The Love Comes Softly Collection

by Janette Oke

  When they passed the Collins’ wagon, Missie stopped to ask if she could help with any laundry. Mrs. Collins assured her they were quite all right for at least another day. Missie was secretly relieved and hoped it didn’t show. She would gladly have helped the young woman if the need had been there, but her own body was still sore and weary from her two days on the trail. Maybe by the morrow she would begin to feel more like herself.

  When eventually they came to the Clay wagon, Willie greeted John and proudly introduced Missie. John, in turn, called for Rebecca, who was inside the wagon. When she thought about it later, Missie wasn’t sure what she had expected, but she was unprepared for her first glimpse of Rebecca as she pushed back the flap of the canvas and slowly stepped down, reaching for her husband’s hand to assist her descent. Her face looked tired and so very young, but an easy smile brightened her countenance as she saw Missie. The long auburn-brown hair was swept back from a pale face and held fast with a dark green ribbon. Her eyes held glints of the same green. Rebecca was attractive, but her appeal was definitely more than that. Missie immediately found herself wanting to know her and become her friend.

  As soon as Rebecca’s feet were securely on the ground, she held out her hand to Missie.

  “I’m Rebecca Clay.” She spoke softly, controlled. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

  “And I’m Melissa LaHaye,” Missie responded. She wasn’t sure why she had said her given name, but somehow she felt Rebecca should know who she really was. “Folks all just call me Missie,” she quickly added.

  “And they call me Becky.”

  “That suits you,” Missie said with a warm smile. She turned to Willie. “My husband, Willie—he’s met your John.”

  “Yes, John told me. I’ve been anxious to meet you both, but I’ve been a bit of a baby for the past two days. I hope I’ll soon be able to walk some with the rest of you. I’m sure your company would be much more enjoyable than my own.” She extended her hand. “Please, won’t you sit down. We have no chairs to offer, but those smooth rocks John rolled over aren’t bad.”

  Missie joined in with Becky’s chuckle as the four seated themselves on the rocks and settled in to talk. John replenished the fire. “Hope I can keep away some of those pesky mosquitoes,” he said over his shoulder as he went for more kindling.

  “An’ jest where are you folks headin’?” Willie asked the first question on all lips of those traveling west. Missie found herself hoping the answer would bring good news of future neighbors.

  “We travel with this train to Tettsford Junction, then rest for a few days before joining a group going northwest,” John answered. “My brother went out last year and sent word home that you never did see such good wheat land. He can hardly wait for us to get there so he can show it off. Says you don’t even have to clear the land—just put the plow to it.”

  Missie found that hard to believe, but she had heard others tell the same story. She couldn’t help but feel disappointment as she realized that the Clays would not be their neighbors after all.

  “And you?” John Clay asked.

  “We catch the supply train headin’ south when we git to Tettsford. I’ve got me some ranch land in the southern hills.”

  “Ya like thet country?”

  “It’s pretty as a dream.” Willie’s eyes lit up as he got on his favorite subject for an audience who hadn’t heard it all many times over. “All hills an’ sky an’ grassy draws. Not much fer trees in the area. The little valley where I’m plannin’ to build has a few trees, but nothin’ like we have where we come from.”

  “Understand there’s no trees at all where we’re heading,” John noted.

  “I can’t imagine country without trees,” Becky said slowly. Becky’s voice sounded so wistful, Missie knew immediately that this deficiency would be a trial for the young woman.

  Missie loved forests also and felt a sympathetic stirring inside, but she pushed it aside with a quick, “We’ll get used to it.”

  Becky smiled. “I guess we will. Anyway, I suppose I’ll be too busy to notice much.”

  The men had moved away to inspect John’s harness. One section of the shoulder strap seemed to be rubbing a sore on his big black’s right shoulder, John had explained, and he was anxious to find some way to correct the problem. As the men talked it over, Missie and Becky were left on their own.

  “Did you leave a family behind?” Missie asked, thinking of her own parents.

