by Janette Oke
She felt a tear drop onto her forehead. Willie was weeping, too.
“It’s gonna be so hard,” he finally managed to say, his voice husky. “So awful hard . . . but we’ll make it. Remember our verse—‘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’!”
Fear thou not echoed over and over through Missie’s mind. How could she not be afraid?
The wagon train made its final camp just outside Tettsford Junction. The town proved to be a larger settlement than anyone on the train had anticipated. Missie looked around at the bleakness of the countryside and wondered what sustained it. The land about didn’t appear able to produce any more than a bit of sagebrush. Who could possibly endure such barrenness? Missie thought with a shiver. She turned her back on the wind that seemed to be constantly blowing.
The traveling companions from the many weeks shared mixed emotions. John still felt empty and alone. He had difficulty deciding what he should do, whether to continue on his way and join his brother as planned or look for some kind of work in the town. The bright promises that the land had held for him seemed empty now that Becky was gone.
The Pages made up their minds to stay in town, as did a couple of other families that Missie didn’t know very well. Jessie Tuttle would continue on, so Mrs. Page saved a few choice sentences for a parting shot. Jessie ignored the needling, much to Mrs. Page’s annoyance and everyone else’s amusement.
Mrs. Emory, the young widow, knew she had very few options open to her. She would stay in the town. The kindness of the members of the wagon train had gotten her to Tettsford Junction. Now it was up to her to take care of herself. She had blossomed and matured during her days on the trail, and though she still obviously felt the loss of her husband, she seemed prepared to face life again.
Mr. Weiss and Kathy also decided to remain in Tettsford. Her father declared with certainty that such a busy town would be able to use another smithy. Missie wondered if that was the real reason—or if he had developed a secret attachment to the young widow and was willing to bide his time. She rather hoped not. Melinda Emory was scarcely older than Mr. Weiss’s daughter, Kathy. But it was their business, Missie decided, and Mr. Weiss certainly was a very kind man.
Most of the other travelers would be leaving in a few days’ time with other trains, traveling northwest to the “prairies.” Missie couldn’t see how any place could be more prairie than where they were at present, and how anyone would actually choose to live here. But she did not voice her opinions.
Willie asked Missie if she wanted to go in and see the town as soon as camp was made and the necessary tasks performed. But she was remembering her last visit to town in the company of Becky and was thinking ahead to her own dreaded stay in this one.
She declined and excused herself to the wagon to be alone.
If only Willie would change his mind! Did he expect her to spend three miserable months cooped up in this horribly cramped wagon? In this dreary town, with the sun beating relentlessly on the treeless landscape and the wind howling constantly about the canvas flaps? If only she had known ahead of time that Willie wouldn’t be taking her on to his land, to help build a home and establish his ranch. She might as well have stayed at home with her own folks who loved her and would have provided for her. Why trek halfway across the world and suffer all of the heat, the rain, the mosquitoes, the blistered and aching feet—just to be dumped off here? Her thoughts raged round and round in her mind. It just wasn’t fair of Willie. It wasn’t fair at all.
The hot tears coursed down her face, and Missie finally fell into an exhausted sleep.
Willie started calling to Missie even before he entered the wagon. “I’ve found a place!” she heard him call, obviously elated. Missie quickly sat up.
“A place for what?” she demanded when his head poked through the canvas flap.
“For you,” he declared, looking surprised at her question. “For you—while yer waitin’.”
She stared at him. So Willie hadn’t ever planned for her to spend these months waiting in the wagon.
Missie stubbornly didn’t tell him she didn’t intend to wait. She intended to go. But deep inside she knew it was useless to fight it.
“It’s only one room—but it’s a nice fair size. An’ it’s with fine folks. I’m sure you’ll like ’em, an’ they even said I can stay there, too, till the supply train is ready to leave.”
“That’s right good of them,” Missie said with some spark, “seeing how you are my husband.”
Willie ignored the remark. “Mr. Taylorson runs a general store, an’ his wife teaches a bit of piano. Says ya might even learn to play the piano while yer waitin’.”
