Love's Enduring Promise

by Janette Oke

  Marty was sitting in the coolness of the cabin with a pile of mending one afternoon when she heard an approaching horse. She laid aside the sock she was darning and went to the window.

  “Why, it’s Tommie,” she said over her shoulder to Nandry, who was rolling out a piecrust. “I wonder what’s bringin’ him out our way.” She moved quickly to the door.

  “Tommie,” Marty called to him, “do come in. We haven’t seen ya fer jest ages.”

  He came into the kitchen and nodded toward Nandry, who flushed and dropped her eyes back to her work.

  “How’re yer folks?” Marty wanted to know.

  “Fine, we all are fine. Thet little Lizzie be growin’ like a weed.”

  “Isn’t she a sweetheart?” Marty said. The last time she had seen little Elizabeth Anne, she was practicing her newly learned skill of walking. The tottering steps were awarded with lots of praise, hugs, and kisses by doting grandparents and her young aunts and uncles.

  Marty recalled with a pang that little Rett Marshall still was unable to sit properly alone. She took a long breath and turned her attention back to Tommie. “I hear ya got yer own land.”

  “Yep,” he said proudly. “Even got a small cabin on it. Not very big, but it should make do fer a while.”

  “Farmed it yet?”

  “Nope. I take over come spring.”

  Could young Tom be showing interest in their Nandry? Her thoughts were interrupted by Tom’s voice.

  “Mind taking a little turn outside? It’s a first-rate day an’ kind of a shame to waste it.”

  Marty quickly determined he was talking to her, not Nandry, and she reached for her shawl.

  “Be glad to,” she said. “Been wantin’ to take a little look at the spring afore freeze-up. Nandry, you’ll keep an eye on the boys?”

  At the girl’s quick nod, Marty led the way outside. Their conversation as they walked continued with news of weather, crops, and family. They reached the spring, and Tom sat down on the cool grass, his back against a tree trunk. Marty watched him, realizing from his expression that something was bothering him. Still Tom said nothing. She watched him pick up a piece of bark and break it with his fingers.

  “It’s ’bout a girl, right?”

  He looked up quickly. “How’d ya know?” he asked.

  “It shows,” Marty said with a smile.

  “Yeah, guess maybe it does.”

  He waited a moment, then said, “She’s special, Marty . . . really wonderful. I . . . I had to talk to someone. Ma wouldn’t understand . . . I’m sure she wouldn’t.”

  Marty was perplexed. What did he mean?

  “Maybe yer selling yer ma short,” she wondered.

  “No, I don’t think so. Iffen she’d give herself a chance to git to know her . . . then she’d understand. But I’m afraid at first . . . thet’s why I came to you, Marty. Ya know Ma. Could ya . . . could ya talk to her like, an’. . . ?”

  “Is she . . . is the girl from around here?”

  “Not really. She’s . . . she’s from back in the hills. She lives there with her grandfather.”

  “An’ her name?”

  “It’s Owahteeka.”

  “O-wah-tee-ka . . . why, thet sounds like an—” Marty broke off her sentence as she realized what Tommie was telling her. “She’s . . . she’s an Indian girl,” she finished quietly.

  Tom just nodded.

  “Yes, Tommie, I see,” Marty finally said. Looking at the anguished face of the young man, she did not know what else to say.

  She walked away a few steps as she tried to get things to fall into some perspective, but somehow she couldn’t think through her muddled thoughts and emotions.

  Dear Father, she prayed silently but fervently, please help us work this out.

  When she returned to Tom, she chose a stump near him and lowered herself onto it.

  “All right,” she said, “I would like to hear about her. Where did you meet Owahteeka?” she asked, saying the unfamiliar name carefully.

  Tom took a deep breath. “I met her last fall,” he began. “The first time I saw her I was out looking fer a couple o’ stray cows. They’d crawled the fence and gone off into the hill country, an’ I went after ’em on horseback. I didn’t find ’em thet day, but on my way home I found this here saskatoon patch, great big juicy ones, an’ I stopped an’ et a few. An’ then I decided to take some to Ma fer a pie, so I took off my hat an’ started fillin’ it with berries.

