Love's Long Journey (Love Comes Softly Series #3)

by Janette Oke

  "I won't. Promise."

  "One can't be too careful."

  "You're the one that needs to be careful. Here I am all tucked away safe in a town, where the worst that can happen to me is to get dust in my eyes--an' you're tellin me to be careful. It's you that's goin' to have to take care, Willie."

  Willie smoothed her hair.

  "Won't much happen to me. I'm travelin' south with a whole passel of supply wagons, an' Henry be with me once we reach our spread. No need to worry none 'bout me."

  "I s'pose so," Missie admitted. "I just won't be able to keep from it, though."

  "I'll worry, too," Willie said his voice husky. "It doesn't pleasure me none to leave ya, Missie. If only there was some other way."

  "I'll be fine." Missie tried for Willie's sake to say the words as though she really meant them.

  "Missie," Willie hesitated, holding her close. "Missie--the wagons are to pull out real early in the mornin'. I don't intend to wake ya when I leave, so this will be my good-bye tonight. I love ya. I've loved ya ever since ya were a little schoolgirl."

  "An' you showed it," she whispered, "by dunkin my hair ribbons in an inkwell."

  "An' carvin' our initials--"

  "An puttin' a grasshopper in my lunchpail."

  "An' tellin' young Todd Culver thet I'd knock out his teeth

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  iffen he didn't leave my girl alone; an' closin' yer classroom window when it got stuck; an' prayin' fer ya every single day--thet iffen God willed, ya'd learn to love me."

  "You did that?"

  "I did."

  "Oh, Willie," Missie sobbed, pressing her face against him. "I'll miss ya so--so much."

  When Missie awoke the next morning, she was alone in her bed, and Willie's things were gone from the room. An emptiness filled her that she could not have put into words; she turned into her pillow and sobbed. How would she ever cope? She missed him so already. She had promised herself secretly the night before that she would be sure to waken so that she might feel the comfort of Willie's arms once more. She felt annoyed at herself for failing to awaken; yet she had to admit that it would not have made it any easier to say good-bye again.

  If only I was at home with Mama and Pa to console me.. . . They would understand about pain and separation. She recalled Willie's words when Melinda was grieving: "Yer ma an' pa knew such grief."

  They had--and they had lived through it. And she could too. After all, Willie would be coming back. The wait wouldn't be so long--not really.

  She forced herself to crawl out of bed, then bathed her face at the basin. She caught herself wondering if this was wash Number One or Two for this water, and if she could now throw it out and get some fresh. Her eyes moved to Mrs. Taylorson's list. The empty space for number twelve now had some writing beside it. Had Mrs. Taylorson come up with another rule? Missie crossed the room for a better look, and read Number Twelve aloud: "Number Twelve, Always remember that I love you--both of you."

  "Oh, Willie, ya silly goose!" she cried as tears streamed down her freshly washed cheeks. She was going to have to wash her face again before going down for breakfast. That, for sure, would entitle her to some fresh water.

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  Chapter 21

  Putting in Time

  Missie put her mind to settling in for the long stay alone. First, she sat down and listed all of the "must-do's" on a piece of paper. Then she listed all the "want-to-do's." Neither list seemed very long. How would those tasks ever keep her occupied until she was free to leave this town? She laid the list aside and went to her sewing material.

  She spread out all the fabric she had purchased and drew up a tentative plan of just what she would sew from each piece. She then checked her yarn and listed the articles that she would knit or crochet. She laid that list aside as well and took a fresh sheet of paper. This would be her weekly visitation list--one call each per week on Kathy and Melinda and at least one call from them in return to use Missie's machine. She placed that list with the others and took still another sheet of paper.

  She sketched out a week with a space for each hour of the day and filled in her proposed activities: sewing, sewing lessons, knitting, laundry, reading, visits, shopping (she didn't know what for, but it filled a space and the walk would do her good); she

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  even included time spent at the piano in an effort to learn to play a bit. Her week still had many vacant hours and she didn't see how she could stretch out her planned activities to fill them.

