by Janette Oke
“You choose. Maybe a quilt, seeing how you’ll need one when winter sets in.”
Oh, but I already have quilts, Virginia could have stated. Grandma and Mama saw to that. But she did not say the words. Just smiled. “I’ll get the material” was what she said instead.
When Grandmother Withers announced that she was heading off to her bed, Virginia was only too happy to follow suit. She took her book with her, intending to read until she heard Jonathan return.
It was hard to concentrate on the words when all her thoughts were with Jonathan. Virginia turned pages, then turned back to reread what she had just perused. Nothing seemed to be registering. She shifted her weight this way and that, plumped pillows, then punched them flat. Nothing helped.
At last Virginia gave up. Her eyelids were so heavy she could hold them open no longer. She did not even turn off the lamp. Jonathan would be coming, and he’d need to find his way.
The next thing Virginia knew she was being kissed on the tip of the nose. When she opened her eyes she found Jona? than leaning over her, a lazy smile tilting his lips. “You look so sweet when you’re sleeping,” he whispered. “I could hardly make myself wake you up.”
“Are you just getting to bed?” Virginia asked, blinking sleep-filled eyes.
He laughed in response. “No, sugar. It’s another day.”
Virginia pushed up onto an elbow and looked at the window behind her. Sure enough, the world outside was washed with morning sun.
“It’s morning already?”
Jonathan laughed softly.
“Did you get any sleep at all?” Virginia wondered with concern.
“I did. Oh, not much, but at least enough to get me through another day.”
“How’s the mare?”
“I think we’ve made it. She lost the foal. But I think that, thanks to Danny, I have saved the mare.”
Virginia knew that though the news was better than it could have been, it also was not good news. “You were counting on that foal, weren’t you?”
He leaned over farther and drew her into his arms. “I was. But when you’re raising stock, you know better than to count too much on any one thing. Hopefully she will live to bear more foals.” Then he said, “Now, how about a good-bye kiss?”
“Good-bye? You’re just saying hello.”
He chuckled softly. “Well … sort of. But I am also saying good-bye. I should have been out to the farm long ago. Grandma fixed my breakfast. I think she rather enjoys fussing over me.” He wrinkled his nose and grinned.
I’d enjoy having a chance to fuss over you, too, thought Virginia, but she quickly put aside all such thoughts as she was being thoroughly kissed.
“Will you be late again?” she asked when Jonathan allowed her to catch her breath.
“I don’t know. I could be. Don’t wait supper for me. No need for you and Grandma to endure empty stomachs.”
Jonathan, it is not my stomach that concerns me, Virginia wanted to protest. It’s you I miss—not the supper. But she said nothing, just clung to him as he kissed her again.
“Sorry to waken you so early, but I couldn’t bear the thought of not saying good-bye before I left. Lay back down and catch a few more winks. You don’t have to be up for another hour or so.”
But Virginia was not able to go back to sleep after the bedroom door closed on Jonathan’s tall figure. She lay there, staring at the door, wishing he could have stayed or she could have gone with him. That they could be together.
At last she gave up and crawled from the bed. She dressed slowly, deep in thought as she slipped on her blouse and skirt. Surely with the mare better Jonathan would not need to stay as late at the farm. Surely he would be able to come home at a decent hour and get some much-needed rest.
When she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Withers sat at the table, her Bible opened before her. “You’re up early,” she said with a smile.
Virginia nodded. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“I told Jonathan that he should leave you be, but oh no. He had to go and wake you up.”
“I’m glad he did,” Virginia was quick to assure the older woman. “I would have been miserable all day if I’d not even been able to tell him good-bye.”
The woman nodded her head, then went back to her reading. “The porridge is on the back of the stove,” she said without looking up.
“ Thank you,” replied Virginia, but she had absolutely no intention of choking down another bowl of morning porridge.
CHAPTER 6
The days fell into a kind of routine. Jonathan always woke a sleepy Virginia to bid her good-bye even before the dawn had broken. Virginia then rose and dressed for work, washed up from breakfast, and tidied the rest of the house. She usually left for the post office early enough that it meant a leisurely stroll. There was no reason to delay leaving the house; Jona? than was not there.
The mare did live, Virginia was thankful to learn. The prized animal would be able to contribute to the income of the farm in subsequent years. She shared Jonathan’s disappointment about the foal, but they were both relieved not to lose the mare, as well.
But Jonathan was working long hours out at the farm. Besides all the care for the stock, he had begun building the house that was to be their home. Virginia longed for a place of their own at the same time she was lamenting the work that kept Jonathan from her all day and often well into the night.
Be patient, she kept telling herself. Just for a short time, and then we’ll be able to have a normal home and life together—just the two of us.
