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

  Missie pulled away, and Marty could feel frustration and anger in the slim body. Brushing at her tears, Missie went back to the sandwiches. Her whole person seemed shut away. Marty remained silent and began to slice beef and place it on the bread.

  When the sandwiches were ready and the coffee had boiled, Missie went to find Willie. Surely her husband would understand and pray with her for Clark's quick recovery. They had not invited Clark west to bring him to harm. But when Missie had met Willie as he was leaving her father's room, he informed her that he was leaving and it seemed that he had no time nor inclination to stop and pray. Willie had suggested that she look in on Nathan to reassure him. Missie went to Nathan's room, but it was Missie who needed some reassurance.

  She held the small boy close and let her tears fall. When she was sure that she could speak coherently, she talked to him. "Grandpa got the boys out, Nathan. Grandpa is kind of a hero. He hurt himself saving others. Now he needs to be in bed and have a long rest. You an' Josiah might need to be very quiet an' good for the next few days. Ya can do thet for Grandpa, can't ya?"

  She felt Nathan's head bobbing a yes up against her.

  "We need to pray for Grandpa. God can make him all better again. Will ya pray with Mama now, Nathan?"

  Nathan agreed and the two of them knelt by his bed.

  "God," said Nathan simply, "Grandpa got a hero an' is hurt an' needs You to make him better. He needs me an' Josiah to be quiet an' not 'sturb him. Help us to not fight or yell. An' help Mama an' Gram'ma to nurse Grandpa good. Amen."

  Missie wished to ask the young boy to pray again. She wanted to say, "Nathan, you didn't ask God to make your grandpa well. You didn't say it, Nathan." Instead she held him for a moment and told him if he'd like to go to the kitchen and share the lunch with the ranch hands, he could. Nathan bounded away, glad to be free of his room.

  Missie returned to the kitchen, her heart heavy and her head spinning. How could God answer their prayers if they

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  wouldn't pray them? Missie went to pour the coffee with a shaking hand.

  Marty slipped quietly into Clark's room and knelt by his bed. She took one of his hands in hers and caressed it, careful not to bring further hurt to the already damaged hand. It did look better now that it had been cleaned up. She pressed it to her lips and let her tears wash it again.

  "Oh, Clark," she whispered, "I couldn't bear it iffen some- thin' should happen to you. Oh, God, I jest couldn't stand it. Please, dear God, make 'im better again. Please leave 'im with me. I need 'im so much." There, she was praying the very way she had warned Missie against. Well, she couldn't help it. She couldn't help it! She needed Clark so much. She loved him more than life itself. She couldn't bear to lose him. She just couldn't! "Oh, please, God; please, God," she pleaded.

  She stayed beside his bed, crying and praying, until all of her energy and her tears were spent. Clark still did not stir. Would he ever regain consciousness?

  At length Marty was aware of a hand on her shoulder. "Mama," asked Missie, "Ya want a cup of coffee?" Marty shook her head.

  "Ya should, ya know. It might be a long night. I told Wong not to bother with supper except for the boys. I didn't think anyone else would be hungry."

  Marty looked up. "Yer right," she said wearily. "I couldn't eat a bite."

  "Coffee, then," said Missie, holding out the cup.

  Marty lifted herself to her feet and took the coffee. She was surprised at how stiff she had become. Unaware that it was getting dark outside, she wondered how long she had been there beside Clark. Missie pushed a chair toward her and she sat down.

  "The boys are already in bed," Missie ventured. "Willie still isn't back. Don't know why he--"

  "Maybe he went fer a doctor. He said thet yer pa's leg--"

  "I'm afraid there's no doctor anywhere around," Missie offered sadly. "He might have heard of someone good at setting breaks hough."

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  Marty sipped at the coffee and watched Missie's face. "Didn't Willie say where he was goin'?"

  "Just said he would be gone for a while an' if we needed anything to call the men. He also said not to let Pa stir around none. Might hurt his leg."

  Marty looked at the motionless Clark. "Looks like we needn't worry none 'bout thet. Wish he would stir some. It would make me feel some better iffen I could jest talk to him."

