The Tender Years (3 page)

“You’re my sister.”

“So—?”

They stood only feet apart. One staring in open defiance and anger, the other blinking back tears expressing a deep concern.

“I love you,” said the younger in little more than a whisper?

Virginia came awfully close to spewing out an angry retort. But she could not. There was something about the little figure before her that assured her the simple words were true. Francine did love her. Perhaps the love was undeserved. Perhaps the affection was not always readily returned, but it was there. It was not something to be spurned. “I’ll be fine,” she said before turning away from the brimming blue eyes. Her voice had lost its edge of irritation. “I need to do my homework now.”

Francine mopped at the tears, running the back of her hand over her cheeks and drying them on her skirts. She sniffed, mopped some more, and sniffed again. Then she was gone, leaving a troubled Virginia alone.

But Virginia did not spread out her books. Did not settle at the small desk. Instead, she crossed to the window and stood looking out at what was left of the spring day. Patches of green showed all around the fence line. Buds swelled on the corner maple tree. An early dandelion dared lift a sunny face toward the sun. It would not be long until it would be rooted from its spot and deposited with disdain in the alley garbage.

Virginia lifted narrow shoulders as a sigh escaped her lips. She could not formulate her thoughts and feelings. Would have had no idea how to express them. But she felt old. Tired. Growing up seemed to be such very hard work. Why did one have to do it all alone?

CHAPTER 2

I
think that young hawk is about ready to fly.”

Her father’s comment came during a brief lull in the supper conversation. Virginia had been sitting quietly, hoping not to draw any attention to herself. She lifted her head to take a quick glance at Danny. Would he be pleased or disappointed at their father’s words?

Nothing had been said—yet—about her tardiness. Clara must not have reported to their parents, and Francine, who still cast nervous glances Virginia’s way with big blue eyes still ready to spill over in tears if anyone spoke harshly, had also held her tongue. Virginia squirmed on her chair. The easy family conversation only heightened her agitation.

Danny lifted his eyes from the meat loaf on his plate. “You think so?”

Virginia could not see his face as he turned to their father, but she could hear the excitement in his voice.

“He has healed nicely” was the reply. “I saw him stretching and exercising that damaged wing. He looks like he would like to put it to the test.”

“I’ll be glad when Danny can turn lose that weasel of his,” commented Clara frankly. “The critter stinks.”

Danny was immediately on the defensive. “He don’t stink.” Then he added truthfully, “He might smell—a little—but it’s not a stink.”

Virginia heard the soft chuckles that rippled around the table.

“Well, I think the weasel is almost ready to be given back to nature, too.”

The comment came from her mother. Virginia shifted on her chair. When was someone going to say something to her? Get her agony over?

“It’s Mother’s good nursing,” said Danny. “That’s what makes them get better so fast.”

“Good nursing? Yes, I’m sure it is. But you have a big part in that nursing, too. I’m sure those little creatures appreciate your good care.” Father, who was always interested in Danny’s little animals, seemed unusually so on this evening, to an impatient Virginia. She felt the frown that creased her forehead. Couldn’t they get on with it? When were her father and mother going to turn their questioning eyes on her?

The evening meal was the family time for reviewing the day’s activities. Her father and mother always went around the table, checking with each child on something of their personal interest. Virginia had always wondered if the conversations were planned—or just happened. She did know that by the time the meal was over, each child around the table would have been engaged in conversation, and her parents would know the highlights from the day. Eventually the conversation would get around to her. She knew. Wished that she could escape and go to her room. If she begged for extra time for her homework, would she be excused? No, likely not. She had never needed extra homework time.

“How did that test go?”

Her father was now addressing Rodney.

Rodney casually shrugged his shoulders. “Fine—I think.” “Good.”

“Is Howard doing better?” This question came from their mother. Howard, a boy who was having difficulty in class, had been getting some private and volunteer tutoring from Rodney.

“He said he thought it went better. He was even grinning after the test. We’ll see when the grades are back.”

“Good,” said her father again.

“Francine, honey—aren’t you feeling well?”

The question from their mother brought all heads up, all eyes turned toward the youngest member of the family. Francine sat quietly, her supper plate almost untouched. At the words directed her way her face appeared about to crumble.

