by Janette Oke
That night after they had retired, Marty hesitantly broached the subject. She hoped Clark wouldn’t think she was just being foolish, making mountains out of molehills.
“I’ve been thinkin’,” said Marty slowly from her side of the bed. “It must be rather difficult fer Willie with us here.”
“Willie?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be, normally. But now, with yer accident an’ all.”
“I try not to cut in on Willie’s time,” answered Clark. “I know he’s a very busy man. I’ve even found a few little ways I’ve been able to help lately.”
“Oh, Willie ain’t feelin’ at all thet yer a loafer, thet ya aren’t doin’ yer share,” assured Marty quickly. “I know thet. He’s always tellin’ me jest how special it is for ’im to have ya here. An’ he tells me, too, of how ya been organizin’ the corrals an’ fixin’ up his barn.”
“Yer talkin’ ’bout his family, then?”
“Ya mean—”
“I’ve been thinkin’ on it, too. Missie frets over me far too much. It’s done in love, an’ I ’preciate it, but it don’t leave her much time fer payin’ attention to her husband—to the boys, too. I love the little tykes very dearly. But they’re gittin’ so’s they come to me when they scratch a knee or pound a finger.”
“You’ve noticed!” exclaimed Marty, very relieved.
“I’ve noticed. An’ now thet you’ve noticed, it won’t be near so hard fer me to make the suggestion I been thinkin’ on.”
“Suggestion?”
“Well, we can’t jest up an’ pull out now. They do need us to git thet little church started. We can’t leave ’em now, Marty.”
Marty agreed with a nod.
“An’ it don’t seem too smart to be carryin’ on here in the same household as Willie an’ Missie. Two families in the same house for very long—especially when one of ’em is the grandparents— often don’t work so good.”
“So?” Marty queried.
“So I think it’s ’bout time fer a move.”
“A move? Now where could we move? Yer not thinkin’ of goin’ into thet wild town—”
Clark stopped her with a laugh. “No, no wild town.”
“Then—”
“The soddy.”
“The … the soddy?”
Marty was incredulous.
“Why not? Willie and Missie lived in it fer two winters, an’ they had Nathan at the time. Surely you an’ me could make do fer one winter. Jest the two of us. I’ve been thinkin’ it might even be kinda fun.” He grinned and said, “Would be like the old days in our little cabin back when we …”
Marty’s expression must have slowed him down for a bit, but then he went on, “I’ve been checkin’ it over, an’ the walls are sturdy, the windows in place. The roof looks real good. Guess Willie jest had a new one put on to humor Missie fer our comin’ out here. No reason a’tall why we couldn’t be nice an’ comfy fer the winter there.”
Marty’s initial aversion to the idea began to soften. She laughed softly. “Well, I never dreamed I’d be livin’ in a soddy. An’ at my age!”
“Ya keep referrin’ to yer age,” said Clark. “I’m not about to consider myself married to an old woman, so ya jest better stop sayin’ it.”
Marty laughed again.
“Well,” prompted Clark. “What ’bout the soddy? Ya willin’? It still has the furniture—such as it is.”
“Why not?” said Marty, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “Think of all the time I’ll have jest to sit an’ read or sew. Not much to keepin’ a soddy up.”
“Sounds like a woman of leisure,” Clark commented. “But ya know I’ll at least be expectin’ as good care as I’ve got here—” But he couldn’t finish the thought since Marty was throwing her pillow at him.
“Then it’s settled,” he said when they’d finished laughing. “We’ll move in first thing tomorra.”
“Don’t ya think Missie might need some time to think on the idea?”
“She’ll git used to it. Ya give her time an’ she might jest think of all kinds’a reasons why we shouldn’t.”
“Maybe yer right,” agreed Marty. “All right, we’ll move tomorra, then.”
She kissed Clark and turned over to go to sleep. In the darkness, a smile played around her lips. She and Clark were going to live in a soddy! Wouldn’t her friends back home think that was something else? Well, she’d have her share of experiences to tell them, that was for sure. She could hardly wait to write the next letter back home to the children. Imagine that— she and Clark living in a soddy!
