by Janette Oke
Virginia did not realize until that moment that she still had not taken a kitchen chair. She had stood poised beside her grandmother, ready to catch her should she move too quickly and need assistance. She felt warmth flush her cheeks and quickly moved to a chair at the table.
“Well, things are pretty much the same as always,” she began. “Jonathan and Slate fill their days with working horses and doing chores.”
“An’ fine horses they are, too,” her grandfather put in.
“Martha and Olivia got a mite restless being cooped up in the rain.”
“Wasn’t thet some rain?” said Marty, shaping biscuits for the baking pan. She wiped the flour from her hands onto her apron. “Clare’s boys said we needed it.”
“I suppose we did,” agreed Virginia, “though I’d begun to think it was never going to stop.”
“Always stops. Always stops,” said her grandfather. “God’s never forgot to shut off the tap yet.”
Virginia smiled.
“I bet you was as anxious as the younguns to have it over with so thet they could git out,” said her grandmother knowingly.
Virginia’s smile broadened. “You can just bet I was,” she agreed.
“I often think thet things didn’t git balanced too well. There are days I long so to have my little ones back so’s I could enjoy ’em. When they was here I was jest too busy to do the things I woulda liked to have done. But o’ course, iffen they was back—all thet work would come along with ’em an’ I wouldn’t git to have the time to enjoy ’em any more than I did at the time.”
Clark snorted playfully from his corner chair. “Yer grandma talks in riddles. Half the time I need to sort through what she’s sayin’ ’fore I can make the least bit of sense of it.”
“I understand—perfectly,” replied Virginia stoutly.
“Guess it’s a woman thing, then,” laughed Clark. “Sure don’t add up to a full column fer me.”
The teakettle began to hum. Marty, who had placed the biscuits in the oven and taken a chair beside Virginia at the table, rose quickly—much too quickly—from her chair and went to fix the tea. Virginia held her breath as she watched her stagger, then reclaim her balance.
“Slow down, old woman.”
Virginia heard the love and concern in her grandfather’s voice, but Marty did not even change her stride. Without looking toward him, she answered with a light tone, “Hush, old man. Don’t you be policin’ me from yer easy chair.”
But you must, Grandma. You must, Virginia longed to say. You could fall again. And the next one might be more serious than the others have been. Don’t you know? Don’t you understand that you are on the verge of losing your home? Your snug, cheery kitchen with the kettle singing and the biscuits filling the room with fresh-baked aroma? Grandpa’s corner chair easily accessible to the kitchen table. Your combination living-room-bedroom so you no longer need to climb Like Gold Refined E stairs. All the familiar things that bring to you those memories you spoke of. Please—please slow down. But she couldn’t say the words aloud.
She forced her attention back to her grandfather and managed to converse about everyday happenings, one ear attuned to her grandmother’s footsteps and one eye watching her unsteady movements. At length Marty removed the golden brown biscuits from the oven and set them on the back of the stove. She moved to pick up the plate she had taken from the cupboard in preparation for their readiness. “Jest git the cream from the pantry, Virginia. Pa still likes a little in his tea.”
Virginia arose to do as bidden. “Bring out the butter, too,” called her grandmother after her. “It’s in thet yella dish with the cover.”
By the time Virginia returned with the cream and butter, Marty was placing the biscuits and the teapot on the table. A shuffling noise to her left drew her attention. It was her grandfather pushing his way up from his chair. Virginia watched as he heaved, his once strong arms now straining with the effort of lifting up his body. His face was contorted by the effort the simple task was demanding. It took three attempts before he was able to gain a rather stooped standing position.
How long has he been like this? Virginia found herself wondering. His arms had always been so strong. So muscular. He had learned to make do with the strength of his arms what most men did with the strength of two sturdy legs.
He carefully lowered himself to the kitchen chair, and the look of serious intent left his face as he smiled her way again. “Mindy still likin’ school?”
