by Janette Oke
“Danny, run get your mother’s light shawl,” Virginia’s father said as he lifted his head.
No one had noticed when the door closed or when Aaron left them to carry his sad news to other family members.
It was a long, agonizing evening for Virginia. She went through the routine of cleaning up the table and doing the supper dishes by rote. Danny cared for his animals and pulled out his homework, which he spread across the kitchen table. He seemed to be doing more fidgeting than solving arithmetic problems, Virginia noticed. Rodney paced about after having volunteered to dry the supper dishes, seeming to feel that he should be doing something for his younger siblings but unsure of what it was that he could do.
Virginia hung up the dishpan and turned to Francine. Francine had not stopped weeping since the arrival of the news. The tears rolled down her cheeks, soaking handkerchief after handkerchief.
“What will we do if Grandpa dies?” Francine asked in a wobbly voice.
Danny looked up, fear in his own eyes. “Aaron told us that Uncle Luke said it wasn’t serious,” he reminded the small girl, and his voice was sharp with reprimand at such an awful suggestion.
It just brought fresh tears. Virginia had a hard time choking back her own.
“Come on, Francine,” she said in what she hoped was a patient tone. “We need to work on your spelling words.”
“How can we do spelling—now?” cried Francine.
It was a question that Virginia had been asking herself. Her mama had set her an almost impossible task.
“We must do it. You will be asked to spell them tomorrow.”
She cast a glance at Danny, who sat with eyes unfocused, chewing on the end of his pencil. “And, Danny, you best finish up your arithmetic.”
She was beginning to sound like Clara. Clara, who had now been married for a full week. Clara, whom she was missing more than she ever could have imagined. Clara, the one she used to accuse of being bossy. And now she was giving the orders. But how else could one take charge? Suddenly Virginia realized that it was not easy being the one responsible for the rest.
“Come,” she said again to Francine as she extended her hand. “We’ll work in the parlor and let Danny finish his work here.”
Francine followed, dabbing at her cheeks and eyes as she did so.
They got through the spelling words. Virginia had her doubts at first, but gradually Francine was able to settle down and think about the task at hand. She hoped that when the time for testing arrived, Francine would be prepared.
She put Francine to bed—in the big bed that the young girl had formerly shared with Clara but now had all to herself. She looked small and alone. Virginia decided to stay with her until she fell asleep.
“Would you like me to read to you?” she asked.
Francine looked surprised. It had always been Mama or Clara who had read to her—or occasionally Papa if he had the time. Virginia had never offered to read to her before.
But Francine shook her head. “I don’t think I could listen good.”
“Well,” corrected Virginia softly. “Listen well.”
Virginia sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked Francine’s hair back from her face. Francine had already sobbed her way through her evening prayers, so she did not have to remind the small girl of that.
“Do you think Grandpa might die?” Francine whispered, her eyes solemnly on Virginia’s face.
“I hope not.” Virginia’s voice quivered.
“But he could—couldn’t he?”
Virginia nodded. It would be foolish to try to deny it.
“He’s old, isn’t he?”
“Pretty old.”
“And strokes are bad.”
Again Virginia nodded.
“Minnie’s grandma died ’cause she caught stroke.”
Virginia did not correct her.
“People don’t always die,” Virginia said, as much to assure her own heart as to comfort her younger sister.
Then her thoughts went further. It was a stroke that had put Mrs. Harmon in her bed, unable to move or talk or even care for her own needs. Her mama, who had done much of the nursing, had quietly confided to their father that it would have been a blessing if death would have taken the elderly woman. Virginia had overheard the murmured words, even though at the time she had found them confusing.
“If Grandpa dies—” Francine began.
But Virginia interrupted gently, “If Grandpa dies, God will take care of him. We don’t need to worry about Grandpa, Francine. He—”
“I know,” said Francine with a fresh burst of tears. “But I will miss him.”
“We will all miss him—terribly—but …”
What could she say? Her own heart was aching with the possibility that they might lose their grandfather. Life would be so different without him. She wanted to cling to him. To demand that God leave him with them. Yet what if God were to leave him like old Mrs. Harmon? She didn’t want that. No, she wanted him back—just like he had always been.
It was almost one o’clock in the morning before Virginia heard the door. She had not been able to go to sleep. Her father had been back once, about ten o’clock. He had checked on all of them, brought the news that their grandfather seemed to be resting comfortably, advised them all to go to bed and try to get some sleep, then had left again, assuring them that he and their mother would return later.
But as Virginia strained to hear the small movements through the darkness, she could hear only one pair of foot? steps. There were no whispered conversations. Only one person was stirring about, carefully muffling sounds. Virginia crawled from her bed. She met her father in the hallway, the kitchen lamp in hand.
“Virginia. Sorry to waken you.”
Virginia did not bother to explain that she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she asked quietly, “Is he any better?”
“Well, it’s a little early to be talking about being better. But your uncle Luke is encouraged. He thinks that things—that he’s holding steady.”
Virginia was not sure if that was good news.
