by Janette Oke
Marty hoped Clark was right. Lane was almost like family, like he’d be bringing a little piece of their beloved Missie’s family with him.
“Look at thet sunshine,” Ellie commented to Marty. “Think I’m gonna go out an’ git me a little of it.”
Marty followed the girl’s eyes to the window. It was a truly glorious winter day.
“I was just thinkin’ the same,” she said. “Think I just might go on over an’ have me a cup a’ tea with Kate.”
“Good idea. I might even join ya iffen I git my chores done in time, but don’t wait on me. I might git to enjoyin’ the sun so much I’ll decide not to come in.”
Marty smiled. Ellie had always loved the out-of-doors.
“Go ahead,” she said. “It’ll do ya good.”
“Ya git ready,” said Ellie, “an’ I’ll walk ya on over to Kate’s so ya won’t slip on the ice.”
“Ya fret too much,” Marty countered. “Just like yer pa. I’ve been walkin’ on ice fer a good number of years now, an’ I don’t recall takin’ a tumble yet.”
Ellie shook her head without saying anything further, put on a light coat, and stood waiting, so Marty pulled a warm shawl about her and they started off together. The sun reflected brightly off the snow and made them squint against the glare. It felt warm on their heads in spite of the cool air.
“Hard to believe we’re ’bout due fer Christmas. Feels more like spring,” observed Marty.
“Doesn’t it, though?” answered Ellie. “But I’m so glad it’s nice. Makes it better fer Lady and her puppies.”
“How are they doin’?”
“Oh, Mama, they’re so cute now. ’Specially thet little black-an’-white one. He has the biggest eyes an’ the floppiest ears. I hope Pa will let me keep ’im.”
“We hardly need another dog around here, I’m thinkin’.”
“But he’s so cute.”
“Puppies are all cute,” reminded Marty. “When they grow up they’re just another dog.”
“Now, ya can’t be tellin’ me thet ya aren’t partial to dogs,” Ellie remonstrated, and Marty laughed, knowing Ellie was right. She had always loved dogs, and each time there had been a new batch, she was the one who suffered the most as she watched the puppies going off to new homes.
They reached Kate’s house, and Marty was warmly welcomed in, while Ellie went on to care for her chickens.
The young man swung off his horse, tied it to the rail fence, and walked up to the door. Several knocks received no response, so he turned toward the barn, where he saw the door standing open.
After Ellie had finished feeding the chickens, she had gone on to the barn to see the puppies. The day had become so delightfully warm she hadn’t gone far before removing her coat.
She had thrown the barn door wide open and let the sun stream into the building. Lady ran to meet her, four pudgy puppies tumbling and stumbling along behind her. Ellie tossed aside her coat and fell down on her knees in the warm, sweet-scented straw.
“Oh,” she crooned, picking up her favorite and pressing it against her cheek. “Yer just the sweetest thing.”
A small tongue licked haphazardly at her nose, and Ellie kissed the soft fuzzy head and reached for another puppy. A third one began to tug at her skirt, growling and pulling as though tackling something unknown and dangerous. Ellie laughed and playfully pushed at the puppy with her foot. The puppy swung around and attacked her shoe instead. She pulled him into her lap and reached for the last one, a shy little female, the smallest of the litter. “Come here, you,” Ellie said, coaxing the little one closer. She settled herself into a sitting position and cuddled the puppies in her lap. Lady pressed herself close, taking a lick at Ellie’s face, her arm, her hand—wherever she could get one in. Ellie lifted her feisty little favorite again and pressed him close against her cheek. “I must ask Pa iffen I can keep ya,” she told him.
Ellie was so busy with the puppies she hadn’t seen the shadow that crossed the door; nor did she notice the figure who stood there, looking at the shining golden head bowed over the squirming puppy. He watched silently. She lifted her face to the sun, and it fell across her cheeks, highlighting their glow and the deep blue of her eyes. Still she had not seen him, so enraptured was she with her little friends. She stroked the curly fur gently with slender fingers and caressed the fluffy, drooping ear.
“Yer just the sweetest thing,” she went on, lifting him so she could look the puppy in the face. “How could anyone give ya up?”
