Love's Unfolding Dream

by Janette Oke

  “I didn’t notice anything different. But she an’ Amy Jo went right to her room,” said Kate. Then she asked, “Did ya learn what happened?”

  “I asked Belinda. She tried to shrug it off. Said Melissa had seen Jackson give ’er a wink, in teasin’.”

  “How does Belinda feel about Jackson?” asked Kate.

  “Well, iffen she cares for him, she sure doesn’t let on,” responded Marty. “But then, right now, ’bout all Belinda seems to care fer is her house calls with Luke.”

  “She is excited ’bout thet, isn’t she?” said Kate. “Me, I could never stomach the sight of blood. Amy Jo is jest like me thet way. We can’t even wrap up a cut finger or pick out a sliver without going all queasy. Clare has to do it.”

  “I don’t care for blood, either,” admitted Marty, “but I’m beginnin’ to understand what Belinda finds so excitin’ ’bout it.”

  “How is the boy doin’ who lost his arm?”

  “We haven’t seen or heard much ’bout him fer quite a while. His ma worked fer me day after day, but she never said one word ’bout ’im, an’ I didn’t dare ask. She was touchy ’bout things she considered personal.”

  “I do hope he doesn’t let it bitter ’im none,” said Kate.

  Marty told Kate that she and Clark had been praying for him along that very line.

  “I really don’t know what to say ’bout Melissa,” said Kate, returning to the former issue.

  “I thought she might have said somethin’ while she was here,” said Marty. “Somethin’ thet would give me a hint as to what to say or do.”

  “No, nothin’. She doesn’t spend all that much time talkin’ to me. She is either whisperin’ with Amy Jo or readin’ an’ playin’ with the boys.”

  “Well,” said Marty, setting her empty teacup back on the table, “I don’t wanna be borrowin’ trouble. Maybe it’ll jest pass over like Clark says.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open now thet I know,” promised Kate.

  Marty stopped in Amy Jo’s room to see Dack before leaving for home. He had almost finished the raisins. The last doll still claimed a little pile. Dack pointed at her reproachfully. “She won’t share,” he stated. “It’s not nice not to share.”

  Marty agreed that the dollie should share, and Dack scooped up the few remaining raisins and popped them all into his mouth.

  “There!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Now she’ll learn ta share.”

  Marty laughed and gathered the chubby little boy into her arms for a hug. “I’m glad yer learnin’ ’bout sharin’, Skeezix,” she said, calling him her special name. “How ’bout sharin’ dinner with Grandpa and me tomorra?” Marty invited, and Dack gave a whoop and ran off to the kitchen to get his mother’s agreement.

  Marty felt better as she walked back to her house. If Kate knew nothing about the ruckus, then maybe it wasn’t too serious. Surely Amy Jo would talk to her mother about it even if Melissa didn’t. Perhaps Marty had blown it all out of proportion in her thinking. Clark was likely right. Eventually the whole thing would just go away.

  But it wasn’t to be that easy. Before the girls even reached home that afternoon, Marty could tell that something had happened to make matters worse. The two girls were not even walking together. Melissa stormed on ahead, her every stride announcing the fact that she was very angry. She burst into the house and, without acknowledging Marty’s greeting, stomped up the stairs and slammed the door to her room. Marty could hear her crying all the way from the kitchen.

  “Well!” said Marty, even though there was no one there to respond. “Well!”

  Belinda walked in a few moments later, her cheeks streaked as though she also had been crying—and Belinda did not cry easily.

  Unless it was to mourn over hurt pets or birds. Marty wondered what had happened now.

  Belinda did greet her mother, but she, too, passed and would have gone straight up to her room had not Marty stopped her.

  “Wait,” she said. “Wait a minute. Don’t ya think I should know what’s goin’ on?”

  Belinda hesitated. Then the tears began to flow again.

  “It’s thet dumb Jackson,” she wailed.

  “Dumb Jackson? Why, I thought ya liked Jackson.”

  “Well, I don’t,” insisted Belinda. Then she quickly amended, “Well, I do. I do. He’s . . . he’s . . . but I don’t like him as much as Melissa does. She . . . she . . . an’ he . . . he . . . he jest makes trouble.”

  “Trouble? How?” asked Marty.

