A Quiet Strength (15 page)

It was not good news that Jonathan brought back from town. The banker had agreed to a three-month extension on the loan payment. That was the best he could possibly do.

But they needed more time than that—at least until the next spring sale when additional two-year-olds would be ready, eight prime young horses. Jonathan was pleased with the new lot. They were training well and were magnificent animals.

And a number of the mares would soon be dropping new spring foals. They should care for the needs of another year. After this year, things should ease off. The farm should be able to pay for itself. If they just could figure out something for that looming bank payment….

At the breakfast table Virginia, who was facing the kitchen window, noted a strange red glow in the sky. “Must be quite a sunrise,” she observed. “Sky’s red clear to the west.”

“Not time for the sun to be coming up yet,” Jonathan said with a frown. The sight brought him quickly up out of his chair, his face paling even before he reached the window. Virginia saw his whole body go tense.

“What is it?” She was rising to her feet when he whirled around.

“The haystack’s on fire.”

He was gone from the house without even stopping for his jacket.

There was no use trying to fight it. The flames had gotten too far in the dry hay, and there was no water except what could be coaxed from the pump in the yard. All they could do was stand and watch it burn while horses in nearby corrals whinnied and blew and raced around the fence in sheer terror. Jonathan sought to quiet them, but even his familiar voice had little effect. Virginia wondered if they, too, knew the consequence of this disaster.

Helplessly she returned to the house, feeling sick inside.
Why don’t we just give up? Sell the farm and move back into town?
She knew Jonathan could make a living in carpentry. He had proven his skills in building their house. Surely … surely carpentry would be much more reliable than raising horses. And he would have more time, too. He might even have a chance to be a real husband and father. Not a visitor at the end of a long day. Not someone so weary that all he was able to do was sit by the fire and rock his child.
Yes
, decided Virginia,
that is what we must do
. She would talk to Jonathan about it. Surely he would agree.

But Jonathan did not agree. He said very little while Virginia laid out her solution to all their problems as they lay beneath the warmth and safety of their homemade quilt. But she could tell by his silence and the stiffness of his body that he was not in agreement.

For a moment she felt deep frustration and wanted to tell him that he was being stubborn. He was refusing to consider his family.
What is for our good-
her mind clamored. But she knew that was unfair. Jonathan had always thought about his family.

But it did not seem that he intended to be reasonable now. Was his dream too hard to let go? Couldn’t he see that it was not weakness that led one to admit defeat, but strength?

She tried again. He had a goodly amount of assets out in his barns. If he sold the farm and all his horses, and if they were worth as much as he thought they were, he’d be able to pay off their debts and still have a sizable amount to put toward a house in town. It was the only sensible thing for them to do. Why couldn’t he see that? Virginia presented herarguments, her voice getting a little higher pitched with each new expression of her position.

When Jonathan seemed unwilling to either refute or concede, Virginia turned her back to him. There was no use discussing it further. Hot tears fell into her goose-down pillow. What was the use? She had tried so hard to be a dutiful wife. To support her husband in his dream, his venture. Here she was, burdened with the care of family. Family that really should not have been her sole responsibility. And carrying most of it alone, while Jonathan escaped to his animals. Maybe she was the one who should be moving back into town.

Virginia chastised herself for even thinking such a thought, but her tears only increased. It seemed that her lot was a very heavy one. It would have helped to have had the comfort of Jonathan’s arms.

CHAPTER  15

T
he next morning, Virginia found it hard to rise from her bed. Jonathan was already gone from their room. Virginia could hear Mindy’s voice drifting up the stairs. She was not sure if the child was speaking with Jonathan or Grandmother Withers. She could not pick out the words, only the rise and fall of the little girl’s voice. Martha, who had been fed at four, slept on. Virginia fervently hoped she would not awaken again until the family had been served their breakfast.

