Love Comes Softly

by Janette Oke

  Marty entered the house to find a puzzled Clark. “I was thinkin’ Missie would be in some kind o’ state and would need some comfortin’ from her pa, but she’s still sleepin’ sound like,” he said. “Clare’s awake, but he don’t look none the worse for wear.” Clark grinned down at the contented baby in the crib. “Who be needin’ me?” he asked wryly.

  She stared at him dumbly, seeing his lips were cracked and bleeding from the heat of the fire. She had bravely, if nearly frantic with worry, held on through the night, answering questions about where to find the coffee and all and was she okay. She had restrained herself from running out into the barnyard to see if Clark was really all right. She had kept herself from angrily lashing out against whoever or whatever had let such a disastrous thing happen to Clark, he who worked so hard, who helped his neighbors, who was so patient and talked quietly and never lost his temper, who didn’t drink and mistreat his family, who believed in God and prayed to Him daily, who lived by the Book and what it said.

  Why, why did this have to happen to Clark? she railed silently. Why not lazy Jedd Larson or—or... After having lived through this tragic night, and now seeing Clark safe in front of her, Marty could hold it all in no longer. She turned away, leaned against the wall, and let the sobs overtake her.

  She felt his hands on her shoulders, and he turned her to him, then pulled her gently into his arms. He held her close like he would a weeping child, stroking the long hair falling over her shoulders. He said nothing and simply let her weep against his chest.

  Finally she was able to stop, all the confusion and anger drained from her. She pulled herself away, wiping her face on her apron. “Oh, Clark,” she whispered, “whatever air we gonna do now?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment, and then he spoke so calmly she knew he felt sure of his answer. “Well, we’re gonna pray, an’ what He sees us to be needin’, He’ll give; an’ what He sees we don’ need, He’ll make us able to do without.”

  Marty led the way to the table, and they sat and bowed their heads together. Then Clark reached for the Book, quietly opened it, and began reading, “‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.... ’”

  * * *

  When Clark came in for breakfast after chores that morning, Marty learned that the cows had run off in terror. The horses, too, had scattered. The pigs were safe in their pens, as were the chickens, but Clark was hard put finding enough to satisfy them without delving too deeply into the precious seed grain that had escaped the blaze. The grazing stock, one pasture over, stood in their shelter bawling to be fed, but with what? All their feed had gone up in smoke. “I jest did the best thet I could fer now,” Clark commented with a shrug.

  Marty fretted over his cracked lips and blistered hands, but Clark lightly brushed aside her concern.

  Missie was strangely quiet as they ate, no doubt sensing something was amiss as she looked between her pa and mama.

  Finally Marty could hold the question in no longer. “What ya plannin’ to do?”

  “First off, I’m goin’ over to Ben’s,” Clark answered matter-of-factly. “He said he’d be right glad to take two of the milk cows. He’ll feed ’em both in exchange fer the milk from the one thet’s still milkin’. When I have me feed again, we’ll get ’em back.”

  “An’ the rest of the stock?”

  “We’ll have to be sellin’ the fifteen head in the grazin’ pen.”

  “An’ the hogs?”

  “Most of ’em will have to go. I hope to spare me a young sow or two.”

  “How ya be feedin’ ’em?”

  “The seed grain wasn’t lost. It’s in the bins by the pig lot. I’ll have to hold me off plantin’ thet new land I’d been countin’ on ’til another year an’ use some of the grain to feed a sow through to spring.”

  “An’ the horses?”

  “Horses are fair good at grazin’ even in the winter. They can paw down through the snow. I’ll take me a bit of money from the sellin’ of the stock to git me enough feed to look to the one milk cow thet we keep.”

  “Ya got it all figured already,” Marty said in awe.

  “Not quite all, but I been workin’ on it. We maybe have to skimp a bit here an’ there, but we’ll make it. Iffen all goes well, come crop time, we’ll be gettin’ on our feet agin.”

