Love comes softly

Love Comes Softly

Janette Oke

Dedication

To my dear friend and former teacher, Mrs. Irene Lindberg.

JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, during the depression years, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Didsbury, Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward. They were married in May of 1957, and went on to pastor churches in Indiana as well as Calgary and Edmonton, Canada.

The Okes have three sons and one daughter and are enjoying the addition to the family of grandchildren. Edward and Janette have both been active in their local church, serving in various capacities as Sunday-school teachers and board members. They make their home in Didsbury, Alberta.

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Preface

The life of the pioneer holds much appeal for present-day Americans--and well it should, for it is to these strong, courageous people that we owe so much of our heritage. The question still comes to us: Why do we who have so much take such pleasure in reliving the past with those who had so little? The answer, perhaps, is not too obscure. When the "little" that one possesses comes so grudgingly, there is careful sorting of priorities. If life is simple, the simple things held onto must be of lasting value. Life tends to lose its clutter and only what is of true worth is accepted and cherished--be it material possessions, friends, personal attitudes or spiritual concepts.

Because of my interest in the past and my respect for our forefathers, I chose as the setting for my novel, the period of the pioneers.

For many months I lived, in my imagination, with Clark and Marty and the other members of my book until they shaped into definite characters in my mind--characters that would remain constant when put down on paper.

I feel that they have much to share with us. Clark had a deep trust in His Heavenly Father; even in adverse times he was constant and caring. Though unpolished, he was a true gentleman.

Marty, though young and spirited, had a genuineness, an openness, and a determination that kept her holding on when life was difficult.

I have shared my thoughts with you in the hope that you will feel inspired to reach out to the all-knowing God of Clark

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8 and Marty, and that you will catch a glimpse of what human love was truly meant to be. Tender, compassionate, and yes, gentle, that's what
Love Comes Softly
was intended to be. I hope that you will find it so.

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Table of Contents

1. The Grim Reaper 11

2. A Mama for Missie 18

3. Marriage of Convenience 23

4. Morning Encounter 29

5. Iffen I Can Jest Stick It Out 37

6. Housecleanin' 42

7. A Welcome Visitor 49

8. It's a Cruel World 55

9. The Lord's Day

10. Neighborly Hog Killin' 70

11. Togetherness 73

12. Finishin' My Sewin' 76

13. Ellen 82

14. Missie 87

15. Disclosed Secret 96

16. Thoughtful and Carin' 99

17. Mysterious Absence 103

18. Christmas Preparations 107

19. Snowbound 111

20. A Visit from Ma Graham 122

21. A New Baby 130

22. Ma Bares Her Heart 134

23. Visitors 138

24. New Discoveries 148

25. Fire! 151

26. Barn Raisin' 158

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27. Laura 161

28. The Big Day 164

29. Planting 169

30. Sorrow 175

31. New Strength to Go On 178

32. Love Comes Softly 181

,

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Chapter 1

The Grim Reaper

The morning sun shone brightly on the canvas of the covered wagon, promising an unseasonably warm day for mid- October. Marty fought for wakefulness, coming back slowly from a troubled and fitful sleep. Why did she feel so heavy and ill at ease-- she who usually awoke with a bounce and a readiness for each new day's adventure? Then, as it all flooded over her, she fell back in a heap upon the blankets from which she had just emerged and let the sobs shake her slight body.

Clem was gone. The strong, boastful, boyish Clem who had so quickly and easily made her love him. Less than two short years ago she had seen him for the first time, self-assured, almost to the point of swaggering. Then in only fourteen months time she was a married woman, out West, beginning a new and challenging adventure with the man she loved-- until yesterday.

Yesterday her whole world had crumbled about her. The men who came told her that her Clem was dead. Killed outright. His horse had fallen. They'd had to destroy the horse. Did she want to come with them?

No, she'd stay.

Would she like his Missus to come over?

No, she'd be fine.

They'd care for the body. His Missus was right good at that. The neighbors would arrange for the buryin'. Lucky the

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parson was paying his visit through the area. Was to have moved on today but they were sure that he'd stay over. Sure she didn't want to come with them?

No, she'd be all right.

Hated to leave her alone.

She needed to be alone.

They'd see her on the morrow. Not to worry. They'd care for everything.

Thank ya And

they had gone, taking her Clem with them, wrapped in one of her few blankets and tied on the back of the horse that the neighbor should have been riding but who was now led slowly, careful of its burden.

And now was the morrow and the sun was shining. Why was the sun shining? Didn't nature know that today should be as lifeless as she felt, with a cold wind blowing like the chill that gripped her heart?

"Oh, Clem! Clem!" she cried. "What am I gonna do now?"

The fact that she was way out West in the fall of the year, with no way back home, no one here that she knew and expecting Clem's baby besides, should have worried her. But for the moment the only thing that her mind could settle on and her heart understand was the pain of her great loss.

Clem had come out West with such wild excitement.

"We'll find everythin' we want there in thet new country. The land's there fer the takin'."

"What 'bout the wild animals-- an' the Injuns?" she had stammered.

He had laughed at her silliness and picked her up in his strong arms and whirled her round in the air.

"What 'bout a house? It'll be most winter when we git there."

"The neighbors will help us build one. I've heered all 'bout it. They all help one another out there."

