Love Comes Softly Page 12

  She wiped angry tears on her apron, squared her shoulders, and turned back to add more wood to the fire. Then she noticed Clark sitting there, boots in hand, watching her.

  He cleared his throat, and she looked steadily at him. She had worked so hard for this day and now she was cheated out of it. She hoped he would not try to say something understanding or her resolve might crumble. She quickly moved to stand in front of him as he sat lacing his boots, and with a smile she waved her hand toward the laden cupboard. “My word. What’re we ever gonna be doin’ with all this food? We’ll have to spend the whole day eatin’ on it.”

  She moved back to the cupboard and began work on preparing the turkey for roasting.

  “I do hope thet the Grahams haven’t been caught short-fixed fer Christmas. Us sittin’ here with jest us three an’ all this food, an’ them sittin’ there with so many....” She drifted to a halt and glanced over at Clark, who sat there openmouthed, a boot dangling from his hand.

  He shook his head slightly, then said, “Ma’s too smart to be took off guard like. She knows this country’s mean streak. I don’t think they be a wantin’ at all.”

  Marty felt relieved at that news. “I be right glad to hear thet,” she said. “The storm had me worryin’.”

  She finished stuffing the turkey, then opened the oven door.

  “Best ya let me be liftin’ thet bird. He’s right heavy,” Clark said and hurried over to put it in.

  Marty did not object. With it safely roasting and the stove gradually warming the kitchen, Marty put on the coffeepot and then took a chair.

  “Seems the storm nearly won,” she acknowledged slowly, “but it can’t win unless ya let it, can it?”

  Clark said nothing, but as she looked at him his eyes told her that he understood her disappointment—and more than that, her triumph over it.

  He reached out and touched her hand. When he spoke his voice was gentle. “I’m right proud of ya, Marty.”

  He had never touched her before except for helping her in and out of the wagon, and something about it sent a warm feeling through her. Maybe it was knowing that he understood. She hoped he hadn’t noticed her response to his touch and quickly said, “We’ll have to cook the whole turkey, but we can freeze what we can’t eat. I’ll put the vegetables in smaller pots an’ cook only what we be needin’. The rest will keep fer a while in the cold pit. The bakin’”—she stopped and waved a hand to all the goodies stacked around and laughed—“we be eatin’ thet till spring iffen we don’t git some help.”

  “Thet’s one thing I don’t be complainin’ ’bout,” Clark said. “Here I was worryin’ ’bout all those Graham young’uns with their hefty appetites comin’ an’ not leavin’ anythin’ fer me, an’ now look at me, blessed with it all.”

  “Clark,” Marty said in mock dismay, “did you go an’ pray up this storm?”

  She’d never heard him laugh so heartily before, and she joined in with him. By then the coffee was boiling, and she poured two cups while he went for the cream. The kitchen was warmer now, and the hot coffee washed away the last of the chill in her.

  “Well,” she said, getting up as quickly as her extra burden would allow, “we may as well have some bakin’ to go with it. Gotta git started on it sometime. What ya be fancyin’?”

  Clark chose a spicy tart and Marty took a simple shortbread cookie.

  They talked of the day ahead as they shared their coffee. Clark wouldn’t go out for the chores until after Missie was up. That way he wouldn’t miss out on her excitement. Then they would have a late breakfast and their Christmas dinner mid-afternoon. The evening meal would be “the pickin’s,” Clark said. That would save Marty from being at the stove all day. It sounded like a reasonable plan to her, and she nodded her agreement.

  “We used to play a game when I was a kid,” Clark said. “Haven’t played a game fer years, but it might be fun. It was drawed out on a piece o’ paper or a board, an’ ya used pegs or buttons. While ya be busyin’ about, I’ll make us up one.”

  The clock ticked on and the snow did not cease nor the wind slacken, but it didn’t matter now. It had been accepted as a fact of prairie life, and the adjustments had been made.

