The Love Comes Softly Collection Page 8

  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 st
ockings 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’ taller, 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, holdin’ 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’ anythin’ 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.”

  Ma stopped for a moment, then took a deep breath and went on. “Thet evenin’ we lost her, an’ Clark—” She stopped again.

  Ma brushed away a tear and stood up. “But thet be in the past, child, an’ no use goin’ over it all agin. Anyway, ya be there now to care fer Missie, an’ thet’s what Clark be a needin’. Was awful hard fer him to do all his fall work while totin’ thet little one round on his back. I said I’d keep her on here, but I reckon Clark wanted her to know thet she be his an’ somethin’ special, not jest one of a brood. Besides, he never did want to be beholden to anybody. There was a childless couple in town who would have gladly took her, but Clark would have none of it. Said she needed her pa right then; that’s what Clark said. Anyway, Clark’s prayers seem to be gittin’ answered, and Missie has you now an’ a right good mama ya be a makin’, too—sewin’ thet sweet little dress an’ all.”

  She patted Marty’s arm. “Yer doin’ jest fine, Marty. Jest fine.”

  Through the whole speech of Ma’s, Marty had sat silent but listening with her heart as well as ears. The hearing of Clark’s sorrow had opened afresh the pain of her own. She wanted to weep, but she sat dry eyed, feeling anew the sorrow of it all. It indeed had been a shock for her to hear that Clem was dead, but she hadn’t had to sit by him for hours watching him suffer, not able to lift a hand to relieve him. She decided she probably’d had a mite easier suffering of the two.

  Oh, Clem, her heart whispered. Clem, I’m glad thet ya didn’t have to bear pain like thet.

  She roused herself as Ma scrambled up, exclaiming that time had just flown and the menfolk would be looking for coffee.

  Fourteen

  Missie

  The next morning at breakfast Clark informed Marty that the coming Thursday Missie would have her second birthday. Marty immediately felt concerned. She wasn’t sure how Ellen would have celebrated the event. She didn’t want to let Clark down, but how was she to know what the family chose to do about birthdays? She silently weighed the matter for the rest of the meal.

  Clark must have sensed her mood because he finally inquired, “Somethin’ be a troublin’ ya?”

  “No,” Marty lied and remained silent for a few more minutes, then decided that would never do. If they had to share the same house, they’d just have to be frank and honest with each other, so she blurted out, “It’s jest thet I don’t know what ya would want planned fer Missie’s birthday. Do ya have company? Have a party? Do somethin’ different?” She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I see,” Clark said, and she felt he really did understand. He got up and refilled their c
offee cups.

  Dad-blame, Marty scolded herself, I missed thet second cup agin with my deep thinkin’.

  Clark didn’t appear to be bothered by it. He sat back down and creamed his coffee, pushing his plate back and pulling his cup forward as though preparing for a lengthy stay.

  By this time little Missie was getting restless and wanting down from her chair. Clark lifted her down and she ran to find her new book.

  “Funny thing,” Clark continued then, “but I don’t rightly remember any fixed thing thet we be a doin’ fer a birthday. Seems in lookin’ back thet they were all a mite different somehow. Missie, now, she only had one afore, an’ she was a bit young then to pay it much mind.” He hesitated. “I think, though, thet it would be nice to be a havin’ a cake fer her. I got a doodad in town last Saturday while I was there. I hope it pleases her. Jest a silly little thing, really, but it looks like it would tickle a little’un. I don’t think thet we be needin’ company’s help in celebratin’. She’ll enjoy it as much on her own with jest”—he paused slightly and finished quickly—“jest us.”

  Marty was relieved. That kind of a birthday celebration she felt she could manage. She sat quietly for a moment and finally raised her eyes to Clark’s and said, “I been thinkin’. Seems thet I don’t know much ’bout Missie, an’ seems as though I should be a knowin’ a sight more iffen I be goin’ to raise her an’ all. Ya know how young’uns be. They like to hear their folks tell of when they did this an’ when they said thet, an’ how cute an’ clever they was, an’ quick in their ways an’ all. Someday soon Missie’s goin’ to be wantin’ to hear sech things, an’ I should be able to tell her. The only thing I really know ’bout her is her name.”