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

by Janette Oke

  When this passed, Missie sat up and squinted at her home

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  made calendar on the wall. "It can't be," she said. "This is only the tenth. You can't come yet, Baby. It just isn't time! It can't be!" But Missie soon realized that it was indeed time.

  She climbed out of bed and paced for awhile, then lay down, only to get up and pace some more.

  What will Willie think? I told him October twenty-fifth--an' he said he'd be here on the twenty-second, just to be sure. Maybe I'm just imaginin', or maybe it's just a false alarm.

  But it was not a false alarm. Missie's landlady soon recognized it for what it really was, even though she had never had children of her own. She suggested sending immediately for the doctor, but Missie insisted on waiting. At last Mrs. Taylorson could stand it no more. She sent Mr. Taylorson over for the doctor before the good man could even enjoy his after-supper pipe. To Missie's relief, the doctor was not off tending a gunshot wound or setting a broken bone, and came almost at once.

  That night, about 10 o'clock, a son was born to Missie--two weeks early by her calculations. He was not big, but he was healthy and strong. His young mother, who had been repeating over and over, throughout her time of delivery, "Fear thou not, for I am with thee," cried tears of joy at her first sight of him.

  After the doctor had gone, and Missie and the baby were bedded for the night, Mrs. Taylorson still waddled about the room, clucking and fussing like a mother hen.

  "He's a dandy little wee'un, ain't he? What ya gonna call 'im?"

  "I don't know," Missie replied sleepily. "I tried to talk of names with Willie--but he said he'd be here when the baby arrived an' we'd pick a name then."

  "But he ain't comin' fer two weeks yet," said the practical Mrs. Taylorson. "Don't seem fittin' thet a child should go fer two whole weeks without a name."

  "I know," Missie said, smiling at her son who lay snuggled up against her. "I guess I'll have to name 'im."

  "Ya got a name picked?"

  "One I like. I just happened to marry a man with the same middle name as my pa. Now doesn't it seem fittin' that my son should bear that name?"

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  "Deed it do!" Mrs. Taylorson exclaimed. "Yer Willie could hardly fault ya on thet choice. What's the name?"

  "Nathan," said Missie. "Nathan." She said it again, savoring the sound of it.

  "Nathan?" Mrs. Taylorson repeated. "Rather nice. I like it. I think it even suits the wee package. Nathan--jest Nathan?" "No, Nathan Isaiah."

  "Isaiah?" Mrs. Taylorson looked a bit doubtful on this one, but she made no comment concerning Missie's choice. "Is Isaiah somethin' special, too?"

  "It certainly is," Missie said with tears in her eyes. "Very special."

  Missie pulled the covers about herself and her small son. She was so happy--and so tired. She kissed the fuzzy top of Nathan's head and let her body relax. She had almost dozed off when a sudden thought hit her.

  "Mrs. Taylorson," she said sleepily, "would you be so kind as to have a telegram sent to my folks tomorrow?"

  "Certainly, Miss," the woman replied. "What would ya be wantin' it to say?" She then took the paper and pencil from the desk and handed it to Missie. "Better write it down, in case I forget."

  Missie thought for a few moments, then began to write slowly: "Nathan Isaiah arrived safely October 10. Love from Missie and Baby." She handed the sheet to Mrs. Taylorson.

  "It would pleasure me to be the bearer of such good news."

  Missie smiled ruefully at the small bundle snuggled beside her. "If only there was some way to let his pa know. I'm gonna have a powerful hard time waiting for the twenty-second. Why, Willie's son will be nigh grown-up by the time his pa gets to hold 'im!"

  Mrs. Taylorson looked down at the tiny bundle on Missie's arm. "Seems to me," she smiled, "a little growin' time ain't gonna hurt the wee fella much. I don't reckon he's gonna outgrow thet little nightie he's a swimmin' in, in jest two weeks' time."

  Missie smiled contentedly and let sleep claim her.

