Love comes softly (19 page)

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Chapter 24

New Discoveries

The days of March were busy days for Clark. He pushed himself hard at the logging, working as long as there was light and doing the chores with the aid of the lantern. Each night at the supper table he tallied up his total for Marty to share and together they kept track of how many more logs were needed.

Marty's days were full too, doing the usual housework and caring for the new baby and Missie. It was hard for her to get the clothes dry from one washing to the next.

In the evenings both Clark and Marty were happy to rest a spell before the open fire, Marty with her quilt pieces or knitting, Clark with one of his books, or light work of one kind or another. Marty found it increasingly easy to talk to Clark. In fact, she looked forward to relating the events of the day.

Clark had spent many evenings fashioning a new bed for Missie so that the fast-growing Clare would be able to take over the crib. Marty enjoyed watching the bed take shape. The few simple tools that Clark worked with responded well to his capable hands. She carefully pieced the quilt that would go on the bed and felt a real sense of a joint accomplishment.

As they worked, they talked, sharing small events that made up their little world. The early fall and long winter had brought the animals down from the hills in search of food. Lately a couple of coyotes had been moving in closer and

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closer at nights, causing poor Ole Bob a great deal of noisy concern.

The neighbors were rarely seen during the winter months so news was scarce. Measles had been reported in the town, but no serious cases had been heard of.

They talked of the spring planting and the plans for the new breaking, of the hope that spring would be early rather than late in coming. They shared the "cute" things that Missie said and the progress report of Clare. It was the "little things" that they discussed in their evenings, yet in doing so they were discovering deeper things about each other without realizing it. Feelings, dreams, hopes and faith were shared in a relaxed, simple way.

One evening, as Marty quilted and Clark sanded the headboard for the bed, their talk turned to the scripture that they had read at breakfast that morning. A lot of the words were without meaning to Marty, with her having no background in such things. Clark explained very simply the promises to the Jewish people of a Messiah who would come. Their understanding of His purpose in coming was far different from what He actually came to accomplish. They wanted freedom from Rome: He came to give freedom from self. They wanted to be part of a great earthly kingdom, but His kingdom was a heavenly one.

Marty began to understand some of the things concerning Him, but there were still a lot of unanswered questions in her mind.

"Do ya really think thet God, who runs the whole world like, be a knowin' you?" she asked.

"I'm right sure thet He do," Clark responded simply. "An' how ya be so sure?"

"Cause He answers so many of my prayers."

"Ya mean by a givin' ya whate're ya ask fer?"

Clark thought a minute, then shook his head.

"No, not thet. Ofttimes He jest helps me to git by without what I asked fer."

"Thet be strange talk."

"I'm a thinkin' not. A lot of times, what folks ask fer, they don't a'tall need."

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"Like what?"

"Like good crops, new plows, an extry cow or two." "What about iffen ya lose something thet ya already had an' had sorta set yer mind on?"

"Ya mean like Clem or Ellen?"

Marty nodded slowly.

"He don't take away the hurt, but He shares it with ya." "Wisht I woulda had me someone to share mine with." "He was there, an' I'm a thinkin' thet He helped ya more than ya knowed."

"But I didn' really ask Him to."

"I did."

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Chapter 25

Fire!

On March sixteenth little Clare marked his first month in the family. So far he had been a first-rate baby, but, as Clark kept warning, "Jest ya wait 'til he starts cuttin' his teeth."

Marty hoped that Clark would be wrong and so did Clark.

The day had been colder again, and it looked like another storm might be due so Clark had left early in the morning to restock their supplies.

He was back earlier than usual and the feared storm was still holding off. Mrs. McDonald had sent a small parcel for the baby. Marty opened it excitedly and found another small bib.

"I do declare," she laughed. 'Fhet boy sure be well set up ter bibs. Guess he be well fixed fer droolin'."

Clark laughed with her.

Missie's bed had been completed now and set up in the bedroom, and the small crib was moved into the sitting room where it was warmer for the baby during the day. He was awake more now and liked to lie and look around, waving his small fists frantically in the air. Marty still took him to bed with her at night.

The day ended and evening fell with a shift in the wind. Observing it, Clark said, "Guess we not be gettin' thet storm tonight after all."

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The thought was a pleasant one. Large drifts of snow lay over the ground and hopes for an early spring were being shattered daily. The weather stayed cold with occasional snow flurries, and cold winds made winter's long stay even more unwelcome.

They were both tired from a long day's work, Clark having hurried his trip to town and Marty having done her bread baking as well as washing for the baby, so they retired a bit earlier than the usual.

Marty tucked herself in, stretching her toes deep into the warm blankets. She nursed young Clare so that he would sleep as far into the night as possible, and settled down with him on her arm.

She felt that she had barely fallen into a deep sleep when she was awakened. Clark was bending over her, pulling on his jacket as he spoke hurriedly.

"The barn be ablaze. Ya jest stay put. I'm goin' fer the stock," and he was gone.

Marty's head whirled. Had she had a dream? No, she was sure that he had really been there. What should she do? It seemed like eons before she finally moved, though in truth it was a matter of seconds. She jumped from her bed, not stopping to dress herself or even to slip into her house-socks. She ran through the house to the kitchen window. Before she even arrived she could see the angry red glow. Horror struck her as she looked at the scene. There was the barn, roof aflame with angry leaping fire, the smoke pouring forth, darkening the sky, and there was Clark taking the last few steps in long, running strides. He swung open the barn door and smoke gushed out.

As Marty realized what he had said to her and saw him about to carry it out, her own voice choked her. "No, Clark, no. Don't go in there, please, please-- ."

But he had gone-- for the animals. They could get more animals-- .

