by Janette Oke
"How's Sally Anne keepin'?"
"Fine. She's busy as can be carin' fer Jason and thet girl of hers."
Nellie laid the baby in a cradle kept for little visitors, one small granddaughter in particular, and went to put on the coffee.
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Marty was then shown all of the household items that Nellie had prepared for her new home. Ma was piecing another quilt. Marty wondered who was enjoying the coming event the most, Nellie or Ma.
The coffee was ready and they each took up their sewing and prepared to visit.
They shared news from the neighborhood, expressed their concern for the McDonalds, and discussed in detail Nellie's coming wedding.
When there was a lull, Marty brought up the subject that she had really come to discuss.
"Tommie came last week--like I asked him to." Ma nodded. "Yeah, he said he'd seen ya."
"Did he also say that he brought a friend?"
"Nope."
"Owahteeka." Marty let the name drop, and waited a moment.
Ma's head jerked up in surprise and Nellie's needle stopped in midair.
"I asked 'im to," Marty went on. "I felt thet somebody should meet her an' git to know jest what kind of a girl she be. I knew thet it was awkward-like fer her to come here, but no matter to my place."
Ma's eyes were asking Marty to hurry on--to tell her what the girl was like. Nellie asked it.
"What's she like?"
"She's beautiful. It ain't a wonder thet young Tom fell so hard. She's tiny and straight as a willow. She's slim and brown, with big black eyes an' long black braids. She's edjecated, too; speaks English real good. She's polite--an'--"
"Oh, God!" whispered Ma, laying aside her sewing and bowing her head. "What are we gonna do?"
Marty stopped at the interruption and the three sat in Silence, each nursing her own thoughts; then Marty went on. "But she's hurtin', too. She loves Tommie--I'm sure o' thet. But I think--I think maybe thet be the only white man thet she loves--or trusts either. Her grandfather--he--he hates the white and with good cause, maybe. He took her from
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the mission school. I don't really think thet she even liked me. Fer Tommie's sake she tried to, but the doubtin' was still in her eyes."
Marty waited.
"Still, she did try--fer Tommie. An' maybe--in time--I jest don't know."
Ma had not lifted her head. She passed a calloused hand over her face.
"Iffen I only knew what to do. Iffen I only knew," she moaned.
Nellie was quick to cut in.
"Don't seem no problem to me," she pointed out. "Iffen they love each other, why shouldn't they marry?"
Ma looked up. "Indeed, young Nell," she said. "All you be a seem' right now is love. Me--I see beyond--to heartache an' shunnin' an' a family not white nor brown."
Ellie fussed and Marty rose to get her. Had she said the right things? she wondered. Should she fight for the young couple? No, she didn't have the right, nor the wisdom, to know if it was proper. She had told them how she saw the Indian girl--her strength, her love, her doubts. Now Ma would have to take it from there.
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Chapter 29
The New Preacher Arrives
A team and wagon was sent to the nearby center of trade to pick up the new preacher and bring him to the town. He was to spend two days at the small hotel getting rested after his long trip and then he would be transported to the Watleys' where he would make his abode. Belle Watley was all in a dither. Imagine! Not only did she have the distinguished honor of housing the schoolteacher but now the new preacher as well. However, Belle did not believe in letting her excitement influence her activities, and though her chatter and color intensified, she was still content to let her daughters do the bustling about.
Word that the sent-out wagon had indeed "got its man" spread quickly. The Reverend was resting as planned in the nearby hotel and would be picked up by the Watleys for residence at their farmstead on the following Friday. This would give him a day to settle in and prepare himself for the Lord's Day and the first meeting with his new congregation.
The whole neighborhood felt the excitement, and on Sunday morning the teams and wagons began to stream into the schoolyard. Even the unfaithful members of the flock turned out, except for Zeke LaHaye, though he allowed his wife and family a few hours off so that they, too, might take in the service.
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Marty was prepared to see another small man like the teacher, thinking that perhaps that was the way they made them out East. She was thus unprepared for the sight of the still young Rev. Watson. He was tall, but that was not his outstanding feature. It was his size! It wasn't exactly the weight that the Reverend carried that surprised her, but how--or rather where--he carried it. Somehow it seemed to be all bunched out front. His suitcoat was hard put trying to keep the front of him covered, and his face looked like a small round replica of what was stored somewhere below his chest. Round and full it was, and no one was quite sure if the Reverend had a neck.
Seeing a round face made one expect that it should appear jolly--but not so the Rev. Watson. Marty had never beheld such a stern face. There were no laugh lines there, no crinkles at the corners of the eyes.
"Maybe he still be weary," she told herself. "By next Sunday he'll likely be more hisself."
The good Reverend possessed a booming voice, and in spite of the fact that some of the hymns were unfamiliar, the singing went well. The prayer too was very meaningful to Marty. It was so good to be able to worship in this way, to have regular spiritual instruction for her growing children.
