by Janette Oke
“Thet Jason,” Ma went on, “he already be cuttin’ logs fer to build a cabin. Wants ’em ready fer spring so there can be a cabin raisin’ an’ a barn raisin’, too. Workin’ right hard he is, an’ his pa’s a helpin’ him. He’s gonna farm the land right next to his pa. Well, we couldn’t say no, Ben an’ me, but we sure gonna miss her happy ways an’ helpin’ hands. I think it be troublin’ Laura, too. She jest not been herself the last few days. Moody an’ far off like. She always was a quiet one, but now she seems all locked up in herself like. Bothers me, it does.”
Ma stopped and seemed to look at something a long way off. Then she pulled her attention back to the present. “We’s all gotta settle in an’ add to Sally Anne’s marriage things—quilts an’ rugs an’ sech. Got a heap to do ’twixt now an’ spring.
“How be things a comin’ with the doc?” Ma asked, changing the subject and catching Marty completely off guard.
“What doc?” puzzled Marty.
“Why, the one Clark be a workin’ on to git to come to town. The one he be makin’ all the trips fer an’ gettin’ all the neighbors to sign up fer. He’s most anxious like to git him here afore thet young’un of yourn makes his appearance.”
At Marty’s dumbfounded look, Ma finished lamely, “Hasn’t he been tellin’ ya?”
Marty shook her head.
“Hope I haven’t spilled the beans,” Ma said, “but ever’one else in the whole West knows ’bout it, seems to me. Thought you’d be a knowin’, too. But then maybe he thought it best ya not be gettin’ yer hopes up. Might be ya jest not mention my big mouth to him, huh?” Ma Graham smiled a bit sheepishly, and Marty nodded her head, dumbly agreeing.
So that was it. All the urgent trips to town and sometimes beyond, even in poor weather, coming home cold and tired, to get a doctor to the area before her baby was due. She shook her head as she got up to put on the coffeepot. She had to move away quickly before Ma saw her tears.
Their morning coffee together was a sumptuous affair. Marty thought back to the time of Ma’s first visit when all she could offer her was coffee. How different this was with the abundance of fresh bread and jelly, fancy cakes, tarts, and cookies. Ben remarked several times about her good cooking, and she responded that she should be—his cook had taught her. Missie wakened and joined them in her chair, asking for a gingerbread boy. Time passed all too quickly as they shared table and conversation.
Marty was reluctant to see them go but thankful for the unexpected time together, and she did want them to arrive home before nightfall.
After they had gone their way, she cheerfully began to clean up. She turned to Clark. “Thank ya so much fer invitin’ them.”
At his surprised look, she explained, “Ma let it slip, not knowin’ thet I didn’t know you had invited them.” She couldn’t resist adding, “I noticed, though, thet ya didn’t invite all of those young’uns with the hearty appetites.”
They shared a laugh together.
January’s wintry days crawled by. Clark made more trips to town, or wherever he went. Marty was no longer puzzled, and she felt quite sure he was going off on these cold days on her behalf. Her sewing was nearly completed now, and she looked at the small garments for her coming baby with much satisfaction. She would be so happy to be able to use the baby things, so new and sweet smelling.
Clark fretted about the lack of a cradle, and Marty assured him one wasn’t needed yet as she planned to take the wee one into her bed until he grew a bit. Clark was satisfied with that, saying that come better weather he’d get busy on a bigger bed for Missie and let the baby take over her crib.
As the month drew to a close, Marty felt the time had come when she could share her secret with Missie. Clark had gone away again, and the two of them were alone in the house.
“Come with Mama, Missie,” Marty said. “Mama wants to show ya somethin’.”
Missie didn’t have to be coaxed. She loved to be “showed somethin’.” Together they went to the bedroom, where Marty lifted the stack of small garments from the drawer. She couldn’t help but smile as she held the top one up for Missie to see.
“Look, Missie,” she said. “These are fer the new baby. Mama’s gonna get a new baby fer Mama and Missie. Jest a tiny little baby, only ’bout so big. Missie can help Mama take care of the baby.”
Missie intently watched Marty’s face. She obviously wasn’t sure what this was all about, but Mama was happy, and if Mama was happy, it must be good.
