Love's abiding joy (Love Comes Softly #4) Read online

  Love's Abiding Joy (Love Comes Softly #4)

  Janette Oke

  Dedicated with love to my second sister, Jean Catherine Budd, with thanks for the many times she has been my extra pair of hands and for her open heart and open home that always make me welcome; and to Orville, the special guy she brought home to the family.

  JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, during the depression years, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Didsbury, Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward. They were married in May of 1957, and went on to pastor churches in Indiana as well as Calgary and Edmonton, Canada.

  The Okes have three sons and one daughter and are enjoying the addition to the family of grandchildren. Edward and Janette have both been active in their local church, serving in various capacities as Sunday-school teachers and board members. They make their home in Didsbury, Alberta.

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  Contents

  1. Family 11

  Birthday Dinner 20

  Planning 25

  The City 32

  Alarm 38

  The Journey Begins 43

  Arrival 59

  Introductions 65

  Catching Up 71

  Busy Days 79

  Marty Meets Maria 83

  The Rescue 89

  A Double Tragedy 100

  A Day of a Million Years 105

  Struggles 118

  More Struggles 125

  Juan 131

  Healing 136

  Adjustments 142

  Neighbors 147

  Growing 156

  Moving 162

  Callers 166

  Winter 175

  Christmas 180

  Jedd 184

  Christmas Day 189

  From Death to Life 194

  Happenings 197

  Plans 204

  Farewells 208

  Homeward Bound 212

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  Chapter One

  Family

  "Good mornin'."

  The words came softly to Marty; she opened her sleep- heavy eyes to identify the source. Clark was bending over her, smiling, she noticed. Clark did not normally awaken her before he left for the barn; and Marty stirred, fighting sleep in an effort to understand why he was doing so now.

  "Happy birthday."

  Oh, yes, today was her birthday, and Clark always wanted to be the first one to greet her on her special day. Marty pulled the covers back up to her chin, planning to close her eyes again, but she couldn't resist answering his smile.

  "An' you woke me jest to remind me thet I'm another year older?"

  "Now, what's being' wrong with gettin' older? Seems to me it's jest fine--considerin' the alternative," Clark teased.

  Marty smiled again. She was fully awake now. No use trying to get back to sleep again.

  "Fact is," she said, reaching up and running her hand

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  through Clark's graying hair, "I don't think thet I'm mindin' this birthday one little bit. I don't feel one speck more'n a day older than I did yesterday. A little short on sleep maybe," she added mischievously,"--but not so much older."

  Clark laughed. "I've heard tell of people gettin' crotchety and fussy as they age . . ." He left the sentence hanging; then he leaned over and took any sting from the words with a kiss on Marty's nose. "Well, I'd best get me to the chorin'. Go ahead, catch yerself a little more shut-eye, iffen ya want to. I'll even git yer breakfast--jest this once."

  "Not on yer life," interjected Marty hurriedly. "I'd hafta clean up yer mess in the kitchen."

  Clark left, chuckling to himself, and Marty stretched to her full length beneath the warmth of her handmade quilt. She wouldn't hurry to get up, but Clark's breakfast would be waiting when he returned from the barn.

  Today is my birthday, Marty's thoughts began. Though she wasn't feeling older, it seemed, suddenly, that there had been many birthdays. Forty-two, in fact. Forty-two. She repeated the number mentally in an attempt to get the feel of it. Funny, it really doesn't bother me a bit. No, there was nothing traumatic about this birthday--not like thirty had been, or forty. My, how she had hated turning forty! It seemed that a body must be near worn out by the time one reached forty. Yet here she was, forty-two, and in all honesty she felt no older than she did when she had reached those other two such monumental milestones.

  Forty-two, she mused again but did not dwell on the number for long. Instead she thought ahead to the planned events of the day. Birthdays meant family. Oh, how she loved to have her family gathered about her! When the children had been little, she herself had been the "maker-of-birthdays." Now they were grown up and old enough that it was her turn to have a special day. Nandry had served the birthday dinner last year, Clae had reminded them. Marty couldn't really remember. The years had a tendency to blur in together, but, yes, she was sure that Clae was right.

