The Love Comes Softly Collection

by Janette Oke

  Missie intently watched Marty’s face. She obviously wasn’t sure what this was all about, but Mama was happy, and if Mama was happy, it must be good.

  “Ba-by,” Missie repeated, stroking the soft things. “Ba-by, fer Mama—an’ Missie?”

  “Thet’s right.” Marty was wildly happy. “A baby fer Missie. Look, Missie,” she said, sitting on her bed, “right now the baby is sleepin’ here.”

  She laid Missie’s hand on her abdomen, and Missie was rewarded with a firm kick. Her eyes rose to Marty’s in surprise as she quickly pulled away her hand.

  “Thet’s the baby, Missie. Soon the baby will sleep in Mama’s bed. He’ll come to live with Mama and Missie an’ we’ll dress ’im in these new clothes an’ bundle ’im in these soft blankets, an’ we can hold ’im in our arms, ’stead of how Mama be holdin’ ’im now.”

  Missie didn’t get it all, that was sure, but she could understand that Baby was coming and Mama was glad, and Baby would use the soft things and live in Mama’s bed. Her eyes took on a sparkle. She touched Marty timidly and repeated, “Mama’s ba-by.”

  Marty pulled the little girl to her and laughed with joy. “Oh, Missie,” she said, “it’s gonna be so much fun.”

  Clark returned home that night with a strange-looking lump under a canvas in the back of the sleigh.

  Well, Marty thought wryly, I’m sure thet be no doctor, and her curiosity was sorely roused.

  After Dan and Charlie had been fed and bedded, Clark came through the door carrying the surprise purchase.

  Marty could scarcely believe her eyes. “A new rocking chair!” she exclaimed.

  “Right,” said Clark. “I vowed long ago thet iffen there ever be another baby in this house, there’s gonna be a rockin’ chair to quiet it by.”

  He grinned as he said it, and Marty knew the words really were a cover-up for other feelings.

  “Well,” she answered lightly, “best ya sit down an’ show Missie how it works so you’ll know how to use it when the baby’s needin’ ta be quieted.” They shared a smile.

  Then Clark pulled Missie up onto his lap and snuggled her close. They took two rocks, and the child popped up to stare at this wondrous thing. She watched, swaying, as Clark rocked a few more times, then settled back contentedly, enjoying the new marvel.

  Clark soon had to leave for chores, and Missie crawled up on her own to try to make the chair respond correctly.

  It’s gonna be so much fun to have, Marty told herself. Jest imagine me with my young’un all dressed up fancy like, an’ me sittin’ there rockin’ ’im. Probably is room enough for Missie beside me, too. I can jest hardly wait.

  The baby seemed impatient, too, for it gave a hard kick that made its mother catch her breath and move back a mite from the cupboard where she was working.

  When Clark came in from choring, Missie scooted down from the chair and ran to take his hand.

  “Daddy, come,” she urged him.

  “Hold on, Missie, ’til yer pa gits his coat off,” Clark laughed. “I’ll come—I’ll come.”

  Missie stepped back and watched him hang up his coat, then took his hand again. “Come see.”

  Marty thought she was still excited about the chair, and it looked like Clark assumed that, too, as he turned toward it. But Missie tugged at his hand to lead him over to Marty.

  “Look—ba-by,” she cried, pointing at the spot. “Ba-by fer Missie. Mama let Missie touch ’im.”

  Marty flushed and Clark grinned.

  “Well, I reckon it be awful nice,” he said, picking up the little girl. “So Missie’s gonna git ta have a new baby, an’ we’ll rock ’im in the chair,” he continued, walking away with the child as he spoke. “We’d better be gittin’ some practice, don’t ya s’pose. Let’s rock a mite while yer mama gits our supper.”

  And they did.

  Twenty-One

  A New Baby

  It was mid-February, and Marty sat opposite Clark at the table, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Clark’s shoulders drooped, and Marty knew he probably was feeling discouraged over the outcome of all his efforts. A doctor indeed had been secured for the town and surrounding community, but he wouldn’t be arriving until sometime in April. This was too late for what Clark—and Marty—had wanted him for.

  Marty sat quietly, her own thoughts rather despondent. The little one was getting so heavy, and the last few days things just seemed different. She couldn’t name what it was, but she knew it was there. She was troubled in her thinking. This was the time when a woman needed a “real” husband, one she could talk to. If only Clem were here—the eternal refrain again. She wouldn’t have felt embarrassed to talk it over with Clem.