“Ba-by,” Missie repeated, stroking the soft things. “Ba-by, fer Mama—an’ Missie?”
“Thet’s right.” Marty was wildly happy. “A baby fer Missie. Look, Missie,” she said, sitting on her bed, “right now the baby is sleepin’ here.”
She laid Missie’s hand on her abdomen, and Missie was rewarded with a firm kick. Her eyes rose to Marty’s in surprise as she quickly pulled away her hand.
“Thet’s the baby, Missie. Soon the baby will sleep in Mama’s bed. He’ll come to live with Mama and Missie an’ we’ll dress ’im in these new clothes an’ bundle ’im in these soft blankets, an’ we can hold ’im in our arms, ’stead of how Mama be holdin’ ’im now.”
Missie didn’t get it all, that was sure, but she could understand that Baby was coming and Mama was glad, and Baby would use the soft things and live in Mama’s bed. Her eyes took on a sparkle. She touched Marty timidly and repeated, “Mama’s ba-by.”
Marty pulled the little girl to her and laughed with joy. “Oh, Missie,” she said, “it’s gonna be so much fun.”
Clark returned home that night with a strange-looking lump under a canvas in the back of the sleigh.
Well, Marty thought wryly, I’m sure thet be no doctor, and her curiosity was sorely roused.
After Dan and Charlie had been fed and bedded, Clark came through the door carrying the surprise purchase.
Marty could scarcely believe her eyes. “A new rocking chair!” she exclaimed.
“Right,” said Clark. “I vowed long ago thet iffen there ever be another baby in this house, there’s gonna be a rockin’ chair to quiet it by.”
He grinned as he said it, and Marty knew the words really were a cover-up for other feelings.
“Well,” she answered lightly, “best ya sit down an’ show Missie how it works so you’ll know how to use it when the baby’s needin’ ta be quieted.” They shared a smile.
Then Clark pulled Missie up onto his lap and snuggled her close. They took two rocks, and the child popped up to stare at this wondrous thing. She watched, swaying, as Clark rocked a few more times, then settled back contentedly, enjoying the new marvel.
Clark soon had to leave for chores, and Missie crawled up on her own to try to make the chair respond correctly.
It’s gonna be so much fun to have, Marty told herself. Jest imagine me with my young’un all dressed up fancy like, an’ me sittin’ there rockin’ ’im. Probably is room enough for Missie beside me, too. I can jest hardly wait.
The baby seemed impatient, too, for it gave a hard kick that made its mother catch her breath and move back a mite from the cupboard where she was working.
When Clark came in from choring, Missie scooted down from the chair and ran to take his hand.
“Daddy, come,” she urged him.
“Hold on, Missie, ’til yer pa gits his coat off,” Clark laughed. “I’ll come—I’ll come.”
Missie stepped back and watched him hang up his coat, then took his hand again. “Come see.”
Marty thought she was still excited about the chair, and it looked like Clark assumed that, too, as he turned toward it. But Missie tugged at his hand to lead him over to Marty.
“Look—ba-by,” she cried, pointing at the spot. “Ba-by fer Missie. Mama let Missie touch ’im.”
Marty flushed and Clark grinned.
“Well, I reckon it be awful nice,” he said, picking up the little girl. “So Missie’s gonna git ta have a new baby, an’ we’ll rock ’im in the chair,” he continued, walking away w
ith the child as he spoke. “We’d better be gittin’ some practice, don’t ya s’pose. Let’s rock a mite while yer mama gits our supper.”
And they did.
TWENTY-ONE
A New Baby
It was mid-February, and Marty sat opposite Clark at the table, both absorbed in their own thoughts. Clark’s shoulders drooped, and Marty knew he probably was feeling discouraged over the outcome of all his efforts. A doctor indeed had been secured for the town and surrounding community, but he wouldn’t be arriving until sometime in April. This was too late for what Clark—and Marty—had wanted him for.
Marty sat quietly, her own thoughts rather despondent. The little one was getting so heavy, and the last few days things just seemed different. She couldn’t name what it was, but she knew it was there. She was troubled in her thinking. This was the time when a woman needed a “real” husband, one she could talk to. If only Clem were here—the eternal refrain again. She wouldn’t have felt embarrassed to talk it over with Clem.
