Love comes softly (11 page)

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Chapter 14

Missie

The next morning at breakfast Clark informed Marty that Thursday of the week Missie would have her second birthday. Marty felt concern. 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 was rather silent, weighing the matter mentally for the rest of the meal. Clark sensed her mood and finally inquired.

"Somethin' be a troublin' ya?"

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

"I see," Clark said, and she felt that he really did see. He got up and refilled their coffee cups.

"Dad-blame," thought Marty, "I missed thet second cup agin with my deep thinkin'."

Clark didn't appear to be at all 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 Missie was getting restless and wanting down

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from her chair. Clark lifted her down and she ran into the sitting room to find her new book. Clark continued then.

"Funny thing, 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 abit 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 doo-dad 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 jest as much on her own."

Marty felt relieved. That kind of a birthday celebration she felt that she could handle. She sat quietly for a moment and finally raised her eyes to Clark's and said almost imploringly. "I been thinkin'. Seems thet I don't know much 'bout Missie an' seems as tho' I should be a knowin' a sight more if- fen 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. Some day soon Missie's goin' to be wantin' to hear sech things, an' I should be able to tell her. The only thing I know 'bout her is her name."

Clark surprised her by laughing quietly. It was the first time that she had heard him laugh. She liked it, but she couldn't figure out the reason for it. He soon filled her in.

"I be thinkin' thet ya don't really know even thet," he said. "Her real name be Melissa-- Melissa Ann Davis."

"Thet's a pretty name," Marty said. "I don't be goin' by my real name either. My real name be Martha, but I don't much like it. All my family an' friends called me Marty, 'cept my ma when she was mad. Then it was Martha, real loud like. Martha Lucinda-- " She nearly finished it with Claridge but caught herself in time.

"But tell me 'bout Missie."

"Well, Missie be born on November third, two years ago. 'bout four o'clock in the mornin'."

Clark's face became very thoughtful as he reflected back. Marty remembered Ma telling of the great excitement that

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Missie had caused. Clark went on.

"She weren't much of a bundle, seemed to me, an' she was rather red an' wrinkled, an' had a good head of dark hair. She seemed to grow fast an' change a lot right from the start, an' afore ya knowed it she was a cooin' an' smilin'. By Christmas time she was most givin' the orders round here it seemed. She was a good baby as babies go an' slept through the night by the time she was three months old. I thought I'd picked me a real winner. Then at five months she started to cut her teeth. She turned from a sweet contented, smilin' darlin' into a real bearcat. Lucky fer us, it didn't last fer too long, though at the time it seemed ferever. Anyway, she made it through. So did we, an' things quieted down agin.

"When she had her first birthday, she could already say some words. Seemed right bright for a little tyke, an' al'ays from as far back as I can remember she loved pretty things. Guess thet's why she took so to the little whatever it be thet ya sewed fer her.

"Started walkin"fore her first birthday an' was soon climbin' to match it. Boy, how she did git around! One day I found her on the corral fence, top rail, when she be jest a wee'un. Got up there an' couldn't git down. Hangin' on fer dear life she was.

"She was gettin' to be a right good visitor, too. A lot of company she was. Chattered all the time an' more an' more there was gettin' to be some sense to it.

"One day she came in with a flower. Thrilled to pieces with it she was. Picked it right off the rose bush. The thorns had pricked her tiny fingers an' they was a bleedin'. But she never paid them no mind at all, so determined she be to take the 'pretty' to her mama. Thet flower is pressed in her mama's Bible."

Clark stopped and sat looking at his coffee cup. Marty saw him swallow and his lips move as though he meant to go on, but no sound came.

"Ya don't need to tell me anymore," she said quietly. "I know enough to be able to tell young Missie somethin"bout her young days."

She searched for words and found that any that she could

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bring to mind seemed inadequate, but she stumbled on.

"I know how painful it be-- to remember, an' anyway when the day comes thet young Missie need hear the story of her mama-- an' she should hear it, to be sure-- but when thet day comes, it's her pa thet she should be a hearin' it from."

Marty rose from the table then so that Clark need not fear that he was expected to say more. Slowly he finished his coffee and she set to work getting her water ready to wash the dishes.

The day was almost crisp in its coolness, but Clark announced that he planned to see how much sod he could get turned on the land he was claiming for spring planting. Marty hoped that the weather would hold, not just so that he could finish the planned plowing but also so that he would be busy away from the house.

The days of the week went by slowly. Sometimes they went too slowly for Marty, but she was relieved that there was always work with which to fill them. What with washing, cleaning, bread-baking, and meal getting, she seemed to even have to look for time in which to do Missie's sewing. Little garments did take shape under her capable hands, however, and Missie fussed and exclaimed over each one of them.

Marty had a secret project on the go as well. Knowing of Missie's birthday had sent her mind scrambling over what she might be able to do for the little girl. She didn't have many options really, not having a cent to her name, even if she had found a way to spend it. She then thought of the beautifully colored wool that Clark had brought and the brand new knitting needles. Each night she retired to her room as soon as her day's tasks were taken care of and with Missie sleeping soundly in her crib, the knitting needles clicked hurriedly. She must work quickly to be done in time. When she finally crawled off to bed each night, she was too tired to even lie for long and ache for Clem. She thought of him, and her last wish of the night was that he could have been by her side, cuddling close in the big double bed; but even though her thoughts turned to him, her tired body demanded sleep and she felt too weary to even cry.