  “While I was pickin’ I suddenly could feel eyes lookin’ at me, an’ I looked up, half expectin’ to see a black bear or a cougar, an’ there stood this girl—her eyes and her hair were black as a crow’s wing. She was dressed in buckskin with beads, but what really hit me, she was laughin’ at me. Oh, she was tryin’ not to, but she was, all the same. Her eyes jest . . . jest lit up like, an’ she hid her mouth behind her hand.

  “When I asked her what was so funny, she understood my English an’ said she’d never seen a brave pickin’ berries like a squaw afore. Thet made me kinda mad, an’ I told her maybe her braves weren’t smart ’nough to know how good a saskatoon pie tasted.

  “She stopped laughin’ an’ I cooled off some. We talked a bit. She told me her name—Owahteeka, meanin’ Little Flower. Either way, it sounded pretty.

  “Well, anyways, we met agin—many times. In the winter months I used to leave her venison or other game. She lives alone with her elderly grandfather. He couldn’t stand the government reserve so moved back alone to the hills. Owahteeka jest shakes her head when I ask if I can go to her home ta meet ’im. He’s old—very old. Actually, he is her great-grandfather, an’ when he’s gone, she won’t have nary a person left. She says she’ll go back to the reserve—thet someone will take her in or some brave will make her his wife. But I don’t want thet.”

  He looked directly at Marty now. “Marty, I want to marry her. I love her. I . . .” He groaned. “How am I gonna tell Pa and Ma?”

  Marty shook her head. Poor Tommie. Poor Ma. And what would Ben. . . ?

  Marty stood up and pulled her shawl about her, feeling a sudden chill in the air.

  “Oh, Tommie!” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know. . . I jest don’t know.”

  Tommie, too, got to his feet.

  “But ya’ll talk to ’em? You’ll try—won’t ya, Marty?”

  “I’ll try,” she promised. “But Tommie, ya know . . . ya know it’s not gonna be easy . . . not fer yer folks . . . not fer her grandfather, either.”

  “I know.” He swallowed hard. “I know, but I’ve thought it all out. I’ve got my own land, my own cabin. It isn’t much, but she’s lived the winter in a tent of skins. A cabin should seem good after thet. We won’t have to mix much with folks. Our land is sort of off by itself like. We won’t bother no one. She’ll be close to the hill country—she loves the hills. And she can see her people some—” ‘

  ‘Yer not thinkin’ ahead, Tommie,” Marty interrupted. “Yer not thinkin’ straight. Babies—family—what about that? Ya can’t jest hide the young’uns away from yer families. Think about yer ma—how much she loves you, how much she loves her grandbabies.”

  Tommie’s face dropped into his hands. “Thet’s the only answer I don’t have,” he said, his voice so low she could hardly hear the words. “The only one. But . . . we’ll . . . we’ll work thet out when the time comes,” he said, lifting his face to look into hers.

  Marty didn’t know what to say.

  “Please, Marty,” Tom begged. “Please try to talk to Ma. Iffen Ma can see it, she’ll convince Pa. Please . . .”

  Marty sighed. “I’ll try,” she promised, but tears filled her eyes. “I’ll honestly try, but I’m not sure how good I’ll be at it.”

  Tommie stepped forward and gave her an impulsive hug.

  “Thanks, Marty,” he whispered. “Thet’s all I ask. An’ . . . an’ . . . someday I’ll take ya with me to meet Owahteeka. When you see her, you’ll know why . . . why I feel like I do. Now I gotta run
.”

  He turned to go.

  “God, please bless Tommie,” Marty whispered as she watched him walk away. “And Owahteeka. . . .”

  FIFTEEN

  Search for a Preacher

  A meeting of the community was called for on a Saturday afternoon in early October after the fall harvesting had been completed. All the neighbors were invited to attend and very few declined the opportunity to get together once again.

  Zeke LaHaye sent word that though the meeting no doubt was a worthwhile one, he was hard put to keep up with his farm work and just couldn’t spare the time.