Lane had not moved. He knew he shouldn’t be standing there watching her with her unaware that he was present, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the spell of the scene before him. Who was she, this delightful young woman? She was as pretty and wholesome as . . . as . . . Lane had nothing to compare her to. He had never seen someone like her.
It was the dog who gave away his presence. Lady turned toward him and whined, her tail beginning to wave ever so slightly. Ellie lifted her eyes from the puppy to the door. At the sight of the young stranger, she gave a little gasp and hastened to her feet, scattering the three puppies playing on her skirt into the soft straw.
Lane quickly found his tongue.
“I’m sorry, miss—to startle ya like thet. I wasn’t meanin’ to. I’m . . . I’m lookin’ fer the Davises.”
“In a barn?” she asked, but her tone held more banter than blame.
“I knocked at the house an’ didn’t get an answer.”
When she didn’t say anything, he explained, “I . . . I saw the barn door open an’ I thought someone might . . .” He trailed off. “I’m sorry if I’ve imposed, miss.”
“No harm done,” she said finally and put the puppy back down with its mother.
“Am I at the right farm or—?”
“We’re the Davises,” said the young woman before him, reaching down to brush straw from her skirt. “Who was it ya wished to see?”
“Missie’s folks,” he responded. “Clark an’ Marty.”
Ellie felt her eyes grow wide with shock and some embarrassment, and she took a good look at the young man who stood before her, hat in hand. This must be the Lane Ma and Pa were talking about, she thought as she looked him over.
He was tall and rather thin, though his shoulders were broad. He had a clean-shaven face and deep brown eyes. His jaw was firm set, as though once he had made up his mind it might be hard to change it. He wasn’t what Ellie would call handsome—his somewhat crooked nose prevented him from being that—but he had a certain bearing that made you wonder if he wouldn’t be a nice person to get to know.
Ellie let her gaze drop, further embarrassed by her bold scrutiny of the stranger.
“Mama is at Kate’s right now, an’ Pa is about the farm somewhere,” she explained quickly.
She moved to lead the way to Kate’s house, and he fell into step beside her.
They walked to Kate’s without speaking further, and Ellie rapped lightly on the door but didn’t wait for Kate’s answer before she entered.
“Mama,” she said, “there’s someone here to see ya,” and she stepped aside to let the young man enter.
Marty gave a little cry and sprang up from the table.
“Lane!” she said as she greeted the young man with a motherly embrace.
Marty turned from hugging the young man to Kate.
“An’ this is Kate, Clare’s wife,” she introduced him warmly. “An’ ya already met our Ellie.”
Ellie stood rooted to the spot, feeling rather self-conscious and silly under Lane’s gaze. He stepped forward.
“Not really,” he said. “I sorta found her—but we weren’t introduced proper like.”
“Ellie,” said Marty, “this is Lane, the one we’ve told ya so much ’bout.”
Lane moved closer to acknowledge the introduction.
Ellie held out her hand. “I’m pleased to meet ya,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize who ya were.”
Lane took the hand and looked into E
llie’s blue eyes. Neither of them spoke. Ellie was rather surprised and not a little dismayed by her tumbling thoughts. She’d had no shortage of young men who would have stood in line to come calling if she’d given the slightest hint of interest, but none of them had made her feel like this. You only just now met this Lane, she told herself sternly. Now get yourself back in hand, she finished her silent lecture.
Marty insisted that Lane stay for supper. It hadn’t been too difficult to persuade him. He said he was anxious for a good, long visit with Clark and Marty. He had news concerning Willie and Missie and their family. He had up-to-date reports on the new little church and its growth since they had left. There were messages from the ranch hands. And then, he said, there was his number-one reason for being in their home that evening—the package from Missie that he was to hand deliver. He reached into his shirt pocket. “Missie sent this, an’ she told me not to dare fergit.”
Lane withdrew a piece of carefully folded paper.
“Missie sent ya a lock of Baby Melissa’s hair.” He handed the small packet to Marty. Marty unwrapped it carefully, and a tiny scrap of soft, fluffy baby hair lay snuggled against the paper.