  “I’ve been thinkin’,” Clark interrupted her thoughts, “seems yer time must be gettin’ perty close. Seems ya might feel more easy like iffen Ma could come a few days early an’ be a staying’ with ya fer a spell.”

  Marty hardly dared to hope. “Do ya really think she could?”

  “Don’t know why not. Sally Anne an’ Laura be right able to care fer the rest. Good practice fer Sally Anne. Hear she be needin’ to know all that afore long. I’ll ride over an’ have a chat with Ma. I hope we won’t be keepin’ her fer too long.”

  Oh, me too—me too. Marty’s thoughts were a jumble of relief and concern. But she was so thankful for Clark’s suggestion that she had to struggle to keep back the tears.

  And so it was that Ma came that day, bringing with her a heavy feather tick and some quilts with which to make up a bed for herself on the sitting room floor. She was an old hand at this, and Marty took much comfort in her presence there.

  Marty didn’t keep her waiting long. Two mornings after, on February sixteenth, she awoke from a restless sleep sometime between three and four o’clock. She tossed and turned, not able to find a comfortable position, feeling generally uneasy.

  What was uneasiness gradually changed to contractions—not too close and not too hard, but she recognized them for what they were. Around six o’clock Ma must have sensed more than heard her stirrings and came into her room to see how she was.

  Marty groaned. “I jest feel right miser’ble,” she muttered.

  Ma gently laid a comforting hand on Marty’s stomach and waited until another contraction seized her. “Good,” she said. “They be nice an’ firm. It be on the way.”

  Ma told Marty that she was going to make sure the fire that had been banked the night before was still alive. Marty could hear her put in more wood and fill the kettle and the large pot with water. “No harm in plenty of hot water,” Ma said to Marty through the bedroom door. “It probably won’t make an appearance for a while yet, but might as well be prepared.” Her cheerful calm and obvious know-how were greatly assuring to Marty as another labor pain bore through her.

  No doubt hearing some stirrings, Clark emerged from the lean-to. Even through her own distress, Marty could see that he was pale and already worried.

  “Now, ya stop a frettin’,” Marty heard Ma say to him. “I know thet she be a little thing”—her voice dropped a notch—“but she be carryin’ the baby well. I checked a minute ago. He dropped down right good an’ he seems to be turned right. It only be a matter of time ’til ya be a holdin’ ’im in thet rockin’ chair.”

  Marty couldn’t hold back a groan at the next contraction, and Ma hurried into the room to soothe her and lay a cool cloth on her forehead. When Marty could catch her breath and relax some, she could see Clark, looking even whiter, sitting in a kitchen chair with his head bowed and lips moving. She knew he was praying for her and for the baby, and that was even more comforting than Ma’s experienced hands.

  Clark bundled Missie up and took her out to the barn with him so she might not hear the agonizing groans of her mama.

  Marty held on, taking one contraction at a time, her face damp from the effort, her lips stifling the screams that wanted to come. Ma stayed close by, giving words of encouragement and administering what she could in advice and comfort. />
  Time ticked by so slowly—for Marty, who now marked time by contractions; for Clark, who, Ma told her, was trying with Missie’s help to work on harnesses out in the barn; and for Ma herself, who obviously wanted the ordeal safely over for all of them.

  The sun swung around to the west. Would this never end? wondered Marty between pains. It was agonizing. Ma kept telling her that from her years of experience, she knew the time was drawing near. Everything was in readiness. Then at a quarter to four, Marty gave a sharp cry that ended as a baby boy made his appearance into the world.

  With a sob Marty lay back in the bed exhausted, so thankful that her work was done and that Ma’s capable hands were there to do what was necessary for the new baby. A tired but joyful smile couldn’t help but appear on Marty’s face as she heard her son cry.

  “He’s jest fine,” Ma said. “A fine, big boy.”

  In short order she had both baby and mother presentable and, placing the wee bundle on Marty’s arm, went to bring the good news to Clark.

  “He’s here,” Marty heard her call out the door, “an’ he’s a dandy.”

  Clark’s running footsteps were clearly heard, and he soon came panting into the cabin, carrying Missie with him.

  “She’s okay?” His anxious eyes moved from Ma to the bedroom door as he set Missie down.

