by Janette Oke
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time be a settin' as heavy on her as on her ma. I never dreamed thet I'd ever git so flustered-like over the comin' of a -young'un."
"Are ya gonna deliver her?"
"Land sakes no! We're gittin' the Doc fer sure fer thet one. Funny thing--me havin' delivered so many young'uns in my time, but jest a thinkin' on thet 'un makes me feel as skitterish as a yearlin' first time in harness. We's all set to send Tommie off fer Doc at the first warnin'. I'll sure be glad-like when it's all over."
Marty nodded. She'd be glad, too. She wondered what it would be like to see your own daughter about to give birth. Must be a mite scary--knowing the pain but unable to share it. She reckoned that when it was Missie's turn, she'd be even more nervous than Ma. She pushed the thought from her and changed the subject.
"Ma, I really came 'bout somethin' else. Ya know thet I promised Tina Larson thet I'd do all I could to see thet Nandry and Clae had a chance fer their schoolin', an' Jeddwell, I jest fear thet he won't be 'llowin' no sech thing. In jest a few months now thet schoolhouse will be openin' its door, an' Jedd Larson declares thet no daughter of his be a needin' it."
Marty looked at Ma, the helplessness showing in her eyes.
"What we gonna do to make 'im change his mind?"
"Reckon there ain't much of enythin' thet will make Jedd Larson change his mind, lessen he wants to. Me, I wouldn't even be knowin' where to begin to work on thet man. He ain't got 'im much of a mind, but what he has got sure can stay put."
"Yeah," Marty sighed and played with her coffee cup. There didn't seem to be much hope for her to keep her promise. What could she do? She had prayed and prayed, but Jedd did not seem to be softening in the slightest toward the idea of schooling for his girls. Well, she'd just have to pray some more. Maybe somehow the Lord could open the mind of that stubborn man.
As she helped Ma gather up the dishes, an excited Jason arrived at the door.
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"Ma," he called, rushing in without a knock or a howdy, "Sally Anne thinks it be time."
"Tom's in the field by the barn," Ma told him all in a flurry; "send 'im fer Doc and you come back with me." She grabbed a bag from a corner shelf, threw her shawl about her shoulders, and left the house almost on a run.
It was only then that Marty realized that the bag in the corner had been all packed and ready to go.
Tom left the yard on a galloping horse, and Ma and Jason left at not much slower a pace in his wagon.
Marty bundled her small family and headed for home. She was sure that all would go well for Sally Anne and her baby; still, she found herself praying as she travelled.
Later that afternoon Tom was sent over with the glad news that Sally Anne was safely delivered of a small daughter and that Grandma and Grandpa were holding up fine.
"Jest think," he said proudly, "I'm Uncle Tom now. Guess I'll have to go out an' git me a cabin."
Marty smiled.
"What ya mean?" Missie queried. "Can't ya live at home when yer an uncle?"
Tom winked at Marty. "Yeah," he said, "guess I can. Guess they won't kick me out jest 'cause I'm an uncle. 'Specially when I'm an uncle who does most of the chorin'. Won't need me thet cabin fer a while. Enyway I'm not in the mood fer batchin'. I'll wait 'til I git me a cook 'fore I go movin' into a cabin of my own."
Marty awakened to an awareness that young Tommie was indeed growing up, and perhaps his jesting about a cabin of his own had more serious meaning than he pretended. How quickly they grew up and changed, these young ones.
Her mind checked the girls of the neighborhood. Would any of them be good enough for young Tom Graham who had so endeared himself to her when he had cheerfully done Clark's chores and spent his evenings reading to the young Missie? Now he stood before her on the threshold of manhood. Marty hoped that when the time came for him to take a bride, he would find one worthy of him.
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Tom sat bouncing Arnie on his foot and went back to the subject of his new niece.
"They still haven't decided fer sure on her name. Sally Anne wants to call her Laura, but Jason be holdin' out fer Elizabeth. Seems he read 'im a story 'bout an Elizabeth, an' always wanted a daughter by thet name. Then he insists thet she should have Sally or Anne in her name too. Elizabeth Sally sounds kinda funny. Me, I'm a favorin' Elizabeth Anne. What ya think?"