  “Only my father,” answered Becky. “My mother died when I was fifteen.”

  “You don’t look much more than fifteen now,” Missie smiled.

  Becky laughed. “Everyone thinks I’m still a youngster. Guess I just look like one. I wager I’m every day as old as you—I’ll be nineteen next October.”

  Missie was surprised. “Why you are almost as old as me. When is your baby due?”

  “In about two months. We’re hoping all goes well so we’ll be in Tettsford Junction by then. They have a doctor there, you know.”

  “They do?” said Missie. “I didn’t know the town was that big.”

  “Oh, it’s quite an important place, really. Almost all the wagon trains pass through it and then branch off in different directions.”

  “I sure find myself wishing that you were coming down our way,” Missie said with sincerity.

  Becky looked at her frankly. “I feel the same way. It wouldn’t be half so scary if I knew I’d have you for a neighbor, even if you were nearly a day’s ride away.”

  Both young women were silent for a few minutes. Missie toyed with the hem of her shawl while Becky poked without purpose at the fire.

  “Missie,” Becky spoke softly, “are you ever scared?”

  Missie did not raise her eyes.

  “About moving west?”

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t think I was.” Missie hesitated. “Willie was so excited, and I honestly thought I wanted to go, too. And I do, really I do. But I didn’t know . . . that I’d . . . well, that I’d have such a hard time of it, that it’d hurt so much to leave Mama and Pa. I didn’t think that I’d feel so . . . so empty.” She stumbled over the words and finally raised her head and said deliberately, “Well, yes. Now I’m beginning to feel scared.”

  “Thanks for telling me, Missie. I’m glad I’m not the only one, because I feel like such a child about it all. I’ve never told anyone, not even John. I want so much for him to have his dream, but . . . sometimes . . . sometimes I fear I won’t be able to make it come true for him, that my homesickness will keep him from being really happy.”

  Missie felt her eyes widen in surprise. “You feel homesick?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Even without leaving a mother behind?”

  “Maybe even more so. My pa loved my mama so much it was awfully hard on him when he lost her. I was all he had, and when John came along, I . . . well, I fell so in love I couldn’t think of anyone else.” She stopped to take a deep breath. “So now I’ve . . . I’ve left Pa all alone,” she finished in a rush.

  Becky’s eyes filled with tears. She brushed them away and continued, “If only he still had Mama, I wouldn’t have this worry about him. I miss him . . . so very much. He’s such a good man, Missie, so strong—big, muscular, tough. But inside, deep inside, Pa is so tender, so . . .” She took another breath. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  Now it was Missie’s eyes that filled with tears. She nodded. “Yes, indeed I do. I know just such a man, and I wouldn’t be one bit surprised that he’s crying silent tears for me just as often as I’m weeping for him. At least he has Mama and the other youngsters who are still at home.”

  “So you are lonesome, too?”

  A quiet nod was Missie’s answer.

  “I expect it gets better.”

  “I hope so. I truly hope so,” Missie said fervently. “I’m counting on God to make it so.”

  “You know . . . you talk to God?”

  “Oh yes, without Him—�
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  “I’m so glad!” Becky exclaimed. “It’s He who gives me daily courage, too. I’m not very brave . . . even with Him. But without Him, I’d be a downright coward.”

  Missie sniffed away her tears, and the two shared a laugh at Becky’s confession.

  “I’m glad I’ve got Willie,” Missie said. “He has enough courage for both of us.”

  “So does John. He can see nothing but good in our future. Oh, I do hope that I won’t let him down.”

  Missie reached over and squeezed the girl’s hand. “You won’t,” she encouraged firmly. “You’ve got more than you allow yourself, or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Oh, Missie, I hope so.”

  “Are you afraid . . . about the baby?”

  “A little. But I try not to think about things like that. Mostly I’m tired and a little sick from the sun and the motion of the wagon. I’ll be so glad when I’m feeling well enough to walk.”

  “You must be careful not to walk too long at first.”

