The Tender Years (5 page)

Throwing caution to the wind, she flipped over the small scrap of paper and wrote in equally small letters, “I can’t tonight. Ask me another time.” She pressed the note tightly up against the eraser, checked the front of the room for the teacher, and handed them both back across the aisle. Jenny was no more pleased with this message than she had been with the shake of the head. She frowned, then gave a slight shrug of her shoulders, as though to inform Virginia that she was the loser. And she would be sorry.

The day was definitely spoiled for Virginia. She knew that no matter what happened for the rest of it, nothing would make things right. She was going to miss out on a lot of fun. Jenny was mad at her. The boys would think she was stuffy. Nothing was going right. Nothing.

“Virginia?”

The teacher’s voice interrupted her distracted reverie, and her head jerked up sharply. She was being called upon in class, and she had not even heard the question. She felt her face flush as snickers began to pass around the room.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to stutter. “I … I didn’t hear the question.”

The snickers turned to loud guffaws. Miss Crook thumped the end of the pointer on the floor to summon attention.

“If the rest of you had been as intent upon finishing your arithmetic assignment as Virginia was, you would have no cause for your merriment,” the teacher reprimanded.

Virginia’s face flushed an even deeper crimson. It was not her arithmetic that had her full attention.

“I asked for the solution to question number seven,” the teacher went on. The titters among class members had stopped. Only silence filled the chalk-smelling air.

Virginia let her glance fall to her page. With deep relief she saw that she had completed number seven. She lifted her book, slid to the side of her desk, and stood to her feet. With careful concentration she worked her way orally through the arithmetic problem. When she reached the end, she lifted her eyes briefly to observe the teacher’s response. She fervently hoped that she had completed the question correctly.

“Well done, Virginia,” the teacher stated with a satisfied little thump of the pointer end on the wooden floor. “William—problem eight.”

Virginia sank into her desk. She felt as if she had just faced one of her father’s juries and been found “not guilty.” Relief flooded her whole frame. Until she cast a quick glance Jenny’s way. Her friend was still glowering. There was no ready commendation there.

CHAPTER 4

J
enny did not give up easily. She was waiting on the school steps when Virginia left the building. Virginia’s step lagged as she spotted her friend among the little cluster that lounged together. There were three boys, along with Jenny and Ruth Riant. Virginia felt her heart sink. Had Jenny already picked a new friend to replace her?

When Jenny looked up and called, Virginia forced a smile and started forward again.

“I thought you had already gone,” she offered lamely.

“Thought you might change your mind,” responded Jenny.

Virginia frowned. Jenny was really making it hard for her. All three of the boys lifted their heads and studied Virginia’s face. She took the stares as a challenge. Was she, or wasn’t she, one of the group?

It was so tempting to just go along with them. Take the consequences when she got home. But Virginia held back. It was the vision of her grandmother’s face, with disappointment darkening her eyes, that held Virginia in check. “I can’t,” she managed. “I already told you.”

“Well, you’re gonna miss a lot of fun,” Jenny thrust at her with a toss of her red hair. She threw in a shocking curse to emphasize her point. Virginia could only stare. With a howl of laughter, Jenny led her little entourage down the steps to the street that led out of town toward the woods and Carson Creek. Virginia stood and watched them go. Already they were teasing and laughing and calling out comments to one another.

Her heart ached. With all her being she longed to be a part of the crowd. She was tempted to call, “Hey, wait!” and hurry off down the street to join them. But her voice choked up and her feet refused to move. She stood until they disappeared around the corner, her face hot with emotion, her angry thoughts whirling round and round. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that her folks were so … so stuffy. They didn’t let her have any fun. She couldn’t even get out of their sight. They thought she was still a child.

Virginia started the slow walk home, her mood anything but light. All the way along the board sidewalk she fumed, kicking at small stones, deliberately scuffing the toes of her new black boots. She took pleasure in telling herself all the unreasonableness of her parents. All the privileges that each of her siblings enjoyed. All the unfairness of life. By the time she reached her own street, she was convinced that she had the hardest lot of any person in town. Probably the whole county. Maybe even the entire world.

“What’s got yer tail in a knot?”

Virginia jumped at the sound of the voice. Mr. Adamson was leaning on his picket fence peering over at her. His dirty shirt had a distinct new stain. Virginia wondered if he had spilled his morning coffee.

