by Janette Oke
Missie finally planted her garden and set her hens. Green things soon appeared and so did soft, fluffy yellow chicks—eighteen of them. Missie rejoiced, thinking ahead to leafy vegetables and fried chicken. Even Willie admitted that her idea of raising chickens was not such a bad one after all. The cow calved, a fine young heifer. Missie’s milk supply was assured for many months ahead.
Willie, with the instructions of Juan and his men to guide him, began the work on the house, just a few yards east of the soddy. Day after day Missie watched excitedly as it took shape.
Henry had left for his own nearby ranch. Missie missed him and the redheaded Rusty. She was always glad to welcome them back for a visit or a meal. Henry and Rusty still joined them for their gathering each Sunday, and Missie and Willie were glad to have them. She wasn’t sure yet how Willie’s two new hands felt about working on a spread where the boss had Sunday singsongs and Bible reading. So far, they had chosen to follow Smith’s lead and stay away from such goings-on.
Willie took time from his house building to ride over to Juan’s for a meeting of cattlemen. Missie itched to go along, but she knew that chatting women and a business meeting of the men might not mix too well. She contented herself with plans for a visit on some future day, when she and Maria could enjoy each other’s company without interruption. Maria’s English was improving even faster than Missie’s Spanish, and the two young women spent much of their infrequent visits laughing at each other’s mistakes and celebrating new levels of communication.
When Willie returned from the meeting, he was bursting with news. A group of men had been in to stake out a site for the train station, he told Missie. Land already was sold for a general store. He was certain that other buildings would soon follow. And the best news was that the station would be only fifteen miles away! An easy trip in one day! No more two-week supply trips to Tettsford Junction. The first train was due to come chugging in during early spring of the following year.
The thought nearly took Missie’s breath away. To have supplies come in so close, to be able to make a trip to town, to greet people and walk on sidewalks—it was all too overwhelming to comprehend.
“Sure, it’ll take time—but it’ll all come,” Willie declared. “An’ guess what else? Thet there train station is gonna be more’n jest a cattle-shippin’ place. It’s gonna have a post office, too. We’ll be able to mail letters right here an’ git answers back from our folks.”
Missie caught her breath. Just to be able to write home to her mama and pa! To be able to tell them of Nathan’s progress, of her new house, of Cookie—their faithful old ranch hand sent to them by God himself, though Cookie didn’t realize that yet—of her chickens, her garden. Oh, how she wanted to tell them everything, to pour it all out on paper, letting them know and feel that she was doing just fine. And to get back an answer from them assuring her that they were all well. She tried to imagine their first letter. It might tell her that Luke was almost a man now, that Ellie had herself a beau, that Clare was getting set up to go farming on his own, and that Arnie was busy working the plow for Pa. She wanted to hear that the apple trees were in blossom, and the ever-bubbling spring had just been cleaned for the summer cooling, that soft green lay on the land, and the school bell was ringing clearly in the crisp morning air.
Missie’s eyes softened with her musings.
“Oh, Willie,” she said, “I’d never even thought of such a wonder.”
“An’ I been thinkin’,” Willie said cautiously, probably in case it was a dream that would never be realized. “Been thinkin’—not a reason in the world thet I can see, why yer folks couldn’t jest hop thet train someday an’ make a trip out here.”
“Oh, Willie,” Missie cried, “could they really? Could people—it’s not just for cows?”
Willie laughed. “’Course not. At the meetin’ they said they ’spect lots of folks will be comin’ out by train. Special car jest for folks to ride in—maybe even two cars iffen they be needin’ ’em. Yer folks could come right on out, an’ we could meet ’em at the station.”
Missie caught hold of his sleeve. “It’s too much—too much all at once. I feel I could simply burst if it doesn’t stop.”
“Don’t ya go bustin’,” Willie teased, pulling her to him. “We still got no doctor—an’ I need ya. Who else is gonna look after Nathan an’ me, an’ git thet there house lookin’ like a home ’stead of an empty, bare shell?” He chuckled as he held her close.
