The Love Comes Softly Collection

by Janette Oke

  At Marty’s shake of her head, she hurried ahead.

  “Well, mind ya, when ya do go, don’t ya be tellin’ nuthin’ to thet there Miz McDonald thet ya don’t want spread ’round thin like. She be a first-rate tongue wagger, thet ’un.”

  Marty also found out that Miz Standen, over to town, had her a Saturday beau.

  “I’m bettin’ thet the visitin’ parson had him somethin’ to hide, or he’d settle himself to one place.” The woman dropped her voice as if someone else might hear the dark secret.

  “The Krafts are expectin’ them another young’un—makin’ five.”

  “Milt Conners, the bachelor of the area, seems to be gettin’ stranger ever’day. Should git ’im a woman—thet would be doin’ him some good—he’s gettin’ liquor somewhere, too—nobody knows where, but I do have my s’picions.”

  And on and on she went, like a walking newspaper. The new doc would be arriving in April—folks saying Clark bought him—well, they needed a doc—hope he was worth it and not here just to make money on people’s woes.

  Young Sally Anne was hitching up with Jason Stern—supposed those two families be pairing off regular like in the next few years.

  The woman finally stopped for a breath, and Marty wondered aloud that Shem had not come in from the barn and supposed he was getting cold and tired of waiting. Well, she’d send a slice of cake and a gingerbread cookie or two out with Mrs. Vickers.

  Mrs. Vickers must have taken the hint and made her way out the door, still chattering as she left. Marty’s head was spinning and her ears tingling. The visitor hadn’t even looked at the baby.

  Twenty-Four

  New Discoveries

  The days of March were busy ones for Clark. Marty watched as he pushed himself hard at the logging, working as long as there was light and then doing the chores with the aid of the lantern. Each night at the supper table he tallied up the total logs he’d felled for the new addition, and together they kept track of how many more were needed.

  Marty’s days were full, too, doing the usual housework and caring for the new baby and Missie. With the increased laundry needs, she found it difficult to get the clothes dry between one washing and the next.

  In the evenings after the children were down for the night, both Clark and Marty were happy to sit quietly before the open fire, Marty with her quilt pieces or knitting, Clark with one of his books, working on some project, or mending some small tool of one kind or another. Marty found it increasingly comfortable to talk with Clark. In fact, she looked forward to relating the events of the day and reporting on Missie’s conversations with her.

  Clark had spent many evenings fashioning a new bed for Missie so the fast-growing Clare would be able to take over the crib. Marty enjoyed watching the bed take shape. She noticed the few simple tools Clark worked with responded well to his capable hands. She carefully pieced the quilt that would go on the bed and felt a growing sense of a shared accomplishment.

  As they worked, they talked about the people and happenings that made up their little world. The early fall and long winter had brought animals down from the hills in search of food. Lately a couple of coyotes had been moving in closer and closer at nights, and Clark and Marty chuckled together about poor Ole Bob’s noisy concern at the intrusion.

  The neighbors were rarely seen during the winter months, so news was scarce. Clark said measles had been reported in town, but no serious cases had developed.

  The two talked of spring planting and plans for the new bedroom, hoping that spring would be early rather than late in coming. They laughed about Missie’s attempts at mothering her “brudder Clare.” It wasn’t any particular conversation or subject, but they probably were discovering deeper things about each other without actually being aware of the fact. Feelings, dreams, hopes, and, yes, faith were shared in a relaxed, ordinary way.

  One evening as Marty quilted and Clark sanded the headboard for the bed, their talk turned to the Scripture passage he had read aloud at breakfast that morning. Having no background in such things, Marty found that a lot of the truths she heard from the Bible were difficult to understand. Over time Clark had explained about the promises to the Jewish people of a Messiah who would come. But their perception of His purpose in coming was far different from what He actually came to accomplish. They wanted freedom from their oppressors; He came to give freedom from self and sin. They wanted to be part of a great earthly kingdom, but His kingdom was a heavenly one.

  Marty was beginning to understand some of the things concerning the Messiah, but there were still a lot of unanswered questions in her mind.

