Love's abiding joy (Love Comes Softly #4) Page 13

  Lane swallowed. "I know I can't," he said solemnly. "But I'm . . . I'm trustin' thet He can."

  The religion-hating Smith looked at the silent, shy Lane with grudging respect.

  Willie and Lane went to the house where the doctor was waiting. Willie led the group in prayer, and the men went to Clark's room and the ladies to the kitchen.

  The hands on the clock seemed to drag their way around. The three women sat at a small worktable, untouched coffee cups before them. They had prayed together off and on throughout the whole ordeal. They had cried together and praised together. Maria felt that it was time to share her secret.

  "Juan always wanted to be a doctor. From the time he was a small boy, he dreamed and planned. At first his father said no. If he wanted to serve, he could be a priest and serve the church; but Juan pleaded. Finally his father said, 'Yes, go ahead; but you will need to pay your own way. My money will not go for foolish dreams.' His father is very wealthy. In his own way, he loves his sons. He wanted both of his boys to stay and ranch with him. Juan went away to the city to school. It was hard. He had to work and he had to study. His father thought that he would give up and come home again. But Juan did not. At last he was finished. He was a doctor and was given a good job in a city hospital. His father thought that he should come home now. He could be a doctor to the gringos and their families, but Juan said no, he must first know more, and then he would come home."

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  Maria stopped. It was very difficult for her to continue.

  "And then one day he was called home. It was urgent. He must go home right away. A man had been hurt. Juan went home and found the injured man. He, too, had crushed his leg. A horse had fallen on him. The leg was too badly broken to fix. It might have been different if he had quickly had a doctor and had been taken to a hospital soon. By the time Juan got there, the leg was as this one. It was infected and was stealing away the man's life."

  Maria stopped again and took a deep breath.

  "He had to take the man's leg. He had to. There was no other choice. Juan did the only thing that he could do. The man lived and he became again awake. And then . . . then a dreadful thing happened. He discovered that his leg was gone. He was angry. He screamed at Juan. He wanted to kill him. He said that Juan had always been jealous of him and had used his knife to make him less a man. He screamed and screamed until the father came. He too was angry. He sent Juan from the room. And then . . . then there was a pistol shot. Juan ran back to the room. The man had shot himself. Juan's father had not stopped him. The father lay weeping across the body of the dead man--his son--Juan's brother."

  Missie gasped in horror and Marty shut her eyes against the awfulness of the story that Maria had told.

  "Juan left his father's home and said that he would never, never be a doctor again. He hated what he had done to his family. He came to me. I loved him very much. We were planning to be married. Juan said that he could not marry me, that he was going far away. That he would never again be a doctor. He threw his bag across the yard and wept as he told me. I said that I loved him. That I still wanted to marry him. That I would go away with him. At last he said I could go. I packed a few things and we went to the village priest who married us. Juan did not know it, but I packed his medicine bag as well. It has been hidden these many years.

  "We came here and we began to ranch. Juan knew ranching. He had been raised on one of the biggest ranches of Mexico. He had ridden and cared for cattle from the time he was a

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  small nirio. But still Juan was not happy. He could not forget the past. He could not hide the desire to be a doctor."

  Maria toyed with the handle of the cup that held the cold coffee.

  "I said that Juan was troubled about coming to church. Of what to teach our little ones. That is right. I did not lie. But Juan is also troubled about other things. He looks at the boy with the twisted arm, and it turns a knife within him. He knows that he could have set the arm properly and the boy would not have been crippled. He knows of the boy with the broken ankle in town. He knows that you all suffer here in this house with the good man, Clark. It makes my Juan suffer, too. He has not slept or eaten the last several days. He did not know what to do. He did not know that I had his bag and there was some medicine in it."

  Maria sighed.

  "He will always ask himself, could he have saved the leg if he had come sooner?"

  "No," said Marty. "He mustn't think that. The leg was crushed. It was a very bad break. I don't think thet anyone could have saved it. I pretended--but I didn't really believe. Juan mustn't blame hisself. He mustn't. He mustn't blame hisself 'bout his brother either. Juan did what had to be done. He couldn't have done anythin' else."

