The Love Comes Softly Collection

by Janette Oke

  Marty stopped herself.

  “I’ll be upstairs,” she told the woman. “Iffen ya need anything, jest call,” and she turned to the steps that led her up to her bedroom.

  Marty had already made her bed and tidied her room for the day. She wandered aimlessly around for a few minutes, fluffing pillows and arranging curtains. Then she sat down on the side of her bed. It was cool upstairs.

  This is silly, she told herself. Completely silly. Here I am, a grown woman, ’most a prisoner in my own home. Her thoughts fluttered back and forth. How am I ever gonna make it through the next few days? How many days is Clark hirin’ ’em, anyway? An’ what am I gonna do with my time?

  Marty shivered. It was too cold to stay upstairs for long. She grabbed a warm shawl from the chair beside her dresser and wrapped it tightly about her shoulders.

  You could pray, a little voice from somewhere within her said. Remember how you are always saying that you wish you had more praying time?

  Marty flushed, even though there was no one in the room with her—no one visible, that is.

  She knelt beside her bed. She began slowly, willing herself to concentrate on the needs of family and friends. Before long she found herself truly communicating with God—talking to Him from her heart and hearing His responses the same way. It was a time of refreshment and uplift for Marty.

  Every one of her family members was remembered in a special way. She remembered her far-off daughters, her sons-in-law, and each of their children. She included Nandry and Josh and each of their children. She prayed for Clare and Kate and for Amy Jo, that her life and her artistic talents would be used for God’s glory. She remembered each of the three boys. She asked God to be with Arnie and Anne and their boys. She prayed for Luke in his doctoring and for Abbie and the children as they were so often alone.

  Marty prayed especially for Belinda, that God would direct her in her future plans and make her useful in His kingdom. She asked God for wisdom in their relationship with Melissa, Missie’s little girl who was so far away from home, and she asked for special wisdom and help in dealing with the little rift and misunderstanding that was making tensions between Belinda and Melissa. She prayed for the neighbors; she prayed for the church. She prayed for the new schoolteacher, that God would comfort her in her widowhood and help her in her adjustments and in raising her three sons.

  And Marty, with tears, prayed for the Simpson family. She prayed that their somewhat awkward attempts to help would turn out for good. “An’ help me to think of things fer her to do,” she requested. She pleaded for special help for the young boy’s adjustment to the loss of his arm.

  Marty earnestly prayed on. There was no need to jump up and run to care for this task or that task. And then Marty thought of her batch of bread. Why, it must be almost covering the cupboard by now, she thought as she sprang to her feet and flung the shawl aside to hurry down to the kitchen.

  She needn’t have worried. Mrs. Simpson had seen to the punching down of the dough. She was now sitting at Marty’s machine, the treadle humming along smoothly as neat seams took shape beneath her skilled fingers. Marty felt like rubbing her eyes. The woman must be a professional seamstress! she marveled.

  “My!” said Marty. “Yer awful good at thet!”

  The woman never lifted her eyes from the cloth. “Used to work in a dress shop back east before I was married,” she said simply.

  “My!” said Marty again.

  She watched for a few minutes more, then roused herself.

  “Well, I guess I’d better start thinkin’ on dinner. My, how the time has flown.”

  Marty saw the woman’s eyes also travel to the clock on the mantel, and she could almost hear the calculations that were taking place. Three and a half hours at fifteen cents an hour makes fifty-two and a half cents.

  Marty decided to make some milk pudding. It would be ready in plenty of time to cool. She would also fry up some pork chops and potatoes. She had carrots to warm, too. Her bread would soon be ready to make into loaves. She moved about her kitchen less self-consciously and even began to hum softly to herself. It had been a long, long time since she’d had so much of her morning to spend in prayer. Maybe hired help isn’t so bad after all, she concluded.

  Eighteen

  Adjusting

  Gradually Marty adjusted to having another woman sharing the work in her home. Each morning after the dishes and early morning chores were finished, Marty climbed the steps to her room for prayer. Though she did not always use as much time as she had that first morning, she did appreciate the extra minutes she was able to spend on her knees.

