A Searching Heart (2 page)

“Jamison, Jamison, Jamison,” Danny exclaimed, clanking his dinner fork on the side of his plate. “All we've heard this whole meal is Jamison. Jamison threw two touchdowns. Jamison doesn't like his sociology teacher. Jamison is first quarterback. Jamison runs laps every day before classes. Jamison wears pink pajamas. Jamison—”

“He does not,” Virginia cut in sharply, then flushed. “I've no idea what color he wears,” she quickly amended, “but I certainly didn't say he wore pink.”

“Well, you've told us everything else about him.”

“Danny,” their father, Drew, reprimanded softly.

“Well, I get tired of hearing about the guy,” Danny insisted.

“I thought you liked Jamison” was Francine's comment with little-sister directness.

“I do. He's fine. Just great. But do we have to spend all the supper hour talking about him? I mean—how much can you say? So he's in college. So he's on the football team. So he doesn't like his sociology prof but likes his—”

“I think we all have picked up your message,” said Drew, stopping Danny's flow of words.

“It's true,” spoke the unusually mild Francine. “We hear more about Jamison than we do about Rodney.”

“Perhaps it's because Jamison writes,” replied Virginia, a bit miffed over the entire conversation.

“Rodney writes,” Francine flung back in solid defense of her older brother.

“But he's not on the football team,” said Danny with a shuffling of his body and a flip of his head. “And he doesn't run laps before classes. He studies instead.”

“Danny,” said his father again.

Danny's quick glance toward his father acknowledged the second warning. It would be wise for him to keep his silence.

Virginia sat quietly, her face flushed, and her breathing quickened as anger washed through her. It was so unfair of Danny to make accusations against Jamison. Of course Jamison studied. He was getting good grades. He did write much more frequently than Rodney, probably because he had a better reason. Perhaps Jamison's parents didn't hear from him as often, either. And of course Jamison kept her well informed of all of his college experiences—not just the football games. It was only natural that he share with her his triumphs as well as his feelings about his classes and the professors who taught them. And in a college the size of the one that Jamison attended, wasn't it normal that some teachers would be more admired than others?

One by one, Virginia mentally defended Jamison on all Danny's charges. And Jamison passed each test.

“I enjoy Virginia sharing the news from Jamison,” Belinda informed the table of five. “I think it's nice that she includes her family.”

“But—” began Danny, then dropped his eyes to his plate, wisely leaving the rest of the comment unsaid.

“I'm pleased he is doing so well,” Drew picked up the conversation. “It's great for a small-town boy to make the team at a big city college like Webster. It's quite an honor to be first quarterback.”

Danny seemed to pull back into his chair. His quick glance around the table told him that he may be the only one tired of hearing about Jamison's exploits.

“Speaking of our number one son,” Drew continued, clearing the air by changing the topic, “what would you think of taking a little train ride to see Rodney this weekend?”

Every eye fastened on Drew, along with a collective holding of breath. Belinda was the first to speak. “Is it possible?”

Drew smiled. “I checked the train schedules—and yes, it is possible. It's about a four-hour trip. The train leaves late afternoon around five, so it should get us in to the city around nine.”

Danny whooped.

“If we go Friday evening we can spend the night in a hotel, have most of Saturday with Rodney, and come back Saturday night,” Drew finished.

Another whoop from Danny as Francine clapped her hands, her eyes shining.

“Is there—would it be possible to stay over for Sunday morning?” Belinda wondered. “I mean, I am . . . well . . . most interested in the church he has written about. I'd love to attend a service with him.”

Drew nodded again. “If you like,” he agreed. “I hadn't really considered missing our service here, but I'm sure, under the circumstances, that . . .”

Danny did not even try to contain himself.

“And who will look after all your boarders?” Virginia asked him a mite cockily, taking pleasure in getting back at Danny for his digs at Jamison.

