by Janette Oke
“Can ya ’magine thet!” Ma was still marveling about it all. “Never even really got to know the boy ’til the last few weeks. He’s right nice—even if he don’t have much to say.”
Marty chuckled. “Don’t s’pose the poor fellow ever had much of a chance to develop his talkin’. He sure oughta have first-rate ears, though—iffen they’re not already worn out.”
Ma smiled her understanding. “Yeah, Mrs. Vickers can talk ’nough fer a crowd.”
“When’s the weddin’ to be?”
“Most as soon as thet new parson gits here. Prob’ly April.”
Marty smiled and nodded. “Well, thet’s really nice. I’m so happy fer ’em both.”
Ma agreed. “Nellie been a right fine girl. I’m gonna miss her, but she’s all excited like with the plans fer a place of her own.”
“She’ll make Shem a fine little wife, I’m sure of thet.”
Marty passed Ma the cookies and then asked carefully, “Ma, have Ben and you talked over ’bout Tommie yet?”
Ma nodded, the smile fading some from her face. “Yeah, we talked ’bout it. Then we talked to Tom, too. Ben, he don’t seem too upset ’bout it. Oh, he was at first, but then he sorta jest seemed to think—what’ll be, will be. But I sure don’t want Tommie hurt—nor the girl, either, fer thet matter. Oh, I wisht it were all jest a dream an’ I’d wake up and it’d all be over.”
Ma sat shaking her head, her eyes downcast.
“I’m sure thet it will work out,” said Marty, trying to sound confident. “Tommie’s a smart boy. Iffen it’s not gonna work, he’ll know it.”
“Tommie is too far gone to see anything,” Ma replied. “Never saw a young man so dew struck. Tommie wants to bring her to the house to meet Ben and me.”
“Why shouldn’t he?” Marty blurted out, then wondered if Ma would take offense.
“I don’t know, Marty,” Ma answered slowly. “Seems iffen we say he can, we sorta be puttin’ our blessin’ on . . . on the other, too. An’ the other young’uns—sure thing they wouldn’t be able to keep it quiet like, either—babble it ’round the school an’ all. The whole area would know ’bout it. It’s jest not a good idea—not good at all.”
Marty ached for Ma in her uncertainties, but she also felt deep concern for Tommie. There just didn’t seem to be any way through the situation without someone getting hurt—and maybe more than one.
“Ma, I think I’d like to have a chat with Tom again,” Marty finally said. “Could ya send him on over when he’s got a minute?”
“Sure—guess chattin’ won’t hurt nothin’—might even help some.”
“Tell ya what,” said Marty. “I’ll send along a note with ya. Fer Tom. Thet be okay?”
Ma looked surprised but quickly agreed.
“It’ll jest take a minute,” said Marty, pouring Ma another cup of coffee as she spoke. “Ya jest enjoy yer coffee an’ I’ll be right back.”
She went to the bedroom and found a sheet of paper and a pencil.
“Dear Tom,” she wrote. “I think it would be good if you could bring Owahteeka to see me. Come next Wednesday, if you can. Your friend, Marty.”
Carefully she folded the sheet and returned to the kitchen. Ma tucked the note into a pocket and made no comment. Marty knew the short letter would be handed over to Tom.
NINETEEN
School and Visits
The afternoon sun seemed weak as it shone listlessly on the winter snow. A biting wind had arisen, and Marty fretted over Missie and Clae tramping home from school in the cold.
She kept glancing nervously out the window for the two figures to appear, worried with a mother’s heart that the cold might somehow detain them or return them home with frostbite.
When the two girls finally came into view, they looked cheerful and nonchalant, chattering together and not seeming to be in much of a hurry to get in out of the weather.
Marty met them at the door. “Aren’t ya near froze?” she asked.
Missie looked at her with surprise, glanced around, then nodded with, “Sure is cold out.”
“I know. I was worried.”
“’Bout what?”
“’Bout you—an’ Clae—comin’ home in the wind.”
“We’re all right, Mama.”
