A Quiet Strength

by Janette Oke

  “I can look after things here. I’m sure Jonathan can help me learn what to do and where things are.”

  Jonathan doesn’t know where things are, either, Virginia could have said but didn’t.

  “I think you should go, too,” Jonathan said quickly. “I might not be much help here, but Grandmother can advise. She knows how you’ve run the house and cared for the girls. Between us, we’ll manage.”

  Virginia packed a small bag, kissed her little ones a tearful good-bye, and was driven to town by Jonathan to catch the late-afternoon train. “I’ll be praying for you … and for Jenny,” he whispered into her ear as he hugged her at the depot.

  It was a long and silent journey. Neither she nor Mr. Woods were much inclined to talk. Virginia wondered if he was dreading the coming meeting with Jenny as much as she was.

  When they arrived in the city, they made their way through the train station and down the wide front steps. Mr. Woods hailed a cab and handed the driver the slip of paper on which he’d written the address Jenny had given him.

  They wound their way in and out of traffic and through the strange streets. Virginia thought about her previous visit to the city and wondered if Pastor Black still shepherded the little congregation. He and his mother had been very good to her when she had been on another rescue effort for Jenny.

  At last they arrived at a large building. They stared up at it while the driver insisted it was where they wanted to be. “The address says it’s up the steps. Third floor,” he said gruffly as he took the bills from Mr. Woods and handed back the address.

  They went in together. The place smelled like meals from many yesterdays mixed with smoke-stale draperies and musty carpets. The elevator smelled even worse. They decided to take the stairs.

  By the time she had climbed to the third floor, Virginia felt a little sick to her stomach. She didn’t know if it was nerves, dreading what lay ahead, hunger from not having eaten prop? erly, or nausea from all the odors they had encountered.

  Mr. Woods found the door marked with a faint 307 and knocked. At first there was no response. He knocked again. More loudly. A voice from somewhere inside said, “Who is it?”

  Mr. Woods responded, giving Virginia’s name as well as his own.

  “Just a minute,” came the slurred voice again. There was a stirring about, a door chain being unhooked, and then the door opened. There was Jenny. It was all Virginia could do to keep from gasping.

  Jenny, as Virginia had never seen her before. Jenny, clothed in a ragged robe, her hair entangled about a pale, ghostlike face, eyes red and swollen. Jenny, smelling of alcohol and stale cigarette smoke.

  “You came,” Jenny rasped out, and her face crumpled. She threw herself in Virginia’s arms and sobbed uncontrollably.

  Mr. Woods rescued Virginia’s small valise and managed somehow to maneuver them both inside so he could shut the door. It was some minutes before Jenny was in control enough to converse.

  With a great many sobs and pauses, Jenny told them that Hayden and his new wife had been out with friends. Com? ing home in the early morning hours, the driver had missed a curve or fallen asleep. No one knew for sure. The car had lurched down an embankment. The new Mrs. Hayden had been thrown clear. She and another passenger were injured only slightly and had already been released from hospital. Another of Hayden’s friends had also been killed. The two had been pinned under the car when it rolled. The driver was in the hospital in serious condition.

  By the time Jenny had choked out the details, it was late. The one-room apartment had only one bed. Mr. Woods said that he would take a hotel and be back in the morning. Vir? ginia envied him. She had the feeling she was in for a very long night.

  After the door had closed upon her father, Jenny poured herself another drink. Virginia sat rigid in the room’s one chair. She had never been in such a situation before. The room, obviously the place Jenny called home, was dark and dirty and sparsely furnished with old, worn pieces. Jenny’s clothing, bottles, magazines, and old newspapers cluttered the room. The whole place smelled even worse than the stairway they had climbed.

  Jenny looked up from the drink in her hand. “What’s the matter, Virginia?” she asked, her words slurred. “You surprised that the town’s alcoholic newsman has produced an alcoholic daughter?”

  Virginia wanted to respond that the town newsman was an alcoholic no longer, but she held her tongue.

  “I hope you didn’t come all this way to lecture me on making choices,” Jenny continued. “ ’Cause I’ve no mind to be listening to your little Sunday school talks on the goodness of God.”

  Virginia shook her head. “I did not come to lecture you, Jenny. You know that.”

  “Good.” Jenny burped, then giggled. It sounded silly and out of place under such circumstances. Virginia cringed, realizing that Jenny was indeed intoxicated.

  Jenny flopped down onto an open space on the floor and crossed her legs in a most unladylike fashion, her dirty robe unable to cover her properly.

