Love's unending legacy (Love Comes Softly #5)

by Janette Oke

  "I'm riding, all right. Too hard walking in this snow." "Best bring it on into the barn."

  "Not too cold out there in the sun, and I won't be long." "Still, it can be feedin', though," Clark responded. "Might take us a long time to eat up all those vittles the ladies are a fixin'." John Brown laughed.

  "Go ahead," said Clark. "Bring 'im on in an' put 'im in thet stall right there. I'll throw in a bit more hay." And Clark grabbed his crutch and went to do just that.

  The parson brought in his horse and pulled off the saddle.

  "Never could stand to see a horse eat with a saddle on his back," he said. "Makes me wonder how I'd enjoy eating if I had to stand there holding my day's work in my arms."

  Clark laughed at the comparison. "Never thought on it," he responded.

  The horse was tended, and Clark went back to his harness. The pastor pulled the stool closer so they could chat as Clark worked.

  They talked of many things. Besides the winter, they discussed the new developments in town, the growth of the church, and the new members in the community. Clark was sure none of these subjects was the one the young preacher had come to talk about.

  "Hear tell you're good at solving a man's problems," the pastor said at length.

  Clark did not raise his head. "Don't know 'bout thet. I've had me a little practice. Seems I have my share of problems to solve."

  The preacher reached down and picked up a long straw, which he proceeded to break into small pieces.

  "You got a problem needs carin' fer?" Clark prompted.

  "Sure do. And I never had one quite like it before--and I'm not sure just what to be doing with it. I've been praying about it for three days now, and something seemed to tell me to come and see you."

  Clark continued to work on the strip of leather before him,

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  "I'm not promisin' to be able to help ya, but iffen ya want to share it and work at it together, I'm willin' to listen."

  The preacher cleared his throat. "It's kind of a touchy thing," he said. "I won't be able to give you too many details because I don't want to break confidence."

  Clark nodded to say that he understood.

  "It's one of my parishioners," the preacher began. Clark could feel how very hard this was for the young man.

  "Rumor has it that he's been seen in town ... doing ... ah ... doing something he shouldn't be doing."

  "Rumor?" said Clark, raising an eyebrow.

  "Well, a pretty reliable source, really. I say `rumor` because I haven't talked to the individual involved yet, and a man is innocent until proven guilty, right?"

  "Right," said Clark.

  "Well, this ah ... source ... says he has seen this occur more than once. He's concerned that others have been seeing it, too' , and that it will reflect on the whole church."

  "I see," said Clark.

  "If it is happening, and if he is doing ... what he shouldn't be doing ... the man's right, Clark. It could reflect on the whole church. It's wrong ... and it's against God's commandments ... and I'm really not sure what to do about it."

  "Did yer ... ah ... source say what should be done?" "He wants him thrown out of the church."

  "What do you want?"

  "What I want is of no importance here, as I see it. What I want to know, Clark, is what does the Lord want?"

  Clark laid aside the harness then and looked into Parson John Brown's honest blue eyes. He had just gained new respect for the young man.

  "Guess we better take it a step at a time," he said and sank down onto a pile of straw, sticking his one leg out before him. "First of all, someone ... meanin' you, I think ... needs to

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  talk to the man and find out, if ya can, iffen he's really guilty as charged. Iffen he refuses to give ya the truth, then one needs to inquire further from the source an' from others. Iffen one person has seen these ... these..."

  "Indiscretions," put in the parson.

  "This here indiscretion, then it's very likely thet others have seen it also ... unless yer source has nothin' to do but sit him around an' spy."

  "It's not like that, Clark. He's a good and reliable man, concerned only for the good of the church. He's not a busybody or a tale carrier."

  "In that case, one has to pay considerable attention to his testimony."

  "That's the way I feel about it. But the man accused should still have an opportunity to speak for himself."

  "Agreed," said Clark.

  "So I go to see him and hear his story. Now I need to know what to do about it."

  "Well, let's say, first off, that he says he's innocent."

