The Tender Years Page 10

  Virginia wondered if things would ever be the same again. The whole town was in turmoil over the accident. Confusion and conflicting reports seemed to surface on every hand. Each story had a new twist—new rumors about the incident. Virginia heard things that were absolutely outlandish. There had been six on the raft, and one body had never been found. Old Mr. Taggart had taken four shots at the youngsters as they tried to steal his raft, but had luckily missed each time. Rett Marshall had swum after the raft for miles, overtaking it in the deepest and most turbulent water. Rett Marshall had hid in the bushes at the side of the creek and waylaid the rafters, deliberately overturning the raft and letting the passengers flounder in the churning water without even so much as offer? ing any assistance.

  The stories went on and on. It both frightened and sickened Virginia.

  Ruthie and Sam were well enough to return to school near the end of the week. Ruthie seemed nervous and self-conscious about her bruised cheek and stitches, but Sam swaggered just a bit, enjoying the attention and assuming a role of great bravado.

  Georgie returned the next week, a bandage covering a good deal of his forehead. Virginia could not help but wonder just what kind of damage the white patch hid from view, but George seemed to prefer to not talk about it.

  The reports on Jenny sounded better than the initial concerns about her condition. In spite of her lacerations and broken bones, she seemed to be healing nicely. Virginia wondered if she should pay a call, but she was hesitant. She did not know if the girl would welcome her at all into her sickroom.

  On the other hand, the news on Freddie was still cause for deep concern. Virginia could not keep his face from appearing in her troubled dreams, haunting her night after night. The young lad’s face was always serious, almost begging. Never once did she see in her dreams the crooked smile or the teasing eyes. When folks in town asked for reports on Freddie Crell, no one seemed to have any real answers. Even her uncle Luke, in his hushed doctor’s voice, did not know if the boy would recover. Freddie was still unconscious, needing around-the-clock nursing care. Virginia’s mother took shifts along with two other area women.

  School finally finished, and the warmer days of summer settled in. Virginia hoped that the world would now return to some kind of normalcy. But that was not to be. Just as she began to relax, word came that Freddie Crell had passed away. He had never regained consciousness.

  It was a sad funeral. Virginia sat and bit her trembling lip as she watched Freddie’s family mourn their dead. His two sisters wept uncontrollably, and his younger brother, looking straightforward, sat with his face fixed in a grim set. He seemed determined not to cry, but it likely was anger that simmered in his eyes in place of the sorrow that should have been there. His mother wiped tears until she had sopped several hankies, and his father, a big barrel-chested man, looked about to explode in grief and rage at any moment.

  Folks worried about the Crell family. What long-range effects would the deep grief of the parents have on the rest of the family? Virginia heard her parents discussing it in hushed tones.

  And now her nightly dreams turned into agonizing night? mares. On more than one occasion Virginia awoke in a cold sweat, sobs shaking her body. She had seen Freddie’s face again, and now it was not just somber, it was filled with panic. And always, always, he was slipping away from her, over a precipice, into a deep hole, inside a whirling eddy … and always, he was just out of reach of her hand.

  It wasn’t until summer was half over that Virginia saw Jenny. They both seemed frozen in place on the boardwalk outside the local grocers. Virginia wasn’t sure just how to act. What to say. Would Jenny still be her enemy?

  Jenny did not exactly smile, but she didn’t turn away, either. She looked older. Sadder. There was no more bubbling mirth ready to spill out at the least provocation.

  “Hello,” Virginia at last dared to say, almost shyly. “Are you—is your arm better?”

  Jenny shrugged. She still carried her arm in a sling. Uncle Luke said that she would need some therapy to get the hand working well again.

  “Does it still hurt?”

  “Not much,” responded Jenny.

  That seemed to be the end of the conversation. Jenny turned away, and Virginia swallowed her disappointment and entered the store.

  The next week Virginia saw Jenny again at a community picnic. She looked so alone and forlorn that Virginia could not help but feel pity. Still, she could not get up the courage to make any kind of friendly overture. She was surprised when Jenny approached her.

  “Are you still mad?”

  Virginia looked at her evenly. “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  It was all that was said. Perhaps it was all that needed to be said—for the time. They just stood there, silently, beside each other, not talking, not even touching, but no longer alone.

  But Virginia was still not sure just what the relationship should be. Were they really friends? Were they just not enemies? She knew she didn’t want to get into trouble with Jenny again. Would that be a temptation So she held herself aloof, wishing to assure Jenny that there were no hard feelings, but not daring to take the new friendship any further.

  “How is that little Woods girl?” her mother asked one afternoon as she busied herself in the kitchen and Virginia poured a glass of milk to go with some of Clara’s fresh gingerbread.

  Virginia shrugged. “She’s okay.”

  “Is her arm healed?”

  “Not completely, I guess. Her hand still doesn’t work quite right.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  There was silence for a few moments while her mother chopped some onions for the stew.

  “You should invite her over.”

  The words surprised Virginia.

  “I don’t think she’d come.”

  “Why not?”

  “I dunno. She doesn’t visit much.”

