Like Gold Refined (10 page)

“You haven’t gained any weight,” Virginia dared to com? ment. “Have you not been well?”

Jenny shrugged.

“How have things been since … since …?” She wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m doing okay.”

“Good.”

Silence again.

“Are you still living in the same place?”

“No. I moved. A couple of times.”

“You’re still … alone?”

“Yeah. I’m alone.”

“Your friends … ”

“What friends,” Jenny said, sarcasm in her tone. “My former friends have forgotten I exist.”

Virginia was silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she man? aged at last.

“Don’t be. They aren’t worth missing.” Jenny’s words were followed with a bout of coughing.

They sipped quietly.

“She’s … really grown, hasn’t she?” mused Jenny.

“Getting to be a young lady,” answered Virginia.

“I noticed she helps around the kitchen.”

“She’s very good at helping out. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” The simple phrase sent a pang to Virginia’s heart.

“The kids seem to like her.” Jenny coughed again.

“They adore her. They can hardly wait for her to get home at night. She’s so good with them.”

Again there was silence.

“You’ve done a good job.”

This bit of high praise from Jenny was highly unexpected. Virginia’s eyes filled with sudden tears. “Thank you,” she whispered, “but I haven’t done it alone. Jonathan—”

“I noticed. He’s good with kids.”

“He’s a great father.” Suddenly Virginia’s heart was so full that she wondered if she would be able to contain the emotion of it. She was so thankful that God had blessed her life with Jonathan. Thankful for his love for family. His deep, committed devotion.

Jenny set aside her empty cup. “I’m going out for one more cigarette,” she said, “then I’m off to bed. I’m beat. It’s been a long day.” As she moved she went into another spasm of coughing. Virginia could not help but feel alarm.

Jenny did not join them at the table the next morning, so it was easy to follow the normal routine. The family shared breakfast and family Bible reading and prayer. Martha remembered Mindy’s poor Mama Jenny, and Virginia wondered just what the child meant by the words. The usual morning com? motion saw Slate leave for the barn and Jonathan bring the hitched team to the door to transport Mindy off to school. There was the scurry to bundle up, gather books and lunch pail, the good-bye hugs and kisses and calls of younger siblings as Mindy was pressed out the door—and then the excited clambering for the spot at the window to watch the team trot briskly down the long driveway.

Virginia took a deep breath. She had to bake bread. She’d best get the yeast set. She turned to the little ones, who were climbing down off the chair by the window.

“Martha, why don’t you take James in and get him some toys?”

“Yay,” clapped Olivia, seeming to think that play was a good idea.

Martha took James’s hand and started toward the toy box, then turned suddenly to her mother. “Is Mama Jenny going to come back?”

“She is still here. She is sleeping. Well, I don’t suppose she is still sleeping—with all the racket. But she is still in your room.”

Martha’s eyes grew big. She had never heard of anyone sleeping past breakfast.

“Is she sick?”

“No, she’s … ” But Virginia stopped. Maybe she was. She certainly didn’t look well. “She’s very tired,” she answered the child.

“Do we have to be quiet?”

“It would be a wonderful idea.”

Virginia turned to the cupboard to lay out the ingredients.

“Jamie doesn’t know how to be quiet.”

“Maybe you can show him.”

She lifted down the yeast and sugar and reached for a bowl.

“I don’t think he wants to learn that.”

Virginia turned. James was tugging impatiently, wanting to be free from the restraining hand of his older sister. “No,” said Virginia. “I don’t suppose he does. But you and Olivia can be quiet anyway. That will make two less noises.” She held up two fingers.

Martha disregarded the grammar and seemed to get the message. All three turned to go.

It was close to noon before Jenny made an appearance. “I hope you didn’t try to hold breakfast for me,” she mumbled. “As a matter of fact, I did. For a while.”

“Don’t. I don’t eat breakfast. I would have some coffee, though.”

Virginia pointed to the pot on the back of the stove. “Might be a bit strong by now.”

“Strong I like. Where’s your biggest cup?”

Virginia, who was punching down her batch of bread, pointed at the cupboard door with her chin. “In there.”

“Do you mind if I take it out with me?”

“No. That’s fine.”

“The heat’s still on?”

Virginia nodded. “I’m sure Jonathan will keep the fire going for as long as you need it.”

Jenny filled her coffee cup and reached for her coat.

“Why don’t you just carry the pot on out with you?” suggested Virginia. “You can set it right on the stove out there. It’ll stay hot if you want another cup.”

Jenny nodded. Virginia thought that her eyes seemed to take on a bit of life.

“Use that potholder hanging by the stove.”

Jenny poured the cup of coffee back into the pot to keep it warmer for the trip to the outbuilding.

“You’d best be careful, Virginia. I might just get so comfort? able out in your shed that I won’t come back.”

Virginia hoped that the quip was meant as a joke, noting silently the longest sentence Jenny had spoken yet. She knew Jenny wasn’t fond of being sent to the shed for her cigarettes, but she had no intention of making her family live with a smoked-filled home.

“Come back in time for dinner,” she replied, smiling so Jenny would know she was teasing.

