The Tender Years by Janette Oke

know. I could try The Sweet Shop.”
    “I don’t think you’d find her there. Even a teenager could not drag a soda out to last so long. She’s never been this late before.”
    Virginia shifted nervously. They were right there—fretting about her. She was going to have to walk right into the lion’s den. She couldn’t even pretend. If only they were back in the parlor or out in the garden.
    “Do you think I should go get Papa?”
    There was a moment of silence. Virginia could envision her mother’s eyes lifting to the kitchen clock with its border of blue forget-me-nots. “He will be home anytime. It’s late.”
    “She’ll be here, Mama,” Clara said with assurance. “It’s hard for a young girl to leave her friends. It always seems that the others are having so much fun. Fun you hate to miss.”
    “Oh, Clara. I worry so about her. I’m not sure that her friendships are—that she has chosen wisely. I hope and pray—I just don’t want her to get hurt.”
    “She’s just a kid, Mama. She’ll be all right.”
    “But you never—”
    Clara laughed. “Of course I did. I struggled with acceptance just like Virginia. I just wasn’t quite brave enough to let it show so openly.”
    “You—?”
    “Of course. I think all kids do. Some just … just take it more seriously than others.”
    “Well, I never remember you being in direct defiance of our rules. I really worry about Virginia. I don’t know what to try next. We’ve prayed. We’ve reasoned. We’ve punished. We’ve—I’m going to have a talk with Grandma. Maybe she has some idea….”
    Virginia could not stand any more. With one quick movement she stepped forward and flung open the screen door. She stepped inside, her eyes flashing, her chin up. If they wished to chastise her, she was ready.
    At the sound behind her, her mother swung around. Her first reaction was one of intense relief. She moved slightly, and Virginia wondered if her mother was going to rush forward and crush her wayward girl to her breast. But her mother quickly checked herself. The look in her eyes turned to one of frustration.
    “Change your clothes, Virginia, and wash up. Supper will be on the table in a few minutes. We will discuss your tardiness after supper.”
    Virginia turned to go. They were not going to deal with it and get it over. She had to wait. Wait in misery. Suddenly she did not want any supper.
    “I’m not hungry,” she called back over her shoulder as she left the room.
    “You will join the family at the table,” her mother answered firmly. “Even if you just sit there.”
    So that little ploy had not worked, either. Anger began to take hold of her again. She might as well have stayed at the creek with her friends and had some fun. She was going to pay for it anyway.
    She changed her clothes and washed as she had been bidden, but she did not leave her room for the kitchen until her father called. At the sound of his voice, she dragged herself obediently toward the big kitchen table. It would not do to make her father call a second time.
    She slid into her seat and lowered her head. She did not wish to meet the eyes of any family member. She did not need to raise her head to know that her mother had prepared her favorite meal. She could smell the savory fried chicken. It made her stomach growl in spite of her determination. How could she just sit there and listen and smell as the rest of them enjoyed the crispy, succulent chicken? And she was hungry. She had not even had milk and cookies after school.
    Her father said the evening grace. Virginia scarcely listened to the words. She heard the Amen and roused herself. The passing of heaping serving bowls was about to begin. She would be tested beyond endurance.
    “I want the wishbone,” declared Francine, as she always did.
    “Please, may I have the wishbone?” her mother reminded, as she always did.
    Francine corrected her error.
    Virginia could have gone round the table and named the piece of