Love's Long Journey
Love’s Long Journey
Books by Janette Oke
www.janetteoke.com
ACTS OF FAITH*
The Centurion’s Wife
The Hidden Flame
CANADIAN WEST
When Calls the Heart When Breaks the down
When Comes the Spring When Hope Springs New
Beyond the Gathering Storm
When Tomorrow Comes
LOVE COMES SOFTLY
Love Comes Softly Love’s Unending Legacy
Love’s Enduring Promise Love’s Unfolding Dream
Love’s Long Journey Love Takes Wing
Love’s Abiding Joy Love Finds a Home
A PRAIRIE LEGACY
The Tender Years A Quiet Strength
A Searching Heart Like Gold Refined
SEASONS OF THE HEART
Once Upon a Summer Winter Is Not Forever
The Winds of Autumn Spring’s Gentle Promise
Seasons of the Heart (4 in 1)
SONG OF ACADIA*
The Meeting Place The Birthright
The Sacred Shore The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
WOMEN OF THE WEST
The Calling of Emily Evans A Bride for Donnigan
Julia’s Last Hope Heart of the Wilderness
Roses for Mama Too Long a Stranger
A Woman Named Damaris The Bluebird and the Sparrow
They Called Her Mrs. Doc A Gown of Spanish Lace
The Measure of a Heart Drums of Change
* with Davis Bunn
Love’s Long Journey
Copyright © 1982, 2003
Janette Oke
Newly edited and revised
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Cover model photography by Jason Jorgensen
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-7642-2850-6
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Oke, Janette, 1935-
Love’s long journey / by Janette Oke.
p. cm. —(Love comes softly; bk. 3)
ISBN 0-7642-2850-1
1. Davis family (Fictitious characters: Oke)—Fiction. 2. Women pioneers—Fiction.
I. Title. II. Series: Oke, Janette, 1935- . Love comes softly series;bk. 3.
PR9199.3.O38L6 2003
813'.54—dc21 2003014742
* * *
This book is dedicated to you,
the readers of Love Comes Softly
and Love’s Enduring Promise,
with thanks for your kind words
of encouragement.
JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife, and she grew up in a large family full of laughter and love. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward, and they were married in May of 1957. After pastoring churches in Indiana and Canada, the Okes spent some years in Didsbury and Calgary, where Edward served in several positions on college faculties while Janette continued her writing. She has written over five dozen novels for adults and children, and her book sales total over twenty-two million copies.
The Okes have three sons and one daughter, all married, and are enjoying their dozen grandchildren. Edward and Janette are active in their local church and make their home near Didsbury, Alberta.
Visit Janette Oke’s Web site at: www.janetteoke.com.
Contents
1. The Journey Begins
2. Day ’s End
3. Another Day
4. Traveling Neighbors
5. Rebecca Clay
6. Tedious Journey
7. Rain
8. The Big River
9. Town
10. Breaking Camp
11. A Tough Decision
12. The Taylorsons
13. News
14. Sunday
15. Surprises
16. The Ranch
17. Winter and Christmas
18. Missie’s New Home
19. Missie’s Garden
20. Summer
21. Willie’s Return
22. Afternoon Tea
23. Another Winter Ahead
24. Sundays
25. Nathan
26. Love Finds a Home
Prologue
Let’s imagine for a moment a family separation back in the days of the pioneers. Grown children have announced to their parents that the West is calling them.
For weeks and months the entire family is in a fever-pitch of excitement and activity, making plans, sewing clothing and bedding, purchasing and packing crates and crocks with supplies sufficient for many months—or even years. All the food, from coffee to flour, lard to honey, molasses to salt—and other items pickled, salted, dried, canned—is collected and prepared for the long journey. Lamps and fuel are needed, grease for the wagons, repair parts for the harnesses, as well as guns and gunpowder, tools, nails, rope, crocks, kettles, pots and pans, dishes, medicines, seeds, and material to make more clothing when what they wore would become threadbare. Any furniture or equipment that the family can afford and find room for is packed in the wagons—stove, sewing machine, bed, table, and chairs all have to be taken along.
Breakables are carefully packed in sawdust and crated in handmade boxes. Everything needs to be protected against possible water damage, for there will be rivers to ford and rains to endure. At the journey’s end, the crates will be unpacked and disassembled, every board hoarded for some future building project—a window frame, a stool, a baby’s crib. The sawdust will be sparingly used to feed a fire, sprinkled lightly over smoking buffalo chips.
The crocks and jars containing food will be used for other storage when their original purpose is complete.
Yes, it is a monumental task. The preparation for such a move will tax minds, bodies, and emotions to the limit. But when the sorting and packing is finished, the wagons are loaded and the teams hitched and ready to move out—what then?
Mothers and fathers will bid their offspring farewell with the knowledge they might be seeing them for the last time.