Oh, boy
, thought Virginia with annoyance,
here it comes
.

But Francine bravely straightened her shoulders and blinked back the threatening tears. Without even a glance toward her errant sister she replied evenly, “I’m fine. I just … just am … amn’t hungry.”

Chuckles followed the unusual contraction.

“I’m not hungry,” corrected Clara softly.

Francine lifted her head and looked at Clara. There had been no chiding in Clara’s words, and Francine had taken no offense. “I know the right words,” she said simply. “I just … got stuck.”

“What do you mean—got stuck?” asked Danny with a grin.

“Well …” said the small girl, “when I said
am
, then I couldn’t take it back.” She lifted two small hands, palms upward. “It was too late. But I couldn’t say
am
because I’m not. So I had to say
amn’t
.”

The ripple of laughter following the words was full of affection. Their father reached out and laid a hand lovingly on the small girl’s head. “Makes perfect sense to me.”

The hand went from the crown of flaxen curls to the forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever.” He looked across the table at their mother as he spoke the words.

Francine picked up her fork and began to eat her peas. Virginia knew they were her favorite vegetable. She seemed to wish to prove her point by starting with them.

“Is Troy coming over this evening?” Belinda’s question was directed at Clara.

“He can’t.” Clara’s voice held disappointment. “His father has him helping take inventory at the store.”

“Then why the fancy cookies?” teased their father.

Virginia peeked up just enough to catch a glimpse of Clara’s face. She was flushing slightly.

“I thought I might just … just take a few over to the store around nine. By then, he’s always hungry. And his father. They’ll both be hungry.”

“Don’t we get any?” asked Danny.

“You’ll get your share. Don’t worry. I’ve already got a plate of them ready to go with our supper pudding.”

Oh
, groaned Virginia inwardly.
My turn. They have talked
to Danny, Rodney, Francine, and Clara. I’m the only one left. Here
it comes.

But it was to Danny that their father spoke. “You want to take a run out into the country on Saturday and let that hawk try his wings?”

“What do you think, Mama?” was the boy’s reply.

“I think it’s the weasel that should go,” responded Clara flatly.

Their mother disregarded the remark. “I think your father’s right. I think the bird is anxious to fly.”

Virginia looked up in time to see Danny’s nod. She knew that this was a struggle. He was always eager to get his little creatures back to the wild, but at the same time he was worried that they wouldn’t be able to make it on their own. He nodded his agreement, but his eyes held his uncertainty.

“If he can’t fly, we’ll bring him back home,” assured Belinda.

“But what if I can’t catch him again?”

“Then I guess nothing else would catch him, either.”

Danny pondered a moment, then nodded again.

Francine had finished her peas. Virginia saw her turn her attention to the mashed potatoes, take a bite, and work them around in her mouth before trying to swallow. In spite of herself, she felt sorry for her young sister. She hated to try to eat when she had no appetite. She also was quite sure that Francine’s lack of appetite was due to concern that Mama and Papa would be upset when they discovered how late she had been from school. Francine, with her liquid eyes and tender heart, could not bear to see anyone get in trouble.

It’s not fair
, thought Virginia crossly.
It’s not fair that she’s
so … so prissy and fussy that I have to sit here and feel guilty just looking at her. If she’d just mind her own business….

But Francine would not “mind her own business.” Her tender heart ached for everyone who ached. Cried for everyone who cried. Felt the pain of everyone who suffered pain. That was just Francine.

But the thoughts brought no comfort to the heart of Virginia. Anger smoldered. Why was she born into a family of such goody-goodies? Clara with her cookie baking. Rodney with his tutoring. Danny and his pens of healing animals. And then Francine. Francine, who took on the whole world’s woes. It wasn’t fair.

Virginia cast another nervous glance toward her father. When was he going to turn those probing eyes her way? When would her mother notice that something was indeed wrong? Why did the pair of them continue to play cat and mouse with her? Did they enjoy her torment?

“Much homework tonight?”

This question was hers. She knew it without even looking up.

She nodded. Then she thought better of the unspoken response and shook her head. No. Truthfully she did not have much homework.

“Mr. Adamson said that you stopped to chat on your way home,” spoke her mother. “He says he always enjoys your little visits.”