“I’ve been thinkin’,” Clark interrupted her thoughts, “seems yer time must be gettin’ perty close. Seems ya might feel more easy like iffen Ma could come a few days early an’ be a staying’ with ya fer a spell.”
Marty hardly dared to hope. “Do ya really think she could?”
“Don’t know why not. Sally Anne an’ Laura be right able to care fer the rest. Good practice fer Sally Anne. Hear she be needin’ to know all that afore long. I’ll ride over an’ have a chat with Ma. I hope we won’t be keepin’ her fer too long.”
Oh, me too—me too. Marty’s thoughts were a jumble of relief and concern. But she was so thankful for Clark’s suggestion that she had to struggle to keep back the tears.
And so it was that Ma came that day, bringing with her a heavy feather tick and some quilts with which to make up a bed for herself on the sitting room floor. She was an old hand at this, and Marty took much comfort in her presence there.
Marty didn’t keep her waiting long. Two mornings after, on February sixteenth, she awoke from a restless sleep sometime between three and four o’clock. She tossed and turned, not able to find a comfortable position, feeling generally uneasy.
What was uneasiness gradually changed to contractions—not too close and not too hard, but she recognized them for what they were. Around six o’clock Ma must have sensed more than heard her stirrings and came into her room to see how she was.
Marty groaned. “I jest feel right miser’ble,” she muttered.
Ma gently laid a comforting hand on Marty’s stomach and waited until another contraction seized her. “Good,” she said. “They be nice an’ firm. It be on the way.”
Ma told Marty that she was going to make sure the fire that had been banked the night before was still alive. Marty could hear her put in more wood and fill the kettle and the large pot with water. “No harm in plenty of hot water,” Ma said to Marty through the bedroom door. “It probably won’t make an appearance for a while yet, but might as well be prepared.” Her cheerful calm and obvious know-how were greatly assuring to Marty as another labor pain bore through her.
No doubt hearing some stirrings, Clark emerged from the lean-to. Even through her own distress, Marty could see that he was pale and already worried.
“Now, ya stop a frettin’,” Marty heard Ma say to him. “I know thet she be a little thing”—her voice dropped a notch—“but she be carryin’ the baby well. I checked a minute ago. He dropped down right good an’ he seems to be turned right. It only be a matter of time ’til ya be a holdin’ ’im in thet rockin’ chair.”
Marty couldn’t hold back a groan at the next contraction, and Ma hurried into the room to soothe her and lay a cool cloth on her forehead. When Marty could catch her breath and relax some, she could see Clark, looking even whiter, sitting in a kitchen chair with his head bowed and lips moving. She knew he was praying for her and for the baby, and that was even more comforting than Ma’s experienced hands.
Clark bundled Missie up and took her out to the barn with him so she might not hear the agonizing groans of her mama.
Marty held on, taking one contraction at a time, her face damp from the effort, her lips stifling the screams that wanted to come. Ma stayed close by, giving words of encouragement and administering what she could in advice and comfort.
Time ticked by so slowly—for Marty, who now marked time by contractions; for Clark, who, Ma told her, was trying with Missie’s help to work on harnesses out in the barn; and for Ma herself, who obviously wanted the ordeal safely over for all of them.
The sun swung around to the west. Would this never end? wondered Marty between pains. It was agonizing. Ma kept telling her that from her years of experience, she knew the time was drawing near. Everything was in readiness. Then at a quarter to four, Marty gave a sharp cry that ended as a baby boy made his appearance into the world.
With a sob Marty lay back in the bed exhausted, so thankful that her work was done and that Ma’s capable hands were there to do what was necessary for the new baby. A tired but joyful smile couldn’t help but appear on Marty’s face as she heard her son cry.
“He’s jest fine,” Ma said. “A fine, big boy.”
In short order she had both baby and mother presentable and, placing the wee bundle on Marty’s arm, went to bring the good news to Clark.
“He’s here,” Marty heard her call out the door, “an’ he’s a dandy.”
