The Tender Years (9 page)

“Here comes Georgie,” shouted Freddie, running to meet the boy who was dragging the raft on a tow rope, panting and puffing with the effort.

“Why didn’t ya float it down?” chided Sam. “Stupid to drag it.”

“Once you put it in thet creek—you’d never git it stopped, thet’s why,” Georgie gasped out between breaths.

His words brought more fear to Virginia’s heart, but Freddie did not seem to share her concern. He was rubbing his hands together in excited agitation. His eyes shone with anticipation. “Boy,” he exclaimed. “This is gonna be heart thumpin’.”

Still Jenny did not come. The boys were hard to hold back. They were eager to get the raft in the water. But they knew they had to wait for their leader. Jenny would never forgive them if they went ahead without her.

Virginia paced back and forth, glancing often at the sky and the lengthening shadows. She was about to tell the fellows that she was going home, that Jenny had taken too long, that she had been there but had to leave, when Jenny and Ruth appeared. They were out of breath, flushed with hurrying and excitement. Jenny held up a full sleeve and shook out the contents. Five licorice sticks and several peppermints tumbled out.

“I wanted six but I could only get five,” she said, passing out the licorice. “We’ll have to share.”

Virginia’s eyes grew large. “Where did you get all the money?”

Jenny cast a glance toward Georgie and the two began to whoop with laughter. The others joined in. Virginia frowned. She didn’t know what was so funny. She turned her back on the lot of them. “C’mon, let’s get this thing in the water. I’ve gotta get home.”

Jenny reached out and roughly grabbed her sleeve.

“Just a minute, Miss Prissy,” she hissed. “Who’s in charge here?”

They stood facing each other, Jenny’s green eyes flashing, Virginia looking confused but angry.

“You are,” she finally admitted reluctantly.

“Then I’ll give the orders. Understood?”

Virginia could only nod mutely, but she was still upset. Angry enough to dare a further challenge. “I only wanted to hurry.”

“I’ll decide whether we’re in a hurry or not,” responded Jenny with a flip of her head. “And it just happens—I’m not.”

That was too much. Virginia gave her a cold stare. “That’s easy for you to say,” she spat out. “But I have to get home.”

“She has to get home,” Jenny taunted in a singsong tone, turning to her peers. “Little Miss Skirt-Hanger has to get home to her mama.”

They laughed in unison. That was what they were supposed to do.

Virginia’s anger flared. Tears sprang to her eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she flung at the other girl. “You don’t have a mama to tell you what to do. You don’t know how lucky—” But she stopped. The foolishness of her own words hit her solidly.

She turned on her heel and fled the grove of trees. She didn’t belong. She knew that. This wasn’t her crowd. The pilfered raft. The defiance of orders. The challenging of the dangerously swollen creek. She didn’t belong. She was going home.

Suddenly aware that she was still holding the licorice stick, she glanced down at it and with a sickening feeling finally understood the laughter. The licorice stick was stolen merchandise. The thought brought terror to her heart. She had never stolen. Never. Her folks—her grandparents would be shocked. Mortified.

She wheeled and threw the licorice stick in the direction of the little crowded tangle who stood looking after her. It fell in the grasses, short of its intended destination, but she did not wait to see if it was retrieved. She hiked her skirts and spun around to continue her dash for home.

“Just you wait, Virginia….” She heard Jenny’s angry cry after her, but she kept right on running.

CHAPTER 8

A
ll the way home Virginia tried to figure some way that would allow her to slip in quietly—undetected—into the solitude and comfort of her own room. She felt sick inside. Sick and scared. She had disobeyed again. There would be punishment. But it was not the thought of the punishment that bothered her the most.

She was confused. On the one hand, she hated to be an outcast again. On the other, she was relieved to be rid of the bondage of trying to please Jenny. They didn’t belong together. She knew that now. They were too different in their upbringing. In their way of looking at things. Why, Jenny did not even believe in God. And though there were times when Virginia wished she could dismiss His presence from her own life, she knew, deep down, that she could not. Whether she wanted Him to exist or not, He did. And because He did, she was—in some way she had not quite figured out yet—responsible to Him. It was a scary thought and one that often troubled her at night when the house was quiet.

But Virginia’s mind turned to other things as she hurried toward home. Things tangible. Things visible. Like her mother’s upset eyes. Her father’s stern voice. Clara’s shocked look and Francine’s teary face. And her brothers would add their voices to the admonitions, the lectures she was sure to get. She would have it all to face once again. The worst of it was that she had gained nothing in the process. Jenny was even more upset than before. Virginia would never be part of the
in
group again.

The door to the kitchen was ajar. Only the screen door was securely in place. Virginia hesitated for one moment, hand on the latch. She could hear someone stirring about inside. She hated to enter. Hated to face what lay before her.

“Would you like me to check?” she heard Clara ask.

