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

by Janette Oke

  "No. Doc is with her now."

  "What do you think?" Clark dropped his heavy mittens onto a nearby chair.

  "I think thet ... thet the baby is on the way."

  "Can it make it?"

  Marty shrugged wearily. "I don't know. It's early ... too early. But some have. I don't know. I'm afraid, Clark, really afraid."

  Clark crossed to her and drew her to him. Their baby protested, and a smile flickered across Clark's face in spite of his anxiety.

  "Feisty little rascal, ain't he?" he commented and Marty eased away.

  "She," she said in a whisper with a smile and moved to the stove. "Ya want some coffee?"

  "Would help to warm me up some, I reckon."

  Marty poured two cups. She wasn't sure if she would be able to drink from hers. She had no desire for coffee. She suddenly noticed as she crossed to the table that things were very quiet in the bedroom. It was a relief not to hear Kate tossing and moaning, and Marty hoped that the quiet was a good sign.

  Clare entered the room. His eyes looked heavy and his face drawn.

  "It's the baby, all right," he said in a tired, resigned voice. "How is Kate?"

  "Doc has given her somethin'. Just to help with the pain. Doc can't find a heartbeat on the little one. 'Fraid thet ... thet somethin' is wrong."

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  He lowered himself onto a chair and put his head on his arms on the table. Marty was at a loss. What did one say to an aching son? This was not a childhood disappointment that they were dealing with. This was a life. Two lives. How did one give support at such a time?

  Clark reached out and gripped Clare's shoulder with a firm hand. Clare did not move or respond, but Marty knew that he felt the love and support of his father.

  When Clare was able to speak, he continued slowly. "Doc says Kate is strong. Her pulse is good an' she is fightin' hard. She should be fine when this is all over."

  Marty breathed a thankful prayer.

  "How long does Doc think it might be?" asked Clark quietly. "Can't say."

  Marty brought Clare some coffee. To her surprise he drank it, though she wasn't sure he was aware of doing so.

  The long night hours slid slowly by. From time to time, members of the family went to the bedroom to check with Doc. About the only assurance he could give them was that Kate seemed to be holding up well.

  Dawn came, the air brisk and wind-chilled. Ellie arrived at the little house. Unbelievably, she had slept through the commotion of the night before, her bedroom being at the back of the house. Now she came fearfully, looking for her family and wondering what were the circumstances of an empty house. Her face paled as Clark explained the situation to her, and then she went to work preparing some breakfast in Kate's little kitchen. Marty had not even thought of the need for food.

  Clark left to do the chores. Clare moved as if to go with him, but Clark waved him back to his chair. Instead, Clare went to see how his Kate was. He came back to the kitchen with his face even more somber than before.

  "Doc doesn't think thet it'll be long now," and he lowered himself to the chair again. Marty wondered if he might be better

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  off choring than sitting there with Kate heavy on his mind.

  Ellie served breakfast. No one ate much, but a few of them went through the motions. Marty took a plate of pancakes and some bacon and coffee to the doctor. He eased himself onto a chair by Kate's bed and ate. He knew from long experience that one must eat to maintain strength.

  It was nearing eleven o'clock in the morning when the baby girl arrived, tiny and stillborn. There was nothing that anyone could do ... or say. Clare held his infant daughter in his arms and shook with his sobs. Then he passed her to Marty, who, through her own tears, lovingly bathed the little bit of humanity who was to have brought such happiness into a home. Clare went to the baby's room and found the tiny garments that Kate had requested for their little one to wear. They had been sewn with such love and pride and were to have been worn with such happiness. Now they would represent the love wrapped snugly around the tiny baby as it was committed to the small coffin which Clare and Clark sorrowfully fashioned together.

  Kate continued to hold her own. Clare was so thankful that nothing had happened to his wife. With the help of the doctor's medication, she slept through most of the first day and on through the night. The next morning, Clare spoke gently to Kate of their loss. She had been vaguely aware of the fact before she slipped off to sleep. After they had embraced each other and cried together, Clare carried the small casket that held their little daughter into Kate's room, so she might see their child. Clark and Marty went on back to their house and left the two of them alone.

