by Janette Oke
Luke ended his letter with a message for each of them. Marty was admonished to take care of herself and that coming baby. He would be home soon for Arnie’s wedding and Christmas, and he wanted everything to be just as he remembered it.
There was a postscript on the bottom addressed to Ma. “I really won’t mind if it’s a girl,” the sentence read, and Marty brushed at unbidden tears as she folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope.
Dear, dear Luke, she thought. Alone and so busy—and lovin’ every minute of it.
But Luke was right. Before they knew it, Christmas would be upon them.
Nine
Ben
Marty felt like she had just snuggled down and closed her eyes when there was a pounding on the front door. Clark bounded from the bed and was pulling on his clothes while Marty struggled to a sitting position.
“What is it?” she wondered.
“Don’t know—but someone seems to want us powerful bad.”
Clark left the room, his crutch beating a fast rhythm as he hurried toward the stairs.
“Light the lamp,” Marty called after him. “You’ll be fallin’ in the dark.” But Clark was already on his way, no doubt feeling his way through the hallway and down the steps.
Marty left her bed and reached for her wrap. She could see Arnie beyond her door, and he had taken the time to light a lamp.
Ellie called to him from her room. “What is it?” Marty heard her ask.
“Not knowin’ yet,” answered Arnie. “Pa has gone to see.”
He moved on down the stairway, and Marty slipped into her house socks and quickly followed after him.
Arnie turned when he heard her coming. “Ma, ya shoulda stayed in bed,” he said.
“I’m all right,” she insisted.
“Watch yer step,” said Arnie, reaching out a hand to assist her.
Lou Graham was in the kitchen talking with Clark when the two entered. Clark looked up, and when he saw them he moved to Marty and put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s Ben,” he said softly.
Marty had many questions, but she could not find voice to ask any of them. Her heart was pounding as she looked from one face to the other. Surely it was serious to bring Lou out in the middle of the night. Ellie joined them, a puzzled frown on her face.
Clark moved a chair toward Marty, and she sat down.
“What happened?” It was Arnie who finally was able to speak.
“His heart,” answered Clark.
A moment’s silence, and then, softly, “How is he?”
“He’s . . . he’s gone.”
“Gone?” It was Marty now. There must be some mistake! Her thoughts whirled. Why, she had seen Ben herself just a short time ago, and he looked perfectly well. He had taken care of the team when she was over to visit Ma and had even given out some good-natured teasing. There must be some mistake. It couldn’t be Ben. Not Ben Graham.
Clark was speaking. “It happened just as he was gittin’ ready fer bed. I’m goin’ over, Marty.”
Marty’s stunned mind and emotions were scrambling to sort out what was being said—what was going on. Ben was gone—Ben Graham—their good neighbor of so many years. Ma was a widow again. Clark was going to her.
Marty shook her head and tried to stand. “I’m goin’, too,” she said quietly yet with insistence. “I’m goin’, too.”
She could feel their eyes upon her. Each one in the circle seemed to be saying no, even though no one had actually said it. Marty wrapped her robe more closely about her and took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and looked at them.
“I’m goin’, too,” she said evenly. “Ma needs me—an’ I’ll be just fine.”
Still no one voiced an argument, and Marty went back to her room to get dressed. Ellie followed her.
“Mama,” she said, “be sure ya dress warm. It’s cold out there.”
Marty nodded and mechanically went on laying out her clothes.
When she went downstairs again, Clark was waiting. Lou had already gone on to take the sad news to others in the family. Arnie was heating a brick in the fireplace, and Marty knew that it was to keep her feet warm as they traveled. The team was ready, and they stomped and blew impatiently. They did not cotton to the idea of leaving their warm stall on such a night.
Without comment Clark helped Marty in, and Arnie placed the wrapped brick at her feet and tucked a heavy robe securely about her. His feelings showed without words in his extra care for her comfort and safety. Clark picked up the reins, clucked to the team, and they were off.
Marty had never experienced such a silent trip to the Grahams’. All the way there, she attempted to accept the truth that Ben Graham was dead—but it did not seem real. She wondered if Clark was wrestling with it, as well, but she did not ask.
A pale moon was shining, reflecting off the whiteness of the snow-covered fields. A million stars seemed to be blinking off and on overhead. Vaguely she wondered if anyone knew for sure just how many were up there—no, she supposed not. There were too many. Only God himself knew the actual count.
And God himself knows about each one of His children. Marty closed her eyes. He knew what had happened this night. He knew of Ben. Why, He had already welcomed Ben into the courts of heaven. Was He glad . . . pleased to have one more child at home? Marty would be. If one of her far-off children were suddenly to walk through her door, she would be celebrating. Maybe God was celebrating—celebrating because Ben was home.
But what about Ma? her thoughts went on. She was alone again now. Did God know that, too? Did He know how empty and lonely Ma would be feeling? What was it that Ma had said to her long ago about losing her first husband, Thornton? Ma had said she had wanted to die, too, that a part of her seemed to be missing or numb or something. Well, Ma would be feeling that way again. She had loved Ben so much, had shared with him for so long. Ma would be empty and hurting, and there wouldn’t be any way that anyone—anyone in the world, no matter how much they loved her—would be able to help that hurt.
