by Janette Oke
And how would the two respond when they finally met again? Virginia’s nerves were so tight she jumped when Olivia called out that she’d had her “good sleep time.”
Jenny had been nearly mute. She seemed even more morose than in the past. Virginia did not want to press. But she did wish the tension in the kitchen would be reduced.
Martha had at last lost interest in the newcomer and gone back to her play. It must have seemed to the small child that Mindy’s Mama Jenny was not going to bring much excitement to the house—in fact, she was rather dull.
Virginia picked up Olivia, still rosy cheeked and bright-eyed from her nap. Olivia gave Jenny her full attention, eyes large with curiosity, then grinned.
“My,” Jenny surprised Virginia by commenting, “that one sure is Jonathan’s.” Her voice sounded husky, probably from her years of smoking. She put her hand to her mouth and coughed. Her entire frail frame shook, and by the time the spasm had passed, she looked watery eyed and spent.
“Does talking bring on a coughing spell?” Virginia asked with concern. If so, no wonder Jenny did not speak much.
“Not always,” said Jenny with a shrug of the thin shoulders. But she coughed again.
Virginia settled Martha and Olivia with milk and a piece of sugared bread. Then James announced his return from dream? land with some banging on his crib. Virginia hurried to get him. If she didn’t, he’d be trying to crawl over the side again. He’d already had two tumbles.
He, too, studied the woman at the table, then clung to his mother. James, their adventurous little troublemaker, was the most timid with strangers. Virginia was afraid he might start to howl.
“Look,” she said to distract him. “Martha and Olivia are having milk and bread. Would you like some?”
He still had his fists filled with her dress, one hand pulling at the bodice, the other tightly tugging on a sleeve. He lifted his head for one more look at Jenny, then buried his face against his mother’s shoulder.
“He’s a bit shy,” explained Virginia, though she knew his response needed no explanation.
She disentangled his fingers and placed him on the floor. He grabbed handfuls of her skirt and leaned into her so she could not even move.
“He’ll be fine—once he gets to know you,” Virginia explained. She attempted to pry him loose. “Papa and Mindy will soon be here. Listen. Can you hear the team?”
But even that would not distract baby James. Virginia was forced to pick him up again. She fixed his milk and bread with him in her arms.
The jingle of the harness did seem to catch his attention. His head came up and he forgot the danger of the woman at the table. He even pushed away, wanting to be set down again. Virginia lowered him to the floor and watched as he raced toward the door on sturdy legs.
Mindy did not appear alone. Jonathan was with her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder. Mindy’s eyes traveled the kitchen until they rested on Jenny at the table. Neither said a word.
Say something, Virginia wished to scream at the woman. This is your daughter you’re facing.
Jonathan urged Mindy forward. “Mindy,” he said, his voice firm but low, “say hello to your Mama Jenny.”
Without smiling, Mindy responded, her back obviously pressing hard against Jonathan’s hand. “Hello.”
Jenny nodded. Just nodded, her eyes scanning the young girl before her and then returning to her coffee cup.
“Mindy—change your school dress, and I’ll fix your hot cocoa,” said Virginia, trying to keep her voice matter-of-fact. Jonathan cast one glance Virginia’s way, then turned to go out to care for the team.
Mindy turned to the stairs, and three eager younger siblings followed along behind her. To the children, Mindy’s return from school was the highlight of the day.
“Did you see her?” Virginia heard Martha say excitedly. “She’s here. Your Mama Jenny.”
Virginia did not hear Mindy’s answer.
She turned to Jenny. “Mindy’s a good student,” she began, hoping to make some kind of connection—draw some kind of response from Jenny. “She always brings home a good report card.”
Jenny stirred. “I don’t suppose you’re going to let me smoke in front of the kids,” she said and coughed again. “Where am I to be exiled this time?”
“Jonathan has the heater going in the shed where he keeps the car. It’ll be warm. I’ve asked him to put a chair in there for you.”
Jenny gave a wry smile. “Planned ahead—did you?”
Virginia nodded. She had to admit it. Jenny left her seat and crossed to where her coat hung. She shrugged into it, coughing again.
She was going out the door when she turned back. “She’s grown” was all she said, but Virginia was thankful for the two simple words.
The children had been put to bed and the house was quiet. Virginia heated some apple cider and joined Jenny near the front-room fireplace. Even through the walls, the chill of the winter’s night could be felt. They stretched their feet toward the flicker of flame and sipped at the spicy cups.
Both Jonathan and Slate had retired early—something Jonathan hardly ever did. Virginia knew it was not fatigue that had taken him up the stairs but that Virginia and Jenny needed some time alone.
“You haven’t gained any weight,” Virginia dared to com? ment. “Have you not been well?”
Jenny shrugged.
“How have things been since … since …?” She wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’m doing okay.”
“Good.”
Silence again.
“Are you still living in the same place?”
“No. I moved. A couple of times.”
“You’re still … alone?”
“Yeah. I’m alone.”
“Your friends … ”
“What friends,” Jenny said, sarcasm in her tone. “My former friends have forgotten I exist.”
Virginia was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she man? aged at last.