The sermon left Marty puzzled. The Reverend had a voice that was easy enough to listen to, though he did at times get a mite loud. It was the words that Marty had a problem with. There were so many of them that she didn't understand. Just when she felt that perhaps she knew what he was saying, she would get lost again. She chided herself for her ignorance, and determined to check with Clark on the way home.
There was general chatter and introductions as the people filed out. Marty heard several comments of "Good sermon, Parson," and was more convinced than ever that she was terribly dull.
On the way home she put it to Clark.
"Rev. Watson's jest fine, ain't he?"
"Seems so."
"Got a nice loud voice, hasn't he?"
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" 'Deed he has."
"Sings real good, too."
"Fine singer."
"Clark--what was he talkin"bout?"
Clark fairly howled.
"Be hanged iffen I know," he finally managed.
"Ya don't know either?"
"Haven't a notion," said Clark. "Don't s'pose there be a soul there who did."
"Thought it was jest me thet's dumb," admitted Marty, and Clark laughed again.
"Well," he said, getting himself under control, "I think the good parson was sayin' somethin' about man being' a special creature, designed fer a special purpose, but I never did get rightly sorted out what thet purpose was. 'Fulfillment of self- image' or some such thing seems to have come up more than once. Not sure what he be a meanin'."
Marty sat quietly.
"Maybe next Sunday he'll explain," she said thoughtfully.
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Chapter 30
Leavin'
Marty was clearing away the supper dishes when she heard a horse approaching. It was Tommie and he seemed in a great hurry. Marty prayed that nothing was wrong as she hurried to meet him.
His face was white and drawn and there was a determined set to his chin.
"Can I see ya?" he asked briskly.
"Of course, Tommie," she said drawing him in, then added quickly, "Tommie, what's wrong?"
"I'm leavin' ."
"Leavin! Fer where? Why?"
"I'm goin' west."
"But why?"
"I got a note this afternoon from Owahteeka. We were to meet as usual but she wasn't there. I waited an' waited an' I got worried, an' then jest as I was
gonna go find her-- grandfather or no--I spotted these stones piled up--an' in 'em a letter."
He shoved the crumpled paper toward Marty and she took it with shaking hands.
"Dear Tommie,
Grandfather must have learned of us. He is taking me back to the reservation. Please don't try to follow. It would mean
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danger. I am promised to Running Deer for his wife.
Owahteeka."
Marty could understand now the anguish in the young man's face.
"Oh, Tommie!" she whispered. "I'm sorry."
Tom shuffled around, and Marty realized that he was fighting for control.
"But why--why go away?"
"I won't stay here." There was bitterness in his voice. "Thet's jest what Ma wanted. She should be happy now." Marty laid a hand on the trembling arm.
"Tommie, no mother is ever happy when their young'uns hurt. Can't ya see thet? Oh, I know Ma was worried, worried 'bout you an' Owahteeka. She didn't feel it right. But yer hurtin', Tommie--yer hurtin' will never make her happy. She's gonna hurt too, Tommie--truly she is."
Tommie wiped the back of his hand across his face, and half turned from Marty.
"I still gotta go," he finally said. "I jest can't stay here thet's
all. Every day I'll think thet I see Ma lookin' through me, sortin' me out, wishin' me to find another girl--" "I see," Marty said gently.
"I left 'em a note; didn't say much. You tell 'em, will ya, Marty? Try to tell 'em why I had to go."
Marty agreed with a shake of her head.
"Be careful, Tommie, ya hear--an' write a note now and then, will ya?"
He nodded but said nothing; his voice just wouldn't work. He turned and was gone and Marty was left standing there, watching him go, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
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Chapter 31
Time Moves On
No one took Tom's departure any harder than the young Missie. Many were left aching and hurting because of it, but along with the hurt on Missie's part was a deep confusion. It was simply beyond her to comprehend why Tommie would choose to do such a thing. Marty tried to explain, but her efforts were all in vain.
Ma was helped somewhat over the trying days by the attention that was needed for Nellie's wedding plans.
March was torn from the general store calendar and discarded. April came again, promising new growth, new life, new vigor. Nellie plunged into the last-minute preparations with flushed cheeks and a smiling face.
"Do folks always smile when they gonna marry?" asked Clare after a Sunday morning service in which he had spent more time watching the people than listening to the Reverend.
Marty smiled. "Mostly," she said; "mostly they do."
Clare let it go at that; the "why" of the whole matter quite escaped him.
The Reverend had by now presented five sermons to his congregation, and Marty had long since given up on him explaining his meaning. Others seemed to have given up also, for a few of the less ardent families had ceased to attend. The schoolroom was still overcrowded, however, and the worship
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service wasn't as worshipful as many wished it to be.
Marty did wish that the Reverend weren't quite so "edjecated." Her soul longed so much to be fed, and Sunday by Sunday she went home feeling empty. Oh, the words were pretty words, fancy words, and she was sure, very intellectual--but so empty to one who could not understand.
They had entertained the Reverend for Sunday dinner. Marty felt that she had found the secret to his strange shape. Never had she seen a man tuck away as much fried chicken or mashed turnips. She said nothing, but when she saw young Clare watching him wide-eyed in disbelief, she suppressed the desire to giggle and quickly diverted Clare's attention lest he blurt out some remark that would bring embarrassment.