  An’ the fare back east? Marty didn’t ask the question out loud, but Clark somehow must have seen the question in her eyes.

  He looked steadily at her for a moment, then spoke slowly. “When I asked ya to set yerself in here to care fer Missie, I made a promise to ya. I’m not goin’ back on it now. To tell ya the truth, I would be a missin’ ya should ya go, you an’ the young’uns”—he stopped and Marty could see his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed—“but I’ll not be a holdin’ ya iffen it’s what ya be a wantin’.”

  For the first time, Marty was no longer sure.

  * * *

  Clark carried through his plans for the stock. The hogs, except for two promising young sows, were sold, as was the grazing stock. He decided to buy enough feed for the milk cow and the two sows and to save the seed grain so the new field could be sown after all. They would need the money from the crop more than ever to help with expenses until the livestock built up again. Only a few hens were saved. The rest were put in crates and taken to town.

  Clark now was faced with even more logs to cut since, come spring, a new barn would have to be built.

  “Don’t worry none about the extry room,” Marty told him. “We’ll need the barn first.” But he said he thought he could manage both with only a slight delay on the house.

  The corral fence was repaired, and the single cow and team of horses were placed in the grazing pen, where there was shelter for them. The saddle horse was lent to Jason Stern, who seemed to have great need of it for the present.

  Somehow life fell into a routine again. No one was wishing for spring more fervently than Marty, but she found herself wanting it for Clark more than for herself.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Barn Raisin’

  March blew itself out in an angry snarl of wind and snow; then April’s arrival promised better things. As the month progressed, the snow began to melt into lacy crystals, the sun took on new warmth, and patches of green gradually appeared in sheltered places. Dan and Charlie greedily sought out each bit of green, eager for easier feeding after foraging through the snow since the fire. The Guernsey had ceased giving milk, readying herself for calving. Milk for Missie and for cooking now had to be brought by pail from the Grahams’ every few days.

  Near the end of the month, Marty looked out at the nearly bare garden. How eager she was to get at its planting. Cooped up all these months, she could hardly wait to get to some tasks that could be done out-of-doors.

  However, Clark had other things that must be done before getting the ground ready for Marty’s garden. Over the last month, the neighbor men had brought their teams and given Clark a hand with the logging. Now the logs were stacked and ready for the raising of the new barn. If they had a good day, they’d even give a hand with the two new bedrooms, they promised.

  Marty looked out now, envisioning the new barn standing where the old one had been. How good it would be for Clark—and the animals—to have a barn again. The bedrooms—she’d wait on them as long as she had to.

  But the first big event for the community was to be the house raising for young Jason Stern and Sally Anne Graham, a house being even more important for the two than a barn. Tomorrow was set aside for the “raisin’,” and Marty had been busy draining kraut, cooking ham, and baking extra bread and pie. The men would offer their labors, and the womenfolk would open their larders. Marty looked forward to the day. It would be so welcome to have a visit with her neighbors.

  The house raising went well, and the men finished the task in the late afternoon. The women enjoyed a day chatting about their families and sharing recipes and patterns. The Larsons were late, and when they did arrive, Mrs. Larson timidly set h
er pot of potato stew on the table laden with good things. For the most part no one seemed to pay her much mind, but Marty crossed over to at least say a “howdy” and a welcome to the obviously lonely woman.

  Her husband, Jedd, was there to give a hand only on the last few logs, then seemed to consider his advice of far more worth than his brawn. He did, however, manage to down a hearty meal along with the rest.

  Marty went home contented with the outing and what was accomplished. Sally Anne would have a nice little cabin in which to set up her first housekeeping. True, there was still a lot that needed to be done, but Marty was sure that Jason would soon take care of that.

  During the day, Marty had had a nice long visit with Wanda Marshall, showing her a simple crochet pattern and finding her a keen student of the handwork.

  Mrs. Vickers had buzzed about, whispering choice bits of news in various ears, and Mrs. Watley had planted herself in a sunny spot by the desserts and busied herself with drinking coffee and “keepin’ the young’uns outen the food.”