Her father put the lamp down on a hall table and reached to draw her close.
“It’s late,” he whispered as he held her. “Are the others sleeping?”
Virginia nodded against his chest.
“You need sleep, too.”
He pushed her back slightly and looked into her face. “Look—why don’t you slip in and join Francine?”
Virginia was the one who had insisted on her own room. Her own bed. Her privacy. Clara had willingly shared her room with their younger sister. Now Francine had her own room, though the little girl did not really seem to fully appreciate the fact.
Virginia found herself nodding. Sharing it sounded like a good idea.
The next several days were a blur. Grandma moved into Francine’s room for those hours that she was coaxed to get some much-needed rest, and Francine shared Virginia’s. Virginia somehow managed to keep things going at home. Oh, not as efficiently as her mother did. But a routine, of sorts, was established. They all were fed and clothed and went off to school. Her father came and went often, and her mother occasionally. The chores were supervised, and the school lessons done. Clara came over frequently to help make a meal or deliver a casserole and a loaf of fresh bread. Neighbors sent in baking.
When Grandma Marty was there for a meal, her eyes had a faraway look in them, though Virginia could tell she tried to engage her grandchildren in conversation as usual.
The day finally arrived when Virginia’s mother, pale and exhausted from many nights of nursing, came home, sank into a kitchen chair, pushed a tired hand through neglected hair, and announced to an anxious family, “He’s on the mend now.”
It was the news they had all been waiting for.
But if they had expected life to return to normal, they were to be disappointed. There was still the disruption of the family as their mother’s services were needed. Day after day their grandfather had to be given nursing care
and helped through endless hours of exercises and treatments to get his damaged limbs to once again cooperate, his muffled words to once again become clearly enunciated.
And with all the emotional upset, Virginia almost forgot about Rett Marshall and the unfair accusations. She seldom had time to spend with her friend Jenny, whose visits to the household had dropped back considerably, as though being in a home that was in upheaval was too unsettling for her. Virginia almost forgot about her secret discovery of having a crush on Jamison Curtis. Life seemed to consist of making it through another day. Even her fifteenth birthday passed almost without notice. Almost.
Virginia thought of it, but it really didn’t seem worth bringing up. Her mother came home looking tired but trying to be cheerful. She held Francine close for a long time as she watched Virginia prepare a pot of steaming tea.
“You have become so … so grown-up, Virginia. So efficient. I don’t know what we would have done without you over the last while.”
Virginia looked at her mother sitting there, clinging to Francine as though she was afraid to let her go.
“I have not forgotten that today is your birthday. Fifteen. I can scarcely believe it.”
She hesitated as Virginia set the pot and a rose-patterned teacup in front of her. Virginia turned to slice some cinnamon bread that the pastor’s wife had sent over.
“I’m sorry things are—that it has worked this way,” her mother continued. “Last year your birthday was spoiled with the accident and all, and this year … this year …”
“It’s all right,” Virginia said quickly. Her mother certainly didn’t need the extra burden of feeling guilty.
“Oh, Virginia. You’ve had to grow up much too quickly. I’m sorry. I pray that … that things will soon return to normal. That I can let you be a … a girl again. This has been hard for you.”
Her mother allowed Francine to move from her and stirred to pour the rich, golden tea.
Virginia moved self-consciously as she took the few steps from the cupboard counter to the table with the plate of cinnamon bread.
“Who do we thank for this?” asked her mother, who was trying to keep a running list.
“Mrs. Doyle.”
“Bless her heart. She has more than enough to take her time.”
Virginia nodded
“We’ll plan a party,” said her mother, returning to her former thoughts. “Just as soon as your grandfather gets back on his feet.”
“Foot,” corrected Francine without a smile.
Virginia and her mother looked at each other and burst into laughter. It may not have been funny, to think of Clark Davis and his missing leg, but the family had long ago adjusted to the thumping of his cane or the sight of his slight limp when he wore his artificial leg. The grandchildren were even used to running to “fetch my leg” or “put this thing out of the way in the corner.” So Francine’s gentle, sober reminder lightened the tension and served as an excuse for a good laugh.
It was much better than crying.
“How’s your grandfather?” Jamison asked as Virginia entered the church the next Sunday.
She managed a smile. It had been a number of weeks since she had spoken to Jamison.
“He’s … getting better,” she answered. In truth the progress seemed so slow that it was hard to judge from day to day.
“Good.”
The door opened again, and Virginia was surprised to see Jenny. She had been missing church services over the last Sundays, not having open invitations to join the Simpsons for Sunday dinner. Virginia saw Jamison’s eyes turn to the door, as well.
“Hello,” he said easily with a smile. “Good to see you back.”
Jenny flushed and shrugged out of her light sweater. She hung it on a peg and turned to them. Virginia noticed that she was wearing the creamy dress, much more suited to the warmth of the summer day then it had been for the mid-winter Valentine’s party.
Jenny’s cheeks glowed. She looked at Jamison, blinked the long lashes that rimmed her green eyes, and flipped back her red hair.
