by Janette Oke
“Whoa!” said Marty, holding up her hand while Melissa stopped midsentence.
There was silence for a moment as Marty looked around the kitchen at the three girls. Marty was the one who broke it. “I’m sure he is a fine boy—but there must be other things thet took some of yer time at school today.”
The three girls looked blank. Finally it appeared Belinda had come up with something. Her face brightened. “I asked the teacher an’ her family fer supper,” she informed Marty.
“Supper?” Marty wheeled to face her. “Supper?”
“Oh, not tonight,” Belinda quickly amended. “Jest sometime.” Marty made no comment. She had been given quite a start.
“Ya always invite the teacher—sometime,” Belinda added, “so I thought I should tell her ’bout it.”
“I see,” said Marty as she turned to put another stick of wood in the stove. “I jest hope thet ya made yer new teacher an’ her two younger sons feel as welcome at their new school today as ya must have made this here Jackson fella,” she remarked.
Three heads dipped slightly.
“An’ I hope ya all three behaved yerselves like the ladies ya been taught to be,” continued Marty, turning back to look at each one squarely.
The girls stole looks at one another.
“An’ I hope ya all are prepared to spend yer school time learnin’ what the teacher’s tryin’ to learn ya.”
Three solemn pairs of eyes studied Marty. She decided she had pressed it far enough.
“An’ what did ya think of yer first day at this new school, Melissa?” she asked, changing the subject.
“I like it,” answered Melissa politely.
“An’ did the other young’uns make ya feel welcome?”
“Oh yes,” said Melissa, nodding her head vigorously.
“Good! An’ ya liked the students?”
More snickering. Marty knew she shouldn’t have asked that last question.
“So . . . ya all like this here Jackson?”
The girls did not answer with words, but their eyes admitted the fact.
“An’ he liked us, too,” ventured Amy Jo.
“All of ya?”
They all nodded.
“Well,” said Marty matter-of-factly, dusting the wood chips from her hands after feeding the fire, “thet sounds safe enough. No boy I know of can manage three girls at once. Long as this here Jackson don’t go an’ pick out jest one, guess we needn’t worry none.”
The girls looked at one another, the unspoken questions on their faces: Was Marty talking to them—or to herself? They couldn’t be sure, but her words seemed to get through to them. Would Jackson continue to consider all three of them his friends? Would he “pick” one of them? If so, which one would it be? And how would the other two feel? They turned back to their milk glasses with more serious faces.
“Now, ya best hurry up with yer milk an’ cookies,” instructed Marty. “Ya need to change so thet ya can care fer yer chores. An’, Amy Jo, I’m sure yer mama will be wantin’ to see you at home.”
And so saying, Marty turned back to her kitchen counter and supper preparation. Further talk would need to wait, but she was resigned to a lot more of it in the days and weeks to come.
ELEVEN
Back to Routine
Marty watched the days on the calendar pass—busy ones with fall canning and gardening, but rather routine. For Belinda and Melissa the days were also full. They trudged the distance to school, where the new teacher insisted upon close attention to what they were being taught. They walked home again to the many farm chores that awaited them. Amy Jo always joined with them, as well as Dan and David.
Clark’s days were filled with harvest work. He and Clare worked together in the fields, and when they had finished their own tasks, there was usually an ailing neighbor to help. By the time all of the crops had been brought in, the fall winds were chill and hints of winter were in the air.
Marty had been wrong about one thing: the girls did not quickly settle back to their normal emotional levels. They still returned from school in an excited frenzy each day and always the talk was of Jackson. Jackson did this and Jackson said that, until Marty was truly weary of it all.
Marty still had not had the opportunity to meet Jackson or his schoolteacher mother. She had thought they would join the community in Sunday attendance at the little church, but so far the Brown family felt strong ties to the small church in their former town. Every Sunday, according to reports, they hitched their one horse to a light buggy and drove the fifteen miles back to worship with the lifelong friends who had supported them in their bereavement.
So Marty tried not to lose patience as the three silly girls sighed at the end of the school day over young Jackson. If Marty had listened, she would have heard many things about him that she would have admired—both true and imagined. But she did not listen. She was tired of the tales. She was tired of the swooning. She wished Jackson had never arrived to upset her three girls and her world.
She even considered forbidding the girls to talk about Jackson once they were in the kitchen, but she decided not to, in case the regulation would blow the situation way out of proportion. After all, it was a passing fancy. At their age, if the girls were not moping around over Jackson, they undoubtedly would have found someone else to pine over.
Marty still had not invited the teacher and her family for dinner. True, she had been unusually busy with her fall work, but Marty had always been busy and still had found time to invite guests. However, this year’s teacher had not yet been given an official invitation. Eventually Clark commented on it.
“Not plannin’ to have the teacher in this year?” he asked her one night when they were preparing for bed.
Marty’s head immediately came up. Even that simple statement had her on the defensive.
“ ’Course,” she answered a bit too quickly and sharply. “Been busy.”
Clark didn’t pursue it further, but his eyes told her he knew he had somehow hit a raw nerve.
