Love's Enduring Promise (Love Comes Softly Series #2) (11 page)

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Chapter 17

School Days

The days fell into a routine. Gradually the two boys accepted the fact of the girls' absence and adjusted their play to include one another.

The girls settled into a pattern of learning. Missie was quick and eager and was soon leading her class even without the help of Willie LaHaye. Clae, too, had taken to school and surprised and delighted both the teacher and the Davises with her ability. She loved books and would have spent all of her time buried in them had she been allowed to do so. Only Nandry seemed to drag her feet at the thought each morning of another day spent in school. Marty noticed it and wished that there was some way that she could help the girl. She knew that most of the beginners in the school were much younger than Nandry and that this in itself would be a discouragement to her. Marty endeavored to encourage without prodding.

Missie was the one who furnished the household with news of school. One day she came home giggling and even Clae joined in.

"Guess what? When Mr. Whittle goes to yell loud, his voice goes from way deep to a funny squeak." Missie demonstrated. Marty tried hard to retain the proper parental attitude of teacher respect. "The big boys like to make 'im yell so

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thet it happens. It sounds so funny, Mama, an' then he gits real red-like an' growls real low--like this." Missie growled as well as a six-year-old girl could.

"So," thought Marty, "he did cultivate his low voice, and doesn't always have it under control."

"I hope thet ya don't laugh at
yer
teacher," she said solemnly.

Missie hung her head, but when she raised it her eyes sparkled.

"Bet you'd laugh," she said, and hurried on, "but I jest laughed a little bit."

Missie also had frequent reports on "thet Willie LaHaye." Willie LaHaye had dipped her hair ribbon in an ink-well. Willie LaHaye had chased her with a dead mouse. Willie LaHaye had put a grasshopper in her lunch box. An' Willie LaHaye had carved her initials with his on a tree by the crik an' she'd scratched 'em out.

An' furthermore, she hated thet Willie LaHaye, an' she bet thet God didn't even care.

Thet dumb ole Willie LaHaye.

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Chapter 18

Somethin' New

Clark made his usual trip to town on Saturday. Marty was glad that there was no good reason for her to go along. She might have enjoyed the break, being sure now that the girls were quite capable of caring for things while she was gone, if it hadn't been that to go to town meant facing Mrs. McDonald. The woman never failed to get Marty in an emotional corner. Marty declared that she'd rather face a bear or an Indian.

Indeed, Marty had faced very few Indians since she had come west and those that she had seen seemed harmless enough. Most of the Indians in their area had been moved on into the hill country and settled on a reserve set apart for them. Some wondered how they ever managed to survive there, but most contented themselves with the fact that an Indian was an Indian, and meant to survive on very little. In general the feeling of the settlers was "live and let live." As long as the Indian was no threat to their well-being, they were content to let him ride the hills hunting for his meat and tanning necessary hides. On the other hand, they felt no responsibility for, or obligation to, the welfare of the Indian.

As for the bear--Marty was glad that she had never had reason to concern herself with one of those either. Like the Indian, they were content to remain in their native hills, away from the smell and the guns of the settlers. Occasionally a

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neighbor lad felt that he must venture into the hills and return with a bearskin to place on the cabin floor or hang above the fireplace. This was a prestige symbol rather than a necessity.

Still, even when gazing at the huge fur hide with the head still carrying the fierce beady eyes and the long yellow teeth, Marty felt that either the bear or the Indian must be preferable to Mrs. McDonald, so Marty avoided town, somewhat ashamed of herself for doing so, yet content in her weakness.

The day passed quickly. Marty always looked forward to Saturdays. It gave her a chance to catch up on many odd jobs because the girls kept the little boys out from under her feet.

Tomorrow would be a special Sunday. The new schoolteacher would be coming to share the Sunday dinner with them. Marty both anticipated and dreaded it. What was this odd-looking man really like? Missie brought home both good and evil reports--one moment praising him, the next condemning his strange conduct, and the next breaking into uncontrollable giggles over his silly deportment.

Marty had set aside her freshly baked pies and was carefully cleaning two young roosters when Clark arrived.

As usual, his return brought the children running to meet him. Marty, watching from the window, saw Clark climb slowly and carefully down from the wagon. At first Marty felt a concern pass swiftly through her, wondering if Clark had somehow been injured, but he walked spryly as he headed for the house, the youngsters in tow. Marty noticed then that he carried something inside his jacket--there was a bulge there and he seemed to be carefully guarding it as he walked. The children had spied the bump, too, and their curiosity was as intense as Marty's, but Clark just grinned and motioned them on to the house.

"Now, what he be up to?" mused Marty, as she watched the little cavalcade draw nearer. Soon they were all inside, the children clamoring:

"What is it, Pa?"

"Whatcha got, huh?"

"Show us, Pa!"

Clark pulled back his jacket and a tawny, curly head

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poked out. Sharp little eyes blinked at the sudden light, and the commotion about him brought a glad wiggle to the little body. Shrieks filled the air and each of the children pleaded to be the first to hold him.

"We start with the littlest first," said Clark, handing the squirming bundle to Arnie. Arnie giggled as he held the puppy close. It was the first time that Arnie had ever had a face-wash from a puppy's warm tongue. His eyes sparkled.

"Little boys and puppies belong together," thought Marty. Arnie must have thought so, too, for he was most reluctant to pass the puppy on to Clare.

As the children enthused over the new pup, Marty found opportunity to speak to Clark.

"Where'd ya git 'im?"

"The smithie's dog had a litter. Jest big enough now to wean. This one lopks like the pick o' the pack to me." "Sure a cutie."