Jenny nodded, picked up the pot and her cup, and left the house, coughing again.

CHAPTER 10

H
ave you seen your father?” Virginia asked Jenny as they sat at the table following the noon meal. The men had already excused themselves and headed for the barn. Virginia was catching her breath before corralling the two youngest for their afternoon naps.

Jenny shook her head. “No, I have not seen my father.” She seemed to emphasize each word, and Virginia gathered she would be wise to drop the matter. But she pushed on.

“Don’t you think you should? He misses you, Jenny.”

“What would give you that idea?”

“We see him—fairly frequently. At church on Sundays—and he comes out to the house from time to time.”

“Well, I hope one of those times isn’t while I’m here.”

“Why?” asked Virginia, doggedly pressing for an answer. “Why do you feel so … so ill toward him?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because. Because he’s your father.”

“And that means I’m supposed to feel something for him?”

“Most people do.”

Jenny shrugged. “Well, I’m not most people. Or had you forgotten?”

Virginia rose from her chair. “I must put the children down for their nap. Do you want another cup of tea?”

Jenny pushed her cup forward and Virginia refilled it.

When Virginia came back down the stairs, Jenny was still sitting at the table, her shoulders hunched, her head down. She did not look at all well.

When Virginia began to clear the table, Martha ran to join her. She loved to gather all the cutlery, which she stacked together in a heap on the counter.

“When you are done with your job, would you like to go out with Papa for a while?” Virginia asked her small helper. “The sun is shining, and the wind isn’t blowing.” Martha’s “Yes!” was filled with excitement at the prospect of getting out of doors. She hurried with the little chore, clattering tableware and chatting about her upcoming venture to the barn.

Virginia stopped to help the child dress warmly, then opened the door. “Remember, let Papa know you are there before you go into the barn. Make sure he sees you. You just stand and watch—don’t get in their way.”

Martha agreed, with many words and waving of hands. Virginia turned to see Jenny cringing in her seat. She said some words under her breath that Virginia assumed she was glad weren’t said aloud. Jenny muttered, “I don’t know how you stand the racket. If it isn’t one chattering away at you, it’s two. It’d drive me crazy.”

Virginia refused to let Jenny’s words disturb her. “I don’t find it a problem. Oh, I admit there are times when it would be nice for some peace and quiet—but that does come every night after they have been tucked in bed. Then the house often seems too quiet.”

“I don’t know how you stand it,” Jenny repeated, choking back the chronic cough. “Did you set out to have three kids?”

Virginia laughed as she lifted the dishpan off its wall hook. “Set out? I guess I haven’t thought about it much. And what makes you think I’m planning to stop now? Besides, there are four—not three.”

Jenny gave her a cold look. “Don’t forget,” she said, “one of them is mine.”

The thrill of fear that shot through Virginia left her weak-kneed and shaking. She focused all of her attention on the dishwashing. Jenny made no move to help.

When Mindy returned home from school, she gave Virginia her customary hug, said hello to Jenny, then went to change her school clothes, an excited little entourage following close behind her.

“Boy, I’d think she’d get sick of that,” Jenny commented sourly.

“What?” asked Virginia, perplexed.

“All those little kids dragging along, hanging on to her hand and her skirt or anything they can get their hands on—chattering like a flock of blue jays.”

Virginia smiled. “I don’t think it bothers Mindy at all.”

“Don’t know where she gets that from. Sure isn’t her mother.”

Virginia let that comment pass and continued to prepare the vegetables for supper.

When the children trooped back into the kitchen, Virginia prepared their cider and put them around the table to eat. She supposed their presence there was an annoyance to Jenny, but she would not exile her family just because a visitor preferred silence and solitude.

The cheerful chatter rose in volume, and Jenny pushed back. “I’m going out,” she announced, and Virginia understood that she was going for a cigarette.

Virginia continued her supper preparations. She was tempted—had been tempted all day—to phone Mr. Woods again and invite him for a meal. Surely Jenny could not object to her asking guests into her own home. But, yes, Jenny might indeed object—and in a way that could make things between the two worse than they already were. As difficult as it was to understand, Jenny did not wish to see her father—at all. Virginia could not fathom it. Had something happened that she was not aware of, or was Jenny simply being obstinate because of her childhood hurt?

“Mama would like to see you,” Virginia told Jenny that evening. “She hasn’t been overyet because of the roads—and because she thought we should have some time together first. Do you mind if she comes out tomorrow afternoon?”

“Why should I mind?”

“I just wanted to check—that’s all.”

Jenny shrugged in her familiar, impatient way. “If she wants to see me, she’d better make it soon. I don’t plan to be here much longer.”

Virginia leaned for ward. “But you just got here. Surely—”

“I’ve been here two days already.”

“That’s not … We’ve hardly had time to talk—”

“What’s there to talk about?”

“ Well … you, for one thing. I … I don’t even know … ”

“You know as much as you need to know.”

This time Virginia would not let the comment pass. “I know nothing,” she insisted, frustration in her voice. “You’ve said nothing—to speak of—since you’ve arrived. Only little comments … mostly about the noise of my children.”

