The Tender Years

by Janette Oke

  “You know that you have always been told to disregard gossip. But this time—this once—we are changing that rule.” His eyes sought out their mother’s, then he went on, a solemnness to his voice that made Virginia’s spine tingle. “If you hear of anything at school—or around town—that you think might be important, that might mean danger to … to anyone, then please don’t discuss it with others. Bring it to your mother or me.”

  “I can’t see how Mr. Crell can possibly feel ill will toward the man who pulled his son from the water,” Clara stated, tossing her napkin beside her plate with an agitated flip. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  Their father took a deep breath.

  “Well, the Crells say that Rett shouldn’t have left Freddie. That if he had immediately tried to revive him, Freddie would have made it.”

  “Is that true?” asked Rodney, his eyes wide.

  “We will never know.”

  “But … but Rett. How would he know to do that? He’s never had training.”

  “He’s always worked with animals. Seems to have natural instincts about how to deal with injury.”

  “But this is so different,” put in Clara.

  “How can he be blamed for not doing something he doesn’t even know how to do?” asked Danny.

  Again their father hesitated, then seemed to feel they should have all the facts.

  “Mr. Crell suggested that perhaps, when Rett found Freddie, rather than bringing him quickly up—he held him under for a time.”

  Virginia felt the air leave her lungs. That would be—that would be—but she couldn’t even let the word form in her thoughts.

  “You mean—?” asked Rodney. But he, too, was unable to go on.

  Their father nodded. “Mr. Crell has accused Rett of murder.”

  When school started again, Virginia had never been so happy to get back to her studies. She hoped it would give her something else to think about.

  But it didn’t quite work that way. Jenny was there. Her hand still could not hold the pencil properly. Each time Virginia let her eyes fall upon the damaged fingers, she felt her insides churn again.

  And Jenny looked so sad. Gone was the sparkle in her eyes. The girlish giggle. In its place was a look of total sadness, as though the whole world had turned on Jenny Woods. Worse yet, she looked as if she had accepted the fact and no longer even wanted to fight against it.

  For the first few days, Virginia felt herself pulling away from Jenny. She avoided contact as much as possible, taking up with Ida Cross and Myrtle Alwood, two girls from church. They were younger than Virginia, and previously she would not have bothered much with them. But her views about friendships had been changing since her experience with Jenny.

  Her mother, however, kept asking about Jenny. How was she doing? Did Virginia want to invite her to the house? To church? For Sunday dinner? Virginia wished her mother would just let it rest. But she didn’t.

  “Are you and Jenny still on the outs?” she asked one day as Virginia helped peel vegetables for their supper.

  Virginia looked up, confusion on her face, even though she fully understood the question.

  “No-o,” she said slowly.

  “I never hear of her anymore.”

  “There’s nothing to say.”

  “How’s her arm?”

  “Okay.” Even as she said the terse word, she knew that it wasn’t. Not really. Nor would it likely ever be okay again. She corrected her statement. “Well, it’s still stiff, and she has to go in to have it limbered up every week, but she’s gonna stop. Her pa says it’s costing too much money and isn’t doing any good anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  They peeled in silence.

  “I have an idea,” her mother said, turning toward her, and Virginia paused with her peeling. Was she going to like this?

  “I think I’ll talk to Jenny’s father. I will be happy to help Jenny with her arm and hand—and it won’t cost him a cent.”

  Virginia blinked.

  “She can come on home from school with you, and we’ll do the exercises here.”

  Virginia swallowed hard. “I don’t know if Jenny will like that,” she said slowly.

  “Well, we’ll see. I’ll have a chat with Mr. Woods the first chance I get, and we’ll see.”

  It seemed that it was settled. Virginia found herself secretly hoping that Mr. Woods would forbid it without giving the offer much consideration. To have Jenny here—in her own home—working on that damaged arm would be just too, too upsetting. It was hard enough to avoid her at school.

  “How’s school?”

