by Janette Oke
“Plenty of time to git to town an’ back,” he said. “Iffen a storm should catch me, there be plenty of neighbors livin’ between here an’ town, an’ I’d be able to take shelter with one of them if I be needin’ to.”
“But . . . but what ’bout the chores?” Marty stammered. “I don’t even know what to do, or where to find the feed, or nuthin’.”
Clark swung around to face her, and it was clear from the look on his face that he had not considered the question of her with the chores.
“Iffen a storm be comin’ an’ I have to shelter an’ don’t make it home, ya don’t leave this house. Do ya hear?”
Marty heard, loud and clear.
“Don’t ya worry none ’bout the hens or the hogs or even the milk cows. Nuthin’—I mean nuthin’—out there be so important thet I want ya out there in a storm tryin’ ta care fer it.”
So that’s the way it be, thought Marty, hiding her smile. Well, he needn’t get so riled up ’bout it.
It was the closest to upset she had ever seen Clark, and she couldn’t help but be surprised. He turned from her, buttoned his heavy jacket, and reached for his mitts. He hesitated. “Might be a fine day to be a piecin’ a quilt. The little feller will be a needin’ a warm ’un.”
Yeah, Marty thought, he—or maybe she—most likely will.
“I’ll be back fer chore time,” Clark assured her as he moved to go out the door; then he paused a moment and said quietly, “I be right glad thet ya’ll have a little’un to remember ’im by”—and he was gone.
Sixteen
Thoughtful and Caring
Clark did return in time for the chores, much to Marty’s relief. By then the snow was falling, swirling around angrily as it passed the window. Clark went right on down to the barn to take care of Dan and Charlie.
“He be settin’ more stock on them horses than on his own self,” Marty murmured to herself as she watched from the kitchen window. “He’s been out in the weather as long as them two.”
She moved to the stove and pushed the coffee closer to the center of the firebox so that it would be sure to be hot.
Missie had been playing on the floor, but when she heard Ole Bob’s joyous bark of welcome, she jumped up, eyes shining.
“Daddy comin’,” she said excitedly.
Marty smiled, noting again the fact that Missie often said “Daddy” even though Clark referred to himself as “Pa.” Ellen must have preferred “Daddy,” Marty decided. Well, then, for Ellen’s sake, she would talk about Daddy to Missie, too.
Clark was soon in, arms full of bundles and face red from the cold wind. At the sight of her pa, Missie danced around wildly.
“Daddy here—Daddy here. Hi, Pa.”
Clark called to her and, when he had rid himself of his parcels, swung the little girl up into his arms. She exclaimed over his cold face as she patted his cheeks.
“Best ya be warmin’ up a bit ’fore ya start the chores,” Marty suggested as she poured a cup of coffee.
“Sounds like a right good idea,” he responded, taking off his heavy coat and hanging it by the fire to let it warm until he had to go out again. He stood for a moment with his hands over the stove and then crossed to the table. Marty poured cream in the coffee and placed it before him.
“Thet there fair-sized bundle be yourn,” Clark said. “Mrs. McDonald was right excited ’bout fixin’ it up. Think she was a mite confused. Seemed to think it was my young’un. It bein’ none of her business, I didn’t bother none to set her straight.”
He swallowed a few more gulps of hot coffee. Marty’s thoughts whirled.
His young’un? How could it be his young’un, us not even bein’ true man an’ wife? ’Course, Mrs. McDonald wouldn’t be knowin’ thet. She felt her face coloring in embarrassment.
Clark put down his cup and calmly continued, “I got ta thinkin’ later, though, thet maybe I should’ve said somethin’, so I went back. ‘Mrs. McDonald,’ I says, ‘true, my missus be havin’ a young’un, and true I’ll be a treatin’ it as one of mine, but also true thet the pa be her first husband an’ thet bein’ important to her, I wouldn’t want folks gettin’ things mixed up like.’”
Clark finished his coffee. “Well, I best be gettin’.”
He shrugged into his coat and was gone before Marty had time to get her scrambling thoughts in order.
