by Janette Oke
There was no comment from the two seated at the table. Marty brought thick sandwiches and milk for each of them. Belinda looked carefully across at the boy. Would he refuse it? She
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was afraid he might. But no, he mumbled a polite thank-you and began to eat the sandwich.
"How's yer pa doin' on his loggin'?" Clark asked the boy. His eyes lifted from his plate and met Clark's. "Fine," he replied but said no more than that.
"It's nice havin' yer ma comin' to sew most days," put in Marty. "I enjoy her company."
The boy nodded.
Clark pulled up a chair and joined them at the table. Belinda said nothing. Inside she felt a deep ache. She couldn't explain it-- she just knew that she felt something, an emotional pain, much more keenly than she felt her aches and bruises from the fall.
Something was terribly wrong. She had hoped the Simpson boy had adjusted to his arm being gone, had learned how to go on without it, had understood those who had been forced to take it to spare his life. But from the dark shadows in his eyes and the frown on his countenance, she knew it wasn't so.
Does he still hold the surgery against Luke? Belinda wondered. Perhaps he does--but her mother was talking. From the looks directed her way, Belinda knew the question must have been directed to her.
"Beggin' pardon," she responded and shook her head slightly. "Yer not hurt, are ya?" asked Marty, coming forward to touch the girl's forehead.
"No, no, I'm fine--really," Belinda quickly answered.
For just a moment Belinda saw concern in the boy's eyes
again, and then it was gone and the darkness returned.
"I'm fine," Belinda insisted again, "I jest wasn't listenin'. Was
thinkin'--thet's all."
"I asked about the little girl. How is she?"
"Mandie?"
"Is thet her name?"
"Mandie. Mandie . . ." Suddenly Belinda could not remember
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the family's last name. Near panic seized her. Was there actually something wrong? Had she hit her head? And then it came to her. "It's Willis," she said with confidence and relief. "Mandie Willis."
Marty looked at her quizzically and Belinda hurried on. "She's . . . she's. . ." She wanted to say that the little girl was just fine, but in honesty said instead, "She's burned real bad. Luke is worried 'bout infection. We have to go back on Thursday"
Marty frowned in concern. "Terrible thing, those burns," she said. "'Specially fer a little child."
Belinda nodded.
"Ya've hardly eaten a thing," Marty scolded. "Ya missed yer supper an' now--"
"I'm jest not hungry" said Belinda and pushed the plate away from her.
"But ya need--" began Marty and was interrupted by Clark. "Might be better fer her stomach if she don't put nothin' in it fer the present."
Marty removed the plate.
"So what did ya do?" she asked Belinda.
Belinda looked at her, not understanding.
"How did ya help yer brother?"
"Oh! I . . . I held Mandy . . . while Luke took off the old bandage an' . . . then I . . . I watched her after she was put to sleep, to see thet . . . thet . . . she was okay an' . . . an' everythin'."
All the time they had been talking Belinda could feel the eyes of the boy on her face. She couldn't read the expression in his eyes, but she really did not want to know. Did he hate her for her part in his tragic surgery? She wished she could go to her room. That he would go home.
"I think thet's enough medicine talk," Clark said, and Belinda sighed in agreement.
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Clark's hand slowly, unconsciously, moved down to rub his injured leg. Though he was not aware of his action, the boy noticed it. How much does his leg still hurt him? he wondered. Did it still shoot fire up the limb, making it seem like it was still there and badly damaged? Did the pain never quit? "Phantom pains," they called it. Well, phantom or not, the pains were very real. The boy winced just thinking about it.
"Don't believe I've been told yer name," Clark was saying. "We never were introduced proper like. I'm Clark Davis, this is my wife Marty and my youngest girl, Belinda. But then, ya already know her."
He didn't. He hadn't. Not really.
The boy mumbled his acknowledgment to the introductions. When Belinda was presented, his eyes met hers for a moment, but the distance was still there.
"An' yer name," Clark prompted. "Drew Drew Simpson. Andrew really, but everyone calls me Drew"
Belinda repeated the name mentally Drew. It suited him somehow
"Well, Drew, we're right glad to make yer acquaintance. An' we are thankful to ya fer carin' fer our Belinda."
"It was my fault--"
"Nobody's fault," Clark stopped him. "Thet fool horse always was bad fer spookin'. Don't know how to go about gittin"im over being' gun-shy. He's always been thet way. Well, we'll jest watch 'im a little more closely, thet's all."
Drew had finished his milk and sandwich. Marty offered him some crumb cake, but he politely turned it down.
"I've got to get home before my folks get to worrying about me," he said and reached for his cap. "Didn't realize how late it's getting."
Both Clark and Marty thanked him again. They invited him
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to return anytime in the future. Drew did not say whether he would accept their invitation. For just a moment his shadowed eyes met Belinda's and then he turned away. She wanted to say something. To thank him for his kindness, but she choked on all of her intended words.
And then he was gone, the door closing firmly behind him. Marty was speaking as she cleared away his dishes, "He seems like an awful nice young boy. I do hope he ain't harborin' any bitterness over his arm."
