Love's Long Journey Read online

  Melinda then asked, “Are you all settled?”

  “Yes... I guess so,” Missie responded, glad for the change of subject. “I kept as few things as I could so it wouldn’t mean too much trouble later. I did keep my sewing machine. Willie thought it would help me to be busy—and I do need to do the sewing for the baby. Anyway, I love to sew.”

  “So do I,” Melinda said with fervor. “I had a machine....” Her voice drifted to a halt, and there was an awkward pause among the three at another reminder of Melinda’s tragic loss.

  Missie then spoke up. “Oh, if you’d like to use my machine—anytime. I would be so pleased to have your company.”

  “Could I?”

  “Please do! The little bit of sewing I have to do will never keep me busy for the whole three months.”

  Melinda smiled. “Thank you so much, Mrs. LaHaye. I would so appreciate that.”

  “Please, call me Missie.”

  “And my name is Melinda. You can even shorten it if you like.”

  “Melinda suits you. I like it.”

  Melinda smiled.

  “I heard you found employment,” Missie continued.

  “Yes, of a sort.”

  “It must be awfully tiring.”

  “It is that, but at least I’m paying my own way, and it won’t be long until school starts. With my salary from the hotel—an’ your sewing machine—perhaps I can start school in style.” She gave a small chuckle.

  “I was a schoolteacher, too—before I married Willie.”

  “Really? And a good one, I’m sure.”

  “I hope so. At any rate, I loved it. Some days I miss it.”

  “I wish I had some trainin’ like thet,” Kathy remarked. “I’d love to git a position to help Pa out fer a while. But the only work thet is available fer a girl here, iffen she doesn’t have special trainin’... well, Pa won’t hear tell of it.”

  “Your pa will make out just fine, I’m sure,” Melinda comforted. “In no time at all he’ll have all the business he can handle.”

  Kathy smiled hopefully. “Yeah, I reckon he will. Still, I’d like to do more than just keep house.”

  “Do you like to sew?” asked Missie.

  “I’ve never learned, so I really don’t know.”

  “Well, why don’t I teach you? Between Melinda and you and me, we’ll really keep my machine humming.”

  They all laughed.

  “Could ya? I mean, would ya mind?”

  “Of course not. I’d love to.”

  “Then I’d love it, too.”

  Mrs. Taylorson bustled through the door.

  “I brung you girls some tea,” she said, carrying a tray of cups. “Company don’t come to my house an’ not git served—even iffen it ain’t my company.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Taylorson, how kind!” Missie exclaimed, pleased that her landlady was so thoughtful. She introduced her friends and explained to Mrs. Taylorson that she might see them often. Mrs. Taylorson seemed to enjoy the idea. It occurred to Missie that the woman might not have much company of her own and was welcoming the idea of some female companionship.

  The women continued their visit over their tea and cookies, including Mrs. Taylorson in their conversation.

  At length the two visitors rose to leave. They requested that Missie visit them, which she promised to do.

  Mrs. Taylorson eagerly invited them to return “jest anytime.”

  Missie climbed the stairs to her room feeling much better. It had been a good day. God had given the help He’d promised. The telegram home, the visit with friends—a reminder that she would not really be alone when Willie left—these were gentle kindnesses given from the hand of a loving Father. With all these blessings, Missie felt a warm glow inside.

  But as she closed the door to her room, the thought of Willie’s impending departure hit her once more. How was she ever going to manage three long months without him?

  She moved over to the window and stared out over the rather bleak scene below her, trying to recapture the truth of her heavenly Father’s care and presence. She turned at a noise from the stairway to find Willie entering the room to deposit a strange heap on the floor.

  “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at what looked like a bundle of canvas.

  “The gear I’ll be needin’.”

  “Gear?”

  “Fer ridin’, once I’m at the ranch.”

  “You’re going to ride in that?”

  “Sure am. It might look a bit strange, but it’s a cowboy’s best friend out on the range.”

  “What is it?” Missie asked skeptically. “And how do you use it?”