  The burial was a quiet family affair. The preacher spoke the familiar words of strength and encouragement to the family members who gathered around the tiny grave.

  In the days that followed, Kate regained her strength quickly after her ordeal, though a shadow lingered in her eyes. She clung to Clare in their sorrow. Clark and Marty prayed daily--sometimes hourly--for their children in their pain. Marty wished over and

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  over that she could somehow bear it for them, but she could only be there, suffering with them. Somehow they got through the first difficult days. With time it would get easier, but, oh, it was going to take so much time, and the love-built nursery room was a constant reminder of just how much they had lost. It was hard for Marty to stand the strain of the sorrow, and without meaning to--or even realizing that she was doing so--she began to draw away from the intensity of the pain.

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  TWENTY Nandry

  Lane came as soon as he heard the news, spending time with Clare and allowing him to talk out his feelings concerning the death of his infant daughter.

  Ellie hardly knew how to respond to Lane, now that she'd had her talk with her ma and pa. If she was free to make her own future, as they assured her she was, then she hoped that her pa was right and Lane wouldn't give up easily. But in her heart, Ellie feared--feared that Lane might have taken her previous word as the final answer. What if he did not wish to pursue it further? Ellie would be the loser indeed. Yet could she be bold enough to approach Lane herself? It wasn't at all in keeping with how she had been brought up, and Ellie doubted very much if she could bring herself to do it.

  So for now, at least, she kept her conversations with Lane courteous but brief.

  Marty now had some very difficult days to live through. Each time her child moved, she remembered that she had fought against this baby. She had not wanted it. Indeed, had she gotten her way, it would not have been ... at first. Now Marty loved this baby. Whoever it was within her had completely captured her mother love. Still ... she felt guilty. It was true she hadn't wanted it ... and yet it was still safe, while the small body of the baby Kate and

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  Clare had wanted so very much right from the beginning lay in the churchyard under a heap of winter snow. It didn't seem just or fair.

  So in the sorrow that Marty shared with her son and daughter-in-law, there was also mixed in a good deal of guilt. Could they see it? Did they, too, feel the circumstances were unjust, that she was unworthy to be bearing another child? True, when Kate had been in pain and her baby in danger, Marty had been willing to exchange her baby's life for the life of Kate's baby if the Lord would have accepted such a bargain. Marty was beginning to understand how very difficult it would have been for her actually to go through with such an agreement. She loved the small life within her more than she had thought possible. Yet poor, poor Kate! She had loved her baby, too. Marty wondered if Kate and Clare would be bitter toward her and the coming baby. She did not want to face them. And in the days following the death of their infant and the gathering for the burial at the church, Marty found little 'excuses to keep from close contact with the young couple. What could she say? How did they feel about her? About Clare's new little brother or sister soon to make an appearance?

  Ellie, fortunately, had been
to see Kate daily. She helped her with her housework until Kate was able once again to take over for herself. Even then Ellie went, dropping in for a chat or a cup of tea. Marty knew she must go, as well, but she begged "foul weather" and stayed close to her fire.

  It was Nandry who unexpectedly brought Marty to her senses. Nandry came to call in spite of the bad weather. She had left all the children at home with Josh. Marty knew, as soon as she saw her daughter drive into the yard, that something deeper than the need for companionship had driven Nandry out alone and on such a day.

  Marty was still concerned about Nandry. Something was

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  bothering the girl--had been ever since they'd come home. Nandry never had said anything about it, but Marty knew it was there. Marty had the feeling it was somehow connected with Clark--Clark and his lost leg. But surely enough time had passed by now for Nandry to get used to the sight and the idea of Clark's need for a crutch.

  Marty held the door for Nandry now and lovingly welcomed her in. Her first explanation for the visit sounded like Nandry simply had taken a notion to get out of the house for a few hours. Her small brood was driving her beside herself, she maintained. Marty nodded, remembering well the feeling.

  Nandry inquired about Kate, and Marty assured her that from all reports she seemed to be doing fine, that Ellie was presently with her.

