by Janette Oke
But the preacher did not stop there. He went on with the story of that first Easter morning when the women went early to the tomb and found the Lord had risen.
“He lives,” said the preacher, “and because He is victor over sin and death, we, too, can be.”
Marty’s heart filled with such a surge of joy she felt like shouting—but not here, not now, she cautioned herself. She would eventually, though. She had to tell someone that now she understood. I’ve given myself to be a knowin’ Clark’s God, she told herself, awed by the thought.
She reached over and slipped her hand into Clark’s. When Clark looked at her, she returned his gaze. He must have read the difference in her face, and the big hand firmly squeezed her smaller one. Marty knew he shared her joy, as she now shared his God. It was enough.
The weddings followed the worship service. Laura and Milt stood together first in front of the pastor. Sally Anne had wanted it that way. Milt looked down at his feet, shifting back and forth with regularity. He looked rather careless in demeanor and attire, though he had trimmed his beard and had a haircut. Laura looked shyly at him in a way that made Marty hope maybe, with the help of a good woman’s love, this man could indeed change. She wanted with all her heart for the two of them to find happiness together.
Jason and Sally Anne stood next, and Marty knew the joy and love showing on their faces was reflected in the Grahams’ as well as her own heart. How easy it was to share in their happiness.
As soon as the ceremonies were over, the neighbors began the merrymaking, throwing rice, ringing cowbells, and lining up to kiss the brides. The two couples were finally allowed to sit down at the table piled with gifts, and while the womenfolk made preparations for the noon meal, the brides unwrapped their presents.
As the good-natured talk and laughter continued during the meal, the Larsons arrived. Jedd swaggered over to the tables, not even bothering to tether his team. Mrs. Larson placed a pan of corn bread with the other dishes and, with eyes to the ground, ushered her youngsters to a safe-looking place at a far table. Marty rose and, with a pretense of refilling the water pitcher, passed close to the woman.
“Ya all be welcome. So glad ta see ya agin’,” Marty said softly. The woman did not lift her eyes, but a small spot of color appeared in each cheek as she nodded in answer. “The good Lord has done so much fer all of us,” Marty continued, reaching out to tousle each child’s hair. “Preacher talked ’bout it this mornin’, how God can clean up folks’ hearts and change their ways. He’s put me on that path,” she added, not exactly sure how to express what she was feeling.
Marty’s feelings soared with satisfaction as she noticed Mrs. Larson’s upward glance. Wasn’t that an expression of hope? Meanwhile, Jedd just loaded his plate and settled down to eat. Further visiting with Mrs. Larson could come at another time.
When the tables had been cleared away, the two new young couples loaded their wagons and kissed Ma good-bye. Ma bore up bravely, but there was a longing in her eyes as she kissed Sally Anne good-bye, and an expression of deep concern as she pulled Laura close to her, holding her at length before she released her. Marty turned away lest her own tears spill over.
Clark and Marty lingered for a while, sensing how a difficult time in the Grahams’ lives had been made even more so, then collected their children and got themselves on home.
“All in all, this was a good day,” Marty told Clark, and he nodded his agreement.
Twenty-Nine
Planting
The sun carried more warmth each day, and Marty was very glad to get the children outside into the fresh air. Clark had finished work on the new bedrooms, and Marty had added her own touches with curtains and rugs. They did appreciate the additional areas for work and play. Clark’s days began early and ended only when it was too dark to see any longer in the fields he was tilling, and every day more land was ready for the carefully guarded seed that had survived the fire.
Enough grass was now finding its way out of the earth for the three cows to graze. A young calf was in the weaning pen, the second cow was still to calf, and a third would come much later.
One of the sows already had offspring at her side. Missie was especially captivated by the squealing little piglets trying to get their fair share at mealtimes. The sow had not given them as good a litter as they had hoped, bearing only six and losing two, but they thought the second sow might do better. Three of Marty’s eight hens were sitting on eggs. She hoped to replenish the chicken coop again.
