The Love Comes Softly Collection

by Janette Oke

  “I’ll jest be a minute here,” Clark told him, “and then we’ll go on up to the house an’ see what Marty might have to munch on.”

  Drew leaned over the gurgling water and swept more leaves out into the current with his right hand.

  “Were ya left- or right-handed?” Clark surprised him by asking.

  “Right,” answered Drew.

  “Thet’s one thing about losin’ a leg,” Clark stated matter-of-factly, “don’t make much difference.” When Clark chuckled, Drew smiled to join him.

  “How’s yer pa doin’ with his loggin’?” Clark asked further.

  “Good,” said Drew. “He found himself a mule somewhere. He’s real pleased with himself.”

  “Thet’ll help him a lot,” said Clark. “Don’t know how he managed last winter without one.”

  “Oh, he and Ma just hooked on ropes and hauled them out. I’m after Pa to let me get back to helpin’ him,” Drew went on.

  Clark looked directly at the boy. He commented, “He don’t want ya in the woods?”

  Drew shook his head. “Won’t let me go near—ever since the accident. Thinks it’s his fault, I guess. That’s just silly. Wasn’t anybody’s fault—just one of those things.”

  Clark was silent for a few moments while he scooped out soggy leaves and tossed them aside. “Guess I can understand his feelin’s,” he said.

  Drew nodded. He guessed he could understand his pa’s feelings, too, but it did seem foolish when his pa needed all the help he could get.

  “Well,” said Clark, straightening up, “guess thet’ll be good enough fer now. I’ll need to clean it once or twice yet ’fore winter freezes it in.”

  A flock of Canada geese passed overhead, calling out their forlorn cries. Clark and Drew both looked skyward.

  “Always did think thet the cry of a goose is one of the saddest sounds I know,” Clark observed. “Does it hit ya thet way?”

  Drew nodded solemnly. It did. He wasn’t sure why.

  “I don’t know what there is about it,” Clark went on, “but it ’most makes me shiver.” And his shiver was obvious to Drew.

  “Let’s go git somethin’ to warm us up,” he suggested. “Marty’ll have somethin’ hot fer sure.”

  Drew sucked in his breath. If he went now he might never find the courage to talk to Mr. Davis again.

  “I was kinda wonderin’ if I might talk to you some?”

  Clark’s face softened. He lowered himself to a soft bed of leaves and nodded to the boy to go on.

  “I . . . I hate to take your time like this but . . . but . . .”

  “I’ve got me more time than anythin’ else,” Clark assured him.

  “Well, I . . . I . . . noticed . . . truth is, I’ve been wondering. You see, I figured if anyone should know what someone goes through in losing a limb, then it should be you.”

  Clark broke a small twig and cast it into the spring water. The current swirled it around a few times and then carried it off downstream.

  “I only lost a leg, boy,” Clark said softly. “Ya lost an arm. Now I ain’t even pretendin’ thet there ain’t a big difference there.”

  The boy swallowed hard. Clark was making light of his own loss.

  He looked at Clark evenly. “I happen to know myself well enough to know that I wouldn’t take kindly to losing a leg, either,” Drew said.

  Clark nodded.

  “How long ago?” Drew asked.

  “Long time now,” said Clark, leaning back against a tree trunk. “Long, long time. Before Belinda was even born.”

  “How’d it happen?”

  A shadow passed briefly over Clark’s face, telling Drew even more than his words did.

  “Couple a kids were messin’ around in an old mine shaft,” Clark began. “It caved in on ’em. I went in to get ’em out. They were ’most buried in it. Afore I got the second one out, it caved in again. The heavy timbers got me.”

  “How’d you get out?” asked Drew.

  “Men—friends from our son’s ranch—dug fer me.”

  “Did you . . . did you give yer permission to the doc? To take yer leg, I mean?”

  “Nope!” said Clark. “Didn’t know a thing ’bout it. Actually, I didn’t lose my leg right away. An’ there weren’t a doc within miles, far as anyone knew. It was Marty thet tried to clean it up an’ disinfect it. It was crushed, too. An awful mess, they tell me. Then gangrene set in. I shoulda died, I guess, but God had other plans. Sent along a doctor—right from among the neighbors—and he took care of the leg while I was wild with fever.”

