by Janette Oke
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at what looked like a bundle of canvas.
“The gear I’ll be needin’.”
“Gear?”
“Fer ridin’, once I’m at the ranch.”
“You’re going to ride in that?”
“Sure am. It might look a bit strange, but it’s a cowboy’s best friend out on the range.”
“What is it?” Missie asked skeptically. “And how do you use it?”
Willie lifted the canvas. “It’s chaps,” he explained. “Ya jest pull ’em on over yer trousers, like so. The heavy canvas sheds the rain, takes the spines of the cactus, and keeps all manner of weather and injury from a rider. Ya really ought to have some yerself.”
Missie laughed and then pointed to a square of red material. “And what’s that?” she asked again.
“A bandanna. Ya wear it round yer neck—tied loosely like this.” Willie demonstrated. “When ya get drivin’ them little doggies an’ the dust flies so ya can hardly breathe, ya just pull it up over yer mouth an’ nose—like this!”
Missie giggled. “I thought that’s what you use when you’re holding up a bank.”
“Guess a few have used it fer thet, as well.” Willie smiled with her. “I’ll remember thet, should I ever think of holdin’ up a bank.”
Missie laughed again and then turned for a good look at the strange apparel. It was going to take some getting used to—seeing Willie decked out in these strange canvas pants. She tried to imagine herself in them and smiled softly.
“Reckon for now,” she said, “I’ll just plan to fight the cactus and the rain without the help of those.”
Fourteen
Sunday
On Sunday morning Willie and Missie prepared themselves and headed for the church spire they had seen. The building looked bare and drab on the outside, but inside the clean-swept wooden floor and carefully dusted benches showed that someone did indeed care for this simple house of worship in this frontier town. Henry, Mr. Weiss and Kathy, Melinda Emory, and the LaHayes added considerably to the small congregation, and they were welcomed from the platform at the beginning of the service.
The pastor, getting on in years, seemed rather weary, Missie thought. But when he rose to preach, fire was in his voice, and his face came alive with passion for the truth he was presenting. Missie was overjoyed to be in a real church service and hear a true sermon once again. She had appreciated the Sunday services of the wagon train, but she had missed having a pastor speak from the Word of God.
The reverend greeted each one kindly at the door and personally invited the newcomers to return. Willie explained that he would not be around for another Sunday, but he was sure Missie would be there faithfully.
“We shall welcome you,” the old gentleman said with warmth. “And if you should ever need a friend, my wife and I would be happy to have you to our home, as well.”
Missie thanked him for his generosity and stepped out into the shining day.
“Anything you’d be carin’ to do today?” Willie asked as they walked through the dust and heat back to the Taylorsons’ and their rented room.
“Oh yes,” said Missie with a sigh, “I’d like to go for a long walk among some cool trees, or picnic beside a stream, or maybe just lie beside a spring and watch the water gurgle.”
“Missie”—Willie shook his head—“don’t, please don’t say things like that. . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Missie whispered quickly. She tried hard to think of something that could actually be done and enjoyed in the heat of this drab town.
“We could call on the Weisses,” she finally suggested.
“All right,” Willie agreed enthusiastically, no doubt relieved she had thought of something. “I sure do hope Henry won’t think I’m spyin’ on ’im.” He caught her hand in his with a chuckle.
That afternoon at the Weisses, they received such a hearty welcome Missie’s spirits lifted even without green grass or a stream. Henry was there, also, though he didn’t seem one bit put out to have his boss appear. Melinda Emory was there, too, so the six of them settled in for a good visit. Kathy served them all cold tea, declaring the day far too warm for hot tea or coffee.
Missie was surprised at the time when Kathy asked if they could all stay for supper.
“Oh, I don’t think we can,” Missie said. “We didn’t say anything to Mrs. Taylorson, and supper is served at six.”
She and Willie exchanged smiles.
“How ’bout I run over an’ inform yer good landlady?” Henry asked.