  Willie lifted the canvas. “It’s chaps,” he explained. “Ya jest pull ’em on over yer trousers, like so. The heavy canvas sheds the rain, takes the spines of the cactus, and keeps all manner of weather and injury from a rider. Ya really ought to have some yerself.”

  Missie laughed and then pointed to a square of red material. “And what’s that?” she asked again.

  “A bandanna. Ya wear it round yer neck—tied loosely like this.” Willie demonstrated. “When ya get drivin’ them little doggies an’ the dust flies so ya can hardly breathe, ya just pull it up over yer mouth an’ nose—like this!”

  Missie giggled. “I thought that’s what you use when you’re holding up a bank.”

  “Guess a few have used it fer thet, as well.” Willie smiled with her. “I’ll remember thet, should I ever think of holdin’ up a bank.”

  Missie laughed again and then turned for a good look at the strange apparel. It was going to take some getting used to—seeing Willie decked out in these strange canvas pants. She tried to imagine herself in them and smiled softly.

  “Reckon for now,” she said, “I’ll just plan to fight the cactus and the rain without the help of those.”

  FOURTEEN

  Sunday

  On Sunday morning Willie and Missie prepared themselves and headed for the church spire they had seen. The building looked bare and drab on the outside, but inside the clean-swept wooden floor and carefully dusted benches showed that someone did indeed care for this simple house of worship in this frontier town. Henry, Mr. Weiss and Kathy, Melinda Emory, and the LaHayes added considerably to the small congregation, and they were welcomed from the platform at the beginning of the service.

  The pastor, getting on in years, seemed rather weary, Missie thought. But when he rose to preach, fire was in his voice, and his face came alive with passion for the truth he was presenting. Missie was overjoyed to be in a real church service and hear a true sermon once again. She had appreciated the Sunday services of the wagon train, but she had missed having a pastor speak from the Word of God.

  The reverend greeted each one kindly at the door and personally invited the newcomers to return. Willie explained that he would not be around for another Sunday, but he was sure Missie would be there faithfully.

  “We shall welcome you,” the old gentleman said with warmth. “And if you should ever need a friend, my wife and I would be happy to have you to our home, as well.”

  Missie thanked him for his generosity and stepped out into the shining day.

  “Anything you’d be carin’ to do today?” Willie asked as they walked through the dust and heat back to the Taylorsons’ and their rented room.

  “Oh yes,” said Missie with a sigh, “I’d like to go for a long walk among some cool trees, or picnic beside a stream, or maybe just lie beside a spring and watch the water gurgle.”

  “Missie”—Willie shook his head—“don’t, please don’t say things like that....”

  “I’m sorry,” Missie whispered quickly. She tried hard to think of something that could actually be done and enjoyed in the heat of this drab town.

  “We could call on the Weisses,” she finally suggested.

  “All right,” Willie agreed enthusiastically, no doubt relieved she had thought of something. “I sure do hope Henry won’t think I’m spyin’ on ’im.” He caught her hand in his
with a chuckle.

  That afternoon at the Weisses, they received such a hearty welcome Missie’s spirits lifted even without green grass or a stream. Henry was there, also, though he didn’t seem one bit put out to have his boss appear. Melinda Emory was there, too, so the six of them settled in for a good visit. Kathy served them all cold tea, declaring the day far too warm for hot tea or coffee.

  Missie was surprised at the time when Kathy asked if they could all stay for supper.

  “Oh, I don’t think we can,” Missie said. “We didn’t say anything to Mrs. Taylorson, and supper is served at six.”

  She and Willie exchanged smiles.

  “How ’bout I run over an’ inform yer good landlady?” Henry asked.

  “Oh, but—”

  “Please stay,” Kathy begged. “The men will be gone by next Sunday.”

  “Well, I’m not sure what she’ll think,” Missie said uncertainly, “but... well... all right. She probably hasn’t started to actually prepare it, so she shouldn’t mind, should she?”

  It turned out that both Henry and Willie walked back together while the girls went to the kitchen to give Kathy a hand.

