Like Gold Refined (2 page)

“I can’t blame them,” put in Virginia. “It is a beautiful place. So … so relaxing. And they have been there so long—”

“I don’t blame them, either,” said Belinda with another deep sigh as she lowered herself to a kitchen chair across from Virginia. “But there comes a time when sentiment … ” She let the rest of the sentence remain unspoken.

Virginia could feel her body begin to tense. She hated these conversations about her grandparents. Why couldn’t her mother and the rest of the family just leave them alone? They were doing fine on the farm. Of course, she admitted, they were getting old. Older. Grandpa wasn’t quite the same
Like Gold Refined
E since his stroke. And they had little mishaps … that frightened even her. But to even consider … It just wouldn’t be the same—not for any of them—if Grandpa and Grandma Davis were not there to greet them when they paid a visit to the farm home. Virginia gave herself a little shake. She could not bear to think about it. It was too frightening. It meant that her world was changing. That it might change even more. That her grandparents were old, old. That she might one day need to face the fact of losing them. Virginia would not allow the thought. She couldn’t.

“Mindy brought home a great report,” she said quickly before her mother could say anything further about her grandparents.

Belinda managed a smile, but it was crooked and did not entirely erase the darkness from her eyes.

“Good. She’s sharp.”

“Yes, she is. She’s a good student. Jonathan says that she has the brains to take her anywhere she wants to go.”

Belinda’s smile broadened, and she rose to finish making the tea.

Virginia felt herself relax. She had managed to steer the conversation in another direction. But even so she could not get over the feeling of chill that crept through her at the thought of her grandparents and her mother’s deep concern.

“Have you heard from Jenny?”

The query from her mother brought further tension to Virginia. This was another topic she wished to avoid, but she did prefer it to the endless debates over her grandparents’ situation. At least now her mother’s attention would be on something else. Virginia answered softly, “Not a thing.”

“It is strange. … ”

“Well … yes … and no.”

Belinda set the teapot on the table and went for the cups and saucers.

“Jenny has always been—you know—irresponsible. Independent,” Virginia tried to explain.

“Yes,” sighed her mother. “It’s been costly.”

For some reason Virginia felt the need to defend her old friend as she had so often in the past, even though in her heart she knew that no one was more caring, more understanding, concerning Jenny than her own mother.

“She had a tough start. Her mother running off when she was so young. Her father’s grief driving him to attempt to find solace in drink. Honestly, I sometimes wonder if I could have survived if—”

“That is true,” agreed her mother, “but you’d think that would make her even more sensitive toward her own child. A person who has gone through such grief should understand what it can do to another. Jenny should know that deserting Mindy could cause her the same trauma.”

“Well, she didn’t
really
desert her.”

Belinda took her chair at the table, tested the brewing tea, and replaced the cozy. “She would have … had not you and Jonathan intervened and taken her. And now … all these years and no word from her. I don’t understand how anyone—even Jenny—can ignore her own child.”

“I don’t think Jenny thinks of Mindy as her own child. She’s ours. Jenny knows that she is well cared for. Actually, I think it’s better this way. It would be confusing to Mindy to have Jenny bouncing in and out of her life. Jonathan and I have talked of it. We appreciate the fact that Jenny is wise enough—maybe unselfish enough—to stay out of Mindy’s life. It would be more difficult for us if Jenny kept interfering. It’s much easier to raise Mindy in our own way.”

“You don’t think Jenny will ever want her back?”

The words hung in the air between them. Virginia didn’t even allow herself to think them, much less express them aloud. She finally answered rather forcefully, “No. Never. She has said that she has no intention of taking on the role of motherhood.”

“Has she remarried?”
Like Gold Refined
E Virginia tried to calm herself before answering. “I’ve no idea.”

“She was a pretty little thing.”

Virginia let her churning thoughts spin back to her girlhood. Yes, Jenny had been a pretty little thing. All flashing green eyes and tossing bright hair. The entire classroom of girls had vied to be her best friend as the boys stood back and ogled or tried, usually in vain, to win her favor through some male exploit. Jenny, the most popular girl in the school, had chosen Virginia as a soul mate. Virginia had never understood it. Not even now. But the friendship had not been without its ups and downs. They had fought almost as much as they’d been buddies. It was usually Virginia who gave in. That, too, had been costly, getting her into more than one scrape and causing a great deal of friction with her parents.

