A Searching Heart

by Janette Oke

  Rodney flushed slightly. “I’ve told you about her,” he defended himself.

  Belinda nodded, but Rodney’s expression acknowledged the fact that that wasn’t good enough.

  “She’s from the church I attend,” he began.

  Belinda nodded again. That much Rodney had disclosed.

  “A city girl, obviously,” Drew added, though Virginia knew her father’s observation did not mean he would hold that against her. “What does her father do?” he asked.

  That seemed to be a standard question for one father to ask about another.

  “She doesn’t have a father.”

  Several pairs of eyes turned to Rodney, expressing surprise and interest.

  “Both her father and mother were killed in an accident when she was four,” he hurried to explain.

  “She’s an orphan?” exclaimed Francine.

  Rodney nodded.

  “She sure doesn’t look like an orphan.”

  “Orphans aren’t always people in rags begging on the street, Francine,” Rodney said a bit impatiently.

  They waited.

  “Her father had been an investor—his family’s business. Mostly real estate and lumber, I think. When they were killed, she was left with a maiden aunt as guardian. She has been with her ever since—until a year ago last May. Her aunt Sadie died then, and Grace has been on her own. She decided to go to college. She’s taking nursing.”

  “Nursing?” Belinda’s voice conveyed her feelings. Virginia supposed no chosen occupation would have surprised—or pleased—her mother more.

  “If she’s rich . . . ?” began Francine.

  “Please, Francine, let’s let Rodney tell us,” broke in Belinda. Francine held her tongue.

  “She is rich,” admitted Rodney. “At least she has potential to be rich. But she doesn’t want to live a rich, idle life.”

  Belinda’s satisfied nod reflected Virginia’s approval.

  “Her aunt was quite strict,” went on Rodney. “Real strict. She kept Grace quite confined. Almost like . . . like a monk.”

  “Girls aren’t monks,” murmured Francine under her breath. Rodney only glanced her way before continuing.

  “She’s never had family—that she clearly remembers. She thinks I am so lucky. So blessed.” He lowered his gaze and rubbed his hands vigorously together. “And she’s right,” he went on, raising his face again. “I am blessed. I want to share that with her. That’s why I brought her home with me.”

  “So you don’t have plans?” asked Belinda hesitantly.

  “Oh no,” Rodney was quick to say. “I still have to finish school. Grace has two more years. We haven’t even talked about. . .”

  Virginia could feel her mother’s relief as she smiled warmly at her oldest son.

  Rodney picked up the conversation again, his face flushing with his confession. “I . . . I really like her a lot, Mama, but we haven’t—I haven’t . . .” He paused, then closed his mouth. He didn’t seem to feel the need to say any more.

  “We’re glad you brought Grace home,” Belinda said for all of them. “We’ll make her visit just as pleasant as we can, even though it’s quite obvious she is not used to living quite like we do.”

  “Mama,” said Rodney, “she realizes she hasn’t been as blessed as we have, but she is more than willing to try to fit in. To learn.”

  Virginia blinked. She knew that wasn’t quite what her mother had meant.

  ———

  Grace did try to fit in, though Virginia was sure it was not easy for her.

  By nature Grace was shy, and living with the maiden aunt with her strict disciplines could not have helped her confidence in new situations.

  She knew how to do very little around the house and admitted that the first she had ever made her own bed or cleaned her own room was when she moved into the university dormitory. “But I’m rather good at it now,” she noted shyly.

  But when it came to kitchen duties, she knew nothing. Virginia, who had grown up with an eggbeater or a dish towel in her hand, could not believe that one Grace’s age could be so ignorant of simple procedures.

  But Grace did want to learn and hovered near Virginia, her big eyes fixed on every move. She was full of questions. Why do you do that? What is that for? How does this work? It was like teaching a willing child.

  Grace caught on quickly, and Virginia could see that she had a bright and eager mind.

  “Why nursing?” Virginia asked as they prepared an evening meal together.

  The large eyes opened even wider, then she nodded as though she understood the purpose behind the question.

  “I wanted a profession where I could be of help to people,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “I’ve been alone all my life— except for Aunt Sadie.”

  Yes, I’ve heard about “Aunt Sadie,” Virginia thought to herself. Already she had decided she didn’t care much for the elderly dowager.

  “And the staff, of course, but Aunt Sadie did not want me ‘hobnobbing’ with them. I was banned from the kitchen and even the gardens unless supervised.”

  It must have been dreadful, thought Virginia.

  “When I decided to go to university—I was of age and could make my own decisions—I decided to take a course that would not only let me be with people, but would also let me help in some way. I felt I understood a little bit about suffering.”

  “Do you remember back before you moved to your aunt’s house?” Virginia asked, trying to be delicate.

  “Oh, I didn’t move to hers. She moved to mine. Well, my parents’, really.”

  “So it wasn’t her . .. ?”

  “Home? Her wealth? Oh my no. She had nothing really. There was no way she could have cared for a child. She just had a little place on a back street.”

  Virginia must have showed her surprise.

  “We were not a big family. Great-aunt Sadie was the only living relative I had.”

