A Searching Heart (7 page)

“Bet she was glad. . . .”

“She cried.”

Virginia herself had to choke back tears just thinking of the emotional moment.

“I'm going to take my gift,” spoke up Rodney.

“Hey, I don't have anything.” Danny looked up, concern on his face, as though the whole event had caught him totally by surprise and he had suddenly realized that he was actually an uncle. He turned to his siblings. “Can I run quick and get something?”

“No,” responded Francine. “I don't want to wait. You can get him something later, Danny,” she informed him with sisterly aplomb.

But Danny had already risen from the table and was heading for his bedroom. “I'll meet you there,” he called back, his words muted by a mouthful of food.

Virginia was busily clearing the table. Francine jumped up to help her.

“Remember,” Belinda warned, “don't stay long. And try not to tire her with questions.”

“How long is long?” asked literal-minded Francine.

“Ten or fifteen minutes. But Luke will be there. He'll shoo you out if he sees Clara tiring.”

“I can't wait to hold him,” Francine enthused as Virginia prepared the water for the dishes.

Virginia was thinking the same thing. In fact, she had fully expected to be the first with the honor of holding Clara's new son.

“Don't bother with the dishes,” Belinda said. “I'll wash up.”

Virginia wheeled away to remove and hang her apron. “We won't be long—promise,” she said to her mother. “Leave the dishes and we'll do them when we get back.” Already she was walking briskly toward her bedroom to gather the last of the baby things for little Anthony.

It was an excited group that hurried through the streets bearing their gifts for the new nephew. But as they neared Clara's little house on the edge of town, their pace slowed and their voices became hushed. Uncertainty as to what they might find made them somber and silent.

They did not bother to knock but cautiously let themselves in the back door. Their uncle Luke sat at the kitchen table, coffee cup nearby, his hands busy writing out some report. He greeted them brightly, the first indication to Virginia that their

fears might be unfounded.

“So you've come to see the new baby?”

They nodded their answer.

He rose from his chair. “I'd prefer to bring him out, but Clara would throw something at me. I know she'll want to see your faces when you get your first peek.”

“How is Clara?” Virginia whispered over a lump in her throat.

“Clara?”

Luke's voice was strong and loud to Virginia's ears. She almost hushed him.

“Like every new mama. So excited she can't sleep. Her eyes are always on that crib. C'mon, I'll show you.”

They tiptoed down the hall behind him. To Virginia, his masculine steps thumped and echoed on the hardwood flooring. Again, she wished to hush him.

Clara lay pale among her pillows, her hair fanned out over their whiteness, her thin arms limp beside her body. But her eyes shone with a light that Virginia had never seen there before.

“Come in,” she welcomed them with a smile. Her voice sounded no stronger than her frame looked.

Rodney had stopped short. It was the first he had seen his older sister since Christmas, and the shock of her illness and its effects on her body caught him totally by surprise. Virginia nudged him quickly. He regained a measure of composure, swallowed hard, and moved forward again.

“Hi, Clara.” Virginia quickly filed in and hurried over to press a kiss on her sister's cheek. “We couldn't wait to see little Anthony.”

“He's beautiful,” the new mother managed, and the sparkling eyes misted.

“How are you?” Virginia whispered for Clara's ears only.

Clara lifted a tired hand, but the smile did not leave her face. “I'll be fine once I . . . once they find out what's wrong.”

Virginia gave the hand a squeeze.

A squeal behind her told her that Francine had beat her to the baby. “Look at him.”

Virginia wheeled around to see that Francine already had the new nephew in her arms and was gazing down at him with flushed cheeks and glowing eyes. The bundle of blankets around the wee baby hid everything but blue wrappings. She felt a bit cheated that she had not been the first to hold him. Hadn't she been the one caring for Clara over the past several months?

Rodney pressed close to Francine and reached out a hand to push back some blanket. Virginia got a look at the child for the first time. He did have creamy white skin. Creamy white with a gentle flush when he squirmed. Round, soft cheeks, and the tiniest bit of a nose above the puckered mouth. His eyes were closed, but even in his sleep his mouth worked slightly, as though he might be searching for food but a little unsure as to where and how to find it. Hair covered the top of his perfectly round head like a small dark cap.

