Love's Unending Legacy

by Janette Oke

  They were all keeping well. It was so good to have a visit with Luke upon his return after Christmas and catch up on all of the news from home. Clae sent her thanks over and over for the parcels Luke had carried back with him from the family. She admitted to shedding a few tears as she unwrapped each one, but they were happy tears, she maintained, and came from a grateful heart that had responded to the love which came with the gifts.

  Marty laid aside the letter with mixed emotions. She was so glad Clae and Joe felt at home—and at peace. How good it was to entrust them to the care of the all-knowing and caring Father.

  Marty reached for Luke’s letter and eagerly tore the envelope open. Luke, too, was full of good reports. He was busily engaged in his studies again. It had been so good to be home. He trusted that all the family was well. He had seen Clae and Joe, and they seemed to be happy in their new work. Joe was fairly bursting with the new knowledge he was absorbing. Especially was he excited about his in-depth study on the deity of Christ—that Christ, as Holy God, could care so much for sinful man was a truth he found staggering.

  Luke was back into classes again and was even more sure than before, if possible, that his was a doctor’s calling. Such strides were being made in the field of medicine, and he wanted to be right there, a contributing part of it.

  The letter was short, as Luke was in a hurry. He had much work to do in preparation for his next day’s classes, he stated, but he had wanted to send his greetings home and thank them for their love and support.

  Marty drank in the contents of each letter, promising herself that she would read them again before retiring. As she read each page, she passed it on to Ellie, who also pored over each one.

  “They all sound fine, don’t they, Mama?” Ellie said as she read the last page.

  “An’ I’m so thankful,” Marty responded, with the hint of tears in her eyes. “Nothin’ makes a mother happier than to know thet her family is fine.”

  Ellie rose to go check on her supper, and Marty sighed contentedly as she carefully tucked each letter back into its envelope so Clark might read them as soon as he came in from the barn.

  She had spoken the truth. Nothing made a mother happier than to know her children were all happy. Kate and Clare were eagerly waiting for their new baby. Missie was enjoying the visit of family and thrilled with each new accomplishment of her own little ones. Clae and Joe were happy in the work they felt called to do. Luke was thrilled with each new discovery as a physician-in-training. Arnie could hardly wait each night to get home to his Anne. Nandry’s family continued to grow and flourish. That left only her Ellie. Ellie’s eyes still bore a shadow. She would talk to Ellie tonight, but first she must have a chat with Clark to get his reaction to Kate’s theory. Marty did so want her sweet little Ellie to be happy, as well.

  EIGHTEEN

  A Talk With Ellie

  “Clark,” Marty said softly and waited until Clark lifted his head from the page he was reading.

  He didn’t answer but silently looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

  “Had me a talk with Kate today,” Marty told him.

  “Ya said ya did.”

  “She is so excited ’bout the comin’ of thet baby. They have everythin’ in readiness now. Don’t know how the two of ’em are ever gonna be able to stand the next six weeks or so.” Marty chuckled before she went on. “But thet weren’t all we talked ’bout. She’s been worried ’bout Ellie, too. She has noticed thet Ellie just isn’t her usual happy self.”

  Clark nodded slowly, concern showing in his face.

  “Kate prodded some an’ got me to thinkin’. Do you think there’s any chance thet Ellie is sweet on Lane? I mean thet they might sorta like each other an’ have had a fuss ’bout somethin’?”

  The corners of Clark’s mouth turned down in surprise at the idea. “Never thought of it, but why not?” he finally said. “I mean, Lane is an attractive young man with a real love fer people, an’ Ellie is a pretty an’ pleasant girl. Why not? Why didn’t we think of thet? It’s not only possible, but it’s most likely.” Clark pondered a moment. “Do ya s’pose thet’s what she meant by not wantin’ Lane fer a brother?”

  “I wonder iffen it might be,” Marty answered him, shaking her head back and forth. “Don’t know why I didn’t see it afore.”

  “Guess we were just thinkin’ family too much where Lane was concerned.”

  “Guess so. Then d’ya think it might be somethin’ like thet troublin’ Ellie?”

