by Janette Oke
There was a babble of excitement at the table that evening. Missie was full of questions; Willie was full of feasting his eyes on Missie. Clark and Marty hoped that some kind of information regarding Willie's trip would eventually be brought to the fore.
"Hear ya found yer land," from Clark.
"Sure did."
"What's it like?"
"Well, sir," Willie's eyes shone. "It's 'bout the nicest thing--land-wise," he quickly amended, "thet a man ever set eyes on."
"There's no tall timber in that area--only scrub brush in the draws. The hills are low and rolling with lots of grass. Toward one end is a valley--like a picture--with a perfect spot fer home-buildin'. It's sheltered an' green, with a spring-fed crik runnin' down below. Lotsa water on the place, too. Three springs thet I know of--maybe more thet I didn't spot out yet."
The shine in Willie's eyes was contagious.
"Almost makes me wish thet I wasn't old an' crippled, son," Clark quipped.
Marty reached out from where she stood behind his chair and touched his hair affectionately, assuring him that she considered him neither.
"Were ya able to make the deal?" Clark was a practical man. Searching out good land did not mean ownership.
"Thet's what took the time," said Willie. "Man, ya jest wouldn't believe the hassle--goin' here, goin' there, seem' this man, lookin' up thet 'un, sendin' fer government papers. I began to wonder iffen I'd ever git through it all."
He grinned. "Finally did though. The papers I hold declare it all to be mine. An' it's a lot closer ta here than I had expected it to be. Won't take too long at all to travel on out.
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There's a couple of wagon trains thet travel through thet way every summer. Takin' supplies mostly to the towns down south, but they have no objection to travellers followin' along with 'im. Thet way ya git there safe an' sound with all yer supplies at hand."
So it would be by wagon that Missie travelled after all. Marty had secretly hoped that if she really had to go, there would be some other way. She crossed to the fire and began adding wood where none was needed. She checked herself. She'd be driving everyone from her kitchen with the heat.
No use trying to pretend anymore. Her little girl was leaving, going west, and in a very short time. She had not spoken out against it, but somehow she had pushed it aside, hoping that things would change--that the young couple would decide not to go. Now here was the excited young man, possessor of papers that declared him a landowner out west, and an equally excited Missie hanging on his every word as though she could hardly wait to get started. There was no stopping it now. Marty decided to slip quietly out for a little walk to the spring.
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Chapter 50
Ellen's Machine
The wedding day drew nearer. The house was still caught in the activity of preparations. Careful consideration needed to be given to each item that Missie prepared for her new home, for it would need to stand the long trip by wagon to Willie's purchased land.
Marty had gone to her old trunk and produced a lace tablecloth that had been made by the hands of her own dear grandmother for her wedding gift. Most of the things that Marty had owned she had long ago put to use, but this was special. Also in the trunk was a spread that Marty's mother had made. This would be saved for Ellie.
Besides sewing the linens and the various other household needs, Missie was busy preparing her wardrobe. There was no way that Marty wanted her caught short no matter how long they should be on the trail. Her dresses had to be light for the hot summer ahead and yet serviceable for the time spent travelling in the wagon.
Missie sewed with enthusiasm. She enjoyed sewing and with a reason as exciting as she deemed hers to be, the job was a pleasure rather than a chore. Bright bonnets and colorful aprons took shape. Dresses were carefully sewn, then bundled and packed in stout wooden boxes that Clark had made. Marty kept thinking of things that Missie would need. Things
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that she herself had not had the foresight to pack when she came West. Pans, utensils, kettles, crockery, medical supplies, jars, containers for food--the list seemed endless and often left Missie laughing with an, "Oh, Ma."
Marty's troubled mind refused to find rest but continued to go over the same worn-out route again and again--no doctor, no preacher, no schools, maybe no near neighbors--which meant no Ma Graham. Oh, how she hated to see Missie go.
But Missie sang as she worked and packed and fairly danced through the house in her happiness.
At the sound of an approaching horse, Missie jumped up from the machine where she had been busy finishing a gingham dress.
"There's Willie. He promised me that he'd help me pick enough strawberries for supper. We won't be long, Ma."
Marty sighed and put aside her sewing to go make some shortcake to go with the berries.
The young people set off, arm in arm, for the far pasture, Missie's old red lunch pail swinging at Willie's side.
On the way to the kitchen Marty stopped and looked at Missie's sewing. She had become a good seamstress. Marty was proud of her.
She stood fingering the garment and then her hand lovingly travelled over the machine. All through the years since she had become Missie's mama, this machine had sewn the garments for each of her children. Clothing was mended, new towels hemmed, household items for three brides had been made here, young hands had learned the art of sewing. It was a good machine. It had never let her down. True, it didn't have the same shine that it had when it was first carried through her door, but it had borne the years well.
Marty was deep in thought, so she didn't hear Clark enter and was for a time unaware that he stood beside her.
Her tears fell unattended. She did not even seem to be aware that they were falling. He reached out and took her hand. She looked up at him then and shook herself free from her reverie. It was a moment before she felt controlled enough to speak.
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"Clark, I been thinkin'. I'd like to give Ellen's machine to Missie. Ya be mindin'?"
