A Quiet Strength (4 page)

The clouds were hanging heavy when Virginia trudged off to work the next morning. “Looks like we are in for a week of rain,” she grumbled to herself, hating the thought. Rain showers were one thing; dull, dismal weather quite another. Virginia had never learned to enjoy a world without sunshine.

She stuffed her hands deep within the pockets of her heavy coat, wishing she could be wearing a bright summer wrap in its place.
By the time I come home tonight the world will be a soggy mess
, she complained further.
Well, at least I will be in out of the chill
, she concluded, pitying the unfortunate people who had to work outside in the sloppiness.

The day was just as Virginia had expected. All day long rain slashed at the windowpanes of the post office, and the wind carried it through the door with each customer who entered the building. The entry was soon covered with muddy tracks that would need to be cleaned away at day’s end. Virginia knew that task would be hers before she headed for home.

“Awful cold for a late spring rain,” called old Mr. Marshall loudly but cheerily as he stomped his feet, splattering more mud on the already gathering pool. “Feels more like a snowy day.”

Virginia couldn’t decide whether to merely nod her head or make some reply. Mr. Marshall was hard-of-hearing and usually misunderstood any words spoken to him. He seemed to feel he could compensate for his deafness by his own speaking volume.

“You been out in this, missie?” Mr. Marshall shouted, splashing through the indoor mud to crowd up close to Virginia’s wicket.

“I walked to work in it,” she answered with a smile.

“Who?” he questioned, leaning close and rimming his ear with a gnarled hand. “Who was that, you say?”

Virginia pointed one finger at herself. “Me,” she answered, raising her voice.

“You? Oh, you shouldn’t do that. They’re dangerous dogs. Didn’t even know we had any of the breed around here.”

What in the world did he think I said?
Virginia asked herself.

What possible connection …?

But Mr. Marshall was saying, “Had me one once. Got rid of him. The neighbors were all scared silly of him. Wouldn’t even come in the yard. Never did bite anyone, but he sure acted like he’d take a good-sized hunk outa yer leg if you didn’t watch yer step. You ever had much to do with them? Who did you say owns one?”

Oh my
, thought Virginia with a deep sigh.
How am I going to explain?

But she was saved by the opening of the door as Mrs. Clemson stepped inside and proceeded to shake a drippy umbrella over the muddy floor. Mr. Marshall immediately swept off his hat, one that had weathered many such rainstorms by the appearance of its floppy brim, and grinned at the newcomer. “Morning, ma’am. And it’s a grim day to be out. Only the hearty dare face such a day as this.”

The woman grinned in return, revealing a gap in her tooth line. She gave her umbrella another good shake, then tiptoed gingerly through the mud of the entry to reach her post-office box. “Had to come on down,” she called over her shoulder. “Mr. Clemson is expecting an important letter, and he hisself couldn’t come out ’cause of his gout, you know. So I said as how I’d come on down. Not made of sugar, you know. Won’t melt in the wet.” She giggled in a youthful way. “Some folks shy away from a little wet weather. Me, I was born on the coast of Scotland. Didn’t know there was such a thing as dry until I near reached my fifteenth year.” She giggled again. “Oh well, little rain shouldn’t keep one to home.”

She fumbled with the latch on her box. “Yes, sir, an important letter. We heard that Mr. Clemson’s old uncle Bernhardt passed on, rest his soul. Mr. Clemson stands to inherit a good deal of the estate. We’re waiting for word from the solicitor.”

What in the world would Mr. Marshall make of all
that
stream of chatter? Virginia wondered. Mr. Marshall was holding the battered hat and running trembling fingers through what remained of his hair.

“Well, I sure hope so,” the old man said when Mrs. Clemson stopped for a breath. “We could all use a bumper crop this year. Do the whole community good. Whose barn did you say wouldn’t be able to hold it all?”

Mrs. Clemson turned sympathetic eyes toward Virginia. “He don’t hear none too well,” she said in a loud whisper, as though the situation needed explaining.