  "That would be rather hard to believe, but I'd have to take his word unless we had further proof."

  "Okay," said Clark, "we are thet far. He is innocent until proven guilty."

  "And what if he admits to his guilt?"

  "What does the Bible say?"

  "You mean about taking the two or three witnesses to show him the error of his way?"

  "Iffen he admits to his guilt, I don't reckon he can seriously deny the error of his way, though it's true thet some have tried."

  "All right, let's say that he does admit his guilt but he has no intention to stop ... to stop doing what he has been doing. What then? Does our little church discipline its members?"

  "First, I think we need to understand what discipline is all about and why it is sometimes necessary."

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  "It's not easy to discipline a fellow believer, Clark. Who says that I'm so strong that I'll never fall? I'm not good at setting myself up as judge and jury."

  "An' yer not the judge. God's Word is what we judge a man upon. Iffen He says thet it's wrong ... then we can't make it right." The young minister nodded his head.

  "But should we bring judgment upon him ... or leave it to God to judge?"

  "Iffen ya committed a sin, do ya think you'd need to be making things right?"

  "Certainly. I'd be guilty, and as such, I'd need to straighten the thing out with God and make restitution if necessary."

  "The Bible teaches thet all the members of the church are of the same body. Iffen any part of my body sins, my whole being is held responsible. Iffen any part of the church body sins, we are all responsible to git thet thing made right. Iffen we, as the rest of the church, accept it as okay an' pass it off, then we, too, are guilty of thet sin."

  The young preacher sat deep in thought. "His sin is my sin if I make no attempt to correct it when I know about it," he concluded.

  "Somethin' like thet," said Clark. "I never was a theologian, so's I'm not sure how they would explain it."

  "Then it's my responsibility to see that it's cared for. Boy, I hate that, Clark. It's not an easy thing to point a finger at another man."

  "It's not easy. But it's not as hard as it seems when one realizes the purpose of the finger pointin', as you call it."

  Clark shifted his position on the straw and continued. "Church discipline is done fer two reasons ... to keep the body pure before God and to bring the erring one back to a fergiven and restored relationship with God. Never should it be done fer any other purpose. It's not to punish, or to make someone pay, or to whip someone into reluctant shape, or show the community thet we really are holy and pure. God already knows whether we are or not."

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  "To restore them to a right relationship with God," mused the young preacher. "Then what about the need to send him from the church?"

  "Iffen he makes the thing right before God, there's no need to throw him out. He's still part of the body ... fergiven just like you an' me's been fergiven."

  The preacher smiled. "Boy," he said, "I much prefer that way."

  "We all do," said Clark, "only on occasion, it doesn't work like thet. Iffen he won't listen an' won't make it right, then comes the tough part. Then ya have to ... to excommunicate 'im. Thet's tough, Brother Brown. Thet's really tough."

  The parson sat deep in thought.

  "Clark, I'm going to a
sk one more thing of you," he said at last. "I'm going to see this church member tomorrow. Now, I haven't told you his name or anything about him. If he sees his sin tomorrow and asks for God's forgiveness, then you need never know the particulars. If he doesn't, then I'd like you and a couple of the other deacons to go with me next time. If he still doesn't agree to do something about it ... only then will we bring the matter to the congregation. Now, I'm hoping and praying that all of that won't be necessary, and I'd like to ask you to pray with me that God will work in the heart of the man so that we won't lose a Christian brother. I know it's hard to pray not knowing, but ..."

  "No problem," said Clark. "I've prayed fer many a need not really knowin' just what the need was, an' I certainly know thet ya need God's special wisdom an' guidance as ya speak to the fella."

  The preacher nodded his agreement.

  "I think thet it might be in order to take time fer some prayer right now," went on Clark.

  They knelt together in the straw, earnestly beseeching God for His help and wisdom.

  "Thank you," said the young parson, taking Clark's offered hand. "Thank you for the support. I feel like part of the burden has lifted already."

