Love's unfolding dream (Love Comes Softly Series #6)

by Janette Oke

  From the creek came the shouts of young boys and the barking of the two farm dogs. The snow crunched underfoot, and even though frost hung thick in the air, the wind was not blowing and the day felt almost mild.

  Belinda breathed deeply. She loved the crisp feel of winter. As long as one had a warm meal and a warm coat . . . For some reason, the face of the young boy who had lost his arm suddenly appeared in her mind. She knew instinctively that he would not be dressed for the sharpness of the winter weather. She sighed deeply. He had so many needs, that boy. She didn't even know his name. But Belinda ached to help him. She had been praying, just as her ma had suggested, but so far God hadn't seemed to give her any answers.

  Jackson must have heard her sigh, and she could feel him looking at her. "Something wrong?" he asked, concern warming his voice.

  Belinda felt her cheeks coloring. Surely he couldn't read her thoughts!

  "No . . . no-o. Nothin'. I like the winter, thet's all. I mean, it's so--"

  "Me too," Melissa the chatterbox broke in, obviously having no intentions of being left out. "It's so clean and fresh and bright. So bright! I think that it's even brighter than the West," she prattled on. "The sun seems so . . . so . . . intense here. . . or something. Oh, it's intense out west, too. Intense and bright and it shines most all the time, but here, there seems to be something different somehow"

  Jackson glanced from Melissa back to Belinda.

  "Do you like the winter, Jackson?" Melissa pressed.

  "Guess so," he said laughing lightly. "Never thought much about it. Guess I just like summer a bit more."

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  "Oh, me too," gushed Melissa. "I love the summer and the flowers and the birds! Out west we have wild flowers that grow all over on the hills. I used to go out and pick handfuls and handfuls of them in the spring," she enthused.

  " 'Fraid I don't pick too many flowers." Jackson laughed again.

  Melissa gave him a teasing smile. "Wouldn't be expecting you to be out picking flowers," she said. "It's not the kind of thing that a man does."

  Jackson flushed a bit. He probably hadn't missed her term man." But Belinda found herself wondering why Melissa had said that. Why, Clark, her pa, picked flowers all the time. He was always bringing in a handful of one kind or another. And Ma always looks at him kind of special, she noted to herself, when he gives them to her. Her brothers brought flowers to Ma, too. She had seen them herself Whatever was wrong with a man picking flowers if he wanted to?

  Belinda was still sorting it out when Jackson unexpectedly asked her, "Warm enough?"

  "Fine. Jest fine," she quickly responded.

  They reached the creek and stood watching the shrieking, sliding, tumbling boys as they frolicked on their favorite sliding bank. Jackson was grinning. "It looks like fun," he commented.

  Belinda smiled in reply. "It is," she said. "I've spent hours out there."

  "You have?"

  She nodded.

  "Never had a sled," said Jackson. "There wasn't anyplace to use one in town."

  "Oh, you've missed a lot of fun," Belinda told him. "There's nothin' quite like thet fast `whish' as you come down the hill. 'Course our hill isn't very big, but . . . it . . . it's fun!"

  "Shall we try it?" asked Jackson enthusiastically.

  Belinda looked down at her skirts. She knew that tumbling in

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  a snowbank was often a part of sledding.

  "I'm hardly dressed for it," she laughed, but Jackson persisted. "We'd be careful. I'd sit in the front. All you'd need to do would be to hang on."

  "I'll go," Melissa offered.

  Both Jackson and Belinda turned to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with challenge.

  "I'll go with you. I'm not afraid," she insisted again.

  Without comment Jackson turned his attention back to Belinda. His eyes seemed to ask her if she had changed her mind.

  "That's a great idea," Belinda was quick to agree. "Take Melissa. This is her first winter here. She's never slid down the hill before, either." Belinda did not add that she thought Melissa was foolish to be even considering it now in her Sunday skirt.

