Love comes softly (22 page)

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in yonder pen. It's good jest to be a livin' on sech a day."

They worked on together, for the most part in silence, feeling a comradeship with the earth and with one another. They were nearing the end of the early planting, perhaps with some reluctance, when Clark squatted down to carefully pat earth over the sweet corn that Marty had just dropped into the ground.

Seeing his rather precarious position, Marty gave him a playful shove that sent him sprawling in the loose dirt in a rather undignified position. The look of surprise on his face was quickly displaced by one of amusement.

"Me thinks there someone be askin' fer sweet-corn kernels down her neck," he said, getting up and reaching for a handful of corn as he did so.

Marty was off on the run, but even though she was a good runner, Clark's long strides soon overtook her.

Both strong arms went about her, halting her in her escape. She writhed and twisted against him, seeking to loose herself. The laughter bubbling up within her made her fighting ineffectual. Clark tried to pin her close so that he might free his hand that held the corn kernels, but he, too, was laughing, hampering his efforts. Like two teasing children they struggled. Marty was conscious of his nearness in a way that she had never been before. The strength of the arms that held her, the beating of the heart against her cheek, the clean smell of shaving soap that still clung to him-- everything about this man that held her sent funny little warm tingles through her veins. Her breath was beginning to come in little gasps; she felt powerless to struggle anymore.

The one strong arm pinned her securely against him and the free hand dumped its load of cold corn kernels down the front of her dress. Marty looked up into laughing eyes bent over her, uncomfortably close to her own. The breath caught in her throat as a strange emotion swept through her. Flight seemed to be the only answer but it must be quick, her warning signals flashed. The look on Clark's face was somehow changing from teasing to--

Marty pulled herself up abruptly.

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"Thet be Clare?" she asked, putting her hands to Clark's chest and pushing with all of the strength that she could gather.

Clark let her go and she half ran, half stumbled to the house, her cheeks aflame.

Inside, in its coolness, she leaned her head against the bedroom door, trying to sort out the reason for her throbbing heart and troubled spirit. She could find no answer, and after giving herself several minutes to get herself in hand, she picked up her courage and returned to the garden, but Clark was just putting away the tools. The job was done.

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Chapter 30

Sorrow

Another two weeks passed by. The green things were growing in the garden. Marty looked out of the window each morning to check on their progress. It thrilled her to watch them grow.

On the surface, things seemed to be running as normal, but deep down Marty knew that something had changed. There seemed to be an electrical charge in the air. She felt herself overly cautious lest something unexpected and unplanned should happen. Still, it was fairly easy to pretend that it wasn't there at all, and to go through the motions of the day in the same orderly fashion that she had learned to follow.

She rose early, fed Clare, got Clark's breakfast and dressed Missie. Then they had scripture reading, prayer and breakfast. She could sit across from Clark, could talk to him and share the plans for the day in as casual a way as ever, but something was different. She longed for things to stay as they had been and at the same time feared that they might.

In an effort to get herself out of her pondering, Marty wandered out to the garden to see the growing things. Somehow the garden always gave her a lift and got her thoughts off herself. She talked to the corn, pushed a little dirt around a potato plant, coaxed the onions and lettuce to hurry a bit and wondered why she had bothered with so many beans, then walked on to the fruit trees.

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She was admiring each new leaf in turn when her unbelieving eyes noted that one of the trees bore blossoms. Her heart leaped within her. Apples. Imagine, apples! Oh, if she could only show Clark, but he was in the fields planting. Then to her amazement she saw him coming toward her in long strides.

"Clark," she called in her eagerness. "Clark, come see."

He came to her and with her eyes fixed on the tree she reached for his hand to draw him closer.

"Look, Clark," she almost babbled. "Apple blossoms. We gonna have apples. Jest look."

There was no answer. She had been so sure that he would share her excitement that she looked up in bewilderment at the silence. Clark stood looking down at her, and in his face she could read sorrow. Her own face went white, and her lips quivered.

"What-- what be wrong?"

He reached for her then, placing a hand on each of her shoulders and looked deeply at her as though willing her some of his strength to help her bear what he had to say.