“Oh, but—”
“Please stay,” Kathy begged. “The men will be gone by next Sunday.”
“Well, I’m not sure what she’ll think,” Missie said uncertainly, “but . . . well . . . all right. She probably hasn’t started to actually prepare it, so she shouldn’t mind, should she?”
It turned out that both Henry and Willie walked back together while the girls went to the kitchen to give Kathy a hand.
Mrs. Taylorson did not object. In fact, Willie got the impression she was relieved at not having to fuss about in a hot kitchen on such a warm evening.
Kathy’s meal of fried chicken, hot biscuits, and gravy was served with love and laughter, and everyone enjoyed the time spent together.
“I know,” Kathy suggested after the dishes had been washed, “let’s have a time of singing, for old times’ sake.”
The rest agreed. Henry went for his guitar while Mr. Weiss tuned up his violin.
They sang all the songs they had enjoyed together from their trip west—folk songs, love songs, dance tunes, and hymns. When they were finished, they sang their favorite ones all over again.
It was late when Willie and Missie walked back to the Taylorsons’ hand in hand.
“I’m afraid we’ve broken rule number six,” Missie said.
“An’ what is thet?”
“Bedtime is at ten o’clock,” Missie replied in a mock stern voice. She broke into giggles, then quickly checked herself and added, “We’d better be careful or we’ll break number two, as well.”
“An’ thet is . . .”
“No loud talking or laughing,” Missie said, effecting a gruff, deep voice again.
“Ya little goose,” Willie said, putting his arm around her waist and drawing her close. “Do ya have ’em all memorized by number?”
“I think so. I’ve read them often enough.”
“Speakin’ of readin’,” Willie said, “ya really should have somethin’ on hand to read. I’ll talk to the preacher. He may have a good idea of what books can be had. He may even have some—”
“Oh, Willie, stop fretting about me. I’ve got all that sewing to do, and all that yarn to be knitted up, a piano to learn to play, and sewing lessons to give. Surely it will keep me busy.”
“Well, we want to be sure,” said Willie, giving her hand a little squeeze.
When Willie returned to their room on Wednesday evening, he quietly told Missie that the supply train was all loaded up and would be pulling out early the next morning. Missie knew he was keeping his voice even and matter-of-fact for her sake, but she had to bite her lip all evening to keep the tears from overflowing during supper with the Taylorsons. She hoped Willie didn’t notice, but of course he did. They retired to their room soon after the meal was finished so Willie could get his belongings packed up. It didn’t take long. Time suddenly seemed to be heavy on their hands.
“It’s strange,” Missie said as she stood and gazed out the window, “our time is so short and precious, and yet one doesn’t really know how to spend it.”
“Have ya everything ya need?” asked Willie for the umpteenth time, coming over to stand beside her.
“I’m sure I will be fine.”
“Well, I’ll leave ya some money, jest in case.”
“Really, Willie, I don’t think I’ll be needing—”
“Ya never know. Maybe somethin’ will turn up thet ya be needin’ or wantin’—an’ you’ll need
some fer the church offerin’.”
Missie only nodded.
Willie led her over to the one chair in the room and sat near her on the bed. “I’m sure glad thet Kathy an’ Melinda will be around.”
“Me too.”
“I hope ya see ’em real often.”
“Melinda will be working—but she promised to come over of an evening to sew.”
“An’ Kathy is free to come anytime—right?”
Missie nodded again. “The first thing she wants to sew is curtains for her kitchen window.”
“An’ ya can visit ’em at their places, too,” continued Willie.
Missie agreed.
“Ya might pay a call on the preacher an’ his wife, too. They seem like real nice folks. Jest don’t stay out after dark—please, Missie?”
“I won’t. Promise.”
“One can’t be too careful.”
“You’re the one that needs to be careful, Willie! Here I am, all tucked away safe in a town, where the worst that can happen to me is to get dust in my eyes—and you’re telling me to be careful. It’s you that’s going to have to take care, Willie.” Missie swallowed hard over the lump in her throat as Willie smoothed her hair.