  “Do ya really think thet God, who runs the whole world like, be knowin’ you?” she asked forthrightly.

  “I’m right sure thet He do,” Clark responded simply.

  “An’ how can ya be so sure?”

  Clark looked thoughtfully at the Book carefully placed on the shelf near the table. “I believe the Bible, and it tells me thet He does. And because He answers my prayers.”

  “Ya mean by givin’ ya whatever ya ask fer?”

  Clark thought a minute, then shook his head. “No, not thet. Oft times He jest helps me to git by without what I asked fer.”

  Marty shook her head. “Thet seems ta be a strange idea.”

  Clark looked at her a moment, then said, “I’m thinkin’ not so strange. A lot of times, what folks ask fer, they don’t need a’tall.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like good crops, new plows, an extry cow or two.”

  “What about iffen ya lose something thet ya already had an’ had sorta set yer mind on?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Ya mean like Clem or Ellen?”

  Marty nodded slowly.

  “He don’t take away the hurt, but He sure do share it with ya.”

  “Wisht I woulda had me someone to share mine with.”

  “He was there, an’ I’m thinkin’ thet He helped ya more than ya was aware.”

  “But I didn’t really know to ask Him to.”

  “I did.”

  Twenty-Five

  Catastrophe!

  On March sixteen little Clare marked his first month in the family. So far he had been a first-rate baby, but Clark kept warning, “Jest ya wait ’til he starts cuttin’ his teeth.”

  Marty told Clark she hoped he would be wrong—and Clark fervently hoped so, too. “Missie had herself a plumb awful time with them teeth,” he told her.

  The day had turned colder again after some hints of spring, and it looked like another storm might be hitting soon. Clark had left early in the morning to restock their supplies.

  He was back earlier than usual, and the anticipated storm was still holding off. Mrs. McDonald had sent a small parcel for the baby. Marty opened it and found another small bib.

  “I do declare,” she laughed. “Thet boy sure be well set up fer bibs. Guess he be well fixed fer droolin’ when those teeth come in.”

  Clark laughed with her.

  Missie’s bed had been completed by now and set up in the bedroom, and the small crib was moved into the sitting room, where it was warmer for the baby during the day. He was awake more often now and liked to lie and look around, waving his small fists frantically in the air. Marty still took him into the bed with her at night.

  When the day ended and evening fell, Clark and Marty both noticed a shift in the wind. Clark commented, “Guess we not be gettin’ thet storm tonight after all.”

  The thought was a welcome one. Large drifts of snow still lay over the ground, and their hopes for an early spring were disappointed regularly. The weather mostly stayed cold with occasional snow flurries, and the arctic winds made winter’s long stay even drearier.

  With Clark’s hurried trip to town and Marty having baked bread as well as done the washing for the baby, they were both tired from a long day’s work, so Clark said good-night and headed for the lean-to.

  Marty tucked herself in, stretching her toes deep into the warm blankets. She n
ursed young Clare so he would sleep as far into the night as possible and settled down with him tucked in beside her. She thought she had barely fallen asleep when she was awakened with Clark bending over her, hurriedly pulling on his jacket.

  “The barn be ablaze. Ya jest stay put. I’m goin’ fer the stock,” and he was gone.

  Marty’s head felt foggy with sleep. Had she had a dream? No, she was sure he really had been there. What should she do? It seemed to take forever before she finally was able to move, though in truth it no doubt was a matter of seconds. She scrambled from the bed, making sure Clare and Missie were both sleeping, and then, without stopping to dress herself or even slip into her house socks, she ran through the house to the kitchen window. Before she even pulled the curtain aside she could see the angry red glow. Horror filled her as she looked at the scene. The barn’s roof was on fire, with leaping flames towering into the dark sky and smoke pouring upward, and there was Clark silhouetted against the frightening scene. He had swung open the barn door and smoke was billowing out.

  As Marty realized what he had actually said to her and saw him about to enter the inferno, her own voice choked out, sounding as desperate in her ears as she felt, “No, Clark, no. Don’t go in there, please, please—”

  But he had gone—for the animals. We can get more animals, Clark, her heart silently cried.