“Boy, you are touchy.” Jenny added some unrepeatable words under her breath.

“I’m not touchy. I’m worried. Jenny, you … you look like death itself. You cough from morning to night. I’ve even heard you during the night. One can’t … can’t live like that.” She reached helplessly toward her friend, then let her hand drop.

Finally she spoke again. “And I don’t know where you live. How you … manage. I don’t know anything about you. We are friends. Surely … surely you can be a bit more open than you have been with me.”

Jenny waved a bony hand in the air. “Okay. Okay—let’s stop with the theatrics. If you think you need to know what should be private and personal, I’ll tell you.

“I live in a small apartment downtown. It’s not much, but it’s a place to stay. I get by—just fine. Hayden had a life-insurance policy—not much, but in true Hayden fashion, he’d failed to sign it over to that … that other woman.” Jenny swore again. “Poor ol’ husband-snatcher—she never got a thing. Hayden hadn’t planned to die, you see. Hayden thought he’d live and party forever.

“You think I’m not well. Why should I be well? Why would anyone care? I’ve lost my husband—I’ve lost my kid. What reason do I have to even live?”

“You have me. Us. We care, Jenny. And your father. He cares. And he would show you, if you’d just let him.”

Jenny swore again.

“Have you seen a doctor?” Virginia pressed further. “I’d like to make an appointment for you with Uncle Luke. I’m sure there is something—”

“Drop it, Virginia. Just drop it, okay? I’ve seen more doctors in the last year than one should have to see in a lifetime.”

Virginia was relieved to hear that Jenny was seeking medical help, but frightened that they had not been able to help her.

“But can’t they do—”

“No!” said Jenny emphatically. “They can’t
do
.”

“What do you mean? Have they tried?”

Jenny looked at Virginia evenly, a chilling glare hardening her eyes and stopping Virginia’s words. “It’s curtains for me, Virginia,” she said without any sign of emotion. “My lungs are shot. Cancer.”

Virginia’s breath caught in her throat. She sank down into her chair, a little sob escaping her lips.

Jenny stood up. “That’s the last I want to talk about it or hear of it,” she said. “You had to know. You wouldn’t rest until you dragged it out of me. But I want no ridiculous fussing about it. I can’t stand fusses and I don’t want you stirring one up now. Understand? I want this kept quiet. I didn’t even want you to know ’cause I don’t want any big commotion made over it—but now that you know, promise me you’ll keep it to yourself.”

Virginia could not speak. Could not even move her head in a nod.

“Promise?” insisted Jenny.

Virginia managed to swallow and meekly nodded her head, her eyes full of tears.

Jenny turned and headed for the stairs, a spasm of coughing slowing her progress.

The next morning felt more like spring than a winter’s day. The icicles that had formed on the rooflines dripped into banks of snow, making strangely shaped holes deeper and deeper into the whiteness like some invisible tool. Shivers of steam rose from the dark barn roof. Chickens that had been hud? dling away in the henhouse came out to scratch at the frozen ground, totally ignoring the filled troughs they had left behind. The cats stretched out lazily on the back porch, soaking in sun rays as though storing them for any weather that might lie ahead. Murphy was much too busy to provoke them as he barked excitedly at a squirrel that had poked its head out of a hole in a tree.

Virginia sighed as she looked out the window, wishing spring truly had arrived. But she knew better—they were only into the middle of February. There would be more storms to come. She sighed again and took the opportunity to send Martha out to play while the two younger ones slept.

She would love to take the other two little ones out for some fresh air after nap time. It would be good for all of them. But right now she had guests.

She poured three cups of coffee and sat down at the table across from Jenny. Her mother occupied the other chair at the table. This was the first attempt of Jenny’s to be hospitable. Belinda had always seemed to have that effect on Vir? ginia’s longtime friend. They were talking now of books, and it sounded like Jenny spent much of her time reading. Virginia was surprised at how up-to-date she sounded. It made her feel embarrassed that she had so little time to keep abreast of current thought.

“Do you get out much?” Virginia heard her mother ask.

“To the library,” said Jenny, managing a hoarse laugh.

“Well—that’s as good a place to go as any. But some companionship with real live people would be good for you, too.”

“I don’t seem to have many of the old friends since … ” Jenny did not finish the statement, but both Belinda and Vir? ginia knew she was thinking back to Hayden again.

“I’ve been trying to talk Jenny into staying for a long visit,” Virginia put in.

“Surely you’re not thinking of going back already?”

Jenny toyed with her cup. “I’ve gotten rather used to … to things being quiet.”

Belinda laughed. “Well, it’s not very quiet here, I can testify to that. This little family is busy, busy, busy.”

Jenny nodded. “One gets in rather a rut,” she said, “and after a while it gets comfortable—in a way.”

Virginia sat and listened to the casual conversation. She wondered what her mother would think—or say—if she knew that Jenny had cancer. Virginia had asked no further questions after Jenny’s blunt announcement. She did not know how serious Jenny’s condition was. She only knew that the very word itself carried doom—left her feeling chilled. There was no reversing the diagnosis.