Things had changed after Virginia had finally given over her own stubborn will and invited the Lord to take over her life. Then Jenny became a primary concern. Virginia had attempted to save Jenny from a life of destruction and grief, for even in her youth, she could see that her school friend was heading in that direction. But Virginia had failed. Pray as she did, try as she might, she was never able to convince Jenny that her behavior and choices would eventually bring her to harm. Jenny was determined to go her own way. Her way of parties and so-called good times. Of marrying a selfish man. Divorce. Then her ex-husband’s tragic accident and death. Nothing … nothing in life had seemed to work out for Jenny. But Virginia had never ceased praying. Hoping. Surely God, who loved Jenny more deeply than she herself ever could, would not give up. Her sigh seemed to come from someplace deep within her.

Jamie had lost his rattling measuring spoons, and in the effort to retrieve them tumbled over on the linoleum floor. He rolled harmlessly onto his side and looked up at Virginia with a grin as though to say he had accomplished exactly what he had set out to do. Virginia reached for him, sat him back up, and offered him the spoons again, jingling them temptingly so he would reach for them.

“He is growing so quickly,” Belinda remarked from in front of the cupboard where she was arranging cookies from the jar on an old-fashioned flowered china plate. She smiled at her daughter and the small baby.

“Isn’t he? And he’s been such a good baby. Well … when he’s not teething, he’s good. He’s been a little bear over the last few weeks. The tooth finally came through yesterday. I hope it means we’ll get more sleep. But I noticed the gum on the other side is swollen. I suppose we’ll go through the whole thing all over again.”

Belinda nodded and set the cookie plate on the table. “When they are little it’s one worry. When they are old it’s another.”

Virginia’s stomach churned. Her mother’s attention had not been distracted for long.

“ They shouldn’t be alone. It’s too risky. Having family members drop in is not good enough anymore.”

“What about the neighbor lady you made arrangements with?”

“She comes only twice a week to do the washing and cleaning. That’s not enough. Anything could happen in between times.”

“But Clare’s family—”

“They drop by. Check in fairly often. But Mama and Papa need someone with them all the time now. There’s simply no one to just move in with them. It’s unreasonable to even think of it. Each one of us has our own responsibilities—”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“They need to move. Leave the farm. It’s the only thing that can be done.”

“But you know how … ” Virginia couldn’t even say the words. Her whole quivering insides were making her feel ill. “It’s not what they want,” she finally finished lamely.

“It’s not what I want, either,” Belinda reminded her.

Virginia accepted the teacup from her mother. She wondered if she would be able to drink it.

“Can’t you wait, Mama? Just … wait … and see? They … they take care of one another. They—”

“That’s just it. They can’t take care of one another anymore. Pa is so shaky he spills his soup down his shirt front. And Mama has lost her sense of balance. It’s the blind leading the blind now, Virginia. We can’t take the chance.”

“Just … just give them a little more time … please, Mama. They … they’ve had that flu that’s been going around. They’ll … Grandma will soon get her strength back again. Just give them a little more time. Please.” Tears had gathered in Virginia’s eyes as she pleaded for her grandparents. “If we … if we make them move, they might just … just decide that … that their days of usefulness are … over. They might … ” But she couldn’t finish that thought, either. It was far too painful.

Belinda reached for her hand and squeezed it. For a few moments neither spoke. It was Belinda who broke the silence. “I don’t want to be the one with the heavy hand, Virginia. Believe me … this is one of the hardest decisions I have ever faced. But no one else wants to make the decision, either. I’m afraid we might wait too long and be sorry for it.”

Virginia swallowed hard. She reached in her pocket for her hankie and dabbed at her tear-filled eyes. Surely it wouldn’t come to that. Surely. She’d pray harder. “Please, Mama,” was all she could manage.

Belinda squeezed her hand again, her own cheeks moist with tears. “We’ll see,” was all she could promise.