She forced herself from the warmth of the covers and reached a reluctant foot out to the rag rug by the bed. She wished she did not need to face this day. She wondered just how Jonathan would greet her after their disagreement of the night before.

Slowly she dressed and descended the steps. Jonathan had already left for the barn. It was to Grandmother Withers that the young child was talking.

“ … and then Papa said it was only a dream and I should go back to sleep again.”

“Did you?”

“No, I couldn’t. I was scared. I thought the fire was gonna get me.”

“But the fire was way out on the other side of the corrals.”

“That’s where it was before. But it might come here.”

So Mindy had had a nightmare concerning yesterday’s fire. Virginia had not heard her during the night. She slept more soundly than she had supposed. Jonathan must have been up with her. She wondered how long his rest was interrupted before the child was able to go back to sleep. And now he was up again. It likely had been a rather short night for Jonathan.

Virginia nodded a good-morning to Grandmother Withers and passed on through to the kitchen. She had to get breakfast on the table. Jonathan would soon be in from chores.

Jonathan was later than usual. By the time he came in, Martha was awake and insisting on being fed. Mindy, too, was whining, saying her tummy hurt. Virginia wondered if Grandmother Withers would start in next. She hurried to get the bedridden woman’s breakfast in to her, then on the table for the rest of the family.

When Jonathan finally arrived, he looked as though he had already worked a long day. Neither seemed much in the mood for conversation, and they ate their meal in silence. Jonathan was starting to rise from the table when he looked across at Virginia. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he began, his voice even and controlled. “If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do. It’ll take time to work it out, so I have to ask for your patience.”

And then he rose and left, his face blank and unreadable.

Now you are being reasonable
, Virginia’s heart cried. But a sadness tugged at her, as well. Rather than feeling triumph over winning, she felt a little sick inside. She knew that this was not what Jonathan would choose to do. She knew how much the horses meant to him, this enterprise in which he had invested so much time and care. She felt this was the only option open to the family, but if she could express her empathy for the deep hurt she knew he was feeling, it would be so much easier. In his eyes he had failed his family. In his eyes … But her tongue wouldn’t move, and her throat felt parched. She said nothing, only stared at the closed door. Then she buried her face in Martha’s soft blankets and wept.

But what else could they do? They could not pile up debt. The lost foal of the year before, the lost sale of Cinnamon, now the fire that took all the feed except what was in the barn loft—any one loss, they might have survived, but they had such a slim margin that the combination of the three was too much. Wasn’t it?

Maybe they could sell off part of the stock. Maybe cut the size of the herd down to half the brood mares. But even Virginia, who knew only a little about raising animals, realized it would take a long, long time to build the herd up again. In the meantime, there would not be enough profit to sustain them. Jonathan had carefully worked out his plan. He knew just how many animals he had to have in the stalls, how many he would need to sell each spring. How much he would need to set aside each year for other expenses. Jonathan had all the figures in the book that he kept in the desk drawer. The precarious balance of accounts had already been destroyed. Jonathan had not counted on so many setbacks in such quick succession.

Virginia went about the tasks of her day with a heavy heart. So much so that small Mindy asked midmorning, “Mama, are you scared of the fire, too?” Virginia could only nod. Yes. Yes, she was scared of the fire. Scared of what it would do to the family.

In the afternoon, Grandmother Withers and Mindy both took naps, and thankfully, small Martha joined them, leaving Virginia free to get to some long overdue household tasks.

She was rinsing the new butter that lay in a golden lump at the bottom of the churn when there was a knock on the door.

“Who on earth …?” But before she could even complete her thought the door opened and there stood Jenny.

Virginia blinked, unable to believe her eyes. The next moment a surprising thought flashed through her mind:
Well, at least you will be able to take care of your child now
. But her immediate inner response was that Mindy was no longer Jenny’s. She had forfeited her right to the child. Mindy was theirs now. Hers and Jonathan’s. They could not give her up. Surely Jenny would not ask them to. Surely not. Certainly they were still struggling. Still trying to work through Mindy’s problems. But they were hopeful. They—

“Jenny,” said Virginia, interrupting her own internal dialogue. Her voice sounded flat to her ears. “Come in.” “I’m in,” replied Jenny with no apology.

