The Tender Years (4 page)

Jenny should know. Her own mother had deserted them, her and her father, to run off to some island with a news reporter. But then, Jenny had shrugged, her father didn’t care much for her mother, anyway. What difference did it make that her mother was no longer with them? She supposed her father might be glad she was gone. She was always complaining, he’d said. Never happy with anything. He actually had treated her rather badly in private.

When Jenny had shared all of her personal secrets with Virginia, the young girl had at first felt an unknown fear tear at her heart. Her mother would not do that. Would she? But then her father did not treat her mother badly. Did he? But what did she really know? What went on behind closed doors? Did her folks, too, put on a different face for everyone else?

Virginia had not slept well for the first several nights after Jenny’s frankness. But with Jenny’s assurance that they were now big enough to take care of themselves, she had tried to lay aside her fear. Jenny had even extracted Virginia’s solemn promise that they would always take care of each other. That’s the way it would be. The two of them. Together. Against the world, if need be.

It really hadn’t put Virginia’s mind at ease as it should have. There seemed to be something flawed in the plan. But to date, Virginia had never been able to sort it all out. And now as she stewed about a broken pencil lead and listened to soft voices coming through the open window, she thought again about how topsy-turvy her world had become. Everything seemed to be spinning out of control. Everything.

Her wayward thoughts were unexpectedly brought up short with the memory of her mother’s words. Mr. Adamson had told her mother about their little chat. Mr. Adamson had not told her mother that she had been dreadfully late getting home from school. That she had visited The Sweet Shop with Jenny and their two friends. Why? Why had Mr. Adamson said only nice things about her? Was he trying to protect her? To bring a good report to offset the badness? Virginia frowned.

Poor Mr. Adamson. She knew that other kids made fun of him. Held their noses while they ran by his place. Told unkind jokes when out of earshot. Even made up false stories about dead cats and rotting garbage.

Granted, he was a little dirty. Her mother had tried for many months after the death of his wife to get him to allow her to care for his laundry. He always assured her that he didn’t have anything that needed washing—yet. But when he did, he’d wash it himself. Of course he never did. But her mother had at last given up. She couldn’t intrude in his life, Virginia heard her mother tell Clara.

Somehow, the thoughts of the elderly man made Virginia more uncomfortable. Everything was making her uncomfortable. The broken cup, one of her mother’s favorite set. The soggy hemline. The weasel that, though now healed, might not have sense enough to stay away from the traps. Her father’s empty shirt sleeve, Francine’s dewy-eyed face, Jenny’s gloomy perspective on all of humanity, the broken pencil. Everything … everything made her feel more miserable. She wished she could just crawl in her bed and forget everything.
Everything.
If only …

The world wasn’t fair. She was sure that Jenny was right about that. It wasn’t fair—and for some unexplained reason, it wasn’t even fun anymore. She wasn’t sure what had happened over the last months to take all of the joy out of life, but she knew that something had gone and spoiled things.

She tossed the broken pencil across the room in the direction of her wastepaper basket. If she couldn’t sharpen it, it was useless to her. She began to rummage around in the desk drawer in search of another.

And all the time that she muttered and fumed, she had no idea that the discontent was not because of her outer world but was coming out of her own inner conflict.

CHAPTER 3

M
ama?” Virginia stood in the doorway and watched as her mother looked up from the book in her hands.

“Virginia. I thought you were sleeping.”

“I … I couldn’t get to sleep.”

Her mother laid aside the book and patted the divan beside her. “Something wrong?”

For one moment the young girl held back. She knew from her mother’s tone and small gesture that she was being invited to open her heart. At the same time, she also knew that Jenny would scoff at the idea. Mothers were not to be trusted.

But her years of being raised in a loving home soon helped her overcome her hesitation. She crossed the short distance to the divan and perched herself on the edge of the seat.

“Where’s Papa?” she asked for something to say.

Her mother reached out a hand and smoothed back the hair tangled from Virginia’s tossing and turning. “He’s in his study. He has some work to do before tomorrow’s trial.”

“Whose trial?”

Virginia had always been familiar with her father’s occupation. He often went to court to represent one case or another. And to her mother’s pride, he was usually successful. Virginia had always felt that her lawyer father was some knight on a white charger, always there to defend the right.

“A land dispute. Two different parties claim ownership.”

“So how does Papa know which one really owns it?”

“He’s gone back to the records. He has the legal title.”

“So he’ll win?”

Her mother smiled and reached for the girl’s hand.

“I’m sure he will win. The law is on his side.”

Virginia licked dry lips. She had been stalling for time. Her father’s court case was not what was keeping her awake.

“What’s really troubling you?”

The question was so straightforward that Virginia could not avoid it. Her mother knew that something else was on her mind. Her mother always knew.