A normal home. Virginia was not exactly sure what that might be. She assumed it would be much like the one in which she had been raised—two folks caring for each other, doing things together, sharing a common faith and similar goals. Showing love and devotion toward each other. At the same time, Virginia reminded herself that her own father was gone for much of the day. He did not spend his time sitting around holding her mother’s hand or stroking her brow. How was it they seemed to have such an easy understanding of each other’s needs? Why was her mother so perfectly content just knowing that her father would be home “later”? Why did romance seem to matter so little and commitment seem to matter so much? Virginia thought that there must be a lot that she did not understand about the marriage relationship. All she knew, all she felt with every part of her being, was her intense longing to be with Jonathan. To have his full time and attention. To have him telling her with eyes and lips and arms just how much he adored her. Wasn’t that why he had asked her to marry him? Wasn’t that what marriage was all about? That total giving of one to the other?
Yet Jonathan seemed to be content. Though too busy. Too pressured. Too burdened with all the responsibilities. But content nonetheless. He came in late, ate a warmed-over supper, looked about to fall asleep on the kitchen chair, then was up again before the sun the next morning, ready to do it all over again. Virginia sometimes had the fleeting thought that she might as well pack up her bags and move on back to her old bedroom. I wonder just how long it would take before I would be missed? she mused, not totally facetiously.
But all of those rather mournful thoughts were laid aside when Jonathan came home. The feel of his arms as he pulled her close, the brush of his kiss against her temple—these alone were enough to make the long, lonely hours well worth the wait for his return. And when he whispered words of love all wrapped up with progress reports on the home he was building, Virginia scolded herself and repeatedly vowed to never fret inwardly again.
But it was hard to keep her silent promise. Especially when most of the few precious moments they had to share were not spent alone. Jonathan’s grandmother seemed to always have a list of odd jobs for Jonathan, a jack-of-all-trades. “Men need to feel needed,” Mrs. Withers confided to Virginia one evening as she sent Jonathan off with a post maul to pound in some stakes for her giant gladiolas. Virginia felt a lump growing in her throat; she needed Jonathan far more than those gladiolas did.
But Virgin
ia knew it was useless to agitate against the circumstances. They had discussed the living arrangements before the wedding. She had agreed, fully agreed, that she would sooner spend some time sharing a home with Grandmother Withers than to have to wait for marriage until the farmhouse was built. Jonathan had been more than fair in leaving her with the final decision. He had warned her that it would take his time and attention to get the house ready for occupancy. It was not Jonathan’s fault that she had not fully understood just how difficult it would be.
She and Grandmother Withers made quilts. Not just one, but three. In the evenings while waiting for Jonathan to return, they quilted together. It was not Virginia’s chosen way to spend an evening. She would have been far happier with a good book. But Grandmother Withers seemed to enjoy the time, so Virginia endured. It did help to fill the long hours.
Virginia did not walk across the yard next door to her old home often. For one thing, she did not want her mother to guess just how lonely she was feeling. If they were to spend more than five minutes in each other’s company, Belinda was sure to pick up on the fact. Virginia contented herself with a wave of the hand and a cheery “hello” across the back fence and an occasional Sunday dinner when all three were invited to the table.
In turn, Virginia asked permission to prepare dinners for her family. After all, it was Grandmother Withers’ kitchen. It was not an easy chore as the kitchen was small and the table so crowded. But they did share a few such Sundays, laughing at the tight squeeze as they crowded in close to one another. Jonathan was always quick to say that things would be different when the farm home was completed, and then he would follow that with an up-to-the-minute report on his progress. Virginia felt as if they barely inched along from “the cellar hole is dug” to “the foundation is laid” to “the outer walls are framed” and then to “the roof joists are up.” The house still had no inner walls, doors, or windows, and the summer was nearly over.
But Jonathan seemed pleased with each bit of news he had to tell the group about their home-to-be. Virginia supposed that was what mattered. After all, he knew far more about building than she did. Perhaps the inside of the house would materialize much more quickly once the outer construction was done.
Virginia opened her eyes to sunshine and Jonathan already pulling on his boots. His bare back was toward her for he had not yet put on his shirt and tucked it into his trousers. She stirred onto one elbow and pushed back her hair. He looked around.
“I thought you were still sleeping,” he said, turning to face her fully.
“I was, until this very minute.”
“You don’t have to go to work today. I thought you would sleep in.”
“My sleepiness left me.”
He leaned over and drew her to him. “I have to get out to the farm,” he said between kisses.
“Let me come with you.” The sudden inspiration made Virginia struggle from his embrace so she could hasten from the bed.
“Come with me? What would you do for an entire day at the farm? There isn’t even a decent place to sit out there.”
“ There must be a log or two with all that building,” responded Virginia cheerily as she began to rummage in her drawer for appropriate clothes.
“What about Grandma?”
Virginia turned to face him. “What about Grandmother?” she repeated.
“She’d be all alone … for the entire day.”
“Jonathan, as soon as the house is built she will be alone each day.”
Her words only made him look solemn. “I’ve been thinking about that.” But he did not explain more. Instead he said, “She wanted that back flower bed weeded today. I thought since you enjoy the flowers you would help her with it.”
“I can do it Monday after work. It’s not a big bed.”
“She won’t leave it alone—you know that. She’ll go and try to do it herself.”
“Well, you tell her to leave it for me. She always listens to you. If you say that I’ll do it on Monday, she’ll be happy with that.”
Jonathan said nothing, but he did not seem pleased, as she had expected he would, that she intended to go to the farm with him. Didn’t he want to share some time with her? Didn’t he look forward to being alone together like she did?
