by Janette Oke
Virginia shook her head. Her mother knew full well that if she had spoken to her father, he would have passed word on to Belinda.
“So what has . . . ?” Belinda stopped short, looking at her daughter’s anguished face. “Has something happened?”
Virginia began to cry, the hot, salty tears running freely down her cheeks. Her mother was there in an instant, holding her close, caressing her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
“What happened?” she asked when the sobs began to subside.
“I’m not sure,” said Virginia, accepting the offered hankie. “Jamison just feels that . . . that we’ve changed. Grown apart. He’s . . . he’s so confused about a lot of things.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“I kept hoping—maybe—he’d . . .” The tears started again.
“I’m so sorry,” said her mother, running fingers over her hair again.
Virginia blew her nose.
“When?” The question from her mother was short and direct.
“When he came home a couple of weeks ago.”
“And you’ve carried this . . . this burden alone for all that time?”
“I kept hoping . . .”
“Oh, Virginia, I feel so bad for you.”
Her mother finally released her, still holding one of her hands. “Come,” she said, indicating the nearby sofa. “Sit for a minute and talk to me.”
Virginia moved to the sofa, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose.
“So what do you want to do?” was her mother’s first inquiry.
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it and praying about it. But I just don’t think that I can go to Webster.”
Her mother nodded in understanding.
“Do you want to join the boys?”
Virginia thought about that for a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t think so. For one thing, I haven’t applied. I doubt I would be accepted at such a late date. Besides, the boys might not want a sister there spying on them.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Belinda with emphasis. “On the contrary, they would likely be having you do their laundry.”
Virginia managed a smile.
“I don’t think that I . . . that I want to try to get in anywhere this term. I have never really decided what I want to pursue anyway. I had always thought that I would . . .”
But she couldn’t finish. The truth was, she had always wanted only one thing. To be Jamison’s wife.
“Well, I certainly will be glad to have you here with me,” Belinda said, pulling her close and stroking her shoulder. “I was worried about your father and me with this empty nest.”
“You still have Francine.”
“Yes. I’ve been thanking God for that. But another plate at the table will be nice, too.”
They were silent for some time.
“We will need to speak to your father. He is expecting to have three offspring piling up the college bills this fall.”
Virginia pulled away and nodded. She knew her father would need to know her change of plans, but she dreaded telling him.
“Could you? Could you sort of talk to him? Let him know?”
“Of course. But then he’ll want to have a chat with you. You know that.”
Virginia nodded. At least she would not need to explain the whole thing again.
———
But Virginia found herself explaining—or partially explaining—her change of plans many times in the next few days as other college young people packed bags and bedding and gathered at the local train station for sometimes teary send-offs.
It was the hardest with her own family, for they asked further, more personal questions. And even worse than the questions was the genuine sympathy they offered. Virginia did not want sympathy. It made her feel like a victim. But she did wish for understanding and was glad when they nodded their agreement to the change of her plans.
“What do you plan to do, dear?” her grandmother asked, an arm protectively around Virginia’s shoulder.
Virginia shrugged. “I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Help Mama. She always has so much to do. Maybe get a job.”
“A job? With your father?”
“I don’t suppose he’s got enough work to keep me busy more than the few hours a week. I might try something full time.”
But even as Virginia spoke the words, she knew she was being optimistic. There were very few jobs in their small town for people like her.
“We’ll pray about it,” spoke Grandma Marty with a pat on Virginia’s shoulder.
———
There was more than one awkward moment. The people of the church, and the little town in general, were so accustomed to thinking of Jamison and Virginia as a pair that they naturally assumed it to still be so. Virginia could not count the times she was asked about Jamison in some cheery voice that expressed interest in his welfare and indicated that they fully expected Virginia to be up on any latest news.
At first she tried to respond in an easy manner. Jamison had been just fine the last they had been in touch. He was extremely busy. Doing well on the football team. In her heart, she still hoped there would be a reconciliation.
But as the days and weeks went by, Virginia began to realize she wasn’t being totally honest with others—or with herself.
When the kindly minister smiled as he shook her hand one Sunday and asked, as he often did, “And how is that young man of yours doing?” Virginia could not brush the question aside with a half-truth. Jamison was no longer her young man.
She looked directly at her pastor, and with a calm voice she forced herself to actually say the words, “Jamison and I are no longer corresponding.”
He looked startled but quickly recovered. The hand that held Virginia’s in a friendly handshake tightened slightly. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Virginia could tell from his eyes that he truly was.
———
With Francine back in classes at the local school and the boys away at university, the autumn days seemed to fall into an easy routine. Again Virginia felt boredom. Boredom and a sense of loss that settled over her like a great, smothering blanket.