He understood. He’d gone back to the store to set Mrs. McDonald straight because he knew, as Ma Graham had told Marty, that her tongue was the busiest part of her anatomy. Give the woman a day or two of fair weather and everyone in the area would know of the coming baby.
Clark understands that it be important to me that the new baby be known as Clem’s. Her mind continued to try to sort out this man as she began to put away the supplies he had purchased.
She turned with anticipation to her bundle and decided to take it in on her bed to examine the contents. It was cold in the bedroom now, and she shivered, partly from excitement, she was sure, as she unwrapped the brown store paper.
Mrs. McDonald certainly had gone all out. Marty’s hands went to her face as she looked at the beautiful materials. Surely a young’un didn’t need that many baby things. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of the days and evenings ahead when she could sit and work on the small garments. She wished she had someone to talk with about her feelings and was tempted to pour it all out on Missie. No, she’d best wait awhile for that. The remaining months would seem far too long for a two-year-old. Oh, if only Clem were here to share it with her. Her eyes filled once again, and a hot tear trickled down. She brushed it away with the back of her hand. If only it were that easy to get rid of the pain in her heart.
When Clark came in to supper, he was noticeably shivering in spite of his heavy coat. He remarked that he couldn’t believe how much the temperature had dropped in a few short hours. The wind no doubt had a great deal to do with it, he added.
Before he sat down to the table, he lit the fireplace in the sitting room.
“Guess it’s time,” he observed, “to be havin’ more heat than jest the cook stove.”
When he prayed that night, he asked God to be with “people less blessed than we,” and Marty was reminded of her covered wagon with the broken wheel. She shivered to think of what it would be like to be huddled in it now, trying to keep warm under their scant blankets.
After the meal Clark moved to the sitting room to check and replenish the fire, and Missie brought in her few toys to the rug in front of it.
Marty did the dishes, feeling warm and protected in spite of herself. How else could she feel in a snug cabin while the wind screamed around its corners, unable to get in?
The evening was still young, and Marty was anxious to get started on her sewing, but she realized how cold her room would be. She was still trying to figure out some answer to her problem as she emptied her dishpan and replaced it on its peg.
“It’ll be right cold in yer room from now on,” she heard Clark say from behind her. “Do ya be wantin’ yer machine moved out to the sittin’ room? There be plenty of room there fer it.”
Marty turned and looked directly at him as she asked slowly, “Do ya mind seein’ it sittin’ there?”
“S’pose I do some,” he answered frankly. “But it’s not as hard now as it was at first sight of it, an’ ’twould be only foolhardy not to put it where it can be of best use. I’ll git used to it.” So saying, he went to do as he had suggested.
Yes, Marty thought to herself, this man will do the right thing even if it hurts.
She felt a bit selfish about her anticipation of sewing in the warm room. If things had to be as they were, caught in a marriage she certainly would not have chosen on her own, she could have done worse. She still ached for her Clem. She wished him back, even if it meant having far less than what she had now. Still, she would be unfair if she refused to see the goodness in this man whose name she had taken and whose home she shared. That he was a real worker and a good provider was apparent, but she was discover
ing other things about him, too—things like thoughtfulness and caring. Certainly she couldn’t fault him in his demands on her. She was only expected to be Missie’s mama and to keep up the little home. He hadn’t even complained about her cooking. No, she decided, even though she didn’t like her situation, she could have done much worse.
She set her mind on her sewing. She would give Missie a bit more playing time before she tucked her in for the night. Clark had settled himself near the fireplace with one of his new books. Marty thankfully picked up a pattern that Mrs. McDonald had included. She had never sewed for one so small before and would have been hard put to know how to cut the material without the pattern. Her hands fairly trembled with excitement. She’d do the cutting on the kitchen table, where she had more room. She couldn’t help but think the three of them seemed almost like a real family.
