A Quiet Strength Read online

  However, the warm weather also meant that Jonathan was able to put in even longer days than usual. He’d work with the horses during the hours of sunshine, then move into the house to work by lamplight into the long, dark evenings.

  Virginia said nothing. Soon, hopefully very soon now, they would have their own home. At least she would be close enough to Jonathan to catch glimpses of him from the window as he worked with the animals in the corral. There would be some comfort in that.

  CHAPTER 8

  Virginia smiled her welcome over the post-office counter. Sarah Thompson was three years her junior, and they had never been more than acquaintances in school, but the fact that they had married the same summer gave them some kind of kinship.

  Sarah returned the smile along with a shy “Hello.”

  “I go past your house every day on my way to work. I love what you have done with the new bay window.”

  Sarah beamed. “That’s Geoffrey. He’s very good at carpentry. How’s your house coming?”

  “We hope to be in by Christmas.”

  “You must be really looking forward to that.”

  “I am. Some days I can hardly stand the wait,” said Virginia truthfully.

  “Well, Christmas isn’t far away now. I can’t believe how quickly it has come this year. When I was a youngster it seemed it would never arrive.”

  Sarah purchased two stamps for the letters she was posting and smiled again. She was turning to leave when the door opened.

  Virginia knew the woman by sight only. She was fairly new to the town and lived in the house next to Sarah and her Geoffrey. Any time Virginia and she had chanced to meet, she seemed loud and vulgar, so Virginia had never sought to encourage a friendship. Now the woman greeted Sarah in a rough, husky voice, posted a letter, and rummaged through the mailbox assigned to her.

  “See you got that new window in,” she observed with her back to the younger woman.

  “Yes. Geoffrey finished it last Thursday.”

  The woman turned slightly to look at the smiling face. “You seem mighty pleased with it.”

  “I am.”

  “And Geoffrey?”

  “He’s pleased, too.”

  “I wasn’t referring to your Geoffrey’s carpentry skills. I was meaning your Geoffrey. You still enamored?” The younger woman looked puzzled.

  “So you haven’t hit the stone wall yet?”

  “I’m sorry. I … I don’t understand.”

  “The stone wall, honey. The stone wall of reality. Every new bride hits it sooner or later. Sometimes it takes a while. Sometimes you hit it the first day.”

  “I don’t know …”

  The older woman’s harsh, mirthless laugh intruded on Sarah’s words. “Well, you haven’t hit it yet—that’s easy to tell. But you will. Mind me, you will. One of these days that shine will go from your eyes, and you’ll realize all those fairy tales of happy-ever-after are just that—fairy tales. No man is as good as he looks at the altar. But who am I to tell you that? You’ll find it out soon enough.”

  She gave the young woman a tap on the shoulder with the curled paper she held in her hand. Then she laughed heartily, the same hollow laugh. “Enjoy it while you can,” she said with another playful slap. Then she was gone.

  Sarah cast one pleading look Virginia’s way as though asking for someone to contradict the woman’s statement, then left silently.

  But the words seemed to hang heavily in the air around Virginia. Was there truth in what the woman said? Was there a time of reality when all young brides realized that fairy tales did not come true? That the knight in shining armor was nothing more than a fellow human full of faults, foibles, and weaknesses? Were her expectations of marriage unrealistic? Had her dreamlike vision of love been totally impossible to live up to—both for Jonathan and for herself? The thoughts troubled her for the remainder of the day.

  “Clara … have you ever hit the stone wall?”

  Clara stopped slicing the raisin loaf and turned to look at Virginia, her eyes puzzled and curious. “Stone wall? What stone wall?”

  “I don’t know … exactly. I overheard a discussion in the post office yesterday, and one woman insisted that every bride, sooner or later, hits the stone wall. ‘Of reality,’ she said. When you realize that marriage is not a fairy tale.”

  “Oh,” said Clara and continued to slice the loaf.

  When there was no further comment, Virginia pressed. “Is it true?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Clara. “I’ve only been one bride.”

  “But … did you?”

  Clara turned with the plate of sliced bread. “Have I hit the stone wall of reality? That’s not an easy question, Virginia.”

  “What do you mean, not easy?” Virginia asked, her tone impatient. “I would think you would know whether it has happened to you or not.”

  Clara took her place at the table and began to pour their tea. “Well, it all depends on how hard you have to hit the wall,” she said as she set the teapot on the table and put the cozy back in place to keep it warm.

  Virginia’s eyes stared at Clara’s face. She was becoming more and more impatient.

  “I suppose, to one degree or another, there comes a time when a woman—or a man, I’d imagine, but I won’t speak for them—realizes that marriage is—is more than the first blush of romance. Reality—life, if you will—has many demands on both the man and the woman. You have to face that. Sit down and take stock, if you know what I mean.”

  It sounded cold, calculating, to Virginia. Not one bit romantic.

  “We live in a world that demands our time and attention. I think that is even more true for the man than the woman. He is expected to provide a home, make a living, care for the needs of the family. And if he is at all worth his salt, he takes those needs seriously. We need to realize and respect that.