Marty stood silently, only because her words refused to come-- watching, straining, dying a thousand deaths in what seemed forever, praying as best she could. And then, through the smoke plunged Charlie-- or was it Dan-- and right behind

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him came the other horse, rearing and pawing the air. The saddle horse came close behind, dragging his halter rope, tossing his head wildly, running until he crashed stupidly into the corral fence, falling back only to struggle up again and race on.

Marty stood staring at the door. "Oh, Clark, Clark, please, please. God, iffen yer there, please let 'im come out."

But the next dark figure to come through the smoke was a milk cow, then another, and another.

"Oh, God!" sobbed Marty, "he'll never make it."

The walls of the barn were engulfed in flame now, too. The fire licked hungrily along the wall reaching out toward the door. And then she saw him, stumbling through the entrance, dragging harnesses with him, staggering along until he reached the corral fence where he leaned for support, pulling the wet towel that he had hurriedly grabbed on his way out, from his head and face so that he might breathe more freely.

"Oh, God!" cried Marty, as she collapsed in a heap on the cold kitchen floor.

Somehow the long night blurred on. Marty's senses didn't seem to be taking it all in. Clark was safe, but the barn had gone. Neighbor men, with water and snow, seemed to be everywhere, fighting to save the other buildings.

Women were there, too, busy about her, bustling, talking, giving the men a hand by turns, making up sandwiches and coffee. Marty felt numb. Someone placed baby Clare in her arms.

"He's cryin' to eat," they said. "Best ya sit ya down an' nurse 'im."

She did. That much she could understand.

Morning came. The barn lay in smouldering ruins, but the other buildings had been saved.

The tired, smokey faces gathered in the yard for the coffee and sandwiches. Their clothes and boots were ice-crusted, their hands cupped around the mugs for warmth. They talked in hushed tones, for losing one's barn and feed, with winter still present, was a great loss and each one knew it well. After having gulped the coffee, they gathered their women, anxious to be home and out of their frozen clothing. Just as

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the first team left the yard, Jedd Larson turned his team in "Good ole Jedd," Marty heard a cross whisper. "Probl'y he late fer his own buryin'."

,Jedd took over where the others had left off, helping himself to a cup of coffee, and finishing up the sandwiches. As the neighbors, one by one, took their leave he appeared to be settling in for a long stay.

"Poor Clark," Marty thought as she glanced anxiously out the kitchen window. "He jest be lookin' beat. All ashes an' soot an' half-frozen, an' now Jedd wants to sit an' chaw him to death-- no sense a'tall, thet Jedd. Well, I won't 'how it," and pulling her shawl about her shoulders she marched out.

"Mr. Larson," she greeted the man. "Right good of ya to be comin' over to give us a hand. Guess things be under control like now, thanks to all our fine neighbors. Have ya had coffee? Good! I'm sorry to be interruptin' like, but right now I'm afeared thet my husband be needed indoors-- iffen ya be excusin"im."

She had never referred to Clark as her husband before and if she had been watching, she would have seen a surprised look on his face, but he said nothing. She motioned toward the door. Clark muttered his thanks to Jedd and went into the house.

"Give yer Missus our greetin's. We won't be a keepin' ya any longer, ya havin' chores to home a waitin' on ya an' all. Ya'll be pleased to come agin when ya can sit an' chat a spell. Thank ya agin. One really 'preciates fine neighbors. I'd best be gettin' in to my young 'uns. Good day, Mr. Larson."

Marty returned to the house. Jedd Larson crawled into his wagon and went home. He didn't have the wagon box moved to the sleigh runners yet. Kept planning on getting to it but just hadn't found the time.

Marty returned to the house to find a puzzled Clark. He had gone all through the house twice looking for who or what he was needed for but had found nothing. Missie, whom he had expected to find in hysteria, lay sleeping soundly, untouched by the night's drama. Clare was not sleeping, but lay contentedly sucking a fist.

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As Marty came in Clark looked at her. "Who be needin' me?" he asked, and she noticed that his lips had cracked from the heat.

She stared at him dumbly. She had fought bravely through the night, answering their questions of where to find the coffee and all and was she okay. She had restrained herself from running out to the yard to see if Clark was really all right. She had kept from striking out at whoever or whatever had let such a disastrous thing happen to Clark, he who worked so hard, who helped his neighbors, who talked quietly and never lost his temper, who didn't drink or beat his woman, who believed in God and prayed to Him daily, who lived by the Book and what it said. Why, why did it happen to him? Why not lazy Jedd Larson or-- or--. After fighting all night, and winning, Marty could fight no more. She turned from him, leaned against the wall, and let the sobs shake her body.

She felt his hands on her shoulders as he turned her to him, then pulling her gently into his arms, he held her close like a weeping child, stroking her long loose hair. Silently he let her weep until all of the confusion and anger had drained from her. Finally she was able to stop. She pulled herself away, wiping her face on her apron. "Oh, Clark," she whispered, "what aire we gonna do now?"

He didn't answer for a moment and then he spoke so calmly that she knew that he felt sure of his answer. "Well, we aire gonna pray, an' what He sees us to be a needin', He'll give; an' what He see we don' need, He'll make us able to do without."

They bowed their heads together.

Chores that morning were a burdensome affair. The cows in their terror had run off. The horses, too, had scattered. The pigs were safe in their pens, as were the chickens; but Clark was hard put finding enough to satisfy them without digging too deeply into the precious seed grain. The grazing stock, one pasture over, stood in their shelter bawling to be fed, but with what? All of their feed had gone up in smoke. After doing the best that he could, Clark came in for breakfast.

Marty fretted over his cracked lips and blistered hands,