  “John thinks that walking will do me a lot of good. He says fresh air and good exercise is what I need. His ma had nine babies and never missed a day’s work with any of them.”

  Well, good for John’s ma, Missie wanted to say, but she held her tongue. Instead she said, “There’s a midwife here. She’s delivered lots of babies. She’ll tell you if you should be pushing yourself and walking some.”

  “John told me about her, but I haven’t met her yet.”

  “You’ll like her, I’m sure. I met her today. She’s just the kind of woman one would like to help with a birthing. I’ll bring her around to meet you, if you’d like.”

  “Would you, Missie? I haven’t felt up to seeking her out, and I do have a lot of questions. If my mama . . .” Becky did not finish but blinked quickly.

  “I’ll bring her by tomorrow, if I can,” Missie assured her gently. Then she said, “When we left—Willie an’ me—my pa gave us a special verse. We have sort of claimed it as ours, but no one really has any special claim on God. His promises are for all of His children. I’d like to share our verse with you. I hope it will be as special to you as it is to Willie and me. It comes from Isaiah.” She paused, then quoted from memory, “‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’ That’s an awful lot of promise for one verse to offer, but I feel sure that God really means it. He can—and will—be with us, in life or in death. I know He is with us through everything.”

  “Thank you, Missie, I really needed that truth. When you drop by on the morrow, would you do something for me? It’s too dark to see right now, but I’d like you to show me where that verse is so I can read it for myself. Would you do that?”

  “I’d be glad to.”

  The menfolk had gone on down to check the horses and rub some of Willie’s ointment on the black’s sore shoulder. The silence that followed Missie’s words was broken only by the crackling of the fire. Missie found herself wishing she could tell Becky her own good news, but she held it back. Willie must be the first one to know. She must tell Willie—soon. It wasn’t right to keep it from him. If only he wouldn’t be worried. If she could just conquer her tiredness and perk up a bit. How thankful she was that she hadn’t been troubled with bouts of morning sickness.

  Becky interrupted her thoughts. “I’m afraid I have to confess to a lie, Missie. I’m not just a little afraid—I am scared—about the baby, about maybe not having a doctor, about the way I’ve been feeling. I don’t know one thing about babies, Missie—not about their birthing or their care. The thought of maybe having that baby on this trip west nigh scares me to death, but John says . . .” She shook her head slowly and let the words hang.

  Missie spoke quickly. “An’ John’s right. That baby will probably be born in Tettsford in a pretty bedroom with a doc there to fuss over him. But if . . . if the little one does decide to hurry it up a bit, then we have Mrs. Kosensky—about as good a woman as you’d find anywhere. Just you wait till you get to know her. She’ll put your mind at ease. I’ll fetch her around, first chance I get.”

  Becky summoned a smile. “Thanks, Missie. You must think me a real crybaby, carrying on so over an ordinary circumstance like a baby’s coming. I’d like to meet Mrs. Ko . . . Ko . . . what’s her name? Maybe she can even get me feeling better so I can do some walking with you. I feel like every bone in my body is turned to mush by the jarring, bouncing wagon.” She smiled and rose. “The men should be coming back soon. Do you think they’d like some coffee?”

  On Saturday night after supper, Trailmaster Blake called for a gathering of the wagon-train members.

  “Life on a trek west can be a tad dull,” he stated matter-of-factly, “so iffen any of ya can play anything thet makes a squeak, we’d ’preciate it iffen you’d bring it out.”

  Henry produced a guitar and Mr. Weiss a rather worn-looking fiddle. A time of singing around the fire was arranged, and folks joined in heartily, humming the tunes when they did not know the words. Some of the children jumped or skipped or swayed to the music in their own version of a folk dance.

  What Mr. Weiss could accomplish on his well-used fiddle was quite remarkable, and Henry was rather adept at keeping up with him. Henry was also blessed with a pleasant singing voice, and he led the group in one song after another, some of them camp choruses and others favorite hymns. Missie loved every minute of it, and the singing brought back memories of their little congregation back home worshiping together. She decided Henry’s healthy appetite was well worth feeding, and she determined to always be ready with generous second helpings.

