Love's Long Journey (Love Comes Softly Series #3) Page 8

  "Ain't good, Ma'am, ain't good. Me--I deliver babies. Yes, lotsa babies--but this kind, no. He small--he twisted--and he early." She shook her head, and Missie noticed tears in her eyes. "Ain't good. She need a doctor--bad."

  "May I see her?" Missie begged, longing to be a source of comfort and aid to Becky.

  "Yes--yes, do."

  Missie brushed by the woman, and scrambled up into the wagon. Becky was flushed and damp with perspiration. Missie looked at her pale face in alarm. She reached for Becky's hand, and then began to smooth back her long, loose hair. She spoke softly. She really wasn't aware of what she said to Becky, but it seemed to comfort the anguished girl.

  Missie stayed with Becky for most of the night, but the situation did not improve. Occasionally, Becky seemed to drift off into a troubled sleep but she was soon reawakened by her discomfort. At length, Willie, who had come to wait outside by the fire with John, suggested that Missie should get some rest or she would be in danger, too. Mrs. Kosensky agreed.

  The next morning the LaHayes crawled wearily from their bed and began the preparations for another day on the trail. Missie sent Willie over to ask about Becky. He returned with the news that nothing had changed. Missie's heart felt heavy as she continued preparing their breakfast.

  While she was hurrying to pack up their belongings, one of the

  '

  83

  trail scouts came by on his horse. He stopped at each wagon with the same message.

  "Mr. Blake says we stay put today. He's not breakin' camp 'til thet baby's arrived."

  Missie felt much relief and would have willingly hugged the grisly wagon master. She could not imagine what it would be like for Becky if she had to bounce around in a moving wagon.

  The day dragged on. A rider had been sent back to Lipton the night before to see if a doctor could be found and brought to the camp. Everyone who knew how, and even some who didn't, prayed that there might be a doctor and that he would arrive soon.

  The women tried to keep busy with a little wagon cleaning and men checked harnesses and wheels. Neighbors used the long hours as an excuse to sit and discuss anything that came to mind. Still the time only crawled; by the time the day was coming to an end, everyone's nerves were on edge. Becky and her unborn baby were a heavy concern on everyone's mind.

  With no more valid reason to stay up, they finally extinguished their campfires and went to bed, hoping that the good news of the baby's birth would reach them during the night.

  It did not happen.

  As they stirred about the camp the next morning, the news spread quickly that the child had not yet been born. Another long day began. With no harnesses to mend and no further wagon cleaning to be done, time lay heavy on hands and minds. Yet hope remained alive. Surely with more delay the doctor from Lipton would have plenty of time to make it. But the rider finally returned, tired and dusty and with a weary, limping horse. There was no doctor in Lipton.

  It was almost one-thirty in the afternoon when Mrs. Kosensky climbed down from the Clay wagon. Willie, Missie and several other neighbors had been waiting outside. No one had heard the cry of a newborn baby. Mrs. Kosensky's shoulders sagged and tears coursed down her plump cheeks. To the waiting friends she shook her head.

  "No," she said brokenly. "No--he did not make it, the little one."

  84

  "Oh, Becky!" cried Missie, "poor Becky. She'll be heartbroken."

  "No," said Mrs. Kosensky, again shaking her head. "No. The little mama--she did not make it either."

  For a moment Missie chose not to understand, not to believe. But she knew, as she looked at the older woman, that the news was indeed true. Then, from the depths of the covered wagon, came the muffled sobs of a man.

  "Oh, dear God," Missie prayed, putting her hands to her face and letting the tears flow freely. Then she turned to bury her face against Willie's shoulder, and he held her close for a time and let her weep. When her spasm of tears seemed spent, he gently put her from him.

  "I must go in to John," he said. "Can you make it to the wagon alone?"

  Missie nodded, but it was Henry who led her away, easing her over the rough terrain and opening the canvas flap so that she could step into the wagon.