"It's Laura. They done found her in the crik over by the Conners' cabin."

"Is she-- is she-- ?"

"She be dead."

"An' Ma?"

"She be needin' ya."

And then she was sobbing, her face against his chest. His hands smoothed her hair as he held her close. She cried for Ma, for Laura, for Ben, even for Sally Anne.

"Oh, God," she prayed. "Ya be the only one to be a helpin' at a time like this. Help us all now. Please God, help us now."

Laura's body was carried to the Grahams. Marty was there when it arrived. She would never forget the heartrending scene that she witnessed. Ma gathered the lifeless body into her arms, sobbing as though her heart would break, saying over and over, "My poor baby, my poor little darlin'." Then, after letting her grief drain from her, she wiped her tears, squared her shoulders determinedly and began tenderly to

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prepare the body for burial. Ben's grief matched Ma's, but he being a man did not feel the freedom in expressing it. Marty had never seen such an ashen face. She feared even more for Ben than for Ma.

Ben insisted on riding over to the Conners' cabin. Unknown to him, Clark had already been there. He had found a very drunk Milt who swore that he knew nothing of Laura's death. He may have roughed her up a bit, he admitted, but she was quite alive when he had last seen her, he insisted. Clark had convinced Milt that he would be wise to move farther west.

Clark rode over with Ben, making no mention of his previous visit. The cabin seemed to have been deserted for good and in a great hurry. Clark was relieved that Milt had already gone, fearing what Ben might have done in his present state of mind, and later been sorry for.

Neighbors came, and neighbors set to work. The coffin was built and the grave dug, and the frail body of the girl was committed to the ground. In the absence of a preacher, Clark was asked to say the "buryin' "words. Marty could sense just how difficult it was for him.

Solemnly they all turned from the new mound, leaving Ma and Ben to sort out and adjust to their grief. It would take time, but Ma had said that time was the answer.

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Chapter 31

New Strength to Go On

June arrived bringing with her more growing things. The second cow had calved and to their great surprise, bore twin heifer calves-- a special gift from God, Clark called them. The other sow had her pigs, not an exceptional litter but an acceptable one, eight, and she had kept them all.

The hatching of chicks had occurred and three proud mothers strutted about with a total of twenty-seven chicks rushing about them.

It was still too soon for Marty to have shaken off the sorrow of the tragic death of Laura. It seemed to hang about her, choking out the happiness that she wanted to feel.

Missie had had the measles and even though she was not too sick, Marty hovered over her, fearing lest another tragedy strike. But none had. It was while Missie was red-blotched and feverish that the news came that the spring's first wagon train was passing through town, heading east. There would be others. Marty's mind was filled with nursing the sick child. Missie was soon well again and her same bustling, talkative self. Even so, on this warm June day Marty still felt shackled by something; and after tucking the two youngsters in for their afternoon sleep, she decided to get out for a breath of fresh air.

She walked again through the garden, noticing how much things had grown in the days of Missie's illness. The blossoms

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on the apple tree had lost their petals to make room for the forming of the fruit.

She walked on past the buildings and down to the stream. She seemed drawn to that quiet spot that she had discovered long ago when she had needed comfort-- then because of her own loss and now because of Ma's.

She really needed a place to think, to sort things out. Life was so confusing-- the good so mixed up with the bad; such a strange combination of happiness and sorrow.

She stood leaning back against a tree trunk, watching the clear gurgling water flow.

"God," she questioned inwardly, "what be it all 'bout? I don't understand much 'bout ya. I know thet yer good. I know thet ya love'd me 'nough to die for me; but I don't understand all 'bout losin' an' hurtin'. I don't understand at all."

She closed her eyes, letting the strength of the sturdy tree trunk uphold her, listening to the rustling of the leaves, feeling the slight breeze ruffling her hair.

There was a strength there in the woods. She closed her eyes more tightly, drawing from it. When she opened them, Clark was there, sitting against a tree, his eyes on her face.

It startled her at first and she jerked upright.

"Sorry to be a frightin' ya," he told her, but then went on. "I see'd ya a comin' over here an' I thought me you'd maybe not mind me a comin' too."

