Love's Abiding Joy

by Janette Oke

  As he felt and slipped his way down the left tunnel, he prayed that he might get to Abe before the whole mine collapsed. The dust still hung heavily in the air, but Clark didn’t think it was any worse than before. It appeared there had been no further cave-ins.

  He came to the last steep slide and let himself down carefully, trying hard not to disturb any more of the rock around him. At the bottom, he dropped on all fours and felt his way forward to where he had left Abe. In the darkness he found the outstretched arm and the near-buried face, and he began to dig methodically, painstakingly, lifting away the debris from around him. It was slow work. Some of the rocks that buried the boy were boulder sized, and it took all of Clark’s strength to move them to the side. He clawed and pushed, pulled and scratched, tore and pried until at last he had the boy freed from his prison.

  He stopped for only a minute to catch his breath, and then he lifted the boy tenderly and once again began the climb to the outside world. Just as he pushed Abe ahead of him up the steep slope, there was a terrifying crack and a monstrous roar, and the ceiling of the cavern collapsed all around him. Pain seared through Clark as a heavy timber fell with sickening impact upon his leg, and then merciful blackness.

  The men in the wagon had just pulled up and began to throw questions at the boy when the roar from within the cave burst upon them. Another cave-in! The boy crumpled to the ground with a cry of despair, and Andy, who lay on the ground shivering in shock, began to whimper.

  “Someone look after thet boy,” barked Scottie, and Lane moved forward to examine the youngster and ordered some blankets brought from the wagon.

  Willie headed for the mine entrance and was stopped by Scottie’s hands.

  “I’m goin’ in,” Willie told his foreman.

  “No, ya ain’t. Nobody’s goin’ in there till we know thet it’s finished fallin’.”

  Willie hesitated and stood listening to the rumbling inside the hillside.

  The dust began to sift out of the entrance as they stood and stared, straining their ears. Willie turned to the sobbing boy.

  “Did the man who came with ya go in there, boy?”

  The boy nodded his head.

  “Has he been out a’tall?”

  “He brought Andy out.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “He went back in fer Abe.”

  It was exactly as Willie knew it would be, yet he had dared to hope it might not be so.

  The rumbling gradually stopped. Willie headed for the wagon and came back with a lantern and a rope. Again Scottie stepped forward and without a word took the lantern from him and lit it.

  “Lane,” Scottie instructed, “grab these shovels an’ follow me.”

  Willie moved to fall in line.

  “Mr. LaHaye,” said Scottie, “you ain’t goin’ in there.”

  “What ya talkin’—” Willie began, but Scottie interrupted.

  “I’m talkin’ ’bout you,” said Scottie firmly. “You an’ yer missus an’ those two little boys.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. Thet there mine might give again. Ya know thet, an’ I know thet.”

  Scottie then turned to Lane. “I’m not askin’ any man to take chances,” he said. “You stay several feet behind me an’ iffen ya hear a rumble, then run fer it. Now, boy, where do we find ’em?”

  The youngster moved forward and was able to again intelligently give the men directions, and then Scottie and Lane moved through the mine opening.

  Willie fidgeted at the entry. He wanted to go in and help with the search for Clark. He would go in. And then he thought of Missie. Of Missie and his two sons. If anything should happen to her father, she would need her husband even more.

  Praying, he paced back and forth before the mouth of the mine and then went over to see if there was anything he could do for the young boy who lay groaning on the ground.

  He turned to the one who leaned against the rock outcropping, staring at the gaping hole that had caused all this misery.

  “Boy,” he said, “do ya live ’round here?”

  “In town,” he answered.

  “This yer brother?” asked Willie, indicating Andy on the ground.

  “My friend. My brother—he’s still in there.”

  “Yer folks be worryin’?”

  “I reckon.”

  “Do ya think ya should ride on home an’ tell ’em? Yer pa might want to git on over here an’ help git yer brother out.”

  The boy looked surprised that he hadn’t thought of that.

  “Yeah,” he said and headed for his grazing horse.

  “An’ git word to the folks of this here boy, too, will ya, son? They can come over and see what they can do to make ’im more comfortable.”

  The boy cast a backward glance at his friend and hurried off.