Seventeen
Mysterious Absence
The days of November brought more storms, and snow lay heavy on the fields and big drifts rose around sheltered spots. Occasionally the wind ceased blowing and the sun shone, but the temperature always stayed below freezing. There was still much to do, however, and activity on the small homestead did not cease because of the weather. Whenever the snowstorms abated, Clark hitched up the horses and spent his time with faithful Dan and Charlie in the wooded backcountry gathering logs for their fuel supply.
On the more miserable days, extra time spent in the barn eased the animals through the inclement weather with as little discomfort as possible.
Marty filled her days caring for Missie, keeping up the house, baking bread, washing, mending, ironing—the list seemed endless to her, yet she was thankful to have each of the long days occupied, particularly ones that held her indoors.
In the evenings she went gladly to her sewing, adding each stitch on the tiny garments with tender care. She had laid aside the quilt she had begun. It could wait. She wanted to concentrate on preparations for the baby.
She had noticed Clark often referred to the coming infant as “he.” The baby could surprise them both and be a girl, she knew, but Marty was rather determined to think of a son for Clem.
She’d already decided on a name—Claridge Luke. Claridge after his pa’s last name, and Luke in honor of her father. How proud her pa would be to know he had a grandson bearing his name. But that would have to wait for the first wagon train going east, when she’d pack up her son—maybe even Missie—and head back home.
The thought of taking Missie along with her was of more and more concern. What was best—both for the little girl and for Clark? She saw the great love Clark had for his daughter, and she wondered when the time came if he’d really be able to let her go. Or if he should. Marty herself was getting awfully attached to the child. Saying “Mama” came easy now to both of them. Indeed, sneaking up quite unawares was the feeling she was just that, Missie’s mama. Each day she enjoyed the young child’s company more, laughing at her silly antics, marveling at her new words, and even sharing some of them with Clark when he came home at night.
With Marty hardly realizing it, Missie was becoming very much a part of her life. She could barely wait for the new year, the time she had planned for telling her secret to the little girl. She was sure the child would share her anticipation of the new baby. But Marty didn’t let herself stop to think too deeply about it all or to analyze her gradually changing feelings. It was enough just to tick the slow days off, discarding them casually like something that had served its purpose, and move forward; for indeed, Marty was still marking time.
As November drew to a close, Marty realized that Clark seemed to have made an unusual number of trips into town, especially for that time of year. It wasn’t as though they had need of specific supplies. They had stocked up in preparation for winter’s confining grip. And indeed Clark sometimes returned with very few purchases, even using the saddle horse on occasion rather than the team. Marty hadn’t thought to wonder about it at first, but this morning’s breakfast conversation had gotten her to puzzling over it. Clark had announced casually enough that he would be gone for three or four days. There appeared to be a break in the weather, he explained, so he had decided now was the time to make a trip to a town much larger than their small local one. Clark had arranged for young Tom Graham to come in the evening and stay the night to look after the evening and morning chores, he told her. If the weather should turn sour, Marty could ask him to stay on through the day, as well. If she was in need of anything, she could send word with Tom to the Grahams.
His words had puzzled Marty. He indeed had taken an unusual number of trips, now that she thought about it, but really it was none of her business. He was probably looking for new machinery to till the land, or better seed, or a place to sell his hogs. Anyway, it was his doings, so why should she worry over it? Young Tom would be over. There was nothing further with which to concern herself.
Still, as Clark gave Missie a good-bye hug and admonished her to be a good girl for her mama, Marty couldn’t help but feel at least curious and maybe a bit uneasy.
“I’ll be back Saturday night in time fer chores,” he promised and went to the barn for Dan and Charlie. As Marty watched him leave the yard, she noticed that the crate was in the wagon box and a couple of hogs were having a ride along to town.
What had he said a while ago? “If we be needin’ more cash, we can al’ays sell a hog.”
He must be shoppin’ for ’nother plow or more seed, she decided with a shrug. Still, on the other hand, she had cost him a powerful lot of extra money, what with the winter clothing for herself, the wool for knitting and the pieces for quilting, and then to top it off, the things for the baby.