Virginia could not keep her head lowered. Had Mr. Adamson also told her mother the time of day when she had stopped? But she saw no indication that the man had reported to her mother. The face before her was as serene as it had been engaged in conversation with each of her offspring.

“He also said that—”

Virginia felt the fear rise up in her throat.
Now it’s coming.

“—you kindly warned him to guard his poor old knees. He thinks you would make a good nurse.”

Virginia let the air leave her lungs in a slow, relieved flow.

“I’ve often thought that,” put in her father.

Virginia was shaking her head. She did not want to be a nurse.

“Well, we have lots of time to think about that,” continued her mother.

“Lots of time,” agreed her father.

They still think I’m a kid
, fumed Virginia silently.
And they don’t think I can make up my own mind. They think they have to decide for me. Well, I—

“Danny, let’s check on that weasel,” her father was saying. Virginia knew that it was his way of dismissing the table. He laid aside his napkin, gave a nod to their mother, then turned to Clara. “Nice meal, Dumplin’.”

Dumpling had been her father’s pet name for Clara since she had been a little girl. He still used it on occasion. Clara smiled and flushed her pleasure in response.

They were all leaving the table. Leaving the table, and nothing had been said about her disobedience. For one moment Virginia breathed a sigh of open relief. Then her shoulders slumped. It would have been better to have been found out. At least then she could have taken her punishment and gotten it over with. Now she would be forced to carry it with her into the evening ahead. She hated that. Hated it. And there was Francine, big eyes turned upon her, fear still making her chin quiver.

Virginia tossed down her napkin in disgust. Nothing was fair. Nothing. And it was her turn to do the supper dishes.

The remainder of the evening did not go well. Virginia broke a cup while doing the dishes. She spilled cold tea on the kitchen floor when she went to empty the teapot, then got the hem of her dress wet when she knelt down to wipe up the mess.

Her homework did not go any better. Her pencil lead broke as she worked through her arithmetic problems. When she went to her father’s small office to look for the pencil sharpener, it was not in its accustomed place. She blamed Rodney. He was always taking things off to his own room, as though he were the only one in the house who ever studied.

She could hear voices in the backyard. Her father and mother were returning with Danny after having released the weasel. Francine had gone with them. Virginia was glad that the child was not following her around, looking soulful and anxious.

“I hope he doesn’t go near Mr. Powell’s chicken coop again, or he might get another foot in the trap,” Francine was worrying.

“He should have learned his lesson,” responded Danny.

“But if he gets hungry and he knows there is food there …”

Francine let the words hang on the evening air. Virginia flipped back her long hair with one defiant motion. Surely the weasel wasn’t so stupid that he would walk right back into trouble again. Surely he now knew the traps were there.

But then, as Francine said, if he was hungry, perhaps he would be willing to take the risk. Virginia shrugged. If he was that dumb, maybe he deserved to have his leg dangling, damaged by the cruel teeth of the trap.

“I hope he can find his family again.” Francine picked up a new worry. “Do you think they might have moved away while he was getting better?”

“He’ll find them,” their father assured her.

Virginia glanced out the window to see her father place an arm about Francine’s shoulder. The other sleeve was pinned up, revealing the fact that the limb had been lost. Virginia hated to see her father without his prosthesis. It was such a grim reminder that her father was not perfect. At least not physically perfect. Then it was too easy to entertain the next thought. To realize that he actually might not be perfect in other ways as well.

There had been a time in her life when she had felt that her father was perfect in
every
way. Anyone who had a father with two arms simply had one who was different from her own. Not better. Likely not even as good. Just different.

But she had learned a great deal in the last year. Many of life’s discoveries had come through her new friend Jenny. Jenny had moved to their small town from a big city, and Jenny knew all about life. Jenny’s father was a newspaper man. Had served on the staff of a large city paper until he had decided that he wished to run a paper of his own. Jenny’s father knew all about things. He had “seen it all,” Jenny said. And along with that
seeing
had come a good deal of mistrust. Life, according to Jenny, could be pretty rough and rugged. And people—people were not really what they seemed to be. Everyone—no exceptions—presented the face they wished the public to see. Underneath they were only looking out for their own good.