"I like it," Marty assured him. "I think it's a right pretty name."
"Me too," Missie joined in, anxious to share her opinion and make her presence known to her beloved Tom.
"Thet should settle it then," he said. "I'll jest tell Sally Anne thet Missie says it should be Elizabeth Anne, so Elizabeth Anne it must be."
Missie grinned shyly.
Tom placed little Arnie on the floor and prepared to take his leave.
"I best be gittin'. Nellie will be mad iffen I'm late fer supper, an' there's still the chorin' to do. Don't s'pose I'll git much help from 'Grandpa' tonight."
He enjoyed his teasing. Marty smiled.
"Tell 'Grandpa' thet we send our love," she said.
With a nod and a wave of his hand he was off.
"I like 'im," Missie whispered. "I think when I grow up I'll marry Tommie."
"My land, child!" Marty exclaimed. "Ya not yet six an' talkin' of marryin'. Let's not rush things quite so much, okay?"
"I didn't mean now," Missie explained. "I said when I grow up. First, I gotta go to school."
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Chapter 11
A Strange Answer
Spring reluctantly gave way to summer. The garden produced its crops and the warm summer sun began to be hot and difficult to bear. Marty was glad for the cool breezes that blew off the distant hills. But soon summer too would be gone, and fall would be upon them. With the fall would come preparations for school. Correspondence with Mr. Wilbur Whittle assured them that he had not changed his mind and would be arriving in late August to acquaint himself with the people and the area, and to prepare the schoolroom for the commencement of classes.
Arrangements had been made for him to board at the Watleys, and Mrs. Watley had her two grown-up daughters polishing themselves as well as the family silver.
Missie was counting the days. Her whole life was now filled with thinking of the new school year. What she would wear, what she would learn, who she would play with were all very important in her daily planning.
She had two deep regrets. One was that Miss Puss would need to put in long days alone in her absence, and the second was that Tommie declared himself to be too old to attend school with all the neighborhood youngsters. She'd miss Tommie. She wanted so much to have him there. She would be so proud to stand and recite a well-learned lesson if Tommie
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were listening. She would work extra hard at her reading and sums if he were there to observe her skills. But Tom was not to be there and Missie, though still excited about the prospect of school, felt disappointment.
Marty too was disappointed--not over Tom but over the Larson girls. The school term was only a few weeks away, and there had been no change in Jedd Larson's attitude. Marty was about to concede that her prayers had been in vain.
At the pre-breakfast prayer time Marty was mulling over these thoughts in her mind as Clark read the morning scripture, "Ask an' it shall be given you; seek--"
"I been askin' , Lord, an' nothin' been happenin'," she admonished her Lord and immediately felt guilt and remorse.
"I'm sorry, Father," she said in her thoughts. "I guess I'm 'bout the most faithless an' impatient child thet ya got. Help me to be content-like an' to keep on havin' faith."
Clark seemed to sense her mood and in his morning prayer included this petition: "An', Lord, ya know thet 'fore long now our school will be a startin' an' ya know how Marty promised Mrs. Larson to try an' see thet the girls got their schoolin'. Only you can work in Jedd's heart to let her keep thet promise, Lord. We leave it to you to work out in yer own good way and time."
Marty silently thanked Clark fo
r his caring. Maybe now God would act. He often did when Clark prayed. She immediately reprimanded herself. True, Clark seemed blessed with answered prayers, but she was God's child, too; and the Bible said that God did not regard one of His children above the other. If Clark's prayers were answered more frequently, it was because Clark had more faith. She determined to exercise her faith more.
Later in the day Ole Bob announced an approaching team. To Marty's surprise it was Jedd Larson. It had been some months since Jedd had been over, and Marty could sense an answer to prayer.
Clark met Jedd outside and they talked neighbor fashion while Jedd tied the horses to the rail fence.
Marty put on the coffeepot and cut pieces of gingerbread.
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"I wonder jest how he'll say it without backin' down none."
Jedd and Clark were soon in and seated, and Marty fairly held her breath waiting for Jedd to spill the good news. He brought news all right--news that made him grin from ear to ear--but hardly what Marty had been expecting.