  She laid herself down in the stuffy heat and let the tears wash away the sorrow and confusion in her soul.

  The funeral service was held the next morning. John stood in stunned silence as the young mother and her infant son were laid together in a blanket. Shock and grief had numbed his mind, and he didn't seem to comprehend the event.

  After the service was over, the wagons were quietly ordered to move out. The men guided their animals into line silently, thoughtfully. Willie had suggested that John ride with them for a while but he preferred to be alone. Missie rode beside Willie, but they had not gone far before she asked to be let down.

  She stood quietly for a time, letting the wagons roll past her, turning her back to the dust swirling from their wheels. When the last one had gone by, Missie looked back the way that they had come. In the valley below was the circle where they had camped. The evidence of a recent train was still there--the trampled grass, the campfire ashes, the wheel marks--and there, just to the left, was the little mound of bare earth marking the spot where they had left Becky. For a moment Missie wanted to run back; but she knew that it was pointless. Becky was gone from

  85

  them now. Missie felt some measure of comfort in the thought that Becky was not alone. Beneath the earth, she held in her arms her baby boy.

  "Good-bye, Becky," Missie whispered. "Good-bye, Rebecca Clay. You were a dear, sweet friend. May you--and your little one--find great pleasure and comfort in the house of God." And with tears streaming down her cheeks, Missie turned to follow the wagons.

  Just as Missie turned to go, a lone rider emerged from the bushes in the valley and stopped beside the soft mound. Missie recognized the form of Mr. Blake. The man dismounted from his horse and approached the new grave. He removed his hat and stood momentarily with bowed head. Then he bent down and placed a small cluster of prairie flowers on the fresh earth. As he turned and mounted his horse, Missie felt a fresh stream of tears slide down her cheeks.

  That was a lovely thing to do, she thought.

  But Missie had no way of knowing that many years ago, the same man had stood beside another mound--one that held his own wife and infant son. At that time, too, he had been forced to ride away and leave them to lie alone beside a prairie trail.

  86

  Chapter 15

  A Tough Decision

  There was a measure of comfort in the fact that Tettsford Junction was getting nearer and nearer, but the days always seemed long. Missie kept herself occupied as much as she could. She carefully looked after her own responsibilities, as well as devoting much time to helping others--especially Mrs. Collins. The two youngsters kept quite healthy, in spite of the rigors of the trail; but they still required a lot of time and attention.

  Missie and Willie had not yet been able to talk about Becky. Missie cried often. If Willie was there when she cried, he held her close, stroking her hair and listening with his heart. They both realized that sometime--and sometime soon--they must discuss it. Hopefully, their hearts could then begin to heal.

  John Clay was always included in Willie's evening prayer. But though Missie ached for John, she also realized that she felt a twinge of resentment toward him.

  One night, after they had retired, Willie gently broached the subject.

  "It easin' some 'bout Becky?"

  87

  His arm tightened around Missie as he asked the question. He wanted her to know that he understood, and that he suffered with her.

  "I guess--some," Missie was able to answer without a flood of tears.

  "I think maybe it's gittin' harder for John," Willie continued after a few moments of silence.

  "How?"

  "Well, at first I don't think it was real to John. Now it is. He's over the shock-lik
e; an' he's missin' Becky--knowin' thet she won't be back, won't be his--ever again."

  Missie pondered Willie's words. That small feeling of anger toward John stirred within her. She decided to express it.

  "John was too sure of himself, too cocky 'bout Becky an' that baby. Just 'cause his mother. . . Things can go wrong--they can. He should have known that." Missie couldn't hold back her tears.

  "I was feelin' those same thoughts," Willie said gently, "but maybe we're too hard on John. Sure he was cocky. But, maybe it was just cover-up, to sorta make things happen the way he wanted them to. I don't know. All I know is thet he loved Becky--very much--an' he wanted thet son--very much. An' now he has neither of them--an' he's truly sorrowin', Missie. Maybe we're all guilty of holdin' too lightly those thet we love."

