Love comes softly (23 page)

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down and smacked him on the back, between his tiny shoulder blades.

Clare still struggled.

"Run fer yer pa," Marty told the small child and Missie ran.

Marty reversed the baby and carefully pushed a finger down his throat. She thought that she could feel something, but the end of her finger just ticked it. Clare gagged but nothing came up.

Clark came running through the door, his eyes wild with concern.

"He's chokin'!" said Marty.

"Slap his back."

did." Marty was in tears now.

"Put yer finger-- "

"I tried."

"I'll git the doc."

"There ain't time."

"Wrap 'im up," Clark flung at her. "I'll git the horses." The baby was still breathing, struggling, gasping little breaths, but he was still breathing.

"Oh, God," Marty prayed. "Please help us. Please help us. Jest keep 'im breathin"til we reach the doc."

She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it about Clare. Missie stood, eyes wide, too frightened to even cry.

"Missie, git yer coat on," Marty ordered, "an' bring a blanket from yer bed so thet ya can lay down in the wagon." The child hurried to obey.

Clark raced the team toward the house. Marty ran forward with the baby in her arms and Missie by the hand. Without speaking, Clark hauled Missie up, putting her and her blanket in a safe place on the wagon floor, then he helped Marty and the baby over the wheel and they were off.

The long trip to town was a nightmare. The ragged breathing of the baby was broken only by his fits of coughing. The horses plunged on, harness creaking, sweat flecking their necks and haunches. Clark urged them on and on. Marty clung to Clare, the wagon jostled her bones as though they

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would break, the sweat from the horses dotted her arms and face.

"We'll never make it; we'll never make it," Marty cried inwardly, as Clare's gasping little breath seemed to be weakening, and the horses' speed seemed to slacken. On they galloped, seeming to draw on a reserve that Marty would have never guessed them to have.

The baby's breathing was even more erratic as the light from the town finally came into view. Clark spoke again to the horses and they went forward with increased speed. Marty marvelled. How could they continue on at this pace? They must be ready to fall in the harness, but Clark's coaxing voice seemed to strengthen them.

Straight to the doctor's they galloped, and Clark pulled the heaving horses to a stop and jumped down before the wagon had stopped rolling. He reached up for little Clare and Marty surrendered him, and watched Clark head for the doctor's house on the run. Marty turned to help Missie up from the floor of the wagon. For a moment Marty clung to the little girl, wanting to assure her that all would be well-- but would it? She climbed over the wheel and held up her arms for the child.

By the time they had entered the room that served as the doctor's office, the baby had been placed on a small table under, what seemed to Marty, a very bright light. The doctor was bending over him, appearing to completely dominate the small gasping figure as he examined him.

"He has a tiny object stuck in his throat," he said, just as though the whole world did not revolve around that very fact.

"I'm going to have to go after it. We'll have to put him to sleep. Call my Missus, will you? She helps with this-- has special training."

Clark rapped loudly on the door separating the office from the living quarters and the doctor's wife came into the room. On seeing the small baby fighting for every breath, her eyes showed instant concern.

"Oh, my! What's his problem?"

"He has something in his throat. We're going to have to put him to sleep and remove it."

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The doctor was already in action as he spoke, and she quickly joined him, the two working as a well-matched team.

The doctor seemed to have forgotten them for a minute as he hurriedly prepared himself; then he looked up suddenly.

"You folks can just take a chair in our living room. This won't take long, but we work best alone."

They understood and Clark took Marty's arm and led her from the room. She went reluctantly, hating to leave the fighting baby, fearing that every breath might be the last.

Clark eased her numb body into a chair. She was still clinging to Missie. He suggested that Missie could sit on another chair beside her but she shook her head. Clark himself did not sit down. Instead he paced the floor with an anxious face. Marty knew that he was petitioning his God. His hand trembled as he lifted it to remove the hat that he had forgotten. Watching him, Marty realized just how much he loved the wee baby. He loves him as though he were his own, she thought, and didn't find this strange at all. After all, she loved Missie in the same way and had as good as forgotten that there was ever a time when the little girl had been only a tiny stranger.

The centuries seemed to drag by, but in reality it was only a matter of a few minutes until the doctor appeared at the door. Clark crossed to Marty, placing a hand on her shoulder as if to protect her from hearing what they did not want to hear, but the doctor beamed at them.

"Well, Mr. Davis," he said looking at Clark, who was after all the one responsible for his coming to this town. "Your boy is going to be just fine. Had this button lodged in his throat; luckily it was turned sideways or-- "

"It weren't luck," Clark responded.

"Call it what you may," the doctor went on; "it's out now. You can see him if you wish."

Marty stood up. It was then that it hit her. He was all right.

"Oh, God, he's all right. Thank Ya. Thank Ya."

If it hadn't been for Clark's arms about her, she would have gone down in a heap. He pulled her to him and they wept in thankfulness together.

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Little Clare was breathing softly, no more gasping, no more fighting for each breath. Clark and Marty stood looking down at the relaxed but still white face, relief flooding through them. Marty had not released Clark's hand and his arm still steadied her.