Clark’s running footsteps were clearly heard, and he soon came panting into the cabin, carrying Missie with him.
“She’s okay?” His anxious eyes moved from Ma to the bedroom door as he set Missie down.
“Fit as a fiddle,” Ma responded. Marty knew Ma was relieved, too. “She done a great job,” Ma continued, “an’ she’s got a fine boy. Iffen ya slow down a mite an’ take yerself in hand, I may even let ya git a small peek at ’im.”
Clark took off his coat and unbundled Missie.
“Here, Missie, let’s warm a bit afore we go to see yer mama,” Marty heard him tell the little girl. They stood together at the fire, and then he lifted her up and followed Ma to the bedroom.
Clark stood by the bed and looked down at Marty. She was tired, and she knew she probably didn’t look her best after this long, difficult day, but she smiled up gallantly. His gaze shifted to the small bundle. Marty held the baby so Clark could see him better. He was a bit red yet, but he sure was one fine boy. One small clenched fist lay against his cheek.
“He’s a real dandy,” Clark said, the awe he was feeling showing in his tone. “What ya be a callin’ ’im?”
“He be Claridge Luke,” Marty answered.
“Thet’s a fine name. What the Luke be for?”
“My pa.”
“He’d be right proud could he see ’im. His pa’d be right proud, too, to have sech a fine son.”
Marty nodded, a lump hurting her throat at the thought.
“Claridge Luke Davis.” Clark said it slowly. “Right good-soundin’ name. Bother ya any iffen I shorten it to Clare sometimes?”
“Not a’tall,” said Marty. Indeed, she wondered if anything would ever bother her again.
They had both forgotten Missie during the exchange, and the little girl remained silent in her pa’s arms, staring at the strange, squirming bundle. At last she inquired, as though trying to sort it out, “Ba-by?”
Clark’s attention turned to her. “Yah, Missie, baby. That’s the baby thet yer mama done got ya. Little Clare, he be.”
“Rock... baby?” Missie asked.
“Oh no, not yet a while,” laughed Clark. “First the baby an’ yer mama have to have a nice long rest. We’d best be goin’ now an’ let them be.”
Marty responded only with a slight smile. She was a strange mixture of delirious happiness intermingled with sadness and was oh, so very tired.
I do declare, she thought as the two left the room, I think thet be the hardest work I ever did in my whole lifetime, and after slowly sipping some of Ma’s spec
ial tea, she drifted off to sleep.
In the sitting room, Clark and Missie cuddled close in the rocking chair. “Missie, let’s pray fer yer mama and the new baby.” At her nod, he closed his eyes and prayed, “Thank ya, Father, thank ya for helping Ma, and fer Marty’s safe birthin’, an’ thet fine new boy.” His “amen” was echoed by the small girl in his lap.
TWENTY-TWO
Ma Bares Her Heart
Ma stayed on with Marty for several days after the arrival of little Claridge Luke.
“I wanna see ya back on yer feet like afore I leave ya be,” Ma declared. “’Sides, there be nothin’ pressin’ at home jest now.”
Marty was more than pleased to have the older woman’s company and help. She was thrilled with her new son and eager to be up and around. Not being one who is happy when kept down, she was after Ma to let her get up from the second day on. Ma, reluctant at first, allowed her small activities that gradually grew with each day.
Missie, excited about the new baby, loved to share Marty’s lap with him as they rocked in the chair. Clark seemed to take on a new air of family pride, declaring, “That little tyke has already growed half an inch and gained two pounds. I can see it by jest lookin’.”
The day came when Marty felt sufficiently able to cope with managing the house and the children on her own. She was sure that even with Ma’s kindness and generosity, she must be anxious to get home and look to her own.
Ma nodded her agreement. “Yeah, things do be goin’ fine around here. Ya take care o’ yerself an’ things be jest right. I’ll have Clark drive me on home tomorrow.”
Marty would miss Ma when she left, but it would be good to have her little place all to herself again.
That afternoon as the two women had coffee together one more time, their conversation ranged over many topics. They talked of their families and their hopes for the future. Ma again expressed her need to adjust to Sally Anne’s soon departure from the family nest.