Free A Quiet Strength by Janette Oke

to—”
    “My mind wouldn’t be on it in the same way,” he cut in. “That’s all. I would be too busy thinking about you.”
    “And you don’t think about me as long as I am out of sight—is that it?”
    “Of course I think about you.”
    “But not enough for it to cause any disturbance of your work?”
    Her voice had risen with a shrillness that neither of them were accustomed to hearing. He stood to his feet and tucked in his shirt, then snapped his suspenders into place over his shoulders.
    “I … I don’t know what you’re saying,” he began softly. “Please … let’s not have a misunderstanding. What I meant is simply that—”
    “What you mean is what you just said. You don’t want me around because it might cause you to think about me, and that would be a … a disturbance.”
    “I didn’t say anything about disturbance. That was your word.”
    “Nor did you deny it,” Virginia threw back at him.
    “I didn’t deny it because in a way, it’s true. Your presence on the building site might be disturbing. When I am dealing with heavy beams and boards, I need full concentration. If you were there, I doubt I could give it. I would be wondering if you were all right, if you were in any danger.”
    “Jonathan,” said Virginia, her hands going to her hips and her breath coming in little gasps, “you have not given me your full concentration since the day I set foot in this house. The farm, the house, your grandmother—they all get far more of your attention than I do.”
    He looked stunned. Her words seemed to have reached him with full impact. Virginia could read in his face just how much pain they had inflicted. For one moment she felt triumph—glorious triumph. She did have his full attention now. He lifted one helpless hand toward her and started to say something, shook his head and thought better of it. The hand continued on up to brush at his hair, a gesture of frustration and defeat. Then he turned from her.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. That was all. Then he left, closing the door quietly behind him. Virginia supposed that he had done so out of consideration for his grandmother. She heard the outer back door close quietly, as well. Any feelings of triumph seemed to have departed with him. She threw herself on the rumpled bed and wept.

    “All married couples have little tiffs.” Jenny’s words came back to Virginia many times as she focused all her energy into routing the weeds from Grandmother Withers’ back flower bed. Well, at least Jonathan had not left her with a bruised cheek. His quiet “I’m sorry” still rang in her ears. No comeback, no argument, no defensiveness, no telling her to be reasonable. Just “I’m sorry.” And he had truly sounded as though he was.
    Virginia tore at the weeds and watered the garden with salty tears as she worked her way across the flower bed. She wished it were weedier. Bigger. She would be done before she knew it, and then what would she do with the rest of her day? She wished she were at the post office. At least then she would have something to occupy her thoughts and her hands. Perhaps there was some grocery shopping that needed to be done. No. She had done that yesterday. She could go have tea with her mother. No. Belinda would quickly perceive that something was wrong. Maybe Clara. Maybe Clara had a job that needed some help. No. Clara had said that she was taking the kids to the farm to see the great-grandparents. Virginia wished she had begged to go along.
    What would she do with the long, lonely day? Jonathan was sure to work until there was no more light for pounding a nail. Then, with the help of the lantern, he would make one more round to be sure all the stock was safe and secure. Then it was the long trip home. Oh, not that long. Just long for one who was tired from a day of hard labor. Jonathan always came home sweaty and exhausted. Ready to fall into bed as quickly as possible.
    From feelings of anger, Virginia’s thoughts