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  Chapter 23

  Travelin' On

  Willie drove into Tettsford Junction with the wagon on October twentieth, prepared for as many days of waiting as was necessary before welcoming his child. Mrs. Taylorson let him in and managed, as promised, not to reveal the household's wonderful news. Willie went on up to Missie's room.

  Missie was standing at her window looking wistfully out over the back garden at the distant hills. She was even more restless now that she was on her feet again; the days seemed to take forever to pass.

  Nathan, at this stage, seemed content to eat and sleep--and grow--daily, though he hadn't managed yet to fill out his nightie, just as Mrs. Taylorson had predicted.

  At the sound of the door Missie did not even turn around. She had become accustomed to Mrs. Taylorson using any excuse to come in and out of the room. If she wasn't bringing Missie tea with lots of milk, she came just to check on the baby.

  At Willie's alarmed, "What happened?" Missie whirled around.

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  "Willie!" she squealed.

  He seemed paralyzed. "What's happened?" he repeated with fear in his voice.

  "What do you mean, what's happened?"

  Speechless, Willie gestured to Missie's trim figure, and she finally realized why his face had gone white.

  A smile spread over her face, as she fell into his arms. "You're a pa! That's what's happened."

  "Already?"

  "He fooled us, didn't he?"

  "The?"

  "Look!"

  Missie grasped Willie's hand and led him to the foot of the bed where the small bundle lay peacefully sleeping in a simple cradle made by Mr. Weiss. One fist curled gently beside Nathan's full cheeks.

  "Ours?" Willie whispered in awe.

  "Ours," Missie said. "Isn't he somethin'?"

  "Can we--can we git 'im out of there?" Willie asked swallowing hard and blinking back tears. Missie nodded. Willie bent down and carefully picked up his son.

  "Isn't he somethin'," he repeated Missie's words.

  Missie felt bubbly. Willie was here. Willie was pleased with his son--her gift to him. She reached up and kissed her husband's cheek.

  "I think he looks like his pa," she whispered. "Look, he's gonna have dark hair. Oh, I know he'll likely lose all the baby fuzz, but I think when it comes in again, it'll be dark like yours. An' wait until he opens his eyes. They're blue now, but a dark, and hazy blue. I'm thinkin' that before long they're gonna be as brown as his pa's. But just look at this." Missie's voice held a hint of amazement and joy. She reached out one finger and gently touched young Nathan on his soft chin. "A dimple! A dimple just like yours."

  She expected a protest, but instead Willie looked at the small dimple and a light began to shine in his eyes.

  "Aw, c'mon," he said with a grin.

  "When did he arrive?"

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  "October the tenth."

  "The tenth? That's way early."

  "He's almost two weeks old already--and ready to travel." "Yer sure?"

  "Doc says iffen we take it easy, we should be able to go most anytime."

  Willie was too moved to speak.

  "It won't take long, will it--to be ready to go?" Missie asked.

  "No--no, not long. I'll git right on it. Henry came with me this time. We brought two teams, so's we would have plenty of room fer supplies and not have to crowd ya none." He laughed. "Henry's gonna be a heap disappointed. We was all set fer a month-long stay."

  Missie laughed quietly.

  "Oh, Willie. I can hardly wait. I'm so tired of being alone in this ol' town. I've been so lonesome."

  The baby stirred and Willie adjusted him in his arms. "Hey," Willie said suddenly. "Has he got a name?"

  "He has." Missie assured him, "An' a good one too. He's

  Nathan--Nathan Isaiah."

  "Nathan Isaiah," Willie repeated. "I like it." Lifting his small son up so that he could plant a kiss on his down
y head, he whispered, "Nathan Isaiah, I love you."

  After four days, they were ready to leave. Mrs. Taylorson could hardly bear to see them go. She cooed and cuddled the baby and insisted upon holding him until the very last moment. Even Mr. Taylorson took time off from his store to come and see them off. He reminded them three times to consider their home as their own, should they be back in town.

  Kathy and Melinda were both tearful. The kind old preacher offered a parting prayer, and his wife insisted that they have some of her fresh-baked bread for the trail.