Marty quickly repented. She had answered a simple question with a sting in her voice. How could Clark know she dreaded the thought of bringing that young man Jackson into her home, where she would need to watch firsthand three silly girls tittering and swooning over him. Yet it seemed foolish to admit to such a ridiculous feeling.
She sighed as she slipped on her nightgown. The girls had been continually pestering her about it. She wouldn’t be able to put them off much longer. Every other day, it appeared, they were informing her of which neighbor family had had the Browns over for supper. Marty could not hold out much longer without seeming aloof and uncaring in her neighbors’ eyes. Yet perhaps the neighbors did not have daughters who talked and giggled incessantly about one tall, good-looking, mannerly young fellow. Marty sighed again.
“Somethin’ troublin’ ya?” asked Clark patiently.
“It’s jest this here Jackson fella.”
“Teacher’s son.”
“Ya’ve heard of ’im?”
“How could one live in this here household an’ not hear of ’im?” inquired Clark with a grin.
Marty felt some of the weight shifting from her shoulders. She was even able to laugh in return.
“Guess yer right. It’s been ’most unbearable, hasn’t it? I git so sick of hearin’ all the tales of Jackson I could jest scream at times. ‘Jackson said this’—an’ it might be somethin’ as simple as, ‘It looks like it might rain,’ but, oh my, it’s so intelligent or so funny if Jackson says it.”
Clark laughed in return.
“They’re jest young girls growin’ up,” he reminded her. “The others all muddled their way through thet stage, too.”
“Did they, Clark?” Marty asked seriously. “I’ve been tryin’ an’ tryin’ to remember, but I really don’t recall Nandry or Clae or Missie or Ellie actin’ like this. Did they?”
It looked like Clark was thinking deeply as he unstrapped his artificial limb and laid it aside.
“I know thet they noticed the young fellas,” Marty said, “but they didn’t fill their days an’ their minds with ’em like these girls do. I don’t understand it—an’ I guess I don’t much like it, either.”
“I s’pose part of it is havin’ the three of ’em so close together in age. They jest sorta egg one another on, so to speak.”
Maybe that was it. Maybe they would be sensible, too, if they were each on their own instead of comparing and adding to and outdoing one another’s stories. Marty folded back the blankets and fluffed up the pillows.
“Well, as I see it,” Clark picked up the conversation again, “we’ll jest have to hold steady an’ keep on prayin’ for some sense to return to our girls, an’ fer the strength to endure all the swoonin’ an’ talkin’ till it do.” He smiled slightly. “We need ta jest hang in there, knowin’ thet ‘this, too, shall pass.”’
“Yer right,” agreed Marty with another sigh. “An’ I gotta git busy an’ have thet teacher in.”
The two knelt together for prayer before retiring for the night. Marty slipped her smaller hand into Clark’s large one as they prayed together for each one of their family members, and for the needs of the community that were known to them, and especially for wisdom and understanding in all of their relationship— including three young girls caught in the time between childhood and womanhood.
Amy Jo’s birthday arrived. The four from the big house joined Clare and Kate’s family for the birthday supper. For Amy Jo it was a momentous event—for a few months she was the “same age” as Belinda, and to Amy Jo that was very important.
Her young brothers were excited, too. A birthday was a celebration, and they reveled in sharing the birthday meal and cake and begged to help her open the presents. Clark and Marty’s gift was a note—a note explaining to Amy Jo that by the permission of her pa and ma, Marty would take her into town and let her do her own choosing for new wallpaper for her room and yard goods for curtains and matching spread. Amy Jo bounced joyfully up and down, her auburn tails bobbing out behind her. Marty was sure there was no other gift they could have given her that would have made her more excited.
Her parents’ gift to young Amy Jo brought equal excitement. There, in a neatly wrapped package, were art supplies and a simple book on sketching. Amy Jo was wild with her good fortune. She could hardly wait to begin her efforts. Marty wondered fleetingly if the family would constantly be plagued at awkward moments with requests to pose for a portrait, but she said nothing.
In spite of her granddaughter’s joy, Marty really was not looking forward to the trip to town to make the purchases for the bedroom, but she kept her promise at the very first opportunity. Not surprisingly, Amy Jo insisted that Belinda and Melissa also accompany them. Marty knew that she would be weary when the day was over—unless, of course, Amy Jo stayed with the same choice she had made previously. In that case, the mission could be accomplished quite quickly.
It was not to be. Amy Jo decided to go with something completely different. She wanted something “vibrant.” Marty wondered just how much more vibrant than the bright purple flowers a piece of yard goods could be, but she held her tongue and suffered through the long decision making. Amy Jo took her time, vacillating between a daring yellow with scattered red flowers and leaves, and a smoky blue with green and lavender splashes. Marty had never known that such colorful prints existed.
Amy Jo finally settled on the smoky blue and tried to match the wallpaper to the yard goods. Marty was sure the room would seem dark—though hardly dreary.
They did find a wallpaper with the same colors—the background was a bit more blue with an all-over pattern of small purple flowers and green leaves.