  “Well, they sure could care fer each other, I see thet now. But why there should be any trouble with the carin’ I still don’t see. Neither of them are selfish or prideful. Don’t see why they can’t work out their little differences, if differences there be.”

  “I was wonderin’ iffen we should have a chat with Ellie an’ see if there’s some way we could help ’em sort it out.”

  “Where is Ellie?”

  “She left fer the barn an’ thet dog of her’n again.”

  “Ya mean dog of his’n.”

  “Yeah, his’n.”

  “I don’t know,” Clark wondered aloud, rubbing his chin. “I’ve never felt it too wise to interfere where heart matters are concerned. Usually it’s better to let ’em work it out on their own.”

  “Thet’s ’bout what Kate said.” Marty dropped a stitch and continued on with her knitting.

  “Hurts me, though,” she confided softly. “Ellie’s been sufferin’, I can tell. Lane don’t rightly look so good, either.”

  “Maybe a body can beat round the bush some an’ come up with somethin’.”

  “Ellie’s pretty shrewd. Don’t know iffen you’ll fool her none.”

  “Might be easier to talk to Lane.”

  Marty’s knitting needles stopped. “Now, what would ya say? ‘Ya carin’ fer my daughter an’ havin’ some kinda fuss? She’s eatin’ her heart out, an’ I wanna know why’?”

  “Yer right,” said Clark. “Thet wouldn’t be so easy, either.”

  Marty’s needles began to slowly click again. She was usually a fast knitter, and the sound gave away the fact that her mind was not on her work. “What do ya think we should do?” she asked at last. it.”

  “Wish I knew fer sure. One thing sure is we should pray about it.”

  At Marty’s nod, Clark bowed his head and led them in a fervent prayer for their daughter. And for Lane.

  “I’m thinkin’ the only way might just be to up and come right straight out with it,” Clark observed after he raised his head.

  “I think yer right,” agreed Marty, and Clark laid his book aside and stood up.

  “Guess I’ll take me a little walk,” he said, “an’ see iffen I can discover what is so special ’bout a certain dog.”

  Marty’s eyes looked deeply into Clark’s to assure him that she trusted him to do and say the right things where their daughter was concerned, and then her knitting needles began to pick up speed.

  Clark walked into the kitchen and pulled on his coat against the cold. He didn’t bother to light another lantern. The winter moon shone brightly in the sky, and millions of stars sparkled above him. His way would be well lit to the barn, and once there, Ellie’s lantern would light the interior for both of them.

  He did not hurry. He needed time to think. He needed time to pray once more. He had no idea how to approach the delicate subject with his daughter. It helped that they had always been able to talk easily to each other. At times like this, Clark was so glad there had been years of establishing a strong connection with each of his children. It was well worth it for a father to take the time, he knew with great certainty.

  The snow crunched beneath his foot and crutch, and his breath preceded him in smoky little puffs. He opened the barn door and entered, turning to close it tightly behind him. He wanted to give Ellie the advantage of adjusting to his presence before he turned to look at her. He found her sitting on a pile of straw, gently stroking the dog she called Rex.

  Clark cleared h
is throat and crossed over to lean on a half partition. For a moment neither of them spoke.

  “He’s really growin’, ain’t he?” Clark said at last.

  “Sure is,” responded Ellie.

  “Seems like a nice dog. He learnin’ well?”

  “He’s really quick,” said Ellie.

  “You’ve always thought ’im kinda special, ain’t ya?”

  Ellie agreed that she had. Clark knelt down and stroked the dog with his large work-roughened hand. The dog squirmed with the pleasure of it but did not leave Ellie.

  “Seems to me thet’s more’n a dog yer holdin’,” Clark observed.

  Ellie’s head came up quickly, but she did not ask her father what he meant.

  Clark continued to stroke the dog.

  “Seems like it’s a dream thet yer holdin’, as well,” went on Clark, and Ellie’s head bowed over the dog again. “A dream … an’ maybe a love.”

  Tears came to Ellie’s eyes and started to slide down her cheeks. Clark reached out and gently brushed one of them away.