  From then on, there was nothing for Willie to do except watch the entrance of the mine and pray there would be no more cave-ins. Occasionally he talked to the half-conscious boy or gave him sips of water. The broken ankle was painful, but as Willie examined it with his eyes, not wanting to move it, he thought it looked as though it might heal properly. He could see no protruding bones or broken skin.

  There was nothing to speed up the minutes as Willie waited. Time after time he started down the mine tunnel, only to think of Scottie’s words and turn back.

  After what seemed like an eternity, another wagon pulled up. A man whom Willie had seen only once before jumped to the ground before the wagon even stopped rolling. He stopped briefly to touch the face of Andy and give a brief nod to Willie, and then he ran into the entrance of the mine. He did not even carry a lantern.

  A woman approached more slowly. Already her face was tear-streaked and her eyes swollen from weeping.

  “Is this yer son?” asked Willie with concern in his voice.

  The woman knelt beside the boy and smoothed his hair with her hand and wiped the dust from his face with an edge of her simple gown.

  “No,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s my boy still in there.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Willie.

  “We’ve told ’em—over an’ over we’ve warned ’em. ‘Don’t go near those mines,’ we’ve said. ‘They’re not safe.’ But bein’ boys they jest gotta find out fer theirselves.” She was sobbing softly, not bothering with the tears that ran down her cheeks.

  “Somebody should do something ’bout those caves,” the woman went on. “Ya never know whose child might be next.”

  Willie thought of his own two boys. “We’ll git a permit to dynamite ’em, ma’am, jest as soon as we git these folks out.”

  The boy stirred and the woman spoke to him. “It’s okay, Andy. Casey has gone fer yer ma an’ pa. They should be here anytime now. They’ll git ya on home an’ look to thet ankle.”

  Andy, looking relieved in spite of his pain, closed his eyes again.

  Willie scanned the hills once more and could see another wagon approaching in the distance. It was not long until Andy’s folks arrived and the mother was running to him with shrieks and cries. Willie feared she was going to turn hysterical, but her husband calmed her. She fell on the ground beside her son and alternated between scoldings and endearments. The man knelt over the foot and began to prod the ankle. The boy cried out in pain, and the father grimaced and then went about preparing a makeshift splint. It was not a pleasant task. The boy screamed again and again as the foot was placed at the right angle and bound. Everyone present had broken into a cold sweat before the ordeal was over. At length the father’s gruesome task was done, and he buried his face in his hands and sobbed. And still there was no sign of life from the mouth of the mine.

  “How long they been in there?” asked one of the mothers.

  “I’ve long since lost track of time,” answered Willie. “Seems forever. At least there’s been no more rumbles. Thet’s a good sign.”

  He paced back and forth and again ventured into the cave a short distance. Then he heard the scraping
and sliding of scuffling feet, and as he strained forward he could see the faint light of a lantern reflecting off the tunnel wall.

  He pushed forward more anxiously and soon was face-toface with Scottie. Scottie carried the front end of a makeshift stretcher made from broken timbers, and Lane stumbled along behind carrying the other end. On the stretcher lay Clark. His face was deathly white and blood smeared, and the arm that dangled at his side swung lifelessly back and forth.

  “Oh, dear God,” prayed Willie, and then to the men, “Is he dead?”

  Scottie did not answer. Lane finally dared to voice a quiet “Not quite.”

  Willie took the lantern that swung from one corner of the stretcher and led the way. As he turned to check on the progress of the men behind him, he noticed the third man. It was the boy’s father, and he, too, bore a burden. In his arms he carried his boy. Willie’s eyes asked the question, and this time Scottie answered. “No” was all he said.

  TEN

  A Day of a Million Years

  They took Clark to the ranch on a makeshift bed in the wagon. Even in his unconscious state, he groaned occasionally. They tried to drive as carefully as they could, but the jarring vehicle was distressful at best and a torment at worst.

  Scottie guided the team, turning this way and that as he snaked a pathway home, trying his best to miss chuckholes and bumps. Willie sat with Clark, steadying him and bathing his face with water from the canteen. Except for the lump on his head from the falling beam and the badly injured leg, Clark seemed to have no other wounds. Willie dared to hope that the head injury would be a mild concussion, that Clark’s mind would not suffer any serious effects from it.