  Virginia felt further sympathy.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without her,” Grace went on and the blue-green eyes misted with unreleased tears. “She was good to me. She was old—and arthritic—even from the first. It must have been hard for her to care for a child.”

  Virginia began to readjust her mental picture of the elderly woman.

  ———

  When Christmas had been celebrated and the time came for Danny, Rodney, and Grace to return to the university, the whole household was sad to see her go. Even small Anthony had taken to her quickly, and he begged her not to leave when she said her good-bye.

  “I’ll be back,” she promised him with another warm hug for the sturdy little boy.

  He changed his tactic with “Me go, too.” He reached his arms around her neck. “Tony go, too.”

  Virginia smiled at the irony that Clara had managed to require that he be called by his full name, only to have Anthony choose to call himself Tony.

  “Maybe someday I will be able to take you for a train ride. But not now. Your mama and papa would be too lonesome if you came with me.”

  Anthony looked back at Clara, then held out an inviting hand. “Mama—come,” he insisted. Soon he would have the entire family traveling the train with Grace.

  Troy rescued his son and freed Grace to board the train. They all waved one last time, then stepped back to watch the train pull from the station.

  Not much was said as they returned home, but Virginia knew the whole family likely felt as bereft as she herself. There was something about Grace that warmed your heart. Maybe Francine, a bit too candidly perhaps, said it for all of them. “You know, after she had been here awhile, I forgot about all her money and her fancy clothes and just thought of her as . . . as normal.”

  They would miss her.

  Virginia thought forward to the months ahead. Her mother had given Grace an invitation to come back anytime she had a break in her class schedule.

  ———

  The cold weather remained, but Virginia paid little att
ention to it, even though she had to face it every day walking to and from work. She probably had become used to it, but perhaps it was because she genuinely enjoyed being a postmistress, and the walk in the cold seemed a small price to be doing something that brought her satisfaction.

  She had not discussed it with her parents as yet, but she had quite decided she would not pursue any further schooling. As far as she was concerned, she had already established her career.

  Though it was far from glamorous and didn’t pay high returns, it would be steady employment. She should never need to venture from her own hometown or the family that she loved. Perhaps one day she would even get her own little suite of rooms or maybe even a very small house of her own. If she saved every spare penny, she should be able to care for her own needs. She did not want her parents to think she expected them to support her all her life.

  The thought of one day marrying never even occurred to Virginia. She took no notice of any of the young men of the town and naïvely did not catch the little signals of interest that were sent her way.

  Jamison had not written. Many evenings Virginia had to resist the impulse to sit down and write to him, sharing the events of her day and the small-town news that she felt might be of interest to him. His parents keep in touch, she told herself. He would know all the news from the town.

  Pulling out a sheet of paper, she would then begin a letter to Rodney or Danny or often Grace.

  But even as she wrote, her heart still felt empty. Lonely. If Jamison should ever change his mind, she knew she would have no hesitation in taking him back. She missed him so much that it was a constant, conscious pain in the depth of her being.

  Church did little to alleviate the pain. Every time she looked toward the pew that he had shared with his parents as a boy, or the one they had shared for so much of their growing-up years, the pain became fresh again. She wondered just how long it took for a broken heart to heal.

  Her Bible and its familiar passages offered comfort and hope for the future, and she clung to its truth of God’s love and care for her when her heart was especially heavy.

  ———

  The big news for the family in the new year was Clara’s announcement that Anthony was to have a new sister or brother. At first there was deep concern, even on Clara’s part. She was closely observed by the two doctors in town and watched even more closely by her mother. But no signs of recurring illness developed in the first few months of her pregnancy, and everyone began to relax.

  Virginia let herself be excited and once again began a new round of purchases for baby things. This time she was hoping for a niece.

  ———

  Virginia was on her way home from work late one afternoon, her coat collar pulled up about her face, her scarf securely tied to keep out the cold, when she almost collided with a man hurrying down the sidewalk.

  She stepped aside just in time, excusing herself but thinking that the near miss was mostly because of his carelessness. Then the man spoke.

  “Virginia?”

  It was Jenny’s father.

  “Yes,” she replied in a faltering voice. Was he intoxicated again?

  “A call just came,” he said, his voice strained. Troubled. “It’s Jenny. She’s been hurt in an auto accident.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Virginia stared at Jenny’s father, trying desperately to make sense of his hurried words. Jenny. Hurt. Auto accident. Her mind processed the words, but she still fought against what they meant. At last she spoke, but her voice was choked. “Where is she?”

  Not, How is she? Virginia didn’t know if she was ready to hear that part.

  “In the hospital—there in Almsburg. A doctor called.”

  Virginia was busy sorting through the information. Mr. Woods started to move on. She reached out a hand to detain him and spoke again before he could hurry away.

  “Is she—is it serious?”

  He nodded then, and Virginia thought she saw tears in his eyes. “It’s serious.” Then he was gone.