“Won’t much happen to me,” he assured her. “I’m travelin’ south with a whole passel of supply wagons, an’ Henry’ll be with me once we reach our spread. No need to worry none ’bout me.”
“I s’pose so,” Missie admitted. “I just won’t be able to keep from it, though.”
“I’ll worry, too,” Willie said, his voice husky. “It doesn’t pleasure me none to leave ya, Missie. If only there was some other way—”
“I’ll be fine,” Missie quickly assured him, trying for his sake to say the words as though she really meant them.
“Missie . . .” Willie hesitated, reaching over to hold her close. “Missie, the wagons are to pull out real early in the mornin’. I don’t intend to wake ya up when I leave, so my good-bye will be tonight. I love ya. I’ve loved ya ever since ya were a little schoolgirl.”
“And you showed it,” she whispered, smiling around her tears, “by dunking my hair ribbons in an inkwell.”
“An’ carvin’ our initials—”
“And putting a grasshopper in my lunch pail.”
“An’ tellin’ young Todd Culver thet I’d knock out his teeth iffen he didn’t leave my girl alone. An’ closin’ yer classroom window when it got stuck. An’ prayin’ fer ya every single day—thet iffen God willed, ya’d learn to love me.”
“You did that?” Missie leaned away to look into his face.
“I did.”
“Oh, Willie,” Missie cried, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I’ll miss you so. I can’t tell you how much.”
When Missie sat up in bed the next morning, she was alone, and Willie’s things were gone from the room. An emptiness filled her that she could not have put into words. She turned back into her pillow and sobbed. How would she ever cope? She missed him so dreadfully already. She had secretly promised herself the night before that she would be sure to waken so she might feel the comfort of Willie’s arms once more. She was annoyed at herself for failing to rouse, yet finally she had to admit it would not have made it any easier to say good-bye again.
If only I was at home with Mama and Pa to console me. . . . They would understand about pain and separation.
Her parents had personally known grief—far more devastating and final than her own sorrow now. They had lived through it. And she could, too. After all, Willie would be coming back. The wait wouldn’t be so long—not really.
She forced herself to crawl out of bed, then bathed her face at the basin. She caught herself wondering if this was wash number one or two for this water, and if she could now throw it out and get some fresh. Her eyes moved to Mrs. Taylorson’s list. The empty space for number twelve now had some writing beside it. Had Mrs. Taylorson come up with another rule? Missie crossed the room for a better look and read number twelve aloud: “Always remember that I love you—both of you.”
“Oh, Willie, ya silly goose!” she cried as fresh tears streamed down her newly washed cheeks. She was going to have to wash her face again before going down for breakfast. That, for sure, would entitle her to some more water.
Fifteen
Surprises
Missie put her mind to settling in alone for the long stay. First she decided to list all the “must-do’s” on a piece of paper. Then she listed all the “want-to-do’s.” Neither list seemed very long. How would those tasks and activities ever keep her occupied until she was free to leave this town? She laid the lists aside with a sigh and went to her sewing material.
She spread out all the fabric she had purchased and mentally planned just what she would sew from each piece. She then checked her yarn and noted the articles she would knit or crochet. She took a fresh sheet of paper for her weekly visitation list—one call per week on Kathy and Melinda and at least one call from them in return to use Missie’s machine.
She sketched out a complete week on a piece of paper with a space for each hour of the day, and then she filled in her proposed activities: sewing, sewing lessons, knitting, laundry, reading, visits, shopping (she didn’t know what for, but it filled a space and the walk would do her good). She even included time at the piano in her hopes for learning to play a bit. Her week still had many vacant hours, and she didn’t see how she could stretch out her plans to fill them.
She juggled, rearranged, and stretched all she could and finally filled in all the extra spots with the words “free time” and tried to convince herself that somehow “free time” should be looked forward to as a special liberty. Maybe Willie was right after all about checking with the pastor and his wife for some reading materials.
