The Love Comes Softly Collection

by Janette Oke

  At the end of February one of the milk cows calved, and Missie felt as though she had been handed an unimaginable treasure. Even the loss of the cattle the week before was put from her mind. With milk on hand, what wonderful possibilities she could imagine for improving their diet!

  “What I couldn’t do now if I just had some eggs,” she told Willie. She promised herself that as soon as possible she’d do something about that.

  Spring eventually did come—slowly, almost imperceptibly, until one morning Missie was confident there was a faint warmth in the air. The drifts of snow began to shrink, and gradually dark spots of earth appeared. The spring started to trickle again and the stubby bushes beside it dressed themselves in a shy green.

  Missie secretly mourned for the sight of budding trees, of blossoming shrubs, but only empty hills stretched away from her gaze. To her great joy, a few wild flowers timidly made their appearance. Missie couldn’t resist picking some to grace her table. In the dimness of the little sod house, one had to bend over the tin cup that held the flowers in order to fully appreciate the tiny bits of color. But just knowing they were there helped to lift her spirits.

  As the snow receded, the men spent much more time out on the range, watching the cattle vigilantly. Spring calves were arriving daily. They would not totter about many days before the Hanging W, Willie’s brand, would show on their flanks.

  Missie wasn’t particularly happy about the name attached to Willie’s ranch, not in favor of “hanging” even a W. But Willie laughed at her squeamishness. All of their stock bore the brand.

  Willie told her that the hard range riding of spring roundup was beginning. Day after day the men would ride, gathering the scattered stock and their calves. They would all be driven to the wide box-canyon where they had been protected during the first winter storm, he explained before kissing his son and Missie good-bye for a few days.

  When the roundup was completed, the men counted one hundred ninety-eight head of cattle and one hundred six calves.

  “Even with the last storm,” Willie maintained, “thet’s a few more’n we started with.”

  The wagons were moved out to the canyon to serve as bunkhouses during the spring branding. Cookie slept in the chow wagon, as well as using it for kitchen, supply shack, and blacksmith shop.

  The men were divided into shifts for the night hours, and Willie and Sandy took the first watch.

  It wasn’t long until the cattle adjusted to their more confined surroundings. The lowing and milling subsided, and they bedded down for the night.

  After midnight Henry and Clem took over the night-watch duties. Sandy and Willie gladly unsaddled their mounts and cozied up to Cookie’s open fire. They drank mugs of hot coffee to warm their bones before trying to get a few hours of sleep. The early morning sun would soon summon them to another busy day with the branding irons.

  Shortly before daybreak a commotion among the herd got Henry’s and Clem’s attention, but they could not quickly pinpoint the source of the sudden restlessness and shifting of the herd.

  By the time they realized the cause, a band of rustlers was driving off a large portion of the herd. Henry and Clem rode hard, but in spite of their best efforts they were able to cut back only the stragglers from the stampeding cattle. No shots had been fired, but Henry and Clem had counted, in spite of the darkness and confusion, at least five rustlers. By the time the sleeping men in the wagons heard the ruckus and recognized what it was, it was too late for them to assist.

  The next morning the discouraged men ranged out farther, gathering the few head that had somehow eluded the rustlers. After all the cattle in their possession had been gathered and counted, Willie found that his herd now numbered only fifty-four head of full-grown cattle and thirty-two calves.

  After the final count, Willie turned away in defeat. He had known all along that he would suffer some losses to weather and rustlers, but he had dared to hope that the numbers would be few and over a longer period of time. Why, he asked himself, why did I think we would be spared when so many other ranchers have been completely wiped out? I should feel lucky to have any cattle left—any at all.

  Willie swallowed the hard lump in his throat and lifted his broad-brimmed hat to wipe the dust from his brow. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to leave. Could he get back on his feet? How long would it take? If he had been more patient and had worked for another year before coming out to his ranch, he could have laid aside enough cash to cover such a tragic setback.