  Dan shared his sleigh and Jackson settled in the front, holding fast on to the rope that worked the steering bar. Melissa climbed on behind him and without hesitation wrapped her arms around him to hang on for dear life. Belinda, watching, wondered if she hung on a bit tighter than was really needed, but of course she made no comment. The sled did go "whish." Jackson, laughing and shouting, sounded like he was thrilled with the ride. He asked for another. They went down again, Melissa hanging on just as firmly. Jackson "whooped" as the sled sped down the short hill.

  He called up to Belinda, "It's great! How about trying it with me? See, we didn't fall off. It's a snap!"

  Belinda just laughed and shook her head.

  "One more, just one more. Please?" Melissa begged the boys with pleading enthusiasm.

  The next ride was not the "snap" Jackson had described. Midway down the hill the sled seemed to develop a mind of its own. It veered off the well-traveled path and hit a bank of snow From there, matters only got worse. The sled bounced farther afield and struck a rock. Before Jackson could correct its course,

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  the sleigh plunged into a snowdrift and skidded to a stop on its side, spilling its two passengers in a cloud of snowy dust.

  The young boys at the top of the hill howled with glee, no doubt thoroughly enjoying the entertainment. Belinda stared openmouthed, fearful that one of the two might be hurt in the spill, but when they both climbed, a trifle unsteadily, to their feet, she relaxed. Melissa did look a bit the worse for wear. Her skirt, hanging crazily because of a huge tear at the waist, was covered with snow and her coat, also snow-covered, was hanging open as though it was missing all its buttons. Jackson brushed the snow from his coat, grinning sheepishly.

  "Whoops!" he called up the hill to Belinda. "Guess it's not without some risks after all."

  Belinda laughed, glad that no one had been hurt.

  Jackson helped Melissa brush the snow off her coat, and asked her if she was all right. She assured him rather stiffly that she was fine, probably embarrassed at the state of her clothes. He righted the sled and started up the bank.

  "Now will you ride with me?" he called laughingly to Belinda as he slowly made his way back up the hill, dragging the wayward sled with him.

  "No, sir. I still will not," answered Belinda cheerfully.

  Melissa, after rummaging around in the snow to locate her missing buttons, left quickly for the house to change her clothes and get herself back in order.

  Jackson handed the sled back to Dan and thanked him warmly for the ride. "I'd like to try it again sometime," he informed the boy and Dan grinned, happy to have made an impression on an older fellow.

  Belinda's eyes followed Melissa. "I'd better git in," she said to Jackson. "Mama might need me. She'll want to serve coffee soon."

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  He moved to fall into step beside her, but she waved him away.

  "Why don't ya stay out an' have another ride or two?" she said. "Dan won't mind. We'll call ya as soon as lunch is ready" "You sure?" asked Jackson, eyeing the hill again.

  "I'm sure. You might not git another chance. Spring can come pretty early in these parts."

  "Before Christmas?"

  "Ya never know"

  He grinned. "Think I will," he said. "Thanks."

  Belinda nodded and hurried off toward the house. She needed to check on Melissa. She prayed that there had been damage only to Melissa's clothes and not to her pride--or to their friendship.

  Belinda found Melissa in her room. She had removed the torn dress, but she had not put on another. Instead she lay on her bed, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

  "Melissa," cried Belinda in alarm. "Were you hurt?"

  Melissa looked disgustedly up at Belinda, her eyes swollen from crying.

  "As though you care
," she challenged.

  Belinda was taken aback. She crossed to the bed, sat down, and laid a hand on the girl's arm.

  "Ya know I care," she insisted. "Are you sure you're all right?"

  Melissa drew herself up and climbed off the bed. "Don't get your hopes up," she threw at Belinda, "I don't need a nurse."

  Belinda was completely baffled by the whole exchange. She decided to change the subject.

  "We're gonna have coffee soon. I'm jest goin' to git it on now"

  "Well, I won't be there," spat out Melissa.

  "You are hurt. Where?"

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  "I'm not hurt," Melissa insisted impatiently. "I'm just not coming down, that's all."

  "But what--what will I tell folks? They'll all wonder--"

  "Tell them anything you want to. I don't care," and Melissa tossed her hair back with an angry move and reached for her bathrobe.