She shrugged out of her coat and had to be reminded to hang it on its peg.
“Here,” Marty said, “I’ve heated some milk. Best warm yer-selves up a bit.”
The girls accepted the warm milk and the slice of cake that went with it.
“It was cold in school today, too,” offered Clae.
“Yeah,” teased Missie, “Nathan gave Clae his sweater to keep warm.”
Clae flushed. “Oh yeah—well, Willie loves you.”
“Does not,” Missie responded heatedly. “I hate thet Willie LaHaye.”
“Well, he don’t hate you.”
“Does too. We hate each other—him and me,” Missie declared with some finality but sounding rather too comfortable with “him and me” in spite of her words.
“I don’t think we should talk about hating each other,” Marty murmured. Neither girl responded, and she decided another time was better for pursuing that lesson.
Next it appeared that Clae was changing the subject, but to Marty’s dismay it turned out to be the same old one.
“Know what?” Clae announced. “Today we had honor time fer the two—boy an’ girl—who got the best marks in sums and in spellin’. An’ guess who got honored—had to go up front an’ stand?” Marty noticed that Missie was shooting daggers at Clae with her eyes, but Clae ignored her and went on, “Had to stand right up there while everybody clapped. Guess who? Missie and Willie.”
She gleefully clapped her hands together in demonstration and repeated, “Missie and Willie.”
“I’m proud, Missie, thet ya got top marks,” Marty interrupted, hoping to divert the conversation.
“Missie and Willie,” Clae said again. “Bet ya get married when ya grow up.”
“We will not.” Missie bounded off her chair, spilling the remainder of her milk. “I’m gonna marry Tommie, Clae Larson, an’ don’t ya fergit it.” She was in tears now, and as a final vent to her anger she reached for a handful of Clae’s hair and yanked hard before she ran off to her room.
Now of course Clae was angry, but Marty’s intervention was too late to stop the girl’s initial indignant outburst. She tried to calm Clae, at the same time admonishing her not to tease Missie so much, reminding Clae that as the elder it was her responsibility to keep quarrels from starting but assuring her that Missie was wrong to pull her hair. Marty wiped up the spilled milk and went to talk to her daughter.
Missie was hard to convince that the hair pulling was not in order—a just dessert for Clae’s teasing. Marty firmly informed her that it was not to happen again. The most difficult part of the talk came when Marty explained, as gently as she knew how, that Tommie was a man full grown and he might have other ideas as to whom he wished to marry. This was hard for Missie to comprehend. Tommie had always been her “best friend,” she said, her voice trembling.
“I know,” said Marty, “but best friends don’t always grow up and git married. ’Specially when one is a grown man already and the other a little girl.”
“Then I’ll never, ever marry anyone,” Missie vowed, “not iffen I can’t marry Tommie.”
Marty smoothed her hair and said she supposed that would be fine—but if Missie ever changed her mind, that was all right, too.
Missie finally wiped away the last of her tears and at her mother’s bidding went to offer her apology to Clae. Within minutes the two were chattering away again as if nothing had happened.
When Wednesday arrived Tom appeared at Marty’s door. At her invitation to come in, Tom asked, “Would ya mind comin’ out,” he asked, “back to the spring? We’d rather see ya private like.”
Clark was away, Ellie sound asleep, and Nandry had Clare and Arnie occupied, so Marty bundled up against the c
old and followed Tom outside. The air was crisp but still, so the cold was not penetrating.
Marty and Tom moved along the path to the spring without speaking. Marty wondered just what to expect. What would the girl at the other end of the trail be like?
As she approached the appointed spot, a slender figure clad in beaded buckskins turned to meet her, a long, shining black braid over one shoulder.
She’s beautiful, was Marty’s first thought as she looked from the dark eyes to the sensitive face. The girl’s lips were slightly parted, and she stood there silently, no doubt taking Marty’s measure even as Marty tried in a moment’s time to measure her.
“Owahteeka,” said Marty softly. It was not difficult to smile and reach out a hand. “I’m right glad to meet ya.”
