A Quiet Strength (19 page)

Virginia’s tasks slackened as the growing season drew to a close. She could not help but breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps she would have the chance to catch her breath. She looked forward to long winter evenings when she and Grandmother could sit around the quilting frames, stitching and chatting. Or perhaps they could fashion some new rag rugs. The one at the back door was looking rather faded from its many washings.

At any rate, it would be good to be able to sit for a while instead of rushing about from early dawn until dusk. She broached the subject with Grandmother as they cleared up the breakfast dishes.

“Frost on the ground last night,” Virginia said. “Winter is coming. Like old Mr. Adamson used to say, ‘I can smell it in the air.’ I’ve been doing some thinking. It’s about time to lay in supplies for winter’s handwork. What would you like to start with? Jonathan said he’d be going into town today. I thought one of us might ride along and pick up some material.”

Grandmother Withers hesitated for a few moments before answering. She placed the spoons she had just dried in the kitchen drawer and pushed it shut. “I’ve noticed the cold com? ing on, too. It seems that our autumn is nearly spent.”

“Do you want to go in with Jonathan, or shall I?” asked Virginia. “We could all go, for that matter. It would be fun to have a trip into town. Who knows when we might get another chance if we get a good storm that closes the roads.” She pulled at her apron strings.

“I was rather thinking that I would go.”

“Let’s all go. The girls would enjoy the ride. What shall we shop for? Quilting material or something else? What would you like to do to start out the winter? You choose.”

Again Grandmother hesitated. “I … I should prune back that rose by the door.”

Virginia was puzzled. “Jonathan is about ready to go. We should get our coats and bundle up the girls. You can do the rose when we get back.”

“Virginia, I won’t be coming back.”

Virginia spun around, her apron hanging limply in her hands. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I’m thinking it’s about time I got acquainted with those folks at the boardinghouse.”

“But you can’t. It’s … it’s unthinkable.”

“It was my plan all along. You know that, dear. I’ve already got my bags packed.”

CHAPTER  19

J
onathan, too, protested. “There’s no need for you to move to the boardinghouse,” he told Grandmother Withers. “We love having you here with us.”

“You deserve to be alone—as a family. Do you realize that in the two and a half years you’ve been married, I have lived with you for fully half that time?”

Virginia had not realized, but she had not been counting.

“It’s time for you to have your own home to yourselves. I will be just fine in town. It will give me a chance to visit with some old friends.”

Virginia wondered to whom Grandmother Withers was referring. She had made few friends in the little town. She had been there a relatively short time and had been busy with her flowers and taking care of Jonathan.

“Mrs. Cadbury has promised to come to tea once a week,” she elaborated.

“They have facilities there for you to serve tea?” Virginia asked.

Grandmother Withers backtracked. “Well … I’m not sure yet. But if they don’t, I’ll walk on over to Mrs. Cadbury’s. The exercise would do me good.”

Virginia thought of the still-weak leg. It would be difficult for Grandmother Withers to walk the several blocks to Mrs. Cadbury’s house.

When Jonathan determined that her mind was quite made up, he reluctantly loaded the bags.

“I will take you, Grandmother, because it is your wish. But remember, if you ever change your mind—today, tomorrow, or ten years from now—you are to come back. Promise me you’ll not hesitate. You know you would be welcome.”

She looked a bit teary-eyed as she nodded solemnly.

They discovered that there would be no serving of tea to guests at the boardinghouse. Mrs. Withers was shown one very small room that enclosed a closet, a dresser, a bed, and one rather rickety-looking straight-backed chair. Two faded rag rugs were scattered on the floor. One equally faded picture, a stag leaping over a log in the middle of some forest, graced one wall. The wallpaper was old and yellowed, and the curtain at the one window hung limply.

Jonathan shook his head and was turning to carry the suitcases back to the car, but Grandmother Withers stopped him with her hand on his arm. “I’m staying” was all she said, but her eyes showed her determination.

Wordlessly he placed the two leather bags on the floor.

“They have a common room,” the elderly woman hurried to explain. “One does not have to spend the entire time in the bedroom. They sit and chat and even play games—like checkers and things—out there. And they do serve tea—to the boarders—every afternoon.”

She seemed to think that would console her grandson and his wife. But Virginia did not feel much better.

“I will miss the little ones,” Grandmother admitted. “They’ve been such a blessing, and they grow so quickly.”

Virginia felt a sadness fill her entire being. She had been so looking forward to leisurely winter evenings of fireside chats and handwork. Now it seemed she would be doing it all alone. She promised herself that, as long as the weather permitted, she would go in once a week for a visit with the elderly lady. She could pick her up and together they could go for tea to her mother’s or Clara’s. And of course they would stop to pick her up each Sunday and take her to church. With two visits per week they would stay in close touch. Grandmother wouldn’t need to miss contact with the children.

But it wouldn’t be the same. Not the same at all.

Even though Virginia had known she would miss Grand? mother Withers, she had not realized how intense the feeling would be. Jonathan was always out, busy with the horses. Virginia realized, now that Grandmother was gone, that having the adult companionship had eased the loneliness from many hours. The chatter of small children didn’t replace conversation with someone who shared one’s life.

It was in this state that Virginia took on the weaning of her first child. She was not sure who endured the most—Martha or the small child’s mama. Martha had no desire to drink from a cup and showed her displeasure at breakfast one morning when she knocked the cup from Jonathan’s hand, sending milk flying across the floor and up the wall. Jonathan scolded and Martha howled and soon Mindy had joined in. In the midst of the uproar, Virginia knelt down and wiped up the mess.

In the early days of the weaning process, she felt a good deal of discomfort. The cold compresses advised did not seem to help much. Virginia was miserable. And Martha, who previ? ously had dropped off for her afternoon nap with no difficulty, now lay in her crib and screamed. They all lived through the same chaos at bedtime. At times Virginia had to slip away from the house and let Jonathan bear the brunt of the bedtime trauma.