  Far too soon for Missie, Mr. Blake stood and waved his hand for attention.

  “Thank ya, men . . . thank ya. You’ve done a fine job. Now it’s gittin’ late and time to be turnin’ in. ’Sides, the mosquitoes are ’bout as hungry as I’ve ever seen ’em.” He waved a few away from his face.

  “Tomorrow, bein’ Sunday, the train will stay to camp. Me, I’m not a religious man, but a day of rest jest plain makes sense—both fer the animals an’ fer us people. Now, iffen you who are religious are hankerin’ fer some kind of church service, I’m leavin’ ya on yer own to do the plannin’. I’m no good at sech things. Fact is, I plan on spendin’ tomorrow down at yonder crik, seein’ iffen I can catch me some fish.” He looked around the group. “Now, then, are there any of you who’d be wantin’ church?”

  Quite a few hands were raised.

  “Fine . . . fine,” Mr. Blake said. “Klein, ya figurin’ thet you can take charge?”

  Henry looked a little nonplussed but nodded his assent, and the meeting was dismissed.

  Henry then spent some time calling upon his wagon neighbors in preparation for the morning service. A few did not wish to take part, but most were eager to worship together on the Lord’s Day.

  Willie was appointed to read the Scripture, and Henry himself took charge of the singing. Mr. Weiss could play hymns on his old violin with even more feeling than he played the lively dance tunes and folk songs, and everything was set.

  Sunday dawned clear and warm. The service had been set for nine so it would be over before the sun was too high and hot in the sky. The people gathered in a grove of trees near the stream and settled themselves beneath the protective branches on logs that Willie and Henry had cut and placed there for that purpose.

  They began with a hearty hymn-sing, Henry leading out in his clear baritone voice. Kathy Weiss taught the group a new song—simple and short but with a catchy tune. Many hands clapped in accompaniment when they were not occupied with slapping mosquitoes.

  After the final triumphant stanza of “Amazing Grace,” Henry indicated the singing had concluded and asked Mr. Weiss to lead the group in prayer. He did so with such fervor that Missie was reminded of home.

  Anyone who wished was invited to tell of finding God’s presence on the trail. One by one, several stood to exp
ress their thanks to God for His leading, for strength, for assurance in spite of fears, for incidents of protection along the way. Missie and Becky exchanged glances and meaningful smiles.

  After the last voluntary testimony had been shared, Willie read the Scripture. He had chosen the passage about Jesus feeding the multitudes with only a small boy’s lunch. Missie was sure that others caught the special significance of trusting God to provide for them and to protect them in their travels together. The group listened carefully as Willie’s voice presented the words from the Bible and his confidence in the promises of God. When he closed the Book there were many nods and “amens.”

  Though their wilderness setting gave no hint of a church building, the time of worship had been just as meaningful as if they’d had a roof over their heads and a church bell tolling. As the group scattered to their own campsites, they shook Henry’s hand and thanked him for a job well done. Some suggested another hymn-sing around the fire that night, and so it was arranged.

  The Sunday service and Sunday night hymn-sing became even more popular with the wagon-train members than the Saturday night gathering. As the weeks went by, some of those who had not been interested in joining the Sunday crowd for their worship time found themselves washing their faces, putting on clean clothes, brushing the trail dust off their boots, and heading for whatever spot had been set aside for that week’s service. Missie and Willie were thrilled to see the interest grow. The folks appeared to yearn for that restful time of worship and sharing on Sunday.

  Mr. Blake, on the other hand, was left to his own choice of Sunday activity, whether it was hunting, fishing, or just lying in the shade. Missie noticed him on one particular Sunday morning, though, when he had chosen to simply hang around camp. It looked suspiciously as if he were listening.

  Six

  Tedious Journey

  Day after long day rolled and bounced by in mostly tiresome predictability. Even the weather seemed monotonous. The sun blazed down upon them with only an occasional shower to bring temporary relief.