Love's Long Journey (Love Comes Softly Series #3) Read online

  Missie visited Becky often, keeping her promise of introducing her to the midwife, Mrs. Kosensky. Mrs. Kosensky had vetoed John's advice that Becky walk more and cautioned her to be careful about her amount of activity each day. Becky chafed under the restrictions but obeyed the new orders.

  Missie also found plenty of opportunity to help Mrs. Collins in the care of her two young children. She often took the baby girl to visit Becky so that Becky might have some experience in the handling of a baby.

  Try as she might to keep her thoughts on the adventure ahead, Missie found that she was continually recalling the events of the day as they would be taking place "back home." Today Mama will be hanging out the wash, all white and shimmerin' in the sun; or today Pa will be makin' his weekly trip into town. Or on Sunday, the whole family is in the buggy and headin' for the little log church where they will meet and worship with their

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  neighbors and Parson Joe. Her dear Clae's Joe would bring the sermon that would be Amen'ed by all of the people.

  And so Missie went through each day; her weary but toughening body traveled with the other pilgrims of the wagon train but her spirit soared "back home" where she shared the days' activities with those that she had left behind.

  With surprise one day she realized as she prepared the evening meal that they had been on the trail for almost four weeks. In some ways it had seemed forever; and in others, it seemed not so long at all. But if it had been so long, why hadn't some of her hurting stopped? Time, she had thought, would lessen the pain, erase the burden of loneliness. How much time was required before one began to feel a whole person again?

  As Missie's body ached less, it seemed that her spirit ached more. How she missed them--each one of them. How good it would be to feel her mama's warm embrace, or her pa's hand upon her shoulder. How she would welcome the teasing of Clare and Arnie or enjoy watching the growing-up of her younger sister, Ellie. And little Luke in his soft lovableness--how she ached to hug him again. "Oh, dear God," she prayed again and again, "please make me able to bear it."

  With all of her strength, Missie fought to keep her feelings from Willie; but in so doing she didn't realize how much of her true self she was withholding from him. She often felt Willie's eyes upon her, studying her face. He fretted over her weariness and continually checked to be sure that she was feeling all right, was not overworking, was eating properly.

  The truth was, Missie was not feeling well. Apart from her deep homesickness, there was nausea and general tiredness. But she didn't admit it to Willie. It's not the right time yet. Willie would just worry, she kept telling herself. But she sensed--and did not like--the strain that was present between them.

  Each day became very much like the others. The LaHayes always rose early. Missie prepared breakfast for Willie and Henry while they checked and watered the animals and prepared them for the new day's travel. They ate, packed up and moved out. At noon they took a short break and Missie again prepared a simple meal.

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  When they stopped at the end of the day, there was the fire to start, the meal to be cooked and the cleaning up to be done. Very little fresh food now remained, so Missie began resorting to dried and home-canned foods. She was fast wearying of the limited menu over and over. She wondered if it was as distasteful to Willie and Henry as it was to her. What wouldn't she give to be able to sit down to one of her mother's appetizing meals?

  The amount of walking Missie did depended on the terrain and the intensity of the heat. Becky Clay did not attempt to walk far each day. John kindly refrained from prodding her to do more than she felt comfortable doing, coming to the realization that all women were not as hardy as his mother. Becky did welcome time with the other ladies, even though she had to be careful not to overdo.

  The travelers began to know one another as individuals, not just faces. For some, this was good. Mrs. Standard and Mrs. Schmidt seemed to accept and enjoy one another more each day. They hoped to be close neighbors when the journey ended.

  Kathy Weiss and Tillie Crane also became close friends, though Kathy also spent many hours with Anna, the oldest of the five Standard girls. Anna and Tillie shared no common interest, however, and seemed to have no desire to spend time in one another's company. In turn, Mrs. Standard seemed to enjoy Kathy and embraced her right along with her own recently acquired brood of eight. Missie imagined that Mrs. Standard would have been willing to take in almost anybody.

  Henry, too, seemed to be a welcome visitor around the Standard campfire. Missie often wondered if the attraction for him was one of the young girls, or the motherly Mrs. Standard-- Henry was not able to remember his own mother who had died when he was young.

  As well as fast friendships among the travelers, there were also a few frictions. Mrs. Thorne still carried herself stiff and straight, never making an effort to seek out anyone's company, or with word or action to invite anyone to share any time with her. There were no neighborly visits over a coffee cup around the Thornes' fire.

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  Everyone seemed to avoid the chattering of Mrs. Page; but she had a way of popping up out of nowhere and making it virtually impossible for one to escape without being downright rude. She would have cozied up to a cactus if she had thought that it had ears--yet even Mrs. Page was not willing to share her goodwill with everyone.

  Missie never did know what had started it in the first place, but for some reason a deep animosity had grown between Mrs. Page and Mrs. Tuttle. Mrs. Tuttle was a widow, traveling west with her brother. Unlike Mrs. Page, she had very little to say, but what words she used were often acidic.