FIFTEEN
Moving
The next morning at the breakfast table, Nathan was busy shoving in Wong’s muffins by the mouthful and making plans for himself and his grandfather for the day.
“An’ we can ride over to the big hill an’ look right over the range to where all the hands will be drivin’ the cattle. We can see ’em start off on the trail drive to the town market. An’—”
“Whoa, cowboy,” said Clark. “Thet shore sounds like a lot of fun all right, but I’m afraid I can’t be runnin’ off today. Fact is, I was thinkin’ of askin’ fer yer help today.”
Nathan looked at his grandfather with surprise and interest. “Sure, Grandpa. I’ll help ya.”
Josiah cut in. “Me he’p G’an’pa.”
“You’re too little,” Nathan answered with big-brother assurance, but Clark was quick to encourage the younger boy. “Shore ya can help. We’re gonna need all the hands we can git.”
Josiah beamed at being included.
“What’re you up to?” asked Missie.
“Yer ma and me decided to move today.”
“Move?”
“Yep.”
“Stop your teasing, Pa,” said Missie.
“Not jokin’ around, daughter. Never been more serious.”
“Then what do you mean, ‘move’?”
“Well, we decided it might be kinda fun to spend the winter in the soddy.”
“You are joking!” Missie obviously could not believe Clark was serious.
“No, I’m not.”
“Whyever would you do that?”
“Why not? The soddy is snug and warm and big enough fer the two of us. It would be an adventure to talk about when we git back home.”
“Oh, Pa,” said Missie, exasperation in her voice. “Don’t talk about anything so silly.”
“Little girl,” said Clark firmly, “it’s not silly and I really am serious ’bout this.”
Missie turned to Marty. “Tell me he’s only teasing.”
“No,” said Marty matter-of-factly. “He’s not. We talked it over last night. We decided it would be better fer all of us if we lived separate fer the winter. We’ll be right nearby—”
“I don’t understand one word of what you’re sayin’,” Missie said, rising from her chair with her face white and set. “If you’re serious, I’d like to know why. Haven’t we been caring for you—?”
Clark quickly interrupted her. “My dear,” he said gently, “ya shore as the world have been doin’ everythin’ fer me … an fer yer ma. An’ we ’preciate it … more’n we ever could say. But now thet I’m gittin’ about an’ am able to mostly care fer myself, well, yer ma an’ me think it’s ’bout time yer family had ya back again … all to themselves.”
Willie’s eyes widened with understanding, then he lowered his gaze. Marty knew he would say nothing, but she also knew he was aware now of their observations about the situation in his home.
“That’s silly,” Missie continued to fume. “My family has had me all along. Never have I been more than a few feet away from any of them. Why, they always knew right where to find me. We’ve loved having you here. Besides, it was all because you came to visit us that you lost that leg—”
“Missie,” Clark interrupted again, “I don’t want to ever hear ya say thet I lost my leg because I came here. It coulda happened at home jest as well as here. The place has nothin’ to do with
it, an’ I never want ya to feel any kind of guilt or responsibility thet the accident happened because I was here.”
“Well,” Missie said, lowering her eyes but seeming to brush aside Clark’s comment with her gesture, “I won’t feel guilt—I promise—but I still don’t understand your wanting to move on out. We’ve so enjoyed having you here. Before we know it, the winter will be over and you’ll be off home again. We want you here as much as possible. Tell them, Willie,” she implored her husband. But Willie merely continued eating his scrambled eggs and muffins.
“Tell them, Willie,” Missie instructed again.
Willie swallowed and looked from one to the other. It was apparent that he did not wish to be involved in the discussion. Clark spoke up before Willie was obliged any further.
“We know our son-in-law would never suggest we leave his home an’ his table, Missie. We really want to do this, not because we are not welcome here, but because we feel it would be good fer all of us. We’ll be right nearby and can come in fer coffee whenever we need a stroll. Yer ma will be over often to borrow cups of sugar and talk ‘womenfolk talk.’ The boys can come an’ visit us in the soddy.” Clark winked. “It could be jest a heap of fun. Marty an’ I have never lived all by ourselves, ya know.”