The Clemson post-office box yielded no letter. Not even an advertising leaflet or a call to join some force to rout evil and entrench good was found. Mrs. Clemson could not hide her disappointment.

“My, they are slow, those solicitors. You can tell it’s not
their
money they’s concerned with. Old Uncle Bernhardt’s been gone for ’most a year already—rest his soul—and we still haven’t had the notice of the will.”

She shook her umbrella as though she had the solicitor by the scruff of the neck, gave Mr. Marshall a forced smile and curt nod, and left the building.

“Seems a bit upset,” Mr. Marshall said, turning toward Virginia. “I would think that good crops would make anyone happy, even if they ain’t on a farm themselves. I always said, prosperous farms make a prosperous town. Don’t you think so, missie?”

Virginia dared not attempt an explanation. Just nodded her head in agreement.

CHAPTER  4

T
he rain was still depressingly steady when Virginia picked her way through the mud of the post-office entry and locked the door on the last customer at the end of the day. She went to get a pail and mop from the storage cupboard. “I don’t know whether to sweep it or shovel it,” she grumbled to herself. By the time she had finished, the hem of her skirt was mud coated from bending over the grimy mess. Eventually the mop and pail of water looked as dirty as the flagstone tiles. She emptied it out the door.

And I suppose there will be more of the same tomorrow
, Virginia fumed with a disgusted sound, peering up at the leaden skies and determining that there was no break in sight.
And likely for many more days to come. I wonder how Mrs. Noah ever made it through
, she mused.
All those days of rain, and all those animals…. At least they weren’t out playing in the rain and mud, tracking up the floors
. She shut and locked the front door again.

Thumping the scrub pail back into the closet, she plopped the mop down beside it. “See you again tomorrow,” she muttered as she pushed the door closed. She stood looking down at her rough, reddened hands. They deserved some of her grandma’s homemade hand ointment. Well, they’d have to wait until she got home. But if this rain were to continue—on and on—she would do well to bring a small jar in to work with her. She’d need it, scrubbing out the entry each day.

Virginia thrust her arm into the sleeve of her coat. She hated wearing it when it was supposed to be spring, but she knew she would be more than thankful for it by the time she reached home. She tied a scarf over her hair and prepared for the onslaught of wind and rain as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.

It was as miserable as she had feared. She thrust hands deep into her pockets and lowered her head against the storm.

She would have walked right into someone standing beneath the weeping birch had not a hand reached out to touch her shoulder. Startled, Virginia’s head came upright as she stopped abruptly. A tall man, bundled in dark clothes against the unspringlike weather, stood solidly in the path in front of her.

“Virginia.”

Virginia’s breath caught in her throat. Was she dreaming? “Jonathan?”

“I’ve been waiting….”

Suddenly it did not matter about the rain. About the mud in the entry or the heavy coat. It could rain all it wanted. Nothing—nothing in all the world—mattered, except that he was there. He was finally there. He had come back. He was waiting.

“Oh, Jonathan” was her glad cry, and then she was in his arms, weeping against the rough wool of the broad-shouldered jacket.

He held her. Just held her and let her weep. She wondered if he was weeping, too, but she could not tell for the constant stream of rain that ran over both of them. At length he kissed the top of her wet head. “I need to get you home,” he whispered. “You’re soaked.”

Virginia laughed. Laughed at the rain that had made her so despondent such a short time earlier. “You look a little wet yourself,” she informed him.

He laughed with her. “Guess I am. That birch isn’t all that great as a shelter.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Under this tree, or in town?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Well, I came in on this morning’s train. Had to get the horses out to the farm and into the corrals. They’d had enough of train travel. Soon as I got them settled I came into town. Couldn’t wait for your day to end….” He stopped and looked into her eyes. The cloudy skies and damp surroundings did not make for good lighting, but Virginia saw the love and eagerness in the gaze.
You were wrong, Jenny
, she said in her heart.
He came back
.