Virginia held her breath. So this was Anthony. Her nephew. The one they had all been waiting for.

She laid the gifts she had brought on Clara's bed and tiptoed slowly over to Francine. “Can I . . . ?”

“Not yet. I just got him.”

“But I . . .”

“Then it's my turn,” said Rodney.

Virginia wanted to protest. He was her baby. She had looked after his mother. In some strange, unexplained way she felt that she had some rights where this new baby was concerned. But as quickly as the feelings came, they were dismissed. Of course that was silly. He was Clara's baby. She was just an auntie. No more or no less than the one who now held him. And Rodney, as an uncle, had as much right as she.

Still, it was very hard to step back and wait her turn. She hoped that Danny would not suddenly burst into the room and announce that he was next in line.

Francine at last relinquished the baby to Rodney's waiting arms, and Virginia was one step closer to her goal. Francine retrieved the small parcel she had dropped on the table by the door and moved to the bed to greet Clara.

“I brought him this,” she said as she placed the package on the bed and leaned to kiss her sister.

Clara murmured her thanks and with shaky hands began to tear the wrapping from the gift.

Virginia, watching, felt further concern.
She is so weak. I hadn't realized just how bad things have gotten. Will she ever be able to care for her baby?

Clara was smiling, a weak, yet excited smile as she drew forth Francine's gift. “A romper. It's sweet. He'll be needing this before we know it. Thank you, Francine. Did you make it yourself?”

“Mama helped me,” Francine admitted.

“It's lovely.”

Virginia turned back to Rodney, her impatience barely in check. Just then, as she had feared, Danny came thumping down the hall and into the room. He was puffing from his run to the store, and his cheeks were flushed from his hurry and excitement. In his hand he held a brown paper package. Without waiting for any kind of greeting, he placed it near Clara on the bed.

“It's not wrapped proper. I didn't have time,” he panted out.

Clara managed a weak chuckle. “Thank you, Danny.”

It was a tan-colored teddy bear with a red bow tied askew around its neck. “He'll love this,” said Clara, her eyes filling up again. But Danny had not stopped to hear her response. He had moved to Rodney and was carefully taking the baby into his own arms.

“Hey, little fella,” he said as he looked down. “This is your uncle Daniel.” His eyes softened as he gazed at the child in his arms. Virginia was reminded of the same tenderness he showed when he was nursing one of his injured animals. “I'm gonna teach you all about creatures—and things. You can go with me to the woods and the creek, and we'll see bird nests and rabbit burrows and . . .”

“Danny,” laughed Francine. “He doesn't understand. . . .”

Danny's head jerked up. “How do you know?” he flung back at her. “Lots of folks think that animals don't understand, either.”

Luke, who had left the room after admitting the family, crossed to Clara's bed and reached a hand to her forehead, watching her with a doctor's steady gaze. Virginia had not even heard his footsteps return.

“Time's about up,” he said softly but cheerily.

Virginia felt a moment of panic. She did not wish to jeopardize the health of her sister, but she had not yet had a chance to hold the baby. Her eyes turned to her uncle, pleading.

“I'd like—I'd like Virginia to stay a few moments.” Clara's voice was weak but it held authority.

Luke nodded, seeming to understand. “Not too long,” he cautioned Virginia, and taking the baby from Danny's arms, he placed him in Virginia's, then ushered the other three from the room.

Virginia looked down at the bundle she held. He was so little. So weightless. It was as if she were holding a bundle of blankets. He squirmed and searched with open mouth. One eye partially opened. Then both. Wide and seeking. They were dark. Just like her mama had said. They seemed to look right up into her face. Virginia wished to introduce herself—like Danny, but she couldn't say a word. Just stood and stared at this little miracle in her arms.