  “I’ll bet you’re thinkin’, ‘Good riddance.’ “ Jenny swore. “‘He’s gone. Now maybe Jenny will stop chasing after someone she can’t have and clean up her life.’ Is that what you think, Virginia? Well, it won’t work. I like my life just fine. At least I used to.”

  She took another gulp from the glass in her hand.

  “Virginia, do you have any idea what it’s like to be the ‘ex’? No, of course you don’t. You’ve never been the ‘ex.’ Except for the ex-girlfriend of one sharp guy—Jamison whatever his name was. Well, I’ll tell you what it’s like to be the ‘ex.’ Ex-wife. Tomorrow the man I love is going to be buried. Tomorrow I won’t even be given a place to sit at the ceremony.” She inter? rupted herself, one hand raising her glass. “Do you call it a ceremony when you bury someone, or is that just weddings and baptisms and such? Anyway, they’ll be burying the one I love—have always loved. I’ll be there—you can count on it? but I won’t be welcomed. They’d lock me out if they could. They didn’t even have the decency to tell me he died. No—I had to read it in the papers. Read it. Right there. I wasn’t even mentioned in the obituary. Read it!” she demanded, pointing at one of the papers scattered on the floor. She began to sob again.

  “Did anyone ask me where he should be buried?” she rasped out when she could go on. “What should be written on the gravestone? I don’t matter, you see. I’m just the ‘ex.’ It’s like I never lived. Never had his child. Like I don’t exist anymore. They wouldn’t even let me in to see his body. They locked me out.” Again she put a shaking hand to her face and sobbed wildly.

  “Well, they won’t lock me out of that church. Paper says right there where he’s … where that service takes place. I’ll be there. Hayden would want me there. Sure, we had our differences … but he would want me there. That …” Jenny then used unspeakable language to describe Hayden’s widow. “She can’t keep me away. That’s my Hayden they’ll be burying.”

  “Jenny, I think you should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day. You need your rest,” Virginia said gently.

  “Sleep?” Jenny scoffed. “How can I sleep? This is the last night before Hayden is put in the ground. Tomorrow … he will be gone. Gone, Virginia. Don’t you understand? Gone. Forever. My Hayden.” Her words were becoming louder, more slurred.

  Yes, mourned Virginia. I do understand. The helplessness, the hopelessness, of those who die without knowing God, without a Saviour. No wonder you weep, Jenny. No wonder you try to numb your pain with alcohol.

  Jenny swiped at clutter on the floor to clear herself a larger space. She lay down, spilling her drink on the already stained carpet. “Pour me another one, Virginia,” she said, lifting up her glass.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” said Virginia, rising from her chair. “If you have to have another one, you’ll have to get it yourself.”

  Virginia crossed to the area that seemed to serve as Jenny’s kitchen. “Have you had anything to eat?”
r />   For a moment Jenny looked puzzled. “I dunno,” she said at last. “I think so. I dunno.”

  “You should eat.”

  “Why don’t you fix me roast beef and mashed potatoes?” said Jenny, then broke into riotous laugher, rolling on the floor. Virginia had never seen such erratic behavior. One minute weeping uncontrollably, the next minute laughing hilariously. It was truly frightening.

  “Tell you what, good neighbor,” Jenny went on. “If you find it, you can fix it.” She laughed again and scrambled unsteadily to her feet to retrieve her bottle.

  Jenny was right. As Virginia sorted through the clutter, she found nothing fit to eat.

  “I think you should get to bed,” she said again, but Jenny was bending over, holding on to her stomach.

  “I feel a little sick. I think …” She headed for the corner of the room where an open door displayed a stained sink and toilet. But Jenny never made it that far. She was sick in the middle of the floor. Virginia found it difficult to keep from heaving herself.

  She helped Jenny to the bed and found a pail and some rags by the sink. She could not do a thorough job of the cleanup, but at least there was some improvement. Some clutter on the floor had also been soiled. Virginia did not know how to clean it or what to do with it. She wished she could just bag it up and throw it out.

  There was no way that she could get rid of the putrid odor. It hung in the room, saturating the very air she had to breathe. She went to the room’s one window in the hope of getting some fresh air, but it would not open.

  By the time she turned around, Jenny was already in a deep sleep. Virginia looked about her, hot tears washing down her face. Oh, Jenny, her heart cried. What has happened to you? And Virginia wept for her childhood friend as she never had before.

  Mr. Woods took them both out for breakfast, and then Virginia went back to the apartment to do a more thorough cleaning while father and daughter went off somewhere on their own. When they returned, Jenny was wearing a new black suit and her hair had been properly tamed and tucked under a matching hat. She looked a little more like the Jenny of old. How he had managed to keep Jenny from the bottle, Virginia never knew.

  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

  One 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.