  The neighbors already had discovered Zeke LaHaye could spare no time from his farming duties—not to honor the Lord’s Day, not to help a neighbor, not for any reason. Clark, who rarely made comment on a neighbor’s conduct, confided to Marty, “Thet poor farm sure must be confused like—first owner Jebb Larson contents himself to let everythin’ stay at rest; next owner nigh drives everythin’ to death. Makes me stop short like an’ look within. I hope I never git so land hungry and money crazy thet I have no time fer God, family, or friends.”

  Marty silently nodded a fervent agreement.

  They gathered at the schoolhouse on the specified Saturday. Ben Graham would be in charge of the meeting. When the noise of visiting had subsided to a lull, he rose to his feet.

  “Friends and neighbors,” Ben began, “I’m sure ya all know why this meeting has been called. Fer some time now our area has been without a parson. Twice a year we’ve had the good fortune of a visitin’ preacher passin’ through our neighborhood an’ stoppin’ long enough to preach us a sermon and marry our young men and women.

  “We’re concerned thet this ain’t enough to give our young’uns the proper-like trainin’ in the truths of Scripture. And us older folk need to be taught the Word of the Lord, too, and reminded what’s important in life.

  “A few of us met a while back and talked it over, an’ we feel it’s time to take some action. We has us a schoolhouse now. This here fine buildin’ is a tribute to what we can do when we work together. Now’s the time fer us to go to work together agin.”

  Some people began to applaud and others cheered. Ben seemed somewhat flustered by it all, but he soon recovered, cleared his throat, and went on.

  “What we need to do at this point is to choose us two or three men to form a committee to look into the gittin’ of a preacher. One thet will stay right here fer regular-like services, fer the buryin’ an’ the marryin’ anytime of the year. For the preachin’ of the Word.”

  Again people applauded. Ben looked to Ma for support. He must have been encouraged by what he saw in her expression, for he raised his hand for silence in order to continue.

  “We’re gonna take names now as to who ya would like on the committee. It can be two men—or three iffen ya like. Any more then thet makes it a bit cumbersome.”

  A man near the back stood and called for Clark Davis to be on the committee. Marty heard several ayes for the nominee.

  Todd Stern named Ben Graham, and again people voiced approval and heads nodded.

  Mr. Coffins then stood and in a loud voice announced Mr. Wilbur Whittle for the committee. Awkward silence followed. Marty guessed no one in the room knew what particular religious bent the new teacher might have. Finally feet began to shuffle, throats to clear.

  Ben stepped forward. “Ya all have heard Mr. Coffins’s choice. Mr. Whittle, are ya willin’ to let yer name stand to help in the selectin’ of a new preacher?”

  Mr. Whittle rose to his feet rather grandly. “I believe I have many connections in the East that could indeed be of great assistance to the men on the committee,” he offered in his carefully modulated voice.

  “An’ yer willin’ to serve?” asked Ben.

  “Certainly, certainly,” agreed Mr. Whittle. “I believe that a resident minister will be a great asset in our community.”

  “Thank ya, Mr. Whittle.” Ben looked around at the group. “Ya all have heard the three names given: Clark Davis, myself, and Mr. Whittle. What is yer pleasure?”

  “So let it be,” called a voice from the back of the room.

  “We will vote,” declared Ben. “Those in favor say aye, those agin, nay.” There were no nays.

  After the meeting, Mr. Whittle sought out Clark and Ben, nodding courteously to Ma Graham and Marty as they chatted nearby.

  “Now, gentlemen,” he began rather formally, “I am personally acquainted with many seminarians whom I have no doubt could fill our need quite adequately. Do you wish me to act as correspondent on behalf of the committee?”

  Ben looked uncertain, but Clark answered, “I reckon you could do the letter writin’ iffen ya wish. First, though, we’d like to know a bit ’bout these here fellas you’ll be writin’ to.”

  “Most certainly,” said Mr. Whittle. “I shall draw up a résumé of each candidate for presentation, and you can select the ones whom you would want me to contact.”

  “This, ah, re-su-may,” said Ben, “would thet be like an acquaintantship?”

  “Acquaintantship?” inquired Mr. Whittle. Then, nodding rather vigorously, “Precisely—precisely.”