"Yeah, an' look at the eyes--the head--looks like a smart 'un."

The children had finally agreed to put the puppy down so that they could watch it waddle and prance across the kitchen floor.

"Look at 'im! Look at 'im!" they cried, giggling and clapping at his silly antics.

"Well," said Clark, "let's take 'im out an' see what Ole Bob thinks of 'im."

Ole Bob was truly becoming
old
Bob. His legs were stiff and unaccommodating. His eyes were getting dim, and his movements slow. Clark and Marty had realized that Bob's days were numbered, but perhaps with care, he could be with them for several months yet.

The family followed Clare, who was carrying the puppy out to the doghouse where Ole Bob resided. Bob came out slowly, stretching his stiff muscles, and wagged a greeting to them all. As the puppy was placed on the ground, Bob lowered his head slowly and sniffed. He didn't seem impressed, but he wasn't angered either. The puppy, upon being presented to one of his kind, went wild with excitement, bouncing and bobbing

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around on his unsteady feet like a funny wind-up toy whose spring would not run down. Ole Bob put up with his ridiculous display for a few moments, then walked away and lay down. The puppy toddled after him and began to tug at and wrestle his long fluffy tail. Bob chose to ignore him, as the children shrieked.

Eventually the puppy was left with Ole Bob. Clark and the boys went to put away the team and unload the wagon. The girls, after filling the puppy's little tummy with warm milk, returned to the chores they had been assigned. Each one had been advised to consider a name for the new dog. This would be discussed and settled at the supper table.

Marty went in to finish washing the chickens and clean the cupboard top, so that Clark and the boys could place the groceries there for her to put away.

As she went through the bags and boxes, she suddenly stopped short.

"What's this?" she asked, for the pails were clearly marked LARD. "I didn't have me lard on my list, did I? I got lard stacked up high from our last butcherin'."

Marty picked up her list and glanced over it to see what she might have ordered that Clark had read as lard.

"No," he answered evenly, "ya didn't have lard on the list."

"Then why--?" Marty left the question hanging. Clark looked
a
mite sheepish.

"They're red, ain't they--an' shiny--an' they have a handle--an' white letters?"

It finally dawned. Missie's pail. Red and shiny with white letters--LARD.

Marty nodded.

"Now, I ain't sayin' thet Missie should have thet jest cause she asked fer it." Clark hurried on. "No reason fer her to be thinkin' thet she'll always git what she's a wantin' jest by askin', but iffen ya think thet it won't hurt none, fer her to have it--like this once, then it'll be there. An'--well, I could hardly git her one an' not the other two--now could I?"

"No, I s'pose not."

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Clark turned to leave the kitchen.

"Ya can decide," he said again.

Marty turned back to the three red, shiny pails. Three pails of lard, and she already with more lard than they could use, and another fall butchering coming up soon. What would she ever do with it all?

"Ya ole softy," she murmured, but she was forced to swallow hard, and the thought of the happy faces and Missie's glowing eyes when she passed them their lunches on Monday morning made it difficult to wait.

The chores had been done and the Saturday night bath- water put on the stove to heat in the big copper boiler, when the family gathered around for the evening meal.

"I thought thet iffen somethin' happens to Ole Bob, it'll make it less painful-like iffen they have a new pup to fill their minds," Clark confided in Marty as she dished up the potatoes. She nodded.

Clark moved on to the table and saw to the seating of his family.

"Know what, Ma?" said Clare. "I stopped to see the puppy an' it's all curled up sleepin' with Ole Bob. Does Ole Bob think he's the puppy's mama?"

Marty smiled. "No, I doubt Ole Bob be thet dumb, but as long as the puppy doesn't torment 'im too much a chewin' an' a chasin', Ole Bob'll be content to let 'im share his bed."

"He's so cute," said Missie. "I wish I could share my bed."

"Oh, no," said Marty firmly. "Animals belong outside, not in."

Thinking of Miss Puss, who did sneak in and share her bed, Missie did not belabor the point.

"Well," said Clark, "thought ya of any good names yet?" "I think we should call 'im Cougar," said Clare. "Cougar, fer a dog?" Missie was unimpressed.

"Thet's the color he is," argued Clare.

"I like King or Prince, or somethin' like thet," said Missie. "Fer a little puppy?" Clare was just as incredulous. "He'll grow," Missie said defiantly.

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"What about you, Sport?" Clark asked Arnie. Arnie pushed in a big spoonful of potatoes and gravy with the help of his free hand. He shifted them around, swallowed some and then answered.

"Ole Bob."

"But what ya want to call the new puppy?"

"Ole Bob."

"But Ole Bob be the name of--Ole Bob," Clark finished lamely.

"I know," said Arnie. "I like it."

"Ya want Ole Bob an' Ole Bob?" asked Clare, thinking that only he was really capable of understanding and interpreting the young Arnie.

"Yeah," said Arnie shaking his head. "Now we got--" two rather potatoey fingers struggled to stand upright with the rest remaining tucked in. "Now we got two Ole Bobs."

The others all laughed, but it was finally agreed that the new puppy would carry the name of Ole Bob as well.

"He'll grow," said Missie.

"Yeah, an' he'll git old someday too," said Clare. " 'Sides when we call 'em, we'll jest hafta say one name an' they'll both come."

Clark smiled, "Save ourselves a heap of time and trouble thet way, won't we?"

Arnie grinned. "Now we got a little Ole Bob, an' a big Ole Bob."

As it happened, big Ole Bob did not stay with them for long. As Clark had hoped, the loss of the old dog was much easier for the children to accept with the growing young pup running and nipping at their heels.

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Chapter 19

Tommie's Friend