  Belinda stood to go. She wasn't sure what to do. She didn't know what was wrong. She still wondered if Melissa really had been hurt and was refusing to say so. She wished Luke would miraculously arrive.

  "Is there anythin' I can do?" she asked, genuinely sympathetic.

  Melissa gave her an angry look. "It would seem that you have already done enough, don't you think?" she spat out.

  Belinda frowned. "What do ya mean?" she asked. What in the world had she done to make the girl so angry?

  "What do ya mean?" Melissa mimicked. "You know exactly what I mean. You've been cutting in on me and Jackson all day. You know he likes me--and you know I like him--yet you just keep on butting in--spoiling everything!"

  The long speech ended in uncontrollable tears. Belinda stood staring at her overwrought and unreasonable niece. Where did Melissa get such an idea? was her frantic thought. She had purposely tried to stay out of the way. And she had bent over backward to-- but it was clear Melissa was not going to listen to reason.

  Belinda heard her mother calling her. She slipped from the room without further comment, but her heart was heavy as she went back down the stairs to help in the kitchen.

  Not much had been said while their guests were still there, but as soon as the Browns had left, Marty wanted an explanation concerning Melissa. There was little Belinda could tell her. She

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  hated to "tell on" Melissa, but there was no way she would lie to her mother. So she finally just told the truth as simply as she knew how.

  Marty's eyes widened as they sought Clark's above Belinda's head. "Yer sure?" she asked. "Yer sure she thinks ya were cuttin' in?"

  Belinda nodded.

  "An' she's jealous?"

  Again Belinda nodded.

  "I find thet hard to believe," stated Marty. "Surely she'll see things different in the mornin'."

  But Melissa did not see things differently in the morning. She did her chores and prepared for school, but she was not her usually cheery chattering self. And she carefully avoided any conversation with Belinda.

  "Oh, dear Lord," prayed Marty, watching the girls walk down the lane to the road, a careful distance between them. "We've got us one of them triangles. What do we do now?"

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  SIXTEEN

  Pride

  At Christmastime, neighbors tried to share food baskets with the Simpson family, but each visitor was turned away at the door. The community all wanted to help, but they did not know what to try next. The minister also was turned away again when he tried to visit--it seemed that the family wanted no comfort or aid from God, either. Marty's heart ached over their destitute and pride-filled condition, and Clark muttered under his breath. Sheer foolishness and pigheadedness, that's what it was.

  The debt for the firewood and groceries still had not been paid. Clark would have gladly considered it a gift, but he knew the family would not. Until they felt they had paid the debt, Clark was well aware he would not be able to help them further.

  He decided to drop in on them one more time. At first he planned to take Marty with him. Then he figured it might look too much like a neighborly call, so they talked it over and Clark decided to go alone. He wanted it to seem as businesslike as possible.

  All the way over to the Simpsons', Clark tried to think of jobs that needed doing. He really could think of none. Clark reflected on the plans he and Marty had made. It wouldn't be easy for Marty In fact, it wouldn't be easy for either of them, and he feared they both might feel a bit guilty of dishonesty in the whole

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  affair. It was hard to tell the Simpsons that they needed help when in truth they did not.

  Marty had been able to come up with a short list of things she could have Mrs. Simpson sew for her. Then there was a quilt that was promised to Nandry's Mary for her birthday. Marty supposed she could use some help in the quilting, though she enjoyed it and usually did her quilting alone.

  Still, those jobs wouldn't take much time.

  So they had tried to figure out something else for the woman to do, but each time they came back again to the sewing.

  "How much in yard goods do ya have on hand?" Clark had asked Marty.

  "Four or five pieces, I reckon," she had replied.

  "Well, can't ya find some way to make use of 'em?"

  "I had purposes in mind fer all of 'em," Marty had told him, "but I just don't need 'em yet. One was to be a dress fer Belinda, but it's too grown-up a print fer her yet--well, at the rate she's maturin', maybe not that long," she quipped. "And one is fer aprons fer Kate, and one is fer the backin' fer Amy Jo's quilt when she finishes school an' another fer--"

  "I'll go to town," Clark had said. "I'll go to town an' buy some material with no purpose at all."

