Love's Enduring Promise

by Janette Oke

  The continuing rain made the digging of the grave a miserable task, but all was in readiness by the appointed time.

  At two in the afternoon the farm wagons slowly made their way to a sheltered corner of Jedd’s land where a short service of committal was held. Clark and Ben Graham were in charge.

  Marty’s heart ached and she wept for the two young girls standing huddled together in the rain as they watched their only source of love and comfort lowered into the ground. After a whispered conference with Clark following the service, she plucked up her courage and dared to approach Jedd with a suggestion that the girls come home with her for a few days “until things are sorted out.”

  “Be no need,” he informed her. “There’s plenty at home to keep their minds an’ hands busy.”

  Marty felt anger rise sharply within her and turned away quickly to keep from expressing it. She wouldn’t forget her promise to Tina Larson and would plan and work as long as she could to fulfill it—yet how was it ever to be accomplished? School would be starting in the fall, and somehow those two girls must be there. She’d pray more, and she knew Clark would join her in the petition. God had mysterious ways of answering prayer, beyond a person’s imagination.

  Marty bit her lip to stop its quivering, wiped the tears mingling with the rain on her cheeks, and went to join Clark, who was waiting in the wagon.

  The death of Mrs. Larson hung heavy on Marty’s mind during the next days and weeks. She could not rid herself of a deep burden for the girls now left without a mother and saddled with a father who didn’t know how to cope with life in the best of times. She knew the poor little things were facing a loss too big even for an adult.

  She visited the girls several times in the days following the funeral, taking fresh baked goods, vegetables, and cold meat. Still her heart ached within her each time she thought about them. She decided that a visit to Ma Graham was what she needed. Ma could help her think this thing through and come up with something that would help her persuade the stubborn Jedd to allow the girls their rightful and needful education.

  Marty had come to know the girls much better during the days of Mrs. Larson’s illness. Nandry, the older of the two, was quiet and withdrawn. Marty feared that even now it might be too late to help Nandry come out of herself and her recent sorrow to develop into a young lady capable of self-expression and self-worth. Younger Clae was like a small flower that had been kept out of the sunshine. Given a chance, Marty felt confident that Clae could burst forth into full bloom. Gradually she had lost her shyness with Marty, and Marty noticed that even though she was the younger, Clae was the one who often took the lead in conversations.

  Marty set her chin determinedly. Somehow she must get that promised chance for those girls. At breakfast she approached Clark with her plan.

  “It bein’ sech a fine day, I thought I’d give the young’uns some air an’ pay a visit to Ma.”

  “Good idea,” he responded immediately. “Ground’s not dry enough fer seedin’ today. Ya can take the team. I’m gonna spend me the day cleanin’ more seed grain jest in case it dries enough to plant the lower field later this spring. I’ll bring ya the team whenever yer ready.”

  “Should be all set in ’bout an hour’s time,” Marty answered. “It’ll be right good to have a chat with Ma. She hasn’t been home that long from tendin’ to Wanda and her baby. I’ll be able to hear all ’bout how thet new boy’s doin’.”

  “An’ . . .” Clark prompted, looking intently into her face.

  “An’ . . . I’ll maybe give her a chance to talk ’bout thet comin’ baby of Sally Anne’s. ’Magine she’s gittin’ right uptight waitin’ on thet one, it already bein’ on the late side.”

  “An’ . . .” Clark prompted again.

  Marty looked at him. All right—so he knew neither of those reasons was the real purpose for her calling on Ma. She sighed. “I wanna talk to her ’bout the Larson girls,” she answered forthrightly. “Clark, somethin’s jest got to be done ’bout ’em, but I’m not smart enough to figure out what.”

  Clark pushed aside his empty porridge bowl and rose to get the coffeepot. He rested a hand on her shoulder as he poured Marty a second cup, then refilled his own and returned the pot to the stove.

  So that’s it, his eyes seemed to say, but he sipped the coffee silently.

  Finally he spoke. “Jedd Larson be a mite bullheaded. Seems unless he decides thet his young’uns need thet edjecation, there’s not much hope of anyone changin’ his mind.”

