A Searching Heart (27 page)

“He's coming,” the lady repeated again.

“Who?” asked Virginia.

“Jonathan. My grandson. He's coming from the West to stay with me.”

The elderly woman lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I've never told this to a single soul,” she whispered. “One isn't to have special pets, you know, but out of the whole bunch of them, he's always been my favorite.”

Virginia smiled and gave the small figure a hug. If she was so happy about this visit, Virginia would be, too.

CHAPTER 20

M
rs. Withers is just thrilled,” Virginia informed her folks when she came in the door. “Her grandson is coming to stay with her,” she added as she shrugged out of her coat.

“Her grandson?”

Virginia nodded.

“Which one?”

Virginia chuckled softly and shook her head knowingly. “Her favorite one. Though don't you tell a soul. Grandmothers aren't supposed to have favorites.”

Belinda smiled.

“There is only one who isn't married,” her father remembered. “Must be him.”

“Oh yes. Damaris told us. He has been ranching with his father. What was his name again?” This from her mother.

“Jonathan,” filled in Virginia. “Mrs. Withers called him Jonathan.”

“Jonathan. That's it. So he's coming? That will be so nice for her. Will he be here by spring?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Next Thursday? My, he made up his mind in a hurry.”

“Or his mother made it up for him,” put in Drew.

“Oh, I hope he doesn't feel . . . feel that he has to do this. I mean, it's not easy looking after the elderly and especially if . . .” Belinda did not finish her statement.

“How long will he stay?” Virginia's father wondered.

“Well, I didn't read the letter, but Mrs. Withers is counting on him staying as long as she needs him. Settling in with her.”

Both of her parents looked surprised.

“That could be a good long time,” Drew said doubtfully. “Mrs. Withers may look a little frail, but I think she's hardier than one would think. I don't suppose she's much beyond seventy.”

“Seventy-three,” said Virginia, who had been informed by the lady herself.

“So this Jonathan is planning on staying? His father doesn't need him on the ranch?”

Virginia hung up the coat she had been dangling since returning home. “The younger girl—I've forgotten her name— and her husband-to-be are to be married next month. He will work with Mr. Lewis, according to Mrs. Withers.”

“And what will—Jonathan, is it?—do here? It doesn't seem that Mrs. Withers' yard will be a full-time job.” Her father sounded a bit skeptical.

“He plans to find a job.”

“A job? Not many ranches round about.” Drew went back to his newspaper.

Virginia did not try to answer. It was neither here nor there to her if or how the young man chose to avail himself of whatever work there was. She was pleased for her friend Mrs. Withers, who was almost beside herself in her anticipation. Virginia hoped she would be able to sleep.

“Well, Mrs. Withers is nearly skipping around the kitchen,” she said with a smile. “She can hardly wait for Thursday.”

“How old is this Jonathan?” Francine suddenly called from the kitchen where she was supposed to be studying at the table.

Drew looked up from the paper. “I don't think anyone ever said.”

“Twenty-four,” said Virginia. She could feel her cheeks warm. “Mrs. Withers said he is twenty-four.”

“T-o-o-o old,” they could hear Francine mutter.

Virginia and Belinda exchanged glances.
Francine is far too interested in boys
was the unspoken message.

———

It snowed lightly all afternoon. Virginia watched it lazily drifting down outside the post office windows and would have enjoyed its silent beauty had not her thoughts been on Mrs. Withers' walk.

I will need to shovel—again,
she thought to herself.
Well, at least it isn't as cold as it has been. That will make the job a little easier.

Following a busy day at work, she hurried home to change into clothes more suitable for shoveling. She called to her mother as she left her room, “I may be a little late for supper. Please go ahead without me. I want to clear Mrs. Withers' walk before it gets too dark.”

“Fine, dear,” she heard her mother's answer.

She was just getting started when she heard the creak of the gate. She looked over her shoulder in the gathering dusk to glimpse a figure walking toward her, a suitcase in each hand.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I must be totally confused. I'm looking for Mrs. Withers. My directions got me here, but I must have made a mistake. Do you by chance—?”

“This is Mrs. Withers',” Virginia answered as she straightened and looked through the darkness. She could not see the face of the stranger, but he was tall.

He stepped closer. “Then, who are you?” he asked, placing one of the heavy suitcases on the ground and lifting his hat from his head in one easy motion. “Excuse me, ma'am. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that my grandmother . . .” He sounded flustered.

Grandmother?
Virginia's thoughts whirled. It's Thursday. She had totally forgotten that this was the day the grandson— Jonathan—was to arrive.

Before Virginia could explain, there was a flurry of activity behind her, and Mrs. Withers came rushing down the walk. Virginia never would have guessed the elderly woman could move so quickly.

“Jonathan,” she cried, her arms outstretched.

“Grandmother.” The second suitcase was quickly discarded. He moved to meet her and picked her up right off the ground as he embraced her.

Virginia stood awkwardly to the side, feeling a bit like an intruder.
They've scattered snow all over the only part I'd managed to clean,
she mentally noted.

“You've met Virginia,” the grandmother stated as the tall young man set her back down on her own two feet.

He reached down to pick up the Stetson that had fallen unnoticed during their exuberant meeting. He dusted the snow off against his knee with sharp little raps. “Can't say that I have” was his answer.

“This is Virginia. She is my—our—neighbor.”

He nodded. “Pleased to meet you, ma'am.”

“Virginia's not a ma'am. She's a miss,” the grandmother said with a chuckle.

He returned his hat to its place, and he dipped his head slightly. “And why is Miss Virginia shoveling snow?” he queried. His voice was deep, but warm and interested.

“She always clears the snow,” the grandmother replied.