“What’s the matter?” she asked, wondering if she really wanted to hear his answer. “I thought you were anxious to get the work done. I can help you.”
Jonathan shook his head. “I’m afraid it would be more of a hindrance than a help, Virginia,” he said carefully.
Her eyes widened. “Hindrance?”
“I shouldn’t have said hindrance. Distraction. Distraction is more like it. I just don’t think that I could get as much done with you there.”
“Why? What would I do to—”
“My mind wouldn’t be on it in the same way,” he cut in. “That’s all. I would be too busy thinking about you.”
“And you don’t think about me as long as I am out of sight—is that it?”
“Of course I think about you.”
“But not enough for it to cause any disturbance of your work?”
Her voice had risen with a shrillness that neither of them were accustomed to hearing. He stood to his feet and tucked in his shirt, then snapped his suspenders into place over his shoulders.
“I … I don’t know what you’re saying,” he began softly. “Please … let’s not have a misunderstanding. What I meant is simply that—”
“What you mean is what you just said. You don’t want me around because it might cause you to think about me, and that would be a … a disturbance.”
“I didn’t say anything about disturbance. That was your word.”
“Nor did you deny it,” Virginia threw back at him.
“I didn’t deny it because in a way, it’s true. Your presence on the building site might be disturbing. When I am dealing with heavy beams and boards, I need full concentration. If you were there, I doubt I could give it. I would be wondering if you were all right, if you were in any danger.”
“Jonathan,” said Virginia, her hands going to her hips and her breath coming in little gasps, “you have not given me your full concentration since the day I set foot in this house. The farm, the house, your grandmother—they all get far more of your attention than I do.”
He looked stunned. Her words seemed to have reached him with full impact. Virginia could read in his face just how much pain they had inflicted. For one moment she felt triumph—glorious triumph. She did have his full attention now. He lifted one helpless hand toward her and started to say something, shook his head and thought better of it. The hand continued on up to brush at his hair, a gesture of frustration and defeat. Then he turned from her.
“I’m sorry,” he said. That was all. Then he left, closing the door quietly behind him. Virginia supposed that he had done so out of consideration for his grandmother. She heard the outer back door close quietly, as well. Any feelings of triumph seemed to have departed with him. She threw herself on the rumpled bed and wept.
“All married couples have little tiffs.” Jenny’s words came back to Virginia many times as she focused all her energy into routing the weeds from Grandmother Withers’ back flower bed. Well, at least Jonathan had not left her with a bruised cheek. His quiet “I’m sorry” still rang in her ears. No comeback, no argument, no defensiveness, no telling her to be reasonable. Just “I’m sorry.” And he had truly sounded as though he was.
Virginia tore at the weeds and watered the garden with salty tears as she worked her way across the flower bed. She wished it were weedier. Bigger. She would be done before she knew it, and then what would she do with the rest of her day? She wished she were at the post office. At least then she would have something to occupy her thoughts and her hands. Perhaps there was some grocery shopping that needed to be done. No. She had done that yesterday. She could go have tea with her mother. No. Belinda would quickly perceive that something was wrong. Maybe Clara. Maybe Clara had a job tha
t needed some help. No. Clara had said that she was taking the kids to the farm to see the great-grandparents. Virginia wished she had begged to go along.
What would she do with the long, lonely day? Jonathan was sure to work until there was no more light for pounding a nail. Then, with the help of the lantern, he would make one more round to be sure all the stock was safe and secure. Then it was the long trip home. Oh, not that long. Just long for one who was tired from a day of hard labor. Jonathan always came home sweaty and exhausted. Ready to fall into bed as quickly as possible.
From feelings of anger, Virginia’s thoughts and emotions traveled on to shame. She’d had no right to lash out at Jonathan as she had. He was doing all he could to give her the home she wanted. He had warned her that it would take long hours. Many days. But still, she mourned, isn’t there some way he could give me a bit more of his time? His attention?
Her words to him, however cruel and biting, had been true. She had been feeling them for a long time. Trying to force them down, fight them back. It wasn’t an accusation without foundation. But it had been unfair. It had been said in the wrong manner. Surely she could have discussed her feelings in a reasonable fashion. What if she had killed his love? What if he no longer cared to express his love even in those times when they were able to be together? She would die without Jonathan. Just wither and die. She loved him so much. Even when she was angry with him, as she was now, the thought of losing him was more than she could endure.
Virginia mentally worked her way through her problem from every angle and always came back to the same unwanted conclusion: She had acted like a shrew. With plenty of reason, she would quickly attempt to excuse herself. But it was unkind, unlovely, she would reproach herself again. Back and forth her troubled thoughts tumbled. On the one hand, there was no reason good enough for her to have acted as she did. To have spoken as she did. Jonathan was giving of his best—himself—for her. But Jonathan was not being fair to treat a new bride as though she barely existed. Jonathan paid far more attention to his aging grandmother than he did to her. Yet it was his caring and gentle spirit that had attracted her to him in the first place. Well, why didn’t he have time to show her the same concern he showed others?
