Love Comes Softly Read online

  Marty was tired as she began supper preparations, and she knew she would be very glad when it was time to go to bed. Tomorrow was Saturday, so she must first make a list for Clark, since he would want to leave for town early the next morning.

  TWELVE

  Finishin’ My Sewin’

  Clark did leave early for town the next day, and Marty sighed with relief as she watched him disappear with the wagon and team. She still felt him to be a stranger to avoid whenever she could; though, without realizing it, some of her emotional turmoil was seeping away simply because, deep down, she realized her anger toward Clark was unfounded. They were victims of circumstances, both of them, forced to share the same house. Notwithstanding, Marty still was much relieved when his duties took him elsewhere.

  The supply list hadn’t been as long this time, but Clark had asked her to check through Missie’s clothing to see what the child would be needing for the winter. Marty did this and carefully added some items to the list. Then Clark stood Missie on a chair and traced a pattern of her small foot so he could bring back shoes for her growing feet.

  Marty busied herself with her morning routine. She still felt tired from the day of soapmaking. In fact, she wondered if the emotionally driven hard work of cleaning, cooking, and sewing during the preceding days was not taking its toll. She felt drained and even slightly dizzy as she finished up the dishes. For the sake of the little one she was carrying, she must hold herself in check and not pour all her energy into frenzied activity. She had lost her Clem. Now, more than ever, she wanted his baby.

  Marty decided she would make this day an easier one. She did household chores for the day, sweeping and tidying each small room. Her bedroom had become quite crowded with her bed, Missie’s crib, two chests, her trunk, the sewing basket, and the new machine. She wouldn’t complain, she thought, as she looked at the beautiful shining thing. There really was more room for it in the sitting room, but she was sure that for Clark to have to see it continually would be a hurtful reminder. No, she’d be glad to spare him that much, and she ran a loving hand over the polished wood and gleaming metal.

  “Today, Missie,” she spoke to the child, “I’m gonna finish my sewin’.”

  She moved across to the garments she had already made and fingered them with pride. There hung the newly made bonnets, one of light material, a little more dressy, the other of warm, sturdy cloth for the cold days ahead. There were the underclothes, some trimmed with bits of lace. She had never had such feminine things before. She almost hated to wear them and take away their fresh newness. Two nighties lay folded in the drawer. She had put extra tucks and stitching on them, and one had some dainty blue trim. Two dresses hung completed. They were not fancy, but they were neat and attractive, and Marty felt confident that Clark would deem them “proper.”

  Beside her chest stood the new shoes, still black and shiny. She had not as yet worn them. As long as she could, she would wear her old ones and keep the new ones to admire. Her new coat and shawl, so very new and beautiful, hung on pegs behind the door.

  Marty sighed. She had only the blue-gray material left to make up. She had saved it until last because it was to be special. She let the beautiful material lay against her hand, then lifted one corner to her cheek.

  “Missie,” she half whispered, “I’m gonna make me a dress. Ya jest wait until you see it. It’s gonna be so grand, an’ maybe—maybe when I be all through, there be enough material left to make ya somethin’, too.”

  Suddenly that was important to Marty. She wanted, with all her heart, to share this bit of happiness with someone, and Missie seemed the likely one to share it with.

  “Maybe I’ll even have enough for a dolly dress,” Marty added as Missie patted the material and proclaimed it “pwetty.” Marty went to work. Missie played well on the rug by the bed, and the sewing machine hummed along. When Missie became restless, Marty was shocked to find the clock said ten past one.

  “Oh dear!” Marty exclaimed, picking up the child. “Missie, I’m plumb sorry. It be long past yer dinnertime. Ya must be awful hungry. I’ll git ya somethin’ right away.”

  They ate together and then Marty tucked Missie in for her nap. The child fell asleep listening to the steady whir of the machine.

  The new dress took shape, and when she had carefully finished each tuck and seam, Marty held it up. It nearly took her breath away. She was sure she had never had one quite so pretty. She had added some width for her use now, but she would easily be able to take it in after her baby arrived. She couldn’t resist trying on the dress and frankly admiring herself. She removed it reluctantly and carefully hung it with her other dresses, arranging each fold to hang just right.