Her mother answered, her voice tight. Worried. “Where would you check?”

“I don’t know. I could try The Sweet Shop.”

“I don’t think you’d find her there. Even a teenager could not drag a soda out to last so long. She’s never been this late before.”

Virginia shifted nervously. They were right there—fretting about
her.
She was going to have to walk right into the lion’s den. She couldn’t even pretend. If only they were back in the parlor or out in the garden.

“Do you think I should go get Papa?”

There was a moment of silence. Virginia could envision her mother’s eyes lifting to the kitchen clock with its border of blue forget-me-nots. “He will be home anytime. It’s late.”

“She’ll be here, Mama,” Clara said with assurance. “It’s hard for a young girl to leave her friends. It always seems that the others are having so much fun. Fun you hate to miss.”

“Oh, Clara. I worry so about her. I’m not sure that her friendships are—that she has chosen wisely. I hope and pray—I just don’t want her to get hurt.”

“She’s just a kid, Mama. She’ll be all right.”

“But you never—”

Clara laughed. “Of course I did. I struggled with acceptance just like Virginia. I just wasn’t quite brave enough to let it show so openly.”

“You—?”

“Of course. I think all kids do. Some just … just take it more seriously than others.”

“Well, I never remember you being in direct defiance of our rules. I really worry about Virginia. I don’t know what to try next. We’ve prayed. We’ve reasoned. We’ve punished. We’ve—I’m going to have a talk with Grandma. Maybe she has some idea….”

Virginia could not stand any more. With one quick movement she stepped forward and flung open the screen door. She stepped inside, her eyes flashing, her chin up. If they wished to chastise her, she was ready.

At the sound behind her, her mother swung around. Her first reaction was one of intense relief. She moved slightly, and Virginia wondered if her mother was going to rush forward and crush her wayward girl to her breast. But her mother quickly checked herself. The look in her eyes turned to one of frustration.

“Change your clothes, Virginia, and wash up. Supper will be on the table in a few minutes. We will discuss your tardiness after supper.”

Virginia turned to go. They were not going to deal with it and get it over. She had to wait. Wait in misery. Suddenly she did not want any supper.

“I’m not hungry,” she called back over her shoulder as she left the room.

“You will join the family at the table,” her mother answered firmly. “Even if you just sit there.”

So that little ploy had not worked, either. Anger began to take hold of her again. She might as well have stayed at the creek with her friends and had some fun. She was going to pay for it anyway.

She changed her clothes and washed as she had been bidden, but she did not leave her room for the kitchen until her father called. At the sound of his voice, she dragged herself obediently toward the big kitchen table. It would not do to make her father call a second time.

She slid into her seat and lowered her head. She did not wish to meet the eyes of any family member. She did not need to raise her head to know that her mother had prepared her favorite meal. She could smell the savory fried chicken. It made her stomach growl in spite of her determination. How could she just sit there and listen and smell as the rest of them enjoyed the crispy, succulent chicken? And she was hungry. She had not even had milk and cookies after school.

Her father said the evening grace. Virginia scarcely listened to the words. She heard the Amen and roused herself. The passing of heaping serving bowls was about to begin. She would be tested beyond endurance.

“I want the wishbone,” declared Francine, as she always did.

“Please, may I have the wishbone?” her mother reminded, as she always did.

Francine corrected her error.

Virginia could have gone round the table and named the piece of chicken that settled on every plate. Clara would take breast meat, Rodney a thigh, Danny a drumstick, and Francine her wishbone. Her papa would take two wings and a drumstick. Some white, some dark meat. And her mother would take the neck, or the back, insisting that they were her favorite pieces, when all the while the family knew that she was simply cleaning up the ones no one else was interested in.

The other piece of breast meat should have been Virginia’s. It made her mouth water just thinking about it. And the steaming mashed potatoes and rich gravy did not help, either. Nor did the thought of the whipped turnips, seasoned with parsley and smoothed with cream.

Without comment her mother slipped the piece of chicken breast on Virginia’s plate as the serving dish went around. Virginia thought about ignoring it, but she could not. Her mother also served her a helping of potatoes, gravy, and turnips, all the while chatting easily with the family. As usual her parents were discovering the highlights from each one’s day. Virginia hoped they would not get to her. She had little to say.

There was high-meringued lemon pie for dessert. Virginia was just cleaning up the last bite when there was a sound of running and a loud thumping on the back door.

Before her father could even reach it to admit their caller, they heard a shout. “There’s trouble at the crik.”

Her father flung the door open and faced an excited Jedd Marlow. The young lad looked ready to plunge on again before even delivering his full message. Virginia’s father reached out and grasped his shoulder.

“What is it, son?”

“Doc Luke wants Mrs. Simpson. Some kids went down in the crik. They’re hurt.”

Virginia felt her world whirling. Her stomach heaved. She wondered if she was going to be able to keep down her fried chicken.

