Love's unending legacy (Love Comes Softly #5)

by Janette Oke

"Seen the doc?"

  "I did, as a matter of fact."

  "He able to tell ya what was wrong?"

  Marty nodded in agreement.

  "An' he was able to give ya somethin' to get ya over--?" "Not exactly." Marty put in.

  Ma's face again showed concern. "But ya said yer feelin' better." "Oh, I am," Marty quickly affirmed.

  Ma looked puzzled.

  "Ya see," said Marty, "all thet is ... I mean, the only reason I wasn't feelin' my best is thet ... I'm ... I'm in the family way."

  Ma's eyes grew large and then her face grew into a broad smile. "Well, I'll be," was what she said. "Now, why in the world didn't I guess thet?" She chuckled and reached across the table for Marty's hand.

  "Guess, like me, ya wasn't really expectin' it. I couldn't even believe it myself fer a long time."

  "Well, I never," said Ma again, shaking her head with another chuckle.

  "I'm showin'," said Marty and stood to her feet so that Ma could see for herself.

  "Well, I declare," said Ma. "Ya are, yes, ya are."

  Now Marty began to laugh and Ma joined her.

  "Isn't thet somethin'?" asked Marty "A woman of my age--an' a grandma?"

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  "Ya ain't so old. I had me another young'un after I was older'n you."

  Marty quickly nodded.

  The teakettle began to steam and Ma pulled herself up to go and prepare the tea.

  "An' what does yer family think 'bout it?" she asked over her shoulder as she cut some gingerbread.

  Marty shook her head. "Would ya believe thet every one of 'em thinks it's just fine?"

  "Clark?" Ma asked as she rejoined her guest at the table.

  "I'm afraid he has a hard time keepin' himself from being' downright proud. He only holds hisself in check fer my sake." Ma smiled, poured the tea, and passed Marty her cup. "Well, thet sure beats fussin 'bout it."

  Marty knew that Ma was right.

  "An' you?" asked Ma, passing Marty the gingerbread.

  Marty was slow to answer. "Well, me," she said, "thet's a different story. I wasn't all thet happy 'bout the idea."

  "Embarrassed?"

  "Embarrassed! Scared! Worried!"

  "Being' sick like had ya scared?"

  "Not really. I hadn't even figured out what was wrong with me fer a long time. When I did reckon it might be this, I was scared and worried 'bout what folks would think, not 'bout iffen I could make it okay."

  "I know the feelin'," said Ma. "I felt thet way with my last one. Then I just got busy an' told myself thet it weren't nobody else's business anyway."

  Marty laughed. "People make it their business," she said. But, to her amazement, she found she really didn't care anymore. "Ya feelin' better 'bout it now?"

  Marty looked into the teacup before her and watched the wispy steam rise upward. "Yeah," she said at length, raising her eyes to Ma's. "I feel better 'bout it now. After Luke left, there was a big

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  emptiness, and then ... well, Ellie insisted on shoppin' in town since we was already there. She's been pesterin' me 'bout gittin' some garments ready fer this here new one--an' a strange thing happened. It was the first time I felt movement. An' suddenly ... well, I just felt a real love, all through me, fer this little stranger. I wanted the baby, Ma. I can't really explain it--I just knew I loved an' wanted this baby."

  Ma nodded her understanding. "I know what yer meanin'," she said. "It's powerful hard to keep fightin' it once ya feel 'im really there."

  The two women sat silently for a few moments, each deep in her own thoughts.

  Finally Ma broke the silence. "Must have been awfully hard to let Luke go."

  "It was. It really was. An' he was so excited 'bout it thet he could hardly contain hisself. ... Might have been easier iffen he'd clung to me just a bit," Marty finished, her voice low.

  Ma smiled. "Might have made ya feel better fer a minute, but it woulda made ya feel worse in the long run."

  "I s'pose. I mighta cried all night iffen I'd felt he was hurtin', too."

  "Seems they grow up too fast. Ya just git yer heart set on 'em, an' they're gone."

  "It's Ellie thet frightens me."

  "Meanin'?"