Belinda excused herself. She wanted the privacy of her own room.
Spring almost too quickly was overtaken by summer, and after school was over, Belinda busied herself with accompanying Luke on more house calls. Mandie's burned arm gave them a real scare. Luke even worried at one point that she, too, might lose it. But he fought--my, how he did fight--and the arm finally began to heal. It would always bear ugly scars, but she still had the use of it.
Belinda did not see Drew again, though she frequently wondered about the boy. Was he still harboring his grief? She did not know. They did see his mother--almost every day, in fact. She still came to sew. Over the days and weeks Marty had seen the woman's eyes go from despair, to acceptance, to hope, to renewed faith in life. True, the family was still in difficult circumstances, but they were on their way to independence. Well, they had always been independent enough, but now it looked like they might one day be able to take what they considered to be their proper place in the community.
The woman now wore a new dress, one she had made for herself. She even walked straighter with more confidence now that she was no longer wearing the many-times-mended garment.
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There were even moments of brief conversation between her and Marty as they took little breaks for tea and discussed weather, gardens, or neighborhood events.
Marty learned that Mrs. Simpson's two sons had never been to school--not for a single day of their lives. And yet both of the parents put great stock in education and had taught the boys everything they could, bringing home extra books to help them keep up with other youngsters their age. Mr. Simpson himself had been a college graduate, Marty discovered to her great surprise. And Mrs. Simpson had at one time tutored special English classes to immigrant families. Marty understood a bit more about the pride that kept them from "accepting charity."
But though Belinda saw Mrs. Simpson often, she did not ask about Drew Not that she did not care. It was just that she feared to ask the question because the answer might not be the one she wanted to hear.
Jackson still hung about--"a hard one to avoid," Belinda told her mother ruefully. Even though school was out for the summer, Belinda saw him each Sunday at church, and he always lingered about, looking for some opportunity to serv
e her or suggesting some outing they might enjoy together. Belinda tried to be kind and firm, but Jackson did not seem too good at taking hints.
Melissa still sighed with longing for Jackson to take notice of her. There were other boys who would have gladly showered Melissa with their attention, but she ignored them completely.
How foolish we are, thought Marty as she watched silently from the sidelines. Each wantin' exactly what one can't have.
When fall came, Jackson packed his bags and went off to school in the city. He'd been counting on an intimate chat with Belinda to ask her if she would wait for him, but he could never get an opportunity. Belinda was always busy. He never saw a girl
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so taken with her work. So Jackson went off to college with a heart slightly heavier than his steamer trunk. A year was a long time to be away, and Belinda was growing up awfully fast. His only hope was that her nursing would keep her so busy she wouldn't notice the other boys who hovered around.
The school year began with Marty dreading the thought that this would be the last one at the local school for both Belinda and Melissa. But as she watched them go off together, she was pleased that they were chattering and enjoying each other's company It should be an easier year for all of them, Marty thought with relief, having Jackson a good two hundred miles away! Marty sighed and shook her head. Poor Jackson! She did feel sorry for him. He was a fine young man.
Well, the girls were still young. There would be lots of time for beaus. She could just imagine Missie praying that Melissa would meet no fellow of special interest while she was back east going to school. Missie would not be any more anxious to lose her Melissa to the East than Marty had been to lose her Missie to the West.
Marty sighed again and turned from the window. She was afraid the year ahead was going to pass all too quickly
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TWENTY-THREE
Birthday Party
The team moved at a brisk trot, faster than usual, Marty felt, as she cast a quick glance Clark's way. But she did not question him. He urged the horses on, not holding them back as he normally did when they were homeward bound on a beautiful June day. Marty turned in an attempt to enjoy the wild roses that lined the roadside. Their fragrance reached out to her as the light wagon hurried on by. They truly were pretty, but Marty found that her thoughts were on other things.
Strange, mused Marty to herself without making any comment aloud. Still, the whole thing did seem unusual.
Marty was very aware that today was her birthday--and though Clark had given no signals to indicate that he remembered, she was sure he had not forgotten. Clark had never forgotten her birthday in all the years of their marriage. Yet, birthday or not, he had seemed awfully anxious to hustle her away from the house, and his excuse of "Ma Graham needin' some cheerin' up" now seemed a tad flimsy
Marty had agreed to accompany Clark to the Grahams', expecting to find a lonely and somber Ma, but she had been her usual cheerful self, serving Marty tea and fresh strawberry shortcake and bringing her up-to-date about all the new achievements of her many grandchildren.
Clark had left Marty to visit and went on to town. Marty was
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very cooperative with the plan, whatever it was, but she found herself watching the clock and chafing a bit as the afternoon slowly moved along. Clark's return seemed to take longer than usual, and Marty was getting anxious to return home. When he finally did arrive, she said good-bye to Ma Graham and climbed into the wagon with an assist from Clark.
Her birthday always meant a family dinner. The offspring took turns year by year hosting the celebration. Marty did not try to keep track of where the birthday dinner had been or where it might be this time. The girls always knew, they informed Clark, and without discussion of where they were to celebrate, Clark always got Marty to the right home at the appointed time.