Virginia was referring to Danny's menagerie of wild creatures he had rescued in one way or another and nursed back to health for release again into their natural habitat.

But Danny did not even flinch. “The jay is ready to go, and the pigeon is almost as good as new. It might even be ready by Friday. That will just leave the toad. I don't think he's ever going to be well enough to be on his own with his leg like it is. But Rett will look after him. He's always glad to.”

Virginia felt a flash of impatience that Rett was such a ready and willing stand-in, but her attention was taken by her mother.

“I guess I'd better get busy and do some baking,” she was saying, a smile on her face clearly indicating her delight in taking her oldest son some of his favorite things to eat.

“And I guess I'd better be making a telephone call to let him know our plans,” said Drew.

“Can't we surprise him?” Francine asked, clasping her hands together in anticipation.

“Yeah. Let's surprise him,” enthused Danny.

Silently Virginia agreed. It would be so much fun just to walk in and watch Rodney's eyes nearly pop.

“That would be fun, but I'm afraid it is too impractical,” Virginia's very practical father said as he pushed back his chair. “What if he made other plans for the weekend? We'd be left sitting in our hotel room staring at the walls.”

“I guess,” Francine said reluctantly, disappointment in her voice.

“Besides,” put in their mother as she also pushed back her chair. “Think of the fun it will be for him, looking forward to our coming.”

And Virginia knew that her mother would enjoy thinking and planning—and baking—her way through the entire week that lay ahead. She could already see the new glint in her mother's eyes. She was looking forward to the trip herself— now if only Jamison attended the same college. . . .

———

The train ride that had Virginia and her siblings so excited turned out to be rather a bore. First, they were late getting started. The passengers were boarded—and then just sat. Virginia never did hear the reason for the delay, but it was so difficult to just sit there stiffly in the straight-backed seat and fidget with no clack of the wheels ticking the miles away.

Danny, the most impatient one of their group, grumbled and shifted and fretted and stirred. Virginia was sure he would have been up pacing the narrow aisle had their father not objected.

It was pitch black outside before the whistle finally announced that someone, somewhere, had decided it was indeed time to move. Virginia heaved a sigh of relief and pressed her shoulders back against the worn maroon plush. But now there was absolutely nothing to see once they had moved beyond the lights of the small town. Here and there a dim light flickered, indicating a farmhouse cuddled in the darkness. Virginia had looked forward to seeing the sights between their hometown and the university city where they would find Rodney. Now—nothing but the inky darkness. Inky darkness and monotonous, jerky train-car travel. Like Francine said, it felt as though the train had a bad case of hiccups.

And Danny still could not relax. His constant shifting irritated Virginia. She was inclined to reprimand him sharply, but she was sure she would get a stern glance from her father reminding her that she was not the parent.

Francine soon—in boredom, Virginia was sure—leaned her head against her mother's shoulder and drifted off to sleep. Virginia longed to join her. The miles would pass so much more quickly if only she could sleep them away. But there was no place for her to be comfortable enough to sleep.

Even the other passengers provided no distraction. Virginia could see the backs of a few heads. Doing nothing. Making no sound—except for the man three seats down and across the aisle who was soon snoring loudly. If this is train travel, thought Virginia glumly, it certainly is nothing to get excited about. She had looked forward to her first train trip with such anticipation, expecting it to be filled with drama and intrigue. But it was just a dimly lit, unassuming car, rattling its way noisily and rather clumsily through darkness, with stiff, silent figures for traveling companions. Virginia sighed, sure that there would be more excitement sitting in her school classroom watching the somber teacher chalk a late-morning assignment up on the blackboard.

She yawned and longed for sleep that would not come. She told herself that once they reached Rodney's university, things would quickly change for the better.

———

As expected, they were late arriving. Virginia knew her father had taken advantage of the delayed departure to phone Rodney about not trying to meet their train. The next morning he could join them at their hotel for a late breakfast. Anxious to see her older brother, Virginia was further frustrated at the call. But there was no use complaining. It didn't make sense for Rodney to wait around, she knew. Once they arrived in the city, she was hopeful at least some of the excitement would return.

