by Janette Oke
“My own father, an only son, grew up used to seeing a husband and wife work together in making decisions. Some in the business saw that as a weakness. He never did, and would have stood up to them regarding it. He took my mother with him on his trips as much as possible, and even at home they would discuss business deals and future investments.
“My mother did not have the same educational opportunities and experience, but she was astute—and she learned quickly. She was a much keener judge of character than my father, who saw everything and everybody as either black or white. Mother would say, ‘Now let’s just give him a chance, Benson. He may have learned from that mistake.’ ”
The group chuckled. They laughed harder when Drew put a playful arm around Belinda’s shoulders and said, “Just like my dear wife allows me my mistakes—for learning purposes.”
Grace’s expression indicated her appreciation of the family repartee. When they had settled down, she continued her story.
“Mother was an only child, too, by the time she met my father. There had been two other children in the family, but they both died from childhood diseases. Anyway, my folks had not been married long when Mother lost both her parents over the same winter. There was only Aunt Sadie—my mother’s aunt—left. She had been living in a teeny backstreet house by herself. I think that Mother felt dreadfully lonely after losing both of her folks in such short order, so she brought Aunt Sadie to live with us.
“At first I was afraid of her. She mostly sat in her room, looking stern and formidable. She would speak to me in this low voice, ‘Come here, child.’ I always went as bidden, because I was too afraid not to, I guess.
“Soon Mother was traveling with Father more, and I was left in the care of Aunt Sadie. I discovered that she was not one to be afraid of at all. In fact, I grew quite attached to her. What I loved most was that she could always be coaxed into reading me a story. I can still hear her rich voice, ‘Once upon a time . . .’ ”
Grace laughed at her own imitation, and her audience laughed with her.
“Then,” she said soberly, “on one of the trips my folks took there was a train derailment. That was the last I ever saw them. I was very young, and I don’t remember them well. Just little bits and pieces here and there. Little snatches of what it was to be part of a family. Fortunately Aunt Sadie stayed on and took over.
“She would never spend a penny of the money that was left for my guardianship—not on herself. She had her own little income that she drew on. ‘Nobody’s gonna say that I cared for you to get what you got,’ she told me every once in a while.
“But she was most particular about me. How I dressed. Where I went to school. My manners. ‘Not going to have Carrie’—that was my mama—‘feeling shame over her little girl,’ she’d say.
“She never went out. Not even to church. She sat at home in her own room, her Bible on her knees. I think she was intimidated by the wealthy neighborhood and the big church down the street. She knew she wasn’t a part of it, and she never wanted folks to think that she was pretending to be.
“But she sent me to the church. Every Sunday. Mr. Will drove me and Miss Emma accompanied me. Every Sunday. Me all dressed up in the latest fashion, feeling rather strange and like I was on display.” Grace paused for a moment and looked down at her hands, no doubt remembering those rather awkward and lonely times.
“But the church was good for me,” she said, lifting her head and smiling around at the group. “I took notes and took those new truths home every Sunday, and Aunt Sadie and I discussed them. It was at Aunt Sadie’s knee that I asked for forgiveness of my sin.
“When she died, I was devastated. She had never permitted me to make friends in normal ways. I think she wasn’t quite sure who my friends should be and didn’t want to make any mistakes. ‘God will show you who to partner with when the time comes,’ she would tell me—any relationship to Aunt Sadie was a partnership.
“So I was quite lost when she was gone. For the first several months, I didn’t know what to do or whom to talk to. Then one day Miss Emma, who was still with me, spoke frankly. Aunt Sadie would have said that she ‘spoke out of turn,’ but I’m so glad that she was brave enough, and cared enough, to break down those walls that Aunt Sadie had carefully constructed around me—between household help and homeowner.
“ ‘Miss,’ she said to me. ‘Seems that you have to get things back together one of these days, or you are going to be just sitting here like your aunt Sadie throughout your entire life. There’s more to the world than this heap of stick and stone. I would suggest that you discover it.’
“At first her words upset me, but I did do some thinking about them. Soon I was praying about them. I had no idea where to start, so I got brave one day and asked Miss Emma. ‘Why not talk to the parson?’ she said. It sounded like a good idea, so I made an appointment to see the pastor of my church.
“He did give good advice. He urged me to consider getting training in some field. I imagine he was thinking more about getting me out and away from the house than anything. I considered the possibilities and decided on nursing. He seemed surprised at that. He probably expected me to pursue something in the arts. My nursing took me to the university campus—” she stopped and smiled at Rodney, reaching for his hand—“where I met Rodney.”
The look that passed between them made a little bittersweet catch in Virginia’s heart.
“And I have discovered that God had it all planned—even before I had caught on to it,” Grace finished.
It was a nice story, though certainly with its share of personal sorrow. Virginia felt even more regard for Rodney’s wife-to-be. She hoped they would be very happy together and counted the days until they could all share in the upcoming wedding celebration.
———
Mr. Woods was making frequent train trips to visit Jenny. Once she had gotten back to the university city, she had pleaded with her father to let her stay. The doctors, though they searched with all the knowledge at their disposal, found no reason why Jenny should not be walking. The only thing they could suggest was further therapy.