  Drew felt himself go weak as Clark told the story simply, without drama. He could picture too well the scenes that Clark briefly described.

  They sat silently for many minutes.

  “What did you think when you . . . when . . .”

  “When I came to my senses and knew what’d happened?” Clark finished for him.

  The boy swallowed hard and nodded. He could not speak.

  “Well, at first . . . at first I thought my whole world had fallen apart. I wondered how I would ever be a man again . . . how I’d care fer my family . . . what I’d think about myself. Fer a while . . . fer a little while . . . I wished I had died . . . at least thet’s what I thought I wished. But not fer long. God soon reminded me thet I had a lot to live fer. That my family loved me and would keep right on lovin’ me—one leg or two—an’ thet God hadn’t forgotten me. Thet He was still with me, still in charge of my life. It took a while, but God helped me to accept it. Don’t miss it too much anymore at all.”

  “It still hurts you, though, doesn’t it?”

  Clark’s head came up. “What makes ya say thet?” he asked, looking carefully at Drew.

  “I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you reach down and rub it. I know . . . I know how bad it can ache. Even though it’s gone, it can still—”

  “Phantom pain,” Clark finished for him.

  The boy nodded.

  “Yers bother ya much?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s not bad.”

  Clark nodded knowingly.

  “How long you had thet . . . thet . . . ?” the boy began.

  “Wooden one? ’Bout five years now, I guess. Works real good, too. Don’t know how I ever got along without it. Luke, my doctor son, talked me into it.”

  “They don’t have . . . they don’t have . . . things for arms, do they?”

  “’Course they do. Not jest like this. Sorta has hooks an’ things, but Luke could tell ya all ’bout ’em.”

  Clark stopped while Drew suddenly put his head down on his one good arm, sobbing convulsively. He felt Clark quickly put an arm around him and draw him close.

  “Cry,” Clark said, his voice sounding a little shaky, “go ahead an’ have a good cry. I did. Let me tell ya, I did. Scream, iffen ya want to. Git it all out. Ya got somethin’ worth cryin’ over. Go ahead, boy.”

  Drew shook with his sobbing. “I hate it!” he screamed out. “I hate it! I don’t have an arm. I don’t have a God. I don’t have nothin’.”

  Clark still held on to him, then passed him a large checkered handkerchief and let him blow. With an arm still around him, Clark spoke quietly. “Son,” he said. “I can’t do nothin’ ’bout gittin’ ya an arm but . . . but I do know where ya can find yerself a God.”

  Drew looked up, no longer ashamed of his tears.

  “Ya don’t even need to go a lookin’ fer ’im,” Clark said, “fer, truth is, He’s been lookin’ fer you. He loves ya, son. He loves ya. An’ He wants to come into yer life, ease yer hurt and give ya a real reason fer livin’.”

  Drew felt himself shaking his head. “I . . . I . . . I’ve done lots of wrong things. I don’t think thet God would want—”

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Clark continued. “He doesn’t need to wait until we’re without wrong. He’d wait forever iffen He did. We’ve all done wrong. The Bible tells us thet—an’ there’s no way we can change from our sinfulness on our own. And there’s a s
erious penalty for sin—death.” He paused and looked into Drew’s wet face.

  “But the Bible also tells us thet while we were yet wrongdoers, Jesus Christ loved us enough to die fer us,” his voice continued, strong and confident. “Now, thet means thet the death penalty fer those wrongs—those sins of ours—Christ paid. So we come to Him and jest thank ’im for what He’s done and accept the new life He offers. Thet’s all there is to our part. An’ then He does His part. He forgives us our wrongdoin’ . . . an’ He gives us the peace an’ fergiveness we been lookin’ fer. It’s as simple as thet.”

  Drew couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It sounded way too good to be true.

  “How . . . how do you do it?” he asked.

  “Jest pray . . . jest talk to yer heavenly Father ’bout it. Ya ever prayed, boy?”

