by Janette Oke
"Will he be back?" Clark asked Missie when she returned to the kitchen.
"I expect so."
Marty felt that her voice lacked enthusiasm.
"Nice boy," she commented.
"Uh hum. All the Grahams are nice.""Do ya remember when ya were gonna marry Tommie?"
Missie giggled. "Poor Tommie. He must have been embarrassed. I told just everybody that--but he never said a word about it."
"Well, thet's all long in the past," continued Marty. "Tom has his Fran now."
"And me?"
Marty looked up in surprise.
"That's what you're thinking, isn't it, Ma? What about me?"
"Okay," said Marty, "what about you?"
"I don't know," said Missie. "I think that I need lots of time to sort that out."
"Nobody's gonna rush ya." Clark expressed both his and Marty's feelings.
Lou continued calling. Missie was friendly and a good companion, but Marty noticed that she didn't show the bloom of a girl in love.
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Chapter 46
Disturbin' Thoughts
Missie was about to leave the school building when the door opened and Willie came in.
"Should I have knocked?" he asked.
"Wouldn't have hurt."
"Sorry," said Willie. "Next time I'll knock."
Missie continued to button her coat.
"Come to think of it--guess there won't be a next time." Missie looked up then.
"I really came to sorta say good-bye."
"You're leaving?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"Day after tomorra."
"You said that you weren't going until summer."
"I said thet it depended on some things, remember?" "I--I--guess so. Is your mother better then?"
Willie shook his head. "Fraid not. I don't think thet Ma will ever be better." There was sadness in his voice.
"I'm sorry," Missie said softly; then, "How are you going?"
"I'm takin' the stage out to meet the railroad. Then I'll go by rail as far as I can. Iffen I want to go on, I'll buy me a horse or a team."
"What are you planning to do once you get there--pan for gold?"
Missie's sarcasm was not missed by Willie, but he chose to ignore it.
"Kinda have my heart set on some good cattle country. Like to git me a good spread and start a herd. I think I'd rather raise cattle than plant crops."
"Well, good luck." Missie was surprised that she really meant it, and how much she meant it.
"Thanks," said Willie. He paused a moment, then went on. "By the way, I have somethin' fer ya. Sort of an old debt like."
He put his hand in his pocket and came out with some red hair ribbons.
"Iffen I remember correctly they were a little redder than these, but these were the reddest red thet I could find."
"Oh, Willie," whispered Missie, suddenly wanting to cry. "It didn't matter. I--I don't even wear these kinds of ribbons anymore."
"Then save 'em fer yer little girl. Iffen she looks like her mama, she'll be drivin' little boys daffy, an' like as not she'll have lots of ribbons dipped in an inkwell."
He turned to go. "Bye, Missie," he whispered hoarsely. "The best of everythin' to ya."
"Bye, Willie--thank you--and God take care of you." Missie wondered later if she had really heard the soft words, "I love ya," or had only imagined them.
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Missie tossed and turned on her pillow that night. She couldn't understand her own crazy heart. One thing she knew. She'd have to face up to Lou--tell him honestly and finally that she wanted him as a friend but nothing more. But even with that settled, her troubled mind would not let her sleep. She reached beneath her pillow to again finger the red hair ribbons. That crazy Willie LaHaye! Why did he have to trouble her so, and why did the thought of his leaving in two days bring such sorrow to her heart? Was it possible that after all these years of fighting and storming against him, she had
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somehow fallen in love? Absurd! But Missie couldn't convince her aching heart.
She arose the next morning suffering from a loss of sleep and hurried off to school, not in her usual good humor.
The news came with the Coffin children. Mrs. LaHaye had died during the night. Somehow Missie made it through the day. Her heart ached for Willie. He had dearly loved his mother. What would he do now? Certainly he would not be able to leave on the stagecoach on the morrow.
If only she had a chance to talk to him, to express her sorrow, and to take back some of the mean things that she had said down through the years.
The day finally drew to a close. Missie announced that due to the bereavement in the community, classes would be cancelled for the following day. She did not remain behind to clean the chalkboards or tidy the small schoolroom but slipped into her coat and hurried home.
That evening Lou came to call. It didn't seem quite right to Missie that a young man should go courting on the eve of a funeral, and her agitation made it easier for her to follow through on her intention of putting a halt to the whole affair.
The next day a third mound was added to the cemetery by the church. Missie stood with other mourners, the wind wrapping her long coat tightly about her.
When the others went in to be warmed by hot coffee, Missie left the group and walked toward a grove of trees at the far end of the yard.
She was standing there silently, leaning against a tree trunk, when a hand was placed on her elbow. She did not even jump. Perhaps she had been expecting him.
"Missie?"
She turned to him. "I'm sorry, Willie--truly sorry about your ma." Tears overspilled and slid down her cheeks.
Willie lowered his head to hide his own tears, then brushed them roughly away. "Thank ya," he said, "but I'm glad--sort of glad--thet I was still here. It could have happened after I'd gone, an' then--then I'd always been sorry."
"Are you still going?"
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Willie looked surprised at her question.