  “What is it, little girl?” he asked softly. “Do ya love a man who doesn’t return yer love?”

  “Oh no. He does,” Ellie said quickly. “He … he wanted me to have a locket fer Christmas. He would have come courtin’. I know thet, Pa, iffen I would have given ’im any hope at all.”

  “An’ why didn’t ya?” asked Clark simply.

  “Why?”

  “Yeah, why? Didn’t ya feel like he’s the kinda man ya could love?”

  “Oh, I do love ’im, I do,” sobbed Ellie.

  Clark reached out and drew his daughter into his arms. He let her cry against him, saying nothing, only holding her close and stroking her long golden curls.

  When Ellie’s sobs appeared to be lessening, he spoke again.

  “I’m afraid ya lost me,” he said against her hair. “Ya say thet he would have come courtin’—an’ ya say thet ya love ’im. Then why are the two of ya so miserable an’ there’s no courtin’ bein’ done?”

  Ellie pulled back and looked at her father, eyes wide in astonishment.

  “I can’t,” she sobbed again. “Ya know thet. I can’t.” When Clark did not respond, she said, “Mama needs me.”

  The words soaked slowly into Clark’s consciousness, and he pushed the girl away from him and looked into her eyes. “Whoa, now,” he said. “What is this yer tellin’ me?”

  “Mama needs me,” Ellie repeated.

  “Sure, Mama needs ya, but she sure ain’t expectin’ ya to go on bein’ her housemaid fer all the years to come.”

  “But the baby—”

  “Mama has had babies afore—an’ she’s made out just fine, too. Oh, I will admit I was some worried, too—at first—but she’s doin’ just fine now. Why, yer mama is no softie. She can handle most anythin’ thet needs handlin’, an’ one little baby, more or less, sure ain’t gonna bother her none.”

  “But it’s not just thet,” said Ellie.

  “It’s not?”

  “No.”

  “What else, then?” said Clark, fearing that a fresh torrent of tears was on the way.

  “Lane is going back west as soon as the LaHayes get back to care fer the farm.”

  “So?”

  “Every time one of us goes far away, it pains Mama. You know how it hurt her when Missie went, and then Clae, and now Luke. It would nigh kill her iffen I went, too.”

  “I see,” said Clark. “Yer thinkin’ thet yer mama just wouldn’t be able to let ya go, huh?”

  Ellie nodded with her head up against him.

  “Well, I’m admittin’ thet yer mama sure does prefer her young’uns close by. I also happen to know the thing thet Mama wants more’n anythin’ in the world is fer her children to be happy. Now, iffen ya think thet yer happiness lies with a certain young man by the name of Lane, then thet’s what Mama wants fer ya, even iffen it takes ya many miles away.”

  Ellie’s eyes still showed doubt. “Oh, Pa,” she said, “do ya really think so?”

  “I know so,” answered Clark. “Fact is, I just came from talkin’ with yer mama. She is worried ’bout ya. Has been fer days. We didn’t either one of us guess what was wrong, or we woulda straightened ya out long ago. It was Kate thet got suspectin’. Guess we had just thought of Lane as family fer so long thet we never even thought he might not seem like family to you.”

  Ellie’s eyes began to glow again. “Oh, Pa,” she said, “I love both you an’ Mama so. I’d never want to hurt Mama. Never!”

  “And yer mama would never want to stand in the way of yer happiness, either. Now wipe away those tears, and let’s go see yer mama.”

  Ellie did so, the best she could, then bent to stroke the patient Rex once more before hurrying to the barn door. Clark lifted the lantern from its hook and followed her.

  Suddenly Ellie stopped. “But, Pa,” she said in deep concern, “I already told Lane no.”

  “I don’t think Lane will be givin’ up thet easy like,” he assured her. “Iffen he does, he’s not the man I thought ’im to be.”

  Some of the fear left Ellie’s eyes, and she quickened her steps. Clark had all he could do to keep up with her. As he hung up his coat on the peg in the kitchen, he heard her say, “Oh, Mama,” and then what sounded like both laughing and crying.