Ellie watched her mother struggle to hold back the tears.
“Far away in the West I’ve got a little granddaughter,” Marty whispered as she held up the tiny baby curl. She lifted it up and it wrapped around her finger. There was just a tint of red to the golden lock. Marty held it to her lips and the tears began to fall.
Marty wiped her eyes as she turned to Lane. “Thank ya,” she murmured. “She must be beautiful.”
“We think so,” Lane said. “We all think so.”
“What a place fer a little girl to grow up,” Clark spoke up. “There on a ranch with a dozen men to spoil her!”
They all laughed.
Eleven
Ma Graham
Marty wanted to see Ma one more time before Christmas, so she asked Clark to hitch up the team for her while there was still a pleasant break in the winter weather. He reluctantly agreed because he knew how important it was to her, but his eyes showed his concern.
“Sure yer not wantin’ me to drive ya on over?”
“I’ll be fine,” Marty assured him. “Really, Clark, I’m feelin’ just fine now. Best I been feelin’ fer months.”
Clark eyed her rounded body. “Well, be extra careful,” he cautioned.
But Marty stopped him with a playful toss of her wet dishrag. “I won’t be doin’ any racin’,” she promised with a smile.
Though the wintry sun was shining, the air still held a sharp chill. Marty had not gone far when she was glad for the extra blanket tucked about her at the insistence of her family.
She wondered who might be meeting her in the Graham yard to take the team now that Ben was gone. He had always been so quick to greet her and hurry her off to see Ma while he tended the horses. The thought of Ben not being there made Marty’s heart ache once more for the empty place left in their lives.
She thought of Ma and wondered just how she was handling the long days and nights alone. It must be awfully hard on her and even more so with Christmas approaching. Christmas was a beautiful time of year but also a very lonely time if a person had recently lost a special loved one.
When Marty turned the team into the Graham yard and alighted from the sleigh, she was soon greeted by Lou, who came from the barn. He welcomed her warmly and sent her on in to see Ma, just as his father had done on so many previous occasions.
Marty did not have time to knock, for Ma had seen her through the window and came to meet her.
“Been so hopin’ ya would come!” Ma said. “Been needin’ ya somethin’ awful.”
Marty removed her heavy coat, hugged Ma, and crossed to warm her hands at the kitchen stove.
“I was thinkin’ ya might,” she said, her own tears close to spilling. “My thoughts are of ya so much, an’ I’m prayin’ so often . . . but thet . . . even thet doesn’t help much, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, it helps. To be sure, it helps,” Ma assured her. “I’ve just been feelin’ the prayers of those who are upholdin’ me. I have no idea how I’d ever make it without ’em.”
They both were silent for a moment.
“It sure does git lonely, though,” Ma went on as she motioned Marty toward a chair at the table. “Even with my family nearby—an’ they’ve been so good, always invitin’ me fer supper or coffee or just to talk. But I’ve got to make the adjustment on my own, Marty. At first I was over there ’most every day. Thet was fine fer a while, but I can’t keep on like thet. I’ve just gotta make the adjustment to livin’ alone.”
Marty sat down, and Ma pulled out a chair across from her.
“Ya know, in some ways,” Ma went on, “this time is harder than when I lost Thornton.”
Marty was surprised.
“What I’m meanin’ is this: when I lost Thornton, even though it was terrible hard—’cause I loved him so much an’ he was so young, and I was so unprepared—still I had my young’uns, an’ I knew thet I couldn’t give up—not fer a minute. They sorta kept me goin’, if ya know what I mean. I scarce had time to think of my own sorrow. Well, this time I’m here all alone. My young’uns are grown now. It seems there just isn’t a good reason to keep on a goin’ a’tall.”
“Oh, but there is,” Marty quickly put in.
“I know. I know. I preach myself all those sermons many times a day, but I have a hard time believin’ ’em.”
“Ya said thet it takes time,” Marty reminded Ma. “Remember? Ya haven’t had much time yet, Ma.” Marty reached across to grasp the work-worn hands folded one on top of the other.