CHAPTER 2

J
onathan agreed that he could spare some time to watch the children while Virginia made a quick trip to her grandparents’ farm under the guise of delivering fresh strawberry jam. James and Olivia were down for afternoon naps, and Martha was more than happy to have her papa all to herself. Virginia was tempted to protest as she watched Jonathan drag some tack into her kitchen and set up to oil a bridle at her kitchen table. But she bit her lip and packaged up the jars of jam in a basket.

“I won’t be long,” she said for the fifth time.

“Don’t rush yourself too much. Slate is working the animals, and I’ve been looking for time to attend to these bridles.”

Virginia grimaced again, kissed both Jonathan and Martha, and hurried out the door to the motorcar.

It was not a long drive to the farm, but Virginia did not enjoy it as she usually did. Other times she savored each silent moment, each breath of summer sun, each expanse of blue sky draping over green fields. But her thoughts were not on the quiet nor the scenery. Her thoughts were on the words of her mother. Surely, surely they would not have to forcefully take her grandparents off the farm they loved. Surely there was another way. They were still able to care for themselves, weren’t they? Virginia blinked back tears as she grasped the steering wheel. She would not be content until she saw for herself how things were with her grandparents.

She was walking up the rock-hard dirt path that led to the fenced yard and the house when the door opened. Her grandmother stood there, silver hair reflecting the afternoon sun. A smile shone from her face, and one hand held the door wide open as though she couldn’t wait for Virginia to reach her.

She’ll be letting in the flies
, Virginia thought and hastened her step. Her grandmother had always detested flies in her kitchen. Pesky, filthy things, she called them. Virginia almost ran up the walk.

“Now, isn’t this an unexpected blessing?” greeted Marty. “Said to Pa jest this mornin’ we hadn’t seen ya fer a spell.”

Virginia smiled, carefully concealing her concern at the bruise still visible under her grandmother’s eye. “Yes,” she said, “it has been a while. I’ve been busy with all the little ones—”

“Yer all alone? How’d ya manage thet?”

Virginia placed a kiss on her grandmother’s wrinkled cheek and received a moist one in return. “Jonathan is working inside while the babies nap.”

“I’m sorry ya didn’t bring ’em. They grow so fast. Last Sunday I says to Pa, ‘Jest look at thet little Martha. Growing like a weed. An’ Olivie jest a chasin’ her.’ “

Virginia smiled again. It was only her grandmother who called the young child Olivie.

“Bring her in. Bring her in” came a call from inside the house. “Don’t stand there a-hoggin’ her to yerself.”

Her grandfather’s voice held a tone of lighthearted teasing. Marty began to chuckle and moved Virginia from the porch into the kitchen. Virginia noticed at least two flies sneak in with them.

Clark sat smiling at them from his favorite chair in a corner of the room. He did not rise to meet her as he had always
Like Gold Refined
E done, and Virginia felt a knot somewhere deep inside. Was her grandfather ill?

“S’cuse me for not gittin’ up,” he apologized. There was still a twinkle in the faded blue eyes.

Virginia placed the jam on the cupboard counter and crossed to where he sat. She kissed his brow and let her arm linger around his stooped shoulders. “Aren’t you feeling up to snuff?” she asked, borrowing one of his own expressions.

“Fine. Jest fine. Jest lazy, thet’s all. Body gits lazy jest sittin’ around. I should be out hoein’ corn. Then I’d have a bit more spunk.”

Virginia patted his shoulder.

“We’re both of us gittin’ lazy,” her grandmother put in. “Neither of us much good fer hoein’ corn anymore.” She chuckled as though the thought was a good joke on the rest of the world. “But sit ya down,” she hurried on. “I’ll fix us some tea.”

She spun on her heel to head for the cupboard, and Virginia saw her teeter, then put out a hand on the back of a chair to steady herself.
Yes
, thought Virginia with another tightening of her stomach muscles.
I can see why she falls. Uncle Luke is right. She darts around like she was still a young woman
.

“There’s no hurry, Grandma,” she found herself saying as she moved toward her grandmother. “Jonathan said I’d have time for tea. Just … just … ” She wanted to say, just slow down. Take your time. Catch your balance before you take off on a near run.