  Eagerly she set to work on the small garment for Missie. She decided to make a small blouse from the white material that was left over from her underthings, with a jumper for over it from the blue-gray wool. She had enough to do the same for the worn little doll.

  The blouse was soon completed, and with great care Marty set to work on the tiny jumper. The tucks were fussed over to make sure they were just so, and each seam was sewn with utmost care. When Marty was finished she made small decorative stitches across the yoke with needle and thread.

  Missie, who had long since awakened from her nap, kept demanding to see the “pwetty,” and Marty’s work would be interrupted while she showed her.

  Suddenly Marty jumped from her chair as she heard Ole Bob welcoming Clark home.

  “Dad-burn,” she said, hastily laying her sewing aside and hurrying to the kitchen. “I haven’t even thought me about supper.”

  The stove was cold to her touch. She had forgotten all day to replenish its fuel.

  Clark had driven on down to the barn. The supplies would not take as many trips to carry this time, nor would they be as heavy to tote.

  Marty rushed about the kitchen. She remembered an old secret of her ma’s. If the menfolk come looking for their supper and you’re caught off guard, quickly set the table. That will make them think supper is well on the way.

  In a mad flurry, Marty hastened to throw on the plates and cutlery. Then she flushed at her foolishness. That wouldn’t trick Clark. He had nearly an hour of choring ahead and wouldn’t be looking for plates on yet. A stove with a fire in it might be a bit more convincing. When Clark came in, Marty was building the fire and wondering what she could have ready for supper in a very short time.

  After depositing his armload of purchases, Clark went back out to do the chores, and Marty set to work in earnest preparing the supper.

  When Clark returned from the barn, the meal was ready, simple though it was. Marty made no apology. After all, she told herself, it wasn’t as though she had whiled away the whole day. Nevertheless, she promised herself not to let it happen again.

  After the supper dishes had been cleared away, Clark brought out his purchases for little Missie. She was wild in her excitement, hugging the new shoes, jumping up and down about the new coat and bonnet, and running around in circles waving her new long stockings in the air. She exclaimed over the material to be sewn into little frocks, but Marty was sure the tiny child didn’t really understand what it was all about. She returned to the shoes, pulled her bonnet on her head, back to front, and whirled another long stocking. Marty couldn’t help but smile, understanding how the little girl felt.

  Suddenly Missie turned and headed for the bedroom, a pair of the new stockings streaming out behind her. She’s going to put them in her chest, Marty thought. In a moment the flying feet came running back and one of the tiny hands carried over her head the small jumper Marty had been working on. Marty watched as Missie pushed the garment onto Clark’s lap, pointing at the fancy stitching and exclaiming, “Pwetty. Mine. Pwetty.”

  Clark carefully picked up the jumper in his big work-roughened hands. His eyes softened as he looked across at Marty. She held her breath. For a moment he did not speak but sat quietly stroking the small garment. His voice sounded a bit choked as he responded, �
��Yeah, Missie, very pretty,” but it was to Marty that he spoke, not the excited child.

  Clark had more surprises. For Missie he had a picture book. She had never seen such a wondrous thing before and spent the rest of the evening carefully turning the pages, exclaiming over and over her excitement at finding cows and pigs and bunnies in such an unlikely place. Clark had bought himself some books, too, for the long winter evenings ahead. This was the first time Marty was aware that Clark was a reader. She then remembered the shelf in the sitting room with a number of interesting-looking books on it. No doubt some of them had been favorites of Missie’s mama. Maybe she herself would have time of a winter evening to read one or more of them.

  Clark had a package for her, as well, that would help pass the months ahead. It contained wool and knitting needles and pieces of material for quilt piecing, and he told her he had a sack of raw wool that he had stored until such time as it was needed.

  Marty was very thankful. She loved to knit, and though she had never quilted before, she was anxious to try her hand at it.

