A Searching Heart (20 page)

“Is he handsome?”

Virginia was annoyed. “Handsome? Why? I don't know. I suppose. I didn't bother to think about it.”

She gave her sister a look that reflected her impatience. “Look,
you
might call him handsome, I suppose. And he might be young, but he's not young enough for you.”

“I wasn't thinking about me,” said Francine with a smirk.

“Jenny? She's not even conscious.”

“I wasn't thinking of Jenny, either,” said the coy Francine.

Virginia frowned, and then Francine's inference struck her. “Don't be ridiculous,” she said with a disapproving look at her younger sibling. Such a foolish notion was the furthest thing from her mind. She had no intention of ever giving her heart to another. Jamison was still heavy on her mind. But she could feel her cheeks getting warm.

———

When the phone call came the following Wednesday, Virginia expected to hear Clara's voice, or perhaps even young Anthony's. But it was a man's deep voice that returned her greeting.

“Virginia? Jenny's pa here. She's waking. She's waking!”

Virginia's heart leaped and she could only stand, clasping the telephone earpiece for support.

“Hello. Are you there?”

“Yes. Yes,” she managed. “I'm here.”

“She's waking. Oh, she's not fully awake yet, but twice today she stirred a bit and her eyelids fluttered. The doctor thinks she's rousing from the coma.” Mr. Woods' voice was full of awe.

Virginia was crying, but she finally was able to say, “That's wonderful, Mr. Woods. Wonderful.”

“I'll keep you informed.” The man sounded too choked up himself to say more.

“Here,” she heard Mr. Woods say, and soon another voice sounded over the wires.

“Miss Simpson? This is Pastor Black. Dr. Moore is encouraged. Jenny does seem to be regaining consciousness. She is still in and out, but there is some response. It's an answer to prayer.”

“Yes” was all Virginia could manage to whisper. But if she hung up now, she would be upset for letting so many questions go unanswered.

“Does . . . does Dr. Moore say how long it might take?” she said through her tears.

“For full consciousness? No. He has no idea.”

“Has she . . . said anything?”

“Not yet.”

“How is her father holding up?”

“Doing well. Quite well. He's staying with us now. Took over our guest room.”

Virginia could not believe her ears. Mr. Woods—staying in the home of a
pastor?
This was an answer to prayer as astounding as his daughter's recovery.

“We'll keep in touch,” the voice on the other end of the line was saying.

“Thank you” was all Virginia could say.

A click, followed by a low hum, was the only sound as Virginia sat for a long time with the telephone in her hand.

CHAPTER 15

N
ow and then another phone call provided another report from someone regarding Jenny. Slowly, ever so slowly, during the weeks following Virginia's return home, she was wakening from her long sleep. Then the day came when she spoke her first word. “Papa.”

Pastor Black told Virginia that Mr. Woods spent hours and hours at the bedside, massaging unused limbs, coaxing his daughter to swallow, showing her picture books, and naming each of the items to see if she could still remember. He read to her and eventually asked her if she could read to him.

Mr. Woods was more than elated when Jenny read the first halting words from the page, and his voice told Virginia more than his words did when he called to tell her the latest good news.

But it was going to be a long, difficult journey, the doctor soberly reminded all of those watching her progress with such interest and hope.

Mr. Woods made a quick trip home, accompanied by a tall, slender man with long, straggly, sandy hair, faded eyes, a handlebar mustache, and a constant cigar. “Mr. Aintree will be putting out the weekly paper for me until I get back” was Mr. Woods' introduction of the new man. “No use letting the presses sit idle.”

In spite of his rather unkempt appearance, folks were willing to give Mr. Aintree a fair chance for the sake of Mr. Woods. Sales of the weekly paper climbed to an all-time high, even though most folks eventually concluded that he was prone to a good deal of stretching the truth in order to put interest into local news. He tried to stir up issues, attempting to make Mac Dreeves' barking dog an entire neighborhood dispute and Mrs. Parker's bent toward gossip a public uproar. After his first few issues of the weekly, the folks waved aside anything that was reported—or even insinuated—as an outsider's misinterpretation. Virginia wondered if Mr. Aintree would catch on to the fact that he was mostly ignored as a source of news.