Virginia found herself wondering if Mindy had awakened. How would she respond to her mother? In jubilation? With shyness? Fear? Virginia had no way of knowing.

Virginia did not know what to say, so she stood, butter churn still in her hands, mouth half-open.

“Guess you’re a little surprised?” said Jenny.

Virginia finally was able to move. She crossed to the cupboard and set the churn near the water pail. “Yes,” she managed. “Yes, I guess I am.”

“I don’t blame you. It’s been a long time.”

“Yes. It has.” Virginia removed the lid from the churn and poured the fresh buttermilk into a pitcher. Then she dipped cold water from the pail and poured it over the yellow ball of soft butter and began to work out the buttermilk with a spoon, turning it over and over, pressing, squeezing. She poured the used water into the slop bucket and put on fresh to begin the process all over again.

“I’ll just be a minute,” she said over her shoulder. “ThenI’ll fix coffee. Take off your wraps and have a chair.”

Jenny removed her coat and tossed it over a kitchen chair.

“How did you come?”

“ The train. Then I caught a ride with a neighbor who dropped me off here.”

Silence.

“How’s Mindy?”

“She’s … she’s really grown.”

“Good.”

Silence again.

“How’s Hayden?”

There was no response for such a long time that Virginia looked up from kneading the butter. Jenny sat, head in hands, looking pale and worn. “Trouble again?” asked Virginia candidly but with sympathy.

Jenny nodded.

Virginia set aside the butter without working in the salt and went to put on the coffeepot. Jenny needed its warmth—for body and soul.

“Do you want to talk?” asked Virginia, wiping her hands on her apron as she moved to the table and took a chair opposite Jenny.

Jenny looked up. She blinked back her tears and shook her head with determination. “It worked for a while.”

“Then?”

“He … he sort of … came and went. This time he says he’s gone for good. He’s asking for … a divorce.”

“You’re going to give him one?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I still … He’s everything I ever wanted, Virginia. Everything.”

Then you have set your sights awfully low
, Virginia wanted to say, but she did not.

“So I’ve come to you,” went on Jenny with a forced laugh. “Run back to good old Virginia whenever you need a favor.”

“A favor?”

Jenny flushed.
At least she has that much decency
, thought Virginia.
She can blush about using me
.

Jenny nodded. “Just this once.”

“And that favor is?” prompted Virginia when Jenny did not go on.

Jenny’s flush deepened. She toyed with the rings on her fingers, seeming embarrassed to speak. At last she took a deep breath. “Well … you know how you are always saying that … that God answers prayer.”

Virginia’s heart skipped. Was Jenny finally at the point where she was willing to turn to God? Virginia could feel her eyes begin to moisten. She nodded. “He does,” she said softly.

“Well I—I want to ask you to pray for me.”

Oh, Jenny. You don’t know how I’ve prayed to hear you speak those words
, cried Virginia’s heart.

Jenny went on, “I want you to pray that God will bring Hayden back.”

Virginia was dumbstruck.

“What? What do you want me to pray?”

“I need him, Virginia. I really do!”

Virginia felt sick at heart. She managed to move from her chair and go to the stove to slide back the boiling coffeepot.

“Will you?” prompted Jenny.

Virginia shook her head. “I don’t know, Jenny. It’s …”

“You always said that He answers. You—”

“He does,” Virginia interrupted.

“But He won’t do this. Not for me. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I don’t know. What—”

“Because I’m a sinner?” pressed Jenny. “Is that why He won’t answer my prayer? I’m not praying, Virginia.
You’re
praying. You’re not a sinner. He’d answer you. That’s why I came. I tried it. Honestly. I tried to pray, but He wouldn’t answer me.”