It seemed forever before her mother returned. Clara had taken over the family, sending the younger ones off to bed. But Virginia could not sleep. She paced back and forth in her room, waiting for the sound of the door, her mother’s step across the kitchen.

What had happened? Who was hurt? How badly? What if she had stayed with them? The questions hung heavy upon her mind. She could not dismiss them. Her frantic thoughts would not let her rest.

The hall clock had already announced the midnight hour before the door finally opened. Virginia, hearing voices, crept from her bed and ventured toward the kitchen. Her mama was seated at the kitchen table looking weary and sad. Her father was pouring two cups of steaming tea. “You look exhausted,” Virginia heard him say to her mother. “Are they going to be okay?”

Her mother shook her head as she drew off her gloves and laid them aside on the corner of the table. “We don’t know yet. The one boy is in rather bad condition. If it hadn’t been for Rett Marshall, he’d be gone for sure.”

“What happened?”

“No one is too sure. Seems they were rafting on the—” Her mother looked up and saw Virginia clinging to the door? frame of the kitchen. She extended her hand without comment. Virginia moved forward. She knew her face must reveal her state of mind.

“It was some of your school friends, Virginia.”

Virginia nodded mutely. As much as she needed to know, she could not even ask about them.

Virginia felt her mother’s arm slip about her waist. “They had an accident on the creek. Seems they were rafting.”

Virginia nodded again.

“One of the boys—the Boycie boy—made it to shore with no problem. He clung to an overhanging tree limb, he said. He also helped one of the girls—the Riant girl—to hang on until help came.”

Her mother accepted the cup of tea and turned back to her father. “The Booth boy—George, isn’t it?—got a bad gash on his head. Needed a good deal of stitching. That’s why Luke wanted me. And the other boy—the Crell’s son—he was in the water the longest. We still don’t know if he’ll make it, and if he does, if he’ll be all right mentally.”

Her mother seemed to remember Virginia again. She turned back to her, and one hand reached up to smooth the tangled hair. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her daughter’s forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know they are your classmates. This is hard.”

But Virginia’s mind was whirling. Her heart pounding. “Jenny?” she managed through lips stiff with fear. “What about Jenny?”

Her parents exchanged quick glances. “What do you mean? How did you know—?”

Instantly, Virginia knew that she had given away her secret. For one instant her eyes widened in consternation, and then she leaned against her mother’s shoulder and began to sob.

Her mother let her cry, pressing a comforting hand against the small of her back, using the other to smooth the hair back from her face. When the worst of the emotional storm had passed, her father quietly spoke. “I think you need to sit down and tell us about this.”

Virginia blew on the hankie her mother offered and sniffed back remaining tears. “We went to the creek after school,” she started slowly, twisting the handkerchief around her fingers.

“Why?”

“They knew it was … was flooded, so it would … would raft good.”

“But it
didn’t
raft good,” protested her father, irritation edging his voice. “It was extremely dangerous and could have—may have—cost someone’s life.”

Virginia nearly burst into tears again.

“How many?” her mother asked her rather sharply.

“Six,” Virginia replied, mentally picturing the group. “Fred? die, George, and Sam and Ruthie, Jenny and me.”

“Thank God,” her mother said with deep emotion. “Then we did find all of them. They were so upset that we weren’t sure they were thinking properly. They are all in deep shock.”

“They just wanted to raft,” defended Virginia.

Her father let the comment pass. “What happened?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know. I … I … Jenny and Ruthie were so late, and I … I got mad and came home.”

Virginia was well aware of the looks that passed between her parents. With a deep sigh, her mother’s arm tightened about her again.

“So you came home before they took the raft?”

“They had it already. They got it from under the bridge. Mr. Taggart’s.”

“So they filched a raft.”

“They were just borrowing it,” Virginia quickly tried to explain.

“But they didn’t have permission—did they?”

“No-o.” The answer came slowly.

“Go ahead,” prompted her father.

“Well, they had the raft, and we waited for Jenny and Ruthie to come and when they came—” She hesitated. Did she dare tell her folks that Jenny had also stolen sweets? Did she have to tell? She decided to skip that part. It had little bearing on the accident, and her folks had always told her not to be a tattletale.

“I … I got mad, so I came home. The rest of them were going to try the raft.”

“So what happened?” Her papa had turned back to her mama.

“We aren’t sure. They got into rough water. Something went wrong. Luke thinks they might have hit a submerged rock or caught a tree. The raft must have flipped. They were all thrown into the water. The one boy struck his head sharply—likely on a rock. Like I said, a couple of them managed to hang on to an overhanging limb, but they are still in shock and suffering from exposure to the icy water. The one boy went under. Was swept along. It was Rett who pulled him out. Guess he heard the screams. He had to make three tries before he found the boy, Ruthie said. By then the Crell boy had been under for a long time—maybe too long.”