  Today being a Saturday, the dinner would be held at the

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  noon hour instead of in the evening. Marty liked it better that way. They had so much more time with one another instead of trying to crowd in the celebration between the return of the school children and the milking of the cows and other farm chores. Today they had the whole afternoon ahead of them for visiting and playing with the grandchildren.

  Just thinking about the promises of the day filled Marty with excitement. Gone all thought of sleep, she threw back the covers, stretched on the edge of the bed, and moved to the window. She looked out upon a beautiful June morning. The world was clean and fresh from last night's rain shower. What a beautiful time of year! There was still that lingering feeling of spring in the air even though many plants had grown enough already to make one know that summer was really taking over. She loved June. Again she felt a thankfulness to her mother for having her in this delightful month.

  Marty's thoughts returned to her own children. Nandry . . . Nandry and her little family. Nandry had four children now, and what a perfect young mother she made. Her Josh teased about their "baker's dozen," and Nandry did not even argue against his laughing remarks. Yes, Nandry, their adopted Nandry, would have made her natural mama proud. And then there was Nandry's sister Clae, their second adopted daughter--Clae and her parson husband Joe. Clae too loved children, but Marty felt--though Clae had not said so--that she secretly hoped the size of their family would not grow too quickly. Parson Joe still dreamed about and planned toward getting more seminary training. Marty and Clark added little amounts to the set-aside canning jar which was gradually accumulating funds to help pay for the much-wanted schooling. Marty hoped that they would soon be able to go. Joe and Clae had one little girl, Esther Sue.

  Marty's smile left her face and her eyes misted as she thought of their next daughter, Missie. Oh, how she missed Missie! She had thought it was gradually supposed to get easier over the years of separation from loved ones, but it had not been so. With every part of her being Marty ached for Missie. If only. . . if only, she caught herself thinking again; if only I

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  could have one chat--if only I could see her again--if only I could hold her children in my arms--if only I could be sure that she is all right, is happy. But the "if-onlys" only tormented her soul. Marty was here. Missie was many, many days' journey to the west. Yet how she longed for her Missie. Though Missie was not bone of her bone nor flesh of her flesh--Missie being Clark and Ellen's daughter--Marty felt that Missie was hers in every sense of the word. The tiny baby girl with the pixie face who had stolen her heart and given life special meaning so many years ago was indeed her Missie. Oh, how I miss you, little girl, Marty whispered aga
inst the pane as a tear loosed itself and splashed down on the window sill. If only--but Marty stopped herself.

  Across the yard moved Clare and Arnie. They were men now, and yet in spite of the years, there was still much of the little boy in each of them. Many folks--those not aware of the death of Marty's first husband--were surprised by the difference in their appearances. Clare looked and acted more and more like his father Clem--big, muscular, teasing, boyish. Arnie was taller, darker, with a sensitive nature and finer features like Clark. By turn they loved one another, teased one another, fought with one another, couldn't live without one another. Laughing now as they came in for the milk pails, Clare, who usually did most of the talking, was telling Arnie of some incident at last night's social event. Arnie didn't care much for neighborhood socials, but Clare never missed one. Arnie joined in with his laughter at Clare's description of the mishap, but Marty heard him exclaim over and over, "Poor ol' Lou! Poor ol' Lou. I woulda' nigh died had it been me." Clare didn't seem to feel any sympathy for "poor ol' Lou." He was wholeheartedly enjoying the telling of the story. As the boys neared the door, Marty turned away from the window and dressed slowly. There was still lots of time to get the breakfast on. They were just now going to milk.

