A Quiet Strength (7 page)

From feelings of anger, Virginia’s thoughts and emotions traveled on to shame. She’d had no right to lash out at Jonathan as she had. He was doing all he could to give her the home she wanted. He had warned her that it would take long hours. Many days.
But still
, she mourned,
isn’t there some way he could give me a bit more of his time? His attention?

Her words to him, however cruel and biting, had been true. She had been feeling them for a long time. Trying to force them down, fight them back. It wasn’t an accusation without foundation. But it had been unfair. It had been said in the wrong manner. Surely she could have discussed her feelings in a reasonable fashion. What if she had killed his love? What if he no longer cared to express his love even in those times when they were able to be together? She would die without Jonathan. Just wither and die. She loved him so much. Even when she was angry with him, as she was now, the thought of losing him was more than she could endure.

Virginia mentally worked her way through her problem from every angle and always came back to the same unwanted conclusion: She had acted like a shrew.
With plenty of reason
, she would quickly attempt to excuse herself.
But it was unkind, unlovely
, she would reproach herself again. Back and forth her troubled thoughts tumbled. On the one hand, there was no reason good enough for her to have acted as she did. To have spoken as she did. Jonathan was giving of his best—himself—for her. But Jonathan was not being fair to treat a new bride as though she barely existed. Jonathan paid far more attention to his aging grandmother than he did to her. Yet it was his caring and gentle spirit that had attracted her to him in the first place. Well, why didn’t he have time to show her the same concern he showed others?

Virginia was having an inner argument that either way she would lose.

Virginia could not wait for the day to end, yet she dreaded its ending. She could not wait for Jonathan to come home, yet feared his coming. She fidgeted and fretted and paced about the kitchen until Grandmother Withers said, “Is something wrong, dear?”

Virginia could not answer with a lie so she said nothing in reply.

“It’s been a long day for you, hasn’t it? It’s always that way when one has extra time and no way to fill it. I know. I used to nearly go crazy for my Damaris on those days when I couldn’t pour my heart and soul into my work. Sundays. I never allowed myself ordinary work on Sunday. But I had no church service to attend. No real understanding about why one went to church. Just a hanging on to the past. A knowledge that my mother and father felt that church was important. That the Sabbath, the day of rest, be honored. So I just lolled about on Sunday. Agitated and wishing the hours to end. I was so thankful to go off to bed knowing that the next morning would bring me more work than I could handle in a single day.”

Virginia listened. She was relieved that the elderly woman did not understand what her real problem was. All the same, Virginia was more than thankful to retire early. Perhaps if she tried hard, she could be asleep by the time Jonathan returned home.

CHAPTER  7

V
irginia was awakened by Jonathan’s arms drawing her close. She stirred, then snuggled against him, struggling for wakefulness and understanding. “Virginia,” she heard his voice next to her ear, “we need to talk.”

Virginia pulled back and tried to see his face in the dark? ness of their bedroom. “What is it?” she asked sleepily. “Are you all right?”

His arms tightened around her, drawing her close again. “Are you awake?”

She mumbled against his chest. Her body insisted that it was the middle of the night.

He kissed her forehead. “Go back to sleep,” he said softly. “We’ll talk tomorrow. We both need to be wide awake to sort this out.”

Suddenly Virginia was jolted out of her dreamy state. Jona? than was back from the farm. They’d had a disagreement before he’d left. Somewhere deep inside she still felt anger and confusion. She tried to pull away again but his arms held her. “I’m awake,” she said firmly, and this time she really was.

He was silent for what seemed to be a long moment; then she felt more than heard his deep sigh.

“I’m afraid I have been dreadfully selfish,” he began. “I had missed you so much when I was out west and never wanted to be without you again. But it was wrong for me to ask you to marry me before the house was ready. Before I was established on the farm. We should have waited.”

“But you said that might take months. Years,” interjected Virginia.

“I expect it will.”

“We never could have—would have—waited that long.”

His arms tightened around her, and he pressed his cheek against her forehead. It was several minutes before he spoke again. “I hadn’t realized how hard this has been for you. These months of being with Grandma.”

“Jonathan, it is not your grandmother that’s the problem here. I … I love her. As if she were my own. It’s not seeing
you
. Never having you to myself. No … private times. How can a marriage grow if we aren’t allowed to … to even get to know each other?”

Again he was silent.

