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

  "I think thet I'll take a little walk an' sorta check out the town. Ya wantin' to come along, or do you wanna jest rest a bit?" asked Clark.

  A walk did sound appealing, yet from what Marty had so far seen of the town, she was not so sure she wanted to walk in

  "I think thet I'll jest rest me here fer a bit. I'll see the town when we go out to git our supper," she answered.

  Clark took his hat and left.

  Marty didn't know what to do with herself after Clark had gone. She wished for a pail of hot, soapy water and a good scrub brush. The place looked like it could do with a good washing.

  She crossed to the bed with the thought of lying down for a rest, looked at the dirty linen and changed her mind. She walked to the window, intending to pass some time by watching the action down on the street. The window looked out on nothing but the prairie and wind-swept countryside. She lifted her case from the only chair in the room and tried to settle herself in it. It had a broken spring that made it impossible to sit comfortably. Marty decided that her only choice was to pace the floor. Well, she could certainly do with the exercise after being invisibly chained to the swaying train seat for three days. She walked. Round and round she walked, wishing that she had gone with Clark.

  About the time she thought she would surely go crazy, Clark returned. Over his arm he carried clean bed linen. "The maid has arrived," he joshed

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  "Where'd ya git thet?" Marty asked admiringly. "Ya been foragin' through hotel closets?" she teased.

  "Not exactly. Actually, it wasn't all thet easy to come by. I went on out fer a walk like I said. There be only one other hotel, of a sort, in this here town. It boasted 'bout bein"full up.' Couldn't find a decent roomin' house anywhere. So, when I got back here, I jest asked the fella at the desk for some clean linens. I said thet it 'peared like the maid had somehow missed our room when she was a-makin' up. He weren't too happy to 'commodate me, but I jest stood right there, smilin' at 'im an' waitin'. He finally found me some."

  Marty was happy to strip the bed and put on the clean sheets and cases.

  "Not too much fer eatin' places either," Clark continued as she worked. "Did see a small place down the street. Looks a little more like a saloon than a cafe, but it mightn't be too bad iffen we git there early an' leave as soon as we're done."

  "We can go most anytime. I'll jest fix my hair some an' grab me a hat."

  They left the hotel and walked out into the brisk wind. Marty held her hat with one hand and her skirt with the other.

  "Fella I met says thet the wind blows like this most of the time here," remarked Clark as they leaned into the wind. Marty wondered what in the world the ladies did if they ever needed one of their hands free to carry something.

  When they reached the unpretentious building where they were to get their evening meal, Clark held the door against the wind. They seated themselves at a small table, and Clark nodded for the waiter. They soon learned that the "house speciality" was stew and biscuits; or roast beef, gravy, and biscuits; or beans, bacon, and biscuits. They ordered the roast beef and settled down to wait for their meal.

  Marty glanced around the room. The lighting, a lone, flickering lamp on each table, was dim. The few windows seemed to be covered with some kind of dark paint. A blue haze from the smoking of the occupants further hindered visibility. Most of those who lounged around were not eating but drinking. Marty did spot three men in the far corner who were having a

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  meal. The others just seemed to be talking or playing cards. Occasionally a loud laugh would break the otherwise comparative silence in the place. At least for now, Marty was the only woman in the place.

  Marty hoped that their order would come quickly so they might leave soon. If this was Missie's West, Marty wasn't sure she would be at home in it. She felt uneasy in her present surroundings. Having never traveled beyond her own small community since leaving her girlhood home, Marty was unfamiliar with her present environment. She had seen and heard things on this trip that were entirely new to her. She didn't think she was in favor of a lot of what she saw--the brashness, the intemperate drinking, the gambling, the casual attitude toward life and morality.

  Their meal arrived. The waiter asked gruffly, "Watcha drinkin'?" as he set the plates down, frowning when Marty asked for tea. She hastily changed her order to coffee before he had time to respond. He didn't fuss about the coffee, but when he set it before her it was so strong she wasn't sure if she'd be able to drink it.

