. They should care for the needs of another year. After this year, things should ease off. The farm should be able to pay for itself. If they just could figure out something for that looming bank payment….
At the breakfast table Virginia, who was facing the kitchen window, noted a strange red glow in the sky. “Must be quite a sunrise,” she observed. “Sky’s red clear to the west.”
“Not time for the sun to be coming up yet,” Jonathan said with a frown. The sight brought him quickly up out of his chair, his face paling even before he reached the window. Virginia saw his whole body go tense.
“What is it?” She was rising to her feet when he whirled around.
“The haystack’s on fire.”
He was gone from the house without even stopping for his jacket.
There was no use trying to fight it. The flames had gotten too far in the dry hay, and there was no water except what could be coaxed from the pump in the yard. All they could do was stand and watch it burn while horses in nearby corrals whinnied and blew and raced around the fence in sheer terror. Jonathan sought to quiet them, but even his familiar voice had little effect. Virginia wondered if they, too, knew the consequence of this disaster.
Helplessly she returned to the house, feeling sick inside. Why don’t we just give up? Sell the farm and move back into town? She knew Jonathan could make a living in carpentry. He had proven his skills in building their house. Surely … surely carpentry would be much more reliable than raising horses. And he would have more time, too. He might even have a chance to be a real husband and father. Not a visitor at the end of a long day. Not someone so weary that all he was able to do was sit by the fire and rock his child. Yes, decided Virginia, that is what we must do. She would talk to Jonathan about it. Surely he would agree.
But Jonathan did not agree. He said very little while Virginia laid out her solution to all their problems as they lay beneath the warmth and safety of their homemade quilt. But she could tell by his silence and the stiffness of his body that he was not in agreement.
For a moment she felt deep frustration and wanted to tell him that he was being stubborn. He was refusing to consider his family. What is for our good- her mind clamored. But she knew that was unfair. Jonathan had always thought about his family.
But it did not seem that he intended to be reasonable now. Was his dream too hard to let go? Couldn’t he see that it was not weakness that led one to admit defeat, but strength?
She tried again. He had a goodly amount of assets out in his barns.
If he sold the farm and all his horses, and if they were worth as much as he thought they were, he’d be able to pay off their debts and still have a sizable amount to put toward a house in town. It was the only sensible thing for them to do. Why couldn’t he see that? Virginia presented herarguments, her voice getting a little higher pitched with each new expression of her position.
When Jonathan seemed unwilling to either refute or concede, Virginia turned her back to him. There was no use discussing it further. Hot tears fell into her goose-down pillow. What was the use? She had tried so hard to be a dutiful wife. To support her husband in his dream, his venture. Here she was, burdened with the care of family. Family that really should not have been her sole responsibility. And carrying most of it alone, while Jonathan escaped to his animals. Maybe she was the one who should be moving back into town.
Virginia chastised herself for even thinking such a thought, but her tears only increased. It seemed that her lot was a very heavy one. It would have helped to have had the comfort of Jonathan’s arms.
CHAPTER 15
The next morning, Virginia found it hard to rise from her bed. Jonathan was already gone from their room. Virginia could hear Mindy’s voice drifting up the stairs. She was not sure if the child was speaking with Jonathan or Grandmother Withers. She could not pick out the words, only the rise and fall of the little girl’s voice. Martha, who had been fed at four, slept on. Virginia fervently hoped she would not awaken again until the family had been served their breakfast.
She forced herself from the warmth of the covers and reached a reluctant foot out to the rag rug by the bed. She wished she did not need to face this day. She wondered just how Jonathan would greet her after their disagreement of the night before.
Slowly she dressed and descended the steps. Jonathan had already left for the barn. It was to Grandmother Withers that the young child was talking.
“ … and then Papa said it was only a dream and I should go back to sleep again.”