  She then juggled, rearranged and stretched all that she could. Finally, she filled in all the extra spots with the words "free time" and tried to convince herself that somehow "free time" should be cherished as a special liberty.

  She had scheduled sewing for her first morning, so she began on a small blanket. As simple as the job was, she just couldn't keep her mind on it, so she laid it aside and tried to read one of the books the preacher had kindly lent her. After trying to read the first page three times, unable to concentrate, she tossed it on the bed.

  "It's just no use," she muttered, grabbing up some knitting. "I just can't think clear!"

  She had added only a few stitches to the sock that she was making, when Mrs. Taylorson called up the stairs.

  "Ya have a caller, Miss."

  Missie so wished that Mrs. Taylorson wouldn't call her "Miss," as though she were still a young girl instead of a grown married woman!

  It was Kathy who had come to call. Missie almost cried with relief at seeing her friend so soon after the men had left.

  "Did you come to sew the curtains?" she asked.

  "Goodness, no! I don't think thet I could concentrate on sew- in' anythin' today. I jest had to git out fer awhile, an' I thought thet maybe you'd be a needin' it as well."

  "You're absolutely right," Missie said emphatically. "Just let me get my bonnet."

  The girls strolled through the streets of the dusty town, window-shopping and talking. Occasionally they entered a store, just to look around. Neither of them purchased a thing, but Missie returned home in better spirits, and Kathy promised to come over that very evening for her first sewing lesson.

  In the afternoon, Missie sat down and made herself a calendar. She marked each day's date in big numbers, wrote Willie's name beside the first one, August 2, then circled October 25--it was as close as she could figure the baby's arrival date to be. In

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  between the two dates stretched many seemingly empty days, but Missie intended to strike them off, one by one, in hopes that they would go quickly.

  It was warm in the room, and Missie was feeling emotionally and physically exhausted, so she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed to rest.

  "It all will be worth it," she told herself. "By the time Willie comes for me and the baby, he'll have our house ready. I'll be able to move right in, 'stead of livin' cramped in that stuffy old wagon. Just think--our own home! I'll hang up the curtains that Mama helped me sew, spread out the cozy rugs, make up the bed with all those warm quilts. I'll put my dishes in the cupboards, set up the sewin' machine, put all the crocks an' barrels in my pantry--all those things that a woman be a-needin' in her own home."

  She let the happy thoughts drive away the threatening tears and drifted off to sleep.

  Kathy came that evening as promised. She was a little slow at catching on to the rhythm of the foot treadle having never used a sewing machine before, but eventually she had a good start on the curtains.

  Day One was finally over. Missie crossed it off her new calendar with relief, and knelt beside her bed. Somewhere out there, in the dark, distant night, she knew that Willie would be remembering her in prayer as well. It helped to ease her loneliness.

  At the end of each plodding day, Missie struck the numbers from the calendar in the manner of a general triumphant after battle. She had survived her first Sunday alone, her first hair- washing, and her first washday. She was working on her third day at the piano when Mrs. Taylorson called,
"Miss, ya have a feller here with a telygram."

  Missie fairly flew to the door. What news could be so important that it needed to reach her by telegram? Her heart thumped wildly within her, every beat crying, "Willie! Willie!" She accepted the telegram with a shaking hand and quickly scanned the small sheet.

  "Received message--Stop--Praise God--Stop--Happy and concerned about baby--Stop--Isaiah"

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  "Mama and Pa!" she exclaimed, and to the waiting Mrs. Taylorson: "It's from my folks--they've just acknowledged our message."

  Missie smiled through her tears and hurried up the stairs to her room. Once inside, with the door closed behind her, she crushed the blessed message to her breast and fell to her knees beside her bed, the tears falling unashamedly.

  "Oh, Mama--Pa--I miss you both so much, and I love you so . . . Oh--if only.. . ."

  Missie posted the telegram beneath Willie's Rule Number Twelve. Many times a day she would read it and think of the dear people who had sent it to her.

