Love's Unfolding Dream Read online

  “I won’t tell her,” replied Amy Jo rather hotly with a toss of her red-brown braids, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t even show her the pretty piece we found before.”

  “Sure you can show me,” offered Melissa. “And you can show me your choice, too, Belinda.”

  “I haven’t chosen one,” said Belinda. “Ma and I decided thet you should choose.”

  “And I will,” Melissa said excitedly. “I can hardly wait. I wrote Mother and Father all about it.”

  “I jest bet you’ll love the colored print. It is so . . . so . . . vibrant!” exclaimed Amy Jo. “Vibrant” was a new word she had found in one of Melissa’s art books, and she loved it. The family would hear the word over and over during the next few months.

  “Maybe Melissa doesn’t like ‘vibrant,”’ Belinda said softly.

  “Oh, Lindy,” Amy Jo responded impatiently. “Do you think she’s a child? She’ll say if she likes it or not.”

  Marty feared a quarrel was about to commence.

  “I think we’ll go to the hardware store first an’ pick out the wallpaper,” she hurried to inform the girls, snapping the reins over the horses’ backs. “Then we’ll go look at the yard goods.”

  Her little plan for diverting an argument did not work. Amy Jo began to suggest a “good choice” for Melissa’s walls. Belinda frowned, and Marty felt she had to move the conversation onto other ground entirely.

  “Jest up ahead there is the school, Melissa,” she announced, pointing to a white building set back in some trees. “Would ya like to stop an’ peek in the winda? The door will likely be bolted, but we should be able to git us a bit of a look-see.”

  It worked, at least temporarily. The girls were soon excitedly talking about school. Marty sighed with relief and urged the team on a little faster. They would stop briefly at the schoolhouse, but then there was still a long road into town. Could she manage to keep the conversation even and controlled?

  TEN

  School

  It was a weary Marty who turned the team back over to Clark when they arrived home. His eyes questioned her as he helped her down over the wheel, but he asked nothing aloud.

  “Later,” she whispered to him, and he nodded.

  The three girls were gathering parcels and carrying them into the house.

  “When will you do the wallpaperin’?” Amy Jo was asking. “I’ll help.”

  “Grandpa will be doin’ it,” Marty called out as the three moved through the door. “I think he’ll ask Clare if he needs ’im any help.”

  “Aw,” groaned Amy Jo over her shoulder. “It woulda been fun iffen we three coulda did it.”

  “Done it,” corrected Melissa evenly, no scolding in her voice.

  “Grandpa will do the wallpaperin’ tomorra,” Marty went on as she joined them in the kitchen. There was no way she would be talked into allowing three young girls—at least these three— the opportunity of messing around in the wallpaper paste.

  “What ’bout the curtains?” continued Amy Jo, her freckled face crinkled in disappointment.

  “I’ll sew up the curtains an’ spread,” answered Marty.

  “Then we don’t git to do nothin’,” argued Amy Jo.

  “You did the choosin’,” Marty reminded her.

  And what a job that was! she could have added. Belinda, though she had said very little, liked the soft pastel prints. Amy Jo had argued vociferously for the “vibrant” colors. Melissa had held her ground and picked a blue-and-white gingham. And her walls would have tiny blue flowers in vertical rows on a white background. For accents around the room she chose some bright blue for toss cushions, tie-backs, and bows for trimmings.

  It wasn’t what Marty would have selected. An all blue-and-white room seemed a little boring to her. But Marty did not try to sway Melissa. They had promised her own choice, and Marty intended to keep her word.

  “I’ll do the kitchen work while you sew,” offered Melissa, and Marty nodded her appreciation.

  “I still wish we could do some work on the room,” grumbled Amy Jo.

  “Ya can,” said Marty with a tired sigh. “When yer Grandpa’s done his paperin’, ya can scrub the floor an’ move back the furniture.”

  At Amy Jo’s look of disgust, Marty added, “Maybe Melissa will let ya help arrange the furniture a new way,” but Amy Jo was not to be cheered up so easily. Her disagreeable attitude quickly changed to one of defeat when Marty held her ground with an even and determined look of her own. From long experience Amy Jo knew when her grandmother was serious—it would be the girls’ job to clean the room and move Melissa in after it had been redone.