  "Then what'll I have 'er do with it?" Marty had protested.

  "I dunno. We'll think of somethin'--how 'bout a new dress fer you?" Clark said with a smile and a hug.

  "Oh, Clark, I don't need somethin' new," Marty protested. "Maybe not, but maybe Mrs. Simpson does," was his gentle rejoinder, and she nodded her head in agreement.

  And so he had gone to town and had come home with six lengths of yard goods. He had chosen some pretty pieces--or the clerk had, Marty wasn't sure which, she told him with a twinkle in her eye--but she also said she still hadn't figured out what to do with all of them. And who knew if Mrs. Simpson could even

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  sew? She might only spoil the pieces.

  Clark just shrugged his shoulders. "Throw 'em in the ragbag, then," he had stated, at which Marty had looked dismayed.

  It would have been so much simpler, so much less costly, if the family had just allowed the neighbors to outright help them.

  Clark reviewed all of this in his mind as he coaxed the team forward. He was busy trying to properly prepare his words to the Simpsons. What could he say that would be totally truthful and would not offend them?

  Clark tied the team and walked toward the door. His artificial limb was making his leg ache again. Or maybe it was just the cold--Clark didn't know for sure. All he knew was that shivers of pain were shooting from the stump clear up to his hip.

  He rapped loudly on the door and Mr. Simpson answered. He appeared ready to launch into his usual "we-don't-take-anycharity" speech, so Clark began quickly, "Came to see 'bout clearin' thet debt fer the wood and foodstuff"

  The door opened a bit wider and the man stepped back.

  The woman was busy at the stove. By the smell that filled the room, Clark decided she was making stew for supper. It smelled good. Clark sniffed appreciatively and gave her a smile and a nod.

  Clark looked around for the boys, but only the smaller one was present, listlessly playing cat's-in-the-cradle with a piece of twine in a corner of the room.

  The man motioned toward a chair, though he did not ask Clark to be seated, nor did he invite him to remove his coat.

  Clark sat down and unbuttoned the coat to hang loosely.

  "I'm listening," growled the man, standing with hands on his hips.

  "Well, I figured as how ya might be anxious t
o git the weight of this here debt off a' yer shoulders," Clark began. "I have a few jobs round the place thet I could put ya to doin' as soon as ya can spare the time."

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  "Time, I got lots of," the man replied without a smile. Clark nodded.

  "How many days?" the man asked.

  "Not sure. Two--maybe three."

  "That won't pay off our debt," the man stated sullenly.

  "It'll pay off the vegetables," responded Clark. "Yer gittin' out green logs next spring in exchange fer the firewood."

  Mr. Simpson nodded. Maybe it would cover the vegetables. He seemed to feel that the matter was closed.

  "My wife has some sewin' that . . . that . . . she could use some help on," Clark continued. "Wondered iffen yer wife might be interested."

  "Thought you said the work I did would pay it off," the man answered irritably.

  "So it will," Clark said without ruffling. "The sewin'--thet would be fer a wage."

  Clark saw the woman at the stove swing her head upward. He pretended not to notice.

  "Yer wife can't sew?" asked the big man with a hint of sarcasm.

  "She can sew first rate," Clark was quick to defend Marty "No harm in a woman gittin' a bit of help with her chores now an' then. We've got ourselves lots of grandkids--"

  The man mumbled something under his breath. "So what're you offering to swap?" asked Simpson.

  "Thought we might pay in cash," said Clark. "We could swap, but we don't know iffen there's anythin' we got thet ya might be needin'. But good help, now--thet's hard to come by."

  The man's eyes narrowed in obvious interest. He turned to the woman.

  You want to do that, Ma?" he asked her.

  Clark was pleased he had asked, not ordered. He must have some good qualities in him under all that gruffness.

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  The woman responded with a nod of agreement.

  "What're you paying?" asked Simpson.