  It was all fun, Marty decided, and next week would be their turn to host the neighbors and be the recipients of their cheerful efforts.

  True to their word, the group started arriving on Tuesday morning, determined to get the job done. Log by log the barn began to take shape. Clark and Todd Stern manned the axes that skillfully cut the grooves so one log might fit the next. Clark had decided to build the barn a mite larger to accommodate the animals he anticipated in the future.

  By the time the women banged the pot to announce dinner, the barn had nearly reached the rafter stage. The men were eager to get back to their work, so did not tarry long over their meal.

  While the women were doing up the dishes, Tommy Graham came in and casually announced, “Pa said iffen ya be movin’ the things from the lean-to, we be tearin’ it off an’ makin’ the bedrooms.”

  Marty fairly flew. She had never been in the lean-to before and was rather shocked at its spartan furnishings. The bedframe held a coarse straw tick. Marty laid her hand on it and thought it hard and lumpy. Remembering her own soft feather tick gave her a bit of a pang. It must’ve been awfully cold out here all winter, she thought guiltily as she moved the few articles Clark had into the sitting room, as well as his clothes from the pegs.

  Marty was scarcely finished when she heard the hammers and crowbars have at it. The men went to work with a will, and by supper the logs were in place.

  Supper was almost festive. The men were well pleased—and rightly so—with all that had been completed in just one day. Marty could tell that Clark Davis was a favorite neighbor. There wasn’t a man there he hadn’t helped out at one time or another, and it pleased them to be able to lend a hand in return.

  When the meal was over, the men visited while the women cleaned up the tables and sorted out their own crockery and pans for the return to their homes.

  Jedd had set a new record for himself on that day. He had made it in time for both dinner and supper, partaking freely of both meals. His missus couldn’t make it. “Feelin’ poorly,” he said. Marty felt genuinely sorry for the poor woman and their daughters.

  At last the group had all said their good-byes and clambered into their various farm wagons and onto horses, some promising to be back to help with the roof and floors.

  Clark was almost half dead on his feet, having attempted to carry more than his share of the load at his own “raisin’” and then having to go out for choring after it was all over. He stretched out on the straw tick now lying on the sitting room floor, announcing he meant to just rest a bit before he went to bed “proper like” in the new addition. In next to no time he was sound asleep, snoring softly while Marty put the children to bed.

  Marty came into the room and stopped short. “Lan’ sakes,” she exclaimed softly, “he be plumb beat.”

  She went over to gently ease a pillow under his head and slip off his shoes, then placed a blanket over him and moved in to her own bed.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Laura

  In less than two weeks’ time the visiting preacher would be paying his spring visit, and Sally Anne would be marrying. Ma still mourned to think of her oldest moving out of the family circle, but she told Marty she guessed it was a part of life, and from now on she’d be losing them one by one.

  But second daughter Laura’s strange behavior troubled her mother. The girl had been acting so different lately, sullen and resentful around the house, then slipping away for long walks. At times she even rode off on one of the workhorses.

  Marty didn’t find all this out till some time after the fact, but finally Ma could take it no longer and knew she must have a talk with the girl. She waited for a time when they were alone, then began as gently as she could.

  “Laura, I be thinkin’ thet somethin’s troublin’ ya. I’d be right glad to be a sharin’ it iffen ya’d like to lay it on me.”

  Laura seemed to look at Ma with rebellion in her eyes.

  “Nothin’ the matter with me,” she responded resentfully.

  “I think there is. Maybe it’s a natural thing—with all the fussin’ an’ fixin’ fer Sally Anne.”

  Laura’s chin went up. “What do I care ’bout Sally Anne?”

  “She be yer sister—”

  “No, she ain’t.”

  Ma looked fully at the girl now. Anger began to stir within her.

  “Ya listen here, missy. Sally an’ you been close like ever since I be yer ma.”

  “Ya ain’t my ma.”