  Maria smiled weakly. "I know that and you know that-- and down deep Juan knows that, too. But it still torments him. Only now--now I pray that he can forget that deep hurt and go on to heal. He was always meant to be a healer, my Juan."

  Willie walked into the kitchen. His face was pale and his hands shaky.

  "It's all over," he said. "Doc says it went well. Now we jest haf to wait an' see."

  Marty rose to hurry to Clark, and Missie and Maria prayed together again.

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  Chapter Eighteen

  Healing

  During the next few days, Clark was in and out of consciousness, mostly because of the medication that he was given. Dr. De la Rosa, as he was now known, stayed with him, Maria having returned home to their children. Marty found the time following Clark's surgery even more taxing than her previous vigil, but Juan gave her encouraging reports daily. Clark's pulse was more normal and his color was improving. Juan was hopeful that the infection had been caught in time. Marty dreaded the time when Clark would be aware of the fact that his leg was missing. She worried about how he might respond to the shocking truth.

  It happened on the third day following surgery. Clark awoke and seemed to be quite rational. He asked for Marty, who was at the time having her lunch. She went to him, and Dr. De la Rosa left the room.

  "I'll be right here in the hall if you need me," Juan whispered softly as he left.

  Marty crossed to Clark's bed.

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  "Hello, there," she said. "It's nice to see ya awake. You've been sleepin' a powerful lot lately."

  Clark managed a crooked grin. "I reckon," he admitted. "Ya feelin' some better?"

  "I think thet I'm feelin' lots better than even I know," said Clark.

  "Meanin'?"

  "Meanin' I've sorta lost track of time an' what's been goin' on. I need a few explanations, Marty. Seems I've been in an' out of a nightmare. Care to fill me in?"

  Marty sighed heavily. "It's been a nightmare fer all of us--but I guess fer you, most of all."

  Marty did not go on. Clark waited for her a moment and then prompted. "I think thet I need to know, Marty." "Where do ya want to start?"

  "How 'bout the beginnin'?"

  "Ya remember the mine accident?"

  "I remember."

  "Ya know thet ya was hit on the head an' were out fer a few days?"

  "I do."

  "Do ya remember comin"round at all?"

  "Yah. It's sorta hazy. I was in an awful lot of pain. My leg was--"

  Clark stopped for a moment, then went on. "My leg's not as bad now."

  "We found a doctor. He's been carin' fer ya."

  "A doctor! Since I woke up, Juan's been--"

  "Juan is a doctor."

  "Juan?"

  "Right."

  "Well, don't thet beat all?" grinned Clark. "How'd thet all come 'bout?"

  "It's a long story," said Marty. "Juan's been runnin' away from his past. One day I'll tell it all to ya."

  "Well, iffen thet don't beat all," Clark said again. "Juan a doctor. Folks here 'bout must be crazy-happy to learn--" "They's excited 'bout it, all right. Soon's yer well enough

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  to leave behind, Juan is headin' fer a city to git what he needs to start up a prop
er-like practice. He's already set the ankle of thet boy in town who was in the mine. He thinks thet he might even be able to re-break an' set the arm of the young Newton child. The parents are willin' fer 'im to try."

  "Well, I'll be," said Clark and then, after a moment of silent thoughtfulness, he went on. "Ya know, this here accident might be worth it iffen it got a doctor fer this town. Iffen it helped clear up Juan's problems so thet he could do his proper work ag'in, it jest might be worth the price."

  Marty cringed. Clark did not as yet know just how high the price had been.

  "So Juan cared for me, huh?" went on Clark.

  "He did," answered Marty, "right when we had 'bout given up."

  "I was thet bad?"

  "Thet bad."

  "He had the proper medicine?"

  "Enough fer it to do the job. Heard him fussin' thet he didn't have somethin' else, but I guess what he did have worked."

  "An' he fixed my leg."

  "He saved yer life," said Marty.