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  "Yer doin' a fine job, son," Clark said sincerely. "I want ya to know thet we all appreciate ya an' we're prayin' fer ya daily."

  The young man smiled and stood up from his cramped position. He put out a hand and helped Clark stand, passing him his crutch. Then they heard Ellie calling them to the dinner table.

  "Boy," said the young preacher, "am I hungry! It just comes to my mind that I forgot all about having some breakfast this morning.

  "Then I'll expect ya to eat hearty at the dinner table," laughed Clark. "Can't imagine a son of mine ever gittin' himself so busy thet he'd ferget to eat."

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  TWENTY-THREE Ellie Makes Plans

  The LaHayes arrived home from their trip west more than anxious to share their experiences with the Davises, so they soon came over to visit.

  They were full of news of Willie and Missie and their three small children. The baby was a dear, they insisted, and she was already crawling, and Missie was extremely busy trying to keep her out of mischief.

  They praised Willie's spread; they praised the little neighborhood church; they praised the school operated by Melinda; they praised the mountains, the hills, and the grazing land.

  Iffen they say somethin' good 'bout the wind, thought Marty, I'm gonna really doubt their sanity. But the wind was not mentioned.

  They had now made up their minds. They were going back. They would put the farm up for sale and leave as soon as possible.

  They brought gifts from Missie for each of her family. She even sent a hand-crocheted blanket for her new little brother or sister. Marty ran her fingers over the soft wool and pictured their daughter working over it. Marty could imagine Nathan or Josiah questioning, "What ya makin', Mama?" ... and Missie's answer, "I'm makin' a blanket fer yer new aunt or uncle." How ironic it all was.

  "An' ya fell in love with the West, too?" Marty asked Callie.

  "I loved it," she responded with no doubt. "It took me a little longer than it took my menfolk, but when I made up my mind, I was really sure."

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  "Do ya have a place in mind?"

  "We looked at a few. The one we liked best already has a small house, a big barn, and a well."

  "How far is that from Missie an' Willie?"

  "'Bout a four-hour ride."

  Marty had no idea how far that would be in actual miles, but it did seem wiser to measure it in time rather than in distance.

  "Plenty close enough to git together often," Callie assured her.

  "What 'bout yer pa? Who does he plan to live with?"

  "Willie got 'im first, an' Pa loves it there. He already has his own saddle horse--three of 'em, in fact--and he loves to help with the cattle. He'd take a daily shift iffen Willie would let 'im. Willie does humor him and lets him go out some but not on a daily basis. Willie has declared him the best fencer on the place, though. Pa loves the men in the bunkhouse, too, an' would have moved right in with 'em, but Willie an' Missie insisted that he have the small back bedroom in the ranch house. It's quieter back there, Missie says, but Pa ain't askin' fer no quiet. He loves to be right in the thick of things."

  "I'm so glad he's happy out there."

  "Oh, he's happy, all right. Never seen him so happy since Ma died."

  "So he'll stay on with Willie an' Missie?"

  "He's promised to come an' be with us some, too. He's rather anxious to help us fix up the new spread."

  It all sounded good to Marty. She hoped with all her heart that it would work out well for them.

  "Do ya have a buyer fer yer home place yet?" she asked.

  "Not yet, but we are sure we will sell with no problem. Spring is the best time to sell--spring or late fall. Ain't too many folk out looking fer farmland with the snow piled up to one's ears."

  Marty agreed.

  "Will ya stay till it's sold?"

  "Don't know fer sure. We're sure in a big hurry to git on back.

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  Like to git things in order an' a small herd out on the range as soon as the spring grasses start to grow. We've talked to Lane. With a bit of persuasion, I think he would stay fer a while. Maybe care fer things till a buyer comes along. Iffen he agrees, we hope to git on back there as soon as we can."

  Marty felt a small stirring in her breast, a stirring of hope. Maybe Ellie wouldn't need to leave her so quickly after all. Marty knew that Ellie and Lane were making plans, but she hadn't asked what the plans were. Ellie would tell her in her own good time.