When Mr. Woods made his second trip back home, he dropped by the post office. Virginia did not catch any whiff of liquor.

“Jenny is able to sit up now,” he informed her. “Not for long, and not without some support, but she's coming along.”

Virginia was overjoyed. “When will she be able to come home again?”

“Soon, I hope. The doctor says if she continues to improve, she might be able to manage the train ride late spring.”

Such a long ways off,
but Virginia did not express the thought aloud.

“How is she doing?” Virginia knew that Mr. Woods would understand that her question involved more than simply how Jenny was progressing with her injuries.

“She's . . . she's pretty down most days. She knows that the two friends who were with her at the time of the accident are both up and about—going on with life. She doesn't understand why she should be the one to still be bedridden. I think—” He paused a moment, then continued, “I think she feels that someone, somewhere, has it in for Jenny Woods.”

Virginia felt heartsick.
Strange,
she thought to herself,
those who deny the existence of God are just as intent on blaming Him when things go wrong in their lives.

She turned her eyes back to Mr. Woods. “And you?”

His gaze dropped to the scuffed toes of his black boots. When he looked up again his eyes were thoughtful. “I guess I might agree—some,” he said. “But I don't see it quite like Jenny.”

He swallowed and seemed to struggle to express what he was thinking. When he turned back to Virginia his eyes were openly honest. “I haven't been the man I should have been. Jenny never really had much of a chance. Living with that young parson has opened my eyes to a lot of things. I take the blame for Jenny's troubles. I s'pose this . . . this accident is the only way that . . . something could have gotten my full attention. You would've thought I would've been smart enough to sit up and take notice after her . . . her other scrape. The one in the crick when you girls were young.”

Virginia made no comment.

“But it doesn't seem right somehow that Jenny has to take the knocks. I'm still having a hard time trying to work that through,” he admitted frankly.

Virginia nodded. It didn't seem fair. But maybe there was something they hadn't realized yet. She would have to hang on and trust the Lord to continue what He was doing in all this.

———

It was early June before Jenny could come home. Virginia was there to meet her train. She had tried to prepare herself for the worst, but even so, she was totally shocked by the sight of the girl who disembarked.

A thin, wasted Jenny was carried from the railcar and deposited in a wheelchair that sat waiting for her. Her hair had grown back to at least a covering over her head, but it certainly was not the burnished crown she had formerly taken such pride in.

Her eyes looked big and haunted in her white, thin face, and her arms were so skinny and frail that Virginia almost feared to touch them lest they snap.

Jenny did manage an uncertain smile, giving Virginia hope. Perhaps her mind and her memory had been restored.

“Papa said you'd be here,” she said huskily. Her voice held none of its old buoyancy.

Virginia leaned over to place a kiss on the sallow cheek, hoping that Jenny would not misunderstand her tears. “It's good to have you home,” she murmured.

“Well, I could say it's good to be home. But I'm not sure yet,” Jenny replied.

Virginia determined then and there that she would do all in her power to make Jenny glad to be back.

But the days that followed were not easy for either of them. Virginia spent every spare moment with Jenny, attempting every way she knew to bring some spark back into the girl's eyes. Jenny fussed and complained and refused to take interest in anything about her. Enough of her memory had returned to make her grieve for her days at the university and the many friends she had left behind. Virginia wondered just how many of those friends had supported Jenny through the days following her accident. Virginia had certainly seen none of them in the week she had been there. But she wisely made no reference to that fact.

And then one day the tension in the sickroom turned to out-and-out war. Virginia had come over early on a Saturday morning, bringing with her Jenny's favorite sponge cake. Jenny had reacted with disdain rather than gratitude.

“Cake? Is a cake supposed to take the place of my arms and legs?”

Virginia bit her tongue.