Communication by letter across country will take many months, if such letters arrive at all. So parents in the East will know next to nothing of their children’s and grandchildren’s whereabouts or their well-being. Those who stay behind no doubt hope that no news is good news—for only bad news is of sufficient import to be delivered across the empty miles.
Wife follows husband, convinced that her rightful place is by his side regardless of the strong tug toward the home she has known and loved. Danger, loneliness, and possible disaster await them in the new world toward which they are heading, but she goes nonetheless.
I often think about those pioneer women. What it must have cost many of them to follow their husband’s dream! To venture forth, leaving behind the things that represented safety and security; to birth their babies unattended; to nurse sick children with no medicines or doctors; to be mother, teacher, minister, physician, tailor, and grocer to a growing family; to support their men without complaint through floods, blizzards, sandstorms, and droughts; to walk tall when there was little to wear, little to work with, and e
ven less to eat.
God bless them all—the women who courageously went forth with their men. And bless those who stood with tear-filled eyes and aching hearts and let their loved ones go. And grant to us a measure of the faith, strength, courage, love, and determination that prompted them to do what they did.
Janette Oke
ONE
The Journey Begins
Missie experimentally pushed back her bonnet and let the rays of the afternoon sun fall directly on her head. She wasn’t sure if that was preferable, since the loss of protection from the sun with the shade from its wide brim also kept the slight breeze from her face. It certainly was hot! She comforted herself with the thought that the worst of the day’s heat was already past—surely it would begin to cool before long as the sun moved lower in the western sky.
Her first day on the trail seemed extremely long and tiring.
The excitement of the morning’s early departure already felt as if it were weeks behind her. But no, time insisted it truly had been only at the dawning of this very day when they had exchanged painful good-byes with her beloved family.
As she recalled the tears and sadness of the morning, Missie also felt a tingle of excitement go through her. She and Willie were really heading west! After all the planning and dreaming, they were actually on the way. From her perch on the seat at the front of the wagon, the dream, though still a long way off, was now anchored in reality.
Missie’s weary, aching body verified that they were indeed on the way, and she shifted on the hard wooden boards to try for a more comfortable position. Willie turned to her, though she knew his hands expertly holding the reins were still aware of every movement of the plodding team.
“Ya tirin’?” he asked. His eyes searched her hot face.
Missie smiled in spite of her distress and pushed back some strands of damp hair. “A bit. About time for me to stretch my legs again, I reckon.”
Willie nodded and turned back to the horses he was driving. “I miss ya when yer not here beside me,” he told her, “but I sure won’t deny ya none any relief ya might be gettin’ from a walk now an’ then. Ya wantin’ down now?”
“In a few minutes.” Missie fell silent, then commented, “Sure’s one bustling, dusty way to travel, this going by wagon train.” She could feel Willie’s sideways glance at her as she continued, “Harness creaking, horses stomping, people shouting—hadn’t realized it would be so noisy.”
“I’spect it’ll quieten some as we all get used to it.” Willie’s tone sounded a bit anxious.
“Yeah, I reckon so,” Missie assured him quickly. He had enough to worry about without wondering if she was all right.
She reached out to tuck a hand under Willie’s arm. She could feel his muscles tighten as he pulled her hand against his body in silent communication. She could see the strength in his arms as they gave firm guidance to the team. His coarse cotton shirt was damp in many places, and Missie noticed he had undone a couple of buttons at the neck.
“Guess we just brought our noise and bustle along with us,” she said wryly.
“Meanin’?”
“Well, you know what it’s been like at home for all these weeks we’ve been planning, packing, crating, loading—it seemed it would never end. And the noise was really something—everybody talking at once, hammers pounding, and barrels and pans banging. It was like a madhouse, that’s what it was.”
Willie laughed. “Was kinda, wasn’t it?”
Silence again.
Missie could feel Willie steal a glance her way. She made no further comment, and finally Willie spoke cautiously. “Ya seem to be thinkin’ awful deep like.”
Missie allowed a quiet sigh to escape from her lips and tightened her grip on Willie’s arm. “Not deep... just thinking of home. It must seem awfully quiet there now. Awfully quiet. After all the days and months of getting ready....” Missie was so taken up with her reverie she didn’t finish her sentence, and Willie did not interrupt.
Missie thought of their two wagons crammed full. Never had she dreamed it possible to get so much into two wagons. Everything they would be needing in the months ahead had been loaded into those wagons—and a fair number of things they could very well have lived without if they’d had to, Missie realized with some chagrin. She thought particularly of the fancy dishes her ma had purchased with some of her own egg money and insisted on packing in sawdust herself. “Someday you’ll be glad thet ya made the room,” Marty had assured her. And Missie knew in her heart that she would indeed look at the dishes with the bittersweet joy and memories they brought to her soul.