“Don’t be. They aren’t worth missing.” Jenny’s words were followed with a bout of coughing.
They sipped quietly.
“She’s … really grown, hasn’t she?” mused Jenny.
“Getting to be a young lady,” answered Virginia.
“I noticed she helps around the kitchen.”
“She’s very good at helping out. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” The simple phrase sent a pang to Virginia’s heart.
“The kids seem to like her.” Jenny coughed again.
“They adore her. They can hardly wait for her to get home at night. She’s so good with them.”
Again there was silence.
“You’ve done a good job.”
This bit of high praise from Jenny was highly unexpected. Virginia’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, “but I haven’t done it alone. Jonathan—”
“I noticed. He’s good with kids.”
“He’s a great father.” Suddenly Virginia’s heart was so full that she wondered if she would be able to contain the emotion of it. She was so thankful that God had blessed her life with Jonathan. Thankful for his love for family. His deep, committed devotion.
Jenny set aside her empty cup. “I’m going out for one more cigarette,” she said, “then I’m off to bed. I’m beat. It’s been a long day.” As she moved she went into another spasm of coughing. Virginia could not help but feel alarm.
Jenny did not join them at the table the next morning, so it was easy to follow the normal routine. The family shared breakfast and family Bible reading and prayer. Martha remembered Mindy’s poor Mama Jenny, and Virginia wondered just what the child meant by the words. The usual morning com? motion saw Slate leave for the barn and Jonathan bring the hitched team to the door to transport Mindy off to school. There was the scurry to bundle up, gather books and lunch pail, the good-bye hugs and kisses and calls of younger siblings as Mindy was pressed out the door—and then the excited clambering for the spot
at the window to watch the team trot briskly down the long driveway.
Virginia took a deep breath. She had to bake bread. She’d best get the yeast set. She turned to the little ones, who were climbing down off the chair by the window.
“Martha, why don’t you take James in and get him some toys?”
“Yay,” clapped Olivia, seeming to think that play was a good idea.
Martha took James’s hand and started toward the toy box, then turned suddenly to her mother. “Is Mama Jenny going to come back?”
“She is still here. She is sleeping. Well, I don’t suppose she is still sleeping—with all the racket. But she is still in your room.”
Martha’s eyes grew big. She had never heard of anyone sleeping past breakfast.
“Is she sick?”
“No, she’s … ” But Virginia stopped. Maybe she was. She certainly didn’t look well. “She’s very tired,” she answered the child.
“Do we have to be quiet?”
“It would be a wonderful idea.”
Virginia turned to the cupboard to lay out the ingredients.
“Jamie doesn’t know how to be quiet.”
“Maybe you can show him.”
She lifted down the yeast and sugar and reached for a bowl.
“I don’t think he wants to learn that.”
Virginia turned. James was tugging impatiently, wanting to be free from the restraining hand of his older sister. “No,” said Virginia. “I don’t suppose he does. But you and Olivia can be quiet anyway. That will make two less noises.” She held up two fingers.
Martha disregarded the grammar and seemed to get the message. All three turned to go.
It was close to noon before Jenny made an appearance. “I hope you didn’t try to hold breakfast for me,” she mumbled. “As a matter of fact, I did. For a while.”
“Don’t. I don’t eat breakfast. I would have some coffee, though.”
Virginia pointed to the pot on the back of the stove. “Might be a bit strong by now.”
“Strong I like. Where’s your biggest cup?”
Virginia, who was punching down her batch of bread, pointed at the cupboard door with her chin. “In there.”
“Do you mind if I take it out with me?”
“No. That’s fine.”
“The heat’s still on?”
Virginia nodded. “I’m sure Jonathan will keep the fire going for as long as you need it.”
Jenny filled her coffee cup and reached for her coat.
“Why don’t you just carry the pot on out with you?” suggested Virginia. “You can set it right on the stove out there. It’ll stay hot if you want another cup.”
Jenny nodded. Virginia thought that her eyes seemed to take on a bit of life.
“Use that potholder hanging by the stove.”
Jenny poured the cup of coffee back into the pot to keep it warmer for the trip to the outbuilding.
“You’d best be careful, Virginia. I might just get so comfort? able out in your shed that I won’t come back.”
Virginia hoped that the quip was meant as a joke, noting silently the longest sentence Jenny had spoken yet. She knew Jenny wasn’t fond of being sent to the shed for her cigarettes, but she had no intention of making her family live with a smoked-filled home.
“Come back in time for dinner,” she replied, smiling so Jenny would know she was teasing.
Jenny nodded, picked up the pot and her cup, and left the house, coughing again.
CHAPTER 10
Have you seen your father?” Virginia asked Jenny as they sat at the table following the noon meal. The men had already excused themselves and headed for the barn. Virginia was catching her breath before corralling the two youngest for their afternoon naps.
Jenny shook her head. “No, I have not seen my father.” She seemed to emphasize each word, and Virginia gathered she would be wise to drop the matter. But she pushed on.
“Don’t you think you should? He misses you, Jenny.”
“What would give you that idea?”