  The meat was a little tough and the gravy was greasy and lumpy, but Marty sopped her biscuits in it and ate like the men in the corner. She was unable to finish it all and was relieved when she felt she had eaten enough that she could push back her plate and leave the rest. Clark had a second cup of coffee, and then they were free to go.

  Marty was unprepared for the bright sunshine when they stepped out the door. She had forgotten that it was still daylight. She took advantage of the fact to study the buildings of the town and look in the store windows. The items on display did not really seem all that different from what Mr. Emory carried at the General Store back home. The fact both surprised and relieved her. Perhaps Missie was able to shop after all.

  It was too early to retire, so Clark suggested a short walk. Marty didn't like the wind but, remembering her confining attempt to walk in the dirty little room, she agreed. They walked on past the remainder of the buildings on the street:

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  the bank, the sheriff's office, the telegraph office, another store, on past the stagecoach office to the feedstore, the livery and the blacksmith. Clark slowed his steps to better watch the action at the smithy's. Two burly men were shouting and shoving as they prodded a big roan-colored ox into the ox-sling for shoeing. The ox had decided on his own that he didn't need new shoes. Marty heard some words that she didn't think were intended for a lady's ears, so she hastened her steps. Clark lengthened his stride to catch up to her.

  Having eventually left the board sidewalks behind, the roadway was dusty and rough, but it felt good to walk full stride. Marty let go of her skirt, allowing the hem to swish the ground as she walked. The wind wasn't as strong now, or maybe she was just getting used to it. She took off her hat, carrying it carefully in her hand, and letting the wind tease at her hair. It felt good, and she wished for a moment that she could reach up and pull the hairpins from it as well and shake it loose to blow free.

  They left the street and turned on to a well-worn path. It led them into a grove of small trees; and, after walking for about fifteen minutes, they were surprised to discover a tiny stream that flowed rather sluggishly along. It wasn't like Marty's spring-fed crik back home, but it was water; and its discovery brought rest and joy to Marty's heart. She stooped to pick a few of the small fragrant flowers that grew along its banks.

  Clark seemed to enjoy it, too. He stood and breathed deeply. "I wonder jest where it comes from," he murmured, "an' where it goes. This little bit thet we see here before us don't tell us much 'bout it a'tall. It could have started high up in the mountains as a ragin' glacier-fed river and been givin' of itself all across the miles until all thet is left is what we see here. Or it could go 'most from ocean to ocean by joinin' up with cousin waters thet eventually make it a mighty river. Someday it could carry barges or sailin' ships. Rather interestin' to ponder on, ain't it?"

  Marty looked at the small stream with a new respect. They lingered awhile, and then walked much more slowly

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  back into town. On the way they watched the western sun sink below the far horizon with a gorgeous display of vibrant colors.

  "Well," sighed Marty, "I sure do favor me Missie's sunsets."

  The hotel room looked just as bleak and bare when they again reached it, but Marty felt much better about having a clean bed. And she was sure enough ready for it now. After two nights on a swaying train, it would be good to have a solid place to lie down. They prepared for bed, prayed together, and crawled between
the sheets. Clark put out the light, and before many minutes had passed Marty knew that he was sleeping soundly. She lay for a while thinking of the family at home and feeling just a bit lonely. Then she thought of Missie and her family, and the lonely feeling slipped away. Soon she too drifted off to sleep.

  It was sometime during the night when Marty awoke. Something was wrong. Something had wakened her. Was it a noise of some sort? No, she didn't remember hearing anything out of the ordinary. Clark stirred. He seemed restless too. Marty turned over and tried to go back to sleep. It didn't work. She turned again.

  "You havin' problems, too?" asked Clark softly.

  "Can't sleep," Marty complained. "Don't rightly know why, I jest--"

  "Me, too."

  They tossed and turned as the minutes ticked slowly by. "What time is it?" asked Marty. "Anywhere near mornin'?