There were no longer letters from Jamison to look forward to. There were no longer the hours of writing to him, bringing him up-to-date on every ordinary little happening of the small town, or sharing deep feelings and future dreams. Virginia turned her letter-writing attention to her brothers, not expecting too many answers in reply but needing the sense of keeping in touch just the same.
She also wrote to Jenny with regularity. Here again, the answers came sporadically. She didn’t really care. At least there were people in the world to whom she was still connected.
She was walking up to post her little bundle of letters late one afternoon when her eyes spotted a sign. “Wanted,” she read with great interest. “Someone to train for work in the post office.” Virginia could have clicked her heels with excitement. Instead, she walked in and very calmly asked to apply. The very next week she was in training, a little overwhelmed at first, but excited about actually being “on her own”—in some way.
She learned quickly and the job went well. Soon she was enjoying every minute of it. Her dreary days began to have some sort of meaning again. She began to feel that she had weathered her own personal storm. She had her life back in control. She could go on.
Until one day, when sorting the mail into the boxes, her eyes spotted an envelope clearly bearing Jamison’s handwriting. Excitement washed all through her. She was about to tear open the envelope when it registered that it was not addressed to her. It was written to his parents.
The tears started again. Virginia was thankful she was not observed and secretly wondered if she would ever really get over the pain of losing her first love. She missed him more than she ever could have expressed.
She pushed the letter roughly into the proper box and hoped Jamison was not in the habit of writing his folks too often.
/>
———
Then Jenny actually wrote back. The tenor of her letter had not changed. She was still in a whirlwind of activities. Taking in sporting events, dances, and far and wide excursions to parties. Virginia wondered how Jenny ever found time to study and then remembered her distraught father’s words. Jenny did not study. She felt it interfered with college life.
Her hurried scrawl told only of good times and partying friends. Virginia laid aside the letter, feeling a little sick inside. Jenny seemed to be getting further and further away from any desire for a faith to live by.
———
Jamison did not come home for Christmas. Virginia did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, she dreaded seeing him again. On the other, she still hoped that another meeting might bring a reconciliation. Even the passing, silent months had not completely buried her hope.
But Jamison’s mother stopped her on the church steps and informed her, rather quietly and discreetly, “Jamison has plans to visit a friend over Christmas. He still is confused, I think. He misses your letters, Virginia. He said so quite openly.”
Virginia did not know what to say, and his mother moved on. If he misses them, why doesn’t he write? Virginia asked herself, feeling irritated. It was his decision to end our relationship. Not mine.
But for some reason, Virginia could not feel as angry with him as she had in the past. Instead, she found herself worrying about his welfare. Had he found a church? Was he still trying to sort through his confusing life? Did he still pray, asking for God’s help in his decisions?
She found Jamison creeping back into her prayers again and realized that it was now much easier to think of him as a friend who needed her support. She wondered if the day would ever come when she would be able to express those feelings to him.
———
A phone call came from Rodney.
“I know this is short notice, but do you think it would be okay if I brought a friend home with me for the Christmas break?”
Belinda assured him that they would be able to accommodate that request. “Who is he?” she followed her agreement.
“She,” corrected Rodney.
“She?” There was silence on the other end for a brief time. “Grace?” asked Belinda.
“Yeah. Grace.”
Now it was Belinda who fell silent.
“Mama? Are you still there?”
“I’m here.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. No, not at all.”
“It’s . . . rather important for you to meet her.”
“You mean. . . ?”
“We’ll talk when we get there. Okay?”
“Of course.”
“You’re okay with this, Mama?”
“Fine. It just caught me by surprise, that’s all. We’ll be happy to meet your Grace.”
“Good,” he sounded relieved. “We’ll see you on Friday.”
“On Friday.”
When Belinda turned from the phone, Virginia saw tears in her eyes. “Something wrong, Mama?”
“No.” She stopped to sniff. “Nothing. Rodney is bringing Grace home. I’m not sure, but it sounds like they might have some plans.”
“Plans?”
Belinda nodded and reached in her pocket for her hankie.
“We don’t even know her,” Virginia protested.
“We soon will.”
“But . . .”
“I know. I’m not prepared for this, either. You all are growing up far too fast. I’m just not ready to send another one off on his own. Before I know it, it will just be your father and me.”
Virginia almost reminded her mother that they might be stuck with her—forever.
CHAPTER 10
Virginia had thought they were ready for Christmas, but after Rodney’s call a flurry of activity was initiated by her mother. What had been considered quite in order now needed some extra polishing. Baking that was sufficient for boyish appetites now was set in the back of the pantry while daintier Christmas treats were produced. Virginia heard her father teasing, but that did not deter Belinda. “First impressions are always important,” she replied firmly.
“I think her first impression of this family has already been formed,” he answered, “and it has nothing whatsoever to do with you or me—or even your cooking.”
It was bone-chilling cold the night Rodney’s train pulled into town. Belinda fretted a bit about it, but her Christmas preparations could not include the weather.