  "Willie says that movin' might injure his leg even more."

  "Maybe it's a blessin' thet he has thet bump on his head. At least he doesn't suffer as much. By the time he comes to again, maybe the pain will be cared fer some."

  Marty hadn't thought of the unconsciousness as a blessing, but perhaps it was. She just prayed that it wouldn't last too long.

  They sat together in silence. Scottie came for a few minutes and asked if there was anything he could do. They assured him they would call if there was any change.

  Cookie hobbled in, his face drained and tired-looking. Missie thought she had never seen him look so old. Maybe he wasn't feeling well; maybe that was why Willie had asked her to make the lunch for the cowboys.

  "Cookie, are you all right?" she asked him.

  "Whatcha meanin'?" asked Cookie.

  "You're lookin' sorta down."

  Cookie shook his head. How could he tell her that seeing Clark's injury had reminded him of the injury in his past and the pain that had accompanied it? Clark was truly fortunate right now. He was unaware of pain. But if consciousness returned, would he be able to keep from screaming with the intensity of the agony that he would feel? And how would those earth-rending screams affect the rest of the household? "Guess it bothers me to see a good man hurt," was all that Cookie said.

  The evening crawled on. The sun disappeared and the stars came out. Soon a silvery moon was shining down on a familiar world. The horses stomped and fought in the corrals, Max barked at some distant coyotes, the crickets chirped, and

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  the night-winged things beat against the window pane in an effort to get to the light. Still Clark did not stir, and Willie did not come.

  Marty and Missie sat together, talking in low tones and praying in turn. At length Missie stood and moved toward the door.

  "I think I'll fix somethin' to drink. You be wantin' tea or coffee?"

  "Tea, I think," responded Marty wearily. She too stood and walked about the room. Missie left for the kitchen, and Marty moved to pick up Clark's ragged clothes from the floor. She looked at them. They were dirty and torn and the trousers were minus one leg. Clark's leg? She kept forgetting the broken leg in her anxiety over Clark's unconsciousness. But she was not overly concerned about the leg. Many people had suffered broken legs. Usually, with a little skill on the part of some attendant, the leg was soon whole and workable again.

  Marty pulled back the bed-cover and looked at the leg swathed in bulky bandages. Actually, the men did a rather poor job of it, she thought. She began to unwind the white material, determined to fix the bandage up a bit. To her surprise there was blood on the cloth. Broken legs did not bleed, unless of course the injury was more extensive. Marty unwound the bandage more hurriedly, and the little cry which escaped her lips was like the sound of a small, wounded animal. Clark's leg was not just broken--it was destroyed! Marty felt a sickness sweeping all through her and rushed to the small basin on the stand in the corner. Her whole body shook as she retched. Faint and weak, she grasped the edge of the stand and fought to stand on her feet. At length she regained enough strength and presence of mind to be concerned for the evidence of her sickness before Missie returned. She gathered up the basin and the small pitcher that Missie had used for the cold water and headed for the backyard, disposed of the basin's contents and washed it out and then returned quickly to the room. The cool night air had helped to revive her some and she hastily attempted to put things back in order. Hurriedly she rewrapped the broken limb, trying to copy the men's original bandaging

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  as closely as she could. Then she chide
d herself. It was not a time for secrets. She knew that Willie had tried to spare her--her and Missie--but the truth needed to be known.

  She unwrapped the wound and began to methodically and carefully clean and bind it up, doing the best job possible for her to do. She finished just as Missie returned with the tea.

  Marty was glad for the strong, hot tea. She sipped it slowly until she felt some of its strength gradually making its way through her body.

  "I took a look at yer pa's leg," she stated matter-of-factly. "The broken one?"

  "The broken one."

  "I hope ya didn't move--"

  "Yer father did not stir."

  A minute of silence followed.

  "It's bad, Missie, really bad."

  "How bad?"

  "A heavy timber or rock must have fallen on it." "Ya mean. . . ?"

  "I mean it's crushed. It'll need a real doctor, one with special skills an' tools--"

  "Then we'll find one. Willie prob'ly went for one. That's what he did. He went to find a doctor."