“I … I … I talked to Mr. Adamson.”

“Yes, he told me.” The words were accompanied by a smile. “I’m pleased that you stop and chat with him when you go by. He really is very lonely.”

“I … I was late from school.”

The admission, in clipped words, hung in the air between them. Her mother waited.

“I was late from school even before … before I talked with Mr. Adamson.”

“Yes, I know.”

Virginia’s head began to reel. Apparently her mother did not understand.

“I was real late.”

“Yes.”

“But you told me to come directly home.”

Again her mother nodded. Her hand on the girl’s hand tightened. “And I was very disappointed when you disobeyed,” she said quietly.

“You knew?”

“Yes, I knew.”

“How?”

“I walked by The Sweet Shop while you and your friends were having your sodas.”

“But how—why—?” She couldn’t even finish the question?

“Why didn’t I demand an explanation?”

Virginia nodded.

“Your father and I walked home together. We talked about it. We are very concerned about—about your recent attitude. We wanted some time to pray—to think—to decide what action to take. We have tried punishment. Placing restrictions. Taking away privileges. More chores. It just seems to make you angry. We aren’t sure what to do next. I was planning to talk with Grandma tomorrow. To ask her advice.”

Virginia’s heart felt as if it were being squeezed. Not that. Not share her disobedience with Grandma. What would Grandma think? Virginia could imagine how shocked her grandmother would be to learn that she was openly defiant of family rules. Grandma loved her. Trusted her. What if her mother’s disclosure destroyed all that?

“Please … please don’t,” she heard her quavering voice pleading. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I’ll come right home.”

“Virginia.” Her mother’s hand left her daughter’s in a tight ball on the damask divan and lifted to brush curls back from the troubled face. “We love you. We want to see you grow up without … without painful scars from mistakes of youth. I know that … that it is important to spend time with friends. To stretch your independence. To grow. But Papa and I—we worry. Worry that you might be trying to grow up too fast. That you might have chosen—well, not bad friends, but confused friends. That they might … encourage you to … to make some choices that you will later regret. Do you understand?”

Virginia thought long and hard before she slowly nodded her head. With her mother’s calm voice easing away her anxious thoughts the words seemed logical—even acceptable. She nodded slowly.

“All we ask is that you obey the rules. Is that so difficult?”

Virginia shook her head. It really wasn’t
that
bad. There weren’t too many rules.

“We want you to report home after school. To ask permission before going off on some … some venture of your own.”

She nodded again.

“You are to do your own chores—not pass them off on Clara.”

So her mother knew about the missed chores, too.

“Your misconduct affects our entire family. Francine has worried herself sick that you might get into trouble.”

Now Francine. Her mother even knew about that. Virginia swallowed hard and nodded again.

“Am I?” she asked at length.

“Are you what?”

“Going to get into trouble?” The words were difficult to force out.

“Yes. Yes, I guess you will. You have disobeyed. You know our family’s rules. Disobedience has consequences—right?”

Virginia swallowed again. She had been foolish to suppose she could get away without any punishment.

“What?” she asked when her mother did not go on.

“I really don’t know yet. Your father and I have not worked it through. What do you think it should be?”

Virginia frowned. She had never been invited to propose her own punishment before. She wondered for a moment if her mother was serious. A glance at her face assured Virginia that she was.

“I … I don’t know. Maybe … maybe …” She could not think. She was very unwilling to condemn herself to a harsh punishment. But on the other hand, she should not be too lenient. The punishment must fit the crime, her lawyer father often stated. He had tried hard to practice the principle within his own household. To suggest some light penalty for what her folks saw as a serious offense would be to admit that she was not mature enough to make a reasonable judgment.

“I … I really don’t know,” she finished lamely.

“It is not easy,” acknowledged her mother. “One never takes pleasure in disciplining one’s children.” She hesitated, then went on, “However, I am grateful, as your father will be, that you came to us with your confession. That will lessen the punishment, though not erase it.”

Virginia nodded. She wanted to cry, but she really was too old for that. Still, it would feel so much better if she could throw herself into her mother’s arms and weep against her shoulder.

She still had to face punishment. Should she have just kept quiet and pretended that nothing had happened? No—her folks already knew. They already were talking, praying about which direction to take, and her mother was even planning to talk with Grandma. Oh, she hoped with all her heart that she had avoided that.

“You won’t talk to Grandma now, will you?” She had to ask.

“You don’t wish for me to speak with Grandma?”

Virginia shook her head. Her mother seemed to think about it for some time before she responded with a nod. “Very well. I will not talk with Grandma about it—this time.”

Virginia felt relief.

“You’d best get to bed. It’s late. Do you think you can sleep now?” There was concern in her mother’s voice.

Virginia nodded silently. She thought that maybe now she could sleep. At least she would try.