But there was little to revive her when the huge, puffing locomotive pulled into the dark and dreary station. The wooden benches looked as worn and tired as the weary and stoical passengers following them from the train. The waiting room floors of dark parquet were horribly grimy, to Virginia's thinking. She shuddered as she avoided areas that seemed to be stained by some slovenly man's chewing tobacco.

The few people lingering about looked like loiterers with nothing better to occupy their time. Virginia could feel their eyes surveying her and each family member, making her feel dreadfully uncomfortable. She was glad to hear her father announce that he had procured a cab waiting just outside the door.

It did not take them long to gather their luggage that, to Virginia's thinking, contained more treats for Rodney than actual items for their short stay. With Drew in the lead, they exited the dismal station and climbed into an equally dismal city cab smelling of stale cigars and odors of past occupants. Virginia cringed again and fervently hoped her feet were not planted in someone's spewed-forth chewing tobacco.

Her father gave the instructions to the cab driver, and they lurched forward with a grinding of gears and blaring of horn. Virginia noted that the driver's hand was never far from the latter all of the way to the hotel, though he used it only intermittently.

The hotel her father had booked was touted as one of the best in the city, but Virginia was unimpressed. There were no voluptuous chandeliers reflecting dancing prism-rainbows over vast, thick carpets. The lighting was quite plain and rather dim, the carpets rich in color, but worn. There were no elegantly dressed gentlemen rushing about, bowing to newcomers and reaching out for luggage and asking how they might be of service. One man sat behind a desk and looked reprimandingly at them over the rim of small round spectacles.

“Simpson,” he muttered just loud enough to be heard when their father announced his name. “Yes. You were to be in over three hours ago.”

“The train was late,” her father offered.

“Mmmm,” the man murmured, looking up again over the glasses. His expression declared that late guests always had some excuse. The railroad seemed as good a scapegoat as any.

“Rooms 315 and 318,” he finally said and slid some keys across the desk's worn surface, tracing the path of many previous keys.

Virginia heard her father politely thank the man, and then they moved as one little huddle of humanity toward the long stairway.

It was well after midnight and they all were weary. There was little conversation and certainly no shared exclamations over exciting discoveries in Rodney's city. Her father brought the little group to a halt when they reached room 315, opened the door, and reached inside to find a light. Hesitantly their mother followed. Virginia did not move, but from where she stood she could see two beds, their dark flowered spreads clashing with the equally colorful but worn floor covering.

“This must be your room,” her father was saying. “It has the two beds.”

Two beds? Virginia found herself wondering how three people were going to sleep on two beds. Then she knew. She was expected to share a bed with her sister. Inwardly she groaned. She would never get any sleep. Francine churned like a windmill in a gale. Arms and legs flung this way and that as she tossed and turned and sought new and better sleeping positions.

“We'll take this bed, Francine, and let Virginia have the one by the window,” her mother was saying. She moved forward to deposit her heavy load of carefully packed and tenderly carried baked goods on a table.

Virginia felt a moment of guilt even as she felt relief. Her mother would have to put up with the windmill. “Francine can sleep with me,” she heard herself saying. “I don't mind sharing a bed.”

“I've a better idea,” spoke up Francine, who had been teased and tormented over the years about her sleeping habits. “Why don't the two of you share a bed and let me have one to myself? Then we will all get some sleep.”

Virginia looked with some astonishment at her twelveyear-old sister, then found herself laughing. She heard her mother's soft chuckle join her. Soon Francine was laughing, as well. It felt good. Virginia felt the tension and exasperation of the whole tiresome trip drain away and saw her mother's sagging shoulders lift a little. Perhaps a good laugh was what they all needed. They should have tried it earlier. The trip might not have been so difficult.