“Being with you like this is enough for me … for now,” he finally answered.

“Well, it’s not enough for me.” She put both hands on his chest and pushed. Jonathan released her.

She heard him sigh again as though he was deeply troubled. “What would be enough for you?” he dared to ask, his voice still gentle.

“Being able to be like a normal husband and wife. With time. Time to talk. Time to … enjoy each other. Time to care for the needs of the other. I don’t even get to cook for you. Grandma makes your breakfast, fixes your lunch, gets supper.”

“I didn’t know that cooking was that important to you. I’m sure Grandma—”

“That’s not the point.”

“But …”

“I’m not being a wife. I’m just here … when you finally come home at night. Then you’re gone again in the morning before I’m even up.”

“Virginia, we talked about this before we were married. You knew. I tried to tell you how it would be. I thought you understood….”

“I thought I did, too, but I guess I didn’t. Not really. I mean, these are supposed to be the … the honeymoon days. And we’ve missed them, Jonathan. Totally missed them.”

“Totally?”

“Totally!”

“You haven’t been happy?”

“I’ve been lonely.”

“I’m sorry.”

Only the hall clock’s tick sounded in the quiet for a very long time.

He had not tried to take her back in his arms. His stillness and his silence frightened her. She would have felt much better, more secure, had he chosen to argue the points she was making.

At last he spoke, but still he did not move. “I’ve really messed it up, haven’t I?”

It was Virginia who moved. She leaned toward him and slipped her hand up and over his shoulder, curling her fingers in the thickness of the hair at the back of his neck. “You haven’t messed it up,” she said, for the first time with contrition in her voice. “I was as anxious for our marriage as you were.”

“So what do we do? How can we fix this?” His arm encircled her again.

Virginia felt hot tears as they streaked down her cheeks. She had no answer.

“We do need a house,” he continued. “We do need the horses.”

Silently Virginia agreed.

“I need you.”

His arm tightened and Virginia’s tears increased.

“I can’t promise things are going to get any better,” he admitted honestly.

The thought was scar y, but Virginia knew she had to accept it.

“Can you … can you manage … somehow … for a few more months?”

“I’ll have to.” Virginia’s voice trembled.

“Would you be happier … back home?”

The very thought made Virginia cringe. To go home would be to admit defeat. It would be saying to the world that they had made a mistake. That they weren’t strong enough to see their commitment through. “No,” she said with emphasis. “No. I don’t want to go home.”

“You want to bunk in the barn?” His voice was teasing.

“It’s tempting.”

He kissed her. First on the nose. Then on her forehead. “What are we gonna do?” he asked into her hair as he pulled her tightly to his chest.

Virginia felt tears again. She could not speak. Could not express all the mixed emotions whirling around inside her, making her feel both joy and sadness at the same time. All she could do was cling to him.

Their routine changed somewhat. Jonathan still got up before the sun and prepared to leave for the farm. But he brought his second cup of morning coffee to their small bed? room and with it a cup for Virginia. Sleepily she would prop herself up in the bed and sip until her mind cleared and she was able to talk. And they talked. Pointless conversation by many standards. But discussion about their daily lives that strengthened the bond of care and concern for each other and helped to bridge the miles and hours they were apart. Then Jonathan occasionally teased her about getting up to make his lunch, when she knew full well his grandmother had already placed it in the small sugar sack Jonathan carried to the farm.

Virginia made a greater attempt to stay awake until Jona? than came home at night, and if he was especially tired she rubbed his back and arm muscles with the vile-smelling linament from his grandmother’s medicine cabinet. And they talked then, too.

Virginia worked hard to fill the fall evenings with projects that would be needed in the new house. Grandmother Withers clucked and fussed and beamed her approval, seeming to enjoy every moment of having “a daughter” in the house. Virginia tried not to feel too confined and restricted. But there were times when she longed for a wee bit of solitude; if her hours could not be spent with Jonathan, she would have preferred to be mostly alone.

With fall closing in on winter, Jonathan was in even more of a hurry to get the building to the place where it could be heated so he could do the finishing work during the winter months. Virginia was taken out for the occasional Sunday tour. She approved of what she found, and it made her that much more anxious to be in a home of her own. A real wife. A real homemaker.

“Perhaps by Christmas,” Jonathan promised, and Virginia mentally crossed off the “perhaps” and clung to hope.