The new barn stood straight and strong, a bit larger than its predecessor. As yet it was still unchinked, but that could be done during slack time later in the year. The roof was on and the floor in. It would do as it was until after the crop was in the ground.
Marty was humming one of the new hymns she was learning as she worked on breakfast preparations. Missie had specifically asked for pancakes, and as Marty stirred the batter she remembered those early weeks in this little house when all she knew how to make was pancakes. Then she thought of the two new brides and wondered how they were making out with their cooking responsibilities. She was sure they would do much better, with Ma having trained them well.
Sally Anne was well settled in. She and Jason had driven over one evening to return the saddle horse. Jason’s eyes shone with pride as he boasted of how Sally Anne had hung the curtains, spread the rugs, and set her little kitchen in order. She was a right fine cook, too, he went on, and Sally Anne’s cheeks had flushed with pleasure. Clark and Marty chuckled about it later. Marty smiled now as she pictured the young couple so content in their love for each other.
Then her thoughts shifted to Laura. How was Laura really doing? she wondered. Clark had seen her recently when he had driven up over the brow of a hill, and there was Laura walking down the road. She had seemed startled at his sudden appearance, he said, and had turned sharply away. When he stopped the team to offer her a lift, she looked back at him to say, “No thanks, walkin’ be right good for me.” But her eyes looked troubled and there was a bruise on her cheek. He had gone on his way, but as he related his story to Marty that evening she could tell he was deeply troubled by it all. Poor Laura, Marty thought, shaking her head. To be expecting a child with this man and seeming so unhappy and alone. Her heart ached for her—and for Ma Graham.
She could hear Clark whistling as he came from the barn, so she called Missie to come quickly to the table. I wonder, she thought as she helped the child into her chair, if spring plantin’ always makes a man so happy like.
Spring was getting into her blood, too, and she was anxious to sink her own hands into the soil. It was so wonderful to feel slim and comfortable again. She felt like she was gliding about, no longer weighted down and clumsy “carrying a young’un everywhere I go,” as she had expressed it once to Ma. She was thankful to have baby Clare out where she could hug him close or lay him down at will.
During their morning reading and prayer, Marty almost smiled as Clark read, “‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’” She felt she understood the meaning of Jesus’ words in a special way.
I thank ye, Lord, that ye be teachin’ me how to rest in you, she prayed inwardly. Ya be comfortin’ me, and I be grateful for that.
After Clark had finished praying and committing their day to God, Marty asked, “Be it about time to plant the garden?”
“Some of the seeds should go in now. I be thinkin’ this mornin’ thet I best put the plow to work turnin’ the ground. Should be ready fer ya in short order. Ya wantin’ to plant it today?”
“Oh yes,” Marty answered enthusiastically. “Me, I’m right eager to get goin’ on it. Only . . .”
When she couldn’t think of how to tell him, Clark urged, “Only what?”
Marty flushed. “Well . . . I never planted before.”
“Planted what?”
“Planted anythin’.”
“Didn’t yer folks have themselves a garden?”
&
nbsp; “My ma said ’twas a nuisance, thet she’d as leave buy off a neighbor or from the store. She didn’t care none fer the soil, I reckon.”
“An’ you?”
“I think I’d love to git into makin’ somethin’ grow. I can hardly wait to try. Only . . .”
Clark looked across at her. “Only what?” he prompted again.
“Well,” Marty gulped, “I know thet the garden be a woman’s work, but I was wonderin’ . . .” She hesitated. “Jest this one time, could ya show me how to plant the seeds an’ all?”
Clark looked as though he was trying not to smile and answered slowly, “I reckon I could . . . this once, mind.”
Marty looked at him and the twinkle in his eye and took a deep breath of relief. It was the first time she had been able to bring herself to ask him for something, and he seemed to be pleased rather than offended by it. She said, “The best time be right after dinner while the young’uns be havin’ their naps. Will the ground be plowed an’ ready by then?”
