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

by Janette Oke

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  forced to give up her vigil. Again that night she read by lamplight. Again she embraced the words of Isaiah 41:10. At length she crawled into bed by her small son, softly repeating the words to herself in an effort to drive the uneasiness from her heart.

  The third day dawned and Missie again paced back and forth, scanning the hills for anything that moved. She prepared a third supper for an absent husband and tried to silence the uneasiness within her. What if Willie didn't come back? Her thoughts went to her mother and the ordeal that she had faced when her Clem did not return.

  Who was she, Missie, to think that such a thing could not happen to her? Her heart seemed to flutter and then stand still, flutter again and remain silent. Missie threw herself on the bed.

  "Oh, God," she cried, "I know that I've been readin' an' clingin' to Your Word, but I guess I haven't been believin' it, God--not really, not down deep in my heart. Help me, Lord. Help me to believe it, to really believe it, that no matter--no matter what happens, it's in Your hands and for my good. God, I turn it all over to You--my life--my Willie--everything, God. Help me to trust You with all that is mine."

  Missie continued to sob softly until a deep sense of peace stole into her heart and gently stilled its wild beating.

  She awakened much later to the thumping of hooves in the yard. She pulled herself up quickly and rushed to the window, expecting to see Willie's wagons. Instead, it was strange horsemen milling about in the bright moonlight. Cookie was approaching them.

  "It's happened," Missie whispered. "Something's happened to Willie." Her weak knees buckled beneath her and she sank onto a stool. "O God, help me now--help me to trust You."

  She laid her head on her arms on the table and steeled herself for the news that Cookie would bring. No tears came--only a dull, empty feeling.

  It was Cookie's footsteps at her door. He called softly and she bid him enter. He stepped inside, with the moonlight washing over him. Missie knew that he could not see her where she sat in the darkness.

  "Mrs. LaHaye?"

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  "Jest thought thet ya might hear an' wonder 'bout all the ruckus in the yard. The new hands thet yer husband hired have jest arrived. The wagons will be in tomorra."

  Missie's pounding heart caught in her throat. The new hands! The wagons were a short distance behind them! Willie would be home tomorrow!

  It took a moment for it all to sink in. She wanted to shout. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to just throw herself on her bed and cry in pure thankfulness. Instead she said in a choked voice, "Thank you, Cookie. I was wonderin'."

  When the door was closed and Cookie was gone, she put her head back down on her arms and sobbed out her pent-up feelings in great bursts of joy. "Thank You, God, thank You. Oh, thank You."

  Missie never told Willie of her anxious days of waiting or of her traumatic nighttime experience. She was sure that he could not possibly understand. When the wagons had pulled into the yard in the heat and the dust the following day, a calm and smiling Missie greeted her man. He had brought supplies, letters, news that could hardly keep--and he even brought her chickens.

  Willie turned from Missie to give orders to the ranch hands, then followed her into their small house.

  He held her close. "Oh, I've missed ya. I thought thet trail would never end. It jest seemed forever." He kissed her. "Did ya miss me--a little bit?" he teased.

  "A little bit," Missie said, smiling to herself. "Yeah, a little bit."

  Willie produced the letters, but even before Missie could read them, Willie had to give some news.

  The preacher's wife had fallen and was laid up with a broken hip. Missie's heart went out to the poor woman.

  Kathy Weiss had found herself a young man.

  "Poor Henry!" cried Missie.

  Willie smiled. "Poor Henry, nothin'. Do ya know, thet young rascal had us all fooled? He wasn't ever after Kathy--not a'tall. It was Melinda Emory, the young widow, right from the start.

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  Only Henry had to wait fer a proper time before lettin' her know his feelin's."

  "Yer joshin'!" Missie spoke incredulously. "Melinda? Well, I'll be!"

  "And," Willie went on, "Henry has gone so far as to get some land of his own right next to ours--and in a short while, we will have neighbors."

  Missie could hardly contain herself. Melinda for a neighbor! What a joy that would be. Another woman she could see often, and enjoy her company. She could scarcely wait.