The days passed and Thursday dawned cold and windy.

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Clark was still determined to carry on with his plowing even though Marty feared that he would surely take a chill by so doing. He paid no mind to her and went anyway. She wondered secretly if he wished to be away from the house as much as she wanted him to be.

After dinner was over and Missie had been put down for her nap, Marty went to work on the birthday cake. She felt much more confident now, having practiced using Ma's recipes to a fair extent. Carefully she watched her fire on this day. It would not do to have it too hot nor to let it die out as she so often did.

She sighed with relief when Missie's cake was lifted from the oven, appearing to be all that she had hoped for.

The wind was colder now and Marty found herself worrying even more about Clark. What in the world would she ever do if he took sick and needed nursing? Dad-burn man! He shouldn't be taking such chances. She'd keep the coffee pot on so that whenever he decided to come in she'd have a hot cup waiting. She'd do almost anything, she figured, to keep him on his feet and walking. Why, if he went down sick, she wouldn't know where to even start on the chores. She'd never even set foot in the barn, she realized. Some women folk had to do the milking all of the time, and for that matter, some did the slopping of the hogs, too. Clark hadn't even turned the feeding of the chickens over to her. Maybe he had expected it and she just hadn't done so. She had been so mixed up and confused when she came to this place that she hadn't even given it a thought. Well, she'd ask. Maybe tomorrow at breakfast, if the time seemed right. She was more than willing to do her rightful share.

She heard the team coming and cast an anxious glance out the window.

"He be lookin' cold all right." She pushed the coffee pot forward on the stove.

When Clark came in he stood for a few moments holding his big hands over the kitchen stove, as if trying to scoop up handfuls of the heat to warm his chilled body.

Marty poured his cup of coffee and went for some cream.

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She decided to also bring some muffins and honey in case he wanted a bit to go with the hot drink.

He watched her from the stove and said nothing until she had set it by his place at the table.

"Won't ya be a joinin' me?" he asked; then, "I hate to be a drinkin' coffee all alone."

Marty looked up in surprise but answered evenly.

"Ya be the one thet be a needin' it. Ya be a chillin' yerself fer sure workin' out in thet wretched wind an' all. Lucky ya be iffen ya don't be a puttin' yerself down over it. Come, ya'd better be drinkin' this while it be hot."

It was mild scolding but something in it seemed to tickle Clark. He smiled to himself as he crossed to the table. Women-- honestly, one would think a man was made of sugar frosting the way that they could carry on. He hid his smile and answered good naturedly. "I may be the one a needin' it, but I doubt thet a few minutes at the table an' off yer feet be a hurt- in' ya much either. Ya fuss too much, I be a thinkin'."

"No," Marty said solemnly. "No, I don't fuss too much. I jest find thet workin' sure beats moanin', thet's all. But as ya say, a cup of coffee might be right good. I do declare, hearin' thet wind howl makes my blood chill, even though it be warm in here."

So saying, she poured herself a cup of coffee and joined him at the table.

After their coffee, Clark said that he had come home early from the plowing because he thought that a storm might be on the way and he wanted to have the rest of the garden things in the root cellar before it struck. So saying, he left the house to go to work.

Marty turned to Missie's now cooled cake. She wanted it to look 'special' for the little girl so used all of her ingenuity and material available for that purpose. When she was finally done she looked at it critically. It wasn't great, she decided, but it would have to do. She placed it in the cupboard behind closed doors to await the proper moment for its appearance. She then set to work on plans for a little something extra for supper. Missie's call interrupted her at this point and she went in for the little girl.

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"Hi there, Missie. Come to Mama," she said.

She had said the words before and hadn't liked them, so she had not referred to herself as such since. As she spoke them now they didn't seem nearly so out of place, though they still seemed strange to her.

She lifted the wee one up, noticing as she did so that her own little one was demanding more room. She was glad that she had put plenty of fullness in the new dresses that she had made. Already she was needing some of it.

Missie ran to get her shoes and Marty carried child and shoes to the kitchen where she put them on. Already it was chilly in the bedroom. She dreaded the thought of the cold winter ahead. How glad she was not to be in the covered wagon. The very thought made her shiver.

She gave Missie a mug of milk and half of a muffin and went back to preparing the evening meal.

Clark finished up the work in the garden and did the evening chores a bit earlier than usual. Marty sensed in him an excitement that he had not shown before. She knew that he must have dreaded the arrival of his little girl's birthday without Ellen there to share it, but as the event drew near he wanted to make the most of it for Missie's sake.

After they had finished their supper Marty went to the cupboard for the cake. Missie's eyes opened wide in wonder, but she did not understand its meaning.

"Pretty, pretty!" she cried over and over.

"It's Missie's birthday cake," Clark explained.

"Missie is having a birthday. Missie was one year old," indicating one upright finger; "now Missie is two years old." Another finger joined the first.

"See, Missie, two years old. Here Missie, let me help ya." He took the small hand in his big one and helped Missie hold upright two fingers.

"See, Missie, ya be two years old."

"Two-- old," Missie repeated.

"Thet's right," said her pa, well pleased. "Two years old, an' now we'll have some of Missie's birthday cake."

Marty cut the cake and was surprised at how good it really was. As she tasted it she thought of her first effort with the biscuits.