"Well, you said it depended on your mother, and I didn't know how you meant--"
"I didn't say thet--entirely. I said it depended on other things, too."
"On what?" The question was asked before Missie could check herself.
For a moment there was silence; then Willie said with difficulty, "On you, Missie--on you an' Lou. Guess ya know how I've always felt 'bout ya. An' now thet you an' Lou arewell--friends, there's nothin' much fer me to hang 'round here fer."
"But Lou and I aren't--aren't--"
"He's been callin' regular-like."
"But thet's over. There was never much to it--only friendship, and last night I--I asked Lou not to call again." "Really? Really, Missie?"
"Really."
Another silence. Willie swallowed hard. "Would there be a chance--any chance thet I could--thet I could call?"
"You crazy Willie LaHaye," said Missie, boldly reaching up and putting her arms around his neck. "Are you ever going to grow up?"
Willie looked deeply into her eyes to see if she was teasing him, and seeing there the love that he had hardly dared to hope for, he pulled her close in a tender embrace. Willie LaHaye grew up in a hurry.
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Chapter 47
Another Christmas
True to Clark's promise, the new house was ready before Christmas and the moving in was completed, though the weather was quite cold. Willie LaHaye was a frequent guest at the Davises' home, and Marty and Clark both appreciated the young man. If they had to lose their Missie, they were glad that it would be to such a fine fellow.
But on Christmas Eve Willie unintentionally dropped a bombshell. It had been during a casual conversation with the men of the house. Josh had been telling of his plans to get a better grade animal for his pig lot, and Willie stated that that was the direction he wished to go--starting with a few really good cattle and gradually building his herd; but first he'd have to choose just the right land for the
project. He hoped in the spring of the new year to leave on a scouting trip and take plenty of time in picking his land. After he had secured it, he would return for Missie.
Clark's eyes opened wide and Marty's head jerked up. "Yer not plannin' on farmin"round here?" Clark asked. "I'm not plannin' on farmin' at all," Willie answered. "Got
me a real hankerin' to do some ranchin' instead."
"How far ya think ya have to go to find good ranch land at a price one could afford?"
"Few hundred miles, anyway."
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Marty felt a sickness go all through her. Willie was heading farther west. Willie was also planning to marry her Missie. "Oh, dear God," she thought. "He's plannin' on takin' Missie away."
She slipped quietly out to the kitchen, hoping that no one had noticed her leave. She walked into the coolness of the pantry and leaned her head against a cupboard door.
"Oh, dear God," she prayed again, "Please help 'im git this silly notion out of his head. I wonder, does Missie even know 'bout it?"
It was Missie who followed her out and found her. "Mama," she said, laying a hand on Marty's arm. "Mama, are you feeling all right?"
"I'm fine--fine," said Marty, straightening up.
"Is it--what Willie said?"
"Well, I will admit it was some kind a shock. I had no notion thet he had such plans."
"I should have told you sooner--"
"Then ya knew?"
"Of course. Willie talked about it even before--before we made any plans."
"I see."
"I should have told you," Missie said again. "I suppose Willie thought that I had."
"It's all right, Missie."
"It's--it's kind of hard for you, isn't it, Mama?" "Yeah--yeah, I guess it is." Marty tried to keep her voice from trembling.
"I suppose," said Missie, "that you feel kinda like your own mama felt when you planned to leave with Clem."
"Now ya listen here," Marty wanted to say; "you're being' unfair, throwin' thet up to me." Instead she said, "Yes, I guess it is."
For the first time in her life Marty thought that she could feel some of what her mother must have felt and why she had resorted to protests and pleadings. She had never been able to understand it before, but she could now.
"Yeah," she said slowly, "I guess that this is how she felt."
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"But you loved Clem," prompted Missie, "and you knew that you had to go."
"Yes. I loved him."
Missie gave her a squeeze. "Oh, Mama, I love Willie so much. We've even prayed about this together. We can go on farther west. We can open up a new land together. We can build a school, a church, can make a community prosper and grow. Don't you see it, Mama?"
Marty held her little girl close. "'Course I see it. 'Course. It's jest gonna take some gittin' used to thet's all. You go on back now. Me, I'm gonna catch me a little air."
Missie looked a little reluctant, but then turned back to the laughter coming from the family sitting room.
Marty wrapped a warm shawl closely about her shoulders and stepped out into the crisp night air.
The sky was clear and the cold emphasized the brightness of the stars above her. Marty turned her face heavenward.
"God," she said, "she's yer child. We have long since given her back to you. Ya know how I feel 'bout her leavin', but iffen it's in yer plan, help me, Father--help me to accept it an' to let her go. Lead her, God, an' take care of her--take care of my little girl."
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Chapter 48
Promises of Spring
The Davises saw much of Willie LaHaye in the next few months. It seemed to Marty that he might just as well move in his bedroll. They liked Willie and approved of the relationship between him and Missie, but Marty knew that the time with Missie would be far too short; and with her away at the school all day, it was difficult to share her with Willie almost every evening.
