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

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think. I tried hard fer the first couple of months to convince myself of it, too. Then I finally had to admit thet there be more to it than thet."

Marty reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Ya rascal," she said with love warming her voice.

"An' then ya up an' put me through the most miserable months of my life--wonderin' iffen ya'd ever feel the same 'bout me, or iffen ya'd jest pack yer bags an' leave. Guess I learned more 'bout prayin' in those days than I ever had afore. Learned more 'bout waitin', too."

"Oh, Clark, I didn't even know." She lifted his hand and placed a kiss on his fingers. "Guess all I can do is to try to make it up to ya now."

He rose from his chair and bent over her, placing a kiss on her forehead. "Ya know--I jest might hold ya to thet. Fer starters, how 'bout my favorite stew fer supper--thick an' chunky?"

Marty wrinkled her nose, "Man," she said, "thinks the only way to prove yer love is to pleasure his stomach." Clark rumpled her loose hair.

"I best be gittin' to those chores or the cows will think I've fergotten 'em."

He kissed her on the nose and was gone.

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Chapter 2

Ponderin'

The next morning the sun stretched and rose from its bed, scattering pink and gold upon the remaining winter snow and the whitened fir trees. It promised to be a good day. Marty breathed a prayer of thanks as she moved from her bedroom. She had been so afraid that they might have another early spring storm on the day of the school raisin', but here was a day just like she had prayed for. She apologized to her Lord for ever doubting His goodness and went quickly to the kitchen.

Clark had already left the house to do the chores and the fire that he had built spilled warmth through the farm home. Marty hurried to get the breakfast on the table.

As she worked at the stove, stirring the porridge and making the toast, a sleepy-eyed Clare appeared.

His shirt was untucked and the suspenders of his overalls were twisted and fastened incorrectly. One shoe was on but still untied and he carried the other under an arm.

"Where's Pa?" he questioned.

Marty smiled as she looked at the tousle-haired boy.

"He's chorin'," she answered; "fact is, he should be most done. Yer gonna have to hurry to git in on it this mornin'. Here, let me help."

She tucked in the shirt, fastened the suspenders correctly, and placed him on a chair to do his shoes.

"

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"This the day?" he asked.

"Yep--this is the day. By nightfall we'll have us a school."

Clare thought about that for a while. He wasn't sure that he'd like a school, but everyone seemed so excited about it that he supposed it must be good. He only smiled.

"I better hurry," he said as he slid off the chair. "Pa needs me."

Marty smiled. Sure, she thought, Pa needs ya--needs ya to git in his way when he's feedin'; needs ya to insist on draggin' along a pail thet's too big fer ya; needs ya to slow his steps when he takes the cows back to pasture; needs ya to chatter at him all the time he's a doin'. She shook her head but the smile remained. Yeah, he needs ya--needs yer love an' yer idolizin'.

She helped Clare into a warm coat, put his hands into his mittens and his cap on his head and opened the door for him. He set out briskly to find his pa.

Marty returned to her breakfast preparations. She'd have to call Missie. Missie was a late sleeper and didn't bounce out of bed like Clare each morning, eager to see what the day held. Missie, too, liked adventure, but she was willing to wait for it until a little later in the day. Marty loved her dearly. Already she was a good little helper and was especially eager to assist Marty with the new "little sister" on the way. For Missie's sake, Marty hoped the new baby would be a girl.

She set the table for their early breakfast, wondering how many of her neighbor ladies were doing the same thing with excitement coursing through them at the thought of the new school. Their young'uns would not have to grow up ignorant just because their folks had dared to open up a new land for farming. They could grow up educated and able to take their place in the community--or other communities, if they so chose.

Marty's thoughts turned to the two Larson girls. Jedd hadn't felt that the new school was at all necessary, calling it "plain foolishness--girls not needin' edjecatin' enyway." But Mrs. Larson's eyes had silently pleaded that her girls be given a fair chance, too. They were getting older, thirteen and eleven, and they needed the schooling
now.

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As she moved about her kitchen, Marty prayed that Jedd might have a change of heart.

In the midst of her praying, she glanced out of the kitchen window and saw her
men
coming from the barn. Clark's normally long strides were restrained to accommodate the short, quick steps of little Clare. Clare hung onto the handle of a milk pail, deceiving himself into thinking that he was helping to carry the load, and chattered at Clark as he walked. Ole Bob bounded back and forth before them, assuming that he was leading the way and that without him the two would never reach their destination.

Marty swallowed a lump in her throat. Sometimes love hurt a little bit--but oh, such a precious hurt.

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Chapter 3

The New School

The Davis family was the first to arrive at the site for the new school, but then they didn't have far to go, the land for the school being set aside by Clark from his own holdings. Clark unhitched the team and began to pace out the ground, pounding in stakes as he went to mark the area for the building.

Clare toddled around after him, grabbing up the hammer as soon as it was laid down, handing out stakes, and being a general help and nuisance.

An old stove had been placed in their sleigh, and Marty busied herself with preparing a fire and putting water on to heat. This stove didn't work like the one in her kitchen, but it would beat an open fire and would assist the ladies greatly in preparing a hot meal.

Missie pushed back her bonnet, enjoying the feeling of the warmth of the sun on her bare, curly head, and moved the team to a nearby clump of trees where she tied them and spread hay for their breakfast.

Soon other wagons began to arrive and the whole scene took on a lively, excited atmosphere. Children ran and squealed and chased. Even Clare was tempted away from dogging his father.

Busy women chattered and called and laughed as they

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greeted one another and went about the meal preparations.