  When Missie called from her bed, Clark went for her. Marty stationed herself by the sitting room fire to watch the little girl’s response to their Christmas preparations. They were not disappointed. Missie was beside herself with excitement. She rushed to the tree, went from the small toys in her sock to the dollhouse, then to the sock, back to the dollhouse, exclaiming over and over her wonder of it all. Finally she stopped, clasped her tiny hands together, and said, “Oh, Chris’as bootiful.”

  Clark and Marty laughed. She was off again, kneeling before the dollhouse, handling each small item carefully as she took it out and placed it back again.

  Clark finally stood reluctantly to go do the chores. The storm was still raging, and he dressed warmly against it. Caring for the stock would be difficult on such a day, and he murmured to Marty that he was glad the animals were sheltered from the wind.

  Marty felt some concern as she watched him go out. The snow was so thick at times that you couldn’t see the barn. She was glad he took Ole Bob with him, as the dog could sense directions should the storm confuse Clark. He also left instructions with her. If he wasn’t in by midmorning, she was to fire the gun into the air and repeat, if necessary, at five-minute intervals. Marty fervently hoped it wouldn’t be necessary.

  Much to Marty’s relief, Clark was in before the appointed time, chilled by the wind but reporting all things in order.

  She put the finishing touches on breakfast, and they sat down to eat. Missie could hardly bear to leave her new toys and came only with repeated promises that she could return to them following the meal.

  They all bowed their heads and Clark prayed. “Sometimes, Lord, we be puzzlin’ ’bout yer ways. Thank ya, Lord, thet the storm came well afore the Grahams be settin’ out. We wouldn’t want ’em caught in sech a one.”

  Marty hadn’t thought of that, but she totally agreed.

  “An’, Lord, thank ya fer those who share our table, an’ bless this day of yer Son’s birth. May it be one thet we can remember with warm feelin’s even if the day be cold. Thank ya, Lord, fer this food thet ya have provided by yer goodness. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Missie, then she looked up at her pa. “The house”—she pointed—“thanks—house.”

  Clark looked puzzled. Marty, too, felt bewildered but tried to understand what the small child meant.

  “I believe she be wantin’ ya to say thanks fer her dollhouse,” Marty finally ventured.

  “Is thet it? Okay, Missie, we pray again. An’ thank ya, Lord, fer Missie’s dollhouse. Amen.”

  Missie was satisfied, and after her second “amen,” she quickly began work on her breakfast between quick glances over at the beloved dollhouse.

  They roasted nuts at the open fire, played the game Clark had made, which Marty won with alarming consistency, and watched Missie at her play. When the child was later tucked in for a nap, a tiny doll chair firmly grasped in hand, Marty got busy with the final dinner preparations. After the child awoke they would have their Christmas dinner. She wanted everything to be just right. From those early days of only pancakes to a bountiful table spread with all manner of good things in just a little over two months. Marty was rather pleased with herself.

  After they had eaten more than enough of the sumptuous meal, Clark suggested they read the Christmas story in the sitting room while their food settled.

  “Yer turnin’ out to be a right fine cook,” he observed, and Marty could feel herself flush at the compliment. “I think Ma Graham would be even more impressed than me,” he went on, “and we’ll jest have to plan us another get-together so she can find out fer herself.”

  They moved to the sitting room, and Clark took Missie on his knee and opened the Bible. He first read of the angel appearing to the young girl, Mary, telling her that she had
been chosen as the mother of the Christ child. He went on to read of Joseph and Mary’s trip to Bethlehem, where no room was found in the inn, so that night the infant Jesus was born in a stable and laid in the cattle’s manger. The shepherds heard the good news from the angels and rushed to see the newborn king. Then the wise men came, following the star and bearing their gifts to the child, going home a different way for the protection of the baby.

  Marty thought she had never heard anything so beautiful. She couldn’t remember ever knowing the complete story before as it was given in the Scriptures. A little baby born in a stable was God’s Son. She placed a hand over her own little one.

  Wouldn’t be carin’ fer my son to be born in a barn, she thought. Don’t suppose God was wantin’ it thet way, either, but no one had room fer a wee baby. Still—God did watch over Him, sendin’ angels to tell the shepherds an’ all. An’ the wise men, too, with their rich gifts. Yes, God was carin’ ’bout His Son.