  "He fixed my leg an' saved my life."

  Marty did not answer. She bit her lip and then she realized that Clark was waiting for her to go on.

  "Clark," she said slowly, "yer leg was bad broke. It wasn't just a break, Clark; it was crushed. Then it got even worse. It got all gangrene. The gangrene nearly killed ya. It would have, too, iffen it hadn't been fer Dr. De la Rosa."

  Clark's face had gone white as Marty talked. The words gangrene and poison seemed to linger in his eyes and on his lips.

  "An' yer sayin'--?"

  "I'm sayin' thet Dr. De la Rosa fixed yer leg as best he could--in the only way he could. He took it off, Clark. He took it off 'fore it killed ya."

  Clark turned away his face. Marty saw a deep shiver vibrate all through him. She threw her arms around him and

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  held him close. She waited for a moment until the truth had time to slowly penetrate his thinking.

  "Clark," she said, her tears falling freely, "I know thet isn't what ya wanted to hear. I know thet ya didn't want to lose a leg. I didn't want it either, Clark. With my whole being', I fought it. But it was yer leg or you. For a while, it looked like it would be both. Oh, Clark, I'm jest so thankful to God thet He sent a doctor along in time to spare ya. I . . . I . . . I don't know how I'd ever made it without you, Clark. God spared ya, an' I'm so glad. So glad. We'll git by without the leg . . . I promise."

  Clark smoothed her hair and held her close. His trembling eventually stopped. He could even speak.

  "Yer right. It'll be all right. Guess it jest takes some gettin' used to." And then Marty just let herself go and cried out all of her pent-up worries and frustrations. "Oh, Clark," she sobbed. "I'm sorry. So sorry thet it had to happen to you like this. Iffen I could have jest taken yer place. . I know how important it be to a man to be whole--to be able to feed an' care fer his family. I could have done my carin' from a chair. It wouldn't have mattered near as much to me. Oh, Clark! I'm so sorry."

  "Hush now, hush," said Clark. "Yer actin' like a hysterical woman. This don't change things. I can still be a-carin' fer my family. One leg ain't gonna make a lot of difference. Hush now. Iffen the Lord hadn't a figured thet I could do without thet there leg, He wouldn't have 'llowed this, now would He?"

  At length, Clark got Marty comforted and in control. He pushed her gently away from him. "An' now," he said, "iffen ya don't mind, I'm feelin' in the need fer some rest. I'll talk to ya in the mornin'. Now ya send thet there doc back in here, will ya?"

  Marty left the room and sent in Juan. Juan entered the room, his pulse racing. He remembered the other incident when his brother had discovered his missing limb. He didn't blame any man for taking the news hard. He stood silently, looking at the big man lying still on the bed. Clark was the first to speak.

  "I heard thet I owe ya my life." Juan said nothing. Perhaps

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  Clark did not yet know about his leg.

  But Clark went on. "It must be a powerful hard decision fer a man to make--even a man trained in medicine--to take a man's limb an' spare the man's life, or let him die with both legs on. I'm glad thet I've never had to do the choosin'. I want to tell ya 'thank you' for being' brave enough to make the choice fer me when I wasn't able to make it fer myself. I would have chosen to live, Juan--even without the leg--I would have chosen to live. Life is good--an' life is in the hands of Almighty God. Now, I'm not sayin' thet I fancy learnin' to live without a leg. I'm not pretendin' to be some hero thet it won't bother none. But I am sayin"thank you' fer givin' me thet chance. With God's help, I'll make it. If He 'llowed it, then He must have a plan to git me through it, too. Fer He plans only fer my good."

  Juan stood watching Clark, not speaking. There were no angry cries, no cursing, no incriminations coming from Clark. He knew of his handicap--he knew of his loss--but he had accepted it and even thanked the doctor for giving him a chance to live. There was a difference here. A distinct difference between the way this man accepted his handicap and the way his own brother had. What made the difference? Juan determined to do some thinking on it when he could get off by himself and take the time. One thing he already knew--where his brother had cursed God, this man thanked God. Perhaps. . . perhaps it had something to do with that.