“And I,” the Indian lass spoke carefully, “I am happy to meet you . . . Marty. Tom has told me much about you.”
Marty’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Ya speak English—very well.”
“I went to a mission school when my mother still lived,” she explained, showing little emotion about the matter.
“An’ yer father—?”
“Is gone. I now live only with my grandfather. He did not wish me to continue in the mission school.”
“I see.”
Tom had moved over beside Owahteeka. His face shone with love and with some relief.
“Has Tommie met yer grandfather?”
“Oh no,” she said quickly. “He must not.”
“I’d like to,” Tom interjected. “I’d like to talk to the old man, tell ’im—”
“He does not speak nor understand the white man’s tongue,” Owahteeka broke in.
“Well, then,” said Tom, “at least I could shake his hand—could smile. And you could interpret—” “No.” Owahteeka shook her head firmly. “You must not. My grandfather—he would not wish to meet you.”
“But Marty has met you. She’s white an’—” Owahteeka’s dark eyes flashed. “The white lady did not lose her sons and grandsons to Indian arrows as my grandfather lost his to the white man’s bullets.”
Marty stepped forward and placed her hand on the young girl’s arm. “We understand,” she said softly. “I’m sure Tom will not try to see yer grandfather—not now, anyway. But can . . . can you always hide your love?” She waved a hand to include the two young people. “Can ya hide it from yer grandfather?”
“My grandfather is very old,” said Owahteeka softly. “He is very old and weak. He will soon go to his fathers—he will not notice. There is no need to tell him.”
“I see.” As silence followed, Marty fumbled for the right words and finally just blurted it out. “An’ you, Owahteeka, do you wish to . . . to marry Tommie?”
“Oh yes.” The dark eyes softened as Owahteeka looked at the young man beside her. Tommie’s arm encircled her waist. Who could deny the love that passed between them?
Marty swallowed a lump in her throat and turned to walk away a few paces. She came back slowly again. Her heart ached for the young people before her—of different culture, of different heritage, of different religions, of different skin color. Why had this happened? Why did they make it so difficult for themselves? What could she say or do?
She finally found her voice. “Owahteeka, I think I understand why you and Tommie love each other. You’re a lovely, sensitive girl, an’ ya probably know what I think about Tommie.” She looked away a moment. “I . . . I wish I could feel thet . . . thet life will treat ya both kindly iffen ya marry. I don’t know. I really don’t know.”
Marty looked again into the perceptive eyes of the girl before her. “But this I want ya to always know. Ya can count on me fer a friend.”
“Thank you,” whispered Owahteeka. Marty stepped forward and embraced the girl, looked deep into Tommie’s eyes, and turned back toward the path to the house.
Tears fell down her cheeks as she walked. Her mind and heart swirled with contrasting emotions. She cared deeply about Tommy and now Owahteeka.
But if it hadn’t been for Ma Graham with her staunch faith and her wealth of life experience from which to draw, would she herself have made it? Was it her responsibility now to offer consolation and counsel to the older woman? She didn’t know if it was her place to interfere. But before she reached the house, she had decided. She wouldn’t try to persuade Ma that this marriage was the right thing, but she would try to make Ma see that Tommie’s mind was not going to be changed either by trying to talk him out of it or by resisting it.
TWENTY
Bits ’n Pieces
When Clark went to town the following Saturday, he returned with the sobering news that Mrs. McDonald was gravely ill. The doc, who had been faithfully attending her, reported her problem as a severe stroke. One side was paralyzed, her speech was gone, and she was confined to her bed in serious condition. Hope for her recovery was slim.
Mrs. Nettles and Widow Gray, from town, took turns with Mr. McDonald in round-the-clock nursing. The store was put up for sale.
Marty felt sick at heart upon hearing the news. She had never particularly liked Mrs. McDonald, and the news of her illness filled her with feelings of guilt and self-reproach.
Maybe iffen I’d really tried, she told herself, maybe I could have found a lovable woman behind the pryin’ eyes and probin’ tongue.
But there was little inward relief to her in the “maybes.”