  The leg was another matter. As Willie looked at the severely broken leg with the bone splinter projecting from the skin, he shuddered. How could such a leg heal without the help of a doctor? “Oh, dear God,” prayed Willie aloud, “please show us what to do.”

  As the wagon neared the ranch, an anxious Marty and Missie hurried out into the yard. Willie chided himself for not thinking to go ahead and prepare his womenfolk, and he jumped from the slow-moving wagon and asked Lane to watch Clark, and Scottie to drive as slowly as he knew how. Then Willie quickened his stride and reached the women slightly ahead of the wagon.

  “Clark been hurt?” gasped Marty.

  Willie nodded.

  “Bad?” cried Missie.

  “Pretty bad,” answered Willie, “but not as bad as it will seem at first. He took a knock on the head, so he ain’t conscious jest yet.”

  “Oh, dear God,” whispered Marty, her hand fluttering to her throat, but Willie thought he saw relief showing in her eyes that at least Clark was alive.

  “Did ya git the boys?”

  “Yes,” Willie nodded.

  “Thank God,” breathed Marty.

  Just before the wagon rolled up, Willie placed an arm around each of the women. He wanted just another minute to prepare them.

  “Yer pa also has a broken leg,” he said to Missie. “We’ll need to fix his bed right away. Then fetch some hot water and towels from the kitchen. We want to move him as gentle as we can. Will ya see to it? An’, Ma, could ya check to see what we might have around in the way of disinfectant—he’s got some scratches we should look after.”

  With a quick glance toward the now-stopped wagon, the two women ran toward the house to do Willie’s bidding.

  Willie moved forward.

  “Quick,” he said to Scottie. “I want him in there an’ settled ’fore the women …” He did not finish. He did not need to. Scottie understood. Lane rushed out to help them, and with the three men manning the makeshift bed, they got Clark to the house. Missie had already turned down the bed in readiness, but just as Willie had hoped, neither of the women were in the room.

  The men laid Clark on the bed and removed his shirt. Willie found some scissors and cut the pant leg from the broken limb. Scottie had removed the shoes and socks.

  “We should bundle him warm against shock,” said Lane, and Willie reached for a flannel nightshirt, which they struggled to slip over Clark’s head.

  “What we gonna do about thet leg?” It was a question they no doubt had all been asking themselves, but it was Lane who finally voiced it.

  “For now we’ll jest protect it all we can an’ let the women see him fer a minute,” Willie said.

  Marty was the first one through the door. She cried out at the sight of Clark and went to kneel beside him, brushing at the dirt streaks and bloodstains on his pale face and running her fingers through his hair. Willie remained silent for a few minutes and then asked quietly, “Did ya find some disinfectant?”

  Marty held up the forgotten bottle with trembling fingers.

  Missie arrived with a basin of hot water and some towels. Willie took them from her and she rushed forward to kneel by her mother. She lifted one of Clark’s limp hands and began to stroke it, as if willing it to become strong and independent again.

  Willie remained silent for a moment and then passed Marty a small towel.

  “Ya want to clean up his face some? Make sure the water isn’t too hot. He won’t be able to warn ya, and we don’t want a burn.”

  Marty and Missie both came to life then.

  “I’ll go fetch a pitcher of cool water,” said Missie and fled from the room. Marty turned to the business of cleaning Clark up. She inspected his dirty blood-caked hands, exclaiming over the bruised knuckles and the scratched and dirt-stained palms. His nails were broken and dirt filled from digging with his fingers.

  “My, but they’re a mess,” said Marty, new calmness in her voice as she set about her task.

  Willie sighed with relief and lifted the basin from the nearby chest so Missie could add the cold water she had just brought into the room.

  The two women soaked and cleansed the damaged hands and then applied the disinfectant that Marty had produced. They wiped his face and found that, except for a couple of minor scratches, there were no open wounds there. Clark did not stir. Willie observed Marty slyly feeling for a pulse and looking relieved when she actually found one. After Willie was sure the women had spent enough time with Clark to reassure them, he turned to Missie. “I’m gonna have to ask ya fer a favor now. I know it’ll be hard to leave yer pa, but I do need to ask ya to care fer a few things fer me.”