  “You go ahead an’ do thet, Mr. Whittle,” said Clark, “an’ then Ben and me will go over thet list with ya.”

  “Fine, gentlemen, fine,” said Mr. Whittle and strutted away looking quite pleased with himself.

  The new teacher had heard so much back east about westerners not letting the easterner into the inner circle to become part of their frontier life. Yet here he was, out only a year and now serving on an important committee—a very important committee. After his contribution here, his place would be secure, he was sure.

  He would go to his rooming house where he stayed at the Watleys, to his bedroom, close the door, and comb his memory for the best possible candidates he could recall. Scholars—he knew lots of scholars and some who would even be willing, just as he himself had been, to venture west to sample the excitement of opening a new frontier.

  The West had its drawbacks, he was willing to admit, but there were compensations. One of them, in his case, being Miss Tessie LaHaye. Back east the young ladies had the less-than-cordial habit of turning away when they saw him approaching. Tessie entertained no such coyness. True, she was barely eighteen and he thirty-two, but in the West people seemed to quibble less over such social niceties. He was willing to accept her as a very pleasant young lady, and she seemed equally willing to accept him as an eligible man. In fact, he felt that she was rather impressed with his bowler hat and white spats. He planned to make a call on Miss Tessie—he hoped very soon, for he was anxious to discover just where he stood. And this meeting and his membership on the committee to find a preacher had given him the added confidence he needed. He no doubt would have to tread carefully, since Mrs. Watley clearly had her eye on him for her oldest daughter, but he surely would keep himself out of that quagmire, he assured himself as he sat down at his desk to begin his list.

  SIXTEEN

  Marty Talks to Ma

  Marty put off the visit to see Ma as long as she could, but eventually she knew she must make the difficult call. Tommie was counting on her, and she had given her promise. Soon winter with its cold and snow again would make such a trip much more difficult to manage, and then she would be exhausted physically as well as emotionally.

  What can I use as a reason to call on Ma? she asked herself but could come up with nothing. Finally she just decided to go.

  Clark was heading for town for his usual Saturday trip, so Marty said, “Thought I’d trail along iffen it not be upsettin’ anythin’.”

  He looked pleased. “My pleasure,” he said. “Isn’t often enough I git to show off my wife in town.”

  “Oh, I’ll not be goin’ on into town,” she quickly told him. “I’m plannin’ on stoppin’ off to chat with Ma while ya be doin’ yer errands.”

  His smile of pleasure faded a bit but not altogether. “Well, at least I’ll have me yer company
fer a spell,” he said.

  Marty informed the girls of her plans. Nandry seemed more than content to be in charge of the children and have the place to herself.

  Marty put on her coat and tied on her bonnet. Her coat wouldn’t button properly over her expanding waistline, so she had to be content with just pulling it about her.

  Clark eyed her as she struggled up into the wagon, clumsy in spite of his helping hands.

  “Ya sure this be the proper time to be takin’ a bumpy wagon ride?” he asked.

  “Won’t hurt me none,” Marty assured him.

  She did notice that he drove more slowly than usual.

  Ma’s surprise at opening the door to Marty was quickly replaced by pleasure.

  “I’m so glad ya came whilst ya still could,” she said. Marty was relieved that Ma assumed her reason for coming was simply a social call and that this would be her last opportunity for a while.

  They talked of this and that over cups of coffee, both women doing handwork as they chatted. Marty kept one eye on the clock, knowing she mustn’t put her purpose for coming off too long. Finally she took a deep breath and began, “Tommie came to see me a while back.”

  Ma looked up, no doubt more at the tone of Marty’s voice than the words themselves.

  “He needed to talk,” Marty explained.

  Silence.

  “A girl, huh?”

  “Yeah. Ya knew about her?”

  “I thought as much—it shows, ya know. He’s got all the signs, but I can’t figure it. He ain’t said nothin’ at all ’bout her.

  I’ve tried to lead in thet direction a few times, but he shies away.”

  Silence again.

  “Somethin’ not right about it? Is thet it, Marty?”

  Marty swallowed hard. “No, not thet, really. Jest . . . well, jest different . . . yeah, different.”