  Gradually the new garments took shape under the experienced eyes of the hired seamstress. Marty was excited and pleased. Surely there was need for this woman’s sewing skills in their little town. Marty had overheard the local women talk about how difficult it was to find someone to sew up yard goods in proper fashion. Well, there’d be no complaints about this woman’s sewing, Marty felt sure of that.

  Marty even brought out the pieces of material she had tucked away for future use and had Mrs. Simpson sew them up, as well. No point in harboring them, she decided. Each of the girls could do with a new dress for Sundays.

  Mr. Simpson had long since finished his assigned tasks and returned to felling trees in the woods near their home, so his wife walked the distance to the Davis’ alone. But still the two women did not really visit, though they occupied the same house for a time each day.

  Marty shivered each time she saw her neighbor trudging up their lane in the chill of the early morning, or begin the trek back home at the end of the day. But she really could think of nothing to do about it. If she just wasn’t so proud, Marty kept saying to herself. If she just wasn’t so proud, we could help her more.

  But the woman was proud—just like her husband, and Marty did not dare to suggest anything that might smack of charity.

  Marty gathered up all the sewing she could find and let the woman do it for her. Then she went to Kate’s and carried back all the mending and stitching that Kate could gather together—quite a bundle because of their three active boys. They then finished off the rugs Marty had prepared for her winter’s sewing projects and went on to the quilting. Even in that close proximity, they mostly worked in silence—Marty had quickly run out of one-sided conversation topics. But, surprisingly, the quiet had not felt awkward. When the quilting, too, was done and Marty could think of no other sewing projects, she suggested they have one last cup of tea together while she figured the amount still owed.

  It seemed strange to Marty, and she had an idea it was to Mrs. Simpson, knowing this was their last time together. Marty had come to enjoy the silent presence in her home. She poured the tea, sliced the cake, and picked up her piece of paper with its calculations.

  “The way I figger it,” she said, “I still owe ya a dollar and ten cents.”

  “That’s right,” said the woman, surprising Marty. Marty had not been aware that the woman was also keeping a tally on the account. She was glad their figures had agreed.

  Marty got out her handbag and counted out the money, which the woman promptly put in a little cloth bag and tucked in the front of her dress.

  “Ya know, I’ve been thinkin’,” said Marty, trying to tread very carefully. “Ya really do lovely work, an’ I know thet there are a number of women in town who’ve been lookin’ fer a seamstress. Would ya be interested—?”

  The woman did not even let Marty finish. “I do not have a machine now,” she said abruptly.

  Marty did not let that stop her. “Ya could use my machine.” At the look on the woman’s face, she was quick to add, “I’d rent it to ya at a set rate.”

  The woman relaxed some, but then said, “It’s a long way to town. How would I ever get my orders?”

  “We go in every week,” said Marty as offhandedly as she could. “Ain’t no problem to pick ya up an’ drop ya off.”

  “We live beyond you,” the woman reminded Marty.
<
br />   “Well . . . not much beyond us. Wouldn’t be—”

  “I could walk on over to catch the ride, I suppose,” the woman said.

  “Fine,” said Marty, trying to keep her voice matter-of-fact. “Thet would be fine.

  “We’re goin’ into town tomorra,” continued Marty after a pause. “Why don’t I jest take in a sample or two of yer work an’ ask around a bit?”

  “How much would you be charging for the machine?” asked the woman.

  “Ah . . . let’s see. Ah, ten cents should do nicely.”

  “Ten cents an hour. I wouldn’t be making much—but it might help some. Do you think that folks will be willing to pay fifteen cents an hour for the sewing?”

  Marty didn’t remind her that she had just finished paying her fifteen cents per hour and her own machine had been used.

  “I didn’t mean an hour,” Marty said. “I meant ten cents a day. An’, yes, I think thet yer work is well worth fifteen cents an hour. Yer good—an’ yer fast. Folks should expect to pay thet much fer the work ya do.”

  The woman said nothing, but her eyes took on a bit of shine.