She had scheduled sewing for her first morning, so she began on a small blanket. As simple as the project was, she just couldn’t keep her mind on it, so she laid it aside. She picked up her Bible once more and opened the pages at random. She tried to concentrate on the words, but the words blurred in her mind.
“It’s just no use,” she muttered, grabbing up some knitting. “I just can’t think clearly!”
She had added only a few stitches to the sock she was making when Mrs. Taylorson called up the stairs, “Ya have a caller, miss.”
Missie so wished Mrs. Taylorson wouldn’t call her “miss,” as though she were still a young girl instead of a grown married woman. She smoothed her hair back and made her way down the steps.
Kathy Weiss was waiting for her in the parlor. Missie almost cried with relief at seeing her friend so soon after the men had left.
“Did you come to sew the curtains?” she asked after greeting Kathy.
“Goodness, no! I don’t think I could concentrate on sewin’ anything today. I jest had to go out fer a while, an’ I thought maybe you’d be needin’ it, as well.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Missie said emphatically. “Just let me get my bonnet.”
The two young women strolled through the streets of the dusty town, chatting as they browsed along the storefronts. Occasionally they wandered inside to peruse the merchandise. Neither of them purchased a thing, but Missie returned home in better spirits, and Kathy promised to return that very evening for her first sewing lesson.
That afternoon Missie sat down and made herself a calendar, one page for each of the three months ahead of her. She marked each day’s date in big numbers, wrote Willie’s name beside the first one—August second—then circled October twenty-fifth. It was as close as she could figure the baby’s arrival date to be. In between the two dates stretched many weeks and days and hours. But Missie intended to strike them off, one by one, in hopes they would move quickly to the next one.
It was awfully warm in the room, and Missie was feeling emotionally and physically exhausted, so she took off her shoes and stretched out on the bed to rest.
“It all will be worth it,” she told herself aloud. “By the time Willie come
s for me and the baby, he’ll have our house ready. I’ll be able to move right in, instead of living cramped in that old wagon. Just think—our own home! I’ll hang up the curtains Mama helped me sew, spread out the cozy rugs, make up the bed with all those warm quilts. I’ll put my dishes in the cupboards, set up the sewing machine, put all the crocks and barrels in my pantry—all those things I’ll be needing in my very own home.”
She let the happy thoughts drive away the loneliness and drifted off to sleep.
Kathy came that evening as promised. Having never used a sewing machine before, she had a bit of difficulty in catching on to the rhythm of the foot treadle, but eventually she had a good start on her curtains.
Day one was finally over. With relief Missie crossed it off her new calendar and knelt beside her bed. Somewhere out there, in the dark, distant night, she knew Willie would be remembering her in prayer, as well. It helped to ease her loneliness.
At the end of each slow-moving day, Missie struck the numbers from the calendar in the manner of a general triumphant after battle. She had survived her first Sunday alone, her first hair washing, and her first washday. She was working on her third day at the piano when Mrs. Taylorson called, “Miss, ya have a feller here with a telygram.”
Missie fairly flew to the door. What news could be so important that it needed to reach her by telegram? Her heart thumped wildly within her, every beat crying, “Willie! Willie!” She quickly took the telegram with a shaking hand and scanned the small sheet.
“RECEIVED MESSAGE STOP PRAISE GOD STOP HAPPY AND CONCERNED ABOUT BABY STOP ISAIAH,” she read.
“Mama and Pa!” she exclaimed. To the waiting Mrs. Taylorson, she said, “It’s from my folks—they’ve just acknowledged our message.” The woman smiled and nodded in an understanding way, and Missie smiled back and hurried up the stairs to her room. Once inside, with the door closed behind her, she crushed the blessed message to her breast and fell to her knees beside her bed, tears falling unchecked.
“Oh, Mama . . . Pa . . . I miss you both so much, and I love you so. Oh . . . if only . . .”