"Course not."

Silence ruled for several moments. Clark picked up a small branch and broke off small pieces that he watched the stream carry away.

"Guess life be somethin' like thet stream," he said. "Meanin'?"

"Things happen. Leaves stomp it up-- animals waller in it-- spring floods fill it with mud." He hesitated. "Bright sunshine makes it like a mirror glass, sparklin' rain makes it grow, but it still moves on-- unchangin' like-- the same stream even with the changes. It breaks through the leaves, it clears itself of the animal wallerin' the muddy waters turn clean agin. The sunshine an' the rain it accepts, fer they give life an'

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strengthnen' it like, but it really could 'ave done without 'em. They're extrys like.

"Life's like thet-- bad things come but life keeps on a flow- in', clearing its path gradual like, easin' its own burden. The good times come; we maybe could make do without 'em, but He knows thet we need 'em to give meanin'-- to strengthen us, to help us reflect the sunshine.

"Guess one has to expect the good an' the bad, long as we be a livin', an' try one's best to make the bad hurt as little as possible, an' the good-- one has to help it grow like, make all the good count."

Marty had shut her eyes again as Clark began to speak. She stood there now, eyes closed, breathing deeply of the smell of the woods and the stream.

Life was like that stream. It went on. She was ready to go on now, too. She had drawn strength from the woods. No, no, that was wrong. She had drawn her strength from the God who'd made the woods.

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Chapter 32

Love Comes Softly

Marty worked hurriedly on her mending. She wanted to have it all finished before she had to get supper ready. She was working on a pair of Clark's overalls, the last item in her mending basket. She was reminded again as she handled the garment, of what a big man she was married to.

"Why, they'd swaller me," she laughed, as she held them up.

Missie bustled about trying to copy her mama in what she did, as Marty had given her a scrap of cloth and a button. She threaded a blunt needle for her and showed the small child the art of button sewing.

"Ya may as well learn how it be done," she said. "Ya'll need to be a knowin' afore we know it."

Missie busied herself pushing the needle in and out of the material. Marty laughed at the child's efforts, the thread showing up in some very strange places, but Missie was quite happy with her newly learned skill.

Baby Clare lay on a rug, cooing and talking to himself and anyone else who would care to listen. He was four months old now, a bright, healthy child, who as yet had not fulfilled Clark's prediction of "wait until." All three of the members of his household doted on him, so why shouldn't he be content. Missie talked to him as she worked.

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"See, baby. See big si'ter. She sewin'. Do ya like it? Look, Mama. He smiles. Clare like it-- my sewin'."

Marty smiled too and went on sewing the overall patch. A loud crash made her jump and Missie exclaimed, "Dad- burn!"

"Missie, ya mustn't say thet."

"You did."

"Well, I don't anymore an' I don't want ya a' sayin' it either. Now git ya down an' pick up all of them buttons thet ya spilled."

Missie obeyed, putting the buttons in the button box and placing the box on the sewing machine.

Marty finished her patch and hurried to get supper ready. Clark would shortly be in from chores and she planned to use the supper hour to discuss moving the children's beds to the new bedroom so that she might have a bit of room to move around in her own bedroom. The rooms were finished now. She had curtains for the windows and rugs for the floors. Clark had moved his things into the one new bedroom just as soon as he was able to get a roof over it and the floor in. The other room was intended for the children.

Clare slept through the night now, and with the warmer weather Marty needn't worry about the children becoming uncovered. She felt that the time had come when she could move them out of her room without feeling anxious about them. It would be so nice to be able to reach her things without barking her shins on a small bed.

She moved hurriedly, getting the meal on when Missie came flying through the door.

"Mama-- Mama Clare sick!"

"Whatcha meanin'?" Marty stopped short.

The child grabbed her hand, jerking her toward the sitting room.

"He sick!" she screamed.

Marty ran in, hearing as she ran a rasping, gurgling sound. She picked up the baby who was struggling furiously, his little fists flailing the air as he fought for breath.

"He's chokin'!" Marty cried as she turned him upside