Love's Long Journey (Love Comes Softly Series #3)

by Janette Oke

  Missie couldn't suppress a giggle. Though the men realized

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  that she was sincere in her thankfulness, they also saw the humor in it and gladly laughed with her.

  Though unaware of it at that moment, Missie had just made some friends for life. Not one of those men sitting round her tiny shanty would have denied her anything that was in their power to provide.

  Later, Henry brought in his guitar and they sang together. Cookie just sat and listened. Sandy whistled a few lines now and then. But Clem, to Missie's surprise, seemed to know by heart most of the traditional carols.

  It was hard to break up the little gathering. Several times Missie added more chips to her fire. Little Nathan made the rounds from one pair of arms to another. Even the tough-looking Clem took a turn holding the baby.

  At last Missie put the coffeepot back on and boiled a fresh pot. She was glad that she had made enough tarts for each of them to have another one with their coffee.

  The men lingered over their tarts and coffee but finally took their leave, tramping their way through the snow back to the bunkhouse.

  Missie hummed softly as she washed the dishes--there had been no point trying to find room to wash them earlier. Willie put on his hat and coat and left for the barn, Missie assumed, to check the horses.

  Missie had finished the dishes and was feeding Nathan when Willie returned bearing a box. Missie looked astonished, and he answered her unasked question.

  "I did my Christmas shopping 'fore we left Tettsford." He set his box on the table and began to unpack it.

  " 'Fraid my gift don't seem too fittin' like in these surroundin's. I was sorta seem' it in our real house when I bought it, I guess. Anyway, I thought thet I'd show it to ya, an' then we can sorta pack it off again." Willie lifted from the box the most beautiful fruit bowl that Missie had ever seen.

  She gasped, "Willie! It's beautiful."

  Willie was relieved when he saw that the bowl had brought her pleasure. He set it gently on the table.

  "I'll let ya git a better look at it when yer done with Nathan.

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  Then I'll pack it on back--out of yer way."

  "Oh, no," Missie protested. "Just leave it."

  She laid the baby on the bed and went to the table to pick up the bowl.

  "It's lovely," she said, her fingers caressing it. "Thank you, Willie."

  She reached up to kiss him. "An' I don't want you to pack it away--please. It'll be a reminder--an' a promise. I--I need it here. Don't you see?"

  Willie held her close. "I see."

  After a moment of silence, Willie spoke softly.

  "Missie, I wonder--I wonder iffen you'll ever know jest how happy ya made five people today?"

  "Five?"

  "Those four cowpokes--an' me."

  Missie's eyes gleamed.

  "Then make it six, Willie--'cause in doin' what I. could, the pleasure all poured right back on me. An' I got the biggest helpin' of happiness myself!"

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  Chapter 28

  Setbacks

  After the anticipation and preparation for Christmas, the winter days fell back into their previous monotony. At times Missie felt that she could endure no more, confined as she was in her stuffy sod shanty. Her only company for most of her days was baby Nathan. She feared that she might spoil him with all the attention he received. It was a good thing that he fussed very little, for Missie used every little cry or complaint as an excuse to pamper and cuddle him. He responded with toothless smiles and waving fists.

  When he slept, Missie tried to find other things to keep herself busy. Her hands had long since run out of materials for crafts and activities to occupy them, and the walls of the room seemed to press ever more closely about her. She no longer made daily treks to the fuel shack; ever since Christmas, a good supply of chips appeared beside her door every day before she crawled out of bed. Missie never discovered which one of the men delivered them.

  Baby Nathan gained weight, gurgled and cooed, and tried to

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  chew everything that his small hands could get to his mouth. Soon it became difficult to find a safe place to leave the wee child.

  Though time with him was somewhat limited, Willie also doted on his son. Missie sometimes teased that if it had not been for Nathan, Willie would have been content to live out with his precious cows! When Nathan began to squeal at the sight of his daddy and laugh at his roughhouse play, Willie found it even harder to leave the house and go back to the stock.

  Missie was having glimmers of hope that winter was almost over when a sudden, angry-sounding wind swept in from the north. It caught them off guard, and before the men could even saddle up to go look after the cows, the snow came--the swishing, blinding clouds of it seemed set on devouring everything in its path. Willie realized that it was foolhardy to send men out in such a storm. He would just have to leave the animals on their own and hope that they could find some shelter.

  The storm moved on after two days. By then the drifts of snow had piled high all around. The shanty's door was almost buried by the whiteness. Willie had to wait for the ranch hands to dig him out.

  When they were finally able to leave their quarters, the men quickly saddled up to go out looking for the range cattle in the hills. After combing the hills for three days, the reports were heartbreaking. At least seventy-five head of cattle had been lost in the storm. Missie cried. Willie tried to assure her that they'd make out fine, that temporary setbacks were to be expected; but Missie could see a troubled look in his own eyes. They both turned again to their Isaiah passage for comfort and strength.