Suddenly Marty was crying—tearing sobs from deep inside. Oh, Ma. Oh, Ma! How ya ever gonna bear it? she mourned inwardly. It was true. It really was true. Ben was gone.
Clark let her cry, though he placed an arm around her and drew her closer to him. He didn’t try to hush her. He knew as well as she did that she needed the release of the tears.
By the time they reached the Graham farmyard, Marty had herself under control. Lights shone from each window. Teams and saddle horses milled and stomped in the yard, doors opening and closing quietly as family arrived.
Clark helped Marty down and then moved the team on farther into the yard to tie them at a corral post. Marty waited for him, dreading that first meeting with poor Ma. She didn’t want to go in by herself.
When Clark returned to take her arm and lead her to the house, they spoke for the first time.
“Looks like the whole family’s here,” said Marty softly.
“Yeah, Lou said he was lettin’ ’em know.”
“Good thet they’re all close by.”
“Lem was away—don’t know iffen they got in touch with ’im yet.”
They reached the house, and without knocking, Clark ushered them in. The big farm kitchen was full of people. Coffee cups sat on the table, but no one seemed to be drinking from them. Tearstained faces were turned toward Ma, who sat before an open Bible and, with a quavering yet confident voice, was reading to her family.
“‘ . . . for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely . . .’” Ma’s voice broke. She waited a moment and then went on, her voice ringing out stronger than before: “‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.’”
She placed both ha
nds on the Book and closed her eyes, and everyone in the room knew she was believing its promises and silently making them her own in prayer.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Clark and Marty were there. Without a word she held her hands out to them as a fresh collection of tears spilled down her worn cheeks. Marty moved quickly to her and took her in her arms. They clung and cried together. Marty was vaguely aware of voices and movement about her. She knew that Clark was offering his sympathy to other family members. She must speak to them, too, but Ma came first.
After the initial expressions of sorrow, they sat around the kitchen sharing memories of Ben and discussing plans for his funeral service. There wasn’t a great deal of preparation to do. The new undertaker in town would prepare the coffin. The young minister had not been called in the dead of the night—Ma insisted that he be allowed to sleep. She had her family and her neighbors, and there was plenty of time to make the arrangements. Besides, she declared, the poor young man had already lost three nights’ sleep sitting up with ailing Maude Watley. Her condition seemed to have improved somewhat, and the minister finally had been able to get a night’s rest.
The neighborhood men would dig another grave in the little yard beside the church. Clark offered to make sure that was done. Tom thanked him for his kindness. “But,” he said, “the boys an’ me been talkin’, an’ we’d kinda like to do it ourselves.”
Clark’s understanding of their desire was clear as he nodded his agreement.
Sally Anne was weeping the hardest. Marty found her in Ma’s bedroom, Ben’s old farm work hat crumpled up against her, the sobs shaking her entire body.
Marty tried to comfort her, but Sally Anne just cried all the harder.
“I’ll be all right,” she finally gasped out between sobs. “Just please leave me be.” So Marty left. Sally Anne was going to need time to sort out her grief.
The day of the burial was cold. But the wind had gone down, for which all were thankful. Still, the sky was gray and the air frigid. Marty clasped her coat about her and prayed for the group of family members who were clinging tightly to one another. It would be a hard day for each of them. And when they scattered again to their various homes, what would become of Ma then?
Marty was glad that Lou and his wife and two children lived near her. At least Ma would have someone close. Still, it would be hard for her—hard to face an empty house, hard to lie alone in a bed that had been shared for so many years, hard to sit at a table where no one used the adjoining chair. Yes, she had many difficult days ahead of her. Marty was glad Ma had a deep faith in God that would help her through the days of intense sorrow. She must remember to pray for her daily. And visit her as she could. Maybe Ma would like to be included in some upcoming family dinners.
But Marty also knew that Ma wasn’t likely to sit around and feel sorry for herself. What an example of faith in trying times she was to the whole community.
Ten
Good News
Life required that everybody carry on, so even though their hearts were heavy, family and friends of Ben put their minds on living and the everyday tasks that called for their attention.
It was only a few weeks now until Christmas and Arnie’s wedding. Marty tried her hardest to keep an atmosphere of anticipation for the sake of her family, even though she could not get out from under the heaviness she felt for Ma and her family. Ma was often in her thoughts and prayers.
Clark returned home from town one day and hurried into the kitchen, his expression telling Marty he had news.
“Yer not gonna believe this. Guess what I just heard.”
Marty looked up from the small baby gown in which she was making dainty tucks. “Couldn’t guess,” she said. “What’s goin’ on now?”
“Willie’s pa has been so impressed with the West thet he’s talked the whole family into goin’ out fer a look.”
“Yer joshin’ me,” said Marty, laying down her handwork in disbelief.
“Not joshin’.”
“Ya mean they’re all movin’ out?”
“Not movin’. Not yet anyway. They’re just goin’ on out fer a look-see.”
“Callie an’ the kids, too?”
“Yep.”