Mr. Woods reluctantly left her and returned home, visiting as often as he could make the trip to see her.
Virginia was thrilled to learn that he had lived up to his promise to see Thomas Black, and the minister had led him through the Scriptures, and guided him through the sinner’s prayer of repentance.
Even though his eyes held a new light and his face a new glow, Mr. Woods’ expression turned sorrowful as he went on to report Jenny’s response.
She was not the least pleased by the decision, the man had told Virginia. “Are you going soft?” she threw at him, then added sarcastically, “I liked you better when you were drunk.”
Mr. Woods looked so shamefaced as he said it that Virginia wanted to put her arms around him in comfort. But she did not. He grieved over Jenny and her attitude, but he was determined not to give up on his only daughter.
Virginia, too, grieved. How could one who had been constantly prayed for over so many years be so distant from God? she wondered. But she was committed to keep right on praying.
———
Virginia had written back to Jamison, and they continued to exchange occasional letters. Little by little he introduced her, via the written page, to his Rachel. A few times Rachel added little postscripts at the bottom of Jamison’s letter. Virginia always smiled. A few months earlier it would have seemed impossible that she would ever enjoy an exchange with Jamison’s new love. Now it seemed quite natural—and even enjoyable.
“It won’t be long now until Jamison is finished with his classes,” Rachel wrote on one occasion. “Please pray for wisdom for us.”
And Virginia did.
“I’m bringing Rachel home for the weekend,” a hasty scrawl on the back of a postcard announced. “Can you meet us at the 5:45 on the 22nd?”
It was signed with the initials, J.C.
Virginia felt excitement—and also a case of nerves
. But this time it was not the anxiety of seeing Jamison again. That was a thing of the past. But because she would be meeting Rachel for the first time. She truly wanted this young lady to like her. She could not easily have put into words why it was so important to her—she only knew that it was.
If pressed, she may have said she had this funny feeling that Rachel might be critical of Jamison’s past alliances. For her to make the discovery that he had chosen poorly in the past might reflect, in some way, on his character and good judgment. It was silly reasoning, but Virginia honestly wanted nothing to damage Rachel’s perception of the friend from her youth.
Virginia took some time in selecting the dress she would wear to work that Friday. Very carefully she pinned her hair and chose the hat to complement it. There would be no time to come home and change before the train arrived.
“I just think this is so strange,” observed Francine in her worldly wise manner when Virginia made her appearance in the kitchen. “I mean, what woman would go to the train to meet her former boyfriend’s new girl?”
Belinda smiled as she shook her head at her younger daughter. “I think it’s nice that Virginia is mature enough to be happy for Jamison.”
“Well, I think . . . it’s abnormal,” insisted Francine. She was quite vocal about beginning to study the boys of her acquaintance with the thoughts of a possible suitor.
“She seems very nice from her notes,” Virginia told her sister. Francine was doing little to put Virginia’s nerves at ease.
“That’s another thing—writing notes to—”
“Francine, would you get the cream from the pantry, please?” Belinda’s assignment stopped Francine’s verbal musings.
Francine went to obey, still muttering about the strangeness of the situation.
“You look nice.” Belinda turned to smile at Virginia.
“Oh, I hope so. I mean, I know little about her. Well, I know quite a bit about her—her personality and all. But I’ve no idea how she will dress. She might be far more . . . more fashionable, like Grace. I’d feel just—”
“You look very nice,” Belinda repeated. “Jamison knows you and the fact that you are not a fashion plate. Do you think he would invite you to the station to embarrass you?”
Virginia shook her head. But inwardly she knew that Jamison, being a fellow, might not be thinking ladies’ fashion at all.
All day long Virginia fought to concentrate on the tasks at hand. When five-thirty arrived, she closed the door and tidied the small office, then reached for her hat. Carefully she fastened it with the long hatpin and smoothed the hair that curled about her face under its brim. At least the hat is fairly new and quite becoming, she thought with some satisfaction as she studied herself in the small wall mirror.
Locking the door behind her, she took a deep breath and started for the railroad station. She had five minutes before the train was due to arrive. She did hope it was on time.
In the distance she heard the train whistle. She increased her pace, wanting to have a moment to catch her breath and regain her composure before Jamison and Rachel descended the steps. She wished she had thought ahead to bring some small gift of welcome. Perhaps a few of the flowers from her mother’s garden or a sweet from the soda shop. It was too late now. She should have thought of it sooner.
She was out of breath by the time she reached the platform. Already the train was coming into view just on the edge of town. Carefully she smoothed her skirts and checked her gloves. Why am I so nervous? she thought, laughing at herself. It’s not as if I’m a bride or something!
The train rolled in beside her. She stood back until it came to a stop and the excess steam hissed out from between the wheels.
Soon people were descending the steps. One. Two. Mr. Welks. Another man she had never seen before in a dark pinstripe suit. Two ladies from an outlying farm whom she knew only distantly. Another stranger.
And then came Jamison, assisting a young woman whose arm was tucked firmly in his own. Rachel.