  Now the only cash he had on hand was the money for Missie’s house. How could he ever tell her? Even now he could picture those frank blue eyes, intense with hurt and fright and disappointment from the news.

  Though he wished with every ounce of his being he could do so, he knew it would be useless and untruthful to try to keep it from her. She deserved to know the facts—even to know the seriousness of their situation. But Willie determined that in every way possible he would try to shield her from the pain and fear that came with the knowing.

  When Willie presented Missie with the facts, she could tell he was explaining the situation as honestly and simply as he knew how. He talked as though this was inevitable—the loss of some cattle. But deep down, Missie knew better. She ached for him. If only there was some way she could help him.

  Then within her breast arose a tiny surge of hope. Maybe now he would be satisfied to have tried his dream and be content to go back home. But very soon she knew Willie had no such intention. Instead, to Missie’s surprise, he told his men that as soon as the work could be started, they would begin building the permanent ranch house.

  Missie said nothing until they were alone that night. She began very carefully, “I overheard you discussing with the hands your plans for building.”

  “Yeah, iffen it’s gonna be ready as planned, we need to get started.”

  “But, Willie,” Missie protested softly. “Can we manage it now? Can we afford it?”

  “What’re ya meanin’?”

  “Well, with the cattle losses and all.”

  “Thet changes nothin’. The money for the house has been set aside.”

  “But what about rebuilding the herd?”

  “Thet’ll jest have to wait.”

  “But can it? I mean, if we don’t have a herd, there won’t be cattle to sell, and if—”

  “There’ll be some . . . eventually. And I promised ya a house. We can’t do both, Missie . . . an’ the house comes first.”

  “Willie, listen.” Missie was afraid she might later regret what she was about to say. But she had to say it. “Willie, I know about your promise. I know you want to keep it . . . and you will. But it could be postponed, Willie, for just a bit . . . until . . . until we have the cattle to sell. If we stay in this house, just for now, and use the put-aside money to help rebuild the herd, then next year . . . well, we could build our house then.”

  Missie saw Willie’s jaw muscles tighten as if he was fighting for control.

  “Please, Willie,” she coaxed. “The cattle are important to me, too, you know.”

  “But ya couldn’t keep on livin’ here, not fer another whole year . . . another winter.”

  “Yes, I could,” she hurried on with as much conviction as she could muster. “I’m getting used to it now. It’s not very big, but it’s warm. And now that spring is here, Nathan and I can go outside more. By fall he’ll be walking. We’ll manage. Honest!”

  Silence followed. For a time Missie wondered if she had been refused. She didn’t know whether to feel relieved or sorry. The house was small and difficult. Yet she knew if Willie was intending to stay here and ranch—and it seemed that indeed he was—then he needed to rebuild that herd. Without it their future was very insecure.

  Her love for Willie drove her to decide for his happiness. She knew now he’d never be content to simply admit defeat, to leave his beloved hills and valleys, and return back east.

  Oh, God, she prayed silently, help me support Wil
lie in spite of what I want. Keep your promise to uphold me now.

  Missie felt peace go through her being. The next thing she knew, Willie was pulling her close. She understood Willie was accepting her gift of postponement on the house in order to rebuild his herd. She reached her hand up to touch his cheeks and felt the tears. Her Willie was crying. She cried, too, but their shared emotions drew them even closer to each other.

  Nineteen

  Missie’s Garden

  With the smell of spring in the air, Missie found herself even more restless as she anxiously waited for the final disappearance of snow. Nathan, increasingly active now, needed room in which to explore, and that would require the outdoors. Missie dared not leave him in the small sod house longer than a dash out back for more chips or to scoop up a pail of snow for her water supply.

  She had tired of the melted snow for her water supply, but she did not feel it was any longer safe for her to make the trek to the trickling spring and leave the baby alone in the house, and she certainly could not carry him and a bucket of water, too. But logic did not keep her from wanting to go to the spring. Just the sight of its running water would be confirmation to her that spring was truly here.