  “Fit as a fiddle,” Ma responded. Marty knew Ma was relieved, too. “She done a great job,” Ma continued, “an’ she’s got a fine boy. Iffen ya slow down a mite an’ take yerself in hand, I may even let ya git a small peek at ’im.”

  Clark took off his coat and unbundled Missie.

  “Here, Missie, let’s warm a bit afore we go to see yer mama,” Marty heard him tell the little girl. They stood together at the fire, and then he lifted her up and followed Ma to the bedroom.

  Clark stood by the bed and looked down at Marty. She was tired, and she knew she probably didn’t look her best after this long, difficult day, but she smiled up gallantly. His gaze shifted to the small bundle. Marty held the baby so Clark could see him better. He was a bit red yet, but he sure was one fine boy. One small clenched fist lay against his cheek.

  “He’s a real dandy,” Clark said, the awe he was feeling showing in his tone. “What ya be a callin’ ’im?”

  “He be Claridge Luke,” Marty answered.

  “Thet’s a fine name. What the Luke be for?”

  “My pa.”

  “He’d be right proud could he see ’im. His pa’d be right proud, too, to have sech a fine son.”

  Marty nodded, a lump hurting her throat at the thought.

  “Claridge Luke Davis.” Clark said it slowly. “Right good-soundin’ name. Bother ya any iffen I shorten it to Clare sometimes?”

  “Not a’tall,” said Marty. Indeed, she wondered if anything would ever bother her again.

  They had both forgotten Missie during the exchange, and the little girl remained silent in her pa’s arms, staring at the strange, squirming bundle. At last she inquired, as though trying to sort it out, “Ba-by?”

  Clark’s attention turned to her. “Yah, Missie, baby. That’s the baby thet yer mama done got ya. Little Clare, he be.”

  “Rock . . . baby?” Missie asked.

  “Oh no, not yet a while,” laughed Clark. “First the baby an’ yer mama have to have a nice long rest. We’d best be goin’ now an’ let them be.”

  Marty responded only with a slight smile. She was a strange mixture of delirious happiness intermingled with sadness and was oh, so very tired.

  I do declare, she thought as the two left the room, I think thet be the hardest work I ever did in my whole lifetime, and after slowly sipping some of Ma’s special tea, she drifted off to sleep.

  In the sitting room, Clark and Missie cuddled close in the rocking chair. “Missie, let’s pray fer yer mama and the new baby.” At her nod, he closed his eyes and prayed, “Thank ya, Father, thank ya for helping Ma, and fer Marty’s safe birthin’, an’ thet fine new boy.” His “amen” was echoed by the small girl in his lap.

  Twenty-Two

  Ma Bares Her Heart

  Ma stayed on with Marty for several days after the arrival of little Claridge Luke.

  “I wanna see ya back on yer feet like afore I leave ya be,” Ma declared. “’Sides, there be nothin’ pressin’ at home jest now.”

  Marty was more than pleased to have the older woman’s company and help. She was thrilled with her new son and eager to be up and around. Not being one who is happy when kept down, she was after Ma to let her get up from the second day on. Ma, reluctant at first, allowed her small activities that gradually grew with each day.

  Missie, excited about the new baby, loved to share Marty’s lap with him as they rocked in the chair. Clark seemed to take on a new air of family pride, declaring, “That little tyke has already growed half an inch and gained two pounds. I can see it by jest lookin’.”

  The day came when Marty felt sufficiently able to cope with managing the house and the children on her own. She was sure that even with Ma’s kindness and generosity, she must be anxious to get home and look to her own.

  Ma nodded her agreement. “Yeah, things do be goin’ fine around here. Ya take care o’ yerself an’ things be jest right. I’ll have Clark drive me on home tomorrow.”

  Marty would miss Ma when she left, but it would be good to have her little place all to herself again.

  That afternoon as the two women had coffee together one more time, their conversation ranged over many topics. They talked of their families and their hopes for the future. Ma again expressed her need to adjust to Sally Anne’s soon departure from the family nest.

  “She seems so young yet,” Ma said. “But ya know ya can’t say no once a young’un has the notion.”

  “But she’s not jest bein’ a strong-willed girl,” Marty countered. “She jest be in love. Don’cha remember, Ma, what it was like to be so young an’ so in love thet yer heart missed beatin’ at the sight o’ him an’ yer face flushed when ya wasn’t wantin’ it to? ’Member the wild feelin’ thet love has?”