  "Just don't know how I'm gonna stand it when it's Ellie's turn to go. She has been so good, Ma. Takin' over the runnin' of the house an' coaxin' me on. I just don't know how I'll ever manage without her."

  "Ellie got a beau?"

  "Not yet--but it'll come."

  "I know what yer meanin'. Girl like Ellie can't hold off the young fellers fer long."

  "She's never really paid thet much attention to the young men

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  who've hung around, but one of these days ..."

  "I must confess," said Ma, "I been lookin' round me at church tryin' to sort out just which of the neighborhood fellers is good enough fer Ellie."

  Marty nodded and admitted that she had been doing the same thing.

  Then she prompted Ma, "An' ...?"

  "Ain't spotted 'im yet," answered Ma frankly. "Somehow it seems Ellie should have someone special like."

  "Guess she'll think he's special when the time comes."

  Ma reached for Marty's cup to refill it. "I know I fought it some when my young'uns were gittin' theirselves all matched up with their mates. Kinda glad it's all over now an' settled. They all chose ones I can be proud of, too. Kinda a good feelin' to know it's cared fer. They did a good job of it, too. I can sorta just sit back an' relax--an' enjoy the grandchildren."

  "But yer grandkids are all nearby. Me, I've already got 'em scattered from the East to the West. I just don't think I could bear it iffen any more of 'em move so far away from home."

  "Must be hard. I'd sure miss mine if they weren't here."

  "Nathan an' Josiah are such sweethearts. An' there's the new little Melissa now. Who knows when I'll see her? An' Clae with her two little ones--we haven't seen her baby yet, either. Oh, I wish she could come home--even fer a short visit. It's hard, Ma. Hard to have them scatter. I miss them all so much."

  Ma looked searchingly into Marty's face, then brightly and promptly changed the subject.

  "An' how are Arnie's weddin' plans comin' along?"

  The remainder of the time together was spent in discussing the family members who were close at hand, and Marty's spirits rose as she thought of the coming events and the happiness that was in store for each of them. And for her and Clark.

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  Winter settled in, and Marty was glad she had no good reason to be out as she watched the swirling snow and biting wind. Ellie was daily encouraging her on the sewing for the new baby, and it wasn't long until Marty's enthusiasm matched Ellie's.

  Kate dropped in often. She obviously found great pleasure in the planning and preparations for the two babies. Clare shared Kate's eagerness, and he, too, was involved on the long winter evenings finishing the bed for the new little one who would make them truly a family.

  Clark was finding it difficult to be as active as he had been in the summer and fall. The icy patches were often causing his crutch to slip, and after one or two near falls, he was content to let his grown sons handle most of the chores. He had always been easy to have around, and Marty enjoyed being with him more often.

  Daily, Marty's love for her unborn child grew. She wondered how she could have ever not wanted it. The whole family was waiting for this baby with far more interest than they had shown for any of the others.

  Most of Arnie's time and attention were given to his upcoming wedding. His little farmhouse was ready now. Anne had even hung the curtains in the windows and scattered a few rugs on the floor. Because Anne had no mother to help her with her preparations, Marty had been pleased to piece quilts and hem dishtowels and assist in any way she could. Already she felt very close to her new daughter-in-law-to-be. She was sure that Arnie and Anne would be very happy.

  And so the wintry days and evenings passed, one by one. The house was brightened by friendly chatter, mu
ch coming and going, and busy activity shared by the family. Marty felt it was one of the most pleasant times she could remember, in spite of those members who were not with them.

  A welcome letter arrived from Luke, and Marty opened it eagerly and read it aloud. He assured them he was fine and enjoying his studies. He stated that Doc Watkins had certainly given him

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  advantage over his other classmates; he understood so much that they had never been exposed to. He was boarding with a kindly old couple who fussed over him and pampered him. They had never had children of their own, and the woman was trying to catch up on all the years of missed mothering in just a few short months, Luke wrote.