  Missie was too excited to go to bed, but with a firmness that surprised Marty, Clark informed her that she’d had enough excitement for one night and all her things would be there in the morning. After Marty washed the child up and got her ready for bed, Clark tucked her in and heard her short prayer. Marty carefully folded the new things and picked up the pieces of material. This will fill up a few more days, she thought with relief. If only she could keep herself busy, perhaps she wouldn’t feel so lonely and bereft. She placed everything in Missie’s chest for the night, planning to go to work on sewing the little garments the next day.

  Oh no, she suddenly remembered. Tomorrow be another Lord’s Day!

  She couldn’t expect Clark and Missie to tramp off into the outdoors two Sundays in a row, especially when it was getting a bit chilly.

  “Dad-burn!” she exclaimed softly.

  How in the world would she be able to suffer through the long, miserable day anyway? Maybe she should wrap up well and take to the woods herself. Well, no use fretting about it now. She had a small amount of work to do yet on the jumper, and then she’d take her tired self off to bed. It seemed a usual thing these days for her to feel weary.

  THIRTEEN

  Ellen

  Sunday was a cool day with a wind blowing from the west. After their morning reading and prayer, Marty’s mind kept puzzling over the Scripture passage. “‘The Lord is my shepherd,’” she heard Clark read from the Psalms. How could the Lord be a shepherd? she wondered. She gradually was listening more closely, and she found herself wanting to ask Clark a question or to repeat some portion so she might ponder its meaning. But she could not bring herself to ask him.

  Could this God Clark was reading about be a comfort to others as He had been to the writer?—David, Clark said his name was. Marty acknowledged that she knew very little about God, and sometimes she caught herself yearning to know more. Bible reading hadn’t been a part of her upbringing. She wondered in a vague way if she had missed out on something rather important. On occasion Clark would add a few words of his own as a background or setting to the Scripture for that day, telling a bit about the author and his troubled life at the time of his writing. Marty knew that the explanation was intended for her, but she didn’t resent it. Indeed, she was pleased with whatever added to her understanding.

  During the morning prayer time, Marty found herself wondering if she dared to approach Clark’s God in the direct way that Clark himself did. She felt a longing to do so, but she held back.

  When Clark said “amen,” Marty’s lips also formed the words.

  Breakfast began after Missie declared her loud “’men,” too.

  What on earth are we gonna do with this long day in front of us? Marty wondered silently. She knew that on this Lord’s Day she should not sew. She had made that blunder once, but to repeat it would be tempting God’s anger to fall upon her, and she couldn’t risk that. If He could spare any help at all for her, she desperately needed it.

  Clark interrupted her thoughts. “On the way to town yesterday, I stopped me at the Grahams’ to see if there be anythin’ thet I might be gettin’ them in town. Ma asked thet we come fer a visit an’ dinner today. Who knows how many nice Sundays we be a havin’ afore winter sets in? I said I’d check with ya on it.”

  Bless ya, Ma, thought Marty. Oh, bless ya!

  Out loud she quite calmly said, “I’d be likin’ thet,” and it was settled.

  She hurried with the morning dishes, and while Clark went to get the team, she quickly got Missie and herself ready to go.

  She dressed Missie in the new blouse and jumper with a pair of the new stockings and the little black shoes. She brushed out Missie’s curls until they were light and fluffy. The child truly did look a picture as she twirled and pirouetted, admiring herself and clapping her little hands with excitement.

  Marty then turned to her own apparel. She took the new blue-gray dress from the hanger and held it up to herself. It should have been for Clem, and somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to put it on. If Clark failed to notice it, she would be disappointed, and if by some strange chance his eyes showed admiration, that would hurt even more. She didn’t want admiration from him or any other man. She could still clearly see Clem’s love-filled eyes as he pulled her to him. She smothered the sob in the folds of the dress and put it back on its hanger. She chose the plainer navy dress with the bit of lace trim at the throat and sleeves. Surely this one would be quite acceptable, even proper, for Sunday dinner with the neighbors.

  She dressed in the new undergarments and long stockings, put on the new shoes, and slipped the dress over her head. She’d wear the lighter bonnet and her new shawl. It wasn’t cold enough to be needing the heavy coat.