“Honestly, Virginia, you are so . . . so downright . . . moronic.” Jenny swore to further express her disgust. “Anyone who can stand there in front of a . . . a total invalid and offer a”—more expletives—“cake in place of life has no mind and no feelings.”

Virginia's hands trembled.

“Get it out of here. You get out of here,” Jenny screamed. “If it wasn't for your hateful, vindictive God, I wouldn't be sitting here in this chair.” Another outpouring of horrid words.

Virginia held her breath. It was one thing for Jenny to turn her rage on a lifelong friend, but it was quite another for her to actually curse God. Suddenly she could remain silent no longer.

“Stop it!” Virginia shouted at Jenny, slamming the plate with the cake onto the side table. “You stop it. You will condemn yourself to . . . to—” But Virginia could not even say the word.

Jenny laughed. A cruel, hateful laugh. Then she stopped as suddenly as she had begun, her face contorted with rage. “Condemn myself? I'm already condemned. You think anything could be worse than this? I can't walk. I can't dance. I can't even
move.
” She hurled the words at Virginia.

“You can breathe,” Virginia flung back, stepping close to shout right in Jenny's face. “You can breathe. And you can think. Why aren't you thankful for that? Things could be far worse, you know. You could be dead. You could be brain-damaged. You could be a lot of things—worse than you are.

“You don't want the cake? Fine. I'll take the cake. But I'm not coming back until you decide to start trying and stop whining. I didn't put you in that wheelchair. And it was not a vindictive God who put you there, either. You made the choices, Jenny. If it hadn't been for a merciful God, you wouldn't even be here. Think about that, why don't you?” Virginia paused a moment, then finished with, “Why don't you stop feeling sorry for yourself and blaming others, and start working on getting out of that wheelchair? Or don't you have what it takes to do that?”

She snatched up the cake and stormed from the house.

Virginia was back again in the afternoon, remorseful and repentant. Jenny pretended not to be glad to see her, but Virginia saw the relieved look in Jenny's green eyes when she said, “I'm sorry.” Jenny just waved a hand in a dismissive gesture.

No reference was made to the former outburst. They went on, a bit awkwardly at first, as though it had not happened. But over the days that followed, the relationship between the two gradually changed. Virginia did not attempt to see Jenny as often as she had at first, and when she did come, she did not come with offerings in her hand, nor cute little anecdotes to try to cheer the patient up. She laid aside those approaches. If Jenny was to get better, it would have to be her own doing. No one else could do it for her.

———

Clara's second son arrived with no complications. Anthony was beside himself at having a baby brother and coaxed and pleaded to hold the small bundle even when the baby was sound asleep.

They named him Jeffrey Luke. Jeffrey was his father's second name, and Luke was for his great-uncle who had given him such a good start in the world.

Clara had never looked better and declared she had never felt better, either. The mystery of her first troubled pregnancy remained, but everyone hoped that it was totally a thing of the past.

For the first few weeks, Virginia went over when she could just to give Clara a hand with the washing and heavier chores. Francine pitched in, too. She was old enough and skilled enough to carry her share of the load.

Before they knew it, fall was again upon them. Virginia did not even think about going off to college. She had her job at the post office and was quite happy with it. She refused to think ahead to consider that she would be sorting mail and stamping envelopes for the rest of her life. But if she took it one day at a time, it was quite manageable.

Off and on, one or another of the local young men from the church invited her out to an event or expressed interest in beginning a relationship, but Virginia warded off all approaches. She had no intention of ever giving her heart again. She would never be able to love as she had loved Jamison.

———

The Christmas Day service fell on a Sunday. Virginia prepared for church with more than usual care and interest. It was not just another Sunday, with a later than usual dinner to follow. Christmas was always a special time, with thankful thoughts rekindled by the celebration over the coming to earth of a long-ago baby. And after the worship time, both personally and with the congregation, Virginia looked forward to the family being together. Especially the fact that Clara and Troy, with Anthony and Jeffrey, would be joining them. Virginia, a doting aunt, enjoyed her young nephews immensely.