The Love Comes Softly Collection

by Janette Oke

  Missie exclaimed, “Oh . . . oh,” over and over, while amazement and happiness filled her eyes with tears. “Willie, when? When?”

  Willie spoke calmly. “Well, I’m sure it won’t be tomorra like. But they’re workin’ on the railroad fer sure . . . from the other end. It should git here within a couple years . . . maybe even next year, some say. An’ as soon as the line is in, the people will follow for certain. Always happens thet way. Jest think! A railroad an’ shipping station. What thet will mean to the ranchers! No more long cattle drives with heavy losses. Every beef thet gits safely to market means a lot of dollars in a cattleman’s pocket.” He picked her up and swung her around the room while Nathan watched from his bed, hoping to get in on the excitement, whatever it was.

  “We’ve come at jest the right time, Missie,” he said, putting her down after bumping into the table and bed. “Things have never looked better. From now on, every available parcel of land will be snapped up at a big price, an’ the price of cattle is bound to go up, too.

  “Silly little soddy,” he said. “We’re gonna git us thet house just as soon as we sell some of the herd next spring. Place ain’t fit to live in.”

  “Oh, Willie,” Missie chided—though secretly and silently she agreed with Willie’s statement—“it’s a home. We can eat, sleep, and keep dry here. That’s not bad for starters.”

  Willie laughed as he hugged her, then went over to swing Nathan up in his arms. “How’s the boy?”

  “He’s been good.”

  “No more onions?”

  “Only a little now and then to flavor a meal.”

  Willie gazed at his son in his arms. “Look at ’im,” he said softly. “He’s gone an’ growed by inches.”

  Willie cuddled him close and kissed the soft head of hair while Nathan squirmed. Missie blinked away happy tears.

  “Got somethin’ fer ya, boy,” Willie said to his son. “An’ it weren’t near the trouble of yer mama’s confounded chickens.”

  “My chickens!” Missie squealed. “Where are they?”

  “Well, I hope by now the boys have ’em corralled inside thet wire fence. What a squawkin’, complainin’ lot they turned out to be!”

  “How many?” Missie could barely control her excitement.

  “Couple roosters an’ eleven hens—an’ I had me one awful time to gather up thet many. Folks out here seem to know better than to bother with chickens.”

  Missie accepted the teasing and hurried out to see her flock. Willie followed behind her with Nathan.

  The men had just finished tacking up the wire mesh to poles they had pounded into the ground. As Henry finished hanging the gate that had quickly been built for the enclosure, the other two men turned and left shrugging their shoulders. Let someone else do the fussing with the blamed chickens—they had done more than their share in building the pen.

  Willie passed Nathan to Missie and went to lift down the large crate. The chickens squawked and flapped as they were released, not appearing the least bit grateful to be set free. They were a sorry-looking lot, not at all like Marty’s proud-strutting chickens back home. Missie wondered if she would ever be able to coax them to produce eggs for her family. One of the hens did not leave the crate. She had succumbed to the heat of the trail or the lice that inflicted her or perhaps some other malady. Willie said he would bury it later so it wouldn’t draw any flies.

  “Seems to me,” he observed, “another good dose of louse powder might not hurt ’em any. I think we’ll jest leave ’em outside—shut ’em out of their coop until I treat ’em again. I gave ’em all one good dustin’ ’fore I loaded ’em. Left a trail of dead lice from Tettsford Junction to home.”

  Missie laughed but agreed. They did look like they could stand another good treatment of something.

  “I’ll do the dustin’,” Willie said, “but from then on, they’re all yers. Never was overfond of chickens, I must say.”

  Poor Willie. To bring the chickens had been a real ordeal, Missie realized. She looked at him and love filled her heart. Before she could stop herself, the feeling burst forth into words. “Willie,” she said, “I love you . . . so much.”

  Willie dropped a chicken and turned to her, his expression full of his own feelings. “In thet case, Mrs. LaHaye, yer welcome to yer chickens.”

  Willie’s surprise for his young son was a smart-looking half-grown pup. Nathan seemed to instinctively know it was for him, and his chubby hands reached for the fur while the dog licked his face.