The question caught Virginia off guard, but she quickly regained her concentration and answered evenly, “She loves it. Mindy is a good student. Brought home a real good report the other day.”
“Strawberry jam—fresh,” her grandmother was saying as she crossed to the table with jar in hand. “Now, Pa, ya savor every mouthful of this. Here—could ya open it fer me, please?”
She passed the jar to Clark. It wasn’t until then that Virginia noticed how shaky his hands had become. He took the offered jar and attempted to open the lid, but it was plain to see that the strength had gone from the once powerful wrists.
“I ’spect yer gonna have to stick it in some hot water fer a spell,” he said after several attempts to open the jar.
“I’ll do it,” offered Virginia quickly. Taking the jar from him, she moved toward the stove for the kettle. With her back turned to the table, she deftly opened the jar on her way but managed to stall a bit, hoping they would think the hot water was needed.
But it was not really the jar that detained her. It was her emotions. Fight them as she would, it was true what her mother had said. Her grandparents were getting old. Old. She couldn’t bear the thought. They had always been there. Always in their sunny kitchen. Sitting around the worn table where many years of meals had been served to hungry offspring and unnumbered guests. They had always offered their little bits of gathered wisdom in a homey, caring way. She always left with a fresh outlook on life. On living. On faith. Whatever would she do? How could life go on without them here? It wouldn’t be the same. Not the same at all.
“How were your grandparents?”
Jonathan asked the question casually when Virginia entered her own kitchen. She wasn’t sure how to answer—or even if she could answer. She had battled with the question herself all the way home. How were they? Really? Was there need for concern? She had gone to visit them today to prove to herself that her mother was wrong. That they were just fine. That they would still be fine for many years of living on their own. Her mother’s nursing background made her simply too protective.
But she’d had to ask herself if her mother was right. Were they in danger if they continued on their own?
Virginia certainly did not wish to endanger them any more than her mother, but her whole being rebelled against the idea that her grandparents were so old and feeble as to no longer be able to care for themselves. It was just too difficult to accept. To admit that would mean having to face the truth that the day might come when she would need to relinquish them. Virginia could not even think about a world without one or the other of her grandparents. It was too painful. Too frightening. They had been her rock, her mooring. She needed them.
Now she thought carefully before answering Jonathan’s question.
“ They were pleased about the fresh jam,” she said evasively. “Good.”
“The children are still sleeping?”
“Not a peep.” Jonathan gave a little wave of his hand toward small Martha, who insisted upon holding a rein to the bridle that he worked on as her share of the task. “Except this one. Not a quiet minute from this one. She chatters nonstop.” He grinned.
“I’m helping Papa,” said Martha seriously. “I keep the weins from hanging on the floor.”
“Reins,” corrected Jonathan good-naturedly.
“Reins,” echoed Martha with great concentration. Martha often had trouble with the sound of r, transposing it to the twenty-third letter of the alphabet.
“That’s nice you’ve helped Pa
pa.” Virginia placed the now empty basket that had transported the strawberry jam on the nearby cupboard. She winced as she looked at her kitchen table, spread with bridles, reins, and the oil that Jonathan was using to thoroughly work the leather. She was glad for lye soap and hot water.
“Papa says I’m a good helper,” Martha said, clearly wanting further recognition for a job well done.
“I’m sure you are,” smiled Virginia as she looked at the small figure proudly holding the leather thong. Jonathan reached out a hand and tousled the hair of the child. Virginia winced again, hoping that his hand had not transferred oil to her head. Treasure the moments, her heart whispered. If you don’t learn to treasure the moments, you’ll never be able to treasure the memories. Her lesson of the day from her grandparents. Her aging grandparents.
A tear threatened to form, but Virginia determinedly blinked it back. Her grandparents may indeed be getting old. True. But they still knew much about life. They still could teach, could exemplify lifelong values, and seemed to manage to do so with every breath they took. Virginia could not resist the urge to fight against the inevitable. Someday … someday they would have to face losing them. But not yet. Surely not yet. They needed them … so much. They all really needed them.