  She desperately needed to escape the four tight walls. She also needed a change of activity. Her fingers felt heavy and numb from hours of knitting and sewing. She was just plain bored—fed up with nearly everything that could be done in one small room.

  Missie looked out on the sparkling day and, as many times in the past, wished with all her heart that she had some excuse to be out in the sunshine. If only she could saddle a horse and go out onto the prairies like the menfolk did. But with no one to leave small Nathan with, the idea was not workable.

  Or is it?

  Missie suddenly recalled a nostalgic item she had slipped into one of the boxes when packing. Before they left on their long trip west, she had found it tucked in the back of a drawer at home, and with tear-filled eyes, she had smuggled it in among some blankets. To another’s eyes it would just have seemed like some kind of strange contraption, but to Missie it was love wrapped up in one simple, practical piece of equipment. Though Missie had no recollection of being carried in the backpack, her mama had long ago showed it to her and explained how her pa had lovingly fashioned it in order to carry her with him after she, just a tiny girl, had lost her first mother. He had never left her at home alone while he plowed his fields and did his choring until Marty joined the little family. Missie ran to the storage shed in her eagerness. With the backpack, she would be able to take that horseback ride, and the baby would be able to join her!

  Once she had located the backpack and shown it to Willie, he selected a gentle mare and made her available to Missie whenever she wished to ride. Now she had something to look forward to when the weather cooperated. Even with the backpack, though, she could not ride far before Baby Nathan became too heavy, and Missie would reluctantly return to the little soddy. But she also used it to take him with her to the spring for fresh water.

  Missie was bored with the sameness of the food she had to prepare every day. Nothing tasted good anymore—nothing was fresh. “Canned, dried, and bland” described everything. Her precious herbs and spices were carefully parceled out, since she didn’t know when they could be replaced. She wondered if Willie found the meals as unpalatable as she did. But, of course, Willie was too much of a gentleman to comment in any way but positively.

  It seemed to Missie’s worn, restless spirit that planting a garden would revive her again—and so she paced back and forth, willing the snow to go away. When fresh flurries sent scattered flakes whirling through the still crisp air, Missie wiped tears of disappointment on her apron.

  Finally the snow flurries changed to rain showers, and Missie’s hopes grew.

  The snow melted reluctantly—especially where it had drifted by the spring. And that was the very location Missie wanted for her garden. She felt sorely tempted to go out with a shovel but checked herself from such foolish use of time and energy. The snow gradually lost the battle, and one day when Missie went to check she was surprised and thrilled to find all traces of the winter’s cold and ice gone. She began hinting to Willie that he put a plow to the sod. Willie showed more patience than Missie.

  “It’s a bit early yet,” he insisted. “The ground hasn’t had a fair chance to warm. An’ remember, this ain’t the East. We’re right close to the mountains here, an’ frosts still come on the early spring nights.”

  But Missie could not bear the thought of being detained. Willie, realizing what it meant to her, relented and plowed the spot, though he shook his head at rushing the season like this.

  Missie felt released from captivity as she sorted her seeds and set off for planting. She took a blanket on which to deposit Nathan, and set to work. She was sure the baby would be as joyful as she at finally being free from the four walls of the soddy, but he looked about in a perplexed manner and began to fuss. Missie tried to amuse him, but he continued to wail. She then turned him over onto his tummy and patted him gently until he fell asleep. At least the fresh air would do him good.

  “You’re missing so much by sleeping right now, my boy,” she whispered. “The clear blue sky, the feel of the spring air, the smell of the soil. I do hope that someday you appreciate it all. But for now, your mama will just enjoy it for you.”

  Missie went to her planting. She was so glad she had plenty of seed. She was hungry in both body and soul for green growing things. Her impatience mounted with each seed she dropped into the ground. She could almost smell the vegetables cooking on her stove in the days ahead. The imagined taste and tang of them was pungent in her imagination.