  “Only once,” the boy admitted. “At least I guess I prayed. It was when Belinda got hurt. I was so scared, I—”

  “An’ God answered yer prayers, didn’t He?”

  “Did He? I never thought about it. I . . .” Drew paused to think about it a moment. “Will you show me how?” he asked.

  Clark’s arm tightened around his shoulders. “I’d be most glad to,” he assured him.

  Twenty-Five

  Sorting It Out

  There was much joy in the Davis household later that evening when Clark told his good news to the family. Clark led the family group in special prayer for young Drew, and Marty allowed her tears to fall freely while the others’ eyes were closed.

  Though Belinda’s face took on a special shine over the announcement, she said very little. And then when she was finally free to slip away unnoticed, she went to her room and fell down beside her bed.

  She wept there. She wasn’t sure just why. There were so many emotions swirling around within her. She was thankful that God had answered her prayers. She hoped that Drew would now be at peace with himself. She prayed that his bitterness would be gone. She knew that there would still be many bad days in store for him, but with God’s help and the prayers and support of friends, he could make it; she knew he could.

  Would he be able to forgive her also? She prayed he would understand that she and Luke had only done what needed to be done. That they sorrowed with him over his loss nearly every day.

  It was a long time until Belinda felt relieved enough of her burden to be able to prepare for bed. Even as she crawled between the soft flannel sheets, she wondered if she would see Drew again. Yes, she would, she reminded herself. Her pa had said that Drew had promised to come with them to church on Sunday. For some strange reason Belinda’s heart gave a little skip. What would it be like? What would they say to each other? Would he smile? Belinda went to sleep with a strange feeling of anticipation. She hoped the days until Sunday would pass quickly.

  The next day, a Thursday, Luke stopped by at school to ask if Belinda would be interested in helping with a birthing. Lou Graham’s wife was expecting again, and she had told Luke she would not object to Belinda being present.

  Belinda squealed with enthusiasm and rushed home to change her clothes. She would meet Luke at the Grahams’.

  “Don’t dawdle,” he warned her. “You never know how much time you might have—or might not have—when waiting on a baby.”

  Belinda laughed and promised she would hurry.

  Belinda barely made it to the Grahams’ in time. The delivery was the most exciting event she had ever witnessed. Over and over again she thought of the story her mother told of how her sister Ellie had been the only one to assist at Belinda’s delivery. She wondered if Ellie had been as excited as she was now.

  Once it was well on the way, the birthing was all over so quickly. Belinda was given the privilege, under Luke’s watchful eyes, of taking care of the new little girl. After bathing her and wrapping her in her warm flannels, Belinda placed her gently on Mary’s arm. The woman beamed down at her new offspring.

  “Meet Amanda Jane,” Mary said. “Amanda, this is Belinda, yer nurse. Didn’t she do a fine job, now?”

  Ma Graham moved forward to claim her new granddaughter, and then before Belinda could turn around, all the family members were pouring into the room, squealing and shoving and coaxing to hold the new sister.

  Belinda was in an especially lighthearted mood as she mounted Copper and set out for home. She could hardly wait to share the experience with her family. Why, even squeamish Melissa will enjoy this story, she thought.

  Belinda, her thoughts on other things, was brought swiftly back to the present when Copper flicked his ears forward and looked off to the side. Belinda tightened her grip on the reins. Perhaps a small animal was in the bush. But it was Drew who stepped from the undergrowth, his rifle tucked firmly under his arm and whistling softly to himself.

  Drew seemed as surprised to see Belinda as she was to see him. They just looked at each other, neither one speaking. There was so much that could have been said, but no words came. It was Drew who finally broke the silence.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I won’t shoot.”

  Belinda began to laugh softly. “Good enough,” she replied.

  Drew laid down the rifle, lest even the sight of it should make Copper bolt, then moved toward Belinda.

  “I was hoping to see you before Sunday,” he said simply.

  Belinda’s eyes met his. They were still deep and dark, but there was no shadow in them. She waited for Drew to speak again.

  “Have you been helping your brother again?” Drew asked.

  Belinda nodded and smiled.

  “Where this time?”