  “He . . . he . . . keeps doin’ things . . . sayin’ things . . . an then Melissa gits mad at me.”

  “What did he do now?”

  “Yesterday he wanted . . . wanted to help me with my geometry. I told him, ‘No thanks,’ ’cause I was nearly done. The day before he asked to sit with me at lunch hour, but I made an excuse, an’—today, Ma—today he asked iffen I’d go with ’im to the church picnic!” she ended in a rush.

  “The church picnic? The church picnic is months away yet.”

  “I know . . . but he said he wanted to ask early so thet no one else would ask me first,” Belinda acknowledged with downcast eyes.

  “I see,” said Marty. “An’ Melissa found out about it, huh?”

  “Found out?” cried Belinda. “She was standin’ right there when he asked me!”

  “Oh my!” said Marty. “Oh my!”

  It was clear that someone was going to have to talk to Melissa. And she, Marty, seemed to be the one.

  She wiped her hands on her apron and reluctantly climbed the stairs, silently asking the Father for wisdom.

  She rapped on Melissa’s door, but there was no answer, so she waited a moment and then opened the door gently. Melissa was lying on her bed, her head buried in her pillow. Marty crossed to her and lowered herself to the bed, reaching out to smooth back the girl’s long curls. Melissa’s reply was a fresh burst of tears. Marty let her cry.

  When she felt she had waited long enough, she began carefully, slowly, “Ya really do like Jackson a lot, don’t ya?”

  Melissa nodded and gave a shuddering sigh.

  “I remember,” said Marty reflectively, “I remember when I was yer age, I liked a boy a lot, too.”

  No answer.

  “I thought he was the smartest, the handsomest, the nicest boy I had ever seen—an’ he was, too.”

  “Was it Grandpa?” asked Melissa in a muffled voice from her pillow.

  “Grandpa? Oh my, no. I didn’t meet yer grandpa till many years later. Then I finally learned the truth. Yer grandpa is the smartest and the handsomest and the nicest man I’ve ever seen.”

  Melissa was quiet. Marty let her be.

  “What happened to the other one?” she asked at length, just like Marty had hoped she would.

  “Clifton? Thet was his name, Clifton. Well, Clifton . . . it seemed like he cared more fer another girl than he did me. It nearly broke my heart. Her name was Cherry, and she had long blond hair and big green eyes. She was older’n me—maybe two years. Fact is, she and Clifton were ’bout the same age. She loved to tease. Was worse than a boy ’bout it. At first I thought she really didn’t care fer Clifton at all, jest wanted to flirt with ’im to make me mad. An’ it did make me mad, too, ya can bet it did. But . . . I guess maybe she really did care for Clifton after all. Still . . . I never liked her. In fact, it was a long, long time until I could bring myself to forgive ’er.”

  Marty waited again.

  “So-o,” said Melissa.

  “Well, she married Clifton, Cherry did. I could hardly stand it at first. Jest thinkin’ ’bout it made me angry inside. An’ then one day I did some thinkin’ on it. Me moanin’ around wasn’t gonna git me Clifton. An’ there I was spoilin’ all my growin’-up years a weepin’ over ’im. ‘Now, is he really worth it?’ I asked myself. ‘Is he really worth spoilin’ my life for?’ I decided right then and there thet he wasn’t, an’ I dried my eyes and went on out an’ had me a good time.”

  “And you forg
ave her?”

  “No-o. Not then. Not for many years, in fact. Ya see, I wasn’t a Christian when I was a girl. So I was still foolish enough to carry thet grudge. It wasn’t until I was grown-up and met yer grandpa’s God and became a believer thet I had sense enough to see I didn’t need to forgive Cherry. I needed Cherry to forgive me.”

  “What did she say?” asked Melissa.

  “Say?” queried Marty. “Oh, ya mean when I asked her forgiveness? Well, that’s the sad part. I never got to ask Cherry. I was way out here and Cherry had never left our hometown. I wrote a letter. It came back to me. All it said on the envelope was one word—‘Deceased’ it said, jest like thet, ‘Deceased.”’

  “You mean—?”

  “Cherry died. I found out later that she had died in childbirth. But I’ve always felt sad I wasn’t able to tell her thet I was sorry—to ask her forgiveness. Ya see—I hadn’t been very nice ’bout it all. It really wasn’t Cherry’s fault thet Clifton liked her better’n me.”