  In February one of the milk cows calved, and Missie felt like she had been handed an incomparable treasure. Even the loss of the cattle the week before was put from her mind. What marvelous possibilities for sparking up their diet, with milk on hand!

  "What I couldn't do now, if I just had some eggs," she said. She promised herself that as soon as possible she'd do something about that.

  Spring eventually did come--slowly, almost unnoticeably,

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  until one day Missie realized that there was a feeling of faint warmth in the air. The drifts of snow began to shrink and gradually dark spots of earth appeared. The spring started to trickle again and the stubby bushes beside it began to dress in a shy green.

  Missie ached for the sight of budding trees, of blossoming shrubs, but only empty hills, stretched away from her gaze. To her great joy, a few flowers timidly made their appearance; Missie couldn't resist picking some to grace her table. In the gloom of the little sod house, one had to bend over the tin cup that held the flowers, in order to fully appreciate the tiny scraps of color.

  As the snow receded, the men spent much more time out on the range, watching the cattle vigilantly. Spring calves were arriving daily; they would not totter about many days before the "Hanging W," Willie's brand, would show on their flanks.

  Missie did not care for the name attached to Willie's ranch, not in favor of "hanging" even a W. But Willie laughed at her squeamishness. All of Willie's stock bore the brand.

  The hard range riding of spring roundup had begun. Day after day the men rode and gathered the scattered stock and their calves. They were all driven to the wide box-canyon where they had been protected during the first winter storm. When the roundup was completed, the men counted one hundred ninety- eight head of cattle and one hundred and six calves.

  "Even so," Willie maintained, "thet's a few more than we started with."

  The wagons were moved out to the canyon to serve as bunkhouses during the spring branding. Cookie slept in the chow wagon, as well as using it for kitchen, supply shack and blacksmith shop.

  The men were divided into shifts for the night hours, and Willie and Sandy took the first hours.

  It wasn't long until the cattle adjusted to their more confined surroundings. The lowing and milling subsided and they bedded down for the night.

  After midnigh
t, Henry and Clem took over the night-watch duties. Sandy and Willie gladly unsaddled their mounts and cozied up to Cookie's open fire. They drank mugs of hot coffee to

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  warm their bones before trying to get a few hours of sleep. The early morning sun would soon summon them to another busy day with the branding irons.

  Shortly before daybreak, mayhem broke loose. At first Henry and Clem were unable to pinpoint the source of the sudden restlessless and shifting of the herd. By the time they realized the cause, they found themselves helpless.

  A band of rustlers was driving off a large portion of the herd. Henry and Clem rode hard, but in spite of their best efforts they were able to cut back only the stragglers from the stampeding cattle. No shots had been fired, but Henry and Clem had counted, in spite of the darkness and confusion, at least five rustlers. By the time the sleeping men in the wagons heard the commotion and recognized what it was, it was too late for them to assist.

  The next morning the discouraged men ranged out farther, gathering the few head that had somehow eluded the rustlers. After all the cattle in their possession had been gathered and counted, Willie found that his herd now numbered only fifty-four head of full-grown cattle and thirty-two calves.

  After the final count, Willie turned away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He had known all along that he would suffer some losses to rustlers, but he had dared to hope that the numbers would be few and over a longer period of time. Why! he asked himself, Why did I think that we would be spared when so many other ranchers have been completely wiped out? I should feel lucky to have any cattle left, any at all.

  Willie swallowed the hard lump in his throat, and lifted his broad-brimmed hat to wipe the dust from his brow. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to leave. Could he get back on his feet? How long would it take? If he had been more patient and had worked for another year before coming out to his ranch, he could have laid aside enough cash to cover such a tragedy.

  Now the only extra cash he had was the money for Missie's house. How could he ever tell her? Even now he could picture those frank, blue eyes, intense with hurt and fright from the news.

  Though he wished with every ounce of his being that he could do so, he knew it would be useless and untruthful to try to keep it

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  from her. She deserved to know the truth--even to know the seriousness of their situation. But Willie determined that in every way possible he would try to shield her from the pain and the fear that came with the knowing.

  Willie presented Missie with the facts as honestly and simply as he knew how. He talked like it was an inevitable event--the loss of his cattle; but deep down, Missie knew better. She ached for him. If only there was some way that she could help him.

  Then within her breast arose a tiny surge of hope. Maybe now he would be satisfied to have tried his dream and be content to go back home. But Willie had no such intention. Instead, to Missie's surprise, he told his men that as soon as the work could be started, they would begin building the permanent ranch house.

  Missie said nothing until they were alone that night. She began very carefully, "I overheard you discussin' with the hands your plans for buildin'."

  "Yeah, iffen it's gonna be ready as planned we need to git started."

  "But, Willie," Missie protested softly. "Can we afford it?" "What ya meanin'?"

  "Well, with the cattle losses an' all."

  "Thet changes nothin'. The money for the house has been set aside."

  "But what 'bout rebuildin' the herd?"

  "Thet'll jest have to wait."