The young man stepped closer to Virginia and removed the Stetson once more. “I sincerely thank you, miss, for looking out for Grandmother. But from now on it won't be necessary. I'll be manning the shovel.”

She nodded slowly, feeling a mixture of relief and regret.

“If you'll excuse us, I'm going to get my grandmother in the house before she catches her death of cold.” As he spoke he reached out and removed the shovel from Virginia's hands. “I assure you that I will clear the walk—just as soon as Grandmother is back inside. I do thank you for your assistance. You have been most kind. Mother spoke highly of Grandmother's good neighbors. I see she was not exaggerating. Now you'd best get back home, too, before—”

“Come in, Virginia,” Mrs. Withers interjected. “Come on in. You really haven't had a proper introduction.”

Virginia hung back.

“Can't you come in?”

“I . . . I really must get home for supper. Mother will be waiting.”

“Of course. Well . . . you come on over just as soon as you're done.”

“I . . . I don't think so tonight, Mrs. Withers. You and your grandson will have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Nonsense. We have months to catch up. Come on over and get acquainted.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps. You need some time. . . .”

The young man was gently guiding the woman toward the house. Virginia knew he was concerned with her being outside without proper wrap.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Withers,” she called after them, feeling that some kind of promise would make the woman more compliant.

As Virginia trudged toward home, she felt unsettled. It was nice to be relieved of the responsibility of walk clearing, but she was going to miss the quiet evenings with the older woman, sipping tea and hearing stories from her past.

She briefly wished that the grandson had not come but quickly put the thought out of her mind as being selfish.

———

Virginia did not rush with the supper dishes the following evening. She wished she had not promised Mrs. Withers that she would pay a visit. She would now truly feel like an intruder. The elderly woman really did not require her company anymore.

Virginia was reluctantly removing her apron, still uncertain about what she should do, when there was a knock on their kitchen door. Francine, who had been doing the dish-drying chore, crossed the room to open it.

Virginia looked over to see the younger girl standing stock still, her hand still holding the door open, her mouth slightly open as she stared at the young man standing on the porch.

“Good evening,” he said, “I'm looking for Miss—Virginia.”

Francine's eyes switched from the young man to her sister and back again.

“Good evening.” He spoke over Francine's head. “My apologies for barging in like this. But Grandmother would give me no rest—nor would she rest—until I came to see if you were planning to come over as you indicated.”

Virginia now could see the young man clearly. He was even taller than she had thought, broad shouldered and muscular, yet lithe in movement as he stepped past the dumbstruck Francine and entered the kitchen as he spoke.

His hair was a shade of brown Virginia had never seen before. She would not have known the proper word to describe it. Maybe glints of amber? His jawline was neither square nor sharply angular. In all, it was a pleasant face—not handsome in the fashion that made Francine swoon—but appealing. But it was his eyes that drew Virginia's attention. They were of a shade of blue Francine would later dramatically describe as “amethyst.” Virginia finished hanging the apron. “I . . . I was just on my way,” she managed.

“Good.” And he smiled. The pleasant face lit up from an inner light. He was—actually—rather handsome.

“I'll get my coat.” She also picked up a plate of cookies.

They walked over together. Virginia noticed that the walkway was totally cleared of snow. A person who keeps promises, she noted.

“Grandmother has been talking of your visit all day,” he informed her. “She says you are the best company she has ever had.”

“I don't think she is much used to company,” Virginia responded with a bit of a laugh.

He chuckled with her. “If I didn't know better, I'd maybe feel a little jealous,” he said.

They laughed again.

The evening passed pleasantly. Virginia found Jonathan to be easy to visit with, and as they drank hot cocoa and munched on the cookies Virginia had brought, they sensed an easy camaraderie.

When it was time for Virginia to go, he reached for his Stetson. “I'll walk you home.”

“There's no need. I just live across the fence,” she said lightly. “I've been making this little journey every evening—”

“I'd like to,” he said. Virginia did not argue further.

“You haven't heard of any jobs around, have you?” he asked as they walked the short distance.

Virginia took a moment to ponder but came up empty.

“I don't suppose there's much need for workers here. Well, I won't get too anxious. But I've no intention of sitting about. I'll find something, if I have to invent it.” He laughed good-naturedly. “Well, there certainly are things to do around the house. I've spotted several items that could use some fixing. That will keep me busy for a while. And Grandmother says the pastor was asking for volunteers to do some repairs at the church. I'll check into that. Then we'll see what comes. Just thought you might have heard something—being in the post office and all.”

“If I do, I will certainly let you know,” Virginia promised.

“I'd appreciate it.”

He left Virginia at her door with a “Good night” and a tip of his hat as she entered the kitchen. As soon as she stepped through the door, Francine began hounding her with questions and comments.

“I can't believe it. Where did he come from? Right next door. He's so . . . so manly . . . and so mannered. And those amethyst eyes. They—I could just drown in them.”

“Francine,” Virginia said with some impatience, “you read far too much—literature that is not literature.”

“Tell me,” went on Francine, ignoring her comment. “What is he like?”

“A gentleman,” replied Virginia curtly.

“Oh, I could see that in a moment. One can just tell.”

“He came here to look after his grandmother,” Virginia reminded her.

“That is so . . . so
precious
,” Francine cooed. “What man— his age—would do a thing like that?”

“He happens to think—” began Virginia, but then stopped. Francine had made an astute observation. What young man his age
would
do a thing like that?

Very few, she concluded. Very few.

Perhaps there is a reason that Jonathan is his grandmother's favorite
, she noted.
He must be rather special.
But she gave no hint of her thoughts to her sister.

Francine was still expressing her opinion. “His smile. Have you ever seen a smile like that? So . . . so manly, so—”

“So mannered,” quipped Virginia meaningfully.

Francine seemed not to notice. “And he isn't old at all,” she concluded.

———