Love's Enduring Promise (Love Comes Softly Series #2) (20 page)

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"An' 'fore I know it," he said quietly, "I'll be losin' thet one, too."

Todd sobered, feeling what Clark was feeling.

"Seems like yesterday I had 'em stumblin' round under my feet," he said, "an' here I'm a grandpa. Sometimes wisht thet time had a tail, so's we could grab ahold an' slow it down some."

Throughout the summer months the church was without a pastor, but it did not alarm the people of the area to be left with a vacant pulpit. They were sure that in God's good time He would supply the right man.

The school, too, now was empty and a meeting of the governing board resulted in Clae being asked to take the classes come fall. Clae could hardly believe her good fortune. Here she was, newly returned from her teacher-training and already a school was promised to her, and her home school at that. Along with the excitement, there was mingled sorrow. The community still ached and prayed for Mr. Wilbur Whittle.

Marty, too, was excited about Clae's new job.

"It will be so good to have ya home agin. We missed ya so."

"You spoil me," said Clae. "In a lot of ways I would love to be home--but--well--I've a notion that I sort of want to be on my own. I really want to set up housekeeping in the teacher- age. There are still dishes and everything there, and Mrs. LaHaye told me that I could just move in and make use of them if I'd like. I'd really love to. Besides, I'm doing some studies by mail and I'll truly need the quiet if I am to complete the course in the time allowed."

Marty was disappointed, but after a long discussion with Clark she reluctantly gave in. It wasn't like Clae would be off on her own. She would be, after all, just down the road and over the hill.

It was agreed that Clae would move in with Missie for the summer months to fill in some of the emptiness left by Nandry's departure. Then before the fall classes were to begin she'd move her belongings into the teacherage and set up housekeeping on her own.

Leads were followed up concerning a new minister. Possibilities

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arose, were investigated and discarded. Not that the searching committee was so hard to please; but few parsons were available, and those who were were generally found to wish a larger parish, or one that offered more amenities.

Toward fall Ben heard of a young man through Mr. Cassidy.

"He's from my former hometown," said the store manager, "Young fella--not too much book learnin'--did get some trainin' but hasn't been on to seminary in the East like he's a aimin' to. Got lots of spunk, an' sure does study out of the Good Book--honest an' hard workin', but green."

"We don't mind greenness none," Ben offered. "We's all pretty green ourselves; maybe we could learn together."

A two-man delegation left on horseback to see if they could track down the young man. It was eight days before they were home again, but when they returned they had good news.

They had located the man and he was eager to obtain a church. He still hoped to advance his education; but if they'd take him as he was, he'd do his best to serve them. They had agreed.

Pastor Joseph Berwick arrived on the fifth of September, the same day that Miss Clae Larson began her first classes in the country school. He was not to have his first sermon until the following Sunday, but he wished to call on his parishioners in the interim time.

He boarded with the Watleys and when Mrs. Watley beheld the tall good-looking young man, she scrutinized him thoroughly and then turned to her two daughters with a twinkle in her eyes. She gave the girls a sly wink and nodded the parson into the parlor where tea was served. "Surely this time," she sighed.

Parson Berwick was not content to sit and sip tea, and before the dust of his last trail had had a chance to settle, he was off again to meet the inhabitants of the area whom he saw as members of his flock.

He was not above lending a helping hand either and spent some time cutting wood for the Widow Rider, helped pound a fencepost that Jason Stern was placing, and forked hay along with the Graham boys.

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Gradually he worked his way toward the schoolhouse, and on Thursday around four o'clock he paid a call on the local teacher.

Clae was not prepared for his coming, and was down on her knees in her neglected flower bed, cleaning out the weeds that had been left to grow where they wished over the summer. Her hair was pulled back with a ribbon and her slim hands were dirtied with soil.

She looked up in surprise at the approaching stranger. A streak of dirt across her nose gave her an innocent little-girl look.

The new parson dismounted and presented himself in a courteous manner.

"I'm Parson Berwick," he said politely. "Is your father at home?"