Danny, who had been nearly forgotten in the course of events, came off the Pullman car grinning widely, though staggering under extra luggage that Virginia was sure had been loaded on him by his older brother.
“Where’s Rodney?” Belinda asked as she hugged her younger son. “Nothing happened, did it?”
“He’s there,” said Danny, jerking his head back toward the train car. “Gathering up her things.”
Belinda’s eyes anxiously searched the train, as though afraid that it might chug its impatient way into the night before her son and his guest could disembark.
Virginia pulled Danny to the side. “What’s she like?” she whispered quickly as she gave her brother an unusually welcoming embrace.
Danny just lifted a shoulder. “She’s okay,” he answered in an offhand manner.
Their father had stepped forward to greet his son and relieve some of the load he carried. “So how’s the future vet?”
Danny grinned. “Lovin’ it,” he replied.
Virginia smiled and knew they would hear much about Danny’s studies over the few days he would be home.
“Where’s Rodney?” repeated the impatient Francine, bouncing from one foot to the other to stave off the cold.
“He’s coming.”
“My word,” Virginia joined in. “How much does she have to gather up anyway?”
“Just the usual girl stuff.”
“So when did you get to be such an authority on girls?” Virginia couldn’t help but ask, surprised at his implied knowledge.
Danny gave her an all-knowing look that turned into another grin. “Don’t forget. I grew up with three sisters.”
And then Rodney was coming down the steps, his arms filled with parcels, his free hand holding the arm of a young woman.
Virginia strained forward, but the girl’s face was shaded by a brimmed hat. She was looking down to watch where she would place her exquisitely shod foot, so Virginia could not yet see her face.
Virginia did notice that she was rather tall—almost as tall as Rodney—and slim. She carried herself with regal bearing. An elaborately fur-trimmed coat and matching muff spoke of elegance and—yes—money.
“I can’t believe it,” said Virginia under her breath. “He’s gone and fallen for some City Susie.”
Her mother must have shared her impression, for Virginia heard her sharp intake of air. Even her father seemed caught off guard. Virginia watched as he reached up and swept off his hat, in spite of the bitterly cold night air.
When the dainty shoe took the final step to the snow-covered platform, the young woman lifted her head and the light from the platform played across her face and her smile. But it looked uncertain. Hesitant. Her eyes were beautiful as they swept quickly over the entire small assembly, wide open and beseeching. Other than those eyes, Virginia thought her face somewhat unremarkable.
She thinks she has fallen in with a bunch of small-town yokels, Virginia thought to herself. I’m glad Mother did all that last-minute fussing. At least we won’t look totally uncivilized. Still, she will likely be wanting the first train out.
The ride home was a rather quiet one. It seemed no one knew exactly how to start a conversation with their visitor.
Once inside, heavy wraps removed and hung in the front hall closet, a warm fire glowing in the fireplace, and Belinda’s offer of hot cider and her special ginger cookies made and accepted, the girl seemed to relax a bit. Virginia saw her give Rodney many little glanc
es and wondered exactly what they were communicating.
“This is wonderful,” Virginia heard her whisper. “Just like you said.”
Rodney nodded and gave her a warm smile, edging just a bit closer to her.
“Rodney’s in love,” Francine whispered giddily into Virginia’s ear. Virginia gave her a stern look to hush her up.
“Grace has a few things to add under the tree,” Rodney informed them, and they left together to bring the items from the parcels they had carried from the train.
Gifts? That’s what all the parcels were? Oh, dear, worried Virginia. I wonder if Mama thought to purchase something for her. I certainly didn’t.
“I know you must be tired,” Belinda told Grace when the two returned. “It must have been a long day for you. Rodney, you can take Grace’s things to Clara’s room. Please”—she turned back to the young woman—“please make yourself at home. Sleep as long as you wish tomorrow morning, if you can. I know how exhausting university life can be. Especially exam week.”
The girl smiled one of her delightful smiles again. It made her face come alive and illuminated the color of her large blue-green eyes. “I am tired,” she admitted. “If you don’t mind, I would like to retire early.”
Rodney rose to get her luggage and show her her room. He was soon back to join the family before the fire. Drew threw on another log and picked up the long poker to stir up the blaze. Belinda sat down with a cup of cider, a pensive look on her face.
Virginia was so full of questions that she thought she would burst, but she dared not voice any of them.
Francine had no such hesitations. “Is she rich?” she blurted out as soon as Rodney had seated himself beside his mother on the long sofa.
“Francine!” chided Belinda.
But Rodney responded without seeming to take offense. “Grace?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Well . . . yeah . . . sort of. I guess. I mean—”
“Tell them about her,” Danny prompted.
“Yes, tell us about her,” Belinda seconded quickly. “We know nearly nothing about this girl. I think, perhaps, we could have been a bit more informed if things are as they appear to be.”