  “I know thet,” Marty mourned. “Oh, I wish I had me some way of persuadin’ ’im. Do ya think you as a man talkin’ to ’im might help?”

  Clark shook his head. “Jedd never did listen much to my say-so.”

  “It’s so selfish and mean,” Marty stormed, “jest plain mean.”

  “Don’t fergit thet those girls be gittin’ his meals an’ washin’ his clothes.”

  “It’s still not fair.”

  Clark’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe ya’ll have to pray the Lord to send along a new Mrs. Larson.”

  Marty didn’t think it was funny. “I wouldn’t pray thet on any woman—no matter how ill I thought of her,” she shot back with eyes flashing.

  Clark just smiled and rose to his feet. “Don’t know of any other way out,” he said. “I’ll have the team waitin’. C’mon, Clare, let’s go git the horses ready. You too, Arnie, c’mon with yer pa.”

  The boys both responded joyfully to the offer—Clare with a bound toward the door and Arnie holding up his arms to be carried.

  Marty hastened to clear the table and do up the dishes. Missie decided it was her turn to wash and thus slowed down the procedure, but Marty knew it was worth the extra time to encourage the little girl’s helpfulness.

  When they drew up to the Graham home, Ma was obviously glad to see them. She hurried them into the house, where her children welcomed the Davis youngsters and took them off to play. Nellie volunteered to entertain young Arnie, and Marty accepted her offer gratefully.

  Ma and Marty sat down to a cup of coffee, warm nut bread, and a long-awaited chat.

  “How’s thet new boy of Wanda’s?” Marty wondered.

  “Tiny—but he’s a spunky little’un. He’s got a lot of fight in ’im fer sure.”

  “What did they finally name ’im?” Marty smiled, remembering the long list of names from which Cam and Wanda were trying to choose.

  “Everett Cameron DeWinton John.”

  “Quite a handle fer sech a small bundle.”

  “Seems so, but maybe someday he’ll fit it.”

  “I’m so glad he’s doin’ fine,” Marty said with feeling. “It would have crushed poor Wanda iffen she’d lost another baby.”

  Ma nodded solemnly.

  “How’s Sally Anne?”

  “She’s fine, but she sure is tired of waitin’.” Ma shook her head. “Ya know how it can seem ferever. I called over to see her yesterday. Even got the cradle thet Jason made all laid with blankets, an’ she’s jest achin’ to fill thet little bed up. Still, I don’t think the time’s settin’ as heavy on her as on her ma. I never dreamed I’d ever git so flustered like over the comin’ of a young’un.”

  “Are ya gonna deliver her?”

  “Land sakes, no! We’re gittin’ the doc fer sure fer thet one. Funny thing—me havin’ delivered so many young’uns in my time, but jest thinkin’ on thet ’un makes me feel as skitterish as a yearlin’ first time in harness. We’s all set to send Tommie off fer Doc at the first warnin’. I’ll sure be glad like when it’s all over.”

  Marty nodded. She’d be glad, too. She wondered what it would be like to see one’s own daughter about to give birth. Must be a mite scary—knowing the pain but unable to share or relieve it. She reckoned that when it was Missie’s turn, she’d be even more nervous than Ma. She pushed the thought from her and changed the subject.

  “Ma, I really came ’bout somethin’ else. Ya know I promised Tina Larson I’d do all I could to see thet Nand
ry and Clae had a chance fer their schoolin’. An’ Jedd—well, I jest fear he won’t be ’llowin’ no sech thing. In jest a few months now thet schoolhouse will be openin’ its door, an’ Jedd Larson declares thet no daughter of his be needin’ it.”

  Marty looked at Ma, the helplessness weighing her down. “What we gonna do to make ’im change his mind?”

  “Reckon there ain’t much of anythin’ thet will make Jedd Larson change his mind, lessen he wants to. Me, I wouldn’t know even where to begin to work on thet man. He ain’t got ’im much of a mind, but what he has got sure can stay put.”

  “Yeah.” Marty sighed and played with her coffee cup. There didn’t seem to be much hope for her to keep her promise. What could she do? She had prayed and prayed, but Jedd did not seem to be softening in the slightest toward the idea of schooling for his girls. But she wasn’t giving up yet. Maybe somehow the Lord could open the mind of that stubborn man.