Missie and Willie were full of plans and dreams. Willie spent his days talking to men who had been farther west, inquiring about good range land. He was advised by most to travel west to the mountains and then follow the range southward. The winter snows were not as deep there, concurred the men, and the range land was good. Willie was cautioned to make sure that he choose carefully with a year-round source of water supply in mind.
One evening Missie returned in from bidding Willie goodnight, and her glow was of a different sort than the usual. Her eyes sparked angrily and her cheeks were flushed in rage. She took a quick swipe at her cheek with the back of her hand in an effort to hide the tears that had been there.
Clark and Marty both looked up in surprise, but said nothing.
"Thet--thet--Willie LaHaye!" Missie fumed and headed upstairs to her bedroom.
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They never did know what the quarrel had been about, but two evenings later it appeared to be well patched up, forgiven, and forgotten.
On the tenth of May, Willie left to seek his new land.
Missie had bidden him farewell in private. His excitement carried over, spilling itself upon her. She wanted to see him go to find their land to fulfill their dreams, but, oh, she would miss him, and there was always the slight chance that he wouldn't be coming back. He assured her that he would, but she had heard tales of other men who had gone, and because of sickness or accident never returned. She tried to shut out the black thoughts, but they refused to be banished.
Willie, too, had his doubts. The West was calling, but maybe he was doing this all wrong. Maybe he should marry first and they should go together; then there would be no need for separation. It might be harder for Missie--trailing around looking for a place that could be theirs. Land was not as easy to come by now as it had once been--at least not good land. It would mean living in a covered wagon for many months, perhaps. No, that was selfish. He'd go alone and then come back for Missie. Perhaps in the heat of the search, the months would pass quickly. He prayed that they would. In the back of his mind, begging to be brought forward and recognized, was the picture of Lou Graham. There were other neighborhood boys as well--and Missie was a very pretty girl. Could a lonely girl, left for months on her own, hold out against the attentions of would-be suitors? It made Willie feel a bit sick inside.
Missie, who walked beside him, her hand in his, pushed aside the thoughts of both of them when she spoke.
"It's gonna seem a long time, I'm afraid."
Willie stopped walking, turned her to him and looked deeply into the misty blue eyes.
"For me, too." He swallowed hard. "I hope an' pray thet they go quickly."
"Oh, Willie," cried Missie, "I'll pray for you every nightthat--that God will keep you and--and speed your way."
"An' I fer you." Willie traced a finger along Missie's soft cheek. Missie buried her face against his chest and let the
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tears flow freely. He held her close, stroking her long brown hair, letting the curls slip through his fingers. A man wasn't supposed to cry. Well, maybe he wasn't yet a man, for he could no more stop the tears from coming than he could fly west.
It was time for Willie to go. He kissed her several times, whispered his promises to her again and again, then put her gently from him. He dared not look back as he hurried to his horse.
"He'll be back," Missie promised herself aloud. "He'll be back."
Willie's good-byes were not yet over. Zeke LaHaye accompanied his son into town and puttered around at last-minute fixings and unnecessary purchases. When the time finally came for the group to be off, Zeke stepped forward and gave his son a hearty handshake and some last-minute cautionary advice, as he knew the boy's mother would have done had she been there.
"Be careful now, son. Be courteous to those ya meet, but don't allow yerself to be stepped on. Take care of yerself an' yer equipment. It'll only be of use to you iffen ya look after it. Keep away from the seamy side of things--I not be needin' to spell thet out none. Take care, ya hear?"
Willie nodded, thanked his pa, a
nd was about to turn to go when Zeke LaHaye suddenly cast aside all reserve and stepped forward to engulf his boy in a warm embrace. Willie returned the hug, acknowledging how good it felt to be locked in the arms of his father. The last thing that Willie remembered seeing as he turned to go was Zeke LaHaye, big and weathered, brushing a tear from his sun-tanned face.
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Chapter 49
Willie's Return
The day of Willie's unexpected return nearly turned the house upside down. Marty was in the kitchen turning out a batch of bread when Luke skipped in.
Missie, who sat hemming a tablecloth, paid little attention to her young brother until he announced in a teasing singsongy voice, "Willie's comin'."
"Oh, Luke, stop it," said Marty. Missie was miserable enough without being taunted.
Luke became defiant. "He is too comin'--jest see fer yerself." And he pointed down the road.
Missie ran to the window. "He is, Ma!" she shouted, and left the house on the run.
"See there," said Luke and followed Missie out.
"Well, I be." Marty stood at the window and watched Willie's galloping horse slide to a stop and Willie leap to the ground, all in one motion.
"My word," said Marty her breath caught by Willie's recklessness. "The boy been all the way west and back and then risks his neck in my yard in a hurry to leave his horse."
As the young couple embraced, Marty turned back to her bread. In a way it was hard to believe that Willie had been gone almost a year. Marty had secretly looked forward to having the extra time with Missie all to themselves, but the look
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in Missie's eyes and the evidence of sleepless nights soon made Marty realize that she, too, would gladly welcome Willie's return. She still did harbor a small hope that Willie might have changed his mind in the meantime, or that the land he was looking for simply was not available.