Love's Enduring Promise

by Janette Oke

  A spring wedding was planned, and as soon as the rush of Christmas was behind them, Nandry and Marty would get down to the serious business of preparing the bridal dowry.

  Nandry looked very happy, and Marty had for some months been giving her the egg money so she would have something with which to buy the little extras for her first home of her own.

  But first Marty would feast upon Christmas.

  Clark chose the tree and some evergreen boughs that would form their traditional wreaths.

  Nandry had added a half-dozen turkeys to her chicken pens, so one of them would grace the table. She selected a fine young gobbler, and it was getting extra daily care and attention.

  Pies, tarts, and cookies, along with loaf cakes, lined the shelves in the pantry.

  Marty had been to town for her shopping, and gifts lay wrapped beside her chest of drawers and hidden beneath her bed to supply the socks hung above the mantel for Christmas morning.

  On the day Clae was to arrive, both Nandry and Marty were almost too excited to work. Eventually Marty decided she was glad she had so much to do to help the time go faster. Still it seemed the clock would never get around to four o’clock, when Clark and the team were expected back from the train station.

  At last Marty heard Ole Bob’s sharp bark and the happy shouts of children.

  Missie burst into the house. “Guess who we found?” she teased.

  They all came tramping in, Clark carrying Clae’s suitcase and a large bag.

  Marty pulled the girl into her arms.

  “Oh, Clae, jest look at ya. Why, ya’ve gone and plumb growed up on us since ya been away.”

  Clae hugged her in return, laughing as she pointed out it had only been three months. “But oh, it’s so good to be home. I could hardly wait,” she added.

  Clae went from Marty to her sister and then to Ellie and Luke, hugging each one in turn and exclaiming over how the youngsters had all grown. Nandry’s cheeks flushed with Clae’s teasing about her Josh, but she looked pleased.

  “I’m thinkin’,” said Clark over the joyful commotion, setting down the suitcase and the bundle, “thet we’re in need of a bigger house.”

  Marty just smiled. They were hard put for space at times, she knew. She was once again having to put up with a crib in their bedroom, and the three girls who shared one room barely had room to turn around.

  They were crowded, but they were happy. The lively conversation did not lessen as the evening wore on. There were so many things for Clae to tell, to describe. There were so many questions for the others to ask.

  After the young ones had been put to bed with the promise of full Christmas socks in the morning, Marty, Nandry, and Clae still talked on, Clark nearby adding an occasional comment or question.

  “When is the day for your wedding?” Clae asked Nandry, and Marty noticed Clae’s careful speech.

  “The last of May. We wanted to wait ’til ya’d be home. You’re to be my maid o’ honor, ya know.”

  “I hoped I would. Where are you going to live?”

  “There’s a small cabin on the Coffins’ farm. The people who used ta own the farm lived in it. The Coffins built a bigger one when they came. We’ll use the little’un fer now.”

  “You must be excited.”

  “I am,” said Nandry, and her smile confirmed it. “It’s a funny feelin’. I want so much fer time to go quickly, yet I don’t want it to at the same time.”

  “Meanin’?” Clae forgot herself for the moment, using the familiar expression.

  “This house—the little’uns—I really hate to leave the kids.”

  Marty marveled at the more frequent glimpses they had been getting of Nandry’s heart.

  “You won’t be too far away,” said Clae. She shook her head and sighed. “No one will ever know how homesick I was at first. I thought I’d just die if I didn’t get home. I thought I’d never make it—but I did. I reminded myself of the money being paid for my schooling—the faith that people have in me . . . and . . . and I remembered our ma, too, Nandry. Sometimes I think about Ma, about how proud she’d be, how happy that we’re getting a chance.”

  Yes, Marty was sure Mrs. Larson would be proud of her two daughters.

  “She’d be happy for both of us,” Clae went on “—for me being a teacher, for you marrying Josh. It sort of gives it extra meaning, remembering Ma.”

  It was the first time the girls had ever talked about their mother in Marty’s presence.