  As she helped Ma gather up the dishes, an excited Jason arrived at the door.

  “Ma,” he called, rushing in without a knock or a howdy. “Sally Anne thinks it’s time.”

  “Tom’s in the field by the barn,” Ma told him quickly, all in a flurry. “Send ’im fer Doc and you come back with me.” She grabbed a bag from a corner, threw her shawl about her shoulders, and left the house almost on a run.

  Marty realized that the bag in the corner had been all packed and ready to go just for this eventuality.

  Tom left the yard on a galloping horse, and Ma and Jason left at a not much slower pace in his wagon.

  Marty gathered up her small family and headed for home. She was sure all would go well for Sally Anne and her baby. Still, she found herself praying as she traveled.

  Later that afternoon Tom arrived with the glad news that Sally Anne was safely delivered of a small daughter and that Grandma and Grandpa were holding up fine.

  “Jest think,” he said proudly, “I’m Uncle Tom now. Guess I’ll have to go out an’ git me a cabin.”

  Marty smiled.

  “What ya mean?” Missie queried. “Can’t ya live at home when yer an uncle?”

  Tom winked at Marty. “Yeah,” he said, “guess I can. Guess they won’t kick me out jest ’cause I’m an uncle. ’Specially when I’m an uncle who does most of the chorin’. Won’t need me thet cabin fer a while. Anyway, I’m not in the mood fer batchin’.” He paused, then said rather sheepishly, “I’ll wait ’til I git me a cook ’fore I go movin’ into a cabin of my own.”

  Marty suddenly realized that young Tommie was indeed growing up, and perhaps his jesting about a cabin of his own had more serious meaning than he pretended. How quickly they grew up and changed, these young ones.

  Her mind checked the girls of the neighborhood. Would any of them be just right for young Tom Graham, who had so endeared himself to her when he had cheerfully done Clark’s chores and spent his evenings reading to the young Missie? Now he stood before her on the threshold of manhood. Marty hoped when the time came for him to take a bride, he would find one worthy of him.

  Tom sat bouncing Arnie on his foot and went back to the subject of his new niece.

  “They still haven’t decided fer sure on her name. Sally Anne wants to call her Laura, but Jason be holdin’ out fer Elizabeth. Seems he read ’im a story ’bout an Elizabeth an’ always wanted a daughter by thet name. Then he insists thet she should have Sally or Anne in her name, too. Elizabeth Sally sounds kinda funny. Me, I’m a favorin’ Elizabeth Anne. What ya think?”

  “I like it,” Marty assured him. “I think it’s a right pretty name.”

  “Me too,” Missie joined in, anxious to share her opinion and make her presence known to her beloved Tom.

  “Thet should settle it, then,” he said. “I’ll jest tell Sally Anne thet Missie says it should be Elizabeth Anne, so Elizabeth Anne it must be.”

  Missie grinned and clapped her hands with glee.

  Tom placed Little Arnie on the floor and prepared to take his leave.

  “I best be gittin’. Nellie will be mad iffen I’m late fer supper, an’ there’s still the chorin’ to do. Don’t s’pose I’ll git much help from ‘ole Grandpa’ tonight.” He enjoyed his teasing, but he said it with love and respect in his voice.

  Marty smiled. “Tell ‘Grandpa’ thet we send our love,” she told him.

  With a nod and a wave of his hand, he was off.

  “I like ’im,” Missie whispered. “I think when I grow up I’ll marry Tommie.”

  “My land, child!” Marty exclaimed. “Yer not yet six an’ talkin’ of marryin’. Let’s not rush things quite so much, if that’s all right with you.”

  “I didn’t mean now,” Missie explained firmly. “I said when I grow up. First, I gotta go to school.”

  EIGHT

  A Strange Answer

  The garden produced its welcome crops, and the warm summer sun began to be almost too warm to bear. Marty was glad for the cool breezes that blew off the nearby hills, and she chose the early morning hours for any necessary weeding and preparing for the harvest to come. Missie loved sun-ripened tomatoes and would eat her fill right off the plants when they were ready to pick.

