by Janette Oke
The reverend seemed to agree with the plans, though he did not show any particular enthusiasm. He was quick to inform the group of the great number of hours needed in his study for the purpose of preparing himself for his Sunday sermon. The clear message was that it was fine with him as long as he was not called upon for some such task as log cutting.
So be it, the planners concluded. After the crops had been harvested and the fall work completed, the menfolk took to the wooded hills. Their family’s wood supply had to be secured first, and they were in a hurry to complete the task so they could start tallying up the logs for the new church.
As the winter wore on, each day that was fit for man and beast to be out carried the sharp sound of axes and the crashing of large timbers. Gradually the piles of logs at the site grew, and Clark, who was keeping the tally and overseeing the peeling, reported to Marty the steady progress they were making.
With the spring thaw, large piles of naked, steaming logs lay in the warm spring sun. A day in May was set aside for the church raising. Because it was special and larger than most of the buildings they had erected, the men knew the church would take more than one day to see completion, but the first day would give them a sense of direction, the raw outline with which to work.
The community met on the appointed day, and the men set to work, grouping rather naturally into teams for the various endeavors required to put up their meetinghouse. The women chatted and cooked and chased hungry children out of the food set aside for dinner. By evening as the farmers headed for home to their waiting chores, the walls of the church stood stout and strong. Those who could take the time agreed to come the next day to work again on the building. The important things now were to get the roof on, the windows in, and the door hung. The finishing on the inside would be done throughout the spring and summer as men could spare the time.
By fall their church stood tall, even bearing a spire pointing one and all to heaven. “Only a bell is lacking,” noted some who remembered such traditions back east.
To the east of the church a cemetery was carefully staked out. As she watched the men plotting the area, Marty wondered if any others carried the same question in their hearts: Who would be the first to be laid to rest there?
She tried to brush it aside, but in spite of herself her eyes traveled over her neighbors. She loved them. She did not want to lose any of them. Then she caught sight of her own family, and she found herself choking up a bit.
I’m bein’ silly, she scolded herself. Our lives are all in God’s hands. He’ll do the choosin’.
She went to join Clark, who was attempting to hold a squirming Ellie as she tried to get down to run with the rest of the small fry. Yes, Lord, Marty prayed silently as she watched the toddler go after a ball that came her way, we’re all in your care. We’ll do our best to be careful and wise, but you are the one who’s watchin’ over us all.
The dedication of the new church would take place on the first Sunday in October. They all decided they’d make a real celebration of it and bring in a potluck meal.
When the great day arrived, the wind was blowing and the sky was overcast, making the day less favorable than desired, but Marty was thankful that at least there was no rain falling.
She packed with care the food she had prepared and made sure her family was warmly clothed against the weather. As usual, Arnie was hard to corner long enough to be sure he was properly buttoned with cap firmly on his head. “I ain’t cold,” he muttered as they went to the wagon for the trip to the church.
A larger-than-usual crowd poured into the churchyard, full of great expectation. They now had a church in which to worship.
The congregation enjoyed singing the familiar hymns. By now they also knew some of the new songs the reverend had brought with him.
The prayer was long and elaborate. Marty found herself praying her own more simple one that met the need of her own heart.
Then began the dedication service for the new building. Clark, Ben, and Mr. Watley each had a part. Marty thought it was beautiful, and her heart swelled with pride as she watched Clark participate.
Now ya watch yer pa, her expression said to their youngsters sitting on either side. See how straight he stands—how steady his voice—how proud he is to be a part of God’s people. Watch yer pa. They seemed to catch her meaning, and even little Ellie sat silent on her mother’s lap, earnest eyes fastened on Clark’s face.
Oh, dear God, make it special. Make it a time for feedin’ our souls, Marty prayed when the sermon began. But the dear reverend hadn’t gone far into the message before she realized she was going to again be disappointed. She settled back to hear out the sermon with at least attentiveness if not with understanding.
The reverend must have felt the sermon on such a splendid occasion also should be special, so he had prepared an extra long one.
Children were beginning to fidget, and Marty couldn’t help but feel that some fathers probably felt a bit envious of the mothers who got to take them into the new crying room.
At last the sermon ended, and the congregation stood for the closing hymn. The people filed from the building—the men to gather in small clusters, the children to stretch muscles cramped from so long a time unused, and the women to put out the noonday meal.
In spite of the long service and the unfriendly weather, it turned out to be a very pleasant time spent together. As true among friends, there was frequent good-natured banter, babies were passed around and exclaimed over, news from town and community was exchanged. It was a good day.
A short note had arrived from Tommie. It was the third time the Davises had heard from him. With each letter Marty breathed a prayer of thanks that he was still safe. This letter told them he was doing fine. He planned to stay where he was for the winter—working in a lumber mill. Thought he would push on farther west come spring. Maybe even to the coast. Hadn’t had himself a look at the ocean yet. He sent his love.
The envelope showed no return address, and even the postage stamp was blurred, so they were none the wiser as to his whereabouts. Marty had hoped to respond in writing, letting him know they wished him well and hoped he would soon be returning home.
