The Love Comes Softly Collection

by Janette Oke

“Don’t seem fair somehow,” put in Clare. “All the rest of the family is round the table.”

  “An’ she will be, too—give her time.”

  “Aw, Grandma,” coaxed Tina. “She’ll miss what’s goin’ on.”

  “I don’t think she’s gonna miss it thet much,” said Marty. “None of the rest of ya ever got so much holdin’.”

  “That’s different,” Arnie continued. “There was more babies than big folk then. Now it’s been turned round. Lots of people here to hold a young’un now.”

  Marty looked around the table. “Yeah, lots of big folks, and lookin’ round this table, I s’pect thet it could very soon be turned the other way again.”

  They must have caught her meaning, and Marty noticed a couple at the table exchanging glances and looking a bit sheepish.

  “Anybody got anythin’ to tell us?” she asked, a twinkle in her eye.

  Arnie swallowed hard and looked at Anne. “Well,” he said, “we hadn’t planned on an announcement just yet, but yeah . . . I reckon we do.”

  There was laughter and congratulations for the blushing newlyweds. Marty could feel their joy, but then she thought of poor Kate and a pain went through her. Kate was slowly pushing back her chair and rising to her feet. Marty felt her throat constrict. Poor Kate. It was just too much for her. Too soon. First Belinda and now this. But Kate was not rushing from the room. Instead, she was standing with a hand on Clare’s shoulder and a smile on her face. “I’m glad ’bout Arnie and Anne’s announcement,” she said in a clear, soft voice, “glad fer them and glad because . . . well, I just think it’s important fer every child to have a little cousin ’bout his own age.”

  “Are ya sayin’—?” began Ellie, but Kate stopped her with, “Sure am! Just ’bout the same time as Anne. Doctor just told me fer sure yesterday.”

  Marty couldn’t help the happy tears. She was going to be a grandma again—twice over.

  Twenty-Seven

  Surprise

  Ellie knew Lane really didn’t have a whole lot that needed to be done around the farm. The animals had all been either sold or shipped off to the new ranch in the West. There were no fences to fix, no wood to cut, no harness to mend. At first he had enjoyed it since it meant he had lots of time to spend with her, but after a few days of drinking coffee and watching her work around the kitchen, she could tell he was beginning to grow restless. She didn’t blame him at all. She was used to being busier herself, and now and then she, too, felt time hanging a bit heavy on her hands. At least she had baking to do, clothes to wash, a house to keep clean, and many little tasks about the home. She tried to think of some ideas for Lane to fill his hours, but nothing presented itself. It was hard for him to just sit around waiting for the farm to sell, she could tell.

  “Lane,” she ventured one day, “I been thinkin’. We’re only a couple of miles outta town. Ya think it would matter any to the LaHayes iffen ya were to take a town job?”

  Lane’s expression indicated he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it. “Don’t rightly know what I’m fittin’ to do in a town,” he said reflectively, “but it sure is worth a try. Would ya mind?”

  Ellie smiled to assure him. “I know thet it’s hard fer ya not to be busy. An’ I don’t blame ya one bit. Fact is, I don’t think I’d care much to be married to a lazy man. Why don’t ya go on in an’ make a few inquiries? Ain’t a thing more in the world fer ya to do round here.”

  Lane saddled his horse, kissed his wife good-bye, and rode from the yard.

  At first it appeared there would be no work for Lane in the small town. The bank needed another man and the town’s one tailor said he could sure use some help, but Lane did not have the required experience for either job. He was about to give up and head for home again when the man from the general store waved him down.

  “Hear tell yer lookin’ fer work.”

  “Sure am. Willin’ to try most anythin’. Ya need a man?”

  “Not me, no. I got all the help I need, but I hear thet Matt over to the livery is down sick an’ poor ol’ Tom is ’bout wearin’ hisself out tryin’ to keep up with things. Ya might wander on over there an’ see iffen he’s found somebody yet.”

  Lane thanked him and turned his horse to the livery stable. Funny that he hadn’t thought to try it first off, since he sure knew about horses.