Ma sat with head bowed, and Marty feared Ma would suddenly begin sobbing. Instead she squared her shoulders and looked up with a shaky yet brave smile. “Time?” she said. “It do take time, all right. Time an’ God.”
Marty toyed with an edge of the table, running a finger back and forth on the wood grain. “Wouldn’t hurt none, either, iffen ya tried to look ahead,” she said. “Christmas is comin’. Ya got a whole passel of grandchildren. Got their gifts all ready?”
Ma shook her head.
“Best ya git out yer knittin’ needles and yer crochet hook, then, ’cause they’re all gonna be expectin’ Grandma to come up with the usual passel of scarves an’ mittens.”
“Oh, Marty, I just have no heart fer Christmas!” Ma mourned.
Marty rose and moved around the table to lay her hand on the shoulder of the older woman. “The hardest Christmas I ever faced was the one just after I lost Clem,” she stated. “But ya know what? In lookin’ back now, I see it as my most meanin’ful Christmas. Never have I felt the true meanin’ of Christmas more’n I did thet year.
“I’ve often wondered why,” she went on, sinking into the chair next to Ma, “but I think maybe it was because thet year I decided to use Christmas as a growin’ time. I didn’t even understand what it was all ’bout at the time, but I knew God had a far deeper meanin’ fer Christmas than we usually give it. I wanted it. I wanted to find an’ understand thet meanin’. At the time, all I knew was thet I wanted to give Missie a special Christmas. She had already lost so much, an’ I wanted to help heal some of those painful memories. In givin’ to Missie, I got far more myself. I kinda think thet’s the true meanin’ of Christmas. . . .” Marty paused and looked into Ma’s face.
“Now, ya got a family,” she continued after a moment. “A family thet ya love very much.” Marty’s voice was low but clear. “They are all hurtin’ in their own way, but mostly they are feelin’ deep sorrow fer you. Christmas isn’t gonna mean much to any of ’em—unless you can give it meanin’. They need ya, Ma. They need ya ever’ bit as much as they did when they lost their other pa.”
Ma was crying softly as Marty spoke. When Marty finished, the older woman blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
“Yer right,” she said. “In my sorrow I just haven’t seen it. They do need me. All of ’em.”
; She left the table and went for the boiling coffee.
“My lands!” she exclaimed as she poured two cups and lowered herself wearily back into her chair. “I’m way behind. By this time most years I already had four or five pairs of mittens finished. I’m really gonna have to hustle, ain’t I, Marty?”
Twelve
Lane Helps Out
The LaHaye family got away on their visit west as planned, and Lane settled in to oversee their farm. There really wasn’t all that much to do over the winter months. The stock needed tending, and there were two cows to milk night and morning, but he still wondered if he’d have empty hours hanging over him.
Glad that he had an excuse, he went to see the Davises and explained his predicament to Clare and Arnie. He began with, “What ya usually doin’ with the long days of winter when there be no field work?”
“Well, we more’n have our days full with cuttin’ the year’s wood supply,” answered Clare.
“The LaHayes got wood stacked a mile high,” Lane informed them. “Told me not to be botherin’ ’bout gittin’ out any more. They gotta use thet up before it goes rotten.”
“Then we’ve got all of the stock to care fer.”
“They don’t keep much stock. One sow, a few chickens, some milk cows, and a few beef cattle. They don’t even have ’em a dog.”
Arnie laughed. “Hope ya like readin’,” he joked.
“Don’t mind readin’,” answered Lane, “but I sure don’t wanna be doin’ it all the time. Mind iffen I give ya a hand with yer cuttin’?”
“Yeah, we’re gonna be gittin’ out a little extra wood this year. Gonna have three fires of our own to keep burnin’, what with the folks’, mine, an’ Arnie’s here,” said Clare. “’Sides, we kinda thought we’d like to add a bit to Ma Graham’s woodpile, as well. Sure could use some extry help. Wanta swing an axe fer a few days?”
It was more than Lane had dared to hope for. His days would easily be filled with activity, and, in working with the Davis boys, he might even catch a glimpse of Ellie now and then. He promised Clare and Arnie he would be over the next morning as soon as he had finished the farm chores.