Clae just shook her head speechlessly, trying to sort out who he might mean by her father, and where she should tell him that he could be located.

"Your mother?"

"No--no one--I'm--" she changed her course; "you meaning the Davises?" she asked; "or the Larsons?"

It was the parson's turn to look confused."I'm meaning the teacher," he said, "whoever he is. I haven't yet heard his name."

"There is no
he."

"I beg your pardon."

"The teacher--he's--he's gone," Clae stumbled. "He doesn't live here anymore."

"I'm sorry," said the parson. "I understood that they were still having classes."

"They are--we are," Clae quickly amended.

"Are you one of the pupils?"

Clae stood up to her full height, which still didn't make much of an impression against the parson's tall frame.

"I," she emphasized the word, "am the teacher."

"The teacher!" he reddened. "Oh, my goodness!" he exclaimed. "Then I guess that I must want to see you instead of your father. I mean--I didn't really come to see him. I came to see the teacher."

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After a pause, "Let's start all over, shall we?"

He stepped back, then stepped forward again with an impish smile.

"Hello there," he said, "I'm Pastor Berwick, new to your area and I'm endeavoring to call on each of my parishioners. I understand that you are the new schoolteacher hereabouts."

Clae looked down at her grubby hand, but the pastor did not hesitate. He reached for it and Clae felt her hand held in a firm handshake.

"I'm sorry," she stammered looking from him to her earth_ covered hands.

"You've got dirt on your nose, too," he said with a smile. "Oh, my!" said Clae, embarrassed. She reached up to rub at the suspected spot but only made it worse.

He laughed, and withdrawing a clean handkerchief, he stepped forward and wiped the smudge from her face.

Clae held her breath. Her throat felt tight and her heart

pounded. She wondered if the parson heard it, too.

He stepped back and put his handkerchief neatly back in his pocket.

"As I said, I'm calling on my parishioners. Can I expect to see you in church on Sunday?"

"Oh, yes," whispered Clae, and blushed at her foolishness. "And you really are the schoolteacher?"

She nodded.

"Sure didn't have teachers like that when I went to school."

She caught the twinkle in his eye, and her color deepened. "I'll see you Sunday."

She nodded dumbly.

He mounted his horse and was about to move on, then stopped and turned to her.

"You didn't give me your name."

"Clae--Clae Larson."

"Miss Clae Larson?"

"Miss Clae Larson."

"How do you spell that? Clae. I've never heard that name before."

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Clae spelled it. She hoped that it was right.

"Clae," he said; "that's unusual. I'll see you Sunday, Miss Larson."

She watched him ride away.

So it was that Clae met the new preacher, and so it was that she had problems with her concentration. Right from the very first she had trouble focusing her attention on the sermon rather than the man--but she never missed a Sunday.

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Chapter 40

Parson Joe

The new parson, who was soon known as Parson Joe, was quick in establishing his place in the community. His willingness to lend a hand endeared him to the farmers.

"Not afraid to dirty his hands, thet one."

"No--nor to bend his back."

But the real reason for their nod of approval was the Sunday services. The parson made a list of all of the hymns that the congregation knew by heart, and these were sung heartily on Sundays. Occasionally new hymns were added by writing the words on a chalkboard borrowed from the school.

His prayers were not just wordy but full of sincerity, and his sermons were the highlight of the whole service. Simple straightforward messages, brought right from the Bible, gave the people a real sense of being nourished.

Even the youngsters began to take notice, and young Clint Graham surprised his folks by announcing that he had decided to go into the ministry.

Only Mrs. Watley was disappointed in the new parson-- and that had nothing whatever to do with his Sunday sermons. She was beside herself to discover ways to make him pay more attention to one of her daughters--which one he chose, she didn't care, but the man seemed oblivious to either of them.

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The congregation grew both numerically and spiritually. Willie LaHaye never missed a Sunday, and even Zeke LaHaye put aside an occasional Sunday morning for worship. Some felt that the loss of Tessie had softened the man somewhat. Marty noticed on more than one occasion his eyes on the silent mound across the yard. A carefully worked cross had appeared at the grave, bearing the words, "Tessie LaHaye Whittle and Baby Boy. May their rest be peaceful and never alone."