  Marty busied herself putting on the coffeepot and cutting some slices of Ellie's loaf cake. Nandry talked easily of everyday things. She wanted one of Ellie's recipes for pumpkin bread. Andy had fallen and bitten his tongue. It hadn't been a bad cut, but it had bled profusely, and Mary had screamed in fright, thinking Andrew would surely bleed to death. Baby Jane had fallen down a few steps; she wasn't hurt badly, but it did frighten them all. Tina had come home from school with a gold ribbon as the best speller in the class; Josh was so proud of her. He had never been good at spelling.

  Nandry, unusually talkative, continued to chat until Marty poured the coffee and settled down at the table with her. Then, with a quickness Marty found hard to follow, she changed from her current casual subject.

  "How's Kate takin' it?"

  Marty was taken aback. The fact was she didn't really know how Kate was taking it. Oh, outwardly Kate seemed to be handling it fine, according to Ellie. But Marty had no way of knowing how Kate was feeling deep inside. She couldn't admit that to Nandry, so she replied defensively, "She feels bad, of course."

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  "I didn't mean thet," responded Nandry. "I mean, is she able to accept it?"

  "Accept it?"

  Nandry looked at Marty searchingly, her eyes repeating the question.

  "Accept it?" said Marty again. "Well, it happened, didn't it? One has to accept it--iffen ya want to or not."

  "Ma," said Nandry, "don't beat round the bush. Ya know what I'm meanin'."

  "No," said Marty slowly, "I'm 'fraid I don't."

  "Does Kate feel God has a right--thet He was fair to do what He done?"

  "God?" said Marty in disbelief. Was Nandry actually asking what it seemed like she was asking?

  "Ma, we know thet God could have saved thet there baby fer Clare an' Kate iffen He had wanted to--just like He could have saved Pa's leg iffen He had put himself out some."

  There. It was out. Pain showed in Nandry's eyes--pain and anger. Marty looked at the girl, shock and fear sweeping through her and making her feel heartsick.

  "It's true," continued Nandry, her tone reckless. "It's true, and one might as well say it. No use just pretendin' thet it ain't."

  Marty reached out a hand and laid it on Nandry's arm. She'd had no idea there was so much anger and bitterness there.

  Nandry shrugged off the hand.

  "But ... but ... it ain't like thet," began Marty, silently imploring the Lord to give her wisdom.

  "It ain't? Well, how is it, then? I s'pose Pa hoppin' round on one leg is just a figment of my 'magination, huh?"

  "I didn't mean thet. I mean--well, I mean God didn't just take Pa's leg to be spiteful. He--"

  "How d'ya know what He did an' why?"

  "At the time," said Marty quietly, "I didn't, an' I fought it, too. I had to come to the place where I could honestly say, `Thy will

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  be done,` an' God did His will, an' good came of the sorrow."

  "Enough good to make up fer a good man losin' his leg?"

  Marty hesitated at the words spat out on the table between them. Nandry had always been particularly devoted to Clark in an unusual way. Marty had hoped Nandry had long since properly sorted out the relationship with Clark as her father.

  "I think so--" began Marty hesitantly. Then, with more conviction, "I know so. Why, so many things happened to show it so. The little church was started. Dr. de la Rosa went home and made peace with his family. An' the ... the most important was what happened in the life of Jedd, yer first pa. He--"

  But Nandry interrupted, rising from her chair with her eyes sparking angrily. "An' what did he ever do to deserve the mercy of God? Him thet run out on us, thet left Ma to die alone while he ran off to chin-wag an' chew tobacca with some old cronies. Are ya tellin' me thet God would favor a man like thet over one who was upright an' carin' an' lived ...?" But Nandry could not go on. She was weeping uncontrollably now, her shoulders shaking with every sob.

  Marty rose to her feet slowly because of her cumbersome body. She was dumbstruck. What could she ever say to this angry and agonizing girl? How could she make her see that God is love? That He gives it freely whether a person "deserves" it or not? How could she ever get her to understand that bitterness and hate against her father were not in keeping with God's plan for her life--could not bring happiness or peace or anything good to anybody? Oh, poor Nandry, to have carried such a terrible burden for such a long, long time!