  “Yer ma would be very proud.” Marty spoke softly. “She wanted so much thet ya both make good, an’ ya have, both of ya, an’ I’m proud, too.”

  Clae put her arms around Marty’s neck and gave her an affectionate squeeze.

  “And we know why,” she said. “We haven’t said much maybe—not as much as we should, but we know why we’ve made good. Thank you—thank you so much. I do love you, and I’ll never forget . . . never.”

  Nandry nodded her head in agreement, her expression saying more than words.

  The household was awakened early by Arnie’s squeals of delight. Clare’s voice soon joined his and then the general commotion followed. Marty pulled herself out of bed and slipped into her house socks and robe. Clark was already on his feet, tucking his shirt into his trousers. They entered the sitting room at the same time Nandry came in carrying Luke, barely awake. Ellie danced, ’round the room waving her arms, so caught up in Arnie and Clare’s excitement at their bulging stockings she had not even thought to check out what her own might hold.

  Luke quickly rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stood transfixed, gazing at the tree in the corner that had sprung up from somewhere during the night.

  Missie finally emerged, yawning and complaining about the noise.

  “It’s not even five o’clock,” she said in disbelief. “Ya used ta make me wait a lot longer than this when I was little.”

  “They’d’ve waited, too, iffen I’d had anything to do with it,” responded Clark, but Marty noticed that he seemed to be enjoying the whole pleasant uproar.

  Eventually the fire was kindled in the kitchen stove and the kettle put on to boil. Clark replenished the fireplace and coaxed it to flame. Calm again reigned in the Davis household.

  The older ones took advantage of the near quiet to exchange their gifts. Clae had somehow managed to bring a small gift for each of them. Marty knew she did not have much extra spending money and appreciated her gift the more for it. What Clae had lacked in dollars she had supplied with creativity, and her sewing skills had come to the fore. Luke hugged a stuffed teddy bear. Ellie wore a pint-sized apron complete with a pocket. Arnie and Clare eyed their checkered man-sized handkerchiefs, pleased that the squares matched their pa’s. For Missie there was a lace-trimmed bonnet, and Nandry opened a carefully embroidered pair of pillowcases for her hope chest. Marty unwrapped the most beautiful lace handkerchief she had ever seen, but the note that accompanied the gift was what made Marty cry, for it bore the simple words To Mother, with love, Clae. None of her children had ever called her anything but Ma, and it seemed very meaningful for this special girl to use the more formal title.

  Clark’s gift handkerchief carried sentiment, too, and he slipped the card that accompanied it into Marty’s hand. The card read, Thanks for being a true pa. Love, Clae.

  Marty tried to blink away the bittersweet tears in her eyes as she thought of the one who had not been “a true pa” to his daughters. What a privilege for Clark and her to fill in as mother and father to them.

  Nandry, too, had surprises for them. She had made picture books for all the younger children, gluing newspaper and calendar pictures she had gathered onto pieces of cloth. Missie received new hair ribbons, which still delighted her feminine senses. Marty got a little wooden box to hold her many and varied recipes that were forever overflowing the drawer where she kept them. Clark received a handmade cover for the well-worn family Bible.

  Marty and Clark then passed out their presents for each of their family memb
ers and watched with pleasure the shining eyes of the recipients.

  The clutter was cleared away, the cherished gifts put carefully in their new owners’ places, and the day’s celebrations proceeded.

  After breakfast Clare and Arnie went out to try the new sled Clark had made them. Ellie, apron-clad to Clae’s delight, was playing with her tiny set of new dishes, and Luke was put back to bed to catch up on some sleep.

  Missie, feeling quite grown-up, joined the women in the kitchen, where she helped prepare the Christmas dinner.

  Josh just didn’t seem to be able to stay away and arrived earlier than expected. He shyly offered Nandry his gift, a new lamp to be used in their home. Marty told him she had never seen a prettier one. A soft cluster of roses was painted on the bowl in reds and pinks, and the chimney was generously trimmed with gold. Whatever it was Nandry presented to Josh the family was not allowed to see, but Marty had her suspicions that it was a mustache cup. Josh was carefully nurturing a mustache that he hoped to have full and well groomed by his wedding day, making him look more manly.