  But Willie also had some other big news. "And guess what? They're gonna build a railroad. An' they have it figured to put the main cattle shippin' station jest eighteen or twenty miles southwest of us--maybe even a little closer--who knows fer sure? Ya know what thet means? A railroad, a town, people movin' in, connection with the East--before we know it, we'll have so many neighbors we'll be trippin' over each other."

  Missie exclaimed, "Oh--oh," over and over, while the tears trickled down her face in amazement and happiness. "Willie, when? When?"

  Willie spoke calmly. "Well, I'm sure it won't be tomorra-like. But they're workin' on the railroad fer sure--from the other end. It should git here within a couple years, fer sure--maybe even next year, some say. An' as soon as the line is in, the people will follow for certain. Always happens thet way. Jest think! A railroad an' shipping station. What thet will mean to the ranchers! No more long cattle drives with heavy losses. Every beef thet gits safely to market means a lot of dollars in a cattleman's pocket.

  "We've come at jest the right time, Missie. Things have never looked better. From now on, every available acre of land will be snapped up at a big price, an' the price of cattle is bound to go up, too." Willie picked Missie up and attempted to swing her around in their small cramped quarters. He bumped into the table and bed.

  "Silly small shack," he said. "We're gonna git us thet house just as soon as we sell some of thet herd next spring. Place ain't fit to live in."

  "Oh, Willie," Missie chided--though secretly and silently she

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  agreed with Willie's statement--"it's a home. We can eat, sleep an' keep dry here. That's not bad for starters."

  Willie laughed as he hugged her.

  "How's the boy?"

  "He's been good."

  "No more onions?"

  "Only little snatches."

  Willie gazed at his sleeping son.

  "Look at 'im," he said softly. "He's gone an' growed by inches."

  Willie couldn't resist; he gently lifted the baby into his arms. Nathan awoke. Surprise, then joy, made him squirm and wave his arms at the sight of his father.

  Willie cuddled him close and kissed the soft head of hair. Missie blinked away happy tears.

  "Got somethin' fer ya, Boy," Willie said to his son. "An' it weren't near the trouble of yer mama's confounded chickens." "My chickens!" Missie squealed. "Where are they?" "Well, I hope by now the boys have 'em corralled inside thet

  wire fence. What a squawkin', complainin' lot!"

  "How many?"

  "Couple roosters an' eleven hens--an' I had me one awful time to gather up thet many. Folks out here seem to know better than to bother with chickens."

  Missie accepted the teasing and hurried out to see her flock. Willie followed behind her with the still-sleepy Nathan.

  The men had just finished tacking up the wire mesh to poles that they had pounded into the ground. As Henry finished hanging the gate that he had quickly built for the enclosure, the other two men turned and left; let someone else do the fussing with the chickens; they had done more than their share in building the pen.

  Willie passed Nathan to Missie and went to lift down the large crate. The chickens squawked and flapped as they were released, not appearing the least bit grateful to be set free. They were a sorry-looking lot, not at all like Marty's proud-strutting chickens back home. Missie wondered if she would ever be able to coax them to produce any eggs for her family. One of the hens

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  did no
t leave the crate. She had succumbed to the heat of the trail or the lice that inflicted her, or perhaps some other malady. Willie said he would bury it later so it wouldn't draw any unwanted flies.

  "Seems to me," he observed, "another good dose of louse powder might not hurt 'em any. I think we'll jest leave them outside--shut them out of their coop until I treat 'em again. I gave 'em all one good dustin' before I loaded 'em. Left a trail of dead lice from Tettsford Junction to home."

  Missie laughed, but agreed. They did look like they could stand another good treatment of something.

  "I'll do the dusting," Willie said, "but from then on, they're all yers. Never was overfond of chickens."

  Poor Willie. To bring the chickens had been a real ordeal, Missie realized. She looked at him and love filled her heart. Before she could stop herself it bubbled forth.

  "Willie," she said, "I love you--so much."

  Willie dropped a chicken and turned to her. His eyes took on a shine.