  The man was right. Old Tom did want another man, and Lane started in right away on his town job.

  The chance to work not only helped put Lane in a much better frame of mind concerning himself, but it enabled him and Ellie to begin to tuck away a little money week by week, as well. They both felt good about it, and when Lane would ride in at night, tired from lifting feed sacks and grooming horses, Ellie was there waiting for him with a warm fire and fresh-baked bread. Their marriage prospered under such an arrangement.

  One day as Ellie matched socks from the day’s washing and waited for Lane to return for supper, she heard Rex barking. The sound of his bark told Ellie that someone had arrived. It wasn’t Lane, she knew, and it wasn’t one of her family. Rex barked as though the visitor was a stranger.

  She hurried to the window and saw a tall man in a long, dark coat tying his horse to the hitching rail. Ellie had never seen the man before. “Maybe it’s a buyer fer the farm,” she mused and hoped with all her heart that it might be so.

  She answered the knock and greeted the man cordially.

  “I understand Lane Howard lives here.”

  “Thet’s right,” said Ellie. “I’m Mrs. Howard.”

  “Is Mr. Howard in?”

  “Not at the moment. He works in town, but I’m expectin’ ’im home ’fore long.”

  “Mind if I wait for him?” the man asked, and Ellie wasn’t sure for a moment if she minded or not.

  “I’ll just wait out here if it’s all right.”

  “Ya needn’t do thet!” exclaimed Ellie, chiding herself for hesitating. “Ya can come on in an’ have a cup of coffee while ya wait.”

  The man did not refuse and followed Ellie into the small kitchen. Ellie pushed the coffeepot she had in readiness for Lane’s supper onto the heat and nodded at a chair.

  “Just sit ya down,” she offered. “He should be home most any minute.”

  She looked at the man. His clothes were different from what the farmers round about wore, she noticed. And he didn’t really dress like the men from town, either. He must be from the city, she concluded. If he came about the farm, he must be coming on behalf of someone else. He didn’t look like a farmer.

  She decided to ask, but before she could speak, the man spoke to her.

  “Nice farm here,” he commented. “Well kept.”

  “First-rate,” agreed Ellie, ready to give an honest sales pitch. “There’s been lots of time an’ money put in on it. It’s in real good shape.”

  “Didn’t see much stock about.”

  “Stock’s all been sold right now. But it has good pastureland an’ plenty of barn room. Barns fer cows, with good milk stalls, lots of pigpens, a real fine horse barn thet holds eight head, big chicken coop, five granaries . . . or is it six? . . . no, five, I think. Even got a root cellar an’ a real good well.”

  The man looked just a shade puzzled, but Ellie hurried on. “Lots of good crop land, too. Had a first-rate stand of barley last year, and the lower field had a hay crop like I’ve never seen afore . . . an’ thet field out back, the one ya can’t see too well from the road—” Ellie caught herself. “’Course ya can’t see any of the fields too well just by ridin’ on by ’cause of the snow, but it’ll soon be ready fer workin’. Folks hereabouts say they expect an early spring this year. Some of the farmers are already gittin’ their seed ready to plant.”

  “Interesting,” the man said, but he really didn’t look much interested.

  “There’s a good garden plot, too,” Ellie continued, since it was at least something to talk about. She reached for a cup to fill with coffee for the stranger. “Even got a few fruit trees. Pa says thet
apples would do real good here, but no one’s gotten round to plantin’ ’em yet.”

  “You just buy the farm recently?” asked the man as Ellie returned to the stove.

  Ellie stopped in midstride. “Us?” she said. “Oh no, it’s still fer sale,” she hurried to explain. “We’re just livin’ here till it sells. The LaHayes already moved on out west an’ left us to care fer the place till someone buys it. We’re goin’ west, too, as soon—” Ellie stopped herself. Now, that didn’t sound good. The man might think something was wrong with the farm with everyone moving away.

  “Not thet we wouldn’t like to buy the farm ourselves, but my husband really prefers ranchin’. An’ ’sides, we don’t have the money thet it takes to buy a farm. Takes a heap of money to git started farmin’ nowadays.” That didn’t sound good, either. Might scare a body off.