  “Yeah, I reckon,” Ma responded slowly. “Though ’twas so long ago. I do remember, though, when I met Thornton, guess I didn’t behave myself much better than Sally Anne.” Ma gave a short chuckle but quickly looked serious again.

  “What was it like, Ma, when ya lost Thornton?”

  “When I lost Thornton?” repeated Ma. “Well, it be a long time ago now. But I ’member it still, though it don’t pain me sharp like it used to. Myself—way down deep—wanted to die, too; but I couldn’t let that happen, me havin’ three little ones to look out fer. I kept fightin’ on, yet all the time I only felt part there. The rest of me seemed to be missin’ or numb or somethin’.”

  “I know what ya mean,” Marty said, her voice so low she wasn’t sure she was heard. More loudly she said, “Then ya met Ben.”

  “Yeah, then I met Ben. I could see he be a good man an’ one ya could count on.”

  “An’ ya fell in love with ’im.”

  Ma paused, then shook her head. “No, Marty, there was no face flushin’ an’ fast heart skippin’.”

  Marty stared.

  “No, it be different with Ben. I needed ’im, an’ he needed me. I married ’im not fer love, Marty, but fer my young’uns—an’ fer his.”

  Ma stopped talking and sat studying her coffee cup, turning it round and round in her hand. “Fact be, Marty—” She stopped again, and Marty knew this conversation was very difficult for her. “Fact be, at first I felt—well, guilty like. I felt like I be a . . . a loose woman, sleepin’ with a man I didn’t feel love fer.”

  If Ma hadn’t seemed so serious, Marty would have found that statement humorous. It was hard to imagine Ma, a steady, solid, and plain woman, with a faith in God and a brood of eleven, as a “loose woman.” But Marty did not laugh. She did not even smile. She understood some measure of the deep feelings being expressed by Ma Graham.

  “I never knowed,” Marty finally whisper
ed. “I never woulda guessed thet ya didn’t love Ben.”

  Ma’s head came up in an instant, her eyes wide.

  “Lan’ sake, girl!” she exclaimed. “Thet were then. Why, I love my Ben now, ya can jest bet I do. Fact is, he’s been a right good man to me, an’ I ’spect I love ’im more’n I love myself.”

  “When—when an’ how did it happen?” Marty asked, both fascinated and a little frightened by what she might hear. “The head spinnin’ an’ the heart flutterin’ an’ all?”

  Ma smiled. “No, there’s never been thet. See . . . I learnt me a lesson. There’s more than one way thet love comes. Oh, sure, sometimes it comes wild like, makin’ creatures into wallerin’ simpletons. I’ve seed ’em, I’ve been there myself; but it doesn’t have to be thet way, an’ it’s no less real an’ meanin’ful iffen it comes another way. Ya see, Marty, sometimes love comes sorta stealin’ up on ya gradual like, not shoutin’ bold words or wavin’ bright flags. Ya ain’t even aware it’s a growin’ an’ growin’ an’ gettin’ stronger until—I don’t know. All the sudden it takes ya by surprise like, an’ ya think, ‘How long I been a feelin’ like this an’ why didn’t I notice it afore?’”

  Marty stirred. It was all so strange to get a peek inside of Ma like this. She pictured a young woman, widowed like herself, with pain and heartache doing what she had felt was best for her children. And Ma had felt . . . guilty. Marty shivered.

  I do declare, she thought, I couldn’t have done it. Thanks be to whatever there be in charge of things thet I wasn’t put in a position like thet. Me, I’ve jest had to be a mama.

  She pushed away from those thoughts and rose to get more coffee. She didn’t want to even consider it anymore. Now Ma was happy again and she needn’t feel guilty anymore. She now loved Ben. Just how or when it happened, she couldn’t really say, but it had. It just—well, it just worked its way into her heart—slowly, softly.

  Marty took a deep breath, pushed it all aside, and changed the subject.

  Little Clare was getting round and dimpled, cooing at whoever would talk to him. Missie took great pride in her new baby “brudder.” Clark was happy to take the “young fella” and rock him if he needed quieting or burping when Marty was busy getting a meal or cleaning up or doing the dishes. Marty was often tired by the end of the day, but she slept well, even though her nights were interrupted with feedings.