A Searching Heart (28 page)

Over the weeks that followed, Virginia did continue to visit the house next door. She soon did not feel she was imposing. Her welcome was warm and genuine from both occupants.

Day by day she noted little improvements one after another taking place in the small house.

“I had no idea you were such a skilled carpenter,” Virginia observed one evening as the grandmother proudly showed off the newly restored hall closet.

He smiled his easy smile. “Well, ‘carpenter' might be putting a rather officious title to what I do. But Pa brought us all up knowing how to hold a hammer. I took to it a little more than the other boys. I like the feel of making things look better than they did.”

“It shows,” mused Virginia.

“And see that spot up there on the ceiling where it had leaked in? He fixed that up, too,” Mrs. Withers proudly pointed out.

Virginia smiled her approval.

“Well, it's time to hang up the hammer for tonight,” he joked as he laid an imaginary hammer aside. “Grandmother made some gingerbread today. We've been waiting for you to come so we can test it.”

“I'll make the cocoa, or do you want tea tonight?” Virginia asked, moving toward the kitchen cupboard. “Oh, this cupboard door swings more freely,” she observed, swinging the door back and forth.

“Jonathan fixed that, too.”

“It's much better. It used to protest.”

“Just needed a new hinge,” the young man explained.

Virginia made tea, and they gathered in the front parlor by the fireplace. The gingerbread was delicious, and Mrs. Withers seemed to enjoy the compliments.

“It's rather nice to cook when you have something to cook with—and someone to cook for,” she observed. But she made no further reference to the many years when her cupboard was almost bare, or to the years she had been alone since losing her husband.

When it was time for Virginia to leave, Jonathan reached for his hat. It was a routine now. Virginia did not even attempt to protest.

“I still haven't heard of any work,” she said as they walked out together into the starry night.

“Thanks for keeping an ear to the ground. Things are going pretty well. I've finished up Grandmother's house, but the minister has a couple of weeks' work for me. By then it'll be nearing March. Calving time if I was back home.”

Virginia could hear wistfulness in his voice. “You're missing it, aren't you?”

He didn't try to brush it aside or deny it. “Yes, I guess I am. Always enjoyed working with the animals.”

“And you can't do it here? No, I don't suppose. We've no ranches in the area.”

“No, but there's plenty of good farmland. I've thought about that. But I don't think I'd bother raising cattle. I think I'd try my hand at horses. Got me a couple real good ones back at the ranch. One young stallion that's a beauty. Pa's got some nice little fillies. I think he'd sell me a few.”

He hesitated a moment and then went on. “I haven't been quite ready to talk to anyone about this, but—well—I've looked at a couple of farms in the area. One looks like it would make a good horse farm. Good corrals, nice-sized barn. Lots of good grazing land and a creek that runs through the lower pasture. Kind of makes my heart beat just a bit faster even thinking about it.”

For some reason she could not have explained, it made Virginia's heart beat just a little faster, as well.

“Could you—would it be possible?” she asked him, holding her breath as she waited for the answer.

“I think so,” he said slowly. “I've been saving money. I'd sell off my cows. Pa might want them, or one of the boys. And if not, they'd do well on the market. Prices are pretty good right now, and they're from good stock.”

It was exciting to share his dreams, even though those dreams were only in the talking stage.

They had stopped walking. He was leaning his elbow on top of the corner post of the fence. Virginia stood facing him, forgetting the chill of the night, thinking only of the hope and anticipation in his voice. Without realizing it, the short trips from the Withers' home to the Simpsons' had begun taking longer and longer.

“Is it a fair price—for the land, I mean?”

He nodded. “I've checked it out. Seems reasonable.”

Then he went on, “But there's no house on it. Burned down last fall. That's why they want to sell. The woman is tired of being on the farm. Wants to get back to a town somewhere. The man had resisted, until the house burned. He had to move her into town then.”

“You mean the Connery place?”