  Virginia’s head snapped around at the question. She had been deep in thought, mulling through her new problem. Mr. Adamson stood at his pickets, hands on the boards, his hat perched askew on his begrimed hair.

  She stopped and managed to gather her scattered thoughts to concentrate on the elderly man.

  “Fine,” she answered almost automatically.

  “Heard you have a new teacher.”

  Virginia nodded. “Miss Crook got married.”

  “So what’s this new one like?”

  Virginia thought about it. A teacher was just a teacher. She hadn’t given the new one much thought. “She’s already married,” she replied, feeling that was enough information for Mr. Adamson.

  “Haven’t seen you and thet little redhead together recently.”

  Virginia shook her head. Oh, but you will, she could have said. My mama has taken it upon herself to get involved. Jenny’s to come home with me every night of the week now.

  But she didn’t say that. Instead she said slowly, “Jenny’s doing fine.”

  “Thet’s good news,” said the elderly man. “She got quite banged up, I hear, in thet there accident.”

  Virginia nodded.

  “You still friends?”

  “Of course.”

  Virginia’s answer came too abruptly. The elderly man’s eyes darkened slightly.

  “How’s the family?” he asked, completely catching Virginia off guard. She swallowed and nodded.

  “Fine.”

  “Hear your sister’s plannin’ a weddin’.”

  Yes, it was true. Clara was finally going to marry her Troy.

  “Next April,” Virginia said without emotion. “She’ll make a fine wife. Good cook.”

  Virginia nodded. Mr. Adamson should know about the cooking part. Clara was always running over with little plates of this or trays of that.

  “Suppose you’ll miss her.”

  Virginia had not stopped to think about that. A few short months before, she could not wait for Clara to leave the house. But so much had changed. So much. Clara and her bossiness didn’t seem quite so important now. In fact, maybe she would miss her—just a bit. Who would come to her room in the middle of the night if she had another bad dream? Her mother’s room was too far away for her to hear Virginia’s restless stirring. Clara’s room that she shared with Francine was just next door.

  She looked up at Mr. Adamson and nodded slowly.

  “The dahlias are doin’ good this year. I know you gotta run on home, but if you come back in ’bout twenty minutes I’ll have a bouquet ready for your mama.”

  For the first time, Virginia smiled. “She’d like that. She loves dahlias.”

  “You run then. Scat.”

  Virginia gave him another hesitant smile and then ran. Her mama would be pleased—and the afternoon snack would be waiting to buoy her up for chore time.

  The very next Monday Jenny walked home with Virginia. At first they were awkward and strained with each other. They did not talk much. There seemed to be so little to say. When they reached Virginia’s home, an extra snack had been placed on the table.

  Virginia’s mother and sister Clara were both busy about the kitchen. Danny and Francine were already eating, and Danny was making short work of his lemonade and spice cake. Virginia assumed he was in a rush to get out to his little menagerie.

  Francine, as usual, was
slowly sipping and nibbling, talking in between sporadic bites as she told about every little detail of her rather uneventful day.

  “And Mrs. Howard said that we should bring a fresh han? kie every day—and take it home again at the end. Clarisa had seven hankies in her desk—seven—and all of them were already used up and—”

  “Francine,” scolded Virginia as she and Jenny entered the large, welcoming kitchen. “Don’t talk about such things when you’re eating.”

  Francine seemed to consider the comment—and the manner in which it was spoken. “Oh,” she said meekly, her eyes beginning to brim. Virginia wished she had not spoken so sharply. The last thing Jenny needed to see was her little sister in tears. It made Virginia feel even angrier with the young girl.

  Her mother intervened. “Hello, Jenny. Come right in. I hope you like spice cake.”

  Jenny nodded, looking around at the scene.

  “Excuse me, please,” said Danny to no one in particular and pushed himself up from the table, reaching for his hat in the same motion.

  “Put your dishes on the cupboard, please,” reminded Clara.

  Danny did as told and bolted from the kitchen.

  “He has animals to feed,” Francine informed Jenny, already recovered from her recent chastising.