  The story captured Marty’s imagination as she waited for the birth of her own first child, and she thought on it as she did the dishes. After she was through in the kitchen she returned to the sitting room. Clark had gone out to do the evening chores before it got too dark. It was hard enough to see one’s way in the daylight in such a storm.

  Marty sat down and picked up the Bible. She wished she knew where to locate the Christmas story so she might read it again, but as she turned the pages she couldn’t find where Clark had read. She did find the Psalms, though, and read one after the other as she sat beside the warm fire. Somehow they were comforting, even when you didn’t understand all of the phrases and ideas, she thought.

  She read until she heard Clark entering the shed and then laid the Book aside. She’d best put on the coffee and get those “pickin’s” ready.

  Later that evening, after Missie had been put to bed, Marty got up the courage to ask Clark if he’d mind reading “the story” again. As he read, she sat trying to absorb it all. She knew a bit more about it this time, so she could follow with more anticipation, catching things she had missed the first time. She fleetingly wondered if Clem had ever heard all of this. It was such a beautiful story.

  Oh, Clem! her heart cried. I wish I coulda shared sech a Christmas with you. But it was not to be, and Marty took a deep breath and concentrated on the story from the Book.

  After the reading, Marty sat in silence, only her knitting needles clicking, for she did not enjoy idleness, even on Christmas.

  Clark put the Bible away and went out to the lean-to. He returned with a small package.

  “It ain’t much,” he said, looking both sheepish and expectant at the same time, “to be sayin’ thank ya fer carin’ fer Missie an’ all.”

  Marty took it from him with a slight feeling of embarrassment. Fumbling, she took off the wrapping to reveal a beautiful dresser set, with ivory comb, brush, and hand mirror. Hand-painted flowers graced the backs in pale golds and rusts. It nearly took Marty’s breath away.

  She turned the mirror over in her hand and noticed letters on the handle, M.L.C.D. It took a minute for her to realize they were her initials: Martha Lucinda Claridge Davis. He had not only given her the set, he had given her back her name. Tears pushed out from under her lids and slid down her cheeks.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, “really beautiful an’ I... I jest don’t know how to thank ya.”

  Clark seemed to understand what had prompted the tears, and he nodded slowly.

  Marty went to put the lovely set on her chest in her room. She remembered the scarf. She lifted it out of the drawer and looked at it. No, she decided. She just couldn’t. It wouldn’t do. She shoved it back in the drawer. It just wasn’t good enough, she decided. Not good enough at all.

  TWENTY

  A Visit From Ma Graham

  Thinking back, Marty declared it a good Christmas in spite of having to overcome her keen disappointment. It would have been so much fun to have shared it with the Grahams, but as she had concluded there was nothing that could be done about that, somehow she felt sure Clark’s prayer had been answered and that in years to come they would remember it with warm feelings.

  After the storm, the wind stopped howling and the sun came out. The stock moved about outside again, and the chickens ventured from their coop to their wire enclosure for a bit of exercising. Ole Bob ran around in circles, glad to stretch his legs. Marty envied him as she watched. How good it would be to feel light and easy moving.

  Looking carefully at herself for the first time in months, she studied her arms and hands. They were thinner than they used to be, she realized. She hiked up her skirt and looked at her legs. Yes, she definitely had lost weight, except for the one spot where she decidedly had put it on. She’d have to eat up a bit, she chided herself. She’d been quite thin enough before. After the baby arrived, she’d “blow away in the wind iffen she wasn’t tied down,” as her pa used to say. Well, she was sure enough tied down now, she concluded. The baby seemed to be getting heavier every day. She felt bulky and clumsy, a feeling she wasn’t used to. Well, she realized, it was to be expected. December was as good as spent. Even as she thought of that, the month of January stretched out before her, looking oh so long. She wondered if she could endure it. Well, she’d just have to take it one day at a time.

  January dawned with a bright sky and no wind, something Marty had learned to be thankful for. She hated the wind, she decided. It sent chills right through her.