“That's it.”

“I remember their fire. They were fortunate that no one got hurt. It burned very quickly, from what I've heard.”

“That's what she says. He thinks he might have put it out—might have saved it—had he been there.”

Virginia nodded, then picked up the excitement again. “It does have a nice lane. I have always admired all the trees around the place.”

“You have? You do know it then?”

“I've driven by many times.”

“Well, with some fixing—more corrals—I think it would make a real good horse farm.”

“What would you do for a house?”

“I'll still need to stay with Grandmother. I'd live on here and drive back and forth for a while. It would give me lots of time to get things started—maybe even time to build the house myself.”

“It sounds wonderful.” She gave him a smile that the moon overhead illuminated. She heard his intake of breath.

“Well, I'd better get in. Your grandmother will think you got lost,” she teased.

He smiled then. “I've a notion that Grandmother has a fairly good idea where I am—and why,” he returned.

Virginia felt a small fluttery sensation somewhere in her chest. She was not sure what it meant—or if she welcomed it.

CHAPTER 21

V
irginia, do you hear me?” Francine looked quite put out. “You are sitting there with that faraway look in your eyes, not listening to a word I've said.”

“I'm sorry,” admitted Virginia with a flush to her cheeks. “I was . . . I was just thinking of Mrs. Withers.”

“Mrs. Withers?”

“Her . . . her flowers.”

Francine gave Virginia a look that said she was doubtful but uncharacteristically let it pass.

The truth was, Virginia had been thinking of Mrs. Withers' flowers—in a way. Jonathan had recently told her that in recent exchanges of letters with his father, the older man had quite agreed with Jonathan's interest in buying a farm in the area. Jonathan had even made an offer to the Connerys and had every reason to think that it would be accepted.

Through the early weeks of spring, Virginia had watched as the snowdrifts gradually gave way, revealing beds of potential blooms. There was much work to be done, and the two young people had tackled it together, raking up leaves to reveal early daffodils and pulling aside last season's growth to let the crocuses lift up shy heads. So—yes—she was thinking of flowers.

Now the garden was almost all exposed, although there were many plants that would be blooming later into the spring and into the summer and fall. Virginia, as she mused about the garden, also thought about the possibility of the rose offshoots being transplanted by the gate that led to the garden at Jonathan's new farm. Or a cluster of forget-me-nots by the swing, or the pale blue violets at the side of the path that led to the creek.

She flushed now as Francine's frank question exposed her thinking—not aloud, but to herself. She had not been aware where her unguarded thoughts had been leading her.

“You were saying?” she asked her sister, determined to bring her thoughts in check.

“I said that Danny wrote today. Mother has his letter. He has a job for the summer and won't be home again.”

Francine sounded disappointed—and bored.

“Well, a job is good,” Virginia offered, trying to cheer up her sister.

“I guess.” But Francine's shoulders still drooped.

“What about Jonathan? Has he found a job yet?” Francine had finally given up on trying to get the young man's attention. Another reason she now felt bored.

Virginia shook her head. The news of Jonathan's intention to buy the local farm was not yet public. She couldn't be the one to disclose it, but she did not wish to actually mislead her sister either. “Not exactly,” she answered. “He has some . . . some possibilities.”

Francine nodded. “I hope they work for him. He seems like a . . . real nice fellow. Don't you think?”

Virginia said nothing. She was seeing the pink rosebush out by the gate again.

“Don't you think so?” The question was so direct that Virginia could not avoid it.

“I—he's nice. He is very good to his grandmother.”

“That wasn't what I meant, and you know it.” Francine's well-shaped eyebrow lifted along with the hint of a smirk. “You've been spending an awful lot of time together.”

Virginia tried to be casual. “There is a lot to do in Mrs. Withers' yard.”

“Pooh,” said Francine. “I've seen your moony eyes.”

“Moony eyes?”