“As to how long I’ve been here under this dripping birch—only an eon or two, I guess. It seems like a very long time.” His arms tightened about her. Virginia’s reached up to encircle his neck.
Oh dear
, she found herself thinking.
He has not even officially come calling yet, and here we are in an embrace. On Main Street. Just as though … as though … it was all settled
.

The thought did not make her back away. She looked up into Jonathan’s face and smiled. “I think we’d better get out of the rain,” she said softly. “I want to hear all about your trip west. We have so much to talk about.”

“We do,” he agreed. “We surely do.”

He kissed her dripping hair once more before releasing her, and Virginia stepped back and smiled at him again. There was no use trying to straighten rumpled clothes. The rain had them both a wrinkled, sodden mess. They merely smiled at each other, then started down the street, her arm tucked protectively in his.

“You know, I never cared much for the rain,” Jonathan said in a teasing tone, “but I have the feeling that from now on it might hold a charm all its own.”

Virginia looked at him, saw the glint in his eyes, and understood. “I hate the rain,” she nodded. “I always have.”

“Well, look at you. Look at me. If this had been a normal day, if I had walked up to the post-office door and met you as you left—in broad daylight and bright sunshine—would you have welcomed me in the same way?”

Oh, Jonathan, I missed you so much
, Virginia’s heart cried.
Every day I’ve longed for you to come back
. But Jonathan was continuing.

“The rain, the storm, the chilliness … it … Well, I think the gloominess of it all represented our moods while we were apart. So in a way it … sort of drew us together, knowing that if we were together again, it wouldn’t matter about … about other things. Rain. Hail. Snow. Life itself. We need to be together. Even the rain is okay if we’re together.”

He put his free hand over hers on his arm. Virginia could feel the lump in her throat. Her eyes threatened to add salty tears to the moisture that ran down her cheeks.

“Do you know what I’m trying to say, Virginia?”

She tried to answer, but her throat was so tight words would not come. She nodded her head in agreement. Then Jonathan stopped walking and turned her to face him. He lifted her face with a hand under her trembling chin and looked deeply into her eyes. “Before I left I knew that I loved you, but I had no idea how hard it would be to be away from you. I don’t want to be apart again. Not ever.” He hesitated for a moment, studying her face. “Do you understand, Virginia?”

Virginia managed a nod in spite of the hand supporting her chin.

“I love you. I want to marry you. And it might be selfish of me, but I don’t want to wait. It’s been too long already. Will you marry me, Virginia?”

The rain continued to caress Virginia’s upturned face. She blinked the moisture from her eyelids, knowing that more warm tears were joining the cold splashes of raindrops. She swallowed hard to get control of her voice and her emotions. How she had longed to hear those words from Jonathan. “Yes,” she answered, and her voice was surprisingly strong in spite of her trembling. “Yes.”

“Soon?”

“Yes.” There was absolutely no doubt in her mind.

And then Jonathan was kissing her. Not on her rain-wet hair but on her lips. And Virginia had one ridiculous thought that almost brought a chuckle:
So much for long months of traditional parlor calling
.

In a small wedding with little fuss or flourish, they were married in just two weeks on a Saturday. Virginia could not help but think back to the glorious event that had launched her brother Rodney’s marriage to Grace, even though that wedding was still simple by society’s standards. But her own wedding’s lack of frills and finery did not dampen Virginia’s spirits. And, yes, neither did the rain.

She borrowed Clara’s gown, thankful that it did not need alterations. She wore her mother’s veil and carried flowers from Mrs. Withers’ garden. The church, too, was graced with large bouquets. Virginia was sure Mr. Adamson would have been pleased to see his flowers standing tall and proud in the two milk white vases.

Jonathan told Virginia that he had talked about her with his parents before he left the West. Had explained his intentions to ask her to marry him. They wanted to be at the wedding, but of course the time and distance made that impossible. Damaris Lewis wrote to welcome Virginia to their family and noted that she was glad to have had the opportunity to meet Virginia, even briefly, when settling her mother into the Adam? son house.