Marty read the letter aloud at mealtime with their family around the table. Clark had already read it previously, but she could tell he was listening carefully as she read it again. She could see his relief and his care for the young lad in his expression.
The long months since Tom had left had erased much of the sorrow from young Missie’s heart. She now seemed to think little about the young man who was suddenly gone from her life—the one she had childishly pledged herself to marry.
Marty looked with interest about the table at each of them. Actually, they all had changed during the time since Tom had left. She supposed he had changed, too.
Nandry, now a young lady, was still quiet, though always industrious. Marty had eventually given up attempts to get close to the reserved girl and accepted her as she was. Bless her heart, thought Marty, in her own way she’s fit into our family. A small smile touched her lips as she silently noted, She’s been worth her keep an’ thet ten dollars over and over again.
Marty was well aware that Nandry would likely be moving along into adulthood and her own home before long. At least two of the neighborhood boys were busy studying the girl, Marty had seen. And, Marty observed, Nandry’s cheeks flushed and an unusual twinkle sparkled in her eye at the attention.
Clae, too, was almost a young lady. She was nearing the completion of her education in the one-room school but not anywhere near the end of her hunger for knowledge. Marty and Clark had lain in bed nights quietly discussing her future. Her burning desire was to become a teacher, and Clark felt that even though many dollars would be involved, Clae should be given the opportunity. She would have to go away to continue her education and get her teaching certificate. As much as Marty yearned for Clae’s happiness, she dreaded the thought of her leaving them.
Missie was eleven no
w—still a bundle of energy that was one minute a little girl and the next minute stretching toward womanhood. She loved school; in fact, Missie welcomed each new venture whether at home, on the farm, or in the classroom. She still did not like Willie LaHaye, she announced occasionally.
Clare, at nine, was a bright boy who still preferred doing to learning, though there was nothing wrong with his ability in either area. He still mimicked Clark and watched carefully to see how his pa handled situations.
So it’s been more’n nine years, Marty continued her musings, since Clark rescued me at the side of a broken-down wagon and a fresh-dug grave. . . . But she didn’t linger long with those memories. She could feel Clark’s eyes watching her, and she turned to look at him and share a smile across the table. He still insisted “if there was any rescuin’ to be doin’, it was Missie and me that needed it.”
Marty now turned back quickly to snatch Arnie’s cup of milk from the edge of disaster. At almost six, he was their outgoing and very busy little boy, and scrapes of various kinds seemed to follow him around. He was going to be allowed to attend school this fall, which Marty was anticipating with mixed emotions.
Three-year-old Ellie was a small bundle of brightness in everybody’s life. Happy and playful, she darted among them like a small butterfly, enriching the lives of all she touched.
In the family cradle rested new Baby Luke. More than once Marty had sincerely thanked God for Nandry’s help since the arrival of little Luke, for unlike her others, this baby was a fussy one, demanding attention just at the time when a mother was the busiest. Nandry did her best to comfort the cranky infant.
My family, thought Marty, once more looking round the table. My strange, wonderful family. Lest she become teary-eyed with emotion just thinking of each one, she herded her thoughts back to safer ground and went on with her meal.
“Saw Cam today,” Clark said between mouthfuls of food.
“Did ya?”
“He had Rett with ’im. Do ya know thet thet boy can already handle a team? Should’ve seen Cam. Proud as punch. Says Rett’s gonna be the best horseman in these here parts. Might just be, too. Seems to be a natural with animals.”
“Isn’t thet somethin’.” Marty marveled at the good news.
“Cam says he wouldn’t be none surprised to see thet lad take ’im on the tamin’ of even a bear. Never says a word, but he seems to make the animals understand ’im.
“Mr. Cassidy at the store says Cam never comes to town but he brings Rett either on the wagon beside ’im or up in front of ’im in the saddle.”
Clark seemed to be deep in thought for a moment. “Funny thing,” he then said, “Cam’s changed. Watchin’ ’im move about town with his son, I noticed a thoughtfulness ’bout ’im. He ain’t thinkin’ jest on Cam Marshall no more. I think others note it, too. Seem to have new respect fer ’im someway. Thought as I watched ’im leavin’ town with thet boy up there beside ’im handlin’ the reins, ‘There goes a real man.’ ”
Marty nodded, her eyes misting over a bit, but mostly her thoughts were of Wanda and the happiness she would feel in having given Cam a son he could love and proudly bring with him to town in spite of his difficulties.
“Did ya happen to see Mr. McDonald when you were in town?” she asked. Mrs. McDonald had passed away two years previously, having never recovered from her stroke. Mr. McDonald had decided after her funeral to sell the store to Mr. Cassidy and return east, but time had brought him back to the area.
“Yeah. Saw ’im sittin’ on the bench out in front of the store with Ole Tom and Jake Feidler. Didn’t talk to ’im much more’n a howdy.”
“How’d he seem?”
“Pretty good. I think he be right glad to be back. He jest didn’t feel to home there,” Clark went on to explain. Mr. McDonald had taken a room at Mrs. Keller’s boardinghouse and now spent his days chatting, whittling, and spitting tobacco juice out in front of his old store. Mr. Cassidy didn’t seem to mind, though Mrs. Cassidy was probably tired of scrubbing the steps.