Clark nodded. “I think I can oblige that schedule,” he said with mock seriousness as he got up for the coffeepot. Marty nearly choked on a mouthful of pancake. It was the first time she had missed getting his second cup of coffee for some months. Clark seemed unperturbed as he poured for both of them and returned to his place.
Over their steaming mugs they discussed what seeds she would plant; then he reached for his hat. “Thet be good coffee,” he said as he went out the door.
At noon after the dinner dishes were done and the children settled, Clark and Marty spread the garden seeds out on the kitchen table to decide what was to be put in at first planting and what left until later. Clark patiently showed her the different seeds, telling her what they were and the peculiarity of their growing habits. Marty listened wide-eyed. He knew so much, Clark did, and as he talked about the seeds, they seemed to take on personalities right before her eyes—like children, needing special care and attention.
They soon gathered up the seeds and headed for the garden. The sun warmed the ground, making the freshly turned soil smell delightfully inviting. The two laughed together about how Missie, and soon Clare, too, would want to be getting their hands—as well as the rest of their little bodies—into the dirt.
Marty reached down and let a handful of the soil trickle through her fingers. It’s beautiful, she wanted to say, but it seemed such a foolish word to describe dirt. She suddenly stopped, and turning her back to Clark, she slipped off her shoes. Then lifting her skirt modestly, she peeled off her stockings and tucked them carefully into the toes of the shoes. Standing barefoot, feeling the luxury of the warm earth, she dug her toes deeply into its moist richness. She felt like a child again—young and free, with burdens and responsibilities stripped away for the moment.
No wonder horses like ta lie down and roll when their harness is taken off, she thought. Me, I’d love to be doin’ the same thing.
Clark was already busy preparing rows for her to plant. She went down on her knees and began to drop seeds into the fertile ground.
“Someday soon, I’ll be watchin’ ya grow,” she said quietly as the tiny carrot seeds spilled from her hand.
Clark returned to cover the row after she had placed the seed.
He looks to be enjoyin’ it ’most as much as I am, thought Marty. Then she caught sight of their gamboling calf and wished she herself had the nerve to skip around like that. It’s good jest to be livin’ on sech a day.
The two worked on together, for the most part in silence, and Marty was feeling a new comradeship with the earth and with this tall, patient man whom she called her husband. Nearing the end of their task, Clark squatted down to carefully pat earth over the sweet corn Marty had just dropped into the ground.
Seeing his rather unstable position, Marty sneaked up behind him and gave him a playful shove. He went sprawling in the loose dirt as he took a quick look at her trying to hide her laughter behind her hands.
“Me thinks there’s someone askin’ fer sweet corn down her neck,” he said, scrambling up and reaching for a handful of corn.
Marty was off at a run, but even though she was rather nimble, Clark’s long strides soon overtook her. Both long arms went about her, halting her escape. She writhed and twisted against him, seeking to loose herself, but her laughter made her efforts most ineffectual. Clark tried to hold her close so he could free one hand with the corn kernels, but his own laughter was hampering his efforts.
Marty was conscious of his nearness in a way she had never been before. The strength of the arms that held her, the beating of the heart against her cheek, the clean smell of shaving soap that still clung to him—everything about this man who held her sent warm tingles all through her. Her breath was beginning to come in little gasps, and she was powerless to struggle any longer.
The one strong arm pinned her securely against him, and his other hand dumped its load of kernels down the front of her dress. Marty looked up into laughing eyes bent over her, uncomfortably close to her own. The breath caught in her throat as a strangely familiar emotion swept through her. The expression on Clark’s face was somehow changing from teasing to something else.
Marty pulled back abruptly, an unreasoning fear filling her heart and her body going weak.
“Thet be Clare?” she said quickly, pushing with trembling hands against Clark’s chest.
Clark let her go, and she half ran, half stumbled to the house, her cheeks aflame.
Inside she leaned her head against the bedroom door, trying to sort out the reasons for her throbbing heart and troubled spirit. She could find no answer, and after giving herself several minutes to get herself in hand, she picked up her courage and returned to the garden. But Clark was just putting away the tools. The job was done.
