by Janette Oke
“It’s stuck, all right.”
“Willie LaHaye!” she stormed, “you’re a liar.”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning as the window came effortlessly into place. And there was Missie standing within the circle of Willie’s outstretched arms.
Before Willie could make a further move, Missie ducked down under his arms, then stepped back a pace, her eyes flashing fire. Then she swung on her heel and grabbed her coat.
“Please see that the door is closed when you leave!” she threw over her shoulder and was gone.
That fall Missie had her first caller. She sure didn’t count Willie’s visit to the schoolhouse as one. Marty knew this time in their daughter’s life was bound to come, and soon. But even so, she was unprepared for it when it happened.
Missie had been the youngest member of her small class at the normal school for teachers. Though Missie never said so, she was a popular student, as well. Occasionally since returning home, Missie would refer to this fellow student or that fellow student, but Marty had not had any reason to feel that one was more special than the other. Then one day at the Davis door appeared a tall sandy-haired young man, well groomed and properly mannered. A large, beautiful horse, appearing to have some racing blood, stood tethered at the hitching rail.
“How do you do?” he began. “My name is Grant Thomas. Would Miss Melissa Davis be in please?” His voice was most respectful.
Marty stammered, “Why . . . why, yes . . . she’s in.” She finally found her tongue and her own manners. “Won’t ya come in please?”
“Thank you. And are you Melissa’s mother? She spoke of you often.”
Marty was still flustered. “Thet’s right . . . please step in. I’ll call Missie . . . um . . . Melissa right away.”
Missie seemed pleased to see the young man. Marty watched carefully for signs of more than just gladness at seeing an old school chum.
Grant stayed to share supper with them and proved to be a quiet, intelligent young man. Clark seemed to quite enjoy him, and Marty attempted to send Clark silent warnings that he shouldn’t encourage him too much.
The two young people visited and laughed over the supper table, seeming to thoroughly enjoy each other’s company, which made Marty feel funny little shivers of fear run through her. Missie was so young—only seventeen. Please, please, Lord, I’m not ready to give our Missie up yet, she implored.
Grant told them he planned to ride back into town before nightfall, and Missie saddled Lady and rode part of the way with him.
When she returned, Marty saw her go to the pasture gate to turn Lady loose, brushing and fussing over her before she sent her on her way. When Missie stopped outside at the basin to wash her hands, she looked quite normal enough. She paused on the porch to admire Ellie’s cushion top that the younger girl was making before coming into the kitchen, humming to herself as she often did.
Marty had quickly picked up her knitting and was trying to look and sound normal herself. “This here Grant,” she began, “don’t recall ya sayin’ much ’bout ’im.”
“Not much to say. Let’s see . . .”
Marty could already see Missie’s ploy coming: Throw Ma off with some facts, nonessential facts, but facts, nonetheless.
“He’s three years older than me,” Missie hurried on, “an only child; his ma leads the Ladies’ Aid and his pa’s a doctor. His folks live in a big stone house on Maple Street, I believe it is, only about seven blocks from the normal school. They like to entertain, so they have Grant’s friends—which includes almost everyone—over for tea, or tennis, or whatever.” She finished with a noncommittal smile.
Marty wasn’t to be sidetracked so easily. “What I want to know is, are you one of Grant’s friends?”
“Guess so.”
“Special like?”
“Oh, Ma,” Missie groaned, sinking to a chair nearby, “how do you make a fella understand that you like him fine—but it ends there?”
“Did ya tell ’im?”
“I thought I had done that before.”
“An’ this time?”
“I hope he understands.”
Missie rose with a shrug of her shoulders and moved on to her room. Marty kept her knitting needles clicking. She must remember to speak to the boys and inform them that she wanted to hear no teasing about the young man who had called. She hoped the fellow truly did understand. Poor Grant. But she couldn’t help but feel relieved.