  Her job ended too soon, and the little garden was planted. Nathan still slept, so Missie sat down beside him on the blanket and listened to the soft gurgle of the spring only a few paces away. It was so good to feel alive again. She thanked God that life was not always winter, that spring always came at last—to chase away the cold and heaviness, and to release one to warmth and movement again.

  Nathan awoke and Missie reached for him. She talked to him, encouraging him to behold and enjoy what she saw, to feel the things that she felt, to breathe as deeply as she breathed. But all the baby seemed aware of was the face and arms of the mother who held him close and cooed words of love to him. At length Missie gathered everything together, bundled up her baby, and headed back to her sod house. Nathan was hungry, she knew, and would soon be demanding his own dinner. She would nurse him before preparing their noon meal.

  That very night it snowed. When Missie looked out the next morning, hoping to see another fair and sunny day, she saw instead a thin layer of white over the entire world. Willie saw her face and heard her sharp gasp. He joined her at the window, ducking his head so he could look out.

  “Moisture!” he said quickly. “Be mighty good fer those seeds of yers. Soon’s the sun’s up to work on it, it’ll soak in real good.”

  Missie changed her mind about crying and gave Willie a rueful smile instead. She didn’t know if Willie was right, but she wanted him to know that she loved him for his concern for her and her disappointment.

  The sun did melt the snow, almost as soon as its warm fingers began to reach out over the brown earth, sending up to heaven little shimmering mists, like dancing vapors.

  There were other mornings when Missie awoke to scattered snow or frost on the ground. On such mornings she prayed that none of her brave little plants had as yet lifted their heads from the protective soil bed. Though Missie knew her seedlings were safe as long as they were not exposed, she still longed for their appearance. Daily she watched for signs of life in her garden. Eventually it came—a green blade here and there, a suggestion of a green spray down a row, a pair of tiny leaves breaking forth, gradually joined by others until a row could be defined. At length Missie was able to recognize onions, radishes, beans, peas, and carrots. Her garden was growing.

  And then one night—the dreaded frost.
Some of the hardier vegetables were seemingly untouched, but the more tender things wilted and curled up tightly against the ground.

  “Still plenty of time fer replantin’,” Willie assured her. “Ya want me to turn those rows with the spade?”

  Missie shook her head. “The exercise will be good for me—and I know how busy you are.”

  She replanted and again watched for new growth. It came—but it seemed oh so slow this time.

  One day as Missie checked on her garden, she was surprised to find an onion plant that looked as if it might be close to being ready. It wasn’t that big, really, but when she pulled it up, it truly did smell like an onion. She pulled off its outer skin and popped it into her mouth. Oh, it tasted good! She had almost forgotten how good an onion tasted. Or anything fresh, for that matter. She reached for another and devoured it, too. Down the row she went, searching, pulling, and eating, until at length she turned and looked at the trail of discarded tops she had left behind. She was shocked at how many she had eaten. As she bent to pick up the top nearest to her, she felt the results of a lunch of onions. Missie burped—then giggled. “Oh my,” she said to herself. “If Willie could see what a pig I’ve been!”

  Guiltily Missie retraced her steps, picking up onion tops so that her gluttony would not be so obvious. She pulled a few more onions to season a stew, then, gathering Nathan up, returned to the house.

  The onions did not sit well, and Missie felt an uneasiness in her stomach for the remainder of the day. By the time Willie came for his supper, she wished she didn’t have to join him at the table. Even the savory smell of the onions in the stew could not tempt her.

  Willie must have observed her white face and instantly showed concern. “Ya sick?”

  “Just off my food a little.”

  “Yer sure?”

  “Yeah—I’m sure.”

  “Ya’d best lie down—I’ll look after myself.” He led her to their bed. “Where’s the problem? Ya got a pain somewhere?”