  But like the spring, soon summer, too, would be gone, and fall would be upon them. With the fall would come preparations for school. Correspondence with Mr. Wilbur Whittle assured them he had not changed his mind and would be arriving in late August to acquaint himself with the people and the area and to prepare the schoolhouse for the commencement of classes.

  Arrangements had been made for the unmarried Mr. Whittle to board at the Watleys, and Mrs. Watley had her two grown-up daughters polishing themselves as well as the family silver.

  Missie was counting the days. Her whole life was now filled with thinking of the new school year. What she would wear, what she would learn, and who she would play with were all very important in her daily planning and in her regular reports to anyone who would listen.

  Missie had two deep regrets. One was that Miss Puss would need to put in long days alone in her absence, and the second was that Tom Graham had declared himself to be too old to attend school with all the neighborhood youngsters. She’d miss Tommie. She wanted very much to have him there. She would be so proud to stand and recite a well-studied lesson if Tommie were listening. She would work extra hard at her reading and sums if he were there to observe her skills. But Tom was not to be there, and Missie, though still excited about the prospect of school, was definitely disappointed.

  Marty, too, was disappointed—not over Tom but over the Larson girls. The school term was only a few weeks away, and there had been no change in Jedd Larson’s attitude. Marty was about to conclude that her prayers had all been in vain.

  At their usual pre-breakfast prayer time, Marty was mulling over these thoughts in her mind as Clark read the morning Scripture: “‘Ask, an’ it shall be given you; seek—”’

  I been askin’, Lord, an’ nothin’s been happenin’, she admonished her Lord and immediately felt guilt and remorse.

  I’m sorry, Father, she prayed silently. I guess I’m ’bout the most faithless an’ impatient child ya got. Help me to be content like an’ to keep on havin’ faith.

  Clark seemed to sense her mood and in his morning prayer included this petition: “An’, Lord, ya know thet ’fore long now our school will be startin’, an’ ya know how Marty promised Mrs. Larson to try an’ see thet the girls got their schoolin’. Only you can work in Jedd’s heart to let her keep thet promise, Lord. We leave it to you to work out in yer own good way and time.”

  Marty was deeply grateful for Clark’s understanding and silently thanked him for his caring. Maybe now God would be free to act. He often did when Clark prayed. She immediately reprimanded herself. True, Clark seemed blessed with answered prayers, but she was God’s child, too. And the Bible said that God did not regard one of His children above the other. If Clark’s prayers were answered more frequently, it was because Clark had a stronger faith. She determined to exerc
ise her own faith more.

  Later in the day Ole Bob announced an approaching team. To Marty’s surprise, it was Jedd Larson. It had been some months since Jedd had been over, and Marty could not contain a surge of excitement that this visit might be an answer to prayer.

  Clark met Jedd outside and Marty could see them talking in a neighborly fashion while Jedd tied the horses to the rail fence.

  Marty quickly put on the coffeepot and cut pieces of gingerbread. I wonder jest how he’ll say it without havin’ to back down none, she wondered.

  Jedd and Clark were soon in and seated, and Marty fairly held her breath waiting for Jedd to spill the good news. He’d brought news all right—news that made him grin from ear to ear—but hardly what Marty had been expecting.

  “Sold me my farm yesterday.”

  Clark looked up in surprise.

  “Ya did? Someone local?”

  “Nope—new guy jest come in. He was with thet wagon train goin’ through—had planned to go further west, but his missus took sick. Decided to stay on here. I showed ’im my farm, and he offered me cash—outright. Good price, too.”

  Jedd stopped and looked back and forth between them, no doubt waiting to let his good fortune take proper effect on his hearers. Then he went on. “The train’s restin’ fer a couple of days ’fore goin’ on. I’m thinkin’ o’ takin’ his spot with the train. Al’ays did want to see what was further on. Never can tell—might find me gold or sumpin’.”

  Marty finally drew a shaky breath.

  “What ’bout the girls?” she asked, trying to keep her tone even.

  She knew it was a foolish question. All hope now of keeping her promise seemed to be vanishing. If Jedd was moving away, there would be no chance of the girls ever getting any schooling.

  Jedd answered, “What ’bout the girls? Wagon trainin’ won’t hurt ’em none. Do ’em good to see more o’ the country.”