Virginia, whose own locks were pinned neatly in place at the nape of her neck, felt a twinge of envy. Jenny did look so … so feminine. So pert and appealing.
Jamison turned away. “See you later,” he said, and Virginia was not sure which one of them he was speaking to.
Jenny could not hide her disappointment, but she quickly covered her feelings.
“How is it going with your grandpa?” Jenny asked, watching Jamison’s retreating back. But the question was not really a question. Simply a way to fill up the silence and get past the awkward moment.
Jenny did not wait for an answer. She turned to look at Virginia, then used a word that should never have been used, particularly in the church foyer. “… Virginia! You look pale as a ghost. Haven’t you even been out of the house?”
Virginia wanted to retort with something cutting. Sarcastic. But she bit her tongue. It would not help anything to lash out at Jenny. After all, she was still praying for her friend. Still hoping to win her to the faith.
“Not much,” she said quietly. “There hasn’t been time for anything but school and …”
She let the words trail off. Jenny wasn’t really listening. She was much too busy watching the line of boys who were filing in, in rather rowdy fashion, to the last row on the right side.
“Let’s sit over there,” she said, giving Virginia an elbow and a nod in that direction.
“My family expects me to sit with them,” answered Vir? ginia.
Jenny used the unacceptable word again, softly and under her breath, but Virginia heard it. It brought a frown to her forehead and a hope to her heart that no one else in the building had overheard.
Virginia’s grandfather continued to improve slowly. He was moved home and was working hard to get back on his one foot. Virginia’s mother still spent much of her time out at the farm, supervising his daily exercise treatments, but in some ways things began to gradually return to some kind of normalcy.
Virginia was really not too surprised when her mother came home one evening, a smile touching her lips, a new lightness to her step.
“I think it’s about time for me to take over my duties as mother of the home again,” she said as she hung her shawl on the wall peg and unpinned her everyday hat.
“Grandpa’s better?”
The apprehensive words came from Francine, but Virginia felt them echoed in her own heart.
“He’s getting a bit better every day. He told me today that it’s about time that I went home and minded my own household and left him in peace.” She smiled again. “I think he’s getting better.”
The mood around the supper table that night was one of relief. It seemed that they had weathered the storm. Had, with God’s help, somehow come through the trying, anxious days. Now it was time to get on with normal living.
They teased and joked and caught up on one another’s lives. It was like old times. Almost like old times. Clara’s chair was no longer at the table. Virginia felt a sad little ache accompanying the thought. She had really missed Clara with the busy days that had just passed.
“Now …” her mother was saying. “I think it is about time for us to do some serious planning for an important birthday party.”
CHAPTER 18
The party was scheduled for the last Saturday before school started in the fall. Virginia could have as many of her church and school friends as she wished to invite. Rather than try to pick and choose from the list, she decided to invite the entire Youth Group. She was glad that Jenny would be counted in the number.
Clara promised to help her mother with the food. There would be corn to roast, crispy cold chicken, garden salads, and plenty of home-baked bread. Her grandmother was sending in some of Virginia’s favorite spiced fruit cider, and there would be fresh-turned ice cream to go with the birthday cake. She knew there would be plenty for everyone.
The guests were invited to be at the Simpson home at six o’c
lock for the picnic meal together, then spend the evening playing party games in the backyard.
Virginia became more and more excited with each passing day. Though it was weeks since her actual birthday, that did not matter. What did matter was that she was going to be able to enjoy some time with friends at a rather “grown-up” party. Looking back over the recent weeks and months, she felt as if she had been stuck at home with kitchen chores for years.
Jenny was almost as excited as Virginia.
“I’ll wear my cream,” she enthused.
Virginia shook her head. “It’s much too nice for outside games.”
“You are wearing your pink, aren’t you?”
“No. I’m wearing my blue calico.” Virginia never would have dreamed of wearing the filmy pink bridesmaid dress to an outside lawn party. Things often could get a little rambunctious, dashing for a seat in musical chairs or hopping on one foot in the one-legged race.
Jenny looked disappointed. “Why don’t you have an inside party?”
“We’ve already given the invitations.”
“But I don’t have another fancy dress.”
“You don’t need a fancy dress for a picnic. It’s just the church youth, and none of them are dressing fancy.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been to parties before. So have you. We come for fun, not for … fashion.”
Jenny glowered at her. It was Jamison again. Jenny thought that the only reason to make an appearance anywhere was to make an impression on the young man.
“Oh, Jenny, stop it,” Virginia said in exasperation. “Mama and Clara have gone to a lot of trouble to make this a nice party for me. Don’t you go and spoil it.”
Jenny, still put out, pouted for the rest of the morning. Virginia began to wish she’d go home.
When Jenny did finally decide to go, she threw one last barb at Virginia. “I still think it’s unfair that you’ve made your party an outside one. You know I have only one party dress.”
“No one will be wearing a party dress,” Virginia shot back. “And besides—” She almost said that the party was not really designed to accommodate Jenny. It was, after all, her birthday party. But she managed to stop herself in time.