  As the days decreased on Missie's calendar, her pile of sewn articles and knitted things increased. Kathy had come often, and soon progressed to sewing dresses when the curtains and some aprons were finished.

  Melinda also had spent evenings with Missie. Her job in the hotel kitchen had been very taxing on her limited strength, so she never was able to stay very late. But she had managed, with her small income, to buy yard goods for three attractive dresses, and sew them for use in the schoolroom. Her days as restaurant cook and dishwasher were over at last, and she was happily employed as the town's new schoolmarm.

  Missie twice had called on the preacher and his wife. She not only found their company very refreshing but they also returned each call. Mrs. Taylorson was quite beside herself to have a parson in her parlor.

  After Missie had prepared for bed one night, she stood studying her calendar. It was now September 8.

  "September 8 is a long way from the second of August," she whispered to herself. "Not halfway yet, but almost--almost." She made a long black mark through the number and went to kneel beside her bed. As she was praying, she heard a gentle rapping on her door. Missie looked up in surprise. She hadn't heard anyone on the stairs.

  Then the door opened, and there stood Willie. Paralyzed with shock, Missie remained on her knees and just stared.

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  Not one to wait for her bidding, he quickly bent down and whisked her to her feet.

  "It's really you!" Missie gasped incredulously. "It's really you!" And then she was in his arms, clinging to him, sobbing into his jacket while he showered kisses on her face and rocked her gently back and forth.

  "I jest couldn't stand it anymore," he said huskily. "You came for me?"

  "Oh, no," Willie corrected her hurriedly. "Just to see you, thet's all. I was jest so lonesome thet Henry finally said, 'Why don't ya jest make yerself a little trip? Ya ain't rightly of much use here anyway. So I did."

  "Where's Henry?"

  "I left him workin' on the corrals."

  Missie laughed then. "Don't know how you ever got away to come here without Henry. Why, he must be near as lonesome as you."

  "He did send a couple of letters with me--three, in fact. He sent you one, too."

  Missie laughed again.

  "Dear ol' Henry--an' he sent two others?"

  "Yep. One to the Weisses and one to Melinda."

  "He's just writing all his friends."

  "But I want to hear 'bout you," Willie said firmly. "How ya been?"

  "Lonesome!" Missie said, threatening to burst into tears again.

  "Me, too," Willie replied. "Me too." And he kissed her again. "How long can you stay?"

  "Just till day after tomorrow."

  "Only one day?" Missie's face crumpled.

  Willie nodded. "I gotta git back, Missie. I shouldn'ta come, really. We've got so much to do 'fore winter sets in, but--well, I jest couldn't stay away. I've gotta leave mornin' after next."

  "Do you have a house?"

  "A temporary one--that's the way most folks do. Then they build later--as they can."

  "And the cattle?"

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  "Only a few head. We can't really take on too many until we're ready for 'em, an' then ya need men to care for 'em too. After that ya need a bunkhouse to bed the men."

  "How many men?"

  "Four or five at first."

  "Ya mean I'm gonna be cookin' for six or seven men?" Missie was flabbergasted.

  "No, silly." Willie pulled her back against him. "The cook does thet in the cookshack."

  "You gotta have a cookshack, too?"

  "Yeah, an' we hafta git all thet ready this fall."

  Missie took his hand and they sat down on the edge of the bed.

  "Didn't realize that it took that many men to run a ranch," she said thoughtfully.

  "Should rightly have more than that, but I'm gonna try to make do fer the time being'."

  "What on earth do they all do?"

  "Need shifts fer one thing. Always should be some of 'em out there ridin' herd on things--watchin' the cattle an' watchin' fer trouble."

  "Trouble--you mean like wild animals an' such?"

  "S'pose wild animals enter into it--but they're not the greatest danger."

  "What, then?"

  Willie grinned. "Accordin' to what I hear, a rancher's biggest threat comes from tame animals."

  "Meanin'?"