“God,” she prayed when she had a quiet moment, “please forgive me. I’ve been wrong. Help me in the future to see good in all people. To mine it out iffen it seems buried deep. An’ help me to love even ones where I can’t discover some good.”
She sent a roast and a pie along with her condolences to Mr. McDonald. That was about all she could do, though it certainly wouldn’t make amends for the past.
Nellie’s wedding plans were progressing favorably. Shem Vickers had found his tongue and was talking more than probably he had done in all his previous years. He seemed to take great pleasure in spreading the word that he was soon to be a groom.
Mr. Wilbur Whittle was also making progress with his courtship, but he had given up his hope of being the first one to escort his bride to the altar when the new preacher arrived. He still hadn’t solved the problem of where to live, therefore had withheld asking the fateful question. Tessie, not understanding what was holding him back, was becoming rather impatient.
Mr. Whittle finally dared to approach the committee that served as the school board, requesting that a residence be built at the school site. He supplied them with a list of the reasons why such a move would be advantageous.
He would be there to watch the fire in the winter.
He would be available should a student require his services apart from school hours.
It would mean less time spent on the road, and he was able to list several other worthy grounds for his request.
None of the reasons he gave was the real one, but the board, after some consideration, decided that a resident teacher would not be a bad idea and voted to take out logs over the next winter to construct a modest but adequate teacherage come the spring.
It was a step in the right direction, but it seemed rather far in the future. Mr. Whittle had hoped for action a bit sooner.
He deemed it wise, for the time, to hold his tongue as far as his intention toward Miss Tessie LaHaye.
And so the matter lay. Tessie didn’t exactly give up—but she did do a considerable amount of complaining to her poor mother.
Marty bundled Ellie against the spring wind and set off for the Grahams’. She felt the time had come to have her discussion with Ma.
With Missie and Clae off to school, Nandry would be keeping Clare and Arnie at home. She should get out more, Marty worried to herself. She’s getting to be a real loner. But the company of the two small children seemed to be enough for the withdrawn young woman.
With a large family usually swarming through the Graham house, it seemed awfully quiet today. The youngsters w
ere off to school and Tom was out working around the farm buildings, so only Nellie was left to keep Ma company during the day. Ma quickly laid aside the towels she was hand-stitching and came to take wee Ellie from Marty and unwrap her, exclaiming over her “darlin’ little face, that soft-as-cream skin.”
Ma looked up from Ellie to ask, “Did ya know thet Sally Anne be expectin’ another—not till fall. This time Jason is hopin’ fer a boy, though he sure wouldn’t trade thet Elizabeth Anne fer an army of boys.”
Marty smiled at the good news of an addition to the family. “How’s Sally Anne keepin’?” she asked.
“Fine. She’s busy as can be carin’ fer Jason and thet girl of theirs.”
Nellie had taken little Ellie as soon as her mother would give her up. After a bit she laid the baby in a cradle kept for little visitors—one small granddaughter in particular—and went to put on the coffee.
Marty oohed and aahed over all the household items Nellie already had prepared for her new home. Ma was piecing another quilt. Marty asked Ma who was anticipating the coming wedding the most—Nellie or her mother. They both laughed; enough of an answer, Marty felt.
The coffee was ready, and each of the three took up her sewing and prepared to visit.
They shared news from the neighborhood, expressed their concern for the McDonalds, and discussed in detail Nellie’s coming wedding.
When there was a pause in the conversation, Marty brought up the subject she had really come to discuss. “Tommie came last week—like I asked him to.”
Ma nodded. “Yeah, he said he’d seen ya.”
“Did he also say he’d brought a friend?”
“No, he did not.” Ma had stopped her sewing and was watching Marty.
“He brought . . . he brought Owahteeka with him.”
Ma went even more still, and Nellie’s needle also stopped.
“I asked ’im to,” Marty hurried on. “I felt thet somebody should meet her an’ get to know jest what kind of a girl she is. I knew it was awkward like fer her to come here, but it wouldn’t be a problem jest comin’ to my place.”