  “I’ll do it, then,” concluded Marty. “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “I’d be obliged,” mumbled the woman, the closest she had come to admitting that she was accepting something from another.

  She rose to go.

  Marty smiled warmly. “I guess this needn’t be good-bye, then. I mean, ya’ll still be comin’ over to use the machine an’ all.”

  “If the plan works,” said the woman shortly.

  “Iffen it works,” repeated Marty.

  The woman nodded.

  “I’ve enjoyed havin’ ya here,” Marty said a bit self-consciously. “It’s been nice workin’ with ya.”

  Mrs. Simpson nodded again.

  “An’ we’d be so happy iffen ya’d join us in worship at our church. It’s not fancy like, but you an’ yer family would be most welcome—”

  She was cut short as Mrs. Simpson’s eyes sparked and she flung a hand toward her tattered dress. “Like this?” she hissed. “Like this to your church? No, I’m thinking that not much of a welcome mat would be extended to people looking like this.”

  Before Marty could even respond, the woman grabbed her coat from the coat peg, and without waiting to put it on, she pushed her way out the door and was gone.

  Marty stood looking after her in stunned silence. Though her eyes remained dry, her heart cried out in silent prayer. Oh, God, she prayed, forgive us if we have unthinkingly given that impression. Why would she think we wouldn’t welcome her the way she is? I so much wanted her to know she was welcome into my house and she’d be welcome into your house, too, but somehow I have failed you again, Lord. I’ve failed you again. And the tears came then.

  But soon from somewhere within, Marty heard a reply. Be patient, the gentle voice said. Just be patient. I have never failed you, and I am with the Simpsons, too, even when they are not aware of it.

  Marty did check for sewing work when she went into town. The first place she went was to the dry goods store. She showed the clerk behind the counter some of the work that Mrs. Simpson had done for her, explaining that the woman would be happy to do sewing for the ladies of the town. The shopkeeper was impressed and said she was sure she could find customers. Marty knew this would increase sales in yard goods, so this would be a help to both Mrs. Simpson and the shop owner.

  The woman promised to put up a notice where interested women could sign their names and indicate what kind of sewing they wished to have done. Marty was to check the list the next time she was in town.

  The next Saturday, Marty was thrilled to see the list of names. It looked like her machine would be kept busy for several weeks. She picked up the yard goods and the patterns that the ladies had selected and took them home for Mrs. Simpson. Somehow she would get word to her neighbor that the arrangements had been made and that there was much sewing to be done.

  Nineteen

  The Triangle

  The situation had not improved greatly between Belinda and Melissa. Marty kept hoping and praying that things would work themselves out. Clark had been so sure the simple solution to the problem was just to ignore it. It was a part of growing up, he said, and if allowed to take its course, it would eventually go away. Well, this time Clark seemed to have misread the state of affairs. The problem had not gone away.

  Marty longed to sit the two girls down and talk some sense into them, but she really could not see where Belinda had been at fault in the matter. And Melissa might feel she was being “picked on” if Marty were to talk to her alone.

  Marty found it hard to believe that their generous, sweet, sensitive Melissa could have such a stubborn streak. Well, Clare had cautioned them that she would not be perfect.

  Because of the strained relations, Melissa was spending more and more time over at Kate’s. She did enjoy being with Amy Jo, and she liked the young boys, too. She spent hours reading to them and coloring pictures or making cutouts. Melissa was a born teacher. She was the happiest when she was in charge.

  Belinda did not seem to suffer greatly from Melissa’s absence. She carried on her duties cheerfully and went out with Luke at each opportunity. Always, when she returned home, she had a full report for Clark and Marty. Marty herself was finding that she was learning a lot about medicine. It’s no wonder both Luke and Belinda find it so intriguing, she noted to herself.

  Marty wondered if Kate might be feeling Melissa was spending far too much time at the log house. She decided to walk over for coffee and have a chat with Kate.

  She was met at the door by Dack. “Do ya want to read to me, Gramma?” he asked hopefully before Marty even had her coat off. He no doubt was restless with being shut indoors with his siblings off at school and was glad to see her.