  He missed the family, he said, though he really had very little time even to think about it. He was going to a nearby church and had never seen so many young people gathered together before. Most of them were very kind and friendly. He hadn't seen Clae and her family very often. There just wasn't time for much visiting, but he was to join them for Thanksgiving, Clae insisted. They were all fine. The new baby was really sweet, and "Esther Sue had grown like you wouldn't believe." She had been shy with Luke at first, but she had gotten over that quickly. Joe was enjoying his seminary classes. He wondered how the little church back home had ever put up with his lack of knowledge. He couldn't believe how much there was to learn.

  Luke ended his letter with a message for each of them. Marty was admonished to take care of herself and that coming baby. He would be home soon for Arnie's wedding and Christmas, and he wanted everything to be just as he remembered it.

  There was a postscript on the bottom addressed to Ma. "I really won't mind if it's a girl," the sentence read, and Marty brushed at unbidden tears as she folded the letter and replaced it in its envelope.

  Dear, dear Luke, she thought. Alone and so busy--and lovin' every minute of it.

  But Luke was right. Before they knew it, Christmas would be upon them.

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  NINE Ben

  Marty felt like she had just snuggled down and closed her eyes when there was a pounding on the front door. Clark bounded from the bed and was pulling on his clothes while Marty struggled to a sitting position.

  "What is it?" she wondered.

  "Don't know--but someone seems to want us powerfal bad." Clark left the room, his crutch beating a fast rhythm as he hurried toward the stairs.

  "Light the lamp," Marty called after him. "You'll be fallin' in the dark." But Clark was already on his way, no doubt feeling his way through the hallway and down the steps.

  Marty left her bed and reached for her wrap. She could see Arnie beyond her door, and he had taken the time to light a lamp.

  Ellie called to him from her room. "What is it?" Marty heard her ask.

  "Not knowin' yet," answered Arnie. "Pa has gone to see."

  He moved on down the stairway, and Marty slipped into her house socks and quickly followed after him.

  Arnie turned when he heard her coming. "Ma, ya shoulda stayed in bed," he said.

  "I'm all right," she insisted.

  "Watch yer step," said Arnie, reaching out a hand to assist her. Lou Graham was in the kitchen talking with Clark when the two entered. Clark looked up, and when he saw them he moved

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  to Marty and put an arm around her shoulders. "It's Ben," he said softly.

  Marty had many questions, but she could not find voice to ask any of them. Her heart was pounding as she looked from one face to the other. Surely it was serious to bring Lou out in the middle of the night. Ellie joined them, a puzzled frown on her face.

  Clark moved a chair toward Marty, and she sat down.

  "What happened?" It was Arnie who finally was able to speak.

  "His heart," answered Clark.

  A moment's silence, and then, softly, "How is he?"

  "He's ... he's gone."

  "Gone?" It was Marty now. There must be some mistake! Her thoughts whirled. Why, she had seen Ben herself just a short time ago, and he looked perfectly well. He had taken care of the team when she was over to visit Ma and had even given out some good-natured teasing. There must be some mistake. It couldn't be Ben. Not Ben Graham.

  Clark was speaking. "It happened just as he was gittin' ready fer bed. I'm goin' over, .Marty"

  Marty's stunned mind and emotions were scrambling to sort out what was being said--what was going on. Ben was gone--Ben Graham--their good neighbor of so many years. Ma was a widow again. Clark was going to her.

  Marty shook her head and tried to stand. "I'm goin', too," she said quietly yet with insistence. "I'm goin', too."

  She could feel their eyes upon her. Each one in the circle seemed to be saying no, even though no one had actually said it. Marty wrapped her robe more closely about her and took a deep breath. She squared her shoulders and looked at them.

  "I'm goin', too," she said evenly. "Ma needs me--an' I'll be just fine."

  Still no one voiced an argument, and Marty went back to her room to get dressed. Ellie followed her.

  "Mama," she said, "be sure ya dress warm. It's cold out there."

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  Marty nodded and mechanically went on laying out her clothes.

  When she went downstairs again, Clark was waiting. Lou had already gone on to take the sad news to others in the family. Arnie was heating a brick in the fireplace, and Marty knew that it was to keep her feet warm as they traveled. The team was ready, and they stomped and blew impatiently. They did not cotton to the idea of leaving their warm stall on such a night.