Most years Marty enjoyed the little game. She purposely tried not to think of whose turn it should be so that she could savor the "surprise," but as Clark clucked again to the team, Marty found her mind reviewing the last few years of birthday dinners.
It had been at Arnie and Anne's last year, and the year before, at Nandry and Josh's. Before that? Marty had to really concentrate. Oh yes. It was at Clare and Kate's. But, no, surely this year it was to be at Kate's or they would be late for dinner. And it sure looked as if they were headed for home.
It was a weekday, so the dinner would be the evening meal. They always had an early dinner together when the celebration occurred on a weekday, and even then it tended to be rushed. Marty cast an anxious eye at the sky It was getting late. Before too long the cows would need milking. Marty stirred restlessly on the seat. She did hate being rushed. Time with family always seemed so short.
It must be at Clare and Kate's, she concluded. There just wouldn't be time to drive to one of the other homes. I'm mistaken about three years back. That year must have been at Luke's and--but no, she interrupted herself, I can distinctly remember Kate's chicken and dumplings. For some reason, she decided, Luke and Abbie were
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unable to have the family this year and so Kate was taking their turn.
Marty's thoughts turned from speculation to worry Was Abbie not feeling well? No one had told her--
"Did ya have a good chat with Ma?" Clark's voice broke into her thoughts.
Marty blinked in surprise and shifted her attention back to her husband. His face was relaxed, his hands firmly holding the reins as he expertly guided the team down the country road.
Why was he asking about Ma in the middle of thoughts of birthday? And then Marty realized that just because her mind was totally absorbed with her birthday dinner, that was no reason Clark's thoughts should be taken with it, as well. Perhaps this time he had forgotten. Perhaps . . . Marty felt a little stab of disappointment. But once in all of the years of their marriage? Surely she could forgive him this once.
"Oh yes . . . yes," Marty stammered. "We had us a good chat. Ma's as perky as can be. Full of plans and tales of grandkids an' . . ." she hesitated. "Where'd ya get the idea that she was feelin' down?" she asked, turning on the seat so that she could look full at Clark's face.
"Feelin' down?" Clark echoed. "I don't recall ever sayin' Ma was down."
"But ya said . . . ya said she needed a bit of a visit . . . some cheerin' up, ya said."
Clark just smiled his teasing smile. "I know yer visits always cheer Ma up. Jest by yer being' there I know."
But Marty was not in the mood to listen. Something seemed to be wrong here. A little hurt stirred within her. Had her whole family forgotten her birthday?
She strained forward as the team slowed to make the turn up the lane that led to their farm. Her eyes scanned the hitching rails expecting to see signs of Arnie, Luke, and Josh, but no teams
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stood placidly swatting at annoying flies. No wagons sat empty in the farmyard.
They have, sighed Marty Ever' last one of 'em. They've all forgotten.
Marty felt an unaccustomed heaviness as Clark helped her down from the wagon. Was age catching up with her? She hadn't noticed it before. Oh, true, she was slowing down some. She was aware of it as she hoed her garden or hung out the wash, but she had done nothing all day long and yet she felt weary--nothing, that is, except to "cheer up" Ma Graham.
Marty turned to go up the walk to the front door. She was almost there before she realized that Clark, who usually went right on down to the barn with the horses, was at her side. Ignoring her questioning look, he opened the door for her, and she led the way onto the big back porch.
Her mind was already in the kitchen. The hour was late. What would she prepare for their supper? She hadn't planned on having to get the meal this night. It should have been her special birthday dinner. She wasn't to have--
"Surprise!" "Happy Birthday!" exploded all around her as she opened the door into the kitchen. She heard her own voice catch in a gasp and felt Clark's hand of support on her arm.
>
"Oh my!" said Marty taking a step back from the noise and confusion. "Oh my!"
They were all there. Every one of them. The horses and wagons had been carefully hidden from sight. The trip to Ma's had been a ruse--one that Ma herself had helped plan and support. Clark had gone to town and whiled away the hours until the time he was told to have Marty back home.
But this time it was the girls' surprise. Belinda, Melissa, and Amy Jo. They had insisted to the family members that it was "our turn" to have Marty's birthday dinner. They had even gotten an excused absence from their schoolteacher in order to have the
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afternoon free to prepare the meal. They had cooked every dish from start to finish. Marty could only exclaim over and over as she hugged the three and tried to swallow the tears crowding against the back of her throat.
A small bouquet of fresh spring wild flowers graced the table, which was carefully set with Marty's good china. Everything was in readiness, and Clark quickly urged the family to take their places at the table "before the food gets cold," the girls insisted.
After Clark's prayer, the mothers fixed plates for the younger ones and the older children waited on themselves. With a flurry of noise and commotion they headed for their favorite spot on the back veranda. When things quieted, the adults began their meal, Belinda, Melissa, and Amy Jo hovering nearby to pour the coffee and wait on the table.
The gravy was just a bit lumpy, the biscuits a bit too brown, and the fried chicken a teeny bit dry, but to Marty, the meal was delicious and she kept telling the girls so, over and over.