  Henry fussed over Missie's bed in the wagon, determined that no wind or rain should be allowed to bring discomfort to her or the baby. It was not so hot for traveling now. In fact, Missie had to bundle up against a cool breeze.

  At last they were on the trail, and Missie mentally ticked off

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  the new calendar that she carried in her head. In just six days they would be home. Finally she would see the land that Willie had learned to love. Her excitement grew within her until she could hardly contain it. At last she would be free of the drab, barren, dusty town. She would move into her own home like a nesting bird, and make their dreams come true. She cradled her son close to her. "An' you--you little rascal," she crooned to him, "you weren't even in those dreams. But I think that you're gonna fit in just fine."

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  Chapter 24

  The Ranch

  "We're almost there now," Willie announced with excitement in his voice. "Jest over thet there next hill."

  They had already traveled six days. For fear of tiring Missie or the baby, Willie had stopped each evening a little earlier than would have been normal. Now it was noon of the seventh day.

  Missie swallowed hard. Just over the next hill. Could a miracle take place "just over the next hill"?

  The land they had been traveling through was even more bleak than that around Tettsford Junction. Until she saw something better with her own eyes, Missie would find it impossible to believe there would be any change. Hills and more colorless hills, covered with only coarse, dry-looking grass. Tumbleweed somersaulted along in the wind, rolling and bouncing forever and ever. Occasional cactus plants or an outcropping of rocks were the only changes of scenery.

  Far in the distance were the dark mountains. Missie had expected--had hoped--that the mountains would be her friends. But they remained aloof, offering only a dim outline, shadowing themselves in a gloomy haze.

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  "Sometimes they're purple--sometimes blue--sometimes almost pink," Willie had boasted, "dependin' on how the sun hits 'em. An' then in the winter, with the snow on their peaks, they're a dazzle of white."

  "Can we see the mountains from our place?" Missie had asked, with almost a prayer that it might be so. She was so anxious to share Willie's mountains in each of their changing moods.

  "Not from our valley," Willie had responded. "In order to see the mountains one would have to build up on a hill--an' ya wouldn't want thet. Too much wind, no protection."

  "Too much wind," Missie muttered softly now, thinking back on Willie's words. "Way too much wind." She wrapped her heavy shawl more tightly about her.

  So they couldn't see the mountains from their house. Then, what could they see? She had asked Willie that, too.

  "Lookin' to the east, down the draw," Willie had said, "ya can look right out on the range. Mile after mile of low hills, with nothin' to git in the way of yer lookin'." Willie seemed to feel that the empty miles to look upon were a great asset. The thought of it made Missie shiver.

  They now topped the hill and Willie reined in the horses. Missie shut her eyes wishing that she didn't have to open them.

  "Well," Willie said triumphantly, "there it is. Ain't it some- thin'?"

  Missie opened her eyes slowly.

  There it was. Tucked in a small valley, just as Willie had said, were a few small, scattered buildings and what seemed like miles and miles of corral fence.

  "You said it was green," Missie said through stiff lips, immediately regretting the remark.

  "It is in the springtime. This is late fall. Nothin's green now." Willie was unshaken. "Well, what d'ya think of it?"

  Missie had been dreading that question. How could she answer it? She couldn't let Willie down--yet she couldn't lie.

  "It's--it's--really somethin'," she mumbled thankful that she had remembered Willie's own words.

  "Sure is," Willie agreed, interpreting her answer with his own optimism.

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  He pointed a finger toward the valley and leaned toward her.

  "The corrals for the horses and cows all lay over there."

  Missie wondered how he ever thought that she or anyone else could have missed them; they seemed to fill up the whole valley.

  Willie continued, "Thet there bigger buildin' is the barn-- we'll build an even bigger one later. Thet there's the bunkhouse right in there, an' the cookshack is there beside it."

  "Where's the house?" cut in Missie.

  "The temporary one? Right there."

  Missie's eyes followed his finger. The temporary house, like the bunkhouse, cookshack and barn, looked to her like a giant heap of dried grass.

  "They're made of sod," Willie informed.

  "Sod?"