  “ ’Course we will,” Belinda was saying. “That will be fun.We can put everything jest where Melissa wants it.”

  Marty watched Amy Jo as she looked around, her expression moving from there’s nothing for it but to cooperate to it might be a little fun at that.

  Marty sighed, then smiled and shook her head.

  The room was papered, the curtains and spread made, and the little pillows stuffed with soft, old material. The girls began their housecleaning as Marty finished off the last of the sewing.

  Melissa set up the ironing board and carefully ironed the new curtains, ruffle by ruffle. Belinda scrubbed the floor, and Amy Jo dusted the furniture but mostly fluttered about giving orders and excitedly exclaiming over everything.

  The bed and dresser were moved back into the room with the help of Clare, who had come to see how the job was progressing. He said some nice things about its appearance and left the three girls to do the arranging. They all agreed, much to Marty’s relief, that the bed should be under the window, the new curtains framing its head. The dresser fit nicely on the north wall, and the desk Clark was working on would stand in the corner near the door with the bookshelves.

  By the end of the week the new room had its new occupant. Belinda told her mother that she really didn’t want Melissa to move, but they were just across the hall from each other, and she knew it really was nicer for them each to have their own room. She did like her times alone and would soon have wearied of constant company, she said.

  When it was all done, Marty had to admit that Melissa had chosen well. The gingham curtains and the bright splashes of blue went nicely with the light-patterned wallpaper. The shelves of books also added to the cheeriness and hominess of the room, and with the bright scatter rugs on the floor the room looked inviting and warm, as well as light and airy.

  Marty sighed wearily as she retired that Saturday night. She was glad they had allowed Melissa the privilege of picking her own colors. She was also glad that the process did not need to be repeated in the near future. It had been tiring having the three girls excitedly rushing about the house, continually asking about her sewing progress. And though they had willingly worked in the kitchen, Marty really preferred being in charge there herself. She found herself redoing some of the tasks the girls had hurried through. So Marty was glad it was over and she could stretch out beneath the warm comfort of the soft quilt and let the kinks of the week’s “busyness” gradually work out of her back and arms.

  In just another week all the children but young Dack would be off to school for another year, and her days would be more her own, Marty reminded herself. She both welcomed it and was dismayed by it. The years were passing by so quickly. Before they knew it, Belinda, too, would be grown and moving on to a life of her own. It will be so lonely in the old house when that happens, Marty mourned. She thought of the last few busy, bustling days. She couldn’t manage all that activity as well as she used to. But she wasn’t ready to settle into a quiet and uneventful life, either.

  When the first day of school arrived, it nearly matched the week Melissa’s room had been redone for noise, commotion, and activity. Melissa and Belinda both fussed with their frocks and their hair—Melissa had three different dresses on before settling on a pale yellow with blue flowers. Belinda decided on a pink print. They each tried several hair styles and finall
y both went back to the comfortable familiar, the sides pulled back in a bow. They dashed back and forth between their rooms, exclaiming over this, agonizing over that, until Marty felt that she would never survive until they were finally out the door.

  In her new bright green dress, Amy Jo stopped by for the two girls, and at last they were all on their way. Each girl looked feminine and appealing and strangely at ease, while Marty still felt her head spinning. She sighed as she watched the three join Amy Jo’s two younger brothers, and then all five of them walked down the long lane to the road that would take them to the small country schoolhouse. Even from where she stood at her kitchen window, Marty could hear their excited voices drifting back to her. It was always that way on the first day. At the end of the day, too, they would come home eager to inform Marty and Clark and anyone who would listen about all the experiences of “first day.” After that, Marty knew from past experience, the family was fortunate to get any information at all.

  Marty turned from the window, poured herself a fresh cup of coffee, and sank wearily into a kitchen chair. The back door opened, and Clark’s head cautiously peered around it.

  “It safe to come back now?” he queried.

  Marty smiled. “They all be gone, iffen thet’s what ya be meanin’.”

