Like Gold Refined (19 page)

Slate’s inheritance turned out to be larger than any of them had expected. Over several evenings, Jonathan and Slate spent many hours at the kitchen table with balance sheets and columns of figures scattered before them, working through the new arrangement for the farm. The partnership would mean equal returns, equal responsibilities. Since Jonathan had invested the initial amount and still carried the lion’s share of the stock, Slate would contribute an amount that would even the balance. Each partner would set aside an equal amount for future development or, if need be, to cover future losses.

The money that Slate paid to buy into the partnership helped significantly in reducing their bank loan. The debt was pared down to a size that the Lewises could honestly hope to see paid off in the future. But they would not touch the amount that the two men had agreed on as capital for continuing the running of the operation.

After the two had talked it through, Slate decided against building his house on the acres that Jonathan offered. “We might need more land for the stock in the future. Pasture and feed. I think I’d better try to get hold of some nearby land of my own.”

In the end he was able to purchase the land adjacent to their own, a lovely piece of property with its own small creek. Both men were pleased that there would be access to water for any stock that might be put out to pasture.

“We just might need to hire us a hand,” Jonathan remarked to Virginia with some satisfaction as they retired one night. “There’s almost more than the two of us can do to keep up.”

“ That shouldn’t be too difficult. Lots of young fellas around.”

“It’s not quite as easy as that. Neither of us wants just anyone handling the horses.”

Virginia knew that both Jonathan and Slate were very particular about how the horses were trained. “You spend lots of hours doing work other than handling the horses,” she said at last. “Why don’t you hire someone to do that?”

“Like?”

“Like feeding, watering, cleaning out the stalls, laying in the bedding—all sorts of things.”

Jonathan seemed to be thinking on it. “Why not? Doesn’t take a great deal of skill to do the choring. I’ll talk to Slate about it in the morning.”

And that was how the young man named Jacob Mooring came to be a working member of the horse farm.

Virginia rushed out the door after the phone call had come.

“Jonathan! Jonathan!” she called.

He must have noticed the panic in her voice and left what he was doing to come to meet her. “What is it?”

“Jonathan,” she said, her voice trembling. “We’ve got to cover the watering troughs.”

He removed his battered hat and looked at her, his expression questioning.

“We’ve got to make sure they are covered whenever they aren’t in use. When there isn’t someone around.”

“What are you—?”

“You know how James is,” Virginia rushed on. “He climbs on everything and tries anything. He could—”

“I’ve never seen James near the watering troughs.”

“Maybe not yet—but he’ll get there. There’s nothing … ” She slowed to a halt and clasped her hands together in front of her.

Jonathan stepped forward and touched her shoulder. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Let’s back up. I’m not following this at all. We can’t cover the troughs—you know that. The horses come to drink all day long. What’s happened?”

Virginia took a deep breath. “Mama just called. The Bird? salls—they just found their two-year-old … drowned … in the watering trough.” Her last statement was barely above a whisper.

Jonathan reached out and pulled Virginia close. “Oh, virginia,” he said into her hair.

He didn’t ask for particulars. They both knew community folks would pass on the word. There would be various accounts of the tragedy, some of them undoubtedly stretched—some false. But there would be reports of what had happened, how the baby was discovered, the reaction of the grief-stricken parents to their loss. Jonathan just held her.

“We’ll look after it,” he comforted Virginia.

“Jonathan, I don’t think I could bear to lose another—”

“Shh,” he said, gently putting a finger against her lips. “I’ll look after it,” he said again. “I’ll go into town today.”

And he did.

They could not cover the watering trough, he explained to her as he unloaded a roll of stout chicken wire. He nailed it all around the corral that held the trough. A small, exploring boy would not be able to get himself into danger.

And Virginia determinedly pounded boards across the top of her rain barrel.

James’s stout little legs and active imagination did keep them busy. Not only was he mobile, but he had amazing speed. One minute he would be playing near Virginia as she weeded the garden or hung out the washing, and the next he was nowhere in sight. He loved to follow Murphy and would run after the dog wherever Murphy decided to lead. And he was always poking something into any available opening—sticks, rocks, or grass stems.

“That boy is going to get himself in trouble for sure,” virginia said to Jonathan, shaking her head. “One of these days he’s going to shove something in someplace where it doesn’t belong.”