  “He’ll be a big fella when he’s full-grown, an’ I thought him a good idea,” Willie said as he held Nathan in a standing position by the dog. “He’ll help to keep the coyotes away from yer chickens. An’ ya never know,” he said with a grin, “with thet railroad comin an’ all those folks pourin’ in, ya never know jest who might come callin’. I’d feel safer iffen ya had a good watchdog.” He let Nathan sit down beside the puppy and stood to his feet.

  Missie looked at the empty miles stretching before her and smiled at Willie’s prediction of the crowded countryside. Suddenly she remembered she had not told Willie about her own news.

  “Willie, I had a visitor—honest! A real live woman—though sometimes I feel I must have dreamed it. Oh, I wish she’d come back. We had the best visit, and we prayed together—”

  “Where was she from?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Ya didn’t ask?”

  Missie laughed. “I asked her lots of things that she didn’t answer—or maybe did answer—I don’t know . . . and then we just gave up and enjoyed each other.”

  Willie looked perplexed.

  “She couldn’t understand English . . . an’ I couldn’t understand whatever it was that she spoke,” Missie tried to explain.

  “Yet ya had ya a good visit?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “And ya prayed together?”

  Missie nodded in agreement.

  “But ya couldn’t understand a word the other spoke?”

  “Not the words . . . but we could understand the meaning. She was really nice, Willie. And young, too. And, oh, I wish so often that she’d come back . . . that we could have tea, and play with Nathan, and laugh and pray together again.”

  Willie put a hand under her chin and gently lifted her face until he could look into her eyes.

  “I didn’t know ya were so lonesome,” he said huskily. “Here I’ve been so busy an’ so taken up with the spread an’ the cows an’ all. I never noticed or gave thought to jest how lonesome it’d be fer a woman all alone, without another female nowhere near.

  “I shoulda taken ya into town with me, Missie. Given ya a chance to see the outside world again, to visit an’ chat. I missed yer need, Missie, an’ . . . an’ ya never complain . . . jest let me go on makin’ dumb mistakes right an’ left. A sorry-looking bunch of cowpokes, a work-crazy husband, an’ a baby who can’t say more than ‘goo’ ain’t much fer company. Yet ya never, never say a thing ’bout it. I love you, too, Missie . . . so very much.” They stood for a long moment, arms entwined, until Nathan started to crawl through the dirt after his new playmate.

  Twenty-Two

  Afternoon Tea

  While Nathan slept Missie left the house early the next morning to fetch water from the spring for her chickens. She was determined to have eggs for the breakfast table as soon as possible. Already it felt as if it would be a hot day, and she thought of the staleness of the air in their small house on such a day. Perhaps she should take Nathan to the shade bushes near the spring for the most oppressive part of the early afternoon.

  She felt lighthearted and hummed as she walked, swinging the empty pail to and fro. Willie was home, she had heard news from dear friends, her strange new world was being enhanced—first with fresh milk, then with her bountiful garden, and now with chickens. It would soon be easy to prepare good meals. She and her family would be able to enjoy many of the things they had been accustomed to back east.

  As Missie walked she
reviewed parts of the letters she had received. She again felt a pang of sympathy for the misfortune of the preacher’s wife. And Mrs. Taylorson! What a kind friend she had turned out to be. She had even sent a pair of tiny shoes to Nathan for when he began to walk—which wouldn’t be long at the rate he was growing. Kathy’s letter had been full of news of her young man. Seemed he was Samson, Solomon, and the apostle John all rolled into one. Missie smiled. But the letter she had read and reread was the one from Melinda. Knowing that Melinda would one day—soon, she hoped—be near enough to be called a neighbor, was very special for Missie. Oh, how she wished Melinda were already here. Another winter in the soddy would be far more bearable with such a friend nearby.

  Melinda had written much about the town of Tettsford and her activities with the school and the church. She described the lessening of her pain since the death of her husband, even though his memory still brought tears oftentimes. She also spoke of Henry, of his thoughtfulness, his manliness, and his faith.