  “They sure do git excited. I couldn’t stand all thet flutterin’ about. Guess I must be gittin’ old,” and so saying, Clark entered the kitchen and tossed his worn farm cap into the corner. “Any coffee left in the pot?”

  Marty looked from Clark to the cap on the floor. She made no comment, but Clark responded to her look. “No use hangin’ it on the peg. I’m gonna go right back out again.”

  Marty made a move to get up from her chair for Clark’s coffee, but he stopped her with a gentle touch on the arm, and she relaxed again.

  Clark reclaimed his breakfast cup, crossed to the kitchen stove where the coffeepot still steamed, and poured himself another cup of the hot, dark liquid. He took the chair opposite Marty at the table.

  “How ya holdin’ up?” he asked in a teasing voice, but Marty could also sense his genuine concern.

  She smiled. “Fine, I reckon—though it sure do slow a body down some.”

  “The first day of a new school year is always excitin’, I remember, but didn’t it seem to you thet they were flyin’ higher ’n a kite this time?”

  “Maybe so . . . maybe we jest fergit . . . I dunno.” Marty took another sip of her coffee. “Maybe Melissa bein’ here has somethin’ to do with it. The other two are so anxious to show her off to all their school chums. Then, too, I s’pose thet new teacher also has ’em worked up some. They always seem to be a bit on edge until they know jest how a new teacher will be.”

  “Seemed nice enough to me,” responded Clark.

  “Good,” said Marty. “It’s so important for children to have a good teacher.”

  Marty drained her cup, but she didn’t leave her chair. She sat companionably while Clark finished his.

  “So now do ya git to rest ya some?” Clark asked.

  Marty looked around her at the table covered with dirty dishes and the kitchen still untidy from preparing the breakfast and making school lunches. She didn’t bother to reply. Clark could see the answer for himself.

  “Least it’ll be a bit quieter,” he continued.

  “Oh, they’ll calm down in a day or two,” Marty assured him. “They always do. Afore we know it, things will be so routine again thet we’ll all feel a mite bored.”

  Clark nodded his head.

  “Iffen I was you, though,” went on Marty, “I’d be ’bout as far away as I could be, come end of the school day. They always come back even worse than they went off. Gotta tell every little thing thet happened the first day. Who did what an’ went where an’ got whatever—from the whole summer long.”

  She stopped with a twinkle in her eye and said, “On second thought, maybe ya’d like to be here to help do some ’.”

  Clark laughed. “Thanks for the invite,” he said, setting his empty cup back on the table. “But, no, I guess I’ll head me fer the farthest field.”

  Marty reluctantly lifted herself from the comfortable kitchen chair and began to stack the dishes.

  “An’ what ’bout you?” Clark asked her. “How ya plannin’ on protectin’ yerself from the onslaught?”

  “Ya ain’t got any rock thet needs pickin’ in thet far field, have ya?” asked Marty.

  Clark laughed again and went to retrieve his cap from the corner. “Guess we’ll make it somehow,” he said confidently. “We always do.”

  Marty knew he was right. She stirred herself to hurry more with the dishes. She had bread to bake and a stack of laundry waiting for her.

  “Think I’ll look round fer a job thet might take the help of a young’un,” Clark continued. “Got me a feelin’ it’s gonna be a powerful long day fer young Dack.”

  It was Marty’s turn to smile. True, it would be a long day for Dack. It also was a wonderful excuse for Clark to enjoy his grandson.

  In spite of her dire warnings to Clark, Marty found her excitement mounting as the clock on the wall shelf announced it was almost time for the children to be returning from school. She crossed to the window and looked out to the road several times before she heard the dog bark his welcome and knew the children would soon come bursting through the door.

  Marty set out some glasses and poured cold milk. She wasn’t sure just how many of the young troop would stop at the big house. She knew Kate’s family would be eager to tell about their day, as well.

  Marty heard the excited voice of young Dack as he enthusiastically welcomed home his brothers and the girls.

  Amy Jo was first through the door of Marty’s kitchen. She led Belinda and Melissa. The boys had gone on home to the log house.