“And nothing I can say will make you change your mind?” Missie said, her one last effort at persuasion.
“ ’Fraid not. Iffen the winter gits too tough an’ we begin to get cold, we might come crawlin’ back beggin’ to be ’llowed in,” said Clark lightly.
“I’ll let ya in, Grandpa,” assured Nathan, and everyone began to laugh.
“I let ya in, G’an’pa,” echoed Josiah, not wanting to be outdone. Missie moved for the coffeepot. “Well, if you are determined to do it, I guess I can’t stop you, but I still don’t like it.”
“Look, honey,” said Marty, understanding how their daughter felt, “if we didn’t think it for the best, we wouldn’t do it. Honest! Just give it a chance, will you, Missie? If it doesn’t seem to be working for the best of all concerned, we’ll move back in here. All right?”
Missie brightened some and leaned over to kiss Marty on her forehead.
“I’m sorry. It just took me off guard.” She managed a smile. “If you’re sure that it’s what you want, my soddy is all yours. But I’m warning you, Mama, it can get awful cramped on a winter’s day.”
Marty laughed. “Well, I have an advantage you didn’t have, my dear.”
“Yes?” asked Missie.
“You,” said Marty. “If I git to feelin’ cramped, I can jest bundle up an’ make a dash fer yer big, beautiful home. You didn’t have a big house or a daughter nearby, so ya jest had to sit tight.”
Missie smiled again. “Well, I hope you feel cramped real often,” she said. “Then you’ll visit me lots.”
Clark put down his empty cup. “Well, fellas,” he said to the boys, “guess we’d better git started with this here move. Got yerself a wagon we kin use?”
The boys scrambled down and led the way to the bedroom that had been known as Grandpa and Grandma’s for the last few months. Clark followed, his crutch beating a rhythmic tattoo behind them.
“I’ll see what I can find for rugs an’ blankets,” offered Missie. “You’ll need some decent dishes, too. Those in the soddy are in bad shape.”
“Now, don’t ya fuss none,” Marty warned her daughter, but she knew she might as well bid the sun not to shine. Missie was sure to fuss. Marty just shrugged her shoulders. Perhaps in the fussing Missie would find some fun. She followed Missie out, determined to make a real adventure for them all on this moving day.
The nights were cooler now, and the wood fire in the old cookstove made the snug little soddy cozy and warm. Clark had encouraged Marty to visit Missie often during the first few days after their move, to assure her that indeed they had not forsaken her. Marty also invited Missie down to the soddy for afternoon tea, and Missie’s many memories of the primitive dwelling gave her parents a new understanding of their daughter’s first years in the West. She told of her first shocking sight of the small grass-covered mound that was to be her home, and her horror at seeing from inside the dirt roof and dirt floor, and her feeling of fear as she laid Nathan on the bed lest the chunks of earth come tumbling down on top of the wee baby. She described their first Christmas and the cowboys sitting almost toe to toe, enjoying a simple Christmas dinner. She told of Cookie holding Baby Nathan when he had the croup and helping him to breathe freely again. She talked about her first visit from Maria, her difficulty in drying her wash, her cooped-up feelings. But all the time she talked there was nostalgia in her voice, and her deep affection for the little soddy showed. Marty even began to wonder if Missie might be envying them the chance to live in it!
The boys loved to come, and Marty and Clark found themselves listening for their knock on the door and the two little voices calling, “Grandpa!” “Grandma!” They would pester Clark as he tried to study for the Sunday lessons. They coaxed to be able to add fuel to the fire. They wanted to roll on the bed, scratch marks in the dirt floor, and have their meals at the small table. They brought garden vegetables, fresh eggs, or milk from their mother. They even brought treats from Wong’s kitchen.
Clark and Marty enjoyed them but always made sure they were home to greet their father when he returned at the end of the day.
