Love's Enduring Promise (Love Comes Softly Series #2)

by Janette Oke

  She set the table for their early breakfast, wondering how many of her neighbor ladies were doing the same thing with excitement coursing through them at the thought of the new school. Their young'uns would not have to grow up ignorant just because their folks had dared to open up a new land for farming. They could grow up educated and able to take their place in the community--or other communities, if they so chose.

  Marty's thoughts turned to the two Larson girls. Jedd hadn't felt that the new school was at all necessary, calling it "plain foolishness--girls not needin' edjecatin' enyway." But Mrs. Larson's eyes had silently pleaded that her girls be given a fair chance, too. They were getting older, thirteen and eleven, and they needed the schooling now.

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  As she moved about her kitchen, Marty prayed that Jedd might have a change of heart.

  In the midst of her praying, she glanced out of the kitchen window and saw her men coming from the barn. Clark's normally long strides were restrained to accommodate the short, quick steps of little Clare. Clare hung onto the handle of a milk pail, deceiving himself into thinking that he was helping to carry the load, and chattered at Clark as he walked. Ole Bob bounded back and forth before them, assuming that he was leading the way and that without him the two would never reach their destination.

  Marty swallowed a lump in her throat. Sometimes love hurt a little bit--but oh, such a precious hurt.

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  Chapter 3

  The New School

  The Davis family was the first to arrive at the site for the new school, but then they didn't have far to go, the land for the school being set aside by Clark from his own holdings. Clark unhitched the team and began to pace out the ground, pounding in stakes as he went to mark the area for the building.

  Clare toddled around after him, grabbing up the hammer as soon as it was laid down, handing out stakes, and being a general help and nuisance.

  An old stove had been placed in their sleigh, and Marty busied herself with preparing a fire and putting water on to heat. This stove didn't work like the one in her kitchen, but it would beat an open fire and would assist the ladies greatly in preparing a hot meal.

  Missie pushed back her bonnet, enjoying the feeling of the warmth of the sun on her bare, curly head, and moved the team to a nearby clump of trees where she tied them and spread hay for their breakfast.

  Soon other wagons began to arrive and the whole scene took on a lively, excited atmosphere. Children ran and squealed and chased. Even Clare was tempted away from dogging his father.

  Busy women chattered and called and laughed as they

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  greeted one another and went about the meal preparations.

  The men became very businesslike--eying logs and choosing those best suited for footings, mentally sorting the order in which the logs should come. Then the axes went to work. Muscled arms placed sure blows as chips flew, and strong backs bent and heaved in unison as heavy logs were raised and placed.

  It was hard work, made lighter only by the number who shared it and the satisfaction that it would bring.

  The early spring sun grew almost hot, and jackets were discarded as the work made bodies grow warm from effort.

  The old stove cheerily did its duty--coffee boiled and large kettles of stew and pork and beans began to bubble, spreading the fragrance throughout the one-day camp.

  A child stopped in play to sniff hungrily, and a man, heaving a giant log, thought ahead to the pleasure of stopping for the midday meal. At the stove, a woman who stirred the pot imagined her child doing sums at a yet unseen blackboard.

  The sun, the logs, the laughter--but most of all, the promise--made the day a good one. They would go home weary, yet refreshed--bodies aching but spirits uplifted. Together they would accomplish great things, not just for themselves, but for future generations. They had given of themselves, and many would reap the benefits.

  Maybe Ben Graham said it best as they stood gazing at the new structure before they turned their teams toward home. "Kinda makes ya feel tall like."

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  Chapter 4

  Little Arnie

  Marty forced herself to set about getting supper. Clark would soon be in from the field and chores would not take him long.

  In the sitting room Missie was busy bossing her brother, Clare.

  "Not thet way--like this!" Marty heard her exclaim in disgust.

  "I like it this way," Clare argued, and Marty felt sure that he'd get his own way. The boy had a stubborn streak--like her, she admitted.