Her mother’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, and she leaned over to place a kiss on Virginia’s forehead. “Good night, then,” she said, and Virginia knew that she was dismissed.

At the door she turned back and spoke once more.

“Mama.” She hesitated. She could feel the tears again threatening to spill and thought of Francine and her unusual ability to cry. She willed the tears away and lifted her chin slightly.

Her mother’s head had lifted from the book she had picked up again. She waited.

“I’m sorry.” Virginia’s voice faltered.

A look of intense relief washed over her mother’s face. Then a smile followed, illuminated by the light of the parlor lamp. “Oh, I’m glad to hear you say that. I feared those words would never come.”

As Virginia turned away, she wondered if her mother’s hand was brushing away tears of her own.

“The boys are going to the creek after school.”

The message had been slipped to Virginia on a small scrap of paper and smuggled across the aisle under cover of a passed eraser. Virginia read the words and then scrunched the note up into a little ball that she let fall into her sweater pocket. She pretended to use the eraser before passing it back across the aisle to its owner. But she avoided Jenny’s eyes. She knew what the note meant. Jenny was asking her to join the boys at the creek. There wouldn’t be time to run home first and get her mother’s permission. Even if there was, Virginia was rather sure that her mother would not okay such an outing. The local public soda shop was one thing, the wooded creek bank quite another.

Yet she longed to go. She knew it would be fun. The small creek that passed near the town would be brimming with spring runoff. Most of the ice would be gone. There might even be pussy willows along the banks. And frogs, fresh up from their long winter’s sleep.

There would most surely be daring. Fun and frolic as one boy tried to outdo another. Virginia could almost visualize it. Feats of log-walking, good-natured pushing, dares to challenge patches of remaining ice. Maybe even chases with squawking frogs or slimy garter snakes. Yes, it would be such fun.

She knew without even looking up that Jenny was waiting for her answer. All she had to do was to lift her head and give a brief nod. That would assure Jenny that she was
in
.

But she couldn’t lift her head—or nod. A funny little sick feeling curled itself into the pit of her stomach, twisting up as in a tight fist, making her squirm with the discomfort. She couldn’t go. Jenny would be angry. They would all think her a sissy. But she couldn’t go. No amount of fun was worth what she had been through when she had disobeyed last week. She was still assigned every other night of supper dishes and the Saturday duty of sweeping the walks. She hated sweeping the walks. Especially in the spring when so many people clumped along the wooden boards with boots cluttered with spring mud and clinging with last fall’s leaves.

She continued to work at the sums that had been their assignment. Her face felt strangely hot, her concentration zero.

She felt her elbow nudged. Jenny was again passing her eraser. If she kept it up, she’d be getting them both in trouble.

With eyes still on the page before her, Virginia accepted the eraser, making sure that her fingers fully supported the note she knew would be hidden underneath. With one glance toward the front of the room to make sure the teacher’s back was turned, she slipped out the small paper. Jenny’s writing was so small that Virginia’s brow puckered as she tried to sort out the words.

“What’s wrong? Are you coming or not?” The paper almost seemed to burn her fingers.

She knew she had to answer then, but she hated to face Jenny’s eyes. She knew they would be filled with anger. Jenny could be nasty when she was put off.

Virginia shook her head with one quick, little sideways motion as she handed the eraser back across the aisle. For just one moment she looked at Jenny. The green eyes flashed back their reply. Jenny was not at all pleased. Virginia turned back to her work, her stomach in even more knots.

Another nudge on the elbow. The eraser was coming back again. Virginia was tempted to ignore it, but she was afraid Jenny would make a scene that would attract the attention of the teacher. Without looking Jenny’s way she held out her hand, palm up. Jenny placed the eraser and the note in the center of Virginia’s hand and gave her little finger a sharp pinch. Virginia almost gasped.

“Maybe I need to get a new friend” read the terse note.

Virginia’s inner turmoil made her feel physically sick. The last thing she wanted was to lose Jenny. Jenny with her flaming hair, her dancing eyes, and her infectious giggle. Jenny with her commanding ways and know-it-all looks. Jenny with her anger when crossed and strong rules of rightful leadership. Virginia had felt so smug about being chosen as Jenny’s friend. It had given her status at her school that she had not enjoyed before. If she lost Jenny, she would be right back where she had started. Just another one of the class. Just a nobody. A nothing.

But if she went along with the scheme? What then? She would be in trouble at home again. Her mama would most surely have that talk with her grandma. Maybe even her grandpa would be brought into it. She could not face that. Couldn’t stand to see disappointment shadow the love in their eyes.

It was a difficult decision. A tough one to make in the middle of arithmetic class. She did wish that Jenny had left the matter until after school when she could talk it through with? out the worry of getting caught. But she knew Jenny wanted her answer now.