In the meantime, she was marking time. Trying not to become impatient. Trying hard to be pleasant company for Grandmother Withers. Trying to be supportive and understanding of Jonathan. At times she felt that she walked through the entire day holding her emotions at bay. Like holding one’s breath.

Snow came earlier than Jonathan would have hoped. The house still did not have its chimney. There was no way he could heat the building without the chimney being in place. Without his saying the words, Virginia knew it worried him. She tried to be extra supportive, but she didn’t know what to say that would take the frown of worry from his brow or the troubled look from his eyes. It was especially hard when Grandmother Withers chattered on about local happenings or a bench that needed a nail pounded in or a hinge that squeaked for oil. Virginia saw Jonathan fight for pleasantness and at times wished to hush the older woman and banish her to her room.

But there was no way she could protect Jonathan from the reality of the situation. She had to accept that. There was not even a way she truly could comfort him. And the new house seemed to have a will of its own—lagging behind Jonathan’s projected times for a particular section, dragging its feet in advancement. Virginia chaffed inwardly but tried to smile outwardly. It was taxing. Without verbally agreeing, they stopped talking about it.

“So, Jonathan, how’s the house coming?” Virginia’s father posed the question at a family dinner. Jonathan and Virginia exchanged glances, and she held her breath. She had not heard a progress report for a number of days. She knew Jonathan would answer the query honestly. Now she was afraid that what she was about to hear would be terribly disappointing.

“It’s slow,” he said, buttering a slice of fresh bread.

“It’s a shame we can’t help you more.”

Jonathan nodded. “If my time wasn’t so taken up with the stock, I could have made use of more help with the building,” he said frankly. “I have to spend a good share of my day working with the horses, so the house gets piecemeal attention. I could hardly ask family and friends to try to fit those hodgepodge hours. Nor could I expect them to keep on working while I went to break a yearling.”

Drew nodded. His legal office kept him at his desk both long hours and off-hours.

Virginia had never been able to understand about the horses, about all the attention they required. Jonathan had tried to explain, but it had never made much sense.

“How are the horses?” This from her father again.

“Got some real promising yearlings. But they won’t be of much value unless they’re proper broke. Might as well buy you a mustang if it’s not trained. These are spirited, so they need time and attention. I don’t hold to the manner of breaking a horse’s spirit in order to be in control. They’re much better if they’re gentle broke. That takes time. Lots of time. And patience. You need to work them some every day. I’ve got five at the moment, and it takes a good share of my day to just keep some progress on the breaking in.”

“It has to be done now? Immediately?” asked Belinda, seeming not to understand any more than Virginia did.

“Now’s the right time. If they are left to themselves any longer, they can pick up bad habits. Can get more determined. I’ve been handling these fellas since they were foals. They trust me at this point. Now’s the time to work with them before they become too independent. Especially the young stallions, and I’ve got a couple of those in the lot.”

Belinda nodded, seeming to fully accept Jonathan’s words.

“Couldn’t you just sell them and let the buyer break them?” This question from Francine.

“Could. But I’d lose a lot of money. Well-broke horse is worth five or six times what an unbroken horse is. No, Francine. If Virginia and I are going to make it raising horses, I’ve got to do the training.”

Virginia did not miss the inclusion of her in the plans for the farm. It gave her an odd little thrill—though totally undeserved, she felt. She’d had nothing at all to do with any of the horses, save to hang over the rail fence and feed one or the other an occasional apple or handful of oats.

“Hopefully next spring there will be more foals to work with. That’s good news for the future. But once you get behind, you never catch up. The little guys have to be halter broke and handled. Mostly just petted and pampered, used to having you around. The touching and gentling is important.”

“Oh, I could do that,” put in Francine, her eyes shining.

“I’m sure you could,” responded Jonathan with a chuckle and a nod for the girl. “I might just call on you come next spring.”

Francine looked pleased.

“That mare you were worried about—still doing okay?” Drew wondered.

“Right as rain. She gets friskier every day. Don’t think I would have saved her without Danny’s advice. Is he planning on being a vet around here?”

Drew shook his head. “I don’t suppose so. Has these big dreams of working with exotic animals rather than just farm stock. Wants to work in a zoo or some big game farm or something.”

“We sure could use him or someone like him around here. Lose one prime animal and it can cost you a lot of money. Sometimes the entire year’s profits.”