  “For us, who are more romantic creatures, sometimes we struggle with understanding. With finding the right balance. It is easy to miss the intent and just judge the actions.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, take Troy. I hate to use personal experience, but it’s the only one I am familiar with. I … I wouldn’t want to make you think that I’m not satisfied with Troy. He’s a wonderful husband. A wonderful father.”

  Virginia wished to tell Clara to just get on with her explanation.

  “There was a time when I thought Troy was spending far too much time at his father’s store. I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t rush right home and take me in his arms every day.”

  “He didn’t?”

  “No, he didn’t. In fact, at one point I accused him of purposely dawdling.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did—to my shame.”

  “How long had you been married?”

  “About six months.”

  “Did you have a spat?”

  Clara hesitated, then continued. “We did. One jolly good round.”

  “Did it …? Did he change?”

  “I’m not sure. But I know I did.”

  “You did?”

  “I decided, after prayer and tears, to grow up, Virginia.”

  “Grow up?”

  “I was acting like a child. Wanting his full attention. His declarations of love. I wanted to be his little princess, I guess. The one he worshiped and adored. Well, life’s not like that. And after thinking it through, I actually wouldn’t want it to be. We aren’t put together in a marriage to stroke each other’s ego. Marriage is a partnership. A blending of two lives. A working together. That’s where the commitment comes in. It’s a determination of the head—not the heart. No, I shouldn’t say it that way. It still involves the heart. It still is based on love, but it’s a new kind of love. A mature love. One that doesn’t ask, ‘What will you do for me?’ but rather, ‘What can I do for you?’ or ‘What can we do for each other?’ It gives meaning to love. To the whole marriage relationship.”

  Virginia sat and thought about the w
ords.

  “So it doesn’t bother you anymore if Troy is late?”

  Clara laughed. “Sure it does. Sometimes I’m still tempted to tell him so. But I understand now more about why he is late. I am more confident now in his love. His real love. Not just the flutter of heartbeats at the excitement of a stolen kiss.”

  Virginia thought of the evening before when Jonathan had sneaked a kiss when his grandmother’s back was turned. Her heart had beaten faster with the thrill of it.

  Virginia stirred. “So you are saying that every new bride does hit the stone wall?”

  “I don’t think it’s as drastic as hitting a wall, Virginia. I’ve heard the expression ‘The honeymoon is over.’ Haven’t you?”

  Virginia nodded, then said somberly, “I didn’t get a honeymoon.”

  “I know. That’s a shame. But personally, I don’t think they are essential. A trip later, when you know each other better and don’t have to sort through—”

  “No. I mean, I didn’t get a honeymoon time.

  Period.” Clara looked at her thoughtfully.

  “There’s never been a honeymoon time for Jonathan and me,” Virginia explained. “We’ve always had his grandmother there—with us in the room or asking Jonathan for his help or fussing over him. She cooks all his favorite foods and makes sure that his Sunday shirt is starched just so. Even at night … in our little bedroom, I fear that the walls are … are far too thin. I don’t even dare start—start an argument for fear she’ll be listening.” Virginia couldn’t help but chuckle at her own words, and Clara joined her.

  Sobering, Clara said, “I hadn’t realized …”

  “It’s been like that ever since the first day of our married life.”

  “Well, you will soon be in your own home, and then …”

  “We can’t go back and find those first lost days, Clara. They’re gone. We can never reclaim them.”

  Clara toyed with her cup. “Yes,” she said at last. “They are gone, and that’s a shame. And I think you’re right. You can’t go back to the beginning. The relationship has moved beyond that now. It will never again have the newness, the innocence of the beginning. But you can start where you are, Virginia. Maybe you’ve got a head start on that.”

  “How?”

  “By learning from where you have been. By trying to understand how it has been for Jonathan.”

  “Jonathan says that … that what he’s had has been enough to make him happy. He’s perfectly content to work at the farm all day and come home tired at night to a tiny room where we can scarcely turn around.”

  “Good!”

  “Good?”

  “You must be doing something right. Start there.”

  “I’m not doing anything. Not even cooking his meals.”

  “Why do you keep coming back to this meal business? Do you think all Jonathan thinks about is food?”

  “No. I … I guess it’s just … symbolic of caring for him, or something.”

  “And do you know what Jonathan sees as symbolic of caring for you? Building your house. Giving you shelter. That’s the expression of his love. And he won’t rest until it’s done. He’s driven to provide for you, Virginia. Until you are in that new home, Jonathan will feel a failure. He’ll feel that he has not expressed his love to you like he should.”

  Virginia shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “Oh boy. If he only knew that I’d trade all the new houses in the world for his time.”

  “‘Time’ can get a little chilly on a winter’s night. Real love is more practical than that.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments. “This tea is cold as rainwater.” Clara moved to pour out the objectionable beverage and returned for a fresh cup.

  “I’ve been impatient with Jonathan,” Virginia admitted frankly.

  “We all make mistakes.”

  “He’s been so sweet it hurts.”

  Clara reached out and took Virginia’s hand. “You’ve got a good man, little sister. Hang on to him. Make him happy.”