They accepted their new minister--accepted him for who he was, for Whom he represented, for what he had come to do. They accepted him, but deep down inside, there was probably no one who cared much for him, though not one of them would have been disloyal enough to say so.
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Chapter 32
Rett
Spring passed into summer, and summer to autumn. School began again, and along with the girls trudged the young Clare, very self-confident and assured. His only concern was how Clark would manage without him. But Clark said "thet he s'posed he could make do--he had Arnie now."
Clare was full of tales of school. Missie often accused him of being a downright tattletale, but that did not dampen Clare's enthusiasm for a good story.
One day Marty sat listening to the quietness of the house as she knitted a new mitten. Nandry was off picking blueberries in the far pasture, Arnie was helping his dad, the three school children were at their classes, and Ellie was having her nap.
Marty's thoughts turned to Wanda. She saw Wanda and Cam fairly frequently. By now the whole community was aware that little Rett was far from normal--everyone, it seemed, but Wanda and Cam. Marty's heart felt heavy as she thought of the boy. He was a big boy for his age. He was walking now, but he still did not attempt to speak, and it was evident that he would never be as other children.
Cam still boasted about his son. How would he take it, Marty wondered, when he finally realized the truth.
Marty was surprised to look up from her reverie and see
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Wanda herself driving into the yard.
Wanda had brought Rett with her and he proudly sat beside her on the wagon seat, holding the end of the reins.
Wanda tied the team and lifted the big boy down. He shuffled about the yard and became excited at the sight of Ole Bob. The boy and the dog soon became acquainted.
Then Wanda took the boy's hand and led him toward the house. He did not protest but he did not show any eagerness either.
Wanda wasted no time with small talk.
"I had to see you, Marty," she said. Marty noticed her quivering chin. Wanda plunged right in.
"I know that the neighbors are all talking about Rett being different. I know that they are. I know, too, that they think-- that they think Cam and I aren't aware. We know, Marty, we know. I guess I've known from the time that Rett was a small baby. Oh, I hoped and prayed that I'd be wrong--but I knew. For a while I wondered about Cam. I wondered when he'd learn the truth--how he'd feel when he did. And then--one night--one night--well, he just spilled it all out--he'd known, too."
Wanda stopped and her lips trembled. She fought for control for a moment, then went on.
"Marty, have you--have you ever seen a grown man cry? I mean really cry? It's awful--just awful."
Wanda wiped away tears, took a breath and went on bravely.
"I felt that I just had to share with someone--someone who would understand. It was hard at first--really hard. But, Marty, I want you to know that I wouldn't change it, not really. He has brought us so much joy. You see," she looked at Marty, the tears glistening in her eyes, "I asked God so many times for a baby. And--and He's given me one--a--a boy that will, in some respects, never grow up. Now, can I fault God for answering my prayer? I don't suppose, Marty, that Rett will ever leave me, not even for school. I have--I have my baby-- for always."
"Oh, Wanda." Marty put her arms around her friend and
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they wept together. When their tears had washed away their renewed sorrow and cleansed away the frustration, they were able to look together to the future with new acceptance and anticipation, and even to talk of other things.
Rett played contentedly with the building blocks, pushing them back and forth on the kitchen floor, for he couldn't seem to succeed in stacking them.
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Chapter 33
Plans for a Church
The next spring the small log teacherage was built, and Mr. Wilbur Whittle and his new bride moved in to take possession. The community had long since realized the real reason, on Mr. Whittle's part, for the home near the schoolhouse, for immediately after he was assured t
hat it would indeed be built, he asked for the hand of Miss Tessie. The community smiled its approval, and as the finishing touches were put on the cabin, the Reverend Watson did the honors of pronouncing the couple husband and wife.
There was a growing dissatisfaction, however, with the Sunday morning worship service. Rather than thinking it the fault of the "learned man," the people looked instead to the place of meeting. The school was crowded, the seating was inadequate, there was no place to take fussing children. The whole situation was not conducive to worship.
The general feeling grew and in between the planting of crops and the haying season, a meeting was called to discuss the matter. The interest was good, and the feeling was expressed that the community was in dire need of a proper church. There followed a lengthy discussion as to where this building should be located. There were several men who offered land, but it was finally decided that the most central location would be a corner of the Watley farm. A committee was
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appointed to care for the pacing off and fencing of the area come fall. Another committee was assigned the task of log count. Throughout the winter months men and horses would strain and sweat in the task of getting the lumber transformed from tall standing timber in the hills to stripped logs lying in ever-increasing piles at the building site. It was the overseer's job to sort the logs and to make sure the secured number snaked in would be adequate for the building.
Everyone went home from the meeting with spirits lifted. Now they were finally getting someplace. The worship time would surely have a better chance to meet their needs. The church would be much bigger than the schoolhouse. It would have two side rooms. One where the children could profit from a Sunday school class, and a smaller one where fussing babies could be taken.