  Might as well git up an' be done with it iffen it is."

  Clark reached for his watch. He couldn't read the hands in the darkness.

  "Mind iffen I light the lamp to git a look?"

  "Go ahead. Lamplight ain't gonna make me any wider awake than I am already."

  Clark struck a match and lit the lamp. As the soft glow spread over the bed, Marty gasped. Clark, who had moved the pocket watch into the light to get a look at the time, jerked his head up.

  "Bedbugs!" exclaimed Marty.

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  Both of them were instantly on their feet and many small insects darted quickly for cover.

  "Bedbugs! No wonder we couldn't sleep! Oh, Clark! We'll be scratchin' our way all across these prairies."

  "Funny," said Clark, "I never felt 'em bitin' me."

  "Thet's the way with bedbugs. Sometimes ya don't even feel 'em until the bite starts to swell up an' itch. You'll feel 'em fer sure tomorrow, I'm a-thinkin'."

  Marty ran to check their cases and thankfully noted that they were tightly closed. Only their bodies and the clothing about the room to worry about.

  "Clark, when we leave this here place, we gotta be awful sure thet we don't take none of them with us."

  "An' how we gonna do thet?"

  "I'm not rightly sure. One thing I do know--thet light stays on fer the rest of the night, an' I'm not crawlin' back into thet bed."

  They washed carefully, then inspected each item of their clothing before they put it on. Marty brushed and brushed and brushed her hair in the hopes that if there were any of the little creatures in her hair, she would brush them out. None appeared. She didn't quite know whether that was a good sign or a bad one.

  After checking and rechecking, they packed their belongings carefully and closed the cases tightly. Marty put the cases as close to the lamp as she could and stood vigil. It was still only four o'clock . . . hardly the hour of the morning to take to the street.

  They managed to wait until the first rays of the dawn were showing on the eastern horizon, and then they left the hotel. The room had been paid for in advance, so Clark just tossed the key on the desk; the sleeping clerk stirred slightly, murmured something inaudible, and settled back to snoring. They walked through the unpainted doors and out into the street.

  "Where are we gonna go?" questioned Marty. "Nothin' will be open yet."

  "Well, there's a bench over there in front of the sheriff's office. How 'bout sittin' in the sun fer a spell?"

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  Marty nodded. It was a bit cool in the morning air; she could do with a little sun. She hoped that the warmth of the rays would reach them quickly.

  It was a while before others also were stirring about the streets of the town. The livery hand arrived first and went about the duties of feeding the horses and a pair of mules. Roughly dressed men eventually swaggered out of the hotel, a few at a time; then the blacksmith began pounding on some metal in his shop. Shopowners began to open doors and rearrange window signs. The sheriff checked his office and then headed for the hotel and a cup of morning coffee. There was more movement toward the hotel, and soon Marty and Clark could smell cooking bacon and brewing coffee. Marty had not realized she was hungry until that moment.

  Clark turned toward her. "Rather fun to watch a town wake up. I've never done thet before," he commented, and Marty nodded her head in agreement.

  "It's not really so different from home as far as looks goes--yet it 'feels' strange," she answered. "Still, I haven't seen anything--" Her words were interrupted.

  Four cowboys rode into view, their horses dusty and tired. They led four other horses behind them with some kind of bundles tied on their backs. The horses were spotted and wore no saddles, although two of them had colorful blankets tossed across their backs. The men rode past silently, their leather- encased feet swinging freely and their hair hanging past their shoulders in long, black braids. Upon observing the braids, Marty snatched a second look. Why, those weren't cowboys. They were Indians! Now that was different. The riders looked neither to the left nor the right as they rode down the street and pulled their mounts to a stop before the General Store. They swung down from their horses and began to untie the bundles from the backs of the pack animals.

  "Looks like they've got 'em a pretty good catch of furs," observed Clark.

  "Furs," said Marty. "I never thought of furs. What kind, ya supposin'?"