  Melissa began to weep again. Marty reached down and gathered the girl in her arms.

  “Oh, Grandma,” she sobbed, “I like him so much.”

  “I know,” said Marty, stroking her hair. “I know.”

  “I don’t think Belinda even likes him,” continued Melissa, sounding exasperated.

  “She likes ’im,” said Marty. “She jest doesn’t like ’im in the same way you do. An’ she feels bad thet he keeps doin’ an’ sayin’ things thet hurt ya.”

  “Did she say that?” asked Melissa, turning swollen eyes to look at Marty.

  “She said thet.”

  “I guess I should talk to her,” Melissa whispered, and a fresh batch of tears started.

  “Thet would be a good idea,” said Marty.

  “Do you . . . do you think she’ll forgive me?” Melissa sobbed.

  “Oh my, yes,” Marty assured her. “But I tell ya what. Before ya go off to have yer talk with Belinda, why don’t ya an’ me jest have us a little talk with God? Ya see, there’s someone else involved here thet we haven’t even talked ’bout.”

  Melissa’s eyes studied the face of her grandmother.

  “Jackson!” went on Marty. “Jackson is in this, too. Now he is a fine young man an’ apparently . . . well . . . sometimes we don’t do a whole lot a choosin’ in ones we love—our heart seems to jest do it fer us—an’ it appears thet fer now, Jackson thinks his heart has chosen Belinda. Time will tell thet, of course. Ya all are very young, an’ sometimes . . . well, sometimes the heart changes its mind again. But, in the meantime . . . well, we don’t want to hurt Jackson, do we?”

  Melissa’s eyes dropped to her hands, twisting her handkerchief round and round. She shook her head. She did not want to hurt Jackson.

  “So we need to pray . . . fer all three of ya. Fer Belinda, fer you . . . an’ fer Jackson. Thet each one of ya might be able to let God help ya with yer choosin’. Ya see, He knows! He knows how things should be for our very best. So iffen we leave it to Him, He can work it all out.”

  Melissa nodded, sniffed, blew her nose on her rumpled hanky, and they knelt down beside her bed together.

  The days that followed were much happier for everyone, and Marty thanked the Lord daily. There were still times when Jackson unintentionally hurt Melissa with his continued interest in Belinda, and Belinda cringed inwardly and subtly tried to divert his attention toward Melissa. But even though Melissa still cried alone in her bedroom once in a while, the tension between the two girls was gone. They could even talk about the situation together, and at times they brought their problem to Marty. It always seemed to help when the three of them prayed together about it.

  TWENTY

  Helping Luke

  Belinda arrived home from school in a rush. From her flushed cheeks and heavy breathing, Marty knew she must have run a good deal of the way. When Marty had first caught sight of her slight figure flying up the lane, her heart had started to pound. Surely something was wrong! But the girl’s first panted words put her mind at ease.

  “Luke stopped by the school,” she gasped out. “He’s goin’ out to change the bandages on the little Willis girl. He said fer me to join ’im there. He might need my help.”

  “Is thet the one with the bad burn?”

  Belinda nodded, still puffing.

  “Ya gonna take the sleigh?” asked Marty.

  “No, I’ll jest ride Copper. Thet’ll be faster.” And Belinda was off up the stairs on the run. Marty knew that as soon as she changed clothes for riding she would be back down.

  Marty grabbed a warm sweater from the clothes hooks by the door and headed for the barn. At least she could saddle the horse and save Belinda that much time.

  Copper, in the corral beside the barn, came when Marty shook the pail containing a small amount of oats. The other horses came, too. It was not a problem for Marty to catch Copper. It was a bit of a problem for her to get rid of the other horses.

  She led Copper into the barn and was almost done saddling him when Belinda appeared, still breathless. Marty wasn’t sure if it was from running or from excitement.

  They led Copper from the barn, and Belinda mounted.

  “Now, mind ya, don’t run ’im too hard,” Marty cautioned her. “Luke won’t be that anxious fer ya to git there.”

  Belinda nodded, called a good-bye, and was off down the lane. It was then Marty remembered that Belinda hadn’t even taken time for a snack, and the youngsters were always hungry when they got home from school. Well, for Belinda, her daily bread seemed to be her nursing.