  Mrs. Taylorson did not object. In fact, Willie got the impression she was relieved at not having to fuss about in a hot kitchen on such a warm evening.

  Kathy’s meal of fried chicken, hot biscuits, and gravy was served with love and laughter, and everyone enjoyed the time spent together.

  “I know,” Kathy suggested after the dishes had been washed, “let’s have a time of singing, for old times’ sake.”

  The rest agreed. Henry went for his guitar while Mr. Weiss tuned up his violin.

  They sang all the songs they had enjoyed together from their trip west—folk songs, love songs, dance tunes, and hymns.

  When they were finished, they sang their favorite ones all over again.

  It was late when Willie and Missie walked back to the Taylorsons’ hand in hand.

  “I’m afraid we’ve broken rule number six,” Missie said.

  “An’ what is thet?”

  “Bedtime is at ten o’clock,” Missie replied in a mock stern voice. She broke into giggles, then quickly checked herself and added, “We’d better be careful or we’ll break number two, as well.”

  “An’ thet is...”

  “No loud talking or laughing,” Missie said, effecting a gruff, deep voice again.

  “Ya little goose,” Willie said, putting his arm around her waist and drawing her close. “Do ya have ’em all memorized by number?”

  “I think so. I’ve read them often enough.”

  “Speakin’ of readin’,” Willie said, “ya really should have somethin’ on hand to read. I’ll talk to the preacher. He may have a good idea of what books can be had. He may even have some—”

  “Oh, Willie, stop fretting about me. I’ve got all that sewing to do, and all that yarn to be knitted up, a piano to learn to play, and sewing lessons to give. Surely it will keep me busy.”

  “Well, we want to be sure,” said Willie, giving her hand a little squeeze.

  When Willie returned to their room on Wednesday evening, he quietly told Missie that the supply train was all loaded up and would be pulling out early the next morning. Missie knew he was keeping his voice even and matter-of-fact for her sake, but she had to bite her lip all evening to keep the tears from overflowing during supper with the Taylorsons. She hoped Willie didn’t notice, but of course he did. They retired to their room soon after the meal was finished so Willie could get his belongings packed up. It didn’t take long. Time suddenly seemed to be heavy on their hands.

  “It’s strange,” Missie said as she stood and gazed out the window, “our time is so short and precious, and yet one doesn’t really know how to spend it.”

  “Have ya everything ya need?” asked Willie for the umpteenth time, coming over to stand beside her.

  “I’m sure I will be fine.”

  “Well, I’ll leave ya some money, jest in case.”

  “Really, Willie, I don’t think I’ll be needing—”

  “Ya never know. Maybe somethin’ will turn up thet ya be needin’ or wantin’—an’ you’ll need some fer the church offerin’.”

  Missie only nodded.

  Willie led her over to the one chair in the room and sat near her on the bed. “I’m sure glad thet Kathy an’ Melinda will be around.”

  “Me too.”

  “I hope ya see ’em real often.”

  “Melinda will be working—but she promised to come over of an evening to sew.”

  “An’ Kathy is free to come anytime—right?”

  Missie nodded again. “The first thing she wants to sew is curtains for her kitchen window.”

  “An’ ya can visit ’em at their places, too,” continued Willie.

  Missie agreed.

  “Ya might pay a call on the preacher an’ his wife, too. They seem like real nice folks. Jest don’t stay out after dark—please, Missie?”

  “I won’t. Promise.”

  “One can’t be too careful.”

  “You’re the one that needs to be careful, Willie! Here I am, all tucked away safe in a town, where the worst that can happen to me is to get dust in my eyes—and you’re telling me to be careful. It’s you that’s going to have to take care, Willie.” Missie swallowed hard over the lump in her throat as Willie smoothed her hair.

  “Won’t much happen to me,” he assured her. “I’m travelin’ south with a whole passel of supply wagons, an’ Henry’ll be with me once we reach our spread. No need to worry none ’bout me.”