That very afternoon she heard Jamie’s screams and ran to find him at the woodpile, his finger firmly stuck in a knothole. She managed to extricate him but not without some injury to the finger.

“Maybe you’ll learn,” she gently scolded. “You don’t go sticking your fingers in places like that.”

Two days later she heard an awful ruckus. Murphy was yipping and James was hollering at the top of his lungs. She lifted her skirts and ran toward the end of the garden.

Even from a distance Virginia could see angry bees buzzing all around them. She could do only one thing. Run into the swarm, grab up the child, and flee.

Even so she received several stings herself. After putting baking soda on Jamie’s and her own bites, she went to check on the dog.

“Murphy—you dumb dog. Don’t you know enough to stay away from the hives?” she scolded the dog, who was still rolling on the ground, his face buried in his paws.

Virginia looked back toward the hive. A long, slender stick hung limply from the opening. James had been poking again.

When summer came and they still had heard nothing from Mindy, Virginia felt a growing impatience.
Why doesn’t Jenny let her write? She doesn’t need to be that spiteful
, she fretted.
She must know how anxious we are
.

But perhaps Jenny didn’t. She had never been anxious herself when the small girl had been with them all those years. Perhaps Jenny truly did not understand the normal response to parenthood. Maybe she had never learned. Virginia wondered if even now Jenny understood what mother-love was all about.

After discussions with Jonathan, the two decided Virginia would write to Mindy in care of Jenny’s lawyer. They had no assurance he would send the letter along, nor any that Jenny would let Mindy have it.

Please, Lord
, Virginia prayed as she worked over the letter,
please let Mindy know how much we love her and pray for her. …

Virginia filled the pages with family news and daily happenings of the community. “Murphy and Buttercup send their love, too,” she concluded, hoping it would bring a little smile and good memories to Mindy.

Jonathan included a cover letter of his own to Jenny’s law? yer, politely requesting that he forward the letter and reminding him of his ethical, if not legal, responsibility to make sure Mindy was all right.

They did not hold out much hope that the lawyer would comply with either appeal. All they could do is once more entrust Mindy—and Jenny—into the loving care of the heavenly Father.

Virginia turned to her garden. It kept her hands busy, if not her thoughts.

She was expecting her fourth child, and she was experiencing morning sickness.
This is hardly the time for that
, she scolded herself.
What with everything there is to do and trying to keep up with James …

It did help that Martha was out of school for the summer months. She took over much of the supervision of James, trying to keep him from chasing the chickens with sticks or filling the feed dishes with dirt from the flower beds. But even Martha’s vigilance could not protect them from all Jamie’s misdemeanors, and often there was a call for Virginia to “Come quick!” and she knew that James was in some sort of trouble again.

Gradually the morning sickness subsided, but by then the summer was almost gone. Leaves were beginning to show a change to yellow and fall flowers were blooming profusely in the flower beds by the walk. Garden produce needed to be harvested, and Virginia had little energy left after the routine tasks of the day.

Belinda came often during those weeks of early September, and Virginia was thankful to have assistance from her mother. Her hands helped to fill many quart canning jars. Their conversations helped to make the jobs much more enjoyable. Virginia looked forward to the times spent together.

“I can’t wait for Danny and Alvira to get home with that new little one. Just think—he’ll be past a year before we even get to see him,” Belinda commented.

“Have you heard from Danny again?”

“No—not for a few weeks now. It takes such a dreadfully long time for mail to get back. But they are due to return the first of the year. Unless of course his organization asks him to stay longer.”

“Are they thinking of that?”

“There have been some suggestions. But I certainly hope not. It’s been such a long time. I keep reminding myself of the parents whose children have gone to distant countries as missionaries. What a sacrifice they make.”

“Maybe it would be easier if he were there as a missionary,” observed Virginia. “At least then you’d feel the sacrifice had a real purpose. Not that studying animals is not a purpose—but it does seem that, well—that people over there could be doing it.”

Belinda nodded. “I suppose he’s learning a lot,” she finally said.

“I suppose.”

They snapped beans in silence for a few moments.

“I’m not sure how long I can let things go at the farm,” Belinda said, almost to herself.

Virginia looked up in surprise. She had thought things were being handled nicely at the farm with Mr. Simcoe now installed.