  "I've no idea. Coyotes, badgers, maybe. Not close enough

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  to the mountains fer bears or wildcats, I'm a-thinkin'. But then I'm not much fer knowin' jest what they do have hereabouts."

  Marty turned only after they had all disappeared. "Well," said Clark, "ya ready fer some breakfast?" He stood up and stretched his tall frame.

  Marty stood too and picked up her lunch bundle and hatbox. Without thinking, she reached to scratch an itching spot on her rib cage, then checked herself; a lady did not go about scratching in public. At the same time, she realized that Clark was scratching his neck. Marty looked at the spot. "Oh, my," she whispered.

  Clark looked at her.

  "Ya sure enough got yer share," stated Marty. "They're beginnin' to show up all along yer collar."

  "Bedbugs?"

  "Bedbugs. Well, not the bugs exactly--but where they been."

  "Guess they liked me better'n they did you, huh?"

  " 'Fraid not," said Marty. "I got me four or five places thet I'd jest love to be a-scratchin'."

  Clark laughed. "Well, maybe a cup of coffee an' a slice of ham will take our mind off 'em." He picked up the cases and motioned Marty toward the hotel's dining room they had passed up the night before in favor of the saloon place.

  "Fella told me thet this ain't the fanciest place around; but it's the only one thet's open this time of the day, so I guess we'll give it a try. Surely nobody can make too much of a mess outa just boilin' coffee."

  Maybe Marty was just hungry, or maybe the food actually wasn't so bad; at any rate, she ate heartily.

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  Chapter Seven

  Arrival

  The next three days on the slow-moving train were even more difficult for Marty. For one thing, she was in a fever to reach Missie, and the many delays and the hesitant forward crawl irritated her. She was also tired from several nights without a good rest, and the train they rode was even less elegant than the first. The worn seats and cramped quarters made it difficult to sit comfortably, and there was no room for stretching or walking.

  There were only two other women on the crowded train, and neither seemed inclined to make new friendships. The men, rough and rugged, appeared to be gold-seekers or opportunists. The constant smoking of strong cigars and cigarettes made Marty feel like she was going to choke. The temperature was getting hotter and hotter, and the heat and the stuffiness of the one passenger car almost overcame her; the bedbug bites did not help her frame of mind. Occasionally there was something of interest out of the train window, like the small herd of buffalo that wandered aimlessly along beside the

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  track, but usually there was nothing at all to see but brown hills and wind-swept prairi
e. Now and then herds of cattle or a squatter's makeshift buildings came into view. Marty counted only three real houses, each surrounded by many outbuildings. She guessed each of these places to be someone's profitable ranch.

  The small towns along the route, though few and far between, looked very busy. Marty wondered where the people came from. As much as she normally enjoyed watching people, she did not care for that activity now. She just wanted to get to Missie, and each time that the train stopped and frittered away precious time, Marty chafed inside. What could they possibly be doing to take so long in such an insignificant place anyway? Marty fussed, minding the heat, the cramped quarters, the smoke, the delay, and the itching bites.

  But all of her fretting did not get them one mile closer to Missie, she gradually came to realize. At length Marty willed herself to take a lesson from Clark and learn some patience. She settled herself in her corner and determined not to stew. She even decided to study the countryside and see what it might have to share with her.

  Early on the third morning, Clark returned from chatting with a fellow in a seat farther up the coach and informed Marty with a grin that the man had said Missie's small town was the next stop; and unless something unforeseen happened, they should be in by noon. Marty was wild with joy. Now it was even harder to sit still and not chafe about the sluggish engine that took them forward at such a snail's pace.

  The man was right. Just before the noon hour the train began to slow, and they all stirred themselves and started to gather together their belongings.

  Marty cast one final look around at her fellow passengers. She noticed a youth hoist up his small bundle and move toward the door. He looked tired and hungry, and there was a bit of fear and loneliness in his eyes, too.