"Sold me my farm yesterday."
Clark looked up in surprise.
"Ya did? Someone local?"
"Nope--new guy jest come in. He was with thet wagon train thet's goin' through--had planned to go further west, but his Missus took sick. Decided to stay on here. I showed 'im my farm and he offered me cash--outright. Good price, too."
Jedd stopped to let his good fortune take effect on his hearers. Then went on.
"The train's restin' fer a couple of days 'fore goin' on. I'm thinkin' a takin' his spot with the train. Arays did want to see what was further on; never can tell--might find me gold or sumpin'."
Marty finally drew a breath.
"What 'bout the girls?" she said.
She knew that it was a foolish question. All hope now of keeping her promise seemed to be vanishing. If Jedd was moving away, there would be no hope of the girls ever getting any schooling.
Jedd answered, "What 'bout the girls? Wagon-trainin' won't hurt 'em none. Do 'em good to see more of the country." "But--but they be so young."
Marty stopped. Something within her warned her to be silent, but she suddenly felt sick to her stomach as all her hopes and unanswered prayers came crashing down about her.
Jedd looked at her evenly, but said nothing. He then reached for another piece of gingerbread and went on as though Marty had never spoken.
"This new man--name's Zeke LaHaye. Seemed to like the looks of my land real good--paid me a first-rate price fer it. He's got 'im three young'uns--a near-growed girl an' two Young boys."
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"Thet right?" Clark responded. "Guess I should pay me a call on 'em. Might want to send his young'uns to school." Jedd snorted.
"Don't know why he'd do a fool thing like thet. Both of those boys be big enough to git some work out of. Must be around twelve an' eight I'd say. An' thet daughter be almost of an age to take on a home of her own. I be thinkin' myself thet she might be right handy to have along goin' West."
He grinned a lecherous grin. Marty felt her stomach sicken. Clark humored the man.
"S'pose," he said slowly, "thet a young good-lookin' buck like you be takin' another bride 'fore ya know it."
He winked at Jedd, and Marty felt hot anger raise against him. Clark looked thoughtful, then broke the silence.
"Ya know I'm a thinkin' thet when it comes to marryin' agin a young woman might think twice 'bout takin' on two near-growed girls. 'Course an older, more sensible-like woman might not mind. Ya could always do thet--take ya an older, settled one 'stead of some flighty, pretty young thing. Might not be as much fun but. . ."
Clark was silent, and it was obvious by the look on Jedd's face that he was thinking on the words.
"Ya could leave the girls here I s'pose, so's they wouldn't slow ya down none, either in yer travel, or any other way."
Clark gave Jedd a playful jab with his elbow. Jedd grinned.
"Hadn't thought of thet," he deliberated, "but those new folk gonna move into my house--hafta have everythin' all cleared out tomorra. Don't s'pose they want the girls hangin' on."
"Thet's tough," said Clark and appeared to really be working on Jedd's problem. "Kinda puts a man at a disadvantage- like, don't it?"
Jedd looked worried. Marty wished that she could excuse herself and go be sick. Never had Clark made her so angry--or so puzzled. To sit there feeding the ego of this, this disgusting person and disposing of his two daughters as though they were unwanted baggage made her so upset that she feared at any
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moment she might explode.
Clark seemed to have suddenly thought of something.
"S'pose ya could put 'em up here fer a while. We do have us an extry bedroom. Mightiest be able to make room."
So that was it. Marty's climbing temper began to recede. Clark was using Jedd's self-image as a male of desirable qualities to try to fight for the girls. He was offering to keep them. Marty wondered why she hadn't thought of it. She sent Clark a quick glance to show him that she now understood and to implore him to please, please fight.
Jedd rubbed his grizzly chin.
"Thet right?"
"I think we could manage--'til ya got kinda settled-like," Clark grinned and jabbed with his elbow again.
Jedd appeared to be thinking carefully.
" 'Course," Clark continued, "Marty has the say of the house an' how crowded-in she wants us. Sorta up to her."
Marty wanted to cry out, "Oh, please, please, Jedd," but instead she took her cue from Clark, and even surprised herself at her nonchalant empty-sounding voice.