“I didn’t see you,” she responded.

“No—reckon ya didn’t. Thet heavy cloud hangin’ over yer head likely kept ya from seein’ anythin’ else.”

Without thinking, Virginia looked upward. The elderly man began to chuckle. Her face flushed when she realized that he had been teasing her.

“Somethin’ go wrong?”

How could she tell the old neighbor man that just about everything was wrong? Here she was on her way home when her friends were all down at the creek having fun.
Their
parents trusted them. They were allowed to grow up. It wasn’t fair.

“Well—?”

Virginia tossed her head. “It’s just—well, my folks—”

“Ah …” said the old gent with a nod of his head in understanding. “Folks. They can be a real burden, all right.”

Virginia watched as the old man took off his beat-up hat and scratched his balding head. His silvery locks were now darkened. Virginia supposed that the hair was not washed any oftener than the shirt.

“I remember when I was a lad,” the man went on. “Had me the most disagreeable father. We never did see eye to eye—until I got in my twenties. Suddenly the old fella got smarter about things. By the time I hit forty he’d really learned him a lot.” The words were followed by a chuckle, but Virginia did not find the comment amusing. She knew exactly what the elderly man was trying to say.

“I don’t expect my mama and papa to improve much,” she said abruptly.

“Don’t ya now? Well …” He flipped off the hat and scratched his head again. Virginia watched as the garden dirt from his fingers liberally deposited itself on the thinning hair. No wonder the silver had turned dull.

“Give ’em time. Jest give ’em a little time,” the old man advised. “Even old dogs can learn new tricks—iffen they have a good teacher.”

“Well, they sure don’t learn from me,” Virginia grumbled.

“From you? No. I expect maybe they don’t. Ya see, thet ain’t really the role of younguns, as I’ve got it sorted out.”

His words were not condemning, and Virginia found it hard to take offense. She was on the verge of asking what he thought the role of youngsters was when he abruptly changed the subject.

“Got some tulips blooming.”

He looked so pleased that she could not help but respond. “The pretty striped ones?”

“No, they come a little later. It’s the bright reds. A few yellowers are just ready to pop, as well. Another day or two of sun and I’ll have a bouquet for ya. Stop by on Friday. They oughta be ready by then.”

Virginia nodded. She liked the bright tulips. They were a wonderful reminder that winter’s snows were finally gone.

With a nod the elderly man turned away. He picked up his hand trowel and turned back to the flower beds. Virginia could tell that he regarded their little discussion over for the day. With slow steps she moved off toward home.

But even though she was still upset, she could not work up the same sense of injustice. Something had derailed her line of thought. It wasn’t that she didn’t still wish to be with the others having fun down at the creek. But she just couldn’t get quite so angry over the fact that she was not.

She entered the house to the smell of fresh-baked bread. Her mother was there. Francine and Danny were already seated at the kitchen table, tall glasses of cold milk set before them and slices of fresh bread liberally covered with strawberry preserves disappearing quickly. Her mother smiled. “Welcome home.” With a nod of her head she indicated the spot where Virginia’s milk and bread were already waiting for her.

For one moment Virginia was tempted to say, “No thanks,” and head on to her bedroom to sulk. But the bread smelled so good and she was suddenly so hungry that she checked herself. As she lowered her books to the corner of the table and slid into the chair, Francine spoke up excitedly.

“Uncle Luke is coming for supper.”

Virginia adored her uncle Luke. It was hard to suppress her own enthusiasm. She flicked a look in her mother’s direction to verify Francine’s statement, even though she knew that Francine would not be telling a lie.

“Just Uncle Luke,” her mother explained. “Aunt Abbie and Georgia have gone to see their folks at Fowler Creek. I happened to see Luke at the post office and invited him to have supper with us.”

Virginia almost grinned. It no longer mattered so much that all of the others were down at the creek chasing frogs and sliding over moist logs. They didn’t have an Uncle Luke. An Uncle Luke who was a doctor.