Marty fleetingly wondered what it would be like to return east after having been away so long. Her own pa was gone now, and her ma lived alone. They kept in touch, though mail delivery meant the letters they exchanged were sometimes far between. Marty did try to keep her posted on each new grandchild and to send her greetings at Christmastime.
No, she was sure she wouldn’t feel at home back east anymore, either.
She gently but firmly moved Arnie’s fingers away from the butter and gave him a piece of buttered bread. The years had brought so many changes—most of them good ones, she decided.
Young Josh Coffins was the first to show serious intentions toward Nandry. Marty knew it was bound to come, and she welcomed it and despaired over it at the same time. She knew Nandry longed for a home and family of her own, yet the Davis family would have a large hole in it without her. Marty and Ma Graham had some long chats about these kinds of changes in a family and how to set one’s heart and mind on the good.
Josh approached Clark after church one Sunday to ask permission to call.
“Sure thing, Josh,” Clark said, clapping the young man on the shoulder, “I’d be most happy to have ya drop by to see me. Reckon we could have us a quiet talk—maybe out in the barn where we’d not be interrupted by small fry and women.” Clark did enjoy his teasing.
Josh reddened and stammered as he tried to explain that wasn’t really what he had in mind. Clark laughed and once more good-naturedly slapped him on the back, and Josh realized that he’d been “had.”
Josh laughed at the joke on himself, and he appeared to feel good that this respected man of the community would take time to joke around with him.
“Yer welcome to come,” Clark said more seriously, “an’ I promise not to be holdin’ ya at the barn.”
Josh grinned, muttered his thanks, and walked away. Marty lingered nearby, furtively watching his approach to Nandry. He came up to her as she sat on the church steps, several youngsters around her. Baby Luke was on her lap, pointing out horses and wagons with his usual “Wha’ dat?”
Josh leaned over the handrail. Nandry looked up, and the color of her face deepened.
“Been talkin’ to Clark,” Marty could hear him say. It had always been “Mr. Davis” till now, but the way had been cleared for a new relationship.
Nandry’s eyes widened at his words.
“He says it’s fine with ’im if I come callin’.”
Nandry’s color deepened still more, but she said nothing.
“Is it all right with you?” There, the question was out. The ball was now handed to Nandry. There was no way she could pretend not to understand his meaning. She flushed a deep red and studied the child on her lap. Minutes ticked by. It no doubt seemed an eternity to Josh, who stood waiting, heart pounding and hands sweating. Marty certainly hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, but now she could not move away without drawing attention to herself. She held her breath. What would Nandry say?
“I reckon” finally came the soft answer, and Josh’s face broke into a relieved grin.
“Thanks,” he said to Nandry, sounding surprisingly calm. “Thanks. Next Wednesday, then. I’ll be lookin’ forward to it,” and then he was gone, probably suppressing the urge to run and leap over the nearby pump.
Nandry buried her blushing face against the small Luke. Later that day she was surprisingly forthcoming with Marty, and she said she’d been hoping it would be Josh. She had noticed Willis Aitkins looking at her, too, but she really favored Josh.
“He isn’t even waitin’ for Saturday,” she noted to Marty with wonder in her voice. Usually when young folks started to keep company, the calls were made on Saturday night. Only the very serious called on both Saturday and Wednesday.
Nandry was watching Marty’s face very carefully, her eyes begging for Marty’s approval.
Marty put her arms around the young woman, noting with a pang that they were now the same height. “Oh, Nandry,” she said, “I am happy
for you, and I’m sad for me.”
Nandry hugged her back with genuine warmth, then turned quickly away in embarrassment to swing small Luke up in her arms and hold him so closely he squirmed in protest.
“Oh, Lukey.” Marty knew Nandry called him that only when she felt especially affectionate. “How can one feel so happy, an’ sad, an’ excited, an’ scared all at one time?”
Luke didn’t understand the question, but he reached out his little hand to touch the tear that lay glistening on her cheek.
TWENTY-FOUR
Christmas
As Marty made preparations for the coming Christmas, she felt this would be a very special celebration. As much as she appreciated this time of year, never before had Marty felt such anticipation.
Baby Luke, a happy child, scurried about, having outgrown his early colicky fussiness. Ellie was still their bright butterfly, but now small bits of her boundless energy were being channeled into productive and helpful activities. Arnie, Clare, and Missie would enjoy the holiday from school and were already making plans for sliding on the creek’s frozen surface and sledding down its banks. But the most important item adding to the extra excitement was that Clae would be home—Clae, their young teacher-in-the-making. Marty could hardly wait till she arrived, and she could tell that Nandry also was anticipating seeing her sister again.
Clae’s letters from normal school were filled with excitement about what she was learning, who she was meeting, but most important, how much she was missing them all.
Marty fussed over all Clae’s favorite dishes, made sure Nandry had their shared room prepared, and encouraged the younger children to feel the same excitement she felt. There would be a new face at their Christmas table, as well. Josh Coffins, Nandry’s promised, would be joining them. Marty shared in the joy of the young couple along with dismay at the thought of losing her Nandry.