"S'pose we could--fer a while--iffen it'll help ya out some."
"Might do," Jedd finally said. "Yeah, might do."
Marty didn't dare look up. The hot tears in her eyes threatened to spill into her coffee cup. She quickly left the table on the pretense of tending to the fire. When she had herself somewhat under control, she poured the men another cup of coffee and then went to her room where she leaned against the cool window ledge and prayed God to please forgive her lack of faith and to please help Clark in the battle he was presently engaged in.
A few moments later Clark came in, gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, and rummaged in a drawer, then was gone.
Marty heard the men leave the house, and in a short time Jedd's team was on its way out of the yard.
Clark returned to the bedroom and gently turned Marty to face him. Her tear-filled eyes looked into his and she hardly dared voice the question.
"Did he--?"
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"Did he agree? Yeah, he agreed."
Her tears started again.
"Oh, Clark, thank ya," she said when she was able to speak. "I never, ever thought thet I'd be able to have the girls right here." She sniffed and Clark pulled out his handkerchief. It was man-sized, but Marty blew. "Thank ya," she said again. Suddenly her eyes snapped, "At first I was so mad, you a talkin' thet way to thet--thet conceited--" she sputtered, knowing that she should not voice the words that she was thinking.
"I couldn't imagine why ya'd say sech things 'til--'til I began to see--. An' he believed it all, didn't he? Believed thet a woman--a young woman--in her right mind would take to him."
She was getting angry again at the very thought of it all, so she decided to change the subject before she worked herself
up.
"An' he said thet we could take the girls?"
"Yep."
"To keep?"
"Well, he didn't exactly say fer how long, but I'll be very surprised iffen Jedd Larson ever wants his girls back. He'll git hisself all tied up in this or thet, an' his girls won't enter much into his thinkin'."
Marty had a sudden thought that she knew she shouldn't express, yet she felt that she needed an answer.
"Ya didn't make 'im pay their keep, did ya?"
Clark grinned at that.
"Well--not exactly," he said slowly.
"Meanin'?"
"Jedd said thet we could keep the girls iff
en we gave 'im ten dollars a piece fer 'em."
Marty pulled back. "Well, I never!" she snorted. "I never thought thet I'd live to see the day thet one had to pay fer the privilege of feedin' an' clothin' another man's young'uns."
Clark pulled her back against him and smoothed the long brown hair as though by so doing he could smooth her overwrought nerves, but when he spoke there was humor in his voice.
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"Now, now," he said as though to an angry child, "ya wanted yer prayers answered, didn't ya? Who are we to quibble as to how it be done?"
Marty relaxed in his arms. He was right of course. She should be feeling thankfulness, not frustration.
"The girls will be here tomorrow. It's gonna be strange fer us all at first, an' will take some gittin' used to. Seems thet all of our energy should be goin' into makin' the adjustment of livin' one with the other."
He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes.
"You've got ya a big job, Marty. Already ya have yer hands full with yer own young'uns. Addin' two more ain't gonna lessen yer load none. I hope ya ain't takin' on too much. Yer tender heart may jest break yer back, I'm a thinkin'."
She shook her head.
"He answered our prayer, Clark. Iffen He thinks this right, what we're doin', then He'll give the strength thet we need too, won't He?"
Clark nodded. "I reckon He will," was all he said.
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Chapter 12
Nandry an' Clae
True to his promise, Jedd arrived the next day with the two girls. Their few belongings were carried in a box and deposited in the bedroom that would be theirs. Marty wondered if the parting would be difficult for them, but there seemed to be no emotion shown by either side.
Jedd was anxious to be off. He had packed his possessions in his wagon, and with the money from the sale of the farm lying heavy in his pocket, he was hard-put to hold back, even for a cup of coffee. He did fill up on fresh bread and jam, however, and with the food barely swallowed announced that he must be on his way. He gave Marty and his two daughters a quick nod, which Marty supposed was to suffice for thank you, goodbye and God bless you, all three, and went out the door. He was full of the coming trip west and of all of the good fortune that he was sure it would hold. Jedd always had regarded good fortune more highly than hard work.