  Ma stopped short, and she told Marty later that she was sure her mouth was hanging open. She had known things were bad but had not guessed they were this bad. Finally she started over slowly. “Laura, I’m sorry, really I am. I never knowed ya was feelin’ this way—so strong like. I’ve tried to be a ma to ya. I love ya like ya was my own, and yer pa—he’d do most anythin’ fer ya.”

  “Won’t need to be a doin’ fer me much longer now,” declared Laura.

  “Whatcha meanin’?”

  “I’m gettin’ married, too.”

  “Yer gettin’ married? But ya ain’t even had ya a beau.”

  “Have too.”

  “Well, we never knowed it. Who be—?”

  “Milt Conners.” Laura stared back with stubborn determination in her face, no doubt well aware of the Grahams’ view of the young man in question.

  Ma reeled inwardly, turmoil and consternation making her nearly weak with the announcement from Laura. Never in her life would she give one of her daughters to Milt Conners. Not if her life depended on it. His drinking and carousing were well known in these parts, and not just hearsay.

  When finally she could speak again, she tried her best to be firm yet gentle. “Oh no, ya ain’t,” she began. “No one in this house be takin’ themselves up with Milt Conners. Iffen I didn’t stop ya, yer pa sure would.”

  “Ya can’t stop me!” Laura’s assertion seemed to shock her as much as Ma. The girl took a tentative step backward.

  “Oh yes’m, we can,” said Ma, equally determined.

  “It be too late,” flung out Laura.

  “Whatcha be meanin’?”

  “I’m... I’m gonna have his baby.” Now Laura’s eyes were downcast, and she wouldn’t look Ma in the face.

  Ma told Marty she felt a weakness go all through her and thought she’d have a faint. Finally she staggered forward and steadied herself on the back of a chair. “Whatcha be sayin’, girl?” she managed to ask.

  But Laura stood her ground. Let Ma and Pa fume and fuss or anything else. Come time for Sally Anne to be standing before the preacher, she’d be there, too.

  “I’m gonna have his baby,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

  Ma stepped forward, tears streaming down her face. She reached out for Laura and pulled her gently into her arms, holding her close, her head bowed against the long brown hair.

  “Oh, my poor baby,” she wept. “My poor, poor baby.”

  Ma’s genuine love and care seemed to tou
ch Laura, but the girl stoutly insisted that she loved Milt and was going to marry him come what may.

  The two weeks until the preacher’s visit were full of wedding preparations as well as deep sorrow in the Graham home. When Sally Anne heard of Laura’s planned wedding, she generously offered to share some of her own household articles she had been stitching and preparing. Laura would have none of them, declaring she wouldn’t need much, as Milt was already set up for housekeeping. Nevertheless, Ma sat up late each night, making a quilt and hemming towels and curtains.

  Ben carried on with his usual farm work, but his shoulders sagged, and his face appeared drawn. The joy of the big day had been stolen from them. Even Laura did not seem to carry the glow that a new bride should, but she set her jaw determinedly and helped in preparations for the double wedding.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Big Day

  The preacher’s visit would occur on Easter Sunday morning. The community would first have an outdoor service together, then the wedding ceremonies would follow. Later the neighbors would all join for a potluck dinner to honor the new couples and to have a chance for a neighborly visit before spring work would demand much of their time.

  Marty looked forward to the day. She was very grateful for the neighbors she had come to know and the friends she had made. With winter behind them and the feeling of spring in the air, she was restless to get out somewhere—for something. She also was curious about the church service and what the preacher would have to say. Her only connection with church had been for marriages and funerals, and the last time she had seen this preacher, she had been in such grief and emotional turmoil she could hardly remember the event or him.

  She felt happiness for Sally Anne with the sparkle of love on her face, but her heart ached for Laura. After Ma had confided the reason for their consent to the marriage, Marty shared Ma’s deep concern over the coming union and felt such helplessness, knowing there was nothing any of them could do to prevent further heartache for this strong-willed girl or her family.