  They roasted chestnuts at the fire and sniffed hungrily at the inviting fragrances coming from the kitchen. Just before the meal was set on the table, the family gathered for the reading of the Christmas story. Even Luke, from his spot on Nandry’s knee, appeared to listen. Marty looked around the room at all the faces intent on Clark as he read, and her heart filled with praise to God. She slipped her hand into Clark’s during his prayer, and he pressed her fingers firmly in his own.

  Just as the chairs were being placed around the table, Ole Bob began to bark. It was unusual to have unexpected guests on Christmas Day, and Marty felt her heart flutter. She hoped nothing was wrong. She followed Clark to the door, almost afraid to look out.

  She could hear footsteps approaching the door, and with barely a knock the door pushed open.

  “Tommie,” was all she could say.

  “Tommie,” echoed Clark, sounding equally incredulous. “Good to see ya, boy,” he said, welcoming the young man with a bear hug.

  Then it was Marty’s turn—followed by greetings all round, excitedly and with great enthusiasm.

  “Jest a minute,” Tommie said, holding up his hand. “I got somethin’ to show ya.”

  He was gone but soon back with his arm around a small young woman, her brown curls captured under a blue bonnet.

  “My wife,” he said with pride. “My wife, Fran.”

  “Oh, Tommie,” exclaimed Marty. “Tommie, when did ya marry? Why didn’t ya write?”

  Tommie laughed. “Five months ago now. I wanted to surprise ya. Isn’t she somethin’?” He looked at her again and his arm tightened. Fran smiled shyly.

  “I’m pleased to meet ya all,” she finally said, putting out one small hand to Clark and then Marty.

  Marty stepped forward to give her a warm embrace.

  “An’ we are jest so glad to meet you. Won’t ya come in? Take off yer coats. We are jest sittin’ down, an’ we are so pleased to have ya join us.”

  “No, no,” said Tom, “we haven’t been home yet. Since we were comin’ right by here, I wanted ya to meet her. But we must move along. Ma might forgive me for stoppin’ here on the way, but she’d never fergive me iffen I stopped here to eat Christmas dinner.”

  “Oh, it’s gonna be so hard to let ya go now. I’ve so many questions—” “

  They’ll keep,” Tommie interjected. “We’ll be around. I decided I’d take up thet piece of land o’ mine. See iffen I can make a farm outta it. Fran’s ma and pa owned a store out west.

  Now there’s a switch, huh?” he winked. “ ’Long comes a guy, marries their daughter, an’ takes her east.”

  “Oh, Tommie! I know the both of you’ll be so happy.”

  “Thet we already are,” Tommie assured her, and his eyes said it was true.

  They bid their good-byes and promised to be back soon for a nice long visit.

  “Well, this has truly been some day.” Marty expressed the feelings of them all as the family returned to their Christmas dinner.

  They bowed their heads and Clark’s deep voice spoke reverently to their Father, thanking Him for the many blessings that life held, and especially for Tommie, a son come home and the joy that this would bring to the Graham household.

  Marty wondered briefly about the pretty Owahteeka. Had she found happiness with her Running Deer? Marty prayed that she had.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  One More Time

  Finally the people of the community reluctantly admitted to themselves and to one another that the highly trained Reverend Knutson simply was not fitting in, nor was he meeting the needs of the congregation.

  Once they had admitted this fact, they wondered why it had taken them so long to put it on the table. What to do about the problem became the next question, and it certainly did not seem to have an easy answer.

  A committee again was picked in due course, and much to Marty’s chagrin, Clark was named to be the chairman. The committee asked for a meeting with the pastor, at which time the men hoped to discuss quite openly with Reverend Knutson how the people felt.