  Marty combed her long hair back and lifted the softness of it. It was still heavy and full. She had sometimes noted the thinness of the hair on many older women and secretly pitied them. Well, she didn't have any need to worry on that score

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  yet. In fact, her hair had really not shown much gray either. Not like Clark. His hair was quite gray at the temples and was even generously sprinkled with gray throughout. On him it looks good--rather distinguished and manly, she thought.

  Marty dawdled as she pinned up her hair, still examining her thoughts carefully one by one. A birthday was a good time to do some reminiscing. At length, her hair in place, she made up the bed and tidied the room.

  As she left her bedroom, the smell of morning coffee wafted up the stairs to her. Surely Clark didn't carry out his teasing, was her first thought. No, she had just seen Clark down by the far granary. Marty sniffed again. Definitely it was coffee, and fresh-perked too.

  Her curiosity now fully aroused, Marty picked up the fragrance of frying bacon and breakfast muffins. She hurried into the kitchen, her nose fairly twitching.

  "Aw, Ma. It was s'posed to be a surprise!"

  It was Ellie.

  "My land, girl," said Marty, "it shore enough was a surprise all right! I couldn't figure me out who in the world would be a stirrin"bout my kitchen this early in the mornin'."

  Ellie smiled. "Luke wanted ya to have it in bed. I knew thet we'd never git thet far without ya knowin', but I thought thet maybe I could have it ready by the time ya came down."

  Marty looked at the table. It was covered with a fresh linen cloth and set with the company dishes. A small bowl of wild roses was placed in the center, and each plate and piece of cutlery had been carefully assigned to its place.

  "It looks to me like ya are 'bout ready. An' it does look so pretty, dear. Those there roses look so good thet I think I could jest sit an' feast my eyes 'stead of my stomach an' not be mindin' it one little bit."

  Ellie flushed with pleasure. "Luke found 'em way over at the other side of the pasture."

  Marty buried her nose in the nearest rose, smelling deeply of its fragrance and loving it in a special way because it was given to her in love by a caring family.

  "Where is Luke?" she asked when she straightened up.

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  "Don't think thet I'm to be tellin' thet," answered Ellie, "but he's not far away an' will be back in plenty of time fer breakfast. Ya like a cup of coffee while we're waitin' fer the rest to git here?"

  "Thet'd be nice." Marty smiled. Instead of merely a birthday girl, she was beginning to feel like a queen.

  Ellie brought Marty's coffee and then returned to the stove to keep her eye on her cooking. Marty sipped slowly, watching her younger daughter over the rim of the cup. Had she realized before just how grown up Ellie was? Why, she was most a woman! Any day now she might be taking a notion to cook at her own stove. The thought troubled Marty some. Could she stand to lose another of her girls? the last one? How lonely it will be to be the only woman in my kitchen! Ellie had kept life sane and interesting in the years since Missie had left. What would Marty do when Ellie, too, was gone? Why, just the other day, Ma Graham had remarked about what an attractive young woman Ellie had become. Marty, too, had noticed it, but secretly she had been hoping that no one else would-- not for a while yet. Once people began to notice and to whisper, there would be no turning back the clock. Soon their parlor would be buzzing with young gentleman callers, and one of them would be sure to win Ellie's heart. Marty was about to allow some tears to spill over when the men came in from the barn. Clare was first. "Hey, Ma, you don't look so bad, considerin'--" he teased, then laughed at his own absurd joke as though it were something really funny.

  Arnie looked embarrassed. "Aw, Clare, nothin' funny 'bout yer dumb--"

  But Clare slapped him noisily on the back and declared good-humoredly, "Ma, ya forgot to have 'em give this kid of yers a funny bone when they made him up. Don't know how to laugh, this kid."

  Clare's teasing then turned to his sister. "Hey, it still smells all right. Haven't ya got to the burnin' stage yet?"

  Ellie laughed. She was used to Clare's teasing. Besides, she doted on her oldest brother and he would have done anything in the world for her. Clare roughed her hair and went to wash

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  for breakfast. Ellie tried to pat her hair back in its proper place and then dished up the scrambled eggs. Arnie, content to wait his turn at the washbasin, finally crossed to Marty. "Happy birthday, Ma," he said, laying his hand on her shoulder.