  Marty moved to her and took her into her arms. As Marty raised her eyes, she beheld a stricken Ellie standing in silence at the kitchen door. Marty had not heard her return, and she was sure Nandry was not aware of her presence, either. Ellie stood with a white face and parted lips as though unable to comprehend. Marty wondered how long she had been standing there and how she

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  would respond to what she had heard from the lips of her adopted older sister.

  Then Ellie took a deep breath and moved into the room. She took Nandry's hand and gently led her back to her chair. Nandry sat down again, physically and emotionally spent from her outburst. Ellie passed her a hankie and Nandry blew loudly.

  Ellie waited for a moment and then spoke quietly. "Nandry," she said, "I think I know how yer feelin'. At first, when I heard 'bout Pa, I wanted to fight it, too. I blamed God ... a little bit. I blamed God fer spoilin' a good man. You know what I thought? I thought thet I might not be proud to walk down the street in town with Pa anymore. Can you 'magine that? Feelin' ashamed to be seen with a man like Pa simply because he had only one leg?" Ellie shook her head sadly, as if she felt guilty over ever having such a thought. "I always thought my pa 'bout perfect, an' I was 'fraid I wouldn't see 'im as perfect anymore. It would be embarrassin'. People would stare. I looked at the other men around. `No one as good as my pa,` I'd think, `an' he's still got two legs.` I knew it was wrong--I knew it all the time--an' then God started talkin' to me 'bout it. He pointed at my own life. I had pride, I had vanity; I even discovered some deceit. `See,` said God, `yer not perfect. Is yer pa ashamed to walk down the street with you? He should be, iffen it's perfection yer wantin'.` I knew God was right. My cripplin' was greater and more deadly than Pa's. Mine was to the spirit; his was only the body. I prayed an' asked God to fergive me an' to help me grow from the experience of Pa losin' his leg, so the price of it might be worth somethin' in my life--both fer my gain an' so thet Pa could remain proud of me."

  "Now yer pa, Nandry, had 'im many faults." Ellie's voice was gentle. "What ya have said 'bout 'im is probly right. I don't know, I didn't know 'im. But God must have seen someone worth savin'. An' even iffen there wasn't anything
worthy at all, God still loved un. An' Pa loved 'im. Loved 'im enough to want to make sure he had thet chance 'fore he died. Pa didn't knowingly give his leg fer

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  yer pa. But I think he would have--iffen he had had some way of knowin', I think he would have. Because our pa knows thet a leg is less important than a soul."

  "I think thet Pa would be hurt iffen he knew the loss of his leg somehow brought bitterness to yer soul, Nandry. He wants to strengthen ya an' help ya to grow with every experience of his life, and iffen he doesn't do thet, then it brings him pain and disappointment--far more pain than the loss of thet leg did."

  Nandry had been listening silently to Ellie. Marty sat praying--praying that God would give Ellie the right words to minister to the need of the young woman, praying that Nandry would be able to understand and accept the words.

  Suddenly Nandry began to weep again, quiet weeping now Ellie put her arms about her and let her cry. At last Nandry lifted her head.

  "Yer right," she said. "An' I've been wrong. All these years I've been wrong. My pa wasn't right in what he did, but that gave me no call to do wrong, too. I'm more guilty than 'im 'cause I know better. I shoulda been prayin' fer 'im all those years. I know Clae was. Used to make me mad at her. `Let 'im git what he deserves,` I'd think. Thet was wrong--so wrong." And Nandry dropped her face in her hands and cried harder.

  "Oh, Ellie," wept Nandry, "can God ever fergive me?" "Iffen He couldn't," said Ellie, "we'd all be in trouble."

  "Ma," wept Nandry, seeming to suddenly realize that Marty still sat nearby, "would ya pray fer me?"

  Marty did. Ellie followed with another prayer, and then Nandry cried out her own pleading for forgiveness. After the prayer time, they poured fresh coffee and shared further the truths they had learned.