“Oh, Willie!” Missie said in exasperation. “What in heaven’s name would I want to learn piano for? What good would that do me where—”
“It would help fill in the long hours,” Willie interposed. “It might help a heap, iffen ya choose to let it.” His tone was mild, but he gave her a searching look.
Missie wanted to stomp away, but there was no place to go—neighbors’ eyes were watching all around. So she turned her back on Willie and began to trim the wick of the lantern that usually sat on the outside shelf, making sure she seemed at ease and composed.
Willie continued, “The doc lives only three houses down from the Taylorsons, so he’ll be right handy when—”
“If he’s not off somewhere setting a broken leg or treating a bullet wound,” Missie muttered.
“Guess thet could happen even back home,” Willie said calmly. “But there are two midwives in town—in case he should be away. I inquired.”
“Midwife didn’t help Becky none.”
Missie grimaced at her own unreasonableness. She was being unfair to Willie. She knew that. He was doing what he believed was right. She blinked back her tears and steadied her voice.
“An’ when does the supply train go?” she asked, deliberately changing the course of the conversation.
“’Bout a week—maybe a little less.”
“And you’ll be ready?”
“Plan to be. Think I’ll do like yer pa suggested. I’ll pick me up another wagon with the rails fer the corrals an’ other supplies. That way, I won’t be held up none once I git to our land.”
“And where would this treeless town ever get rails for a corral?” Missie couldn’t keep her dislike for the place from her voice.
“They haul ’em in. Lots of folks need ’em. Guess there’s lumber a lot closer than it looks—some of those hills to the west are treed.”
Missie nodded bleakly.
“Well, I’d best see to the stock,” Willie said and turned to go, then turned back again. “Henry said to let ya know he won’t be here fer supper.”
“What’s he planning?”
“He’s eatin’ with the Weisses. But what he’s plannin’—who knows?”
Missie smiled in spite of herself. So it was Kathy Weiss that Henry was setting his cap for. He had kept her guessing the whole trip, seeming to give equal attention to more than one girl. Well, at least Kathy also would be staying on in Tettsford—Missie would be assured of some company.
As she began work on the evening meal, she regretted her refusal to go into town. She could have been cooking something special and fresh for supper instead of the same old fare—if she hadn’t chosen to remain at the wagon feeling mistreated and sorry for herself.
She was bored with the food, she was bored with the wagon, she was even bored with her neighbors. Tomorrow she would go into town. She might even let Willie introduce her to the Taylorsons. It wasn’t their fault she would be stuck here in the town until the baby arrived. Not their fault at all.
Twelve
The Taylorsons
Missie awoke refreshed and ready to venture into Tettsford Junction. She determined to make the best of the day. She washed carefully and chose one of her favo
rite dresses. Loose and full, with a sash that tied in the back, the small print was cheerful and becoming. Missie was relieved it would be usable throughout her confinement—though it wouldn’t be as stylish as when it showed off her slim waist. The loose shirtwaists and expandable skirts she and her mama had prepared for “some future day” when Missie would be needing them were suitable for everyday wear. But Missie was not too taken with the plain, simple dark skirts and was thankful she had a nice assortment of colorful aprons to wear over them. She combed her hair with particular care and began to prepare breakfast for the men.
Henry was the first to appear. He seemed to approve of how Missie looked.
“See yer not wearin’ yer hikin’ shoes today,” he joked.
Missie looked down at her trim feet carefully encased in smart black boots. She smiled.
“I just may never wear them again,” she answered in kind.
“Now, now,” Henry replied, “ya sure wouldn’t want thet part of yer edjication to jest go to waste, would ya?”
“Seems every other part of my education has gone to waste,” Missie responded. There was a little quiver in her voice as she thought of the classroom of eager children back home.
“Not so,” Henry was quick to say. “Don’t fergit thet you’ll soon be ‘teacher’ agin.”