  “I s’pose so,” Missie admitted. “I just won’t be able to keep from it, though.”

  “I’ll worry, too,” Willie said, his voice husky. “It doesn’t pleasure me none to leave ya, Missie. If only there was some other way—”

  “I’ll be fine,” Missie quickly assured him, trying for his sake to say the words as though she really meant them.

  “Missie...” Willie hesitated, reaching over to hold her close. “Missie, the wagons are to pull out real early in the mornin’. I don’t intend to wake ya up when I leave, so my good-bye will be tonight. I love ya. I’ve loved ya ever since ya were a little schoolgirl.”

  “And you showed it,” she whispered, smiling around her tears, “by dunking my hair ribbons in an inkwell.”

  “An’ carvin’ our initials—”

  “And putting a grasshopper in my lunch pail.”

  “An’ tellin’ young Todd Culver thet I’d knock out his teeth iffen he didn’t leave my girl alone. An’ closin’ yer classroom window when it got stuck. An’ prayin’ fer ya every single day—thet iffen God willed, ya’d learn to love me.”

  “You did that?” Missie leaned away to look into his face.

  “I did.”

  “Oh, Willie,” Missie cried, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I’ll miss you so. I can’t tell you how much.”

  When Missie sat up in bed the next morning, she was alone, and Willie’s things were gone from the room. An emptiness filled her that she could not have put into words. She turned back into her pillow and sobbed. How would she ever cope? She missed him so dreadfully already. She had secretly promised herself the night before that she would be sure to waken so she might feel the comfort of Willie’s arms once more. She was annoyed at herself for failing to rouse, yet finally she had to admit it would not have made it any easier to say good-bye again.

  If only I was at home with Mama and Pa to console me.... They would understand about pain and separation.

  Her parents had personally known grief—far more devastating and final than her own sorrow now. They had lived through it. And she could, too. After all, Willie would be coming back. The wait wouldn’t be so long—not really.

  She forced herself to crawl out of bed, then bathed her face at the basin. She caught herself wondering if this was wash number one or two for this water, and if she could now throw it out and get some fresh. Her eyes moved to Mrs. Taylo
rson’s list. The empty space for number twelve now had some writing beside it. Had Mrs. Taylorson come up with another rule? Missie crossed the room for a better look and read number twelve aloud: “Always remember that I love you—both of you.”

  “Oh, Willie, ya silly goose!” she cried as fresh tears streamed down her newly washed cheeks. She was going to have to wash her face again before going down for breakfast. That, for sure, would entitle her to some more water.

  FIFTEEN

  Surprises

  Missie put her mind to settling in alone for the long stay. First she decided to list all the “must-do’s” on a piece of paper. Then she listed all the “want-to-do’s.” Neither list seemed very long. How would those tasks and activities ever keep her occupied until she was free to leave this town? She laid the lists aside with a sigh and went to her sewing material.

  She spread out all the fabric she had purchased and mentally planned just what she would sew from each piece. She then checked her yarn and noted the articles she would knit or crochet. She took a fresh sheet of paper for her weekly visitation list—one call per week on Kathy and Melinda and at least one call from them in return to use Missie’s machine.

  She sketched out a complete week on a piece of paper with a space for each hour of the day, and then she filled in her proposed activities: sewing, sewing lessons, knitting, laundry, reading, visits, shopping (she didn’t know what for, but it filled a space and the walk would do her good). She even included time at the piano in her hopes for learning to play a bit. Her week still had many vacant hours, and she didn’t see how she could stretch out her plans to fill them.

  She juggled, rearranged, and stretched all she could and finally filled in all the extra spots with the words “free time” and tried to convince herself that somehow “free time” should be looked forward to as a special liberty. Maybe Willie was right after all about checking with the pastor and his wife for some reading materials.

  She had scheduled sewing for her first morning, so she began on a small blanket. As simple as the project was, she just couldn’t keep her mind on it, so she laid it aside. She picked up her Bible once more and opened the pages at random. She tried to concentrate on the words, but the words blurred in her mind.