  Reverend Knutson showed no surprise or concern at being asked to meet with the men, but the meeting itself had its touchy moments. The reverend seemed to think the meeting had been arranged to offer him commendations, and perhaps to even suggest an increase in his rather modest salary, modest by his standards at any rate.

  He was noticeably taken aback when the meeting took a different turn.

  The reverend was not only well educated himself, he informed the little group, but he was also dipping into the writings of other highly trained theologians. His sermon material came directly from the greatest minds of Christendom. He could show them chapter and page.

  The good reverend found it hard to fathom that anyone would not highly favor his intellectually charged sermons. He’d had no idea when he accepted their call that the people of the area were so bereft of learning and so insensitive to spiritual enlightenment. But he was sure he could do better. He knew of a great scholar whose books had just been made available, and though they were full of exceptional material, they were written in the “easy language of the layman.” He’d send for a couple of those books. He was sure the congregation would find encouragement and religious sustenance in the works of this great man.

  It was with great difficulty that the committee, Clark in particular, was able to convince the reverend that they wished him to end his service to them as their minister.

  Clark explained it thus: “Reverend, we realize thet ya are a very learned man, an’ we realize thet we are a mite slow. We wouldn’t want to hold ya back from preachin’ to those who could understand and appreciate yer great skills, so we are releasin’ ya to go back to wherever ya wish to go, an’ at such time as ya are first able to make the arrangement.”

  The reverend, red-faced, sputtered around, trying to formulate his response. “Are you saying, gentlemen,” he finally choked out, “are you saying that my service has been terminated?”

  “Shucks, no,” put in the elder Coffins, another committee member, “not terminated, jest excused.”

  So they excused the parson, gave him a going-away purse, wished him well, and got on with the job of selecting a new minister. This time the schoolteacher, Mr. Wilbur Whittle, was not asked to serve as correspondent.

  As yet the cemetery beside the little church stood empty of markers. They all knew it could not remain so, and the unasked question often hung in the air—who? Who would be the person whose passing would cause the ground first to be broken that they might be laid to rest?

  Without conscious thought, various ones observed their neighbors. Grandpa Stern was well on in years and seemed to be failing. Mrs. LaHaye had never truly recovered her full health. One of the Coffin girls seemed very delicate and was always down with one sickness or another. Her parents didn’t even allow her to go to school. Mrs. Vickers showed signs of high nervousness, and some feared she’d talk
herself right into an early grave.

  But when it happened it was none of these, and the whole community was shaken by the suddenness and the sadness of it all.

  It was their own Tessie, who recently had married Mr. Whittle. She had always seemed like such a strong, healthy girl, and the community folk were pleased when it was known she was going to make her schoolteacher husband a father. As for Mr. Whittle himself, his bowler hat had never been dusted more frequently, his giant mustache been trimmed with more care, nor his spats whitened with such vigor. He was well pleased with himself and his new wife. To have a young and attractive woman adore him was a wonder in itself, and to be about to become a father was beyond belief. Mr. Whittle was on cloud nine. The big boys joked among themselves that his voice was now always squeaking with excitement, but Mr. Whittle did not seem to notice or care.

  The great day came and the doctor was quickly sent for. With tired eyes and a heavy heart, he left the next morning. Both Tessie and her baby boy had died during the night. The news shook the whole community. The neighbors responded with deep care and sympathy, and several gathered to dig the grave in the new cemetery. A pine box was built and carefully draped, and the two bodies, one so tiny, were prepared for burial. Through it all Mr. Wilbur Whittle moved in silent shock. It was beyond his comprehension, this great loss. In the absence of a parson, Mr. Whittle did have presence of mind to ask Clark if he’d read the Scripture and say the words of interment. Clark, with a heavy heart, agreed.

  The day of the funeral was cold and dreary. Marty, wiping her eyes, thought the weather matched the occasion. The pine box was lowered, the earth heaped upon it.

  She stood gazing at the fresh grave that held a young mother with a baby boy in her arms. It’s no longer virgin—this cemetery. From now on it will be grave added to grave, she thought numbly. Time and again the earth would be opened up to receive a new burden.