  Jenny’s eyes widened in interest.

  “A young fox kit,” explained Francine. “It was hurt. A hawk almost got it—or something. An’ a rabbit that looks old. An’ a sparrow. An’ a—”

  “I don’t think Jenny is interested,” cut in Virginia, but this time she tried to keep her voice from being harsh. She did not want to risk more of Francine’s tears.

  Looking repentant, Francine stopped, though Virginia knew that the little girl would never understand how someone would not be interested in small animals.

  But Jenny turned to Virginia. “I’d like to see them—after,” she said. “Would your brother mind?”

  CHAPTER 11

  Things settled into a rather humdrum routine. There was school to rule their day, chores that needed to be attended to after returning home, and Jenny’s daily exercises and massaging with Belinda. Then Jenny helped out on things she could do with limited arm movement, like setting the table for supper. Occasionally she even joined the family for the meal when her father was gone.

  Virginia began to adjust to the new schedule. She even began to feel more comfortable with it, and Jenny acted as though she could hardly wait to get to the Simpson home. Virginia had the feeling that Jenny enjoyed having Belinda fuss over her, and at times she felt a twinge of jealousy. After all, Belinda was her mother. It wasn’t Virginia’s fault that Jenny’s mother had run off when she’d been just a little thing.

  It wasn’t long until Jenny was appearing around on Saturdays, too. She seemed to find any excuse to come to the Simpson home. She listened to Francine’s chatter, watched Danny take care of his little critters, and helped Clara bake.

  Virginia’s feelings shifted back and forth. On the one hand, she felt that Jenny was making too deep an inroad into the family. It was her family, not Jenny’s. But her attitude brought guilt. She knew she was wrong to feel that way. It made her a little hesitant when she said her prayers each night. Would God even listen to someone who harbored selfish thoughts? Might He decide that she needed punishment of some kind? It was rather scary.

  Francine came skipping to meet Virginia as she returned home from the grocery on an errand for her mother. “We’re going to Grandpa’s farm,” she called before reaching her sister.

  Virginia, feeling hot and sticky on the warm Indian summer day, managed a smile. A trip to the farm was always welcome. And on a Saturday—that meant that not so many cousins would be present and she could have her grandparents almost to herself.

  “Mama wants to talk to Grandma ’bout Clara’s wedding, and she says we can go along.”

  Virginia felt her pace quicken. Francine whirled around and skipped along beside her.

  “Are the boys going?” asked Virginia. “Nope. Just the ladies.”

  Virginia smiled indulgently at Francine’s including of herself with “the ladies.” But she nearly started skipping, too, in the excitement of a females-only outing.

  “When?” she asked the little girl.

  “Mama is just waiting for you to get home. Clara already has her hat on.”

  Oh, it was just too wonderful.

  Jenny. Her steps slowed momentarily as she remembered that they would already be gone when Jenny found some excuse to slip over to the house. Virginia felt a bit smug. She ignored her conscience and decided it would serve Jenny right. She had practically been living with them lately. She did have a home of her own.

  “Mama is gonna pick Jenny up, too,” Francine enthused. Virginia stopped short.

  “Jenny?”

  “Yep. She thinks a visit to Grandma’s would be good for her.”

  Virginia felt her anger rise. Why? Why let Jenny intrude even further? She had already taken over the Simpson house? hold. It seemed that there was hardly ever a time they were just a family anymore. And now her mama was taking her to Grandma and Grandpa’s, as well. It wasn’t fair. They were her grandparents. Not Jenny’s. Jenny had no right to be included. Grandma might end up fussing over Jenny just like her mother did. It wasn’t fair.

  Virginia felt such a knot in her stomach that she feared she might be sick. Francine, normally so sensitive to others’ feelings, seemed not to notice as she took up her skipping again.

  “Do you think Jenny will like the porch swing?” she asked innocently. “I like the porch swing. ’Specially when Grandma swings, too.”

  The knot in Virginia’s stomach tightened. She did not want to share her grandmother with Jenny. And she certainly didn’t want to share her grandmother’s swing.