Thirty
Sorrow
Marty looked out the window each morning to check on the progress of the garden. Tiny green stalks were starting to push through, and Missie was nearly as delighted as Marty as they watched them grow. The little girl quickly learned that she should not step on the tender plants or pull them up to inspect their roots.
The activities and conversations in the household seemed to be normal, but deep down Marty knew something had changed. Clark was as considerate as ever, and they still talked things over and enjoyed the children. But there was an uneasy acknowledgment that things were different. She would not let herself think too deeply about it. It was fairly easy to go through the motions of the day in the same orderly fashion she had learned to follow.
She rose early, fed baby Clare, prepared breakfast, and dressed Missie. Then they read Scripture, prayed, and ate the morning meal. She could sit across from Clark, could talk to him and share her plans for the day in as ordinary a way as ever, but she did not let her eyes linger on his for very long. She longed for things to stay as they had been and at the same time feared that they might. Oh my, she mourned, what’s happenin’? What’s gonna happen . . . ?
Marty wandered out to the garden to see the growing things and hopefully take her mind off all the perplexing thoughts and feelings. Somehow the garden always gave her a sense of accomplishment and joy. She even found herself talking to the corn, then pushed a little dirt around a potato plant, coaxed the onions and lettuce to hurry a bit, and wondered why she had bothered with so many beans.
She walked over to the fruit trees and was admiring each new leaf when she noted that one of the trees bore blossoms. Her heart leaped—apples. Imagine, apples! Oh, if she could only show Clark, but he was in the fields planting. Then she was surprised to see him coming toward her in long, purposeful strides.
“Clark,” she called eagerly. “Clark, come see.”
With her eyes fixed on the tree, she reached for his hand to draw him closer.
“Look, Clark,” she enthused. “Apple blossoms. We’re gonna have apples. Jest look.”
There was no answer. She looked up in bewilderment at the silence. Clark stood looking down at her, his face pale, and sh
e could read such sorrow in his eyes. Her heart contracted with fear.
“What . . . what be wrong?” she whispered through trembling lips.
He reached for her then, placing a hand on each shoulder, and looked deeply at her as though willing her some of his strength to help her bear the news he was bringing.
“It’s Laura. They done found her in the crik over by the Conners’ cabin.”
“Is she . . . is she . . . ?”
“She be dead, Marty.”
She sagged against him, her hand pressed to her mouth. “An’ Ma?” she finally asked.
“She be needin’ ya.”
And then she was sobbing, her face against his chest. His hands smoothed her hair as he held her close. She cried for Ma, for Laura, for Ben, even for Sally Anne.
Oh, God, she prayed. Ya be the only one to be helpin’ at a time like this. Help us all now. Please, God, help us now. Somehow she knew Clark was silently praying the same prayer.
Marty was there when Laura’s body was brought to the Grahams’. She would never forget the heartrending scene. Ma gathered the lifeless body into her arms, weeping as though her heart would break and rocking back and forth, saying over and over, “My poor baby, my poor little darlin’.” After a time, she wiped her tears, squared her shoulders determinedly, and began to tenderly prepare the body for burial. Ben’s grief certainly matched Ma’s, but he did not feel the same freedom to express it. Marty had never seen such an ashen face, such bewilderment and grief, as she saw in Ben. She was even more concerned for Ben than for Ma.
Ben insisted on riding over to the Conners’ cabin. Unbeknownst to him, Clark had already been there. He had found a very drunk Milt, who swore he knew nothing of Laura’s death. He may have roughed her up a bit, he admitted. But she was quite alive when he’d last seen her, he insisted. Clark had convinced Milt in no uncertain terms that he would be wise to move farther west and to do so immediately.
Clark rode over again with Ben, making no mention of his previous visit. The cabin looked to be deserted for good and in a great hurry. Clark told Marty later that he was very relieved Milt had already gone, fearing what Ben might have done in his present state.