Her grandfather said it for her. “Yer grandma—she doesn’t know how to slow down. I keep tellin’ her to take her time, but she jest gallops everywhere she goes. She’s too used to havin’ to run to git everything done—an’ now thet there’s nothin’ to do, she can’t break the habit.”

“Listen to him talk,” Marty said, but Virginia noticed that she was grinning. “You who always insisted on runnin’ round this farm on one leg an’ a hobble stick. If I learnt to run, I ’spect I learnt it from you.”

Virginia heard her grandfather’s chuckle. She looked his way to see him smiling broadly. “We got nothin’ better to do anymore than to try to git a raise outta one another. Be pretty dull around here iffen we didn’t. Yer Grandma—she keeps things lively.”

Marty changed the subject with, “Did ya see this, Pa? Fresh strawberry jam. My—I miss the cannin’. Not the work of it, mind ya. Jest the taste of it. Nothin’ like fresh strawberry jam. How ‘bout let’s have some? I’ll make up some biscuits.”

Seeming to anticipate Virginia’s protest over the work of making biscuits, she hurried to add, “Won’t take but a few minutes. I still do make biscuits. Nearly every day.”

“An’ ain’t nobody makes better biscuits than yer grandma,” put in Clark.

Virginia had always loved her grandmother’s baking powder biscuits. Had even attempted to copy down her recipe and learn her method, but the ones she drew from her oven were never quite the same.

“Did I ever tell ya about her first biscuits?” her grandfather went on, chuckling as he spoke. “Well … they weren’t much like she makes now, I can tell ya that.”

“My first ones,” Marty called from the pantry. “Ya didn’t even git to try my first ones. I throwed them out. Dog wouldn’t even eat ’em.”

They were both laughing now and Virginia felt free to join in.

“Ah, memories,” said Marty, sobering as she moved to the kitchen table, arms laden with biscuit ingredients. “So many, many memories.”

“An’ good ones, too,” added Clark. Virginia watched as he removed his spectacles and wiped them on the checkered handkerchief from his pocket. There were tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. She found herself fighting back her own tears.

“I jest hope thet when yer life settles to a more serene pace, thet you and thet fine man of yers will have as many good
Like Gold Refined
E memories as yer grandmother and me,” Clark went on, his voice quivery with emotion. “Treasure ’em. The days when yer young and spry—an’ hardworkin’.” He chuckled again as he added the last words. “Ya don’t really have time to treasure ’em when yer rushin’ about. But at least set ’em down as memories so thet ya can pull ’em out an’ treasure ’em later.”

Marty, measuring flour into her favorite blue mixing bowl, nodded her head in agreement. “Memories are good things,” she said. “I take mine out every day. Like a … like a string of pearls … almost. An’ I count ’em an’ work ’em through my … well, not my fingers … but my mind an’ heart. They’re good things … memories. When God blesses ya with a good life, then ya got good memories.”

Virginia nodded. She’d try to remember the words. In spite of her busy days that left her exhausted by the time the sun retired and soft darkness engulfed them, she’d try.

“Now, while I fix these here biscuits, ya sit on down and bring us up-to-date on everything,” Marty invited.

Virginia did not realize until that moment that she still had not taken a kitchen chair. She had stood poised beside her grandmother, ready to catch her should she move too quickly and need assistance. She felt warmth flush her cheeks and quickly moved to a chair at the table.

“Well, things are pretty much the same as always,” she began. “Jonathan and Slate fill their days with working horses and doing chores.”

“An’ fine horses they are, too,” her grandfather put in.

“Martha and Olivia got a mite restless being cooped up in the rain.”

“Wasn’t thet some rain?” said Marty, shaping biscuits for the baking pan. She wiped the flour from her hands onto her apron. “Clare’s boys said we needed it.”

“I suppose we did,” agreed Virginia, “though I’d begun to think it was never going to stop.”

“Always stops. Always stops,” said her grandfather. “God’s never forgot to shut off the tap yet.”

Virginia smiled.

“I bet you was as anxious as the younguns to have it over with so thet they could git out,” said her grandmother knowingly.

Virginia’s smile broadened. “You can just bet I was,” she agreed.