  Virginia nodded through her tears. “It still grieves me to think that we missed the fun, exciting honeymoon part,” she whispered, her chin trembling.

  When Clara did not speak, Virginia went on. “I didn’t even get the courting. The flowers. The candy. Those long moonlit walks. The …”

  “I’m sorry. You did miss a special time. But it was your choice.”

  “I know … but I guess I miss it. That special feeling that … I guess I didn’t understand how it would be.”

  “But you’ve got the best part ahead.”

  Virginia could not feel sure. “You think I’ve hit the wall?”

  “No. Only if you let it be a wall. You’ve come to a turning point. A decision-making time. Many couples flounder when the marriage reaches that point. But it’s a decision, Virginia. A choice you get to make. What are you going to do with a real marriage? Not a fairy tale. A real marriage. Are you going to throw your heart and soul into it and, with God’s help, build a happy and stable home with the man you love? Or are you going to retreat, still wanting to be the little princess on an imaginary throne? You can’t have it both ways.”

  “But I love romance.”

  “Romance? That’s when true romance begins. That’s when you learn to appreciate romance for what it really is. That’s the real beginning—not the end. You get so busy looking for ways to show love that your whole day becomes one exciting opportunity.”

  Virginia’s eyes widened, and she stared at her sister. “You still love Troy … like that?”

  “Still? No, not still. I love Troy more now than I ever have before. More than I ever did when I was going all giddy over his little love notes or our carved initials on a tree.”

  “But the honeymoon time …?”

  “I love him more than that, too. I see him now, carrying in groceries, fixing downspouts, shoveling snow from the walks. I watch him listen to the boys’ evening prayers, see him teach them how to hit a ball. I feel his concern about my tired back at the end of a day as he reaches out to massage away the ache, see in his eyes his love for this new baby—the one he doesn’t even know yet. Those are the things that I love about Troy. Those and many, many more.”

  Virginia straightened and dabbed at her eyes with her hankie. “I think I’m beginning to understand,” she said quietly. “I’m glad we had this little chat.”

  Clara squeezed the hand she still held.

  “I have a Christmas present for you,” Jonathan whispered to Virginia as he joined her beneath the feather quilt. She forced sleep from her foggy brain and tried to raise herself to a sitting position.

  “What?” she asked sleepily.

  “A new house?” His voice ended the statement like a question.

  Virginia came fully awake. “You mean …?”

  “It’s not totally finished. I’ll have to keep working on it as we go, but if you like, we can move in. It’s far enough along to be livable. If … you don’t mind putting up with that—for a while.”

  “But I thought …”

  “Your grandpa Clark has been helping me. We wanted it to be a surprise.”

  Did she mind? Would she put up with an unfinished house? There was no doubt in her mind. They would be together. They would be alone. It was an answer to her prayers.

  “Oh, Jonathan.”

  Virginia threw herself into his arms. But it was tears that came rather than laughter. She wasn’t sure, but in the darkness she wondered if there were tears on his cheeks, too.

  CHAPTER 9

  It was neither large nor fancy. There were no bay windows. No winding staircases. The structure was plain and solid. The simple floor plan was designed for practicality. As yet there was no trim around the doors and windows. No finishing paint or wallpaper on the walls. Yet Virginia could not have imagined the excitement she felt upon moving into her very own home. It was like every Christmas, every birthday, every picnic—and the first time Jonathan said he loved her—all rolled into on
e. Jonathan watched and chuckled. Then shook his head, by turn. He’d had no idea just how much having her own place would mean to her.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to bake bread,” she enthused as she ran a hand lovingly over the surface of the new stove’s gleaming enamel oven door. Then she rushed about making up beds, hanging temporary curtains, spreading out rugs.

  “Just think. I can unpack all the dishes. They have a cupboard now.”

  And on and on she went, savoring every minute of the new experience.

  That evening when Jonathan came in from his final chores, Virginia handed him a mug of hot chocolate and beckoned to him to join her by the fireplace. Together they sipped and chatted as the fire crackled in the hearth, and the sound of an occasional whinny was the only intrusion from the outside night.

  “You must be exhausted,” Jonathan observed.

  “I am a little weary, but it’s a good tired. I like this kind of work much better than any old post-office job,” she noted, inwardly thankful once again that she had been able to quit when they moved.

  “I guess your ‘nesting’ is much like my building. Tired doesn’t count.”

  Virginia shook her head to clear her thinking and stared at the fireplace flames. Was that how it had been for Jonathan? Was his eagerness to get the home built similar to her eagerness to actually move in and live there? No wonder he often had not come back until the middle of the night.

  “I still have more to do tomorrow,” Virginia said, turning to him, “but I’m amazed at how much I was able to get done today.”

  Jonathan’s eyes roamed the room. “It looks real homey,” he observed.

  “It does, doesn’t it? It feels homey, too.” She moved from her chair to sit at his feet and lean her head against his knee. “Jonathan, I can’t tell you how happy I am. Almost like we’re … we’re starting fresh….” She didn’t explain further, but Jonathan’s hand stroked her hair in unspoken response.