“You have feelings for him, and you know it, Virginia. You may as well admit it.”

Virginia was about to admit nothing. Not even to herself. The truth was she felt all mixed up. She had loved Jamison. Had been heartbroken and angry when the relationship ended. Gradually she had accepted that he was not to be part of her life. She had even, with God's help, come to the place where she could forgive him. Even be happy for him and for his Rachel. And she had constructed, in her own thinking, a life for herself that included no one but her family, her beloved nephews. Perhaps a complacent cat or a tail-wagging dog. She had been happy thinking about that future—that little home of her own.

And then had come Jonathan, and that little dream didn't seem so perfect anymore. It did not even seem desirable.

But Virginia really did not know if her recent plans could— or would—change. Jonathan was her neighbor's grandson. He had come with the distinct plan to care for his elderly grandmother. True, they had spent many evenings entertaining her together. Many hours working in her garden. Many evenings chatting before saying good-night. But there was no reason to believe that there was any more to it than that.

For all she knew, he might have a girl back home. They had never talked about it. How would she know?

Virginia felt edgy, fearful, whenever she thought about the future. She did not want to be hurt again. Not ever. She wasn't sure that she could live through such pain. Slowly and carefully she constructed a protective shield, withdrawing into a little shell of pretended indifference.

———

“Have you time for a little walk?” asked Jonathan.

The evening was mild and still early. The birds were still singing, and the summer sun had not yet nestled into the green of the distant trees. She nodded. There was no reason for her to hurry home. “Gram seems to go to bed earlier each night,” he commented as they turned their steps toward the outskirts of the town. “I think working in the garden really tires her out. Yet she won't give it up. I've stopped trying to fight it.”

“Guess the most important thing is for her to be happy— just as long as she doesn't overdo.”

They walked on in silence for some minutes, then Jonathan spoke.

“I've been a little worried lately. Have I . . . have I done something to offend you?”

Virginia's head swung around.
Of course not
, she wanted to quickly respond, but she couldn't say the words. She had hoped that he wouldn't sense it—her cautious backing away. She did not want to read into this relationship more than what was there. She did not want to leave herself open to more disappointment. More pain. The truth was, over the months that she had known him, she was discovering a unique and special person. She found herself drawn to him. Looking forward to the moments that she knew she would be with him. Making silly excuses to extend those times. Watching out the window in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him. And yet always carefully drawing herself back emotionally.

She knew he was waiting for her answer. She swallowed and forced out some words. “No, you've done nothing—wrong.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure.” She tried a smile.

“Good,” he said with relief.

His face relaxed into one of his delightful smiles. It made her heart thump.

“I've got good news. I haven't even told Gram yet.”

They had stopped beneath a large spruce tree. He leaned over and swept aside some small twigs with the brim of his Stetson, then nodded for Virginia to sit down. She did. He lowered himself beside her and rested the hat on one knee.

“I'm going home.”

The news hit Virginia like a bolt. What? Going home? He had said he had good news.

She looked at him, her face blanched, her eyes puzzled. Was it true? But what about his grandmother? Had he finally talked her into going with him?

“I . . . I don't understand,” she managed.

“I'm going home.”

“When?”

“Just as soon as I can get my ticket. Grandmother's yard is in pretty good shape right now, and if you don't mind popping in on her in the evenings . . .”

Of course she didn't, but it seemed unfair of him to put the responsibility off on her.

She shook her head to clear it. “I still don't understand. I thought that you wanted the farm—here.”

His eyes took on a shine. “I got the farm. The deal went through. I got it.” He seemed tremendously excited.

It didn't make a bit of sense. “So . . . if you got the farm, why are you going?” Did she really want to ask the question? Did she really want to hear the answer? Her heart thumped harder.

“Pa sold off my cattle. Bought some himself and sold the rest. He says I can pick out the best ten fillies he's got. With my own stock, that will make a pretty nice starting line. I'm going home to get them.”