A sense of sadness overtook her, and she had no desire to have Willie read her mind. The thoughts of home and loved ones brought a sharp pain deep inside of her. If she weren’t careful, she’d be in tears. She swallowed hard and forced a smile as she turned to him.
“Maybe I should get in a little more walking now,” she said briskly.
“I’ll pull over right up there ahead at thet widenin’ in the road,” he promised.
Missie nodded.
“Have you noticed we’re already beyond the farms we know?” Willie asked.
“I’ve noticed.”
“Makes it seem more real. Like we really are goin’ west.” The genuine jubilance in his voice made her smile. She did share his joy and excitement, but at the same instant that now–familiar pain twisted within her. She was going west with Willie—but she was leaving behind all the others she knew and loved. When would she see them again? Would she see them again... ever? Tears pressed against her eyes.
Willie pulled the team over for a quick stop so she could climb down over the wagon wheel. The dust whirled up as he moved on without her, and Missie stepped away a few paces and turned her back. She pulled her bonnet up to keep the dust from settling on her hair. She waited until both their wagons had passed, giving a brief nod to the young fellow they had hired to drive their second team, then looked around for someone she might have already met among the other walkers who followed the teams. She didn’t recognize anyone right off, so Missie smiled at those closest to her and, without a word, took a position in that group.
As she walked the dusty, rutted road, her body, though young and healthy, hurt all over. She wondered how the older women were able to keep going. She glanced about her at two women walking slightly to her right. They look’bout Ma’s age, she mused. She is well and strong and can often outwork me. But, still, I wouldn’t want to see her have to put in such a day.
The women did look tired, and Missie’s heart went out to them. Then she remembered the wagon master, Mr. Blake, giving the whole group their instructions that morning. At the time it had seemed foolish to Missie to even consider having a short day the first few days on the trail. Now she understood the wisdom in Mr. Blake’s announcement. The sun was gradually moving toward the horizon, and they would be stopping soon, she was sure. She moved over to the two ladies and introduced herself. A bit of a chat would help them all get their minds off their aching bodies.
When their conversation had tapered off, Missie’s thoughts turned to Willie. She wondered if he would welcome the early camp tonight, or if his eagerness to reach their destination would make him want to push on.
Missie was proud of Willie, proud of his good looks. He had a dark head of slightly curling hair, deep brown eyes, a strong chin with an indentation akin to a dimple (though Willie would never allow her to call it such), a well-shaped nose that had narrowly spared perfection by his fall from a tree when he was nine years old—these descriptions were her Willie. So were the broad shoulders, the tall frame, the strong arms.
But when Missie thought of Willie, she pictured not only the man whom others saw but his character she had come to know so well. Willie, who was as manly as any but who seemed to read her thoughts, who considered others first, who was flexible when dealing with others but steadfast when dealing with himself. This was a man who was strong and purposeful in his decisions—a mite stubborn, some
felt, but Missie preferred to describe him as having “strength of determination.” Well, maybe a little stubborn, she conceded, if being stubborn was hanging on to a dream—his dream of raising cattle, of working with fine horses, of owning his own ranch, of going further west.
When Willie, two years previously, had made the trip west to seek out the spread of his dreams, he had persevered through seemingly endless searching and red tape until he actually held in his hand the title deed for the land. After he and Missie were married and when their actual going had been delayed in order to set aside the money needed for the venture, Willie had chafed at the delay, but his dream had not died. He had worked hard at the mill, laying aside every penny they could spare until he felt sure they had saved enough. Missie had been proud to add whatever she could from her teacher’s salary to make the sum grow more quickly. It gave her a sense of having a part in Willie’s dream. It was now becoming her dream, too.
Missie’s glance lifted to the sky to figure out the time by the sun. She calculated it was somewhere between three and four o’clock.
Back home the time of day was easily distinguished by the activity in evidence. Right now her ma would be taking a break from heavier tasks, spending some time in her favorite chair with mending or knitting. Her pa would still be in the field. They, too, had been awfully generous in adding to Willie’s little nest egg. She then thought of the final moments with her parents. Though it had happened just this morning, time and distance were no longer the only measurements. That was her other life, and she was now heading to a new life, the one she had chosen with Willie.
Pa and Ma had been so brave as they had bid her good-bye. Clark had gathered them all close around him and led them in family prayer. Marty had tried desperately not to cry. At Missie’s “It’s all right, Mama... go ahead and cry if you want to,” the tears did come—for both of them. The two held each other close and wept, and afterward Missie could tell her ma felt a similar measure of relief and comfort as she did.
Missie now brushed away unbidden tears and glanced about to see if she had been observed. Deliberately she pushed the thoughts of loneliness from her. If she weren’t careful, she’d work herself into a real state and arrive in camp with redrimmed eyes and blotchy cheeks. Besides, she had Willie—she need never be truly lonesome. And her pa’s prayer that morning was a reminder that “the Lord was goin’ a’fore and behind” them on their way.