But Amy Jo insisted that it would look just right.
Clare was persuaded to put up the paper the very next day while Kate sewed the curtains and Marty made the spread. Amy Jo moved into her “new” room, exclaiming over and over how vibrant it looked. Marty had to admit that, surprisingly, the room did look quite homey and inviting. She was glad to move on to other things. Winter was upon them and she hadn’t yet had the teacher’s family in for supper.
TWELVE
Emergency
About the only events that distracted Belinda’s attention from Jackson were the house calls she was able to make with Luke. He still stopped by for her when he had a case in the country that he thought would be suitable for her involvement. Now that she was back in school, those times were less frequent, and Belinda undoubtedly would have chafed over the situation had not her life and her mind been so busy with Melissa, school—and Jackson. As it was, she squealed her delight whenever she saw Luke’s buggy pull into their lane.
Amy Jo still turned up her nose over Belinda’s medical interest, wondering aloud how anyone could possibly enjoy seeing blood and fevers. Melissa, on the other hand, openly admired Belinda, though she had no desire to accompany her. She was considerate, however, about shouldering some of Belinda’s responsibilities in the kitchen on those days when she went off with her doctor brother. Melissa always asked for a full report on the patient when Belinda returned home again, but she did turn a bit pale at times when Belinda described some aspects of their care.
A brisk, cold wind blew in with Luke when he turned his team into the yard one Saturday morning. Belinda flew out the door to meet him at the hitching rail.
“Get back in there and get a coat,” he scolded her. “Winter is here, and you’re out here like it was a summer day. I’ll be called out to doctor you next!” He may have been a doctor, but he was also her brother, so Belinda ignored his protest, assuring him she felt warm and would use the blanket if she got cold.
“Where we goin’?” she asked him.
“Out to the Simpsons’. Thought it about time you saw a broken bone. But hurry. We don’t want to make the poor boy suffer any longer than we have to. A broken limb can be awfully painful.”
Belinda ran back to the house to inform Marty. “We’re gonna set a broken bone,” she called over her shoulder as she rushed back out the door. “It shouldn’t take long.”
Luke had already swung the horses around, and the buggy left the yard at a brisk trot. While they traveled Luke told Belinda about bones—the structure of the human body and what the large bones were called. They went over the names until she had them well in her memory. Then he went on to describe different kinds of breaks and the basic treatment for each. Belinda listened with wide eyes.
“What kinda break is this one?” she asked, hardly able to wait until they got there and she could see for herself.
“I wasn’t told. I was just informed that the young Simpson boy had broken a limb in a logging accident of some kind.”
“Which limb?”
“I don’t even know. I’m guessing it’s a leg. Usually when a log rolls, it gets the leg,” replied Luke and clucked again to hurry the team.
For the first time in several days, Jackson was far from Belinda’s thoughts. “Are ya gonna take ’im to town?” she asked.
“Not likely. Once it’s set, he should be able to rest in his own bed. I’ll stop by often to see how it’s coming.”
“I don’t think I know the Simpsons,” said Belinda.
“They’re new. Just moved onto the old Coffin place.”
“Oh. Will they be comin’ to our school?”
“I don’t know a thing about the family.”
“It would be nice,” said Belinda. “Iffen they have school-age young’uns, thet is.”
They turned the team down the rutted, overgrown lane and pushed them hastily toward the simple log dwelling. Belinda was scrambling quickly down over the wheel when she heard the most agonized scream she had ever heard in her life. She felt, rather than saw, Luke stiffen. His head jerked up, and his body seemed to become a machine of action. Without even a back
ward glance, he grabbed his black bag and sprang toward the house. “You tie the team,” he called over his shoulder.
Belinda stood shaking. Luke had said that broken bones could be painful, but never had she dreamed they could make one scream so. Another scream pierced the air, and Belinda broke from her frozen stance and began to flip the reins of the horses carefully around the post. Luke might need her help. She should get to him quickly.
But when Belinda reached the door of the log cabin, she was met by a heavyset woman in a worn and dirty apron. She placed herself solidly in the doorway, her legs slightly akimbo. Belinda could see that her eyes were red from crying and her brow covered with sweat.
“The doc says you’re to stay out,” she said tiredly.
Belinda could not understand the order. Luke had brought her along to learn how to set a bone. He might even need her assistance, and here was this woman trying to bar her entrance.
“But—” began Belinda, peering over the woman’s shoulder toward the door at the back of the room.
“It’s not a pretty sight in there,” the woman continued, and her whole body trembled.
Another cry rent the stale air of the little cabin. For a moment Belinda went all weak and she, too, trembled. She had never heard such a sound in all her life. Scuffling noises came from the small room. Belinda wondered wildly just what was going on. Luke might need her. He might even be in trouble. How was she to know?
With one quick movement she ducked around the woman and ran to the room from which the awful cry had burst. Luke had already laid aside his heavy coat and even removed his jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he was bending with deep concentration over a form on the bed. A man and a boy also stood over the writhing form, pinning it to the bed sheets. Sweat beaded the brow of the man, and the boy’s lip trembled.