“We see him—fairly frequently. At church on Sundays—and he comes out to the house from time to time.”
“Well, I hope one of those times isn’t while I’m here.”
“Why?” asked Virginia, doggedly pressing for an answer. “Why do you feel so … so ill toward him?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because. Because he’s your father.”
“And that means I’m supposed to feel something for him?”
“Most people do.”
Jenny shrugged. “Well, I’m not most people. Or had you forgotten?”
Virginia rose from her chair. “I must put the children down for their nap. Do you want another cup of tea?”
Jenny pushed her cup forward and Virginia refilled it.
When Virginia came back down the stairs, Jenny was still sitting at the table, her shoulders hunched, her head down. She did not look at all well.
When Virginia began to clear the table, Martha ran to join her. She loved to gather all the cutlery, which she stacked together in a heap on the counter.
“When you are done with your job, would you like to go out with Papa for a while?” Virginia asked her small helper. “The sun is shining, and the wind isn’t blowing.” Martha’s “Yes!” was filled with excitement at the prospect of getting out of doors. She hurried with the little chore, clattering tableware and chatting about her upcoming venture to the barn.
Virginia stopped to help the child dress warmly, then opened the door. “Remember, let Papa know you are there before you go into the barn. Make sure he sees you. You just stand and watch—don’t get in their way.”
Martha agreed, with many words and waving of hands. Virginia turned to see Jenny cringing in her seat. She said some words under her breath that Virginia assumed she was glad weren’t said aloud. Jenny muttered, “I don’t know how you stand the racket. If it isn’t one chattering away at you, it’s two. It’d drive me crazy.”
Virginia refused to let Jenny’s words disturb her. “I don’t find it a problem. Oh, I admit there are times when it would be nice for some peace and quiet—but that does come every night after they have been tucked in bed. Then the house often seems too quiet.”
“I don’t know how you stand it,” Jenny repeated, choking back the chronic cough. “Did you set out to have three kids?”
Virginia laughed as she lifted the dishpan off its wall hook. “Set out? I guess I haven’t thought about it much. And what makes you think I’m planning to stop now? Besides, there are four—not three.”
Jenny gave her a cold look. “Don’t forget,” she said, “one of them is mine.”
The thrill of fear that shot through Virginia left her weak-kneed and shaking. She focused all of her attention on the dishwashing. Jenny made no move to help.
When Mindy returned home from school, she gave Virginia her customary hug, said hello to Jenny, then went to change her school clothes, an excited little entourage following close behind her.
“Boy, I’d think she’d get sick of that,” Jenny commented sourly.
“What?” asked Virginia, perplexed.
“All those little kids dragging along, hanging on to her hand and her skirt or anything they can get their hands on—chattering like a flock of blue jays.”
Virginia smiled. “I don’t think it bothers Mindy at all.”
“Don’t know where she gets that from. Sure isn’t her mother.”
Virginia let that comment pass and continued to prepare the vegetables for supper.
When the children trooped back into the kitchen, Virginia prepared their cider and put them around the table to eat. She supposed their presence there was an annoyance to Jenny, but she would not exile her family just because a visitor preferred silence and solitude.
The cheerful chatter rose in volume, and Jenny pushed back. “I’m going out,” she announced, and Virginia understood that she was going for a cigarette.
Virginia c
ontinued her supper preparations. She was tempted—had been tempted all day—to phone Mr. Woods again and invite him for a meal. Surely Jenny could not object to her asking guests into her own home. But, yes, Jenny might indeed object—and in a way that could make things between the two worse than they already were. As difficult as it was to understand, Jenny did not wish to see her father—at all. Virginia could not fathom it. Had something happened that she was not aware of, or was Jenny simply being obstinate because of her childhood hurt?
“Mama would like to see you,” Virginia told Jenny that evening. “She hasn’t been overyet because of the roads—and because she thought we should have some time together first. Do you mind if she comes out tomorrow afternoon?”
“Why should I mind?”
“I just wanted to check—that’s all.”
Jenny shrugged in her familiar, impatient way. “If she wants to see me, she’d better make it soon. I don’t plan to be here much longer.”
Virginia leaned for ward. “But you just got here. Surely—”
“I’ve been here two days already.”
“That’s not … We’ve hardly had time to talk—”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“ Well … you, for one thing. I … I don’t even know … ”
“You know as much as you need to know.”
This time Virginia would not let the comment pass. “I know nothing,” she insisted, frustration in her voice. “You’ve said nothing—to speak of—since you’ve arrived. Only little comments … mostly about the noise of my children.”
“Boy, you are touchy.” Jenny added some unrepeatable words under her breath.
“I’m not touchy. I’m worried. Jenny, you … you look like death itself. You cough from morning to night. I’ve even heard you during the night. One can’t … can’t live like that.” She reached helplessly toward her friend, then let her hand drop.
Finally she spoke again. “And I don’t know where you live. How you … manage. I don’t know anything about you. We are friends. Surely … surely you can be a bit more open than you have been with me.”
Jenny waved a bony hand in the air. “Okay. Okay—let’s stop with the theatrics. If you think you need to know what should be private and personal, I’ll tell you.