Mindy put her hands over her ears and cried along with Martha. Virginia feared that she might start wetting her bed again, but thankfully that did not happen.

It seemed to go on forever, but by the end of ten days Martha must have concluded that crying was not solving her problem. She gave in and fell asleep without the tantrum, and Mindy took her hands from her ears and did likewise.

Virginia, too, had weathered the storm. She could retire in comfort and arise rested the next morning. She was so glad to have it over. The infant milestone had proven to be more of a challenge than she had anticipated.

Mindy was the one who finally convinced Martha to use the cup. “Look, Martha. Look how I drink my milk. You want some?” And Mindy shared her cup with Martha, who seemed to think everything her older sister did was just about right.

“Do you want your own cup?” Mindy asked. And Martha did. From then on, every time Mindy lifted her cup for a sip, Martha did likewise.

But even with that ordeal over, Virginia still missed Grandmother Withers more than she would have thought possible. Could she pray that the woman would soon be back?

“Francine has a beau,” announced Clara as they enjoyed some time in quiet. The cousins had been given their milk and cookies and sent off to play. Virginia smiled. It seemed that Francine had been entertaining beaus since she was in pigtails.

“Who this time?”

“No … I think this one might be serious. Honest.”

Virginia’s interest was piqued.

“She met him at the post office.” “Really?”

Francine had been hired to take over Virginia’s job when they had moved out to the farm.

“You sound surprised,” said Clara.

“Well, I am … I guess. I thought she would already know anyone who would come into the post office. I mean, she’s lived here all her life. Grown up here.”

“This fellow is new.”

Virginia sipped her tea. “Tell me about him.”

“Well, he’s not country folk, I can tell you that. Nor from poor folk, by the look of him. Don’t know much about him yet. He’s in real estate or something. Seems nice enough.”

“Churchgoer?” asked Virginia.

“Oh yes. In fact I think he has more enthusiasm than Francine.”

“Have you ever … wondered about Francine?” asked Virginia candidly.

“In what way?”

“Well … remember how she was when she was little? So sensitive she’d cry over anything? It used to aggravate me something awful. She worried and fretted over everyone else’s troubles—or imagined troubles.”

Clara nodded. “She was always very tender.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it tender. I felt at times that she was … was manipulative … with her tears.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Of course, you were closer in age. I had already gone through my days of teenage trials by the time Francine was old enough to be a pest. You likely noticed it more.”

Virginia nodded. Maybe that was so.

“Anyway, you were commenting on something about Francine.”

“Well …” began Virginia, “she seemed to change. Right about the time she hit the teen years. She … she certainly doesn’t fret over other people’s problems anymore.”

“No.”

“Sometimes I’m afraid that the only person who really interests her at all is Francine.”

“You think she’s grown selfish?”

“I was thinking more … self-centered.”

“Oh, I think you are being a bit harsh. She’s still just … just a child, really.”

“Clara, you were married, with a child, by her age.” Clara looked surprised, then smiled and nodded.

“And if this new beau is … citified, well-to-do, then I worry about it. Is that what has attracted her to him?”

“I don’t know, but he seems plenty attracted to her, as well. She hasn’t just thrown herself at him.”

“She didn’t need to throw herself at any of them. She’s beautiful. She’s charming. Every fellow for miles around has been throwing himself at her. It’s gone on for years.”

“I suppose it could go to a girl’s head. I wouldn’t know. For me there was only Troy.”

Virginia was silent. She stared at the cup in her hands.

“Well, I say we give them both the benefit of the doubt,” commented Clara. “Let them prove what they’re made of. If this is just another feather in Francine’s cap, so to speak, she’ll soon forget him.”

“But if he’s a nice young man, as you seem to think, is it fair to him?”

Clara had no answer.

The winter settled around them with a vengeance. There were a number of weeks when Virginia did not get to town midweek. They missed some Sunday services. They were even snowbound over Christmas, so their plans to fetch Grand? mother Withers to the farm were canceled in much disap? pointment.

Virginia still longed for the woman’s cheery companion? ship. Her wise comments. Her smile on the children as they performed their little antics or pushed up against her knee.

I wish she wouldn’t be so stubborn
, Virginia found herself thinking on more than one occasion. But then she would tell herself if Grandmother Withers preferred to be on her own, that was within her right.

Following an unusual early March storm, Jonathan decided he needed to make a trip into town despite the road conditions. Virginia stayed behind, knowing it was not wise to attempt the trip with the children. Jonathan likely would spend much of his time shoveling the motorcar through snowdrifts.

When Jonathan returned some hours later, he had Grand? mother Withers with him, bundled in blankets and tucked in the backseat.

“She’s been ill for days,” explained Jonathan, his voice low. “Too weak to even get out of bed.”

Virginia did not have words to express her concern. Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of the wasted woman. “Oh, Grandmother.”

They got her into the warmth of the house, and Jonathan brought her bed down from the upstairs room. After she had been tucked in and made as comfortable as possible, Dr. Luke paid a visit. He brought medication to help relieve the conges? tion, suggested steaming and chicken broth, and left shaking his head.

Virginia’s time now was filled with being the nurse. Her mother’s nursing abilities had not come her way, and she knew little about caring for the sick. But she fussed and comforted and gave back rubs and sponge baths. The children seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation and, for the most part, played quietly together.

Gradually, with the passing of time and the care and medi? cation, the fever broke and the coughing decreased. Virginia sighed with relief.

“We don’t want you to go back to the boardinghouse,” Virginia said firmly one day. “Jonathan has been into town and removed all your personal things from the room and settled your account. Everything is ready upstairs in your bedroom.