  Mrs. Page had too much to say and she enjoyed elaborating on any subject--including the reason for which Mrs. Tuttle was going west. According to Mrs. Page, a trapper was waiting at the other end of the trail, having made a sort-of proposal by mail. Mrs. Page was sure that the trapper was "trapped"; that if he'd been able to get a good look at Mrs. Tuttle's stern face, he would have preferred a wolverine. So the war waged on.

  Most of the battles between them were fought via messengers. "You tell Jessie Tuttle thet iffen she doesn't learn how to crack the ice on thet face of hem, she'll lose thet trapper as soon as she finds 'im."

  "You tell Mrs. Page [Jessie Tuttle would not allow herself to use Mrs. Page's first name, Alice] that when she cracked the ice off her own face she did a poor job of it. Now the button fer her mouth don't hold it shut none."

  Of course the messengers never did deliver the messages, but it wasn't necessary for them to do so. The insults were always spoken loudly within earshot of the party that they were intended for. The running battle provided no alarm and a small measure of amusement for the other members of the wagon train. There was little enough to smile at, so even a neighborly squabble was welcomed.

  Occasionally a meeting of all adult members of the train was called. There, the wagon master gave up-to-date reports on progress, or issued a new order, or explained some new situation. Even such a meeting was looked upon as relief from the usual. Again Mr. Blake called a meeting. He told them he was

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  pleased at the progress made. They were right on schedule. His first concern was the large river that would soon need to be crossed; if conditions remained as they were, they would reach the ford in four days' time. He was sure that the river would be down, making the crossing an easy one. Heavy rains were the only obstacle that would sometimes hamper the crossing, Mr. Blake said, and they had been particularly blessed with sunny, clear days. Once across the Big River, as it was called by the local Indians, they were well on their way.

  Everyone seemed to rejoice at Mr. Blake's news, but deep down inside, Missie knew that she did not. Within her was a secret wish that the river would not be fordable and that Willie would decide to turn around and go back home.

  Willie did not share her wish. At the wagon master's encouraging announcement, he had cheered as loudly as any of the travelers. Only a few of the womenfolk had remained silent; Missie, Bec
ky, Sissie Collins and Tillie Crane were among them.

  Missie was quiet on the way back to the wagon, but Willie was too excited to notice.

  "Jest think," he enthused, "only four more days an' we cross the Big River, an' then--then we'll really start to roll!"

  Missie nodded and tried to coax forth a smile for Willie's sake.

  "Are ya still worryin"bout Becky?" Willie queried, seeking some reason for Missie's restraint.

  "Sorta," Missie responded, feeling that the answer was both safe and, in a measure, truthful.

  "But there's something else, too--isn't there? I've been feelin' it fer a long time. Aren't ya feelin' well, Missie?"

  It was asked with such concern that Missie knew somehow she must attempt to put Willie's mind at ease. This wasn't the way that she would have chosen to break the news to Willie. She had pictured the closeness of their shared bed, or the intimacy of their own fireside; and here they were walking over a rutted, dusty path, with people before, behind and beside them. There seemed almost no way for her to speak low enough so that she wouldn't be heard by others. Yet she knew that she must speak. "I been wantin' to tell you, but the time never seemed right,"

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  she said quietly. She took a long breath. "Willie--we're gonna have a baby, too."

  Willie stopped walking and reached for Missie. His face was very sober.

  "Ya aren't joshin'?"

  "No, Willie."

  "An' yer sure?"

  "Quite sure."

  Willie stood silently for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm not sure thet wagon-trainin' an' babies go together."

  For a brief minute Missie hoped that maybe this would give Willie a reason to head for home, but she quickly pushed the selfish thought from her and managed a smile.

  "Oh, Willie, don't fuss. We'll be in our own place long before our baby ever arrives."

  "Ya sure?"

  "Of course. How long you think we're gonna be on this trail, anyway?"

  The look on Willie's face suddenly changed and he let out a whoop. Missie reached out to hush him before he shouted his news to the whole wagon train. Willie stopped whooping and hugged Missie tightly. Relief flooded over her. He was excited about it--there was no doubting it.

  Suddenly Missie wanted to cry. She wasn't sure why, but it was such a joy to tell her news to Willie, to see his exuberance and to feel his strong arms about her. She had been wrong to withhold it from him. A great wave of love for Willie washed over her; at the moment she would have gone to the end of the earth with him if he had wanted her to.

  They laughed and cried together as Willie held her in his arms and kissed her forehead and her hair. Their fellow travelers had passed on by them and returned to their campfires.

  When Willie could speak again, he stumbled over his words, trying to say so much, all at one time.

  "So this is why ya haven't been yerself. We gotta take better care of ya. Ya need more rest an' a better diet. I'll have to git fresh meat oftener. Ya shouldn't be doin' so much. Ya'll overdo. I was so scared, Missie, thet maybe you'd changed yer mind, thet

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  ya didn't want to go out West--or thet maybe ya didn't even love me anymore--or thet ya had some bad sickness--or--oh, I was scared. I jest prayed an' prayed an' here--here. . . ."

  Missie had not realized what her long days of listlessness and homesickness had put Willie through. She must not hold back from him again.

  "I'm sorry, Willie," she whispered, "I didn't know that you were feelin'--were thinkin' all those things. I'm sorry."