Missie was content to rest quietly in his arms.
“Speakin’ of houses,” Willie said against her hair, “iffen it’s gonna be ready fer yer folks, I’d best git back to buildin’ it. I decided today to send twenty or thirty steers along on thet cattle drive. No use doin’ a thing by half measures. Soon as Scottie gits back with the money, I’ll take one of the boys an’ head fer Tettsford. An’ this time, I’m takin’ you, too, Missie. Iffen I don’t git you away from this all-male company, you’ll be losing all yer feminine charms!” But his eyes told her he didn’t think that was likely.
Missie laughed, then retorted primly, “Why, yes, I believe I will be able to join you on your trip to Tettsford.” But her dancing eyes gave her away, and she laughed again for sheer joy.
“We can git our winter supplies at the same time,” Willie added.
“I need more preserving jars,” Missie said. “Mercy! I planted more garden than either Cookie or I know what to do with.”
Willie chuckled and released her.
“You be thinkin’ on yer list,” he said. “We’ll be doin’ our best to be fillin’ it.” He picked up his tools and started off for the new house. As he went he whistled, and the sound of it was pleasant to Missie’s ears.
Around the corner of the cook shack limped Cookie, and close behind him trailed young Nathan, followed by his ever-present guardian, big Max.
Nathan chattered away and Cookie grunted in response. The dog was content to be the silent partner, giving an occasional wag of his tail.
Missie turned back to the little sod house. It was time to build a fire and begin preparing the evening meal. As she walked, she mentally composed her first letter home.
Dear Mama and Pa, she’d write.
God truly has kept His promise of Isaiah 41:10, just as you said He would. You should see our Nathan. He’s about the greatest boy that ever was. He’s quick, too, in learning and doing. You’d be real proud of your grandson. I think his nose and chin are like Willie’s, but he has your eyes, Pa.
Truth is, we’re expecting another baby. Not for several months yet, but we’re excited about it. We haven’t talked yet about what we’ll do for the birthing and all, but maybe by then we’ll have other folks around, and I won’t have to go way back to Tettsford Junction. I pray that might be so.
Willie is building a stone house—our real house. The one that we’ve been living in, temporarily, is kind of small. It’s been just fine, though, but now we’re getting all set to move into the new one. We want to be in before winter comes again.
I have a nice big garden. It grows very well down by the spring. The soil is rich and easy to water there. I scarcely have to coax it along at all. Cookie, the cook, uses it for the ranch hands, as well.
I have chickens, too. This spring they gave us eighteen chicks, and we only lost two. I get seven or eight eggs a day. We’re going to have chicken for Christmas dinner this year!
And we have neighbors! Maria is the closest one to the south. She is a very good friend, and we have enjoyed prayer times together. Soon Melinda, a friend from the wagon train, will live to the north of us. You remember our Henry, the driver that you found for us, Pa? Well, he met Melinda on the trip out here, and as soon as he finishes his house, they will be married. I can hardly wait.
We have a real good ranch foreman, Scottie, and several men who work the spread. There is Cookie—I mentioned him before—who is Nathan’s favorite—mine, too; and Lane, Smith, Clem, Sandy, and two new ones whom I still don’t know very we
ll. The new ones haven’t yet come to our Sunday Bible reading, but we’re still praying. Their names are Jake and Walt. Of course they all have last names, too, except Smith, but we hardly ever use them here. Pray for all of them. Lane has become a real believer, but he takes a lot of ribbing from Smith. It would really help him if Jake and Walt broke from Smith and started coming on Sunday, too. Especially pray for Smith. He really needs God to thaw out his heart.
Missie pushed the kettle onto the heat and went outside for a new supply of chips. Her eyes traveled over the miles of hills. They were not just distant barren knolls now, but separate, individual, each with its own characteristics. She remembered the coyote that appeared on that closest one. She had gazed at the one to the northeast when she looked for Willie’s returning team. On the far ones she often saw the cattle feeding. The ones close by were covered with beautiful spring flowers. She’d transplanted some of them around the soddy door and watered them faithfully with her dishwater, almost always remembering Mrs. Taylorson’s rule number four: All water must be used at least twice.