  Yes, Missie thought, Henry truly is worthy of a woman like Melinda. They will make such delightful neighbors.

  Missie returned from the spring with the water for her chickens. She talked to them as she poured it into the trough and then portioned out the feed.

  “And you better start laying very quickly,” she threatened, “or you might find yourselves smothered in dumplings.” The chickens fought for rights at the watering trough, paying no mind to Missie’s speech.

  “You’re a motley-looking bunch,” Missie said, laughing as she looked at the rather skinny, droopy birds, “but just you wait a week or two. We’ll get some meat on those bones and get those feathers smoothed out and back where they belong. Right now you look like you’re wearing half of them upside down.”

  She picked up her pail to hurry back to the house before Nathan would awaken and miss her.

  As she rounded the corner of the cook shack, she found Willie and his new hands gathered for a get-acquainted session. The men lounged around in various positions. Some leaned against the sod walls; others squatted on the ground or lay propped up on an elbow. Apparently Willie had let the men know this was a time for “at ease.” Cookie sat on his bench near his cook-shack door and was the first to notice Missie. Missie paused a moment to listen.

  “. . . an’ as we’ll all be livin’ an’ workin’ together,” Willie was saying, “I hope we’ll feel free an’ easy with one another. By now I’m sure you’ve all met Scottie, our foreman. Scottie knows all thet there is to know ’bout ranchin’. He’ll be takin’ over the matters connected with the herd. You’ll take all orders from him, an’ he’ll be responsible to me. You are his concern, an’ any requests or complaints thet ya might have are directed to him. If he can’t take care of it, he’ll see thet I hear ’bout it. He’ll assign the shifts an’ the jobs, accordin’ as he sees fit. Cookie, here, will feed ya. He’ll have yer chow waitin’ fer ya at the same time each day. There’ll always be fresh coffee on, fer those comin’ an’ goin’—even for those on the night shift.”

  Willie must have noticed Cookie’s grin and turned to see Missie standing hesitantly. His eyes lit up.

  “An’ now fer the bright spot on this here ranch,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “I want ya to meet my wife, Mrs. LaHaye.”

  Missie stepped forward shyly.

  “Missie,” Willie said, “here are the new riders. Scottie—the foreman.” Missie looked into two very kind blue eyes, a twinkle just barely daring to show itself. Scottie looked as weathered and western as the hills that stood behind him. His bowlegged stance spoke of many years in the saddle. Missie felt confidence in Willie’s choice of his second-in-command. Scottie, she felt sure, was one to be trusted.

  He nodded slightly in acknowledgment of the introduction, his expression conveying, “If you need me, I’m here.”

  Missie’s brief smile was a silent Thank you.

  Willie moved on. “This here is Rusty.” Missie’s eyes traveled over a freckled face and a mop of unruly red hair. A wide grin greeted her.

  He’s no more than a kid, Missie thought. Her motherly heart wondered about this boy’s mama and if she was somewhere worrying and praying for her son. She offered a warm smile.

  “An’ Smith,” Willie continued. Missie turned to look into fierce black eyes in a sun-darkened face. His nod was barely perceptible, and his gaze dropped quickly to the ground. I wonder, Missie thought, what happened to put all that bitterness into your soul.

  “An’ Brady,” Willie said. Missie looked into another pair of eyes. These were cold and calculating. They seemed too bold and even cruel, making her blush beneath the stare. She nodded quickly, then gave Willie an imploring glance to move on. She could still feel those unnerving eyes upon her.

  “An’ over here,” Willie said, turning to the man who had risen from the ground to acknowledge the introduction, “is Lane.”

  Lane looked as if he would gladly have willed the earth to open up and swallow him. He started to look at Missie, changed his mind, and looked at the toes of his boots instead, a dark flush spreading steadily over his face. His hands sought something to do or somewhere to go but ended up only rubbing against his sides.

  Missie smiled gently, hoping to put him at ease. Never had she seen a man so shy.