"He's been through a lot, poor little fellow," the doctor said with feeling, and Marty felt that she'd love him forever.

"He needs a long, restful sleep now. He is still under the effect of the sleeping draught that we gave him. I expect he'll sleep through most of the night without stirring. My wife and I will take turns sitting with him. You folks had best try to get some rest. I'm sure the hotel across the street will have a room."

"Shouldn't we stay with 'im?" Marty finally found her voice.

"No need, Ma'am," the doctor answered. "He'll sleep, and seems to me that you could be using some yourself."

"He's right," Clark said. "Ya be a needin' some rest-- an' some supper, too. Come on. Let's get across to the hotel."

With a last look at the sleeping baby to assure herself that he was really all right, Marty allowed herself to be led out. Clark picked up the tired and hungry Missie and carried her across the street.

Marty was glad to sink into the chair and hold Missie close, crooning words Of love to her, while Clark made arrangements at the desk.

Clark returned to her.

"They'll hustle up some supper an' then show ya to a room."

Marty's eyes widened.

"What 'bout you?"

"I want to care fer the horses. They need a good rubdown an' a bit of special care."

Marty nodded. Right now she dearly loved old Dan and Charlie.

"We'll wait fer ya," she said firmly.

"Be no need " Clark started.

"We want to."

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Clark nodded and went out. While he was gone Marty told Missie what a brave girl she had been, and how she had helped baby Clare by calling her mama and getting her pa, and lying still on the wagon floor and not crying at the doctor's. She was a big girl and her mama loved her very much.

To Marty's bewilderment, large tears filled Missie's eyes and sobs shook her.

At Marty's prompting, she finally spilled forth. "But I spill-- buttons."

Marty pulled her close, rocking her gently.

"Missie, Missie, it weren't yer fault that baby Clare found a button thet got missed a pickin' up. It jest happened, thet's all. Don't ya be a frettin' about it. Mama an' yer pa love ya so very much, an' you was a brave girl to be so good. You hush ya now."

She finally got the little girl comforted.

Clark returned, reporting that Dan and Charlie would be fine after a good rest, and they'd get it too, he declared; they'd earned it.

The three went in together to get something to eat. No one felt much like eating. Missie was too tired, Marty too spent and Clark too relieved to be much interested in food.

After making an effort to eat the food before them, they requested that they be shown to their room.

A small cot had been placed in one corner and the first thing that Marty did was to prepare Missie for bed as best she could. There was no soft warm nightie, but Missie didn't mind. She fell asleep almost before she finished her short prayer.

Marty sat beside her until she was sure that the child was asleep, then kissed her lightly again and went over to the weary Clark who was trying to relax in a large chair.

What could she say to this man who sat before her. This man who comforted her when she sorrowed, understood her joys, gave her strength when her own strength was spent, shared with her his God. There was so much that she felt. That strange, deep stirring within her-- she understood it now. It was a longing for this man, his love. She wanted him, she

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knew that now, but how, how could she tell him?

She stood there mute, wanting to say it all, but no words came, and then he rose and reached for his hat.

"Where ya be a headin'?" She found her voice then.

"I'm a thinkin' thet I'll spend me the night over at the doc's. Iffen little Clare be a wakin' I'm thinkin' thet he should wake to some of his'n stead of strangers."

"But doc says he won't wake till morn."

"Maybe so. All the same, I'll find comfort jest watchin' him sleep peaceful-like. I'll be over in the mornin' to be sure ya not be a needin' anythin'."

He turned to go, but she knew that she mustn't let him. If he went now without knowing--

Still her voice would not obey her command. She reached out and took his sleeve. He turned to her. She could only look at him, imploring him to read in her eyes what she could not say with her lips.

He looked down at her searchingly; then he stepped closer and his hands went to her shoulders, drawing her toward him.

He must have read there what she wanted him to see, but still he hesitated a moment.

"Ya being' sure?" he asked softly.

She nodded her head dumbly, looking deep into his eyes, and then she was in his arms, being held the way that she ached to be held, feeling the strength of his body tight against her, raising trembling lips to his.

How long had she wanted this? She wasn't sure. She only knew that it seemed forever. She loved him so much. She must later find the words to tell him so, but for now she would content herself with being held close, hearing his words of love whispered tenderly against her hair.

How did it all come about-- this miracle of love? She didn't know. It had come upon her unawares-- softly.

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She ventured west with the man she loved,
but in one day her whole world had crumbled around her...

Love Comes
Softly

Nineteen-year-old Marty Claridge starts west with her adventurous, boyish husband, Clem, seeking to claim land and hoping for good fortune. But when the venture turns suddenly to tragedy, Marty is left alone with her great loss. And coupled with her grief and heartache is the grim reality that there is no way to return home.

Clark Davis and his little girl, Missie, are also in great need. Clark's wife has died, leaving him to care for Missie and the farm at the same time. His offer to Marty comes with good intention, but will courage and faith be enough to bring them to true love?