She turned her eyes toward the west. Even though she could not see them from her valley, her memory brought to mind the mountains—shadowy, misty, and golden by turn. “Like a woman,” Willie teased, “always changin’ in mood and appearance.”
She turned back to the hills. How pretty they looked. In the distance were dots she knew were Willie’s grazing cattle. A faster-moving black figure appeared for a moment and then disappeared over a rise—one of the hands checking on the herd. Another cowboy rode into the yard down by the corrals. Missie heard the thud of the hoofbeats and saw little smoky swirls of dust. She had missed her ride that morning. She would be sure to take Nathan out on the morrow. The sting of the wind on her face and the smell of sage in the air always awakened her and sent her home, eager to begin her day of scrubbing clothes or canning vegetables.
You know, her letter would go on, how Willie boasted of his land when he came back? Well, it’s even prettier than that. I didn’t see it that way at first, but I love it now. The air is so crisp and clean, you can almost serve it on a platter. And the distant mountains change their dress as regularly as a high-fashion city lady.
Missie filled her pail, hoisted it up and started for the sod dwelling.
Willie brought wonderful news today, her mental letter continued. He says the railroad, which is coming soon, will not only haul out cattle but will bring people, as well. He says that you’ll be able to come right on out here for a visit. Can you imagine that? I could hardly believe it at first, and now I can hardly wait. I never dreamed when I left back east that I’d ever be able to show you my home.
Missie’s eyes filled with unbidden tears. “My home,” she said softly, realizing she had never said the words about this place before. “My home! It truly is! I don’t feel the awful tug back east anymore. This is truly my home—mine and Willie’s.” Joy and pride filled her heart.
I can hardly wait to show them. Her thoughts tumbled over one another. They’ll love it. It’s so beautiful—the mountains, the hills, the spring—I wonder if an apple tree would grow down by the spring. I could have Pa bring out some cuttings—it wouldn’t hurt any to try.
Missie turned back to the temporary soddy that had been her home for two whole years.
“You know,” she said aloud as she paused in front of the door, “I’ll almost miss you, my little first home with Willie. I think I’ll ask him to leave you sitting right here. You can be my quiet place, and I can come here sometimes and think and remember—the Christmas dinners when we crammed in here all together, Cookie sitting there on that stool nursing Nathan back to us, the planning that Willie did at that little table, the dreams, the tears, the fears that we’ve shared here. I’ve done a whole lot of growing since I entered this door—and there’s still more to do, I reckon.”
Missie looked about her. What else would she tell Mama and Pa? Maybe very little more. Maybe it was best for them to come and see for themselves. It was hard to put hopes and dreams on sheets of paper. Dreams of a church and a school for Nathan and his brothers and sisters. Dreams of white curtains and a sunlit sewing room. Dreams of Willie with a herd the size he had always planned. Dreams of neighbors and friends, laughter and shared recipes. Shared prayer times.
It would be hard to put her dreams down in neat rows of writing. It would be so much better when she could open her door and her arms to her mama and pa and say, “Welcome! Welcome to my home. There’s love here. Love that started growing way back on the farm and traveled all the way here with us, growing and strengthening every mile of the way. God’s love—just as He promised. Your love, for us as your children. And our love for one another and for our son. Love! That’s what makes a home. So, welcome, Mama and Pa. Welcome to our love-filled home.”
Love’s Abiding Joy
Contents
Dedication
1. Family
2. Birthday Dinner
3. Planning
4. The City
5. The Real Journey Begins
6. Arrival
7. Catching Up
8. Marty Meets Maria
9. The Rescue
10. A Day of a Million Years
11. Struggles
12. Juan
13. Adjustments
14. Growing
15. Moving
16. Winter
17. Jedd
18. From Death to Life
19. Plans and Farewells
20. Homeward Bound
Dedicated with love
to my second sister, Jean Catherine Budd,
who left us for heaven in 1998,
with deep appreciation for the many times she
was my extra pair of hands
and for her open heart and open home
that always made me welcome;
and to Orville, the special guy
she brought home
to the family, who was reunited
with her in 2001.