  "Not yer fault. Not yer fault at all. I'm jest so relieved, thet's all. Still sorry thet yer not feelin' well--but we'll take care of ya. After all, it be fer a very good reason!"

  "I'm glad that you're happy--" but Missie didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. Willie stopped her as he drew her close.

  "Everything is gonna be fine now, Missie. Ya should be feelin' better soon. We'll have a chat with Mrs. Kosensky. We'll make sure thet ya git lots of rest. An' 'fore ya know it, you'll be fine, jest fine."

  "Willie? Willie, there's somethin' else, too. True, I've been feelin' a mite down. But I think the true reason for me--myah-- well, the way I feel is--just lonesomeness, Willie. Just lonesomeness for Mama an' Pa an'. . . ." Missie could not continue. The tears ran freely.

  Willie pulled her close against him. He stroked her hair and gently wiped the tears from her cheek.

  "Why didn't ya tell me, Missie?" he said at last. "I woulda' understood. I been missing those left behind, too. Maybe I couldn't have eased yer sorrow none, Missie, but I'd a shared it with ya." He tipped her face and gently kissed her. "I love ya, Missie."

  Why had she been so foolish? Why had she hugged her hurt to herself, thinking that Willie would not understand or care? She should have told him long ago and accepted the comfort of his arms. Missie clung to him now and cried until her tears were all spent. Surely there was some healing in shared heartache, in cleansing tears. At length she was able to look up at Willie and smile again.

  Willie kissed her on the nose and gave her another squeeze.

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  "Hey," he said suddenly, "we gotta git this little mama off to bed. No more late nights fer you, Missus. An' not quite so much walkin' an' doin', either."

  "Oh, Willie," protested Missie, "the walkin' is a heap easier for me than that bumpy ol' wagon."

  "Ya reckon so?"

  "I reckon so. It's not exactly a high-springed buggy, you know."

  Willie chuckled as he led Missie carefully across the clearing to their wagon.

  "Mind yer step, now," he said earnestly as he boosted her up.

  "Oh, Willie," Missie laughed in exasperation. But she knew that she was in for a lot of babying in the future. Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he just wouldn't overdo it. She smiled to herself and ducked to enter through their canvas doorway.

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  Chapter 8

  Rain

  The next morning Willie was still in his state of happiness as he awoke to begin a new day.

  He pulled his gray, woolen shirt over his head and did up the buttons from waist to neck, then tucked it into his coarse denim pants. He promised himself that if the day again got too hot, he'd change the shirt for a cotton one. He raised his suspenders and eased them over his shoulders, snapping them into place. At the entrance to the wagon he stopped and pulled on his calf-high leather boots. As he shrugged his way out of the canvas doorway and headed out to get the team ready for the day's journey, he went with an even jauntier step and cheerier whistle than usual. Missie knew that he was pleased about the coming baby. She also knew that he was thinking, four more days to the Big River! To Missie, it meant four more days to the point of no return.

  She tried to shake off the melancholy for Willie's sake and went about her morning chores with a determined cheerfulness. Today, if she had the opportunity, she might reveal the good news of her coming baby to Becky. They could plan together.

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  Willie stopped the team often that morning to give Missie breaks for walking--and then to check that she hadn't already walked far enough. She humored him by walking for awhile and then welcoming a ride when he suggested it. She actually could have walked for almost the entire morning. The walking bothered her less each day, but there was no use worrying Willie.

  In the afternoon, dark storm clouds appeared and the whole wagon train seemed to be holding its breath in unison. It was soon apparent that this storm would not pass over with just a shower. Still, the team drivers and their apprehensive womenfolk entertained the hope that the rain would not last for long. The animals seemed to sense the approaching storm too, and by the time the thunder and lightning commenced, they were already tense.

  The rain came lightly at first. The women and children scrambled for cover, but the men wrapped themselves in canvas slickers and drove on through the storm.

  As the day wore on, the intensity of the storm increased. The dark clouds overhead seemed
angry and invective as they poured down their waters from a sodden sky. Soon the teams were straining to pull the heavy, high-wheeled wagons through the deepening mud. Those fortunate enough to have extra horses or oxen hitched them also to their vehicles.

  The wagon train guides ranged back and forth, watching for trouble along the trail. It came all too soon. One of the lead wagons slid while going down a slippery, steep slope and bounced a wheel against a large rock. The wooden spokes snapped with a sickening sharpness. The wagon lurched and heaved but did not tip over. Mr. Calley somehow kept the startled horses from bolting.

  The teams following had to maneuver around the crippled wagon, slipping and sliding their way down the rocky hill and onto even ground. As soon as the last wagon was safely down the badly rutted hillside, Mr. Blake ordered a halt. They should have done many more miles of traveling before stopping, but it was useless to try to go on. The Big River would have to wait.

  The wagons gathered into their familiar circular formation and the teams were unhitched. Some of the men went back up

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  the hill to help the unfortunate Calley family. Their wagon could not be moved until the broken wheel was mended. The men labored in the cold rain, trying to raise the corner of the wagon piling rocks and pieces of timber underneath to level it. The Calleys would have to spend the night in it, in spite of its location.