  "Rustlers."

  "Rustlers?"

  "Yep. More than one rancher has been driven from the land--forced to give up an' move on out, because of rustlers." "That's horrible!" Missie exclaimed. "They carry guns?" "Reckon they do," Willie said calmly.

  "But what do we do?" Missie would not let the matter drop. "Will you order your men to carry guns?"

  "My men don't need those orders. They're used to havin' a gun hangin' from their saddle."

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  "But--but, would they kill someone?" Missie could hardly force the word out.

  "My men have orders never to shoot to kill another human being'," Willie said firmly, "even iffen it means losin' the whole herd."

  "Might they do that--the rustlers I mean? Might they take the whole herd?"

  "Not usually. They normally just drive off a few at a timepickin' on stragglers, gradually workin' at a herd--especially one that isn't carefully watched. Sometimes their need--or their greed--drives 'em to make a bold move and try fer the entire

  lot. If

  "Oh, Willie, what will we do if--"

  "Now let's not borrow trouble," Willie said. "We'll hire the men thet we can and protect the herd the best thet we can. Thet's all we can do."

  "But how can you afford to pay all those men?"

  "'Fraid a cowboy don't make all thet much. Nice fer ranchers, but not so great fer the cowboys. They do git their bed and board and enough money to buy the tobacco and few supplies thet they be needin'. Some even manage to lay a little aside. As to the payin' of 'em, I figured thet in my accounts when I was workin' out what we'd be needin'. When we start sellin' cattle of our own, their wages will come from the sales."

  Missie felt relieved to know that Willie had things well under control.

  "What else do they do?" she asked, getting back to the cowboys.

  "Break horses, build and fix fences, watch fer sickness an' snakes an' varmints. They care for the critters during bad storms an' keep an eye on the pasture and water holes to make sure thet the cows are well cared for. Their main job, though, is to keep the cows grazin' well together so thet there ain't alot of stragglers scattered through the hills--easy victims of prowlin' animals an' rustlers."

  "Sounds like a big job to me."

  "Is a big job. But most cowboys wouldn't trade it fer any other job in the world."

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  "Let's forget cowboys, cookshacks and bunkhouses," Missie interrupted. "Let's think 'bout us for awhile."

  Willie agreed as his arm tightened around her.

  "Yer lookin' good. Feel
in' okay?"

  "Oh, Willie!" Missie suddenly burst out, ignoring his question. "I forgot to show you. Look!"

  She jumped up and pointed to the telegram on her wall. "Mama and Pa got our message," she continued, "an' they sent one of their own!"

  Willie grinned as he stood to read the telegram.

  "Makes 'em seem a lot closer-like, don't it?"

  Missie nodded.

  "This trip made you seem closer, too," said Willie. "Took six days to make it down there by wagon--but I made it in 'bout half the time on horseback."

  "You did? Then it's really not so awful far, is it?" Missie was comforted.

  Willie left as the sun edged over the horizon. He had spent two nights with Missie. She wondered if she could face the dreadful agonies of parting again--but it was not as difficult as she had feared. She struck two more days from her calendar as she went to bed that night. She had completely forgotten it during Willie's visit.

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  Chapter 22

  The New Baby

  Missie was restless. The book that she had attempted to read lay discarded on her pillow. Her sewing projects were completed; she wasn't about to buy more fabric for things that she really could do without. She had run out of yarn, but had no desire to make a trip to the store for more--though certain that she could put it to good use. Maybe a visit to Kathy's . . . no, her heart wasn't in it.

  Listless, edgy, and out of sorts, she paced her room--back and forth. Was it the heat, or was she just tired? When it was twelve- thirty, sharp--time for the noon meal--she knew that she wasn't hungry. She called down to Mrs. Taylorson that she didn't feel like eating--could she please be excused? She'd just lie down awhile.

  She hadn't been down for long when a sudden contraction tightened her abdomen. To her relief, it soon subsided. Missie closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but before she could drop off, another one shuddered through her.