With no one to care for Jonathan’s horses, there would be no wedding trip. But Virginia had assured him that she did not mind. Perhaps one day, after they were established, they could take an anniversary trip instead.

And they would have no home of their own. Virginia had also tried to reassure Jonathan on that account. She loved his grandmother. Enjoyed the woman’s company. She would be pleased to share the older woman’s home until Jonathan was able to build their own at the farm. It would be no hardship at all. At least they would be together. That was what mattered.

After some discussion, they decided that Virginia would continue her job. The income would assist them greatly in saving for the house Jonathan planned to build. Getting his start as a breeder of fine horses would require both time and energy. It could be years before he began to reap returns for his labor.

But they were pulling together—that was the fact that made the dream not so far away. That was what made Virginia hum to herself as she prepared for work the Monday morning following their marriage.

In the days that had preceded their Saturday wedding, her time had been taken getting the simple plans quickly in place. She would never have made it without the help of her loving and supportive family. She smiled as she remembered the play of emotions on her parents’ faces when Jonathan had asked for their daughter’s hand in marriage—in just two weeks! But they gamely had pitched in, and now she was Mrs. Jonathan Lewis. Virginia Lewis. She would need to get used to her new name. “Virginia Lewis” sounded wonderful.

Jonathan had left early for the farm. He had much to do, he had said, but couldn’t wait to be with her again at day’s end. He had held her closely for a long time, as though it was difficult for him to let her go. “I love you, Mrs. Lewis,” he had whispered into her hair, and she had thrilled at the words.

“It won’t be long,” she had promised, smiling. “I’ll be here when you get home.”

Already her mind was whirling with plans. She would have a special meal ready for her new husband when he came home at the end of the day. She would shop during her lunch hour and then pick up the meat from the butcher as she passed on her way home. Jonathan liked raisin pie. She would just have time to bake one. And biscuits. She would make a pan of fresh, warm biscuits to go with the fried chicken and milk gravy.

Virginia left the small back bedroom that she now shared with Jonathan, still humming to herself. Another rain shower was drenching the world outside the living room window, but even that could not dampen her spirits. She smiled softly to herself, sure that it would be as Jonathan had said: Rain would always have pleasant memories for her now. It was in the rain that Jonathan had first told her that he loved her.

Grandmother Withers was seated at the kitchen table, her Bible spread before her. She smiled when Virginia entered the room.

“My, don’t you look like a day in summer,” she welcomed her new granddaughter.

“Good morning, Grandmother,” Virginia responded.

“Jonathan said you needed a little extra sleep this morning. What with wedding preparations and all, you’ve had a busy time of it.”

Virginia had to agree.

“I gave Jonathan his breakfast and sent him off with a lunch. He said he’d try to be home by six.”

Yes
, thought Virginia.
Jonathan did not go without speaking with me. I know his plans for the day
.

She leaned over and placed a kiss on the older woman’s white hair. “Thank you,” she said, the joy of the morning still giving sparkle to her words.

“There is porridge on the back of the stove.”

“Oh, I don’t need more than a slice of toast.”

“ Toast? That’s not enough to get you through the day. Best you have a little porridge. It’s damp and cold out there again. You’ll need some nourishment to keep you from the ague. Nothing like porridge to stick to your bones and give you resistance.”

Virginia chuckled. It was rather nice to have someone fussing over her.

“Okay, Grandmother. Porridge it will be.”

She helped herself to a small serving, feeling hard put not to remind herself of just how much she disliked it. Sometime around her eleventh birthday, her mother had finally relented and not demanded that she eat it anymore. Now it was back to porridge once again.

Well, it wouldn’t be for long. Once she and Jonathan were in their own home, she would gladly make morning porridge for him if he liked, but she would not force down a bowl of it herself.

It was all Virginia could do to finish the bowl now. She was thankful when the last spoonful was swallowed. One glance at the clock told her that she must hurry. She crossed to the stove and filled the dishpan with warm water to begin the cleaning up chores.

“ This Scripture has always puzzled me,” said Mrs. Withers.