  “Maybe she’s not had invitations.”

  Virginia thought about that. Maybe that was the reason.

  “She doesn’t have a ma.”

  “I know. That must be very hard for her.”

  Virginia thought about that, too. While she was thinking, her mother spoke again. “I understand that her father is almost always away from home.”

  Virginia had not known that, but she wasn’t surprised.

  “He works,” she answered after another sip of milk.

  “Most fathers work. But some of them have more time for family than others.”

  Virginia thought of her own father. She knew that he was a very busy man, yet he always seemed to find time to spend with the family.

  “I think her father is still mad,” she offered.

  “Mad?” Her mother turned to face her.

  “About her ma. She left them and ran off.”

  “Oh.” Her mama must have known the local gossip. The one word was spoken softly, yet somehow it carried with it a great deal of feeling. Her mother turned back to her stew again. She lifted a spoonful and tasted it for seasoning.

  “Then Jenny really needs a friend. She must be dreadfully lonely.”

  Virginia’s impatience flared. “Mama,” she said more can? didly than she had ever spoken to her mother before. “She’s the one that got me in all the trouble. She coaxed me to go to The Sweet Shop, and … and …” She decided to let all of the minor things that Jenny had talked her crowd into doing go unsaid and went straight to the big event. “She thought of the idea to go to the creek. She stole the—”

  “I see.”

  Silence again.

  “You feel it was Jenny’s fault that you got into trouble?” When Virginia didn’t answer, her mother went on, “Jenny forced you to go along with her plans?”

  “Well, no.” Virginia finally acknowledged.

  “But now you don’t want to be her friend?”

  That wasn’t it at all. She had thought her mother would not want her to have Jenny for her friend.

  “You don’t think you are stro
ng enough—have grown up enough—to resist her coaxing, is that it?”

  Virginia honestly didn’t know. She had made out just fine over the summer months without Jenny. She had not been in trouble with her parents once. At least not much. There had been a few little incidents—but nothing major. Nothing even near trips down swollen creeks on stolen rafts.

  Her mama turned to her, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached the table where Virginia sat. “I know that this is—this can be confusing … in a way. But, Virginia, there is a vast difference between befriending someone who needs our friendship, and being a part of joining in with them in things that we know to be wrong.”

  She hesitated.

  “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  Virginia reached up to wipe the milk from her mouth. She wasn’t sure. But yes—yes, she thought she could understand the difference. She nodded slowly.

  “Do you suppose we might be able to help her—if we work together?”

  Virginia frowned. She had no idea what her mother wanted. Jenny was not looking for a grown-up friend.

  “You can invite her over here. Then the temptations won’t be so great. Invite some of your other friends with her if she won’t come alone. I have the feeling that she is a very lonely little girl.”

  “Mama, she’s not little. She’s already had her fourteenth birthday. She’s even older than me.”

  Her mother smiled. “I know, Virginia. I’m sorry, but some? day you’ll know why parents talk about their youngsters that way.” She paused a moment, then suggested, “We could invite her to join us for church.”

  “She’d never go to church.”

  “How do you know? Have you asked her?”

  “Well … no … but …”

  “There, you see. We’ll never know until we ask her.”

  Virginia remembered Jenny’s comment about going to the church Youth Group. But that was so she could be near Jamison and wasn’t really meant to be serious. Of course she had never come. Virginia was sure that she would never come. Jenny wasn’t the type to enjoy anything to do with church. She even used bad words. She wouldn’t fit.

  Virginia supposed she should be glad that her mother was interested in helping Jenny. But for some reason she felt pushed into a corner again. She already knew Jenny. Jenny would not want to be crowded and pressured toward becoming part of the church. Virginia knew that. Yet she knew what she’d been taught. That Christians were to be healers. Helpers. Sharers of their faith. How could she be that for Jenny? She wasn’t even sure if she had a faith. At least not the kind of faith that her mother and father had. Not the kind that Clara’s Troy spoke of to the Youth Group.

  Virginia crossed to the sink to rinse out her milk glass. Her mother was still waiting for her answer. But it would never work. She had no idea how to be a disciple. Not really. And if she was going to try to be one, she certainly would not start with Jenny. Not Jenny. Never. Jenny didn’t need friends pushing their way into her life. Jenny picked her own friends. And at the moment, Virginia did not feel that she would be comfortable being one of them.

  CHAPTER 10

  More rumors began to circulate around town. Mr. Crell was not at all sure that the facts of the creek accident were as stated. Reports varied as to what Mr. Crell was actually saying, but always Rett Marshall’s name came up in some accusatory way. Folks initially were shaking their heads in total denial, but gradually even those who immediately rejected such possibilities were not quite so quick to dismiss the scraps of poor evidence. It was unsettling to say the least.

  Normally such bits of neighborhood gossip would never have been discussed in the Simpson household, but one night at their supper table the topic was tentatively brought up by Danny, who could not have missed hearing bits and pieces of the buzzing about town.

  “They are saying awful things about Rett. Crazy things.”

  Virginia saw her father and mother exchange glances.