Virginia looked up from pouring the two cups of coffee.

She was still shaking her head. She still felt weak and pale. “Would
you
?” she asked frankly.

Jenny looked puzzled.

“If you were God? Would you answer a prayer like that?”

Jenny remained silent.

“Would you give a person this kind of request, knowing full well that she would just use prayer to get what she wanted and then turn her back on you again?”

“Well … I …”

“That’s what you intend to do, isn’t it, Jenny? You want God to bring Hayden back. Back to you so the two of you can continue on as you left off. Living a life that leaves God out. Doing exactly what you want to do. Ignoring your conscience. Is that what you plan?”

Jenny tossed her tangled curls of fading red hair and shot Virginia a look of total contempt. “I guess I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life, Virginia.”

She rose from the chair and crossed to the window, her back stiff with anger.

For a moment Virginia wished she had not spoken so bluntly. It had accomplished nothing except to make Jenny upset with her. Virginia was always saying the wrong thing. If only she could take back her words. Jenny would never be won.

Suddenly Jenny whirled around. “Okay. So you’re right. I wouldn’t change my life. I don’t want to change my life. If I did … I’d just lose Hayden all over again. And I like my life … most of the time. If Hayden would come back, I’d be happy. At least I would be happier than I am now. But if your God … if He’s unwilling to help a person who’s down … then I don’t know if I want anything to do with Him anyway. Who needs Him?”

“I do,” said Virginia with emphasis. “I do. And He does help a person who’s down. All the time. We all have our down times, Jenny. God has never failed me at such a time. But He’s not there to be used at our own whim or fancy for our own purposes. That’s not God. That would be a … a wish fairy, a year-round Santa Claus.”

“Then I …”

“God is far more interested in your spiritual being than your state of happiness. He wants your life to be much more than a continual party with a hangover in the morning.”

Jenny was trembling as she moved back to the chair at the table. Virginia did not know if it was from anger, disappointment, or conviction.

Virginia carried the two cups of coffee to the table and put them down. She took the chair opposite her longtime friend and reached for Jenny’s hand.

“Oh, Jenny, if you only could understand how good life can really be.”

Jenny’s head jerked up. “That’s easy for you to say. You were raised in a real home. Your mother didn’t run away. Your father didn’t come home drunk. Well, mine did and I can’t change that. I’ve been trapped by it. All my life I’ve had to live with it. Can’t you see that, Virginia? I am what I am because that is what life has made me. I can’t change that. I’ve had no choice.”

“ That’s where you’re wrong. As long as there’s a God, there’s a choice. Think about it, Jenny. He created us, and one of the things He placed inside us is free choice. He will not let that be taken from us. Not by life, not by others. Not by Satan himself. He has given us choice. It’s a wonderful gift. Think about it. No matter what life hands us, we still have choice.

“Oh, we can’t always choose our circumstances—and I admit that yours have been unfair and cruel—but we can choose our response to them. We can choose.”

“It’s too late now. I’m … I’ve already made my choices. I’m trapped now. I can’t change. What’s done is done.”

“You’re wrong, Jenny. You still have a choice—even now. You can listen to your heart and ask for God’s forgiveness—let Him change you. Or you can choose to go on, caught in the power of your habits and your sin. You still have that choice. That power has been given to you. No one—listen to me—no one can ever say, ‘It’s beyond my power to choose.’ They might feel that way, but even that statement makes a choice. They are giving in when they could be reaching out and letting God give them freedom.”

Jenny looked agitated. She pulled her hand away from Virginia and wiped a wrist across her eyes. “It’s too late.”

“It’s only too late if you decide it’s too late,” insisted Virginia. “You choose.”

“I couldn’t do it on my own.”

“He’s not asking you to. He’ll be there for you.”

Jenny shook her head. “Why do you always manage to get me in such a mess, Virginia?” she asked almost crossly. “I came here looking for help, and all you give me is a lecture.”