  Turning from him to the group, she said, “Glad to have you all here at the Hanging W,” addressing herself to Scottie in particular. “I know that I won’t really be seeing that much of you—you having your work to do and me having mine. But should there ever be a need that my husband and I can help with, we’d be most happy to oblige.” She shyly nodded to them all, a small smile crossing her lips. “Now I’d best get back to my baby,” she said and turned to the house.

  Scottie took over the meeting, and Willie walked to the soddy with Missie.

  “Think I found out ’bout yer mysterious neighbor.”

  “Maria?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Scottie’s already been out scoutin’ the range. Says they’re ’bout seven miles to the south of us. They’re Mexican.”

  “Mexican?”

  “Yep. The man speaks some English—but mostly Spanish. Prob’ly had him his own reasons fer strikin’ out so far north.”

  “It couldn’t be too serious a reason—it couldn’t. I just know Maria would not marry a man who was trying to escape the law or—”

  “’Course.”

  “Maybe they just wanted to be on their own—to make their own way. Lots of people feel that way, all hemmed in by . . .” Missie decided to let it drop. “And only seven miles?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s not so far, is it, Willie? Just think! Our first neighbors—and so close. Why, I could even ride over and see her—if I knew the way,” she finished lamely.

  Willie laughed. “Yeah—iffen ya knew the way. An’ iffen ya didn’t have to ford a river to get there. An’ iffen ya knew some Spanish. Then ya could make a visit. But I shouldn’t joke. I promise I’ll do my best to take you over to our new neighbors. In the meantime, why don’t ya learn a little Spanish? It would be a real nice surprise for Maria.”

  “But how can I?”

  “Cookie. Cookie knows ’bout everything there is to say in the Spanish tongue. He worked fer a Spanish family when he was little more’n a kid. I got the feelin’ when I heard him talk ’bout ’em he kinda wishes thet he’d stayed with ’em—but at the time he was young an’ had the wander bug. He’s ’bout crossed the whole continent on horseback since, it seems, workin’ on spreads as he’s traveled.”

  “Oh,” said Missie, alarmed. “I do hope he won’t decide to leave us. I—”

  “Not much chance of thet. He’s not as young as he used to be, nor as adventurous, either. An’ I’m thinkin’ thet he don’t sit a horse near as comfortable since he had his fall.”

  “And he knows Spanish?”

  “He sure does. Mind ya, though,” Willie teased some more, “thet he
doesn’t teach ya all the words he knows. Some of ’em ain’t very ladylike.”

  “Do you think he would—teach me, I mean?”

  “I’m sure he’d be glad for an excuse to git off his bad leg occasionally.”

  So Missie timidly approached Cookie about the possibility of Spanish lessons. He was delighted to help out, and they began with their first lesson down by the spring that very day. She had only advanced as far as buenos días and adiós when Maria arrived again.

  Maria cuddled Nathan, all the time directing a steady stream of flowing Spanish, first to the baby and then to Missie. When Missie smiled and nodded, Maria’s Spanish flowed even more rapidly. At length Missie could bear it no longer.

  “Wait,” she said to Maria, gesturing with her hands. “Don’t go away—I’ll be right back. You just sit right down and hug my baby. I’m going to get us both some help.”

  Missie hurried out the door, realizing as she ran to the cook shack that Maria, like herself, had not understood one word of the exchange.

  “Cookie,” Missie panted out, her voice pleading, “would you mind, please . . . please, would you have tea . . . with two ladies?”

  Cookie’s eyes grew round with dismay.

  “Oh, please,” Missie begged. “Maria has come again, and I can’t understand her Spanish—not one word except ‘buenos días.’ And she can’t understand me. And we’re just dying to say something to each other. Please, could you just this once . . . please? I’ll make you coffee if you prefer,” Missie quickly promised.

  Cookie’s good-natured face crinkled into a begrudging smile. He wiped his hands on his greasy apron, which he removed and cast aside.

  “Iffen it means thet much,” he agreed.

  “Oh, it does, it does.”

  “Fer a few minutes,” Cookie amended. “Gotta git back to the steak I’m poundin’. But I can spare a few minutes. An’ I reckon I can pass up the coffee an’ drink yer tea—long as it ain’t in one a’ them fancy little cups.”