  She stirred a kettle to be sure that the carrots were not sticking on the bottom and crossed mechanically to the cupboard to slice some bread. She wasn't herself at all--and she knew the reason.

  She glanced nervously at the clock and held her breath as another contraction took hold of her. She really must get off her feet. She hoped that Clark would hurry home.

  As the contraction eased itself, Marty moved on again, placing the bread on the table and going for the butter.

  She was relieved to hear the team arrive to Ole Bob's welcome, and proceed to the barn.

  Clare ran through the kitchen, happy to be released from Missie's demanding play, and returned to a world where men

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  worked together peaceably. He grabbed his jacket from a hook as he ran and excitedly shoved an arm in the wrong sleeve. He would later discover his mistake and correct it as he ran, Marty knew.

  Chores did not take long and Clark was soon in, bringing a foaming pail of milk that Clare assisted in carrying.

  Marty dished up the food and placed it on the table as the "menfolk" washed in the outside basin. She sank with relief into her chair at the table and waited for the others to take their places.

  Clark finished the prayer and began to dish food for himself and Clare when he suddenly stopped and looked at Marty. "What's troublin'?" he asked anxiously.

  She managed a weak smile. "I think it be time."

  "Time!" he exploded, setting the potatoes on the table with a clunk. "Why didn't ya be sayin' so? I'll get the Doc." He was already on his feet.

  "Sit ya down an' have yer supper first," Marty told him, but he refused to do so.

  "Best ya git yerself to bed. Missie, watch Clare." He turned to the little girl, "Missie, the time be close now fer the new baby. Mama needs to go to bed. Ya give Clare his supper an' then clear the table. I'm goin' fer the Doc. I won't be long, but ya'll have to care fer things 'till git back."

  Missie nodded solemnly.

  "Now," Clark said, assisting Marty, "into bed fer ya and no arguin'."

  Marty allowed herself to be led away. Bed was the thing that she wanted most--and second to that, she suddenly realized, was Ma Graham.

  "Clark," she asked, "do we hafta get the Doc?"

  " 'Course," he responded, wondering at the absurd question. "Thet's what he's here fer."

  "But I'd really rather have Ma, Clark. She did fine with Clare--she could--"

  "The Doc knows what to do iffen somethin' should go wrong. I know thet Ma has delivered lotsa babies, and most times everythin' goes well, but should somethin' be wrong,

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  Doc has the necessary know-how and equipment."

  A tear slid down Marty's cheek. She had nothing against the Doc, but she wanted Ma.

  "Don't be silly," she told herself; but the "want" remained, and as the next contraction seized her, the "want" grew.

  Clark handed her a nightie from the peg behind the door and began to turn down the bed as she slipped out of her dress and into the soft flannel gown.

  He tucked her in and assured her with a kiss that he'd be right back. Marty noted his white face and his quick, nervous movements. He left almost on the run and a moment later Marty heard the galloping hoofbeats of the saddle horse leaving the yard.

  From the kitchen came the voices of the children. Missie was still bossing Clare, telling him to hurry and clean his plate and to be very quiet 'cause Mama needed to rest so tha
t she could get the new baby sister.

  Marty wished that she could sleep, but no sleep was allowed her.

  Missie rather noisily cleared the table, though Marty could sense that she was trying to do it quietly. Then she busied herself with putting Clare to bed. He protested that it was not bedtime yet, but Missie refused to listen and eventually won. Clare was bedded for the night.

  The moments and hours crawled by slowly. The contractions were closer together now and harder to bear.

  Ole Bob barked and Marty wondered at the Doc getting there so quickly, but soon it was Ma who bent over her.

  "Ya came," said Marty in disbelief and thankfulness. Tears spilled unashamedly down her cheeks. "How did ya know?"

  "Clark stopped by," Ma answered. "Said ya was a needin' me."

  "But I thought he was goin' fer the Doc."

  "He did. The Doc will do the deliverin'. Clark said ya needed me jest fer the comfortin'." Ma smoothed back Marty's hair. "How's it goin'?"