Missie glanced down at her blossoming figure and felt her cheeks grow warm.
Henry quickly changed the subject. “See’d the town yet?”
“Not yet—but Willie has. I didn’t feel much like going in yesterday. I’m more ready today.”
Henry nodded. “Big place really—but not too fancy.”
“Where do you think they got the name?”
“Man named Tettsford first set up a store there to catch the trade of the wagons goin’ through.”
“Is he still there?”
“Naw. He made his money, then cleared out. Went back east—to spend it, I guess.”
“Smart man,” Missie murmured under her breath.
“Ya know what I’m gonna miss most ’bout wagon trainin’?” Henry asked.
His abrupt change of subject surprised Missie, but she soon recovered and answered with a teasing voice, “Now, I wonder.”
Henry turned red. “Naw,” he said, “nothin’ like thet. I’m gonna miss the Sunday gatherin’s.”
Missie quickly turned serious. “I guess I will, too,” she said. “They weren’t anything like home, but they were special in their own way, weren’t they? And you did a first-rate job, Henry. A very good job. Did you ever think of being a preacher?”
Henry’s color deepened. “I thought on it . . . sorta. But I ain’t got what it takes to be a preacher. Very little book learnin’ and not much civilizin’, either.”
“That’s not true, Henry,” Missie remonstrated with him. “You’re a born leader. Didn’t you notice how the people followed you, accepted you, expected you to take the lead?”
Henry sat silently. “They did, some,” he agreed. “But thet was a wagon train, not a settlement church. There’s a heap of difference there. I did decide one thing, though. . . .” He hesitated.
“And that is?” Missie prompted.
“Well, I jest told the Lord thet iffen He had a place fer me—wherever it was—I’d be happy to do whatever I could. I don’t expect it to be in a church, Missie, but there’s lots of folks who need God who never come lookin’ fer Him in a church.”
“I’m glad, Henry,” Missie said softly. “I’m glad you feel that way. And you’re right. God needs lots of us—everywhere—to touch other people’s hearts.”
Missie turned back to finish up the breakfast preparations, and Henry settled himself on a low stool. It wasn’t long until Missie heard a cheery whistle and knew Willie would soon join them.
Willie’s whistle changed abruptly when he saw Missie, and he paused to look at her carefully. Then he grinned.
“Yer lookin’ right smart this mornin’, Mrs. LaHaye.”
“Oh, Willie, stop teasing. You’ve been seeing me in plain dresses and walking shoes for so long you’ve forgotten what I really look like.”
“Then I hope ya remind me often. Looks good, don’t she, Henry?” Willie said with a wink.
“I already told her so.”
“Oh, ho,” Willie laughed. “Now thet young Miss Weiss has favored yer presence, ya think ya can pass out compliments to all of the womenfolk, do ya?”
“Nope,” said Henry. “Jest the special ones.”
Willie laughed again. “Well, she’s special, all right.”
He kissed Missie on the cheek. Missie leaned primly away. “Really, Willie,” she reprimanded. “We don’t need to put on a show for all to see.” She busied herself with serving the breakfast.
After they had eaten, then read a portion of Scripture—which Willie ended as he had throughout the journey with the special passage given to them by Missie’s father—they had prayer together.
“Will ya be needin’ me today?” Henry asked Willie as Missie began clearing up.
Willie thought a moment. “No, I can manage carin’ fer the stock. Go ahead. Make any plans ya want to.”
“Thanks. I reckon I’ll give the Weisses a hand at gettin’ settled in town. They did manage to find a house—such as it is.”
“Is Mrs. Emory gonna stay with ’em?”
“No, and she needs some settlin’, too. She found a small room over the general store, but there’s not much furniture there to speak of. She’s already signed up to teach school come fall, but until then she’s gonna work in the hotel kitchen.”
“The kitchen? Seems rather heavy, burdensome work for such a genteel little woman,” Missie commented doubtfully.
“Thet’s what I thought. But the job is there—an’ she insists.”