  Missie’s eyes widened, but she nodded in agreement.

  “Some of the boys were out there diggin’ most of the afternoon. They’re hungry an’ Cookie’s already cleared away from the last meal. Could you rustle up a bunch of sandwiches an’ some hot coffee fer ’em?”

  Missie, surprised, hesitated only a moment. She had never been asked to fix anything for the ranch hands before. Cookie always took care of their food needs no matter what time they came in. But she did not question Willie, only moved to obey.

  “Do ya mind givin’ her a hand?” Willie asked Marty.

  Marty was about to protest and then rose to her feet. Surely this small request was not too much for Willie to ask.

  “The boys have a shift change soon an’ gotta git on out to the cattle,” Willie went on quickly with his explanation.

  He was relieved when Marty nodded and moved from the room. Willie immediately left the room and went to the boys’ room. Josiah was napping and Nathan was playing quietly. Missie had asked him to go to his room before Clark was carried into the house so the small boy would not be unduly frightened by his grandfather’s condition.

  “Hi, fella,” greeted Willie as cheerily as the occasion would allow him. “Would ya mind doin’ a little chore fer yer pa?”

  “Mama said thet I was to stay here till she came for me,” answered Nathan. And then in deep seriousness, he went on, “Did Grandpa git the boys out, Pa?”

  “He sure ’nough did,” answered Willie, roughing the boy’s hair. “But I need ya now. I’ll tell yer ma thet I had a job fer ya. I want ya to run real quick an’ tell Cookie an’ Scottie thet I need ’em at the house. Tell ’em I need ’em now.
Then come right back here to yer room. Okay?”

  Nathan laid aside his book and ran as his pa bade him. Scottie and Cookie quickly arrived at Clark’s room.

  “Quick,” said Willie. “I’ve got the ladies busy in the kitchen fixin’ a lunch fer the hands.”

  “Lunch fer the hands?” repeated Cookie in disbelief.

  “It was all I could think of to git ’em from the room. Now we gotta clean up thet leg, an’ we gotta do it quick like.”

  The two men nodded and Willie threw back the blankets. The sight that met their gaze was not a pleasant one. For a moment, Willie wished he could just throw the blanket over the leg again and walk away.

  Cookie forgot himself and swore under his breath. “ ’Bout the worst one I ever seed,” he said. “Even worse shape than my hip was.”

  “Well, we gotta do what we can. Pass thet there basin.” The three men worked over the wound, soaking and cleaning it and then pouring on the whole bottle of disinfectant. Willie tried to straighten the leg so that it didn’t lie at such a bizarre angle, but they knew there was nothing they could do to set the bone. After the thorough cleansing, they fixed a loose makeshift splint and wrapped the damaged leg in it, more to conceal the injury than to do it any good. They were just finishing when Willie heard Missie’s quick, light step.

  “Thet lunch’ll be ready soon,” he whispered to the other two. “Ya go on out an’ find someone—anyone—to eat it.”

  Cookie nodded and went out to round up some cowboys. Scottie, at a nod from his boss, also left the room. Willie heard him speak to Missie in the hall.

  “I hear tell thet ya’re gonna fix some sandwiches, ma’am. I’ll jest wash some of the dirt off me at the cook shack an’ I’ll be right in. Mighty nice of ya, an’ I sure am in need of a cup of coffee. Mighty obliged, ma’am.”

  Willie covered Clark carefully and picked up the basin with the dirty, bloody water. He held it up high so Missie couldn’t see into it.

  “Yer pa seems to be restin’ a mite easier now,” he said, backing out of the room with his rather gruesome-looking burden. “Thanks fer feedin’ the men, Missie. Ya might tell yer ma thet if she wishes to sit with yer pa, the fellas can care fer themselves in the kitchen. An’, Missie, I think thet Nathan might need a little reassurance. He must be wonderin’ jest what’s goin’ on. I sent him on a little chore fer me, an’ he was ’fraid you’d scold him fer leavin’ his room unbidden. Ya might like to peek in and sorta calm him some. I gotta run. Gotta make a little trip. Won’t be long.”