  “I’m not going,” she announced firmly, stopping on the boardwalk.

  Francine, too shocked to even speak, swung around and looked at her big sister as if she had taken leave of her senses.

  Virginia glowered at her. “Go tell Mama I’m not going.”

  It was an order, but Francine did not move.

  “Go,” said Virginia, almost shrieking. “She’s in a hurry—go tell her.”

  “She’s not in that big a hurry,” Francine finally managed to say. “She’s waiting for you.”

  “I’m not going.”

  Francine began to blink, and Virginia knew tears were on the way. She felt like slapping Francine. The young girl’s face just brought further guilty feelings.

  “Mama is taking Jenny—just for you,” Francine tried to explain.

  “No,” declared Virginia hotly. “Mama is taking Jenny just for Jenny. That’s all she ever thinks about anymore.” Her voice turned to mocking. “Jenny needs friends. Jenny needs family. Jenny needs church. Jenny needs a nurse.” It sounded like a chant. “I am so sick of it I could … could just throw up.”

  Francine’s chin began to tremble. But now it was not only Francine who cried. Virginia could feel the hot tears running down her own cheeks.

  “I’m not going,” she flung at Francine. “And you can just tell Mama that.”

  “She needs … needs the packages,” Francine wept. “She’s been waiting … for the packages.”

  “Here!” said Virginia, thrusting the two bundles into Francine’s arms. “Now go.”

  With one more anguished look at her older sister, Francine turned and started for the house. Virginia could hear the childish sobs even as she spun around and began to run toward the outskirts of the town and the creek beyond.

  Virginia did not stop running until she reached the trees along the creek bank. By then her chest was heaving as she fought for breath, and her legs felt like jelly. Streaming tears had wet her hair that was tangled about her face. She flung herself down on a grassy knoll and gave in to the sobs constricting her throat. Jenny. She hated Jenny. Everything bad that had ever happened to her was because of Jenny.

  First she got her into all kinds o
f trouble—then she turned her whole family against her. Her mama spent more time taking care of Jenny’s bad hand than she ever did with her. She fussed over her and fixed her special things to eat and sent little packages of goodies home with her and talked to her about how God loved her and how the church and—the woeful list went on and on.

  And now this. Jenny was about to steal away her grand? mother. That was more than Virginia could bear. Much more. To see Grandma Marty fussing over Jenny would be the final straw. For a dreadful moment she wished it had been Jenny who had been under the water—not Freddie Crell. The thought was so terrible that she rushed inwardly on to another one. What did Freddie do to deserve to die? It was all Jenny’s idea anyway…. But her terrible guilt at such a wish made her nearly choke on the sobs pouring from her shaking chest.

  Her whole secure world was slowly unraveling, and there was nothing—nothing—that she could do about it. Suddenly she felt something touching her shoulder—gently, yet firmly. Fear pushed through her veins like fire. Was some wild animal—?

  She lay absolutely still holding her breath, fearful to move a muscle. A soft murmur reached her ears. It was hardly audible. Not distinguishable sounds. Certainly not understandable. But then the feather-light brushing of hair and patting of shoulder reminded her of Danny stroking one of his little animals. She moved just enough to peek through her fingers and see a booted foot near her head.

  For one moment she didn’t know whether to be relieved or more frightened. The little sound came again. A gentle, soothing, wordless sound.

  Virginia could hold herself in check no longer. She pushed up slightly and lifted her head.

  Rett Marshall knelt beside her, one hand stroking her head and shoulder. The look of intense sympathy on his face and a gentleness in his eyes melted her heart that had felt like a stone in her chest. She lay her head back down on the dried grass and newly fallen leaves and let the sobs once again shake her body.

  He stayed with her as long as she continued to cry. When her shoulders quit their convulsive shaking and the tears no longer ran down her cheeks, she gradually became aware that she was now alone. When he had left her and how he had gone was totally a mystery. But for some strange reason she could not have explained, she felt comforted.