Marty fretted over the realization, something she usually kept herself from doing. Finally, with real effort she pushed it aside.
“No use takin’ on so,” she murmured to herself. “Guess I’m jest a mite off my feed or somethin’ to be stewin’ ’bout it so. Wish I could have me a good visit with Ma. Thet’d set things to right. By the time Clark gits back, it’ll be December already.”
Time was indeed moving on, no matter how slow it could seem, and hadn’t Ma said that it was time that healed? She hoped the days would go quickly while Clark was away.
Marty was more relieved than she would admit to see the team coming on Saturday as the sun was setting. She didn’t know why she should feel that way. Young Tom had done a fine job of the chores, she was sure, and she hadn’t at all minded his company in the evenings. After supper he played with Missie or read and reread her book to her. He was proud of the fact that he had learned his letters and knew how to read, as did each of Ma’s children. He loved to show off to Missie and—Marty smiled—to her, as well, she wagered. By now Missie could repeat many of the lines of her book and loved to pretend she was reading herself.
They had gotten along just fine while Clark was away, so that had no bearing on her sense of relief to see him come home. Perhaps deep within was the haunting memory of a casual good-bye to Clem and a later discovery that it had been the last, but she shook off that possibility and went to tell Missie that her pa was home.
Missie was overjoyed at the sight of her daddy and began a dance as soon as she spotted him from the chair at the window.
Marty noticed the crate was now empty, but she could see no purchase that might have been made from the proceeds. Only a few small packages sat on the seat beside Clark. Dan and Charlie looked weary, she thought, as she watched them plod toward the barn, but their steps picked up as they drew near warm stalls and a full manger.
Clark looks tired, too, she decided as she watched him climb down and begin to unhitch the team. He wasn’t moving with the same energy that usually accompanied his activities.
“Well, your pa’s here now an’ he’ll be wantin’ some hot coffee,” Marty remarked as she helped Missie down from her perch at the window.
Coffee presented no problem, for Marty had it at the ready. She had made it in between her pacings back and
forth to the window watching for the first glimpse of the team.
Things, she hoped, would continue on now in their usual way. This wasn’t the life she had wanted or planned, but at least her days had taken on a pattern now familiar to her, and there was a certain amount of comfort in the familiar.
Clark came in with a few groceries, and Marty welcomed him with a cup of coffee and a happy little girl to greet him.
Eighteen
Christmas Preparations
“Our God,” Clark addressed the Almighty in his morning prayer, “as we be nearin’ the season of yer Son’s birth, make our hearts thankful thet He came, an’ help us to be lovin’ our neighbor with a love like He showed us.”
He’s talkin’ ’bout Christmas, Marty thought with a sudden awareness of the season. Oh my, it be only two weeks away, an’ I haven’t even been thinkin’ on it.
Her mind went plunging from thought to thought, so again she had missed the rest of the prayer and sat with eyes still closed after the “amen.” Missie pulled at her sleeve, wanting her breakfast.
Marty lifted a flushed face and hurriedly fixed Missie’s porridge for her, blowing on it to cool it before giving it to the child.
“Ya know,” she ventured a little later, “I had fergot all ’bout how close Christmas be.”
Clark looked up from his own bowl of porridge. “I know Christmas be a mite hard to be a thinkin’ on this year. Iffen it be too hard fer ya, we can most ferget the day, ’cept fer the reading of the Story an’ maybe a sock fer young Missie.”
Marty thought for a few minutes.
“No,” she finally answered. “Thet wouldn’t be right. Missie needs her Christmas—a proper one like, an’ I reckon it may do us good, too. We can’t stay back in the past nursin’ our sorrow—not for her sake, nor fer our own. Christmas, seems to me, be a right good time to lay aside hurtin’ an’ look fer somethin’ healin’.”
Clark stared at her for a while, then dropped his eyes back to his bowl. He finally said quietly, “Seems I never heard a better sermon from any visitin’ preacher than the one I jest heard.” He paused a moment, then said, “Ya be right, of course. So what ya be plannin’?”