Virginia moved forward as Jamison and his friend moved toward her. Virginia’s eyes swept over the softly pleated gray skirt, on up to the trim jacket, and on to the hesitant smile, the wide blue eyes, the brown curls beneath an attractive hat.
Virginia had the feeling that Rachel had given her the same quick appraisal. The mutual assessment concluded just as they stepped close enough for Jamison to turn from the one to the other. “Rachel—this is Virginia.”
Virginia’s searching eyes met Rachel’s blue ones. There was a hint of question, quickly followed by a flicker of amusement. Virginia answered with a smile, and then they laughingly fell into each other’s outstretched arms while a confused Jamison looked on. They were wearing identical hats.
———
Virginia could not have believed that she would like someone so completely and so quickly. It was easy for her to understand why Jamison had fallen for Rachel. She was warm and personable, and yet there was a sophistication and maturity about her that reminded Virginia of her own roots.
She is so much better suited to be Jamison’s wife than I ever could have been, she admitted to herself. She understands the city and its ways. I don’t think I would ever feel totally at home there.
Virginia finally felt that God’s hand in their lives had kept her and Jamison from a terrible mistake. Jamison was going to find happiness with a girl better suited to the life and career he had chosen. She would have wanted to get him back to their old hometown—or would have chafed over having to leave it behind.
Virginia could smile now and accept what had been so difficult for her in the past.
The three spent long hours together, chatting and laughing, Jamison and Virginia sharing with Rachel tales of childhood adventures and anecdotes about their town. Never was there reference made to the days when the two had courted. Virginia was surprised to find out just how much of life and church and friends they had shared apart from the more recent years they had spent as a couple. It warmed her heart and gave her hope that the future could still hold a friendship for them.
When the two girls were alone, Rachel expressed her thoughts in a deeper, more transparent fashion.
“Jamison has told me so much about you. And, yes, he did tell me that you were . . . that you had plans when he went off to college. He also told me how deeply it hurt him when he . . . when he told you that he thought you should end the relationship.
“When I first met Jamison, he was really struggling. That group where he had been attending—I hesitate to call it a church—really had him confused. With their fancy arguments and cross-fire debates, they helped to destroy the faith of more young people than we’ll ever know. Jamison held on. He really fought to continue with his beliefs. And a big part of the reason he was able to do so was you. He didn’t want to let you down, Virginia. He told me that. His folks, his pastor, they were all important to him, but it was really his long talks with you in those growing-up years that held him steady.
“I want to thank you for that. Personally. Whether you knew it at the time or not, you had a great deal to do with shaping the life and character of the man I have come to love.”
Virginia had tears in her eyes.
“He’s going to try for a professional team,” Rachel went on. “Whether he makes it or not, we won’t know until he tries. He’s a great quarterback, but going on with school—taking time for education rather than going directly to the sports world as his coach had advised—that might cost him. He’s older now. I keep telling him that he’s more mature, too. Wiser as a player. But it may have cost him. We know that.
“But if it is to be—or not—that’s all in God’s hands. He will now have a career that he can pursue if football doesn’t work out. We want God’s will in this. We’d appreciate your continued prayers.”
Virginia nodded. It would not be difficult to pray for Jamison and his lovely Rachel.
———
Mr. Adamson’s little house had sat forlorn and em
pty all through the months of the summer. Virginia had supposed that it would always be so. It seemed that no one should take their beloved neighbor’s place. Virginia could still feel his presence as she walked by in the morning when the sun was giving the first dewy kiss to the roses, or again at night when the fragrance of his carefully tended sweet peas wafted up the street to meet her returning steps.
So Virginia stopped in shock at a For Sale sign placed on the front lawn. She wanted to object, but she did not know where and to whom she would make such a protest.
“They are trying to sell Mr. Adamson’s house” were her first words upon entering the kitchen where her mother worked on the evening meal.
“Yes, I know,” Belinda answered. “Your father has the responsibility.”
“Papa? But it’s Mr. Adamson’s house.” It did sound pretty childish, even to her own ears. Her mother’s head swiveled to look at her in surprise.
“You knew it would have to sell sooner or later,” Belinda answered.
Virginia did not respond. She supposed it would. That seemed to be the way of things. But just the same, it would be very difficult to see a complete stranger in Mr. Adamson’s garden.
CHAPTER 18
Idon’t know that Jenny will ever be back,” Mr. Woods told Virginia as they stood on the steps after church.
“How is she?”
“Well, she’s much improved from when you last saw her. But then, I guess she’s finally found a reason.”
Virginia’s interest was piqued. She dared to hope that Jenny might finally be concerned about her spiritual well-being.
“A young therapist,” explained Mr. Woods.
“A therapist?”
He nodded and continued. “He took over her treatment right after she went on back. She took quite a shine to him, and soon he seemed to return the feelings. They see each other regularly now, though on the sly. Doctors aren’t to date their patients, you know.”
Virginia didn’t, but she was willing to accept his word for it.
“She has another five months of therapy. He has another eight before he’s fully qualified. I’ve a notion that they might make some plans sometime in the future.”