  NINETEEN

  Dark Shadows

  Someone was knocking on the door, making far more noise than should be necessary. Marty fought for consciousness, at the same time wishing she could remain asleep. Something told her it was not time to get up yet, even though she could not see the clock in the darkness.

  Clark had roused and was hurriedly dressing. Marty’s mind flashed her a message of “Ben.” This is what happened when Ben … But no, it couldn’t be that again. Then why would someone come pounding on their door now? Fear gripped Marty’s heart. It must be more bad news.

  Clark left the room hurriedly without a word, and Marty heard his footstep on the wooden stairsteps. He had not stopped for boot or crutch and hopped down on one bare foot.

  With an effort, Marty threw back the covers and stepped out onto the cold floor. She was glad for the rug nearby that offered some protection from the winter chill. She felt around with one foot for her bed socks and crossed to the closet hook to grab her robe. Voices drifted up to her. Excited voices. It sounded like Clare. Who had awakened Clare, and what might the trouble be?

  Marty tried not to hurry down the steps. A fall in the dark certainly would be no aid to whatever the problem was. She held firmly to the rail and felt her way down carefully. Yes, it was Clare’s voice. Clare’s voice mingled with Clark’s, Clare’s muffled by horrible sobs. Marty hastened her steps.

  When Marty entered the kitchen, she was more bewildered than ever. Clark had lit the kitchen lamp, and in its soft glow, she could see the outline of two men. Her men. Clark was supporting Clare, and Clare was weeping against him uncontrollably. Marty tried to voice a question, but it wouldn’t form on her lips.

  “It’s Kate,” said Clark over Clare’s head. “She’s in terrible pain.”

  “What’s happened?” Marty was able to gasp out the question.

  “He doesn’t know. It just came on sudden like in the night. I’m gonna go git Doc. Ya think thet ya can—?”

  But Clark didn’t finish his question before Marty moved to her grown son and turned him toward her.

  Clare seemed to get hold of himself. “Oh, Ma,” he groaned, “I’m so scared. I’ve never seen anyone in such pain. We gotta git back there, Ma. We gotta—”

  “We will,” said Marty. “I’ll just pull on some boots an’ grab a shawl.”

  Clare took Marty’s hand, and they hurried toward the little log house. He had taken command again now. The rough sobbing had ceased, and he was thinking rationally.

  “Maybe the baby is on the way,” Marty said as a means of assurance.

  “It’s too early yet.”

  “Some of ’em come early.”

  “
Not this early.”

  “Maybe Kate figured wrong.”

  Clare made no response, and Marty thought he strongly doubted it.

  “Some women do have a great deal of pain when—”

  But Clare didn’t want to listen. “We don’t want the baby comin’ now,” he said. “It’s still too early. It would be dang’rous fer ’im to come now.”

  Marty turned at the sound of someone hurrying to the barn. Clark was on his way for the doctor. She prayed him Godspeed and continued along the icy path.

  “Pa’s on his way,” she said to Clare. “Won’t be long an’ the doc’ll be here.”

  They had not yet reached the house when Marty could hear Kate. She felt Clare stiffen beside her. Poor Kate—she had never been a crybaby about discomfort. Truly Clare was right. Something was terribly wrong with her. They hastened into the little house, and Marty kicked her boots into a corner by the door and shed her shawl as she passed by a chair. Already Clare had half run through to the bedroom. A lamp had not even been lit, and Marty fumbled around in the semidarkness to find it and the matches. Kate continued to toss and moan on the bed, and Clare dropped on his knees beside her and tried to soothe her with his words and hands.

  “Pa’s gone for Doc, sweetheart. It won’t be long now. Just hang on. Hang on.”

  Clare turned back to Marty and his eyes were pleading. Do somethin’, Ma, they seemed to say. Do somethin’ fer my Kate.

  Marty moved to the bed and gently reached out to the girl, smoothing her matted hair back from her face. “Kate,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above Kate’s groans, “Kate, can ya hear me, dear?”

  Kate responded with a nod of her head and another moan.

  “When did this start?”

  Kate managed to indicate that it had started about bedtime—a little—and then increased in intensity during the night.

  “An’ where is the pain?” continued Marty.