  Marty served coffee and cake to their visitors and listened to the talk circulating around and around her. It was good to share in such enthusiasm--in such dreams--even if they did belong to another.

  Ellie had sat enraptured, drinking in every piece of news about Lane's West. She wanted to feel a part of it so she might feel at home when she finally arrived. She wanted to know and love it just as Lane did. She felt that something about the bigness of the West would correspond to the bigness of the man.

  "Have ya heard," Ellie asked her mother, "they want Lane to stay on an' care fer the farm till it sells in the spring?"

  "Is he goin' to?"

  "It's sort of an answer to prayer," replied Ellie enthusiastically. Marty looked up from her mending.

  "Lane and me thought he would have to leave soon. Which meant I would need to travel alone later."

  "Why later?" asked Marty.

  "Oh, Mama, you know very well I wouldn't up an' leave ya before thet new baby comes. An' I don't plan to leave ya right away afterward, either. Not till yer well on yer feet an' I'm sure things are goin' fine."

  "That would have been a problem," agreed Marty.

  "The biggest problem would have been our weddin'. We

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  talked of two possibilities ... an' I didn't care fer either of 'em. We could have been married now an' Lane gone on alone an' me come later. I wouldn't like losin' a husband so soon after I'd gotten one," she said, smiling shyly. "Or," she continued, "we could've waited an' been married when I got out there. I didn't like thet, either, 'cause it would have meant you an' Pa wouldn't have been at my weddin'."

  "I wouldn't have liked thet, either," admitted Marty.

  "So ya see, this is sorta an answer to prayer," Ellie repeated. "We can git married soon after yer baby is born an' I can stay on here and help ya in the daytime, an' we can live over in the LaHaye house. Callie has already promised us thet we can."

  It sounded good to Marty. Ellie would not need to leave for a few months yet. Marty would welcome each additional day. "Sounds like ya got it all sorted out."

  "We been workin' on it."

  "So when do ya plan the weddin'?"

  "Well, thet there little one is due the end of February, right?" "According to my calculations."

  "So we thought we could be married
'bout the end of March. Thet way ya won't wear yerself all out gittin' right into a weddin' after the baby comes, an' after the weddin' I can still come over days to help ya out."

  "Land sakes, girl. You've really spoiled me. Ya think I won't be able to care fer yer pa an' the little one after a month of time?" "Well, we don't want to rush ya, Mama."

  Marty blinked away tears. Ellie was more than considerate as a daughter.

  "Look here, dear," she said. "I'm in no hurry to lose ya ... ya know thet ... but ya go ahead an' make yer plans just as ya would have 'em to be. Don't stop to fit all of yer life round me. I'm just fine now, an' I'll be just fine after this here little one gits here."

  Ellie crossed to put her arms around Marty. "I'll tell Lane thet the end of March is fine, then," she said.

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  TWENTY-FOUR Church and Home

  Clark was out milking the roan when Pastor John rode up. His smile was broad and his handshake firm as he joined Clark in the barn. "It worked," he beamed. "We don't have to take the next step. And more importantly, we don't need to take away his membership."

  Clark responded to his smile with an enthusiasm of his own. "Just wait till I git done with Roanie here, an' I want to hear all 'bout it," he said. "I'm near done."

  The pastor walked about the barn, stopped to pet a cat, and strolled around some more. Clark could tell he was anxious to share his experience. He hurried to finish up with Roanie.

  Clark hung his pail, brimming with foaming milk, well out of the reach of the barn cats and pulled a stool over for himself and one for the preacher.

  "Sit ya down," he offered, and the parson sat.

  "Went to see him as I said I would," Pastor John began. "It was kind of tough, I don't mind telling you that. Didn't know just where or how to start, but we did get to the point. I told it to him just like it had been told to me. Then I said I wanted to hear it from him. Was it true or not true? At first, he was very ambiguous. I thought sure I would get nowhere. I was even expecting him to outright deny it. He was getting a little angry, too, and I thought maybe I had really missed it." The man looked around the barn for a moment.