“Mindy has her eye on that young sorrel mare.”
“Mindy has her eye on each and every horse in the pasture,” replied Virginia, removing her apron and tossing it on the chair by the bed. She was tired. It had been another long day of many tasks. Her bed looked most inviting. She could hardly wait to lay her head on the pillow.
“No,” said Jonathan. “This is different. She really loves this horse.”
“Yes?” prompted Virginia, wondering where this conversation was leading.
“I’ve talked to Slate. He’s the one who’s worked with the little filly most. He says he thinks she will make a good horse.”
“ They all make good horses,” replied Virginia, slipping out of her shoes.
Jonathan’s back was to her as he removed his soiled work shirt and tossed it in a corner. “Slate says this one has a very gentle disposition. Tries her best to please.”
Virginia straightened from removing her stockings and looked toward her husband. “Are you saying that you are thinking of giving the filly to the child?”
Jonathan turned toward her. “Thinking of it.”
“She’s awfully young for her own horse.”
“Now, Virginia. You know Mindy’s been around horses ever since … ” He stopped. Virginia wondered if Jonathan, on one of the rare occasions of remembering, was recalling that Mindy had not always been theirs. That she had come to them through circumstances that at the time had brought pain. Jenny’s child. Jenny. Where was Jenny? And how was she? They had not heard from her for ages.
“She can handle a horse very well,” Jonathan went on.
“She’s only ridden the well-broken horses,” Virginia reminded him.
He swung fully to meet her, his eyes reaching out to lock with her own. “And this one will be well broken before she is given over. You can count on that. I’d never put a child on a horse that might spook.”
Virginia knew that to be true. Jonathan might love his horses, but he loved his children even more. He would never jeopardize their safety.
“I know,” she nodded. “I’m sorry if I sounded … anxious.”
He smiled. “I knew it was the mother speaking.”
They finished their preparations for retiring in silence, then knelt for their prayer time together. It wasn’t until they were tucked between the cool sheets that Jonathan spoke again. “Mindy has another birthday coming up soon. I thought the little mare might make a nice birthday gift.”
So that’s where this is going, thought Virginia, but she made no comment.
“Slate says he can have her ready by then. She’s coming along real nice. Be fun to see our daughter’s eyes.”
Yes, it would be fun to see Mindy’s eyes, Virginia agreed silently. The girl would be so thrilled. She loved the horses. But a child of nine? Was she ready? They were not speaking of old, plodding farm animals. They were talking of a high-spirited horse.
When Virginia did not speak, Jonathan asked, “Is it okay with you? Are you comfortable with that?”
In the darkness Virginia’s eyes narrowed. She was not sure. If Mindy had her own horse, she would feel much more inclined to ride. Everywhere. At every opportunity. They would lose a bit of their control of her life. Were they ready for that? Was she responsible enough to be trusted with such liberty?
Even as she fought against it, Virginia knew she must let go. She could not always keep her children tethered to her apron strings. Little by little she had to learn to release them. A wave of fear, followed by resignation, swept through her body, but she said quietly, “If you are sure.”
Jonathan sounded pleased as he answered with one word, “Good.” He turned to kiss her good-night, then lay back on his pillow with a contented sigh. “You know,” he said with satisfaction filling his voice, “they are really growing up—our little ones. Before we know it, they’ll be off on their own.”
That was hardly the thing to say to Virginia in her present state of mind. Her grandparents. Now her children. …
CHAPTER 3
Virginia decided to make the most of the upcoming birthday celebration and invited all the grandparents and as many of her family members as could accept the invitation to the dinner party. The birthday was to be celebrated on a Saturday after? noon, which didn’t seem to make much difference to Mindy. They weren’t sure of the exact birth date anyway.
I wish Jenny would contact us, Virginia found herself fretting as she basted the turkey and returned it to the oven. It isn’t right that this child is growing up not even knowing her own birth date.