Had she been able to talk, she would have told him of the love that was washing through her whole being as she held him close. She would have let him know that she had prayed over and over for his safe arrival. Now that he was here, she would go on loving him. Caring for him. Protecting him—if possible—from all of the hurts and bumps of an indifferent world. But Virginia said none of these things. Her heart was too full to be able to speak.

“Come here,” whispered Clara and patted the bed beside her.

Virginia moved over to the bed, bearing her precious bundle. Carefully she placed herself on the edge of it. She felt Clara's hand lift to her arm, but she did not take her eyes off the baby.

“I think . . . I think you might understand a little of what I feel when I hold him,” Clara said softly. “I can see it in your face.”

Virginia looked at Clara and saw that her eyes were again full of happy tears.

“Someday,” Clara went on, “it will be your turn. To hold a baby of your own. It's . . . it's something indescribable, Virginia. Something so precious that you can't put it into words. If I never . . . never do another thing in my life, I will feel that I have really lived.”

Virginia looked from the small child to his weak mother. Fear gripped her heart. Did Clara mean . . . ? Surely not.

But Clara looked so totally at peace that the tightness began to leave Virginia's chest.

“And you've helped to give me this, Virginia,” Clara went on. “All of those months of nursing and cooking and cleaning so that I could reach this moment. And all of the sewing. He wouldn't have a thing to wear if it weren't for you.”

Virginia smiled, knowing that was an exaggeration, but she didn't care. Willing, for the moment, to overlook the many items that her mother and grandmother had added to the baby's chest of drawers.

“I can never thank you enough. Never. You've given me the most precious gift that one could ever give,” Clara finished.

The baby began to squirm in earnest. Clara reached out a hand to pull back the blanket. She chuckled softly again. “So you want to eat again, do you, Anthony? All right. Come to Mama.”

Virginia reluctantly relinquished the baby into Clara's open arms.

She stood. “I must go,” she whispered, “or Uncle Luke will come throw me out.”

“I know.”

She reached down to kiss Clara's cheek, then pressed a kiss on the top of Anthony's soft baby head, as well. Her eyes flashed a silent message to her sister, then she tiptoed from the room.

When she entered the kitchen, her uncle Luke looked up from his writing. “The others went on,” he told her. “Said they hoped you didn't mind.”

Virginia shook her head. She did not mind. In fact she was glad. Glad to be alone. She was filled with so many emotions that she looked forward to some private time to try to sort them through. The walk home alone was just what she needed.

———

“Seen a lot of scurrying around your house lately,” a voice greeted her as she passed Mr. Adamson's fence. He was there, stooped and tottery, his wrinkled face showing deep interest and concern.

Virginia stopped. “Clara has a son. Born yesterday,” she informed him, her face breaking into a broad smile.

“How is she?”

Virginia's smile faded but did not entirely disappear. “She . . . she's very happy . . . but not strong yet.”

He said nothing. Just nodded. One hand reached up to remove the battered hat, and his eyes dropped to the ground at his feet. Virginia wondered if, in the short silence that followed, he was praying.

Then he lifted his eyes again, and the dirt-covered hand pushed the hat roughly back on his darkened silver hair. He nodded, seeming to have all of the information he needed. “I'll send her some of these early roses,” he said as he turned away.

Virginia noticed how unsteady he had become on his feet and how his hands trembled slightly as he picked up his garden trowel from the fence post where he had placed it.

“She'd like that,” she answered before she moved on toward home.

———

In the days that followed, much of Virginia's time was taken with duties at Clara's or filling in at home while her mother helped Clara. Clara was not regaining strength as they had hoped.

Virginia loved looking after small Anthony. Even the washing of the baby items seemed much more fun than hanging the home laundry out on long lines in the summer sun. She loved watching Troy and his loving pride in his tiny son.

Clara tried to push herself as she choked down nourishing food or attempted simple bed exercises to improve her strength. She was determined that she would be able to care for her own baby. She insisted on changing diapers and burping after feedings and singing him lullabies. Virginia often was concerned that Clara might be trying too hard, pushing too fast, but she knew that her uncle Luke was keeping a sharp eye on Clara.