  "In thet case, Mrs. LaHaye, yer welcome to yer chickens."

  Willie's surprise for his young son was a smart-looking, half- grown pup.

  "He'll be a big fella when he's full-grown, an' I thought him a good idea. He'll help to keep the coyotes away from yer chickens. An' ya never know," he said with a grin, "with thet railroad a-comin; an' all those folks a-pourin in, ya never know jest who might come a-callin'. I'd feel safer iffen ya had a good watch dog."

  Missie looked at the empty miles stretching before her and laughed at Willie's prediction of the crowded countryside. Suddenly she remembered that she had not told Willie of the visit from Maria.

  "Willie, I did have a visitor--honest! A real live woman-- though sometimes I feel thet I must have dreamed it. Oh, I wish that she'd come back. We had the best visit, an' we prayed together--"

  "Where was she from?"

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  "I don't know."

  "Ya didn't ask?"

  Missie laughed.

  "I asked her lots of things thet she didn't answer--or maybe did answer--I don't know--an' then we just gave up an' enjoyed one another."

  Willie frowned.

  "She couldn't understand English--an' I couldn't understand whatever it was that she spoke."

  "Yet ya had ya a good visit?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "An' ya prayed together?"

  Missie nodded in agreement.

  "Yet ya couldn't understand a word thet the other spoke?"

  "Not the words--but the meanin'. She was really nice, Willie. An' young too. An', oh, I wish so often that she'd come back-- that we could have tea, an' play with Nathan, an' laugh an' pray together."

  Willie put a finger under her chin and gently lifted her face until he could look into her eyes.

  "I didn't realize that you were so lonesome," he said huskily. "Here I been so busy an' so taken up with the spread an' the cows an' all. I never noticed or gave thought to jest how lonesome it's been fer a woman all alone, without another female nowhere near.

  "I shoulda taken ya into town, Missie. Gave ya a chance to see the outside world again, to visit an' chat. I missed yer need, Missie, an'--an' ya never complain--jest let me go on, makin' dumb mistakes right an' left. A sorry-looking bunch of cowpokes, a work-crazy husband an' a baby who can't say more than 'goo' ain't much fer company. Yet ya never, never say a thing 'bout it. I love you, too, Missie--so very much."

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  Chapter 33

  Afternoon Tea

  Missie left the house early the next morning, while Nathan slept, to fetch water for her chickens from the spring. She was determined to have eggs for the breakfast table as soon as possible. Already it promised to be a hot day and she thought of the stuffiness of the small house on such a day. Perhaps she should take Nathan to the coolness of the shade bushes near the spring for the most oppressive part of the early afternoon.

  She hummed as she walked, letting the empty pail swing to and fro. She felt lighthearted this morning. Willie was home, she had heard news from dear friends; her strange new world was being enhanced, first with fresh milk, then with her bountiful garden and now with chickens. It would soon be easy to prepare good meals. She and her family would be able to enjoy many of the things that they had been accustomed to back East.

  As Missie walked she reviewed parts of the letters that she had received. She again felt a pang of sadness about the misfortune of the preacher's wife. And Mrs. Taylorson! What a kind friend she had turned out to be. She had even sent a pair of tiny

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  shoes to Nathan for when he began to walk--which wouldn't be long at the rate he was growing. Kathy's letter had been full of news of her young man. Seemed he was Samson, Solomon and the Apostle John all rolled into one. Missie smiled. But the letter that she had read and re-read was the one from Melinda. Knowing that Melinda would one day--soon she hoped--be near enough to be called a neighbor, was special for Missie. Oh, how she wished that Melinda were already here.

  Melinda had written much about the town of Tettsford and her activities with the school and the church. She spoke of the lessening of her pain since the death of her husband, even though his memory still brought tears oftentimes. She also spoke of Henry, of his thoughtfulness, his manliness and his faith. Yes,

  Missie thought, Henry truly is worthy of a girl like Melinda. They will make such delightful neighbors.