  “Gramma,” exclaimed Amy Jo, “guess what happened at school today!”

  “How ’bout ya jest tell me,” responded Marty, lifting fresh sugar cookies from the cooling rack to a plate. “Never was very good at guessin’ games.”

  “We got a new teacher!”

  Marty looked up. “We already knew thet,” she said. “’Member— we talked ’bout it fer the last several days. Yer grandpa helped to move her in.”

  The new teacher was a recently widowed lady from a nearby town who had been most happy to get the job. She had moved into the local teacherage just as soon as she was sure the job was hers, and Clark had been one of the men who had driven a wagon over to load her furnishings.

  The girls looked at one another and snickered behind their hands. Marty could not understand the joke.

  “I know ya told us ’bout the teacher,” explained Belinda, “but we didn’t know ’bout her family.”

  “She has a family? I didn’t know ’bout thet. I thought thet she was alone when yer—” “She was,” Belinda said quickly. “Her family was at their grandparents’ or aunt’s—or somethin’.”

  “I’m glad to hear she has family,” said Marty as she poured one more glass of milk and set it on the table.

  The girls looked at one another again, a general tittering accompanying the glances.

  “So what does she have fer family?” asked Marty, innocently enough.

  This brought outright giggles from all three girls.

  Amy Jo was the first to recover sufficiently to speak. “A boy!” she gasped out.

  “A boy?” Marty looked at the giggling girls. Even Melissa was acting like a silly schoolgirl. Marty had expected her to be at least a bit more mature than the two younger girls.

  “Well, does this here boy have three ears an’ one eye, or what?” asked Marty.

  All three girls groaned in unison. Marty wasn’t sure how to interpret the answer.

  “Oh, no-o,” said Amy Jo. “He’s . . . he’s . . . well, he’s vibrant.”

  “Don’t be silly, Amy Jo,” chided Belinda. “Boys aren’t vibrant.”

  “Well, he’s . . . he’s . . .” Amy Jo began again, but Melissa
cut in.

  “Divine,” she finished with an exaggerated sigh.

  All three girls went back to giggling. Marty was beginning to get the picture. Her sigh was even deeper than Melissa’s. Was she ready to deal with three young girls in the middle of schoolgirl crushes over the same boy?

  “You’ll like ’im, Mama,” said Belinda, turning in her chair to look at Marty. “He is so mannerly and so tall and so—” “Divine,” repeated Melissa.

  More moans and groans, finished with giggles.

  “Well, it do seem thet this boy has made hisself quite an impression,” ventured Marty. “I sure hope thet his mama is equally qualified. Haven’t heard one comment on what ya all think of yer new teacher.”

  After a pause, “She’s nice,” offered Belinda, “an’ Jackson treats her so . . . so . . .”

  “Gentle,” put in Melissa.

  “Yeah, gentle.”

  It seemed that “nice” was all Marty was to hear about the new schoolmarm.

  Amy Jo reached for another sugar cookie. “An’ he even treats his little brothers good.”

  Marty was sure that to Amy Jo, treating younger brothers “good” must be going the second mile indeed.

  “He has brothers?” asked Marty.

  “Two. An’ he doesn’t even fight with ’em and they go to ’im when they need help with their work—”

  “How old are they?” asked Marty.

  “One in grade one an’ one in grade four, an’ they really like Jackson, ya can tell by the way they—”

  Marty was tiring of all roads leading back to this Jackson. “Is thet all thet happened at school today? Jest this here Jackson making his impression on ya?”

  Melissa stepped away from her chair and toward Marty. “Oh, Grandma,” she said, “he is really nice. He is tall with broad shoulders and blondish hair and a little mark in his chin, sort of like a dimple. And he is real smart in school. He has only one more year to be taught by his mother because she has taught him everything she can, almost, and then he wants to go on to school somewhere and train in some occupation—maybe banking, or some such thing—that is, if they can afford it. His father died, you know—with consumption—and they don’t have much money, so he might have to go to work instead. He’s only sixteen, but he’s strong, so he could get a job easily enough, but he’d—”