  “One soon is able to make it back, though, on a good farm—an’ this is a good farm,” she hurried on, but then she decided she’d said enough. Whatever the man was here for, she didn’t want something she said to give the wrong impression.

  The man said nothing, and Ellie placed a steaming cup of coffee in front of him.

  She checked the biscuits in the oven and stirred the vegetables. They were ready. She hoped that Lane wouldn’t be too late.

  The silence now hung heavy between them. The man didn’t seem too inclined toward conversation. In fact, he seemed rather impatient and kept drumming his fingers on the table, an irritating thing to Ellie. At last Ellie heard Rex bark again, and this time she could tell it was Lane who was approaching. She heaved a big sigh of relief and glanced across at the close-lipped stranger.

  “Thet’s my husband now,” she said. “He’ll be in as soon as he cares fer the horse.”

  The man grunted his approval. Ellie was about to start dishing up the supper but changed her mind. She’d better hold off for a few minutes while the man had his talk with Lane about the farm. Somehow, Ellie didn’t expect the stranger to accept an invitation to join them at the table.

  Lane came in with a puzzled look on his face.

  “Lane, this is . . . is . . . I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t even ask yer name.”

  “Peters,” said the man, extending his hand to Lane and rising to his feet.

  “My husband,” finished Ellie lamely.

  “Mr. Peters,” said Lane, shaking the hand. “I believe I had the pleasure of rentin’ ya a horse a little earlier.”

  Mr. Peters seemed taken aback. “To be sure,” he said, looking more closely at Lane. “If I’d known whom I was talking to, I could have saved myself this trip. I was told that you lived on the farm.”

  “We do,” said Lane good-naturedly, “but there’s nothin’ to do hereabouts right now. All the stock’s been sold. We have one horse an’ one dog. Don’t keep a man very busy. We are just here till—”

  Mr. Peters stopped him with an impatient gesture. “Your wife explained,” he said hurriedly.

  “Please,” said Lane, “sit yerself back down an’ tell me how I can help ya.”

  He’s here ’bout the farm, Ellie started to say, but she decided she wasn’t sure about that anymore.

  “The matter is a private one,” said Mr. Peters, pulling forth a small case that Ellie had not noticed when he had arrived.

  Lane looked surprised.

  “Well, I guess we are ’bout as private as we can git,” he responded.

  Mr. Peters cast a glance toward Ellie.

  “Nothin’ is so private as to exclude my wife, sir,” Lane said firmly.

  Mr. Peters said nothing but opened up his case and spread some papers out before him.

  He pulled a small pair of spectacles from his pocket and balanced them on the end of his nose. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I understand that you are Lane Howard.”

  “Thet’s correct.”

  “Who is your father, Mr. Howard?”

  “Well, I . . . I don’t have a father. Thet is, he died when I was five years old.”

  “And his name?”

  “His name? His name was . . . ah . . . Will. They called him Will. His real name was William. William Clayton Howard.”

  “And your mother? Where is she?”

  “She died only one week after. She’d been hurt in the same storm.”

  “And her name?”

  “Rebecca. Rebecca Marie.”

  “Who raised you?” asked the man.

  “An aunt. A maiden aunt. Her name was Aunt Maggie. Ah . . . Margery. Margery Thom.”

  “Is she living?”

  “No, sir. I heard ’bout four or five years ago thet she had passed on.”

  “So you weren’t with her when she died?”

  “No. I left when I was fourteen.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? ’Cause I wanted to. I didn’t feel thet I should stay.”

  “Were you told to leave?”

  Lane looked a bit annoyed. “’Course not.”

  “What were the circumstances?”

  “The what?”

  “The circumstances. Why did you go if you weren’t told to leave?”

  “My aunt married. She was older. Had never married before. People round town said it was gonna be hard fer her to adjust to bein’ married. They also said it would be even harder with me there to . . . to . . .”

  “Folks said that?”

  “Well, they didn’t say it right to me. They didn’t know when I overheard ’em. But I did.”