“I often think thet things didn’t git balanced too well. There are days I long so to have my little ones back so’s I could enjoy ’em. When they was here I was jest too busy to do the things I woulda liked to have done. But o’ course, iffen they was back—all thet work would come along with ’em an’ I wouldn’t git to have the time to enjoy ’em any more than I did at the time.”

Clark snorted playfully from his corner chair. “Yer grandma talks in riddles. Half the time I need to sort through what she’s sayin’ ’fore I can make the least bit of sense of it.”

“I understand—perfectly,” replied Virginia stoutly.

“Guess it’s a woman thing, then,” laughed Clark. “Sure don’t add up to a full column fer me.”

The teakettle began to hum. Marty, who had placed the biscuits in the oven and taken a chair beside Virginia at the table, rose quickly—much too quickly—from her chair and went to fix the tea. Virginia held her breath as she watched her stagger, then reclaim her balance.

“Slow down, old woman.”

Virginia heard the love and concern in her grandfather’s voice, but Marty did not even change her stride. Without looking toward him, she answered with a light tone, “Hush, old man. Don’t you be policin’ me from yer easy chair.”

But you must, Grandma. You must
, Virginia longed to say.
You could fall again. And the next one might be more serious than the others have been. Don’t you know? Don’t you understand that you are on the verge of losing your home? Your snug, cheery kitchen with the kettle singing and the biscuits filling the room with fresh-baked aroma? Grandpa’s corner chair easily accessible to the kitchen table. Your combination living-room-bedroom so you no longer need to climb Like Gold Refined
E
stairs. All the familiar things that bring to you those memories you spoke of. Please—please slow down
. But she couldn’t say the words aloud.

She forced her attention back to her grandfather and managed to converse about everyday happenings, one ear attuned to her grandmother’s footsteps and one eye watching her unsteady movements. At length Marty removed the golden brown biscuits from the oven and set them on the back of the stove. She moved to pick up the plate she had taken from the cupboard in preparation for their readiness. “Jest git the cream from the pantry, Virginia. Pa still likes a little in his tea.”

Virginia arose to do as bidden. “Bring out the butter, too,” called her grandmother after her. “It’s in thet yella dish with the cover.”

By the time Virginia returned with the cream and butter, Marty was placing the biscuits and the teapot on the table. A shuffling noise to her left drew her attention. It was her grandfather pushing his way up from his chair. Virginia watched as he heaved, his once strong arms now straining with the effort of lifting up his body. His face was contorted by the effort the simple task was demanding. It took three attempts before he was able to gain a rather stooped standing position.

How long has he been like this?
Virginia found herself wondering. His arms had always been so strong. So muscular. He had learned to make do with the strength of his arms what most men did with the strength of two sturdy legs.

He carefully lowered himself to the kitchen chair, and the look of serious intent left his face as he smiled her way again. “Mindy still likin’ school?”

The question caught Virginia off guard, but she quickly regained her concentration and answered evenly, “She loves it. Mindy is a good student. Brought home a real good report the other day.”

“Strawberry jam—fresh,” her grandmother was saying as she crossed to the table with jar in hand. “Now, Pa, ya savor every mouthful of this. Here—could ya open it fer me, please?”

She passed the jar to Clark. It wasn’t until then that Virginia noticed how shaky his hands had become. He took the offered jar and attempted to open the lid, but it was plain to see that the strength had gone from the once powerful wrists.

“I ’spect yer gonna have to stick it in some hot water fer a spell,” he said after several attempts to open the jar.

“I’ll do it,” offered Virginia quickly. Taking the jar from him, she moved toward the stove for the kettle. With her back turned to the table, she deftly opened the jar on her way but managed to stall a bit, hoping they would think the hot water was needed.

But it was not really the jar that detained her. It was her emotions. Fight them as she would, it was true what her mother had said. Her grandparents were getting old. Old. She couldn’t bear the thought. They had always been there. Always in their sunny kitchen. Sitting around the worn table where many years of meals had been served to hungry offspring and unnumbered guests. They had always offered their little bits of gathered wisdom in a homey, caring way. She always left with a fresh outlook on life. On living. On faith. Whatever would she do? How could life go on without them here? It wouldn’t be the same. Not the same at all.