  Without comment Clark helped Marty in, and Arnie placed the wrapped brick at her feet and tucked a heavy robe securely about her. His feelings showed without words in his extra care for her comfort and safety. Clark picked up the reins, clucked to the team, and they were off.

  Marty had never experienced such a silent trip to the Grahams'. All the way there, she attempted to accept the truth that Ben Graham was dead--but it did not seem real. She wondered if Clark was wrestling with it, as well, but she did not ask.

  A pale moon was shining, reflecting off the whiteness of the snow-covered fields. A million stars seemed to be blinking off and on overhead. Vaguely she wondered if anyone knew for sure just how many were up there--no, she supposed not. There were too many. Only God himself knew the actual count.

  And God himself knows about each one of His children. Marty closed her eyes. He knew what had happened this night. He knew of Ben. Why, He had already welcomed Ben into the courts of heaven. Was He glad. . pleased to have one more child at home? Marty would be. If one of her far-off children were suddenly to walk through her door, she would be celebrating. Maybe God was celebrating--celebrating because Ben was home.

  But what about Ma? her thoughts went on. She was alone again now. Did God know that, too? Did He know how empty and lonely Ma would be feeling? What was it that Ma had said to her long ago about losing her first husband, Thornton? Ma had said she had wanted to die, too, that a part of her seemed to be missing

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  or numb or something. Well, Ma would be feeling that way again. She had loved Ben so much, had shared with him for so long. Ma would be empty and hurting, and there wouldn't be any way that anyone--anyone in the world, no matter how much they loved her--would be able to help that hurt.

  Suddenly Marty was crying--tearing sobs from deep inside. Oh, Ma. Oh, Ma! How ya ever gonna bear it? she mourned inwardly. It was true. It really was true. Ben was gone.

  Clark let her cry, though he placed an arm around her and drew her closer to him. He didn't try to hush her. He knew as well as she did that she needed the release of the tears.

  By the time they reached the Graham farmyard, Marty had herself under control. Lights shone from each window. Teams and saddle horses milled and stomped in the yard, doors opening and closing quietly as family arrived.

  Clark helped Marty down and then moved the team on farther into the yard to tie them at a corral post. Marty waited for him, dreading that first meeting with poor Ma
. She didn't want to go in by herself.

  When Clark returned to take her arm and lead her to the house, they spoke for the first time.

  "Looks like the whole family's here," said Marty softly. "Yeah, Lou said he was lettin 'em know."

  "Good thet they're all close by."

  "Lem was away--don't know iffen they got in touch with 'im yet."

  They reached the house, and without knocking, Clark ushered them in. The big farm kitchen was full of people. Coffee cups sat on the table, but no one seemed to be drinking from them. Tearstained faces were turned toward Ma, who sat before an open Bible and, with a quavering yet confident voice, was reading to her family.

  "`... for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me;

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  thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely ...`" Ma's voice broke. She waited a moment and then went on, her voice ringing out stronger than before: "`Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.`"

  She placed both hands on the Book and closed her eyes, and everyone in the room knew she was believing its promises and silently making them her own in prayer.

  When she opened her eyes again, she saw that Clark and Marty were there. Without a word she held her hands out to them as a fresh collection of tears spilled down her worn cheeks. Marty moved quickly to her and took her in her arms. They clung and cried together. Marty was vaguely aware of voices and movement about her. She knew that Clark was offering his sympathy to other family members. She must speak to them, too, but Ma came first.

  After the initial expressions of sorrow, they sat around the kitchen sharing memories of Ben and discussing plans for his funeral service. There wasn't a great deal of preparation to do. The new undertaker in town would prepare the coffin. The young minister had not been called in the dead of the night--Ma insisted that he be allowed to sleep. She had her family and her neighbors, and there was plenty of time to make the arrangements. Besides, she declared, the poor young man had already lost three nights' sleep sitting up with ailing Maude Watley. Her condition seemed to have improved somewhat, and the minister finally had been able to get a night's rest.