Missie detected genuine concern in Henry’s voice.
He put on his hat. “Well, iffen yer sure I’m not needed, I’ll git on over there an’ give ’em a hand.”
“He’s got it right bad, hasn’t he?” Willie remarked with an arched brow after Henry had walked away. “Well, Mrs. LaHaye, may I escort ya into town? I take it ya didn’t git all prettied up jest to sit out in the sun.”
“I think, sir, that I might consent to that,” Missie replied playfully.
Missie found the town much as she had expected. There seemed to be very little that was green. A few small gardens looked parched under the sun-drenched sky. The vegetables fighting for an existence were dwarfed and scraggly. Here and there some brave grass put in an appearance—under a dripping pump or close to a watering trough. As far as Missie could see, there had been no attempt to plant trees or shrubbery. Puffs of dust scattered whenever the wind stirred.
The buildings, too, were bleak. No bright paint or fancy signs. Square, bold letters spelled SALOON over a gray, wind-worn building. Another sign announced HOTEL. Missie winced to think of Melinda Emory working in a hot, stuffy kitchen making meals for the guests. Several other weathered buildings lined the dusty streets. There were sidewalks, fairly new, but they, too, were layered with dust except where women’s skirts had whisked them clean.
More than one saloon lined the main street. In fact, Missie counted five. What does such a town need with five saloons? she wondered. It certainly was not nearly as blessed with churches, but Missie did spy a small spire reaching up from among the buildings huddled over to her left.
There were blacksmith shops—at least three—but maybe, as Mr. Weiss had said, a town this size could use another.
A bank, a sheriff’s office, a printshop, a telegraph office, liveries, a stagecoach landing, and an assortment of stores and other buildings that Missie had not yet identified filled out the downtown area. Missie smiled as she read the notice, Overland Stagecoaches, and wondered where on earth they took passengers way out in the middle of nowhere.
The fact was, the town didn’t interest her much at this point. She still dreaded the fact that she had to stay in it for three months without Willie. She didn’t
want this town. She wanted Willie’s land, the place where she intended to make a home. It would be so different there. The cool valley, the green grass, and Willie’s beloved hills, rolling away to the mountains. Missie could hardly wait for a glimpse of those mountains.
“The Taylorsons live jest down here,” Willie announced, interrupting her thoughts. He made a right-hand turn, and soon they were walking down a street lined with houses. There were no sidewalks, but the street was smooth, though as dusty as the rest of the area.
“Thet there is where the doc lives. He has a couple a’ rooms for his office in the sheriff’s, but he also has one room there at the front of his house fer off-hour treatin’.”
Missie let her glance slide over the doctor’s residence. The house was unpretentious.
“An’ here we are,” Willie said cheerfully and opened a gate. Missie stared at the house. It was of unpainted lumber, big and sturdy looking, but as barren as the rest of the town. The two passed by a bit of a garden that seemed to be struggling valiantly for existence. Missie remembered Marty’s full, healthy vegetable garden at home.
“My, things are awfully dry!” she ventured.
“They git a little short on water here ’bouts.”
Willie rapped on the door and a plump, pleasant-faced woman opened it.
“Oh,” she said with a smile, “ya brought yer little wife.” Her gaze traveled over Missie. “She is in the family way, all right.”
Missie felt the color rush to her face.
“This is Mrs. Taylorson, Missie,” Willie said carefully, obviously attempting to ease over the situation. “An’ this is my wife—Mrs. LaHaye.”
Missie was glad Willie had introduced her as Mrs. LaHaye. Somehow it made her feel more grown-up and less like an awkward schoolgirl.
“Come on in,” Mrs. Taylorson said, “an’ I’ll show ya yer room.”
She turned and tramped up the stairs to the left of the hall, puffing as she climbed. At the top of the stairs she again took a left turn and pushed open a door. The room was stifling hot, the only window shut tight. It was a plain room, but it was clean. The bed looked old but rather comfortable. Mrs. Taylorson seemed like a no-nonsense person.