  Carefully she brushed out her curly hair and then decided to pin it up fashionably. She had been dreadfully neglectful of it lately, she knew. It took her several minutes for her to arrange it appropriately. She was peering critically at herself in the small mirror on the wall when she heard Clark call from the door asking if they were ready.

  Missie burst from the room to meet her pa and was informed that she looked like a “real little lady an’ your pa is right proud of you.”

  Marty followed, avoiding Clark’s eyes. She didn’t want to read anything there, whether real or imagined. She noticed as he helped her up to the seat of the wagon that he had changed from his work clothes and looked rather fine himself. As they traveled to the Grahams’, she gave her full attention to the young Missie and the lovely crisp fall day.

  Marty helped Ma Graham and the girls get the dinner on. In contrast to the first time she found herself in the Graham home, Marty now was able to concentrate, and she found Ma to be a very good cook, a fact that was no surprise to her after all the recipes she had provided. Following dinner, the men left for the sunny side of the porch for some man talk.

  Young Jason Stern put in an appearance, much to the blushing of Sally Anne. The two went for a walk, always staying properly in full sight of the house.

  The two women made quick work of the dishes, and then Ma and Marty sat down for their own chat. It felt so good just to sit and talk with Ma. Marty didn’t mind the unusual idleness half so much with such pleasant company. After discussing general women’s topics, Marty took advantage of the fact that the rest were outdoors and the two young ones down for a nap to raise a question.

  “Ma,” she ventured, “could ya tell me ’bout Ellen? Seems thet I should be knowin’ somethin’ ’bout her, since I be takin’ over her house an’ her baby.”

  Marty made no reference to “her man,” and if Ma noticed, she made no sign of it. Marty told Ma about the sewing machine and Clark’s reaction to it.

  Ma sighed deeply and looked off into space for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was a mite shaky. “Don’t hardly know what words to be a tellin’ it with,” Ma said. “Ellen was young an’ right pretty, too. Darker than you, she be, an’ t
aller, too. She was a merry and chattery sort. Loved everythin’ an’ everybody, seemed to me. She adored Clark, an’ he ’peared to think her somethin’ pretty special, too.” Ma paused and looked into Marty’s face, probably wondering how she was responding to this sensitive topic. Nodding thoughtfully, she continued her narrative.

  “When Missie was born, ya should have see’d the two of ’em.” Ma shook her head and smiled gently. “Never see’d two people so excited—like a couple of kids, they were. I delivered Missie. Fact is, I’ve delivered most babies here ’bouts, but never did I see anyone else git quite thet excited over a newborn, welcome as they normally be.

  “Well, Ellen, she was soon up an’ about an’ fussin’ over thet new baby. She thought she was jest beautiful, an’ Missie be right pretty, too. Anyway, the months went by. Clark an’ Ellen was a doin’ real good. Clark’s a hard worker, an’ thet’s what farmin’ is all about. Ya git what yer willin’ to pay fer in sweat an’ achin’ back. Well, things was goin’ real good when one day last August Clark came ridin’ into the yard. He was real agitated like, an’ I knew thet somethin’ was wrong. ‘Ma,’ he says, ‘can ya come quick? Ellen is in awful pain. ’ Thet’s what he says. I can hear him yet.

  “So I went, yellin’ to the girls what to do while I be gone. Ellen was in pain, all right, tossing an’ rollin’ on the bed, hold-in’ herself an’ groanin’. She refused to cry out ’cause she didn’t want Missie to hear her. So she jest bit her lip till she near had it a bleedin’.

  “Wasn’t much thet I could do but try to keep her face cooled. There was no doctor to go fer, an’ we jest watched, in such pain ourselves over the fact thet we couldn’t be doin’ any-thin’ fer her. Clark was torn between stayin’ with Ellen an’ carin’ fer Missie. I never been so sorry fer a man.

  “Well, the night dragged by, an’ finally ’bout four in the mornin’ she stopped thrashin’ so. I breathed a prayer of relief, but it wasn’t to be fer long. She kept gettin’ hotter an’ hotter an’ more an’ more listless. I bathed her in cool water over an’ over again, but it were no use.”