  "But ya said--"

  "What do I know? Just 'cause I don't know of a doc doesn't mean there isn't one. Willie hears far more--"

  "I hope and pray he knows of one."

  "He will. He will. Just you wait 'an see. When he gets back here, he'll have--"

  The sound of horses came faintly through the window. Missie ran to the door and looked out through the darkness into the yard. No, not horses--a horse. Willie was back, but Willie was alone.

  "The doc must be followin'," Missie called to Marty. "Willie is home now."

  Missie ran to meet him. When they returned to the house together, Missie's cheeks bore fresh tears. Marty guessed the meaning.

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  "Willie had them telegraph every town he knew. Nowhere 'round do they have a doctor," she confessed. Willie, standing with slumped shoulders and an ashen face, could not speak.

  Marty crossed to him. "You've done all thet ya could," she comforted, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Thanks, Willie." She coaxed forth a smile that she did not feel. "We'll jest have to pray even harder," she said.

  Three people now sat in silence, or moved slowly about the room, or spoke in hushed tones. Clark still did not stir through the long night.

  When dawn came, Willie insisted that Missie get some rest. The children would be needing her. Missie left to lie down for a brief time. Still no change in Clark. The day moved on, from forenoon to noonday, afternoon to evening. Marty left Clark's side only for a few minutes at a time. She was not interested in eating, could not think of sleeping. Her mind was totally on her husband lying silently in the bed.

  Just as the long day ended and the sun was leaving the sky, Clark stirred and a groan came from his lips. Marty rushed to him. He opened his eyes, seemed to recognize her and groaned again. He slipped back into unconsciousness, but to Marty it was a blessed sign. Just to see him move and look at her was something to be thankful for. She allowed the tears to stream down her face as she buried it against him.

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  Chapter Fifteen

  Struggles

  Clark remained unconscious the entire next day. Marty stayed by his bed, longing to be able to talk with him. Missie came as often as her duties would allow. In the late afternoon, Willie returned to the house and insisted that both of the ladies take a rest. After a bit of an argument, they went. They realized that they could not carry on longer without some sleep. Willie had Wong bring him coffee, and he settled himself beside Clark's bedside. He had slept very little himself in the last two days. His eyelids felt heavy and his eyes scratchy. He rubbed a calloused hand over his face.

  Why did this have to happen? Why? The time they had looked forward to for so long--had dreamed of as a time of joyous reunion--had turned into a nightmare. Why? Surely God hadn't brought Clark and Marty way out here to take Clark's life and destroy Marty's faith? It was all a puzzle to Willie.

  And the boys? He worried about the boys. They had been so excited about meeting their grandparents. Missie had made

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  it a great adventure for them. They had counted the weeks, the days. And then, when they had met their grandparents, they had loved them so quickly, so deeply--and now this tragedy. Poor little Nathan. Not only had his grandfather been taken from him in the last few days but also his grandmother, and, thought Willie, even his own ma; for Missie's mind was far too unsettled and troubled by her father's condition to be able to do more than care for her children's basic needs.

  Willie got up and moved to the boys' room. Josiah slept soundly, unconscious of the burden that this home was presently bearing. Nathan was out. Perhaps he was in the kitchen with Wong or visiting Cookie or playing with Max. The poor little fellow. He was trying so hard to be good.

  Willie crossed to his own room and looked in on Missie. Though sleeping, her face was still pale and drawn. Willie's heart ached for her grief.

  He gently smoothed back her long hair and left her.

  He looked in on Marty. She, too, slept soundly. She looked exhausted--as well she might. She had hardly left Clark's side since the accident had occurred.

  Willie went back to Clark's room. He should check the leg. He pulled back the covers and looked at the neat, fresh bandage. This was not the bandage he had hurriedly put on! Someone else had been caring for Clark. Someone else knew of the condition of the leg. Willie wiped his hand over his face again. Did the womenfolk know? He hated the thought of their knowing; and, at the same time, he felt some of the tension leave him. It would be far better if they did know. It would help to prepare them for whatever was ahead.