  Marty managed a smile.

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  "Fine--now. I don't think it'll be as long this time as with Clare."

  "Prob'ly not," Ma responded. She patted Marty's arm. "I'll check on the young'uns and get things ready fer the Doc. Call iffen ya need me."

  Marty nodded. "Thank ya," she said; "thank ya fer comin'. I'll be fine."

  Time dragged on. Ma came and went, and then Marty was aware that more voices had joined Ma in the kitchen. The words floated on the air toward her, and then Doc was there talking to Ma in low tones and Clark was bending over her, whispering words of assurance.

  Marty was hazy after that, until she heard the sharp cry of the newborn; then her senses seemed to clear.

  "She's here," she said quietly, and Doc's booming voice answered.

  "He's here. It's another fine son."

  "Missie will be disappointed," Marty almost whispered, but Doc heard her.

  "No one could be disappointed for long over this boy. He's a dandy," and a few minutes later the new son was placed beside her. In the light of the lamp, Marty could see that he was indeed a dandy; and love for the new wee life beside her spread through her being like a warm electric current.

  Then Clark came, beaming as he gazed at his new son, placing a kiss on Marty's hair.

  "Another prizewinner, ain't he now?" he said proudly. Marty nodded wearily.

  Clark left, soon to return with a sleepy-eyed child in each arm. He bent down.

  "Yer new brother," he said. "Look at 'im sleepin' there. Ain't he jest fine?"

  Clare just looked big-eyed.

  "A boy?" Missie asked, sounding incredulous. "It was s'pose to be a girl. I prayed fer a girl."

  "Sometimes," Clark began slowly, "sometimes God knows better than us what is best. He knows thet what we want might not be right fer us now; so, sometimes, 'stead of givin'

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  us what we asked Him fer, He sends instead what He knows to be best fer us. Guess this baby boy must be someone special fer God to send him instead."

  Missie listened carefully; then a smile spread over her face as the baby stretched and yawned in his sleep.

  "He's kinda cute, ain't he?" she whispered. "What we gonna call him, Pa?"

  They named the baby Arnold Joseph and called him Little Arnie right from the first.

  Clare found him a bit boring, though he would have defended him to the death. Missie fussed and mothered and wondered why she had ever felt that a sister would have been better.

  Things settled down again to a routine. The crops and the gardens were planted. And the added housework kept Marty hopping, for the new baby, along with the joy, also brought more work. Marty's days were full indeed--full, but overflowing with happiness.

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  Chapter 5

  A Visit from Wanda

  Spring gave way to summer, and summer turned to fall. Little Arnie grew steadily, firmly establishing his rightful spot in the family.

  Crops were harvested. Clark declared that this year's yield was the best ever.

  Marty somehow managed to keep up with the produce of her garden. Having Missie's helpful hands to entertain Arnie greatly assisted her in that.

  The only sadness that the fall brought was the emptiness of the new school. Over the busy summer months the men had found enough time to shingle the roof, install the windows, and put in the floor. A pot-bellied stove had been ordered and installed and simple desks had been built. The area farmers had each contributed to a pile of cordwood that stood neatly stacked in the yard. A crude shelter for the farm horses and the necessary outbuildings had been erected. Even the chalkboards were hung--but the school stood empty and silent. In spite of the diligent work done by the committee, no teacher had been found.

  Marty had let tears fall silently onto her pillow more than one night because of it. It seemed so cruel that they would dream and work so hard to construct the fine little building only to have it stand vacant. Now the talk was of next year, but next year seemed such a long time to wait.

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  At the sound of an approaching team, Marty turned from her task of canning. Visitors were all too few and so very welcome. She wiped her hands on her apron and looked out the window to see Clark taking the team from Wanda.

  They visited for a few minutes and then Wanda headed for the house. Marty was immediately aware of her vegetable- spattered apron and her work-stained hands. She threw the apron from her quickly and drew a clean one from a drawer, tying it about her as she went to the door, a smile already brightening her face.