  Missie returned from the spring with the water for her chickens. She talked to them as she poured it into the trough and then portioned out the feed.

  "An' you better start layin' quick-like," she threatened, "or you might find yourselves smothered in dumplin's." The chickens fought for rights at the watering trough, seeming to ignore Missie's speech.

  "You are a motley-lookin' bunch," Missie said with a laugh, "but just you wait a week or two. We'll get some meat on those bones an' get those feathers smoothed out an' back where they belong. Right now you look like you're wearin"bout half of 'em upside down."

  She picked up her pail and hurried back to the house lest Nathan awaken and miss her.

  As she rounded the corner of the cookshack she found Willie and his hands gathered for a briefing. The men lounged around in various positions. Some leaned against the sod shack, others squatted on the ground, or lay propped up on an elbow. Apparently Willie had let the men know that this was a time for "at ease." Cookie sat on his bench near his cookshack door and was the first to notice Missie as she came around the corner. Missie heard Willie's voice.

  "--an' as we'll all be livin' an' workin' together, I hope thet

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  we'll feel free an' easy with one another. By now I'm sure thet you've all met Scottie, our foreman. Scottie knows all thet there is to know 'bout ranchin'. He will be takin' over the matters connected with the herd. You'll take all orders from him an' he'll be responsible to me. You are his concern an' any requests or complaints thet ya might have are directed to him. He'll see thet I hear 'bout 'em. He'll assign the shifts an' the jobs, accordin' as he sees fit. Cookie here, will feed ya. He'll have yer chow waitin' fer ya at the same time each day. There'll always be fresh coffee on, fer those comin' an' goin'--even for those on the night shift."

  Willie noticed Cookie's grin and turned to see Missie standing hesitantly. His eyes lit up.

  "An' now fer the bright spot on this here ranch," he said, holding out his hand to her. "I want ya to meet my wife, Mrs. LaHaye."

  Missie stepped forward shyly.

  "Missie," Willie said, "here're our new riders. Scottie--the foreman." Missie looked into two very kind, blue eyes, a twinkle just barely dared to show itself. Scottie looked as weathered and western as the hills that stood behind him. His small frame spoke of many years in the saddle. Missie felt a confidence in Willie's choice of man. Scottie, she felt sure, was one to be trusted.

  He nodded slightly in acknowledgement of the introduction, as if to say, "Iffen ya need me, I'm here."

  Missie's brief smile was a silent "Thank you."

  Willi
e moved on. "This here is Rusty." Missie's eyes traveled to a freckled face and a mop of unruly red hair. A wide grin greeted her.

  He's no more than a kid, Missie thought. Her mother heart wondered about this boy's mama and if she was somewhere worrying and praying for her son. She offered a warm smile.

  "An' Smith," Willie continued. Missie turned to look into fierce black eyes in a sun-darkened face. His nod was barely perceptible and his gaze dropped quickly to the ground. I wonder, Missie thought, what happened to put all that bitterness into your soul.

  "An' Brady," Willie said. Missie looked into another pair of eyes. These were cold and calculating. They raked cruelly over

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  Missie, making her want to blush beneath the bold stare. She nodded quickly, then gave Willie an imploring plea with her eyes to move on. She could still feel those unnerving eyes upon her.

  "An' over here," Willie said, turning to the man who had risen from the ground to acknowledge the introduction, "is Lane."

  Lane looked like he would gladly have allowed the earth to open up and swallow him. He started to look at Missie, changed his mind and looked at the toes of his boots instead; a dark flush spread steadily over his face. His hands sought something to do or somewhere to go but ended up only rubbing against his sides. Missie smiled. Never had she seen a man so shy. She hoped to put him at ease.

  Turning from him to the others she said, "Glad to have you all here at the Hanging W," addressing herself to Scottie in particular. "I know that I won't really be seem' that much of you--you havin' your work to do, an' me havin' mine. But should there ever be a need that my husband an' I can help with, we'd be most happy to oblige." She nodded to them all, a shy smile crossing her lips. "Now I'd best get back to my baby," she said, and turned to the house.