Marty was not to be at peace for long, for Lou Graham asked Clark for permission to call. Marty had no problem with Lou himself, but she still had difficulty accepting the fact that Missie was growing up. Nandry and Clae had both been older when they received their callers and married, and Marty had half hoped Missie would follow their example. Perhaps Missie would have, but several young men seemed to have other ideas.
Lou sat in their parlor now, he and Missie playing checkers. Marty noticed Missie deliberately attempting to lose. Missie was good at checkers and would never, without intention, be caught in the situation she was in now. Lou’s mind didn’t seem to be on the game, however, and he was not taking advantage of the opportunities she was presenting.
Clare, Arnie, and Luke found it most difficult to understand why Lou did not choose to join them in pitching horseshoes as he always had in the past. The three boys were finally sent to bed, still puzzling over the situation.
After checkers, Missie fixed cocoa and sliced some loaf cake. The adults were invited to join the young people at the kitchen table, and they found no difficulty in chatting with young Lou, whom they had known nearly all his life.
Missie walked with Lou to the end of the path from the road and waited as he untied his horse and left for home.
“Will he be back?” Clark asked Missie when she returned to the kitchen.
“I expect so.”
Marty thought her voice lacked enthusiasm.
“Nice boy,” she commented.
“Uh-hum. All the Grahams are nice.”
“Do ya remember when ya were gonna marry Tommie?” Marty asked.
Missie giggled. “Poor Tommie. He must have been embarrassed. I told everybody that—but he never said a word.”
“Well, thet’s all long in the past,” continued Marty. “Tom has his Fran now.”
“And me?”
Marty looked up in surprise.
“That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it, Ma? What about me?”
“All right,” Marty conceded, “what about you?”
“I don’t know,” said Missie, shaking her head. “I think I need lots of time to sort that all out.”
“Nobody’s gonna rush ya,” Clark said, expressing both his and Marty’s feelings.
Lou continued calling. Missie was friendly and a good companion, but Marty noticed she didn’t show the bloom of a girl in love. Which was just fine by her.
THIRTY
Missie’s Discovery
Missie was about to close up the school building when the door opened and Willie once more came in.
“Should I have knocked?” he asked.
“Wouldn’t have hurt.”
“Sorry,” said Willie. “Next time I’ll knock.”
Missie continued to button her coat.
“Come to think of it—guess there won’t be a next time.”
Missie looked up then.
“I really came to sorta say good-bye.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Day after tomorra.”
“You said you weren’t going until summer.”
“I said thet it depended on some things, remember?”
“I . . . I . . . guess so. Is your mother better, then?”
Willie shook his head. “ ’Fraid not. I don’t think Ma will ever be better.” There was sadness in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Missie said softly, then, “How are you going?”
“I’m takin’ the stage out to meet the railroad. The
n I’ll go by rail as far as I can. Iffen I want to go on, I’ll buy me a horse or a team.”
“What are you planning to do once you get there—pan for gold?”
Missie’s slightly mocking tone was probably not missed by Willie, but he chose to ignore it.
“Kinda have my heart set on some good cattle country. Like to git me a good spread and start a herd. I think I’d rather raise cattle than plant crops.”
“Well, good luck.” Missie was surprised that she really meant it, and she was also surprised by how much she meant it.
“Thanks,” said Willie. He paused a moment, then said, “By the way, I have somethin’ fer ya. Sort of an old debt like.”
He put his hand in his pocket and came out with some red hair ribbons.
“Iffen I remember correctly, they were a little redder than these, but these were the reddest red thet I could find.”
“Oh, Willie,” whispered Missie, suddenly wanting to cry. “It didn’t matter. I . . . I don’t even wear these kinds of ribbons anymore.”
“Then save ’em fer yer little girl. Iffen she looks like her mama, she’ll be drivin’ little boys daffy, an’ like as not she’ll have lots of ribbons dipped in an inkwell.”
He turned to go. “Bye, Missie,” he whispered hoarsely.
“The best of everythin’ to ya.”