  Missie's sobs quieted as she thought on Willie's words. He was right, of course. John did love Becky and he had wanted the baby. It was no fault of John's that things had gone wrong. If it hadn't been for the long delay at the Big River, they would have reached Tettsford Junction and the doctor on time--even with Becky's baby coming early.

  A feeling of great sorrow for John swept over Missie. The poor man--to lose so much. She must pray for him more. Willie interrupted her thoughts.

  "Missie--"

  When he didn't continue, she turned toward him; but it was too dark in the wagon to read his face.

  "I been thinkin'," he finally continued. "When we git to Tettsford Junction, there's a doc there."

  88

  "I know."

  "I want ya to have a doc, Missie."

  "But our baby is almost four months away," Missie purposely exaggerated just a bit.

  "I know."

  Missie thought on it. "Reckon we could," she finally stated. "How far is yer land from Tettsford Junction?"

  "Good week's travel by wagon."

  "A week? Reckon I could stand that."

  "That's not what I had in mind, Missie," Willie said slowly. "What did you have in mind?"

  Willie swallowed. "Well, I figured thet maybe ya should stay at Tettsford until after the baby is safely delivered."

  "But you're in a great hurry to get to the land--to put up some corrals, fix a house, and get yourself some cattle before winter. . . ."

  "Ya, Missie, but--"

  "That'd make you late and rushed. By the time I'm ready to travel and we make the trip, you'd hardly have time--"

  Willie interrupted. "I'd go on as planned, Missie, an' see to all those things."

  "An' leave me behind?" Missie could scarcely believe her ears.

  "It's the only way, Missie--far as I can see."

  "But I don't want--"

  Willie's arm tightened again, but his voice was firm. "I don't want it either, Missie, but it's the only way. I'm not takin' any chances like John took. I--"

  But Missie quickly stopped him. "It's not the same--can't you see? Becky was sick-like from the beginnin'. Me--I've been fine all along."

  Missie felt Willie's hand grip her shoulder.

  "It could happen thet ya need a doctor. There are no doctors where we're goin'. There aren't even neighbors who could be midwives. There's no one to help ya, Missie. No one! Can't ya see? I can't take ya there. Not after what's happened!"

  A sob caught in Missie's throat but she tried one more time. "Then we'll just have to go back to Tettsford when the time

  89

  comes. I don't want to stay without you, Willie. We'll just have to go back."

  "An' iffen the baby comes early--like Becky's? How will we know when it's time? Something could go wrong any time. Already, I pray every night thet you'll be fine fer the next day's travel, fine 'til we reach Tettsford. Iffen I take ya on from there, down to the ranch with the idea of bringin' ya back--What iffen we're caught on the trail? What then?"

  Missie knew that she had lost, for the moment. She didn't bother to argue anymore, but buried her face against Willie's shoulder and wept. To be without Willie for three long months or more, in a strange town, waiting all alone--how could she ever bear it?

  She felt a tear drop gently onto her forehead. Willie was weeping too.

  "It's gonna be so hard," he finally said huskily. "So awful hard--but we'll make it. Remember our verse--Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness!'

  90

  Chapter 16

  Tettsford Junction

  The wagon train made its final camp just outside of Tettsford Junction. The town proved to be a larger settlement than anyone on the train had anticipated. Missie wondered what sustained it after she noted the bleakness of the countryside. The land about didn't appear able to produce any more than a bit of sagebrush. Who could possibly endure such barrenness? Missie thought. She turned her back to the wind that seemed to be constantly blowing.

  The traveling companions of many weeks shared mixed emotions. John still felt empty and alone. He had difficulty deciding what he should do, whether to continue on his way and join his brother, or look for some kind of work in the town. The promises that the land held seemed empty now that Becky was gone.