But Jenny had not been in touch. Not for years. Virginia alternately felt concern, anger, fear. Was Jenny okay? Or was she just too busy with life—whatever it was that her life held now? Maybe she has married again, thought Virginia. That would not be unthinkable. In spite of her faded condition and her loss of bloom, Jenny was still an attractive woman in her own way. Perhaps with her errant husband gone, Jenny had even managed to recover some of the old vitality.
But Virginia did not have long to dwell upon her troubling thoughts. There was much to be done before the birthday guests began to arrive.
“Mindy, could you set the tables, dear?” she asked the girl who came bouncing into the room, then quickly added, “I know it’s your party and I hate to make you help, but I’m afraid—”
“I don’t mind,” enthused Mindy, too excited about the coming celebration to mind much of anything.
Virginia was relieved for the extra pair of hands. Once the tables had been set, Mindy asked for the next task that she might do. Soon they were working side by side. My, she is growing up, thought Virginia as she watched her oldest. I hadn’t even realized how much I depend upon her help.
When the first motor was heard coming down the lane, a loud cheer went up from the excited children. Mindy and Martha both ran to the door, and Olivia, who always watched them closely to learn how she should respond to each event in her world, took her cue from their actions and began to clap her hands and cheer along with them, trailing along behind as fast as her little legs could carry her.
“It’s Grandpa Woods!” shouted Mindy back over her shoulder.
“Gwampa Woods,” echoed Olivia, turning to wave an excited hand at Virginia.
“Bring him in,” advised Virginia, busy mashing the potatoes in her largest cooking pot.
Before the children could even usher in Jenny’s father, another car was pulling into the driveway with Virginia’s parents, along with her grandparents in the backseat.
“Look!” Virginia heard Martha shout. “The other grandpas and grandmas.”
It sounded like joyful bedlam in the yard outside. Virginia pushed back the potato pot, wiped her hands on her apron, and went out to greet the fam
ily members. Mindy was busy accepting birthday hugs along with congratulations, and Martha was getting hugs just because, and Olivia, who would not as yet stand still for hugs, was jumping up and down, then twirling round and round in her effort to express her excitement. And in the middle of it all was a tail-wagging Murphy, apparently as pleased as his small owners to be honored by so many guests all at one time. He bounced around the cluster of people, swiping a moist tongue at any hand that for a moment was exposed to his generous welcome, tail whipping back and forth, ears flipping with each muffled whine that came from his throat.
Virginia pushed him aside so she might receive and give a few hugs of her own. “Come in. Come in,” she managed to say over the din. The clump of merry humanity moved toward the wide porch, and Murphy fell back, his tail still wagging but his eyes saying he was terribly disappointed that they had decided to take the party inside.
Before following her guests, Virginia turned toward the barn. She was about to request that Mindy run on down to call Jonathan and Slate when she saw the two moving quickly toward the house. Virginia stopped and waited for them. When they were near enough, she called softly, “I was about to send Mindy to tell you the folks have arrived.”
Jonathan laughed. “I expect the folks in the next county will know that fact,” he called back. “Never heard such a commotion.”
Slate was grinning.
“Clara’s aren’t here yet,” Virginia went on unnecessarily. If she would have stopped to think about it, she would have realized that Jonathan would be well aware of who was there and who wasn’t. He knew the sound of every motorcar in the area.
“Nor Francine. I’m not sure whether she will be here or not. She wasn’t too definite. She said Dalton may have other plans for the day.”
Jonathan just nodded. Virginia often was impatient with her younger sister, Francine, and her steady beau, Dalton Chambers. She knew now was not the time to discuss the merits of this relationship.
They had hardly entered the house when they heard another vehicle pull into the driveway. Virginia cast a glance out the kitchen window expecting to see her older sister, Clara, and her little family, but she saw that it was Francine and Dalton instead. So they did come, she said to herself. Guess Dalton must have run out of things to do.