“Bye, Willie—thank you—and God take care of you.”
Missie wondered later if she had really heard the soft words, “I love ya,” or had only imagined them.
Missie tossed and turned on her pillow that night. She couldn’t understand her own crazy heart. One thing she knew. She’d have to face up to Lou—tell him honestly and finally that she wanted him as a friend but nothing more. But even with that settled, her whirling thoughts and emotions would not let her sleep. She reached beneath her pillow to again finger the red hair ribbons. Crazy Willie LaHaye! Why did he have to trouble her so, and why did the thought of his leaving in two days bring such sorrow to her heart? Was it possible that after all these years of fighting and storming against him, she had somehow fallen in love? Absurd!
But Missie was not able to convince her aching heart.
The news came with the Coffin children at school the next day. Mrs. LaHaye had died during the night. Somehow Missie made it through her teaching duties. Her heart ached for Willie. He had dearly loved his mother. What would he do now? Certainly he would not be able to leave on the stagecoach on the morrow.
If only she had a chance to talk to him, to express her sorrow, and to take back some of the dismissive and sometimes downright unkind things she had said down through the years.
The school day finally drew to a close. Missie announced that due to the bereavement in the community, classes would be canceled for the following day.
That evening Lou came to call. It didn’t seem quite right to Missie that a young man should go courting on the eve of a neighborhood funeral, and her agitation made it easier for her to follow through on her intention of putting a halt to the whole thing. Lou walked to his horse looking rather dejected.
The next day another mound was added to the cemetery by the church. Missie stood with the other mourners, the wind whipping her long coat around her.
When the others went in to be warmed by hot coffee, Missie left the group and walked toward a grove of trees at the far end of the yard.
She was standing there silently, leaning against a tree trunk, when a hand was placed on her elbow. She did not even jump. Perhaps she had been expecting, hoping for him to come.
“Missie?”
She turned. “I’m sorry, Willie—truly sorry about your ma.” Tears slid down her cheeks.
Willie lowered his head to hide his own tears, then brushed them roughly away. “Thank ya,” he said, “but I’m glad—sort of glad—thet I was still here. It could have happened after I’d gone, an’ then—then I’d always have been sorry.”
“Are you still going?”
Willie looked surprised at her question.
“Well, you said it depended on your mother, and I didn’t know how you meant—”
“I didn’t say thet—entirely. I said it depended on other things, too.”
“On what?” The question was asked before Missie could check herself.
For a moment there was silence; then Willie said with difficulty, “On you, Missie—on you an’ Lou. Guess ya know how I’ve always felt ’bout ya. An’ now thet you an’ Lou are . . . well . . . friends, there’s nothin’ much fer me to hang ’round here fer.”
“But Lou and I aren’t . . . aren’t . . .”
“He’s been callin’ regular like.”
“But it’s over. There was never much to it—only friendship, and last night I . . . I asked Lou not to call again.”
“Really? Really, Missie?”
“Really.”
Another silence. Willie swallowed hard. “Would there be a chance . . . any chance thet I could . . . thet I could call?”
“You’re crazy, Willie LaHaye,” said Missie, laughing and cying as she reached up and put her arms around his neck. “Are you ever going to grow up?”
Willie looked deeply into her eyes, and he must have seen there the love he had hardly dared to hope for. He pulled her close in a tender embrace. Willie LaHaye grew up in a hurry.
THIRTY-ONE
Christmas Surprises
True to Clark’s promise, the new house was ready before Christmas. The moving in was a big job, and on one of her many trips between the new and the old house, Marty told Clark she sure didn’t want to do this again anytime soon. But once all the furnishings had been moved over and set in place, the new curtains hung, and everyone settled in their own rooms, Marty was well satisfied. Marty and Clark sat at the breakfast table with the first cups of coffee in their new place and thanked the Lord for His blessing on them and their family over the years.
“Well, the coffee is as good as ever. Sure relieved ’bout thet.” Clark joked as he rose to go out to the barn.