  The Pages made up their minds to stay in town, as did a couple of other families that Missie didn't know very well. Jessie Tuttle would continue on, so Mrs. Page saved a few choice words to hurl as a parting shot. Jessie ignored the needling, much to Mrs. Page's annoyance.

  91

  Mrs. Emory, the young widow, knew that she had very few options open to her. She would stay in the town. The kindness of the members of the wagon train had gotton her to Tettsford Junction; now it was up to her to take care for herself. She had blossomed and matured during her days on the trail and though she still felt the loss of her husband, she seemed prepared to face life again.

  Mr. Weiss and Kathy also decided to remain in Tettsford. Mr. Weiss declared with certainty that such a busy town would be able to use another smithy. Missie wondered if that was the real reason--or if he had developed a secret attachment to the young widow and was willing to bide his time. She rather hoped not. Melinda Emory was scarcely older than Mr. Weiss' daughter, Kathy. However, it was their business, Missie decided, and Mr. Weiss was a very kind man.

  Most of the other travelers would be leaving in a few days' time with other trains, traveling northwest to the "prairies." Missie couldn't see how any place could be more prairie than where they were at present, and how anyone could actually choose to live here. But she did not voice her feelings.

  Willie asked Missie if she wanted to go in and see the town, as soon as camp was made and the necessary tasks performed. But she was remembering her last visit to town in the company of Becky, and was thinking ahead to her own dreaded stay in this one.

  She declined, and went to her wagon to be alone.

  If only Willie would change his mind! Did he expect her to spend three or more miserable months cooped up in this horrible wagon? In this dreary town, with the sun beating relentlessly on the shadeless landscape and the wind howling constantly about the canvas flaps? If only she had known ahead of time that Willie wouldn't be taking her on to his land, to help build a home and establish his ranch. She might as well have stayed at home with her own folks who loved her and would have provided for her.

  Why trek halfway 'cross the world and suffer all of the heat, the rain, the mosquitoes, the blistered and aching feet--just to be

  dumped off here? Her thoughts tumbled round and round in her mind. It just wasn't fair of Willie. It wasn't fair at all.

  92

  Missie let the hot tears course down her face and finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

  When Willie returned, he was elated and started calling to her even before he had entered the wagon. "I've found a place!" he almost whooped. Missie jerked to attention.

  "A place for what?"

  "For you," he declared, surprised at her question. "For you-- while yer waitin'."

  Sh
e stared at him. So Willie hadn't ever planned for her to spend these months ahead in the wagon.

  Missie didn't tell him that she still didn't intend to wait. She intended to go. But deep inside she knew that it was useless to fight it.

  "It's only one room--but it's a nice, fair size. An' it's with fine folks. I'm sure thet you'll like 'em, an' they even said that I can stay there, too, 'til the supply train is ready to leave."

  "That's right good of 'em," Missie said with spark, "seem' how you are my husband."

  Willie ignored the remark and hurried on. "Mr. Taylorson runs a general store an' his wife teaches a bit of piano. Says ya might even learn to play the piano while yer a-waitin'."

  "Oh, Willie!" Missie said in exasperation. "What in heaven's name would I want to learn piano for? What good would that do me where--"

  "It would help fill in the long hours," Willie interposed. "It might help a heap, iffen ya choose to let it." His words were mild but he gave her a searching look.

  Missie wanted to flounce off, but there was no place to go-- neighbors' eyes were watching all around. So she turned her back on Willie and began to trim the wick of the lantern which usually sat on the outside shelf, making sure that she looked at ease and composed.

  Willie continued, "The doc lives only three houses down from the Taylorsons, so he'll be right handy when--"

  "Iffen he's not off somewhere settin' a broken leg or treatin' a bullet wound," Missie retorted.

  "Guess thet could happen even back home," Willie said calmly. "But there are two midwives in town--'case he should be away. I inquired."

  93

  "Midwife didn't help Becky none."