  Clark interrupted his thoughts.

  "An' now, doctor, I don't be pretendin' thet this here hasn't shook me up a bit. It's gonna take some thinkin' on to git used to the idea. I don't much feel up to thinkin' at the moment. Ya happen to have somethin' to help a man git a little sleep instead? I think thet it might be easier to handle come morn in' . "

  Dr. De la Rosa moved to prepare some medication.

  Clark did not go to sleep immediately. He spent time thinking, even though he wished that he could shove the whole problem off to the side and pretend that it did not exist. He

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  also did some praying--deep, soul-searching praying--asking for God's help in the hours of adjustment and growing. He even did some weeping--heart-rending weeping--with sobs that shook his large frame. When it was all over, he wiped away the tears from his gaunt cheeks, set his chin, and reached for the unseen hand of God. He never discussed his inner feelings concerning his handicap again.

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  Chapter Nineteen

  Adjustments

  Marty often thought that Clark's recovery was slow indeed, but to Dr. De la Rosa, it was a daily miracle. Clark was doing much better than the doctor had dared even to hope. When one considered what the man had been through, his convalescence was truly amazing.

  Willie had kept the family in the East informed throughout the whole ordeal by the means of telegrams. A great measure of relief accompanied the cable assuring them that Clark was well on the way to recovery. He stated that, at the present, he was still unable to give them a date for Clark's return home. The answer soon came, "Pa, don't hurry. Everything fine here. Letter following." Marty anxiously waited for the arrival of the letter.

  As she sat mending one of Nathan's small shirts, Marty was surprised to discover that it was well past the time they had planned to have returned to their farm. How different the trip had turned out from what they had expected it to be! Marty quickly realized that Clare's wedding was only days

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  away. She and Clark would not--could not--possibly make it back in time for the wedding. Deep disappointment flooded through Marty. She would hate to miss the wedding, but neither would she want the young couple to postpone it on their account. Then Marty thought of Luke's plans to go off to college. She should be home right now preparing his clothes and getting him ready. How she hated to miss that! A few unbidden tears slipped down and Marty wiped them away quickly before they could be observed. But Luke was so young. It was hard enough to let him go, but without her there to-- She stopped herself. She'd be crying in earnest if she didn't get herself under control.

  Marty laid aside the shirt and went to check on Clark. Missie was already there. In fact, it was not often that M
issie was not with her father. She made up games that she played with him, she read to him, she fluffed his pillows and sponged his face and hands, she talked to him about her garden and her children, she discussed his meals and she told of happenings in the district. Yes, Missie was often with her father. It was touching to see so much love between father and daughter. Marty smiled at the two of them.

  "Ya know what he's a-sayin'?" said Missie in exasperation. "He's sayin' that he's gonna get up."

  Marty smiled again. "I think thet's a great idea," she said. "Great?" Missie, in shock, exclaimed. "He's not ready for that yet! Juan said--"

  "Juan said thet he should choose his own pace. Iffen yer father thinks thet he is--"

  Clark stopped the two of them. "Hold it, hold it," he said, raising his hands in his customary way. "No use ya all gittin' into it. I will obey my doctor. I will not git up 'til I am ready to git up. Iffen ya don't think thet the time is right, Missie, I will wait."

  Missie looked relieved, and Marty looked slightly bewildered.

  "I will wait until right after lunch," continued Clark. Missie sputtered, "Big wait--especially since it's now eleven-thirty."

  Then they all three began to laugh.

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  After lunch, Clark sat on the edge of the bed for a while. Later, with Marty on one side and Wong on the other, he moved to the porch to sit in a rocking chair. The day was warm, and the sun's rays felt good to the man who had been shut away in the house far too long. He took great breaths of the fresh air and sniffed deeply of the earth and the growing things.

  Nathan came to play by him, showing him all the tricks Max could do. Being more a family dog than a showdog, Max had very few of them, so Nathan put him through the same ones over and over while Clark laughed appreciatively as though enjoying each trick.