  Willie pulled the light cover up over Clark and sat down heavily in the chair. The house was quiet. Most of its occupants were asleep. Willie, too, dozed occasionally, only to waken chiding himself and determined not to let it happen again.

  Josiah woke and left his bed in search of another family member. Willie, hearing him in the hall, went to get him. He picked up the small boy and held him close, walking back and forth in the hallway and crooning words of love to him. Josiah

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  cuddled closely against his father, his pudgy hands around his neck and his fingers intertwined in the heaviness of Willie's hair. He liked to be held. He liked to be loved. As far as Josiah was concerned, the world had no sorrows.

  At length, Willie held the little boy away and looked at him. "Are ya hungry?" he asked.

  "Yah. Where Mama?"

  "Mama is restin'. She's very tired."

  "Mama sleepin'?"

  "Right. Do you want to go see Wong an' have him git ya some milk an' bread?"

  "Yah!" exclaimed Josiah in glee. He always enjoyed a trip to see Wong.

  Willie carried him to the kitchen. Wong looked up from the table where he and Nathan were cutting doughnuts. "Aha," said Wong, "small boy is wake now."

  "Awake an' hungry, Wong. Ya think ya might have some- thin' fer him?"

  Wong smiled. He enjoyed the children.

  "Yes, yes. Wong find."

  Nathan called to Josiah. "Hi, Joey. Ya all done with yer sleep? See what big brother is doin'. Look! I'm helpin' Wong make doughnuts. We're gonna have 'em fer supper."

  "Maybe. Maybe not," said Wong. "Too slow. Maybe tomorrow."

  "I'll hurry," said Nathan and began to slap down the cutter in rapid succession, making queer-shaped doughnuts with chopped-out sides as one cut overlaid another.

  "Slow. Slow," called Wong. "We have some for supper. You make slow."

  Nathan slowed down. Willie squeezed the boy's shoulder. "I can hardly wait," he said. "Those shore look like good doughnuts." Then he turned to Wong.

  "Speakin' of supper, ya wanna jest feed the boys? The women are both havin' a sleep, an' I plan to let 'em sleep as long as they can. The boys can play outside fer a while an' then they can eat. I'll jest have a bowl of soup or some stew in the bedroom."

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  Wong nodded.

  Willie returned to the bedroom and took his place
beside Clark. There was no change.

  The hours crawled by slowly. Cookie came in and stayed with Clark while Willie washed his sons and readied them for bed. He spent extra time with them, holding them and reading to them, and then he tucked them in and remained in their room until they had both dropped off to sleep.

  When he returned to the sickroom, he was surprised to hear Clark groaning. Cookie was bending over him, trying to restrain him from movement.

  "He's comin' out of it," said Cookie. "Don't be surprised iffen there is some screamin'."

  Clark moaned again and fought against his extreme pain. He was not aware enough to realize yet where the pain was coming from.

  "Don't know how he's gonna stand it when he wakes up a bit more," Cookie muttered, and Willie had the impression that Cookie knew firsthand what he was talking about.

  Willie feared what Clark's cries might do to his sleeping household.

  "Isn't there anythin'--?"

  "Ya watch 'im," said Cookie. "I'm gonna find Scottie."

  Cookie hobbled out, and Scottie soon came noiselessly into the room, breathless from running. Willie watched as he pulled out a small package from his pocket to open it. Willie did not see the contents of the package, nor did he ask any questions; but Scottie seemed to feel that some information was in order.

  "A little morphine. Cookie's. He needs it now an' then fer the pain thet still bothers 'im. Makes me keep it so thet he won't be tempted to take it oftener than he should."

  Willie nodded.

  Clark was thrashing and moaning, his brow covered with perspiration; his hands clutched at the bedclothes as if to tear away the pain. Scottie leaned over him and spooned the drug into his mouth. It was awhile before it took effect, and the men guarded and soothed Clark as they waited for the medicine to

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  work. At last Clark became quieter and eventually fell into a deep sleep. Willie was thankful for the respite; but what would they do when Cookie's small supply of morphine ran out?