The men became very businesslike--eying logs and choosing those best suited for footings, mentally sorting the order in which the logs should come. Then the axes went to work. Muscled arms placed sure blows as chips flew, and strong backs bent and heaved in unison as heavy logs were raised and placed.

It was hard work, made lighter only by the number who shared it and the satisfaction that it would bring.

The early spring sun grew almost hot, and jackets were discarded as the work made bodies grow warm from effort.

The old stove cheerily did its duty--coffee boiled and large kettles of stew and pork and beans began to bubble, spreading the fragrance throughout the one-day camp.

A child stopped in play to sniff hungrily, and a man, heaving a giant log, thought ahead to the pleasure of stopping for the midday meal. At the stove, a woman who stirred the pot imagined her child doing sums at a yet unseen blackboard.

The sun, the logs, the laughter--but most of all, the promise--made the day a good one. They would go home weary, yet refreshed--bodies aching but spirits uplifted. Together they would accomplish great things, not just for themselves, but for future generations. They had given of themselves, and many would reap the benefits.

Maybe Ben Graham said it best as they stood gazing at the new structure before they turned their teams toward home. "Kinda makes ya feel tall like."

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Chapter 4

Little Arnie

Marty forced herself to set about getting supper. Clark would soon be in from the field and chores would not take him long.

In the sitting room Missie was busy bossing her brother, Clare.

"Not thet way--like this!" Marty heard her exclaim in disgust.

"I like it this way," Clare argued, and Marty felt sure that he'd get his own way. The boy had a stubborn streak--like her, she admitted.

She stirred a kettle to be sure that the carrots were not sticking on the bottom and crossed mechanically to the cupboard to slice some bread. She wasn't herself at all--and she knew the reason.

She glanced nervously at the clock and held her breath as another contraction took hold of her. She really must get off her feet. She hoped that Clark would hurry home.

As the contraction eased itself, Marty moved on again, placing the bread on the table and going for the butter.

She was relieved to hear the team arrive to Ole Bob's welcome, and proceed to the barn.

Clare ran through the kitchen, happy to be released from Missie's demanding play, and returned to a world where men

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worked together peaceably. He grabbed his jacket from a hook as he ran and excitedly shoved an arm in the wrong sleeve. He would later discover his mistake and correct it as he ran, Marty knew.

Chores did not take long and Clark was soon in, bringing a foaming pail of milk that Clare assisted in carrying.

Marty dished up the food and placed it on the table as the "menfolk" washed in the outside basin. She sank with relief into her chair at the table and waited for the others to take their places.

Clark finished the prayer and began to dish food for himself and Clare when he suddenly stopped and looked at Marty. "What's troublin'?" he asked anxiously.

She managed a weak smile. "I think it be time."

"Time!" he exploded, setting the potatoes on the table with a clunk. "Why didn't ya be sayin' so? I'll get the Doc." He was already on his feet.

"Sit ya down an' have yer supper first," Marty told him, but he refused to do so.

"Best ya git yerself to bed. Missie, watch Clare." He turned to the little girl, "Missie, the time be close now fer the new baby. Mama needs to go to bed. Ya give Clare his supper an' then clear the table. I'm goin' fer the Doc. I won't be long, but ya'll have to care fer things 'till git back."

Missie nodded solemnly.

"Now," Clark said, assisting Marty, "into bed fer ya and no arguin'."

Marty allowed herself to be led away. Bed was the thing that she wanted most--and second to that, she suddenly realized, was Ma Graham.

"Clark," she asked, "do we hafta get the Doc?"

" 'Course," he responded, wondering at the absurd question. "Thet's what he's here fer."

"But I'd really rather have Ma, Clark. She did fine with Clare--she could--"

"The Doc knows what to do iffen somethin' should go wrong. I know thet Ma has delivered lotsa babies, and most times everythin' goes well, but should somethin' be wrong,

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Doc has the necessary know-how and equipment."

A tear slid down Marty's cheek. She had nothing against the Doc, but she wanted Ma.

"Don't be silly," she told herself; but the "want" remained, and as the next contraction seized her, the "want" grew.

Clark handed her a nightie from the peg behind the door and began to turn down the bed as she slipped out of her dress and into the soft flannel gown.

He tucked her in and assured her with a kiss that he'd be right back. Marty noted his white face and his quick, nervous movements. He left almost on the run and a moment later Marty heard the galloping hoofbeats of the saddle horse leaving the yard.

From the kitchen came the voices of the children. Missie was still bossing Clare, telling him to hurry and clean his plate and to be very quiet 'cause Mama needed to rest so that she could get the new baby sister.

Marty wished that she could sleep, but no sleep was allowed her.

Missie rather noisily cleared the table, though Marty could sense that she was trying to do it quietly. Then she busied herself with putting Clare to bed. He protested that it was not bedtime yet, but Missie refused to listen and eventually won. Clare was bedded for the night.

The moments and hours crawled by slowly. The contractions were closer together now and harder to bear.

Ole Bob barked and Marty wondered at the Doc getting there so quickly, but soon it was Ma who bent over her.

"Ya came," said Marty in disbelief and thankfulness. Tears spilled unashamedly down her cheeks. "How did ya know?"

"Clark stopped by," Ma answered. "Said ya was a needin' me."

"But I thought he was goin' fer the Doc."

"He did. The Doc will do the deliverin'. Clark said ya needed me jest fer the comfortin'." Ma smoothed back Marty's hair. "How's it goin'?"

Marty managed a smile.