  This was the new year. What did it hold for her? A new baby for sure. Then a faint anxiety pressed upon her, and she implored Clark’s God to please, please let everything be all right.

  Clark had been to town again the day before and returned home with a rather grim expression. Marty was about to ask the meaning of all of the trips but checked her tongue.

  Iffen it be somethin’ I be needin’ to know, he’d be sayin’ so, she told herself as she went to get the breakfast on the table.

  Seems on a new day of a new year, somethin’ good should be happenin’.

  When she checked out the kitchen window, she felt that it truly had, for there were three graceful and timid deer crossing the pasture. Marty ran back to the bedroom for Missie.

  “Missie,” she roused the little girl, “come see.”

  She hurried back to the kitchen, hoping the deer hadn’t already disappeared. They had stopped and were grazing in an area where horses had pawed the snow from the grass.

  “Look, Missie,” Marty said, pointing.

  “Oh-h,” Missie’s voice expressed her excitement. “Doggies.” “No, Missie,” Marty giggled, “it’s not doggies. It be deer.”

  “Deer?”

  “That’s right. Ain’t they pretty, Missie?”

  “Pretty.”

  As they watched, Clark came in from the barn, Ole Bob bounding ahead of him, barking at whatever took his fancy. The deer became instantly alert, long necks stretched up, legs tensed, and then, as though on a given signal, they all three leaped forward in long, graceful strides, lightly up and over the pasture fence and back into their native woods. It was a breathtaking sight, and Marty and Missie were still at the window gazing after them when Clark entered.

  “Pa!” cried Missie, pointing. “Deer—they jump.”

  “So ya saw ’em, eh?”

  “Weren’t they somethin’?” Marty said in awe.

  “They be right nice, all right, though they be a nuisance, too. Been noticing their tracks gettin’ in closer an’ closer. Wouldn’t wonder that one mornin’ I be a findin’ ’em in the barn with the milk cows.”

  Marty smiled at his exaggeration. She finally pulled herself away from the window and busied herself with breakfast.

  Later in the day, after the dinner dishes had been cleared away and Marty was putting some small stitches on a nightie for the new baby, she heard Ole Bob suddenly take up barking again. Someone was coming, she decided, and him not a stranger. She crossed to the window and looked down the road.

  “W
ell, my word,” she exclaimed, “it be Ma an’ Ben!”

  Joy filled her as she put aside her sewing and ran to make them welcome.

  Clark came in from the yard, seeming not too surprised. He and Ben took the horses to the barn for sustenance and rest after their hard labor to buck some large drifts across the road. The two men then seated themselves in the sitting room by the fire and talked of next spring’s planting and of their plans to extend their fields, and other man-talk.

  Imagine thinkin’ of plantin’ now with ten-foot drifts standin’ on the cornfields, Marty thought as she put on the coffee.

  The women settled in the kitchen. Ma had brought along some knitting, and Marty brought out the sock she was knitting for Clark. She needed help in shaping the heel and was glad for Ma’s guidance.

  They discussed their Christmases and their disappointment, but both admitted to having a good Christmas in spite of it all. Ma remarked that they were more than happy to say yes when Clark had stopped by yesterday, inviting them to come for coffee New Year’s Day if the weather held.

  So thet’s it, Marty thought. An’ he didn’t tell me fer fear it might be ruined agin by “mean” weather, as he calls it.

  The visit took on even more meaning for her. Ma told Marty the news that young Jason Stern was there “most ever’ time I turn me round.” With misty eyes she told how Jason had come Christmas Eve and asked permission for Sally Anne and him to be “a marryin’ when the preacher come for his spring visit.”

  “He seems a right good young man,” she added, “an’ I should feel proud like, but somehow it be hard to give up my Sally, her not yet bein’ eighteen, though she will be, jest by the marryin’ time.”

  Marty thought back to her own tearful pleas, begging her ma and pa for permission to marry young Clem. She had been about the age of Sally Anne. She suddenly saw her own ma and pa in a different light. No wonder they were hesitant. They knew life could be hard. Still, she was glad she had those few happy, even though difficult, months with Clem.