  She welcomed Wanda with a glad embrace, and both began to chatter in their eagerness for a visit.

  "I'm so glad thet ya came. 'Scuse my messy kitchen. Cannin', ya know."

  "Don't ya mind. I shouldn't a come at such a busy time, but I just couldn't stay away. I just had to see you, Marty."

  "Don't ya ever wait fer a time thet's not busy. My land, seems all the days be busy ones, an' I sure do need me a visit fer a break now an' then."

  Marty supposed that she should let Wanda spill her news, but the glow on the face before her prompted her to question further.

  "But what's yer news? I can see yer fairly burstin'."

  Wanda giggled--at least it was very close to a giggle, almost a girlish giggle, Marty thought. She had never seen Wanda look so happy.

  "Oh, Marty!" she said. "That's right, I'm fairly bursting." Then she took a deep breath and rushed on.

  "I've just been to see Dr. Watkins. I'm going to have a baby!"

  At Marty's exultant, "Oh, Wanda!" she went on.

  "Dr. Watkins says that he sees no reason why I shouldn't be able to keep this one. No reason why it shouldn't live. Cam is so excited--says our son is going to be the handsomest, the strongest, the smartest boy in the whole West."

  Wanda giggled again. "And when I asked him, 'What if it were a girl?', he said she would be the prettiest, the sweetest, and the daintiest girl in the whole West. Oh, Marty, I'm so happy that I could just cry." And she did.

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  They cried together, unashamed of the tears of joy that trickled down their cheeks, wiping them away with hands that fairly tingled with happiness.

  "I'm jest so happy fer ya, Wanda," Marty said. "An' with Doc here, everythin' will go all right, I'm jest sure. Ya'll finally have thet baby you've been wantin' so bad. When will it be?"

  Wanda groaned.

  "Oh, it seems so far away yet. Not until next April."

  "But the months will go quickly. They always do. An' ya can have the winter months to be preparin' fer 'im. It'll make the winter sech a happy time. It'll go so fast ya'll find it hard to be a doin' all thet ya want."

  "I hope so. Marty, can you show me the pattern for that sweater that Arnie was wearing last Sunday? I'd like to make one."

  "Sure. Ya'll have no problem at all crochetin' thet."

  Over coffee and sugar cookies, Marty and Wanda worked out the pattern--Wanda taking notes as Marty showed her the sweater and explained the crochet
stitches.

  The afternoon went quickly and when Arnie and Clare awoke from their naps Wanda realized that she must be on her way.

  Missie was sent to ask Clark, who was busy shovelling grain from a wagon to a bin, if he would bring Wanda's team. He complied at once and with another embrace and well wishes, Wanda was sent on her way.

  Marty walked toward the grain bin with Clark.

  "Wanda had the best news," she enthused with great feeling in her voice. "She is finally gonna have thet baby thet she wants so badly. She's so excited. Oh, I pray thet everythin' be okay this time."

  Clark's eyes took on a shine, too. Marty went on. "An' Cam says iffen it's a boy, it'll be the smartest, handsomest, and best in the West; and iffen it's a girl, the prettiest."

  Clark's eyes became thoughtful.

  "Ya don't know Cameron Marshall too well yet, do ya?" "I've hardly met the man--only see'd 'im a few times at neighborhood meetin's. Why?"

  Clark's eyes became even more serious.

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  "He's a rather strange man." He paused. "It's jest like Cam to feel thet his boy's gotta be the smartest, his girl the prettiest. Thet's like Cam." He waited a moment. "I think thet be the reason why he married Wanda. He figured thet she was the prettiest girl thet he ever laid eyes on--so she had to be 'his.' The problem with Cameron Marshall is his emphasis on 'mine's the best.' I 'member one time thet Cam saw a fine horse. He jest had to have it 'cause he figured it a little better'n eny other horse in these parts. Sold all his seed grain to git thet horse. Set him back fer years, but he had him a better lookin' horse than enybody round about. Guess he figured it was worth it.