  Virginia bowed her head, her own tears streaming down her face. “Oh, God,” she prayed, “be with Jenny. I know she’s rejected you, but give her another chance. Please. Please don’t let her die now. She’s not ready. Help the doctors. And, Father, be with Mr. Woods. He loves her, too. I could see it in his face. Please, God. Don’t let Jenny die.”

  Virginia did not add an amen. Though she lifted her head and hurried toward home, her heart did not cease its continual prayer. Over and over she whispered, “Please, God, be with Jenny. Don’t let her die. Please don’t let her die.”

  When she reached home, she pushed open the kitchen door and called for her mother. From somewhere near the front of the house, Belinda answered, “I’m here.”

  “Where’s here?” The agitation and alarm in Virginia’s voice was met with the sound of hurried footsteps coming to meet her. Belinda’s expression showed her concern when she entered the hall leading to the kitchen. One look at Virginia’s tear-streaked face and she rushed forward. “What is it?”

  “It’s . . . it’s Jenny,” Virginia managed before she burst into uncontrolled sobs.

  Belinda reached out for her daughter and pulled her close, then pushed her back to look into her face. “What happened?” she insisted. “Tell me what happened.”

  “An auto accident,” Virginia said with trembling lips.

  Belinda’s eyes reflected the horror in Virginia’s. She paled and pulled her daughter back into her arms again.

  “Is it. . . is she . . . ?”

  “She’s in the Almsburg hospital.”

  Belinda’s relief that the young girl was not dead was apparent.

  Silently she held Virginia, stroking her hair, patting her shoulder, kissing the top of her head. The shoulders soon stopped shaking, and the muffled sobs subsided.

  “How did you hear?” Belinda asked.

  “I met her father on the street. He was rushing toward . . . toward the train station.”

  “He’s going?”

  Virginia thought about that. “He must have been,” she answered. “He had a little . . . little valise in his hand.”

  Silence again.

  “I’m glad he’s gone to be with her,” whispered Belinda.

  Now that she thought about it, Virginia was glad, too. She leaned back in her mother’s arms. “Do you think I could go?” she asked her mother.

  “To Almsburg?” Belinda sounded surprised, but she did not give an immediate and negative reply.

  “We’ll see,” she said thoughtfully. “We need to talk to your father. He should be home soon.” She glanced at the clock on the mantel through the open archway. “You’d never make today’s train. It should be pulling out anytime now.”

  “But there’s another train tomorrow,” Virginia commented.

  Belinda seemed a bit shaken. “Almsburg is a long way from here. We know no one in the city. I have no idea how you’d find your way to the hospital—or accommodations—or anything.”

  “They must have streetcars or taxis,” replied Virginia.

  They were moving down the hall, back toward the kitchen. Virginia realized that she still had not removed her coat. She did so now, hanging it on a peg behind the door.

  “We’ll talk to your father,” Belinda said again. “In the meantime, we’ll pray.”

  “I’ve been praying.” Virginia sounded about to burst into fresh tears.

  “I know you have,” responded Belinda lovingly. “Come. We’ll pray together. The Lord will show us what to do.”

  ———

  The discussion with her father concluded that he would look into the possibilities in the morning.

  Virginia got little sleep that night. Every time she stirred from troubled dreams, she found herself praying for Jenny again. In the morning she bathed her face in fresh cold water and tried to disguise the puffiness of her eyes.

  It was difficult to go to work, but Virginia did. She was sure she’d never be able to concentrat
e on the tasks at hand, but once she was there with a job to be done, she found she was able to put her mind to it.

  The news traveled quickly through the small town. Several morning customers to the post office asked Virginia about Jenny, knowing the two girls had been friends for many years. A few had their own information. Which of Jenny’s bones had been broken or how many young people had been in the auto. Virginia wondered where they had learned it and discarded the conflicting accounts as hearsay. One lady even told Virginia that Jenny was the only one to survive the crash, and she was hanging on by a thread.

  I will not believe any of this until I have the facts, Virginia told herself, firmly keeping her emotions in check.

  The facts came in the person of Virginia’s father. His face was somber when he entered the post office. He spoke first to Mr. Manson, the postmaster. “May I have a moment with my daughter, please?”

  Mr. Manson took one look at Drew Simpson’s face and nodded in agreement. He indicated a small supply room off to the side. Virginia did not wait further but moved toward the room, a big lump in the back of her throat. As soon as the door was closed, she turned to her father.

  “Virginia,” he said, “I’ve been on the phone for most of the morning. I wasn’t able to get through to Jenny’s father, but finally one of her doctors talked to me.”

  Virginia held her breath. She knew it was not going to be good news.

  “Jenny is still fighting for her life. But she is alive,” he continued. “We can be thankful for that. She’s unconscious. She has internal injuries. They are not sure yet just how extensive. The bleeding has the doctors greatly concerned. She had a nasty bump on her head. That, too, is a big concern.”

  “Broken bones?” Virginia heard herself asking.

  “Broken bones, but bones heal.” Her father’s dismissal of the broken bones with such casualness sent another tremor of fear through Virginia. If broken bones could be shrugged off so easily, then Jenny’s condition was extremely serious.

  “Jenny is unaware of anything that is going on around her right now.”