  Belinda pushed Copper. She was mindful of her mother’s admonition, but she did not want to keep Luke waiting. She had not been there when Luke had first tended the child, but he had explained to her in detail about the burn the little girl had received. He was quite concerned. Besides causing the young child a great deal of pain, Luke was afraid it might become infected and cause permanent damage to the arm. So Luke planned on keeping a very close eye on the girl. This meant a frequent change of bandages—and that was a difficult, painful process. Because of the oozing of the open sores, the bandages stuck—sometimes badly, and they had to be carefully and slowly soaked off. It was important to be patient in the process, both to prevent pain and to cause as little damage as possible to the wound beneath.

  Belinda wasn’t sure what her role would be. She had never been with Luke on a burn case before. Burns made her stomach flip. She had once burned herself when she was a little girl—not bad as burns go. In fact, they hadn’t needed a doctor; her ma had treated it herself. But it had been terribly painful, and Belinda had not been able to use two of her fingers for days. At the time, she wondered if they would ever be useable again. Of course they were. In fact, now Belinda had a hard time remembering which fingers it had been.

  But this burn—according to Luke—this burn would be different. The little girl had spilled hot grease all down one arm. Some had splashed on her chest, too, but those burns weren’t too deep.

  Even as Belinda felt herself drawing back from what lay ahead, she pushed Copper as fast as she dared toward the neighboring farmhouse. Luke needed her. The little girl needed her. They must do all they could to save the use of her arm.

  Luke’s team was already there, tied to the hitching rail out front, when Belinda urged Copper down the lane at a gallop. She hastened to dismount and wrap the reins securely about the rail. If he was not tied carefully, Copper had a bad habit of leaving for home before his rider. Belinda hurried to the house.

  The lady of the home greeted her. Belinda did not know the family well. They did not have school-age children as yet and did not attend their church. Belinda had seen them occasionally at community gatherings or on the street in town. She nodded to the woman now and her eyes searched the room for the patient.

  Luke sat on a couch on one side of the room. A little girl— perhaps three years old—with a big bandage sat on his knee. He was letting her play with his stethoscope. She put the instrument in her ear
s, as she had seen the doctor do, and grinned impishly at him.

  She doesn’t look too bad, thought Belinda. Why, she can even smile! Belinda had expected to encounter screams of pain.

  “Well, here’s my nurse,” Luke announced to both the mother and the little girl. “Guess we’d better get to work, huh?”

  The woman took Belinda’s coat, and Luke sent Belinda to the washbasin in the kitchen to carefully wash her hands. She knew when she had finished, he would also insist on pouring a strongsmelling disinfectant over her hands. She didn’t mind the smell, but the kids at school teased her about it—it stayed with her for days. But Luke always insisted on the thorough cleansing, and Belinda did not even think of arguing about it.

  “Now, Mandie,” Luke said to the little girl, “let’s take a look at that arm of yours.”

  The little girl pulled away. She did not want her arm touched. Instinctively, she knew it would be painful. She could bear the present pain—it still hurt, but it was bearable. But it had been worse. The memory of the pain she had endured made her draw away.

  Luke gently lifted her and placed her on the table to take advantage of all the light he could. The child began to cry. Luke tried to soothe her, but the tears and shrieks only increased.

  Luke turned to the mother.

  “You might want to go for a bit of a walk, ma’am,” he said softly to the woman. Already her eyes were filling with tears. She slipped on a warm coat, lifted the baby from the floor, and wrapped him securely in a blanket.

  “I’ll be at the barn iffen ya need me,” she murmured.

  The door closed gently, and the woman and baby were gone.

  “Now,” said Luke above the cries of the child, “I’d hoped you could keep her attention elsewhere, but that’s not going to work. You’ll have to hold her while I get this bandage off. First, let’s get organized.”

  Luke poured hot water from the kettle on the stove into the basin and added some of his strong-smelling disinfectant. He swished the water round and round, making sure the sides of the basin had been cleansed, then he walked to the door and down the path a few steps to dispose of the water. When he returned, he poured more warm water into the basin and again added disinfectant. With the basin on the table, he laid out sterile pads and all of his instruments. Then he nodded to Belinda, who was holding the child, trying to comfort and assure her.