  "But can it? I mean, if we don't have a herd, there won't be cattle to sell, an' if--"

  "There'll be some--eventually. An' I promised ya a house. We can't do both, Missie; an' the house comes first."

  "Willie, listen." Missie felt afraid that she might later regret what she was about to say. But she had to say it: "Willie, I know 'bout your promise. I know that you want to keep it--an' you will. But it could be postponed, Willie, for just a bit--untiluntil we have the cattle to sell. If we stay in this house, just for now, and use the put-aside money to help rebuild the herd, then next year--well, we could build our house then."

  Missie saw Willie's jaw muscles tighten as if he was fighting for control.

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  "Please, Willie," she coaxed. "The cattle are important to me too, you know."

  "But ya couldn't keep on livin' here, not fer another whole year--another winter."

  "'Course I could," she hurried on with as much conviction as she could muster. "I'm gettin' used to it now. It's not very big, but it's warm. And now that spring is here, Nathan an' I can go outside more. We'll manage. Honest!"

  Silence followed. For a time Missie wondered if she had been refused. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or sorry. The house was small and difficult. Yet she knew that if Willie was intending to stay, and it seemed that indeed he was, then he needed to rebuild that herd. Without it their future was very insecure. Her love for Willie drove her to decide for his happiness. He'd never be happy to admit defeat, to leave his beloved hills and valleys and return back East.

  Oh, God, she prayed silently, help me to support Willie in spite of what I want. Keep Your promise to uphold me now. And He did.

  Missie felt peace go through her being. The next thing she knew, Willie was pulling her close. She understood that Willie was accepting her gift of postponement on the house in order to rebuild his herd. She reached her hand up to touch his cheeks and felt the dampness. Willie was crying.

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  Chapter 29

  Missie's Garden

  With the smell of spring in the air, Missie was even more restless as she anxiously waited for the final disappearance of snow. Nathan, more active now, needed room in which to explore. Missie dared not leave him in the small sod house longer than a dash out back for more chips or to scoop up a pail of snow for her water supply.

  She had tired of the snow water, but she did not feel that it was any longer safe for her to go to the trickling spring and leave the baby alone in the house; she could not carry him and a bucket of water too. But her reason did not keep her from wanting to go to the spring. Just the sight of running water would be a sign to her that spring was truly here.

  She needed desperately an escape from the four tight walls. She also needed a change of activity. Her fingers felt heavy and numb from the hours of knitting and sewing. She was just plain bored--bored with everything about her world.

  Missie looked out on the sparkling day and, as many times in the past, wished with all her heart that she had some excuse to be

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  out in the sunshine. If only she could saddle a horse and go out onto the prairies like the menfolk did. But with no one to leave small Nathan with, the idea was not workable.

  Or was it?

  Missie suddenly recalled a nostalgic item that she had slipped into one of the boxes when packing. She had found it tucked in the back of a drawer at home and, with tear-filled eyes, she had smuggled it in among some blankets. To another's eyes it would have simply been some kind of strange contraption, but to Missie it was love wrapped up in one simple, practical piece of equipment. Though Missie had no recollection of being carried in the backpack, her mama had long ago showed it to her and explained how her pa had lovingly fashioned it in order to carry her with him after she, just a tiny girl, had lost her first mother; he never left her at home alone while he plowed his fields and did his choring. Missie ran to the storage shed in her eagerness. With the backpack she would be able to take that horseback ride, and the baby would be able to join her!

  Once the backpack had been located and shown to Willie, he selected a gentle mare and made her available to Missie whenever she wished to ride. Now some of the boredom would be gone from Missie's days. But even with the backpack, she could not go far before Baby Nathan became heavy to carry and Missie would be forced to return to the little shanty.

  Missi
e was also bored with the sameness of the food that she had to prepare every day. Nothing tasted good anymore--nothing was fresh. Canned, dried and bland--described everything she had to prepare. No amount of herbs and spices seemed to improve it any. She wondered if Willie found it as unpalatable as she did. But, of course, Willie was too much of a gentleman to say

  so.

  It seemed to Missie's worn, restless spirit that planting a garden would revive her again--and so she paced back and forth, willing the snow to go away. When fresh flurries sent scattered flakes whirling through the still crisp air, Missie wiped tears of disappointment on her apron.

  Finally the snow flurries changed to rain showers, and Missie's hopes grew.

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  The snow melted reluctantly--especially where it had drifted by the spring--the very place Missie wanted for her garden. She felt sorely tempted to go out with a shovel, but checked herself from such foolishness. The snow gradually lost the battle, and one day when Missie went to check she was surprised and thrilled to find all traces of the winter's cold and ice gone. She began hinting to Willie that he put a plow to the sod. Willie showed more patience than Missie.

  "Be a bit early yet," he insisted. "The ground hasn't had a fair chance to warm. An' remember, this ain't the East. We're right close to the mountains here, an' frosts still come on the early spring nights."

  But Missie could not bear the thought of being detained. Willie, realizing what it meant to her, relented and plowed the spot, though he was sure that it was far too early to do so.