  "Yeah. Ya cut blocks of sod from the ground an' pile 'em up. Makes a real snug place to live fer the winter."

  Missie swallowed, her eyes wide and heart pounding. "Sod," she whispered. Her lips trembled as she fought to control her emotions.

  Willie spoke to the team and the wagon rumbled on. Missie closed her eyes again.

  No miracle had taken place "over the next hill." There was no fairyland awaiting her. But she needed a miracle now--to help her through the ordeal that she knew lay ahead.

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  Chapter 25

  Missie's New Home

  The sod house at a distance had been shock enough to behold,. but Missie's close-up view of it was even more difficult. As the wagon creaked to a stop before the small, low structure, Missie caught her lip between her teeth to keep a sob from escaping.

  Henry had arrived earlier, and started a fire to warm the house for the baby's entrance. He emerged now, grinning from ear to ear.

  The smoke poured from the little pipe of a chimney and dissipated into the wind. Missie recognized the pungent odor of buffalo chips. They had been forced many times on the trail to use them when wood supplies had been scarce, but Missie had never really accepted or appreciated this type of fuel. As she sat on the wagon seat, she looked around and realized that there would be no wood. There were few trees in sight.

  Willie helped her down and she stood a moment to steady her legs and her mind, bracing herself for whatever she found behind the dwarfed door that guarded her new home.

  Willie led the way, and Missie ducked her head to follow him into the dark interior of the little sod house.

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  It was high noon and still the room was so dark that Missie's eyes took several moments to adjust. When she finally could see, she gazed around the one small room. In the corner stood their bed, but not the neat, spread-covered version that she had pictured it to be. It was an oversized, lumpy, quilt-covered affair definitely made up by a man.

  A small black stove squatted beneath the smoke-spewing chimney. Close beside it were a small wooden table and two stools pushed beneath it. A cluttered shelf stretched along the wall; crocks and tins were randomly stacked across it.

  The two windows were tiny, hardly big enough to look out of--and one had to stoop to do so.

  The small panes of dirty glass were held snugly in place by the sod that was stacked firmly around them. Missie, her thoughts swirling around like leaves in a wind, promised herself that she would give them a good washing at her first opportunity. She jerked her thoughts away from the windows, amazed that at such a traumatic moment she could even notice the dirt on the tiny panes.

  Her gaze traveled up to the ceiling. It, too, was sod held precar
iously in place by strips of board, twine and wire. It looked as if it periodically gave up parts of itself. Missie hoped that it wouldn't all come tumbling down.

  She quickly lowered her eyes lest they give her away--and immediately noticed the floor. It was dirt! Just hard-packed, uneven dirt. Missie sucked in her breath but Willie was talking cheerily.

  "It ain't much, but it's warm an' snug. Come next year we'll build a real house--of either rock or wood--ya can have yer choice."

  "Coffee's ready," Henry called. Willie stepped forward to take Nathan from Missie and lay him on the bed. Missie felt reluctant to let him go but gradually released her grip. Her eyes surveyed the roof above the bed to be sure that a clump of turf was not about to fall.

  "Sit right here," Henry invited, and Missie numbly did as she was told.

  The hot coffee revived her somewhat, and Missie soon discovered that her hands and feet could move again. She felt Henry's

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  eyes upon her and knew that she must respond in some way. "Well," she said, forcing a chuckle past the lump in her throat, "sure won't be much to keepin' house."

  She saw Henry's face relax. Willie reached for her hand. "I know it won't be easy, Missie--this first year--but jest you

  wait. Next year, I promise, we'll build ya jest what ya want." Missie took another swallow of coffee. Henry had brewed it strong and dark. She needed that.

  "Where are all the crates an' boxes of my things?" she asked softly. She was surprised that she had said the word "my," but she couldn't have avoided it.

  "We stored 'em in the back shed by the barn until ya got here. We didn't rightly know jest which stuff you'd want. I can git 'em fer ya right away, iffen you'd like."

  Missie looked around her at the already crowded room.

  "I think you'd best leave 'em where they be. There doesn't