  Ellie felt rather unsettled. Why in the world all the strange questions? Why should this man come in from nowhere and begin to ask her husband things concerning his past? Things he had shared only with her.

  “What about the man? Your aunt’s new husband?” the questioner went on.

  “What ’bout ’im? He was a businessman in the town. Well established. He was an undertaker.”

  “Were you afraid of him?”

  “Afraid? No. He had never been anythin’ but kind to me.”

  “Did he have a family?”

  “No. He had never married before, either.”

  “But you didn’t think you wanted to live with him—or with your aunt—after she married him?”

  “It wasn’t like thet. I hated to leave. I cried all the way to the train station, iffen ya must know. It was just thet I loved Aunt Maggie. She had been so kind to me, an’ I wanted her to be happy in her new marriage.”

  Ellie thought she heard the stranger mutter something about busybody tongues, but she wasn’t sure.

  “Did you keep in touch?” he went on.

  “Till she died, I did. My last letter was returned to me marked ‘Deceased.’”

  “I see,” said the man, adjusting his odd glasses.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I really don’t understand what this is all ’bout,” said Lane. “Now, I got nothin’ in my past I want to hide, but it does seem a bit unusual thet a total stranger would walk into my house and put so many private questions to me.”

  “I understand how you must feel,” said the man, removing his glasses just a moment before they surely would have fallen. “But one cannot be too careful, and I do need to be entirely sure that you are the Lane Howard I am looking for.”

  “Lookin’ fer?” puzzled Lane, and Ellie moved a step closer and put her hand on the back of his neck.

  “You didn’t mention the name of the man your aunt married,” said the persistent man at the table, placing his glasses back on his nose once more.

  “It was Myers. Conwyn Myers.”

  “Did you keep in touch with Mr. Myers at all?”

  “Not really. My aunt often wrote of him, and I sent my greetings through my letters to her.”

  “I see,” said the man. Then, “One more thing, Mr. Howard. What is your full name?”

  “It’s William. William Lane Howard. William from my pa. They called me by Lane so thet it wouldn’t be confusin’.”

  “Well,” said the man, shuffling through his papers, “everything seems to match.
”

  “Match to what?” asked Lane. “I do wish, sir, thet you’d be so kind as to explain yer presence an’ questions.”

  “Yes,” said the man, “I do believe that I am free to do so.”

  Ellie and Lane exchanged glances.

  “I am Stavely Peters,” said the man, emphasizing each of his words carefully. “Stavely Peters, attorney-at-law. I am here representing the estate of the late Conwyn Myers. Mr. Myers was a well-respected and good businessman. He left everything in very good order . . . and . . . he left everything to you.”

  Lane slowly rose to his feet, shaking his head in bewilderment.

  “He left it all to you, Mr. Howard. You were the closest of kin that he had, and he also knew just how special you were to his wife, Margery.”

  “But I . . . I . . .” Lane stood there with Ellie clinging to his arm. “I’m much obliged . . . to be sure,” Lane stumbled over the words, “but . . . but beggin’ yer pardon, what would I do with a funeral parlor?”

  “He sold the funeral parlor. Sold the house, too. Said that by the sound of your letters, you loved the West and would never want to leave it.”

  “Oh, he’s right. I don’t,” Lane assured the man.

  “Everything that he leaves you is in cash. I have the note right here. All that needs to be done is for you to sign a few papers and then for us to visit your bank together.”

  “My bank,” laughed Lane. “I’ve never had me the need fer a bank in all my life.”

  “Well, I’d advise you to become established with one now,” said the lawyer. “It’s a bit too much money to tuck in the toe of your boot.” This was the closest to humor that the man had come.

  “Yes, sir,” promised Lane. “I certainly will, sir. Right away in the mornin’.”

  “I stopped by the bank on my way here and made arrangements to have it taken care of tonight. They are most anxious to have your account, I might add, Mr. Howard, and will be more than accommodating, I am sure. I am anxious to have the matter settled and to be on my way back to the city. I will confess that it has taken me much longer than I had hoped to locate you and get the estate finalized.”

  “I’ll git my horse right away,” Lane said, looking like he didn’t know what had hit him.