Life finally had settled into a warm, comfortable, wholesome routine for all of them. Marty was thankful that Clark had proposed the move, feeling that it truly was better for all concerned. Willie looked less tense, more relaxed and happy, as well. He had needed to be master in his own home again. Even Missie took on a new glow. The past months had drained all of them, but now it was time for life to return to normal.
Marty sat in front of the soddy, knitting and soaking in the late fall sun; Clark came around the corner, expertly managing his crutch and a pail of spring water. He set the pail down and sank into a chair beside Marty, wiping his brow.
His chuckle brought Marty’s head up. Now what is he findin’ so funny? she asked herself and then repeated it to Clark.
“Nothin’s funny, really. Jest thinkin’ thet God really does make ‘all things work together fer good.’ ”
“Meanin’?”
“This here leg—the one I ain’t got no more. Ya notice which one is missin’?”
“Yah, the left one.”
“Yep, the left one—but more’n thet. Look, it frees up my right hand when I’m workin’. See, I use the crutch in the left. Not only thet, but it’s the left one I chopped into thet winter takin’ out logs. Remember?”
Marty wondered how he thought she could forget. She still went weak and sick inside when she thought of how Clark had returned to the house with his pale face and blood-drenched foot. “I remember,” she said, her voice tight.
“Well, thet’s the foot thet’s gone. Thet rascal has kept me awake more’n one night—’specially when the weather’s ’bout to change.”
“You never mentioned thet before.”
“Weren’t no reason to. Guess it won’t keep me awake again, though.”
Clark chuckled again. Marty couldn’t quite bring herself to join him, but she smiled at this strong, patient man of hers who saw God’s hand in all the circumstances of his life.
Clark had a visit from Juan. It had been three weeks since they had seen the de la Rosas. They had been informed that Juan and Maria had gone away, and they assumed Juan was still gathering equipment and supplies for his medical practice. He greeted Clark now with a firm handshake and clear eyes. Marty sensed that he wanted to talk to Clark in private and left the two of them alone over steaming cups of coffee.
“Well, after much prayer and struggle,” began Juan immediately, “I did as you recommended.”
“You have been home?”
“I have been home,” Juan said with deep feeling.
“I’m glad,” said Clark. “An’ how did yer pa receive you?”
Juan’s
eyes clouded for a moment. “My father, I am sorry to say, was not there to greet me. He died seven months ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Clark said with sincerity.
“I am sorry, too. I should have gone sooner. I should not have let stubborn pride keep me away.”
“An’ yer mother?”
“My mother welcomed me with outstretched arms.”
Clark smiled. “I’m sure she did.”
“My father had died and left my mother all alone. Daily she prayed that if her son Juan was still living he would come back to her. Because of my foolishness, it took a long time for my mother’s prayers to be answered.”
“We are all foolish at times,” Clark reminded him.
Juan went on. “My mother could scarcely believe her eyes when I walked into her room. She had failed much. She did not eat well or care for herself since my father died. When she saw me, she wept long for joy. Then she told me how my father had pined after sending me away. He tried for many months to find me—to ask for my forgiveness—but there was no trace of where I had gone. Before he died, he had my mother promise that she would keep trying. She did. She sent out men and offered rewards, but she could not find me.”
Juan stopped to wipe a hand across his eyes. “I caused them much hurt,” he murmured.
“Ya didn’t know.”
“No, I didn’t know. I was too busy nursing hurts of my own… . My mother was so happy to hear that I am a doctor again. I would like you to meet her.”
“I’d love to meet her. Maybe someday—” “Not someday. Now.”
“Ya mean—?”
“She’s here. I left her up at the house having tea with Missie and Maria. She wants very much to meet the man who sent her son home to her.”
“But I … I didn’t do thet. Ya went on yer own. It was yer decision.”
“Yes, you let me make the decision. You left me my dignity. But you knew when you talked to me how I would have to decide.” Juan smiled.
“I’d love to meet yer mama,” said Clark, picking up his crude crutch.
“An’ I have something for you,” said Juan, returning to the door and reaching outside for a carefully fashioned crutch with a padded arm bar. “They can make very good crutches in the city,” he added.