The next morning Jenny was full of exaggerated reports about the trip to the creek. Most of the comments were not directed to Virginia but spoken in her hearing. Virginia knew they were intended to be little rubs to inform her of just how much she had missed. She could have made comments of her own. Tales about her uncle Luke and his joining them for supper. She could have told of the interesting accounts of his medical adventures. About his deep laughter as he shared little family jokes with her mother and father. About how he had helped her with the supper dishes. About the fun they’d had together after supper playing ball in the backyard. Even her mama and Clara had played. And the good laugh they had all had when Clara chased a fly ball and almost ended up in the pen with Danny’s guinea pigs. But Virginia said nothing about that. She was sure that Jenny would not understand, would simply make fun of her.

Ruthie seemed to be hanging around Jenny all day. In the lineup for the afternoon spelling bee, she even pushed herself between Jenny and Virginia. Normally Jenny would have protested loudly. But she did not. Just cast Virginia a look that warned her that her cherished position was tenuous at best.

Virginia tried to ignore the barbs, the looks, the little titters. But it all hurt. Deep down inside it bothered her a good deal. But she didn’t know how to go about regaining her former place at Jenny’s side. What could she do to get back in Jenny’s good graces again?

“Some of the kids have been visiting the creek.”

The comment from her father brought heads up around the supper table. It was her mother who spoke. “Is that a problem?”

“Sheriff Brown thinks it could be.”

“The town kids always play at the creek,” observed Rodney without slowing his enjoyment of the shepherd’s pie.

“But there is still some ice left. Rotten ice. It wouldn’t hold anyone’s weight and can’t be trusted. Yet it’s a temptation. Especially to the daring. The creek is already quite high, and there is a lot of snow up in the hills to melt yet. If we get a good rain, it will likely flood again this year. We’ve had an extra fall of snow this winter.”

Virginia listened to the conversation but made no comment of her own. Her school friends had visited the creek a few more times in recent days. Each time they had returned to school triumphant, bragging about the fun they’d had and the daring exploits of their bravest members. So far nothing more than wet pant legs had resulted, although there was much joking laughter about Samuel Boycie nearly sliding in and losing his hat in the process.

“There was this hat floating on down the creek, bobbing up and down in the current,” Jenny had said gleefully. “I said, ‘What you gonna tell your ma?’ and he said, ‘I’ll tell her ole loony Marshall’s pet crow took it.’” More shouts of laughter.

Virginia had passed on out of earshot. She didn’t want to hear more. Jenny was intent upon rubbing in the fact that she was missing out on all the fun. Besides, she hated it when folks made fun of Rett Marshall. She knew that in a way the comments were true. He was loony. At least he was not like other folks, if that’s what loony meant. Her grandmother had told her Rett’s story.

His folks had wanted a child so very much. His mama had lost several babies, and finally God had sent her Rett. She had been so happy, and Rett’s pa had been so proud. And then it was discovered that the baby boy was not normal. Oh, he developed physically, though progress was slow, but mentally he stayed a child. Still, they loved him. His mama, Wanda, thought of him as her
forever baby
, and his papa, Cam, took the small boy with him wherever he went.

He wasn’t very old when people began to notice that he had an unusual rapport with animals. He gathered the sick and cared for the helpless and communed with the wild things. He soon became known in the community as the boy who could tame the beasts. Folks might not understand him, but they did have a strange respect for him.

He was left to roam the hills and wander the woods to his heart’s content. To the community folk he never seemed to age. Rett just stayed as a boy, forever on the move. Forever finding new animal friends. Forever free.

But things around him changed over the years. His folks did not have the same protection against aging. His mama was the first to go. Not an old woman, she took a bad cold that wouldn’t leave her chest. All through a long winter she coughed and choked. Virginia’s grandma and other neighbors had tried to save her. Her uncle Luke had doctored the sick woman for several months, but nothing that they could do seemed to help. She died early spring and was buried in the little cemetery by the country church.

Her husband and son took it very hard, but they struggled on. Cam took over the cooking and cleaning, and he did a fair job of it, too, surprising even the most critical of neighbors. Folks tried to help him as they could, but each neighbor woman had her own household to attend to, and in time they discovered that he was doing just fine on his own.

Then one day Cam showed up at her grandparents’ door. He had just paid a call on Doc Luke, he said, and found that he had a bad heart. He’d been suspicious. Funny little things had been warning him. He wasn’t concerned about himself. He was feeling rather tired and lonely, anyway, since Wanda had left. But he was concerned about Rett. What would happen to his boy once he was gone?