The parson called on his people more than for Sunday dinner, and wherever he went he was welcomed.

Claude Graham was heard remarking to his twin brother, Lem, "The reason thet he fits here so well is thet he don't know nothin' from them books neither."

To which Lem replied, "Don't let him fool ya. He's got a lot more of a load there then he's throwin' out each Sunday. No use forkin' a whole haystack to growin' calves."

As for Clae, she felt in a befuddled state. To get her mind off her confusion, she worked every spare minute on her education by mail. The course that could have taken until the next summer was completed by Christmas.

The parson was always friendly to her, but so he was with each member of his congregation. Still Clae couldn't stop the ridiculous skipping of her heart, the hoping that perhaps, just perhaps, he had noticed her and he was maybe just a bit more attentive to her than to some of the other girls. At times she despaired, at times she dreamed--if only--if only--and then on Easter Sunday morning following an inspirational service, the young parson held her hand just a bit longer as she left the church. She was the last one leaving, having stopped to gather her chalkboard.

"Good morning, Miss Larson." He smiled, and then he whispered, "I do wish that you didn't live alone. How in the world is a gentleman to call?"

Clae caught her breath.

She allowed herself what she hoped was a decent amount of time and then moved back home with the Davises.

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Chapter 41

The New House

Clark and Marty sat enjoying a second cup of coffee. It seemed good just to sit and chat for a while. They so rarely had the opportunity.

"Looks as though we got us a real growin' church," said Clark.

"Yeah, it's so good to see folks comin' out."

"Thet wasn't what I was meanin'."

"Then what was ya meanin'?"

"I noticed thet Nandry an' Tommie's Fran are both in the family way."

Marty smiled. She had noticed it, too.

"Speakin' of growin'," Clark said after a silence. "I'm a thinkin' thet we've put it off fer too long."

"Meanin'?"

"This house--it's way too small. Shoulda built another ages ago."

"Seems a strange thing to be thinkin' on now. Notice who's around--jest you an' me an' little Luke. Soon he'll be off, too."

"Yeah," said Clark, "but they come home agin, an' when they do they don't usually come alone--iffen you've noticed." Marty thought of Nandry and Josh and their coming baby. She also thought of Clae and the young parson. Even Missie

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was quickly growing up, and before long she would be entertaining callers.

"Maybe yer right," she said; "maybe we do need a bigger house. It's jest thet it seems so quiet-like when they're off to school."

"I think I'll spend me the winter hauling logs. This here new house--I been thinkin' on it a lot. Not gonna be a log one. Gonna be board--nice board."

"Thet'll cost a fortune."

"Not really. There's a mill over cros't the crik now. I can trade my logs in on lumber. Been a thinkin' on the layout, too. How ya feel 'bout an upstairs--not a loft but a real upstairs-- with steps a goin' up--not a ladder--like them fancy houses back East?"

Marty caught her breath.

"Seems to me ya got pretty big dreams."

"Maybe--maybe I have, but I want you to do a little dreamin', too. I want this house to have what ya be a wantin'. More windows, closets fer clothes stead of pegs--whatever ya be a wantin'. Ya do some dreamin' an' write yer plans down on paper. We'll see iffen we can't make some dreams come true."

Marty felt that it was all too much.

"When, Clark?"

"Not next year--I don't s'pose. Gonna take a long while to git all those logs, but the year after--should be able to do it by then fer sure."

"Sounds--sounds--like a fairy tale," Marty finished, finally accepting the fact that it really could happen.

Clark grinned and stood up. He reached out and touched her hair.

"Did I ever tell ya that I love ya, Mrs. Davis?"

"I've heard it afore," said Marty, "but it bears repeatin' now an' then."

He put a finger under her chin and tipped her face, then leaned to plant a kiss on her nose.

"By the way," he said, "thet's mighty good coffee."