  “We don’t need to believe all we hear,” her father replied calmly.

  “But it isn’t right to say it. Rett would never do anything like that.”

  “Like what?” asked Francine innocently. She was too young to have been part of the gossip mill in the local school system.

  “That he would hurt someone.”

  Francine’s eyes grew larger. Virginia saw first fear, then determined dismissal. “He wouldn’t,” said Francine with some confidence. “One time I fell and scraped my knee, and he came and helped me up and brushed me off and put some salve from a little tin in his coat pocket on it. It felt better right away.”

  “See,” Danny said with a look of defiance around the table, as though speaking to Rett’s accusers.

  Virginia had heard the rumors, too. It made her feel uneasy. After all, no one knew for sure just what had happened at the creek.

  “They say he tipped the raft,” Danny explained.

  “No one has any evidence to substantiate that,” put in their father quickly.

  Francine frowned.

  “They say he was just mad at the boys for always teasing him and wanted to get even,” Danny continued.

  “That is pure speculation.” Again from their father.

  “They say—”

  Their father pushed back his chair and cleared his throat. Danny paused in midsentence.

  “I think it’s time to put a few facts before us here,” said their father as all eyes turned to his face, “as they have been related by those involved.”

  There was total silence.

  “Now, we had an accident at the creek this spring,” he began in his best lawyer fashion.

  Virginia sighed. Was the terrible incident never going to go away? Would it haunt her forever? Maybe everyone—forever. She still was having trouble sleeping, and she had heard that George had lost weight. He wasn’t able to eat properly and often screamed out in the night. His folks were worried about him.

  But her father was continuing.

  “There were five young people on the raft. They were all thrown into the water and rescued—in one way or another—in various conditions. Rett was there—we know that. All four of the remaining members have testified to that.

  “Rett did not tip the raft. George clearly remembers the raft hitting something and flipping. Ruth Riant verifies that story. Ruth also says that she saw Rett come running from the bushes after she was clinging to the branch. At that point, his clothing was not wet. It was Ruth who yelled to Rett, ‘Freddie’s in there.’ That was when Rett plunged into the water.

  “He stayed in the water for some time, feeling his way, totally going under, but could not find the boy. When he came out, Sam Boycie was on the bank by then. Sam was confused, but he does remember Ruthie screaming that Jenny was hurt. Rett turned from looking for Freddie and brought Jenny up on the bank. Then he went back in.

  “He still could not find Freddie, so he came out, ran farther downstream, and went in again. That time he kept working his way on downstream, feeling his way, going under every now and then. He was almost to the bend in the creek when he finally came up with Freddie in his arms. He carried him back and laid him beside the others. Then he went and helped Ruthie. Then he left.”

  “See!” said Danny.

  Francine was busy brushing away tears that streamed down her cheeks. Her tender heart still could not bear to hear the story.

  Virginia sat trembling. In spite of the time that had passed, it was too real—too personal. It made her feel sick inside.

  “Now, we do admit that there are a few discrepancies in the stories that the four young folks tell—but nothing of significance. It all seems to add up to a full and quite acceptable account. There is no doubt in my mind that what Rett did was only in the best interest of the accident victims.”

  It seemed so settled—so clear—that Virginia could not help but wonder why all the silly rumors had even gotten started. But her father cleared his throat again.

  “Now, the fact also remains
that Mr. Crell is not satisfied with that story. He says that Rett has never liked his son—and even admits that Freddie, ‘in the mischievousness of youth,’ sometimes teased Rett a bit.”

  “Teased?” scoffed Rodney. “Those boys were downright monsters to Rett.”

  Danny looked ready to add his piece, but their father held up his hand.

  “Mr. Crell asked for a full investigation. We’ve done that—as much as possible. Our piecing together of the facts—as we were given them—still does not satisfy Mr. Crell. He wanted to go to court over the matter. I assured him there was no evidence to indicate that the events were contrary to what I have just stated; therefore, there was no reasonable indication that it should go further. For the time it has been dropped, but I don’t believe that Mr. Crell is happy with the decision. He may try again.”

  “It’s not fair,” Danny stated stoutly. “Rett is a hero, and they treat him like a crook.”

  “Life is not always fair,” agreed their father. “On the other hand, the Crells lost a son. One cannot deal with such a loss without some scars. I can understand the anger. The pain. It’s natural to want to fight back. To find some reason. Even if it means hurting another individual. We don’t always reason correctly when we have been deeply hurt.”

  Virginia’s eyes fell on her father’s empty sleeve. Had he reasoned correctly after his accident she wondered. Had he looked for someone to blame for what had happened to him?

  But her mother’s voice interrupted those thoughts. “We all need to pray for the Crell family,” she said softly. “It is a terrible thing to lose a child. His parents are hurt and confused and striking out. It is not an uncommon thing. Don’t be too harsh in your criticism. Remember—we never know how we will respond to suffering. The Crells seem to have refused the comfort that God could give. And the church. The pastor has tried to call, but he’s always been firmly and coolly turned away. We must pray.”

  Her father cleared his throat again. His eyes circled the table.