One
Family
“Good mornin’.”
The words came softly, and Marty opened sleep-heavy eyes to identify their source. Clark was bending over her, smiling, she noted. Clark did not normally awaken her before his early morning trek to the barn. Marty stirred and stretched, attempting to come fully awake in an effort to understand why he was doing so now.
“Happy birthday.”
Oh yes, today was her birthday, and Clark always wanted to be the first one to greet her on her special day. Marty snuggled the covers below her chin, planning to close her eyes again, but she couldn’t resist answering his smile.
“An’ you woke me jest to remind me thet I’m another year older?” she teased.
“Now, what’s wrong with gettin’ older? Seems to me it’s jest fine—considerin’ the alternative,” Clark teased back.
Marty smiled again. She was fully awake now. No use trying to get to sleep again.
“Fact is,” she said, pushing herself up and reaching to run her hand through Clark’s graying hair, “I don’t think I’m mindin’ this birthday one little bit. I don’t feel one speck more’n a day older than I did yesterday. A little short on sleep maybe,” she added mischievously, “but not so much older.”
Clark laughed. “I’ve heard tell of people gettin’ crotchety and fussy as they age. . . .” He left the sentence hanging but leaned over and took any sting from the words with a kiss on Marty’s nose. “Well, I’d best get me to the chorin’. Go ahead, catch yerself a little more shut-eye, iffen ya want to. I’ll even git yer breakfast—jest this once.”
“Not on yer life,” interjected Marty hurriedly. “I’d hafta clean up yer mess in the kitchen.” But her hand brushed his cheek, and the love and care between them would have been apparent to anyone who might have been watching.
Clark left, chuckling to himself, and Marty lay back and stretched to her full length beneath the warmth of her handmade quilt. She wouldn’t hurry to get up, but Clark’s
breakfast would be waiting when he returned from the barn.
Today is my birthday, Marty’s thoughts began. Though she wasn’t actually feeling older, it seemed, suddenly, that there had been many birthdays. Forty-two, in fact. Forty-two. She silently repeated the number in an attempt to grasp the fact of it. Funny, it really doesn’t bother me a bit. No, there was nothing disturbing about this birthday—not like thirty had been, or forty. My, how she had disliked turning forty! It seems a body must be near worn out by the time one reaches forty, she mused. Yet here she was, forty-two, and in all honesty she felt no older than she did when she had come to those previous monumental milestones.
Forty-two, she mulled over the number again but did not dwell on it for long. Instead she thought ahead to the plans for the day. Birthdays meant family. Oh, how she loved to have her family gathered about her! When the children had been little, she herself had been “the maker of birthdays.” Now they were grown and old enough that it was her turn to have a special day celebration. Nandry had served the birthday dinner last year, Clae had reminded them at a recent Sunday dinner. Marty couldn’t really remember. The years had a tendency to blur together, but, yes, she was sure Clae was right.
Today being Saturday, the birthday dinner would be held at the noon hour instead of in the evening. Marty liked it better that way. They had so much more time with one another, instead of trying to crowd in the celebration between the return of the schoolchildren and the milking of the cows and other farm chores. Today they would have the whole afternoon ahead of them for visiting and playing with the grandchildren.
Just thinking about the promise of this day filled Marty with anticipation. All thought of sleep now long gone, she threw back the covers, stretched on the edge of the bed, and moved to the window. She looked out upon a beautiful June morning. The world was clean and fresh from last night’s rain shower. What a lovely time of year! There was still that lingering feeling of spring in the air, even though many plants had already grown enough to ensure that summer really had arrived. She loved June. Again she felt a stirring of thankfulness to her mother for birthing her in this delightful month.