It was silent for a time and then Clark answered. "It be yours to give. Iffen thet's what ya want, then it's fine with me."
"I'd like to--she'll be a needin' it in the years ahead. And Ellen was her mama."
"An' what will you do?"
"I can go back to hand sewin'. I was used to thet, but Missie--she has always used the machine. She'd be lost without it. 'Sides, I think thet it be fittin' like."
She brushed away the last trace of tears, ran her hand again over the smooth metal and polished wood of the beloved machine.
"Will ya be good enough, Clark, to make it a nice strong crate, an' then I'll wrap an old blanket around it so's it won't get scratched."
Clark nodded his head. "I'll git right to it tomorra." "Thank ya," Marty said and went out to prepare the shortcake.
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Chapter 51
Thet Special Day
Missie's wedding day dawned clear and bright. Marty had felt sure that it would. The day suited the girl--the happy, excited, pretty, young girl.
Marty paused a moment before leaving her bed to say a quick prayer. "Oh, God. Please, please take care of our little girl--an'--an' make today a day thet she can look back on with tears of joy."
There was so much to be done. Marty knew that she mustn't dawdle in sentimentalism. She dressed quickly and went to the kitchen. Clark was already up. A lively fire was burning in the old cookstove. When they had moved into the new house, Clark had declared that she could have a new cookstove--something more up-to-date--but Marty had refused.
"Why, I'd feel disloyal," she had explained, "castin' out a faithful ole friend like thet. We've boiled coffee together fer friends, baked bread together fer family, an'--an'--even cooked pancakes," she finished with a teasing smile.
So the old stove had moved with her. She checked the wood in it now and pushed the kettle forward.
Missie had decided to be married at home.
"I want to come down th
ose stairs there on Pa's arm. Really, Ma, if you open up all of the rooms, it's most as big as the church anyway."
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Clark and Marty had been happy to agree.
The morning hours flew by too rapidly. There were last- minute preparations of food for the afternoon meal. Fresh flowers needed to be brought in and arranged. Children needed to be checked on to see that they had done their assigned chores. Marty seemed to be on the run most of the day.
The wedding was set for three o'clock in the afternoon. It was after two before Marty was able to turn from the kitchen, do a last-minute check on her readiness, and hurry to her bedroom for a quick bath in the tub that Arnie had prepared for her. She slipped into her new dress. Her long hair tumbled about her shoulders and as she pinned it up, she noticed that her fingers trembled. After a last-minute check on her appearance, she went to Missie's room.
"Oh, Ma," Missie whispered. Marty thought that Missie had never looked prettier than at that moment. Standing there in her wedding gown, her cheeks flushed, her eyes moist with tenderness, she looked the picture of the glowing, happy bride. Marty's throat caught in a heavy lump.
"Yer beautiful, Missie," she whispered. "Jest beautiful." She pulled the girl close to her.
"Oh, Ma," sighed Missie. "Ma, I want to tell you something. I've never said it before, but I want to thank you--to thank you for coming into our lives, for making us so happy-- me and Pa."
Marty held her breath. If she tried to speak she'd cry, she knew that, so she said nothing, only pulled her little girl closer and kissed the brown curly head.
Clark came in then and put his arms around both of them. His throat was tight as he spoke. "God bless," he said, "God bless ya both." He placed a kiss on the cheek of each of them and then he placed his hand gently on Missie, tried to clear the hoarseness from his throat and prayed in a low voice, "The Lord bless ya an' keep ya, The Lord make His face to shine upon ya, and be gracious unto ya; the Lord lift up His countenance upon ya and give ya peace--now an' always, Missie. Amen."
Missie blinked away happy tears and moved out into the hall to get last-minute instructions from Parson Joe.
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Clark reached for Marty. At first he said nothing, only looked deeply into her eyes, willing her strength and peace for the hours ahead.
"It hurts a mite, doesn't it?" he whispered.
Marty nodded. "Isn't she beautiful--our Missie?" Clark's eyes darkened. "Yeah, she's beautiful." "Oh, Clark--I love her so."
"I know ya do." He pulled her close and his hand stroked her shoulder. "Thet's why yer lettin' her go."
Down below, the waiting neighbors were beginning a hymn. Marty knew that it was time for her to take her place. Soon Clark would be coming down the stairs with the radiant Missie on his arm.
She looked at Clark, silently accepting with appreciation the strength that he offered; then she slipped away.
She would not cry--not today--not on Missie's wedding day. There would be many days ahead for that. Today she would smile--would face her neighbors as the happy mother of the bride--would welcome, with love, another son.
She stopped at the top of the stairs, breathed a quick prayer, took a deep breath, and descended smiling.
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Tragedy brought them together, but love bound them into a family.
Love's Enduring Promise
Clark and Marty Davis, the pioneer couple thrown together after the death of their first spouses, now preside over a growing number of youngsters in their prairie home. Together they face the joys and trials of life on a homesteader's farm.
Will they be able to find a suitable teacher for the long-awaited new school? Is the "very learned" Eastern preacher going to be able to communicate with the simple people of the West? And how do Clark and Marty guide their lovely daughter, now grown to womanhood, in her choice of a partner?