And they would have. They'd have left their much needed crops standing in the fields, if need be, while they gave of their time to put a roof over a needy, if somewhat arrogant and reckless, newcomer, because they knew far better than he the fierceness of the winter winds.

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"We'll make out jest fine. Don't ya worry ya none," Clem had promised.

They had stopped at a farmhouse in the area and Clem had made inquiries. Over a friendly cup of coffee the would- be, new neighbor had informed him that he owned the land down to the creek but the land beyond that, reaching up into the hills, had not yet been claimed. With an effort, Clem had restrained himself from whooping. The very thought of being so near his dream filled him with wild anticipation. They hurried on, traveling a bit too fast for the much-mended wagon. They were so near their destination when a wheel gave way, and this time it was beyond repair.

They had camped for the night, still on the neighbor's land, and Clem had piled rocks and timbers under the broken wagon in an effort to keep it somewhat level. In the morning they had found that more bad luck was theirs, for one of the horses had deserted them during the night. His broken rope dangled from the tree to which he had been tied. Clem had gone, riding the remaining horse, to look for help, and now he wouldn't be coming back. There would be no land claimed, in his name, nor a house built that would stand proud of its ownership.

A noise outside attracted her attention and she peeped timidly from the wagon. Neighbors were there-- four men with grim faces, silently and soberly digging beneath the largest spruce tree. As she realized what their digging meant, a fresh torment tore at her soul. Clem's grave. It was really true. This horrible nightmare was really true. Clem was gone. She was without him. He was to be buried on borrowed land.

"Oh, Clem. What'll I do?"

She sobbed until she had no more tears. The digging continued. She could hear the scraping of the shovels, and each thrust seemed to lay bare her heart. Time stretched on.

Suddenly more sounds reached her and she realized that other neighbors were arriving. She must pull herself together. Clem would be ashamed of her.

She climbed from the blankets, tried to tidy her unruly hair and quickly dressed in her dark blue cotton frock. It seemed to be the most suitable thing she had for the occasion.

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Grabbing a towel and her comb, she slipped out of the wagon and down to the spring to wash away her tears and straighten her tangled hair. This done she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and went back to meet her new neighbors.

There was a kindness in all of them. She could feel it. It was not a piteous thing, but an understanding. This was the West. Things were hard out here. Most likely every neighbor there had had a similar time, but you didn't go under-- you mustn't; you must go on. There was no time nor energy for pity here-- not for self, not for one another. It took your whole being to face what must be faced. Death, too, must be accepted as part of life, and though it was hard, one carried on.

The visiting preacher spoke the words of commitment. He also spoke to the sorrowing, who in this case consisted of one lone, small person, the widow of the deceased; for one could hardly count the baby that she was carrying as one of the mourners, even if it was Clem's.

The preacher spoke words that were fitting for the occasion-- words of comfort and words of encouragement. The neighbors listened in silent sympathy to words similar to those that they had heard before. When the brief ceremony was over, Marty turned from the grave toward the wagon, and the four men with the shovels turned to the task of covering the stout wooden box that had kept some of the neighbor men up for most of the night to have it ready for this day. As Marty walked away, a woman stepped forward and placed her hand on the slim shoulder.

"I'm Wanda Marshall," she said. "I'm sorry that we don't have any more than one room, but you'd be welcome to share it for a few days until you sort things out."

"Much obliged." Marty spoke in almost a whisper. "But I wouldn't wanta impose 'pon ya. Sides I think I'll jest stay on here fer awhile. I need me time to think."

"I understand." And the woman moved on.

Marty continued toward the wagon and was stopped again, this time by an older woman's gentle hand. "This ain't an easy time fer ya, I know. I buried my first

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husband many years ago an' I know the feelin'." She paused a minute and then went on. "I don't 'spose you've had ya time to plan." Seeing the slight shake of Marty's head she continued.

"I can't offer ya a place to stay; we're full up at our place. But I can offer ya somethin' to eat, and iffen you'd like to move yer wagon to our yard, we'd be happy to help ya pack yer things, and my Ben, Ben Graham, will be more'n glad to help ya git to town whenever yer ready to go."

"Thank ya," Marty murmured, "but I think I'll stay me on here fer awhile."

How could she say that she had no money to stay in town, not even for one night, and no hope of getting any? What kind of a job could a young untrained woman in her condition hope to get? What kind of a future was there for her anyway?

Her heavy feet carried her on to the wagon and her weighted hand lifted the canvas flap. She just wanted to crawl away, out of sight, and let the world cave in upon her.

It was hot in there in midday and the rush of torrid air sent her already dizzy head to spinning. She crawled back out through the entry and flopped down on the grass on the shady side of the wagon, propping herself up against the broken wheel. Her senses seemed to be playing tricks on her. She swam through unrealism into an intense feeling of loss. Round and round in her head it swept, making her wonder what truly was real and what imagined. She sat mentally groping for some sense to it all, when suddenly a male voice made her jump with its closeness.

"Ma'am."

She looked up-- way up. A man stood before her, cap in hand, fingering it determinedly as he cleared his throat. She recognized him vaguely as one of the shovel bearers. He evidenced tall strength, and there was an oldness about his eyes that his youthful features declared a lie. Her eyes looked to him, but her lips refused to answer his address.

He seemed to draw courage from somewhere deep inside himself and spoke again.

"Ma'am, I know thet this be untimely-- ya jest havin' buried