“Who’s to care fer the farm?”
“Now this yer really not gonna believe.”
Marty felt her eyes widen, wondering what in the world could be more difficult to believe than what she had already heard.
“Lane,” said Clark.
“Lane?”
“Lane.”
“Our Lane? I mean Willie’s Lane?” Marty was stunned.
Clark laughed. “Told ya you’d never believe it.”
“I can’t imagine—Lane comin’ back here! Are ya sure?”
“I’m sure. Zeke LaHaye showed me the letter hisself. Fact is, Lane’s s’posed to arrive tomorra so’s he can learn all he needs to know ’fore the LaHayes leave next Tuesday.”
“Yer right—I can’t believe it!” exclaimed Marty, excitement taking hold of her. “Lane comin’ here. Isn’t thet somethin’?”
“Ellie,” she said, hurrying to the kitchen, “Ellie, Lane’s comin’.”
Ellie lifted her head from the potatoes she was peeling.
“Who’s Lane?” she asked.
“Lane. Willie’s Lane. We told ya ’bout ’im.”
“Lane,” repeated Ellie and frowned as she tried to remember. Clark joined them in the kitchen.
“Want some coffee, Pa?” Ellie asked, and Marty was just a trifle irritated that Ellie hadn’t responded more enthusiastically to the wonderful news of their friend’s arrival.
Without waiting for her father’s answer, Ellie moved to reach for two coffee cups, which she placed on the table and filled.
Clark thanked her and sat down, pulling one cup toward him, and Marty took the chair opposite him and accepted the other cup. Ellie had already gone back to peeling potatoes.
“I just can’t believe it,” Marty said again, not willing to let the matter drop. “Lane comin’.”
“How so?” asked Ellie.
“The LaHayes are goin’ out to see Willie an’ Missie. Gonna be there in time fer Christmas and then stay on a spell,” Clark explained again.
Finally Ellie’s hands stopped their busy paring, and her head bobbed up. “Really? Missie will be so excited she’ll near go crazy. ’Magine thet. Havin’ all thet family fer Christmas!”
Marty smiled as she pictured Missie’s excitement and busy preparations. “And we can send some Christmas presents with them—”
Clark’s laugh interrupted her. “Yeah, well, ya better go easy on how much you send—the LaHayes are gonna have enough luggage of their own.”
“Who’s gonna look after their place?” asked Ellie, and Marty noted silently that the girl hadn’t been listening.
“Lane,” she answered patiently.
“Oh, thet’s why Willie’s sendin’—what’s his name?”
“Lane.”
“Lane who?”
Clark began to laugh. “His name’s Lane Howard. He’s one of Willie’s hands. Guess he must know somethin’ ’bout farmin’, or Willie wouldn’t be sendin’ ’im.”
“I see,” said Ellie, and her hands began to work on the potatoes again.
“He’s such a fine boy,” Marty said. “He’s the young cowboy who was the first one to come to Willie’s services, an’ he was the first one to believe.”
Ellie nodded her interest in that piece of news.
“He’s a mighty fine young man,” Clark agreed. He looked off into space as though seeing some events in his memory.
“It was Lane who knelt down beside Jedd Larson and joined me in prayer when Jedd was in such a bad way.”
“It was Lane who rode through the cold night to get Doc de la Rosa fer Jedd, too,” added Marty.
“Yeah, an’ Lane hitched the team and drove back through the night to take Jedd over to Doc’s house,” Clark continued.
“He rode w
ith ya, too, when ya went on over on Christmas Day,” Marty reminded Clark.
“Yeah, he did, didn’t he?” Clark smiled. “I can still see him climbin’ down off his horse an’, without sayin’ a word, takin’ his blanket to cover up my stub of a leg. Boy, was it cold! I think thet I’d a froze it fer sure iffen Lane hadn’t done thet. An’ me—I was too dumb to even think ’bout it needin’ coverin’.”
Ellie looked back and forth between her parents as they remembered their experiences with Lane out west.
Marty said, her voice low and husky, “Don’t know iffen ya even knowed it, but Lane was the one who helped the doc when he took off yer leg. Willie wanted to, but he was afraid he couldn’t stand it, so he went fer help—an’ it was Lane who volunteered.”
“Didn’t know thet.” Clark shook his head, looking thoughtful. Then he sighed. “Shoulda known it, though, thet Lane would be the one—”
“It’ll be so good to see ’im again. When did ya say he’s comin’?” Marty asked.
“S’posed to be tomorra.”
“We’ll have ’im over right away!”
“Now, hold it,” laughed Clark. “Willie is sendin’ ’im out here to look to his family’s farm, not to spend his time—”
“I know thet,” retorted Marty, “but surely we can have ’im visit now an’ then without any harm bein’ done. He has to eat, now, don’t he?”
Clark stood up and ruffled her hair.
“Reckon we can,” he said. “I was thinkin’ myself thet it’d be awful nice to give ’im an invite fer Christmas.”
“I hope we don’t need to wait thet long to see him. I’d nigh bust by then.”
Clark laughed again. “Got me a feelin’,” he said confidently, “thet he’ll be lookin’ us up.”