  “The Grahams’. Lou Grahams’. They jest had ’em a new baby girl. It was my first time fer a delivery.”

  He smiled easily up at her. “Guess that beats taking off arms, huh?”

  Belinda’s eyes dropped.

  “Are you in a hurry?” he asked quickly. He probably wished he hadn’t joked about his accident.

  “Not . . . not really.”

  “Would you mind if we talked a bit?”

  Belinda shook her head.

  Drew looked up at her and laughed. “Would you mind coming down off your horse before I get a crick in my neck?”

  It was Belinda’s turn to laugh. She passed him the reins to dismount. Drew could not hold the horse and assist Belinda, as well. But she did fine on her own.

  “I’ll tie him,” he said.

  “Tie ’im tight,” called Belinda. “He loves to break free an’ go on home.”

  “Seems this horse of yours has lots of bad habits,” said Drew, and Belinda laughed again.

  Belinda stood still until Drew joined her.

  “Would you like to sit?” Drew asked, and he led Belinda to the side of the road to a fallen tree resting against another one and just the right height for sitting. Before Belinda could protest, he removed his coat and spread it on the log for her, and she scooted up onto it.

  Belinda wasn’t sure what this conversation was going to be about, so she let Drew do the leading.

  “I suppose your pa told you about the other day,” Drew began.

  Belinda nodded. The boy would think she was tongue-tied if she didn’t soon come up with something more than gestures.

  “I don’t know how it works . . . but it does. I really . . . feel different. Somehow, I . . . just . . . I just know there really is a God . . . and that He really does change you when you ask Him to.”

  “I know,” smiled Belinda. “He changed me, too.”

  “You know . . . I didn’t know much about God,” Drew went on. “I’d heard people talk about Him. Mostly cussing. But . . . when you got thrown that day and I was scared to death, something deep inside me told me there really is a God who I could pray to. I prayed. I didn’t even know how . . . or what to say or anything, but I prayed for you.”

  Belinda’s eyes were about to fill with tears. “I’ve been prayin’ fer you, too,” she admitted.

  Drew swung around to face her. “You have?” he asked incredulously.<
br />
  She nodded her head again. “Ever since . . . ever since that day . . . I even prayed for ya when ya were still layin’ there. Right after we had . . . had taken yer arm. Luke took out the . . . crushed pieces . . . an’ I watched ya an’ . . . an’ prayed.”

  “What did you ask?” asked Drew.

  “That you’d get better. Thet you’d . . . you’d git over it. Wouldn’t be bitter.”

  Drew became very quiet. He was staring at the clenched fist on his one remaining hand. It slowly relaxed. He finally said, “Bet you thought God hadn’t heard your prayer, huh?”

  “Sometimes it takes a while,” answered Belinda simply. “We need to learn patience when prayin’. Pa is always sayin’ thet.”

  “I like your pa,” said Drew.

  “Me too,” said Belinda with warmth and another smile.

  “Well, it might have taken a while longer than it should have. If . . . if I just hadn’t been so bullheaded, but I want you to know that God did answer your prayer. All of it.”

  “I’m so glad,” Belinda said, and her eyes misted again.

  They sat silently, each wrapped in thought.

  “You really like your nursing times, don’t you?”

  Belinda nodded.

  “Why?” asked Drew. “I mean you’re so young . . . and . . . and . . .”

  “I . . . I’ve always hated to see things suffer,” Belinda said in answer to his question. “Even when I was little. I would find birds or little animals an’ . . . I’d try to make ’em well again. Sometimes I would even take ’em to Luke. He’d help me. We’d do all we could to make ’em better again. Luke, he . . . he hates to see sufferin’ too. An’ he will do anything—anything—to help people.”

  “Funny,” said Drew. “I thought much differently about the two of you for a long while.”

  “I know,” acknowledged Belinda. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was no more than a whisper.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry. I . . . I was stupid, that’s all. Full of self-pity and . . . and anger. I should have been thanking you for what you did, and instead I was acting like a . . . a baby.”

  “Oh no,” protested Belinda. “I knew how you felt. I mean—well, Pa, he’s been through that, too, an’ we knew—”