  “Dack,” scolded Kate, “let yer Gramma catch her breath.” She turned to Marty. “He thinks thet’s all people have to do since Melissa spoils ’im so.”

  Marty laid aside her coat and sat down at the kitchen table. Her fingers traced the pattern on the oilcloth as Kate busied herself fixing a cup of tea for each of them.

  Kate handed Dack some raisins. “Here ya are,” she said to the small boy. “Why don’t ya go have yerself a party with the dolls?”

  Dack left, looking excited about getting “official permission” to set Amy Jo’s dolls all in a row and share his raisins with them. Later he would go down the row, eating the raisins on behalf of each doll baby, Kate explained with a wry smile.

  “Is yer seamstress all done now?” she asked as she sat down with two cups of tea.

  Marty nodded, then smiled. “An’ guess what?” she admitted a bit sheepishly. “After all my fussin’ ’bout it, I’m actually missin’ her.”

  Kate laughed with her.

  “Yet it sure wasn’t her talkin’ thet I miss. Never saw such a quiet woman in all my born days.”

  “Thet’s what ya told me before,” responded Kate. “Well, there’re plenty of days I’d sure settle fer a bit of peace and quiet. I’ll be right glad when thet youngest can be off to school with the rest of ’em, I’m thinkin’.”

  Then she smiled knowingly. “Least, thet’s what I tell myself now,” she added. “I know when the time actually comes an’ the house gits quiet, I might be changin’ my wants some.”

  Marty nodded agreement. She knew what it was like to see the last one go off to school.

  “How’s Amy Jo doin’ with her art?” Marty asked.

  “Ya know, Ma, I think she really has talent. Clare an’ me jest can’t believe some of the work she does. An’ it helps so much fer her to have all those books of Melissa’s to learn from, too. Bless Melissa, she’s been so good ’bout sharin’! I do hope we aren’t hoggin’ her too much. I know she’s here a lot an’ we love to have her, but I sometimes think ya must think we are pretty selfish.”

  “No,” said Marty. “Iffen yer enjoyin’ her, I won’t be begrudgin’ ya.” She pause
d. “I am a bit perplexed, though,” she said slowly.

  “About what? Melissa?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Somethin’ wrong?”

  “I dunno,” said Marty. “Thet is, I don’t know iffen it’s worth stewin’ ’bout or not. Clark says to jest leave it an’ it’ll go away, but it’s been a fair while now, an’ it ain’t gone away yet.”

  “What’s thet?” asked Kate, looking sober.

  “Well, ya know ’bout this here Jackson thing?”

  “Ya mean all the girls moonin’ over ’im?”

  “Yeah. You’d think he was the one an’ only boy on the face of the earth.”

  “I agree with Pa,” said Kate comfortably. “They’ll grow out of it in time. All girls seem to go through a silly stage—some worse’n others.”

  “Oh, it ain’t the moonin’ I worry ’bout. Least not directly. It’s more’n thet. Melissa hasn’t said anything?”

  “Not to me, she hasn’t. Maybe to Amy Jo. They seem to have lots of little secrets they share in her room and giggle or groan over. Me, I pay ’em no mind. I remember goin’ through thet myself.”

  Marty smiled. She might have gone through it, too, but it was a long time ago. “Well, it’s more than that,” she tried again to explain. “Melissa seems to have a real crush on Jackson. An’ she was sure thet he liked her, too. Special like. Well, when we had the Brown family over a while back, Jackson seemed to pay more mind to Belinda than he did to Melissa.”

  “So-o,” said Kate, sounding like she was getting the picture. “How’d Melissa take thet?”

  “Not well, I’m afraid. She accused Belinda of cuttin’ in, an’ she’s been miffed with Belinda ever since.”

  “I see,” said Kate as she got up to pour more tea.

  From the bedroom they could hear Dack scolding a doll for not waiting her turn.

  “Have ya talked to Melissa?” asked Kate, setting the teapot on the back of the stove.

  “No. I’ve been followin’ Clark’s advice—waitin’ fer it to go away.”