  Marty stood at the window—watching, straining, dying a thousand deaths in what seemed forever, praying as best she could. And then through the smoke plunged Charlie—or was it Dan?—and right behind him came the other horse, rearing and pawing the air. The saddle horse came close behind, dragging his halter rope and tossing his head wildly. He ran until he crashed stupidly into the corral fence, falling back only to struggle up again to race around frantically.

  Marty stared unblinking at the barn door. “Oh, Clark, Clark, please, please. God, iffen ya can hear me, please let ’im come out,” she whispered through teeth clenched tightly together.

  But the next dark shape to come through the smoke was a milk cow, then another, and another.

  “Oh, God!” sobbed Marty. “He’ll never make it.”

  The walls of the barn were now engulfed in flame, too. The fire licked hungrily along the wall, reaching terrifying fingers toward the open door. And then she saw him, stumbling through the entrance, dragging harnesses with him and staggering along until he reached the corral fence. She could see him clinging to it for support and pulling a wet towel he must have grabbed on his way out away from his head and face.

  “Oh, God!” cried Marty as she collapsed in a heap on the cold kitchen floor.

  Somehow the long night blurred together from then on. Marty simply couldn’t take it all in. Clark was safe, but the barn was gone. Neighbor men, with water and snow, seemed to be everywhere, now fighting to save the other outbuildings.

  Women were there, too, bustling about her, talking, giving the men a hand by turns, making up sandwiches and coffee. Marty felt numb with emotional exhaustion. Someone placed baby Clare in her arms.

  “He’s cryin’ to eat,” she said. “Best ya sit ya down an’ nurse ’im.”

  She did. That much she could understand.

  When morning came, the barn lay in smoldering ruins, but the sheds had been saved.

  Tired, smoky faces gathered around a hastily made campfire in the yard for the coffee and sandwiches. Their clothes and boots were ice crusted, and their hands cupped around mugs for warmth. They talked in hushed tones. Losing one’s barn and feed, with winter still in full swing, was a great loss, and each one knew it only too well.

  Eventually the men quietly gathered their women, anxious to be home and out of frozen clothing. Just as the first team left the yard, Jedd Larson arrived with his team.

  “Good ole Jedd.” Marty heard an annoyed whisper. “Prob’ly be late fer his own buryin’.”

  Jedd took over where the others had left off, helping himself to a cup of coffee and grabbing up a sandwich. As the neighbor families, one by one, took their leave, he appeared to be settling in for a long chat.

  Poor Clark, Marty thought as she glanced anxiously out the kitchen window. He jest be lookin’ beat. All ashes an’ soot an’ half frozen, an’ now Jedd wants to sit an’ jaw him to death—no sense a’tall, thet Jedd. Well, I won’t ’low it, and pulling her shawl about her shoulders, she marched out.

  “Mr. Larson,” she greeted the man, keeping her voice even. “Right good of ya to be comin’ over to give us a hand. Guess things be under control like now, thanks to all our fine neighbors. Have ya had coffee? Good! I’m sorry to be interruptin’ like, but right now I’m afeared thet my husband be needed indoors—iffen ya can be excusin’ ’im.”

  She had never referred to Clark as her husband before, and Clark’s cup paused midway to his mouth, but he said nothing. She gave a meaningful nod toward the door, and Clark added his thanks to Jedd and went into the house.

  “Give yer missus our greetin’s,” Marty told the man. “We won’t be keepin’ ya any longer, ya havin’ chores at home waitin’ on ya an’ all. Ya’ll be welcome to come agin when ya can sit an’ chat a spell. Bring yer family along. Thank ya agin. One really ’preciates fine neighbors. I’d best be gettin’ in to my young’uns. Good day, Mr. Larson.”

  Marty turned to the house, looking over her shoulder as Jedd Larson crawled into his wagon and aimed it for home. She noticed he didn’t have the wagon box moved to the sleigh runners yet. No doubt he had kept planning on getting to it but just hadn’t found the time.

  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 esca
ped 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.