  "Thank ya, son. It sure has had it a promisin' start."

  "An' soon we'll all be headin' for Clae's. Boy, those kids of Nandry's git noisier ever'time thet we see 'em. 'Uncle Arnie, give me a ride.' 'Uncle Arnie, lift me up.' 'Uncle Arnie, help me.' 'Uncle Arnie--'

  "An' you love every minute of it," cut in Ellie.

  Arnie did not argue, only grinned. Marty agreed with Ellie: Arnie did love the kids.

  Clark came in then, drying his hands on a towel, and glanced around the kitchen.

  "Well, it 'pears thet my family has 'bout gathered in. Everyone waitin' on me?"

  "Yeah, thought you'd never git here, Pa," said Clare, taking the rough farm towel and winding it up to snap at Arnie.

  "The boys jest now came in," Ellie informed her pa, "so I guess you haven't kept anyone waitin' any."

  The men, finished with their washing and fooling around, took their places at the table. Marty moved her chair into position and Ellie brought the platter of hot bacon from the stove. Marty looked at the empty place. "Luke," she said. "Luke isn't here yet."

  "Still sleepin'?" asked Clare, knowing that Luke did enjoy a good sleep-in on occasion.

  "He'll be here in a minute," said Ellie. "I think thet he'd like fer us to jest go ahead."

  "But--" Marty protested, and just then the screen door banged and in came Luke, his hair disheveled by the wind and his face flushed from hurrying. Marty's heart gave a skip at the sight of her "baby." Luke was her gentle one, her peacemaker and dream-builder. Luke, fifteen, was smaller than the other boys and had serious and caring soft brown eyes. Marty felt that she had never seen another person whose eyes looked

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  as warm and compassionate as her little Luke's.

  "Sorry," he said under his breath and slid into his place at the table.

  Clark just nodded, but his love for his boy showed in his simple nod. "Would you like to wash?"

  "I can wait until we pray; then the food won't be gittin' cold."

  "Reckon the food will wait well enough. Go ahead."

  Luke hurried from the table, inspecting his hands as he went. They were covered with red stains. He was soon back, and the fam
ily sat quietly as Clark read the morning scripture portion and then led in prayer.

  His prayer of the morning included a special thanks for the mother of the home and his helpmate over the years. Clark reminded the Lord that Marty was truly worthy of His special blessing. Marty remembered an earlier prayer, so long ago when she was a hurting, bewildered and reluctant bride. Clark had asked the Father to bless her then too. God had. She had felt Him with her through the years, and these dear children about her table were evidence of His blessing.

  After the prayer ended and the food was passed, Clare looked up at Luke between bites of bacon and eggs. "So, little brother. What ya been up to so early in the mornin'?"

  Luke squirmed a bit. "Well, I jest wanted ma to have some strawberries fer her birthday breakfast, but boy--were they little and hard to find this year! Guess it ain't been warm enough yet." He held out a small cup of tiny strawberries.

  Marty's throat constricted and her eyes filled again with tears. Her sleepyhead had crawled out early to get her some birthday strawberries. She remembered back to when Missie had first started the tradition of "strawberries for Ma's birthday breakfast." After Missie had left, the children had pooled their efforts for a few years; and then, with the breaking of the pastureland that had housed the best strawberry patch, the tradition had drifted away. And now little Luke had tried valiantly to revive it again.

  Clare reached over and roughed his younger brother's hair. His eyes said, "You're all right, ya know that, kid," but his

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  mouth was too busy with Ellie's breakfast muffins.

  "Ya should have told me," Arnie whispered. "I'd a helped ya."

  Marty looked around the kitchen at the four children still sharing their table, and her heart filled with joy and overflowed with love reflected in the glisten of tears in her eyes.