Willie LaHaye was a frequent guest at the Davis’s new home, and Marty and Clark both appreciated him. If they had to give up their Missie, they were glad it looked like it would be to such a fine young man.
But on Christmas Eve, Willie unintentionally broke into their sense of comfort and acceptance of the courtship. It was during a casual conversation with the men of the house. Nandry’s Josh had been telling of his plans to get a better grade animal for his pig lot, and Willie stated this was the direction he wished to go—starting with a few really good cattle and gradually building his herd. But first he’d have to choose just the right land for the project. He hoped in the spring of the new year to leave on a scouting trip and take plenty of time in picking his homestead. After he had secured it, he would return for Missie.
Clark went very still and Marty’s head swung around.
“Yer not plannin’ on farmin’ ’round here?” Clark finally asked.
“I’m not plannin’ on farmin’ at all,” Willie answered. “Got me a real hankerin’ to do some ranchin’ instead.”
“How far . . . how far away ya think ya have to go to find good ranch land at an affordable price?” Marty asked hesitantly.
“Few hundred miles, anyway.”
Marty felt weakness go all through her. Willie was heading farther west. Willie was also planning to marry her Missie. Oh, dear God, she mourned inwardly. He’s plannin’ on takin’ Missie out west.
She slipped quietly out to the kitchen, hoping no one had noticed her leave. She walked into the coolness of the pantry and leaned her head against a cupboard door.
“Oh, dear Lord,” she prayed again, mouthing the words through lips that trembled. “Please help ’im git this silly notion out of his head.” Her head came up at a sudden thought. I wonder, does Missie even know ’bout it?
But Missie had followed her into the pantry. “Mama,” she said, laying a hand on Marty’s arm. “Mama, are you feeling all right?”
“I’m
fine—fine,” Marty assured her, straightening up.
“Is it . . . what Willie said?”
“Well, I will admit it was some kind of shock. I had no notion he had such plans.”
“I should have told you sooner—” “Then ya knew?”
“Of course. Willie talked about it even before . . . before we made any plans.”
“I see.”
“I should have told you,” Missie said again. “I suppose Willie thought I had.”
“It’s all right, Missie.”
“It’s . . . it’s kind of hard for you, isn’t it, Mama?”
“Yeah . . . yeah, I guess it is.” Marty tried to keep her voice from shaking.
“I suppose,” said Missie carefully, “that you feel kinda like your own mama felt when you planned to leave with Clem.”
Now, ya listen here, Marty wanted to admonish, you’re bein’ unfair, throwin’ thet up to me. But after a moment she said instead, “Yes, I guess it is.”
For the first time, Marty thought about her own mother’s feelings and recognized why it had been so difficult for her own family to accept her leaving.
“Yeah,” she said again, “I guess this is how she felt.”
“But you loved Clem,” prompted Missie, “and you knew you had to go.”
“Yes. I loved him.”
Missie put her arms around Marty and gave her a squeeze. “Oh, Mama, I love Willie so much. We’ve prayed about this together. We can go on farther west. We can open up a new land together. We can build a school, a church, can make a community prosper and grow. Don’t you see it, Mama?”
Marty held her little girl close. “ ’Course I see it. ’Course. It’s jest gonna take some gittin’ used to, thet’s all. You go on back, now. Me, I’m gonna catch me a little air.”
Missie looked a bit reluctant, but she turned back to the laughter coming from the family sitting room.
Marty wrapped a warm shawl closely about her shoulders and stepped out into the crisp night air.
The sky was clear and the cold emphasized the brightness of the stars above her. Marty turned her face heavenward.
“God,” she said aloud, “she’s yer child. We have long since given her back to you, Clark and me. Ya know how I feel ’bout her leavin’, but iffen it’s in yer plan, help me, Father . . . help me to accept it an’ to let her go. Lead her, God, an’ take care of her . . . take care of our little girl.”
