Love's Abiding Joy

by Janette Oke

  “Fella told me thet this ain’t the fanciest place around; but it’s the only one thet’s open this time of the day, so I guess we’ll give it a try. Surely nobody can make too much of a mess outta just boilin’ coffee.”

  Maybe Marty was just hungry, or maybe the food actually wasn’t so bad; at any rate, she ate heartily.

  SIX

  Arrival

  The next three days on the train, a very slow-moving one, were even more difficult for Marty. For one thing, she was in a fever to reach Missie, and the many delays and the hesitant forward crawl irritated her. She also was tired from several nights without a good rest, and the train they rode was even more primitive and worn than the first. The wooden seats and cramped quarters made it difficult to sit comfortably, and the narrow aisles allowed little room for stretching or walking.

  There were only two other women on the crowded train, and neither seemed inclined to make new friendships. The men, rough and rugged, appeared mostly to be gold seekers or opportunists. The constant smoking of cigars and cigarettes made Marty feel like choking. The temperature continued to climb, and the heat and stuffiness of the car almost overcame her. Discovering the bedbug bites from their previous hotel room did not help her frame of mind. Occasionally there was something of interest out the train window, like the small herd of buffalo that wandered aimlessly along beside the track. But usually there was nothing at all to see but barren hills and windswept prairie. Now and then herds of cattle or a squatter’s makeshift buildings came into view. Marty counted only three real houses, each surrounded by many outbuildings. She guessed each of these to be someone’s profitable ranch.

  The small towns along the route, though few and far between, looked very busy. Marty wondered where the people came from. As much as she normally enjoyed watching people, she did not care for that activity now. She just wanted to get to the LaHaye ranch and Missie, and each time the train stopped and frittered away precious time, Marty chafed inside. What could they possibly be doing to take so long in such an insignificant place, anyway? Marty fussed, minding the heat, the cramped quarters, the smoke, the delay, and the itching bites.

  But all her fretting did not get them one mile closer to Missie, she gradually came to realize. At length Marty willed herself to take a lesson from Clark and learn some patience. She settled herself in her corner and determined not to stew. She even decided to study the countryside and see what she could learn about it.

  Early on the third morning, Clark returned from chatting with a fellow in a seat farther up the coach and informed Marty with a grin that the man had said Missie’s small town was the next stop, and unless something unforeseen happened, they should be in by noon. Marty was wild with joy. Now it was even harder to sit still and not chafe about the slowpoke engine that took them forward at such a snail’s pace.

  The man was right. Just before the noon hour the train began to slow, and they all stirred themselves and started to gather their belongings.

  Marty cast one final look around at her fellow passengers. She noticed a youth hoist up his small bundle and move toward the door. He looked tired and hungry, and there was a bit of uncertainty and loneliness in his eyes.

  Why, he don’t look any older than my Luke, Marty thought compassionately. Supposin’ he’s come on out here all by himself an’ don’t know where he’s goin’ or what he’ll find when he gits there?

  Marty was about to ask Clark if there was something they could do for the youth when the train stopped and the boy disappeared in the crowd.

  They climbed down the steps from the train, looked around quickly, and moved toward the dusty new sidewalk. The boards had not fully weathered yet, and they obviously were newer than the town. Marty noticed the buildings were recently built, but many of them looked as though they had been constructed in a big hurry with the cheapest material available. Little attention was given to fanciness or even getting things straight.

  Marty’s eyes turned to the scores and scores of bawling cattle milling around in the corrals to the right of the tracks, kicking up dust and drowning out all other noises. Yes, this was a cattle town, to be sure.

  But Marty really was not interested in buildings or cattle— only people. She was busy scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Missie.

  Dust-covered cowboys—and equally dust-covered horses— moved back and forth on the main street, wide hats almost hiding their features. A number of women walked by, none of them in hats but wearing cheap and practical bonnets or nothing on their heads at all.

  Marty was trying to stay close to Clark through the crushing passengers from the incoming train, all the while straining her eyes for the first sight of Missie, when a deep voice drawled beside them, “ ’Scuse me, sir, but are you folks the Davises?”

  Marty looked up at the cowboy who stood beside them, hat in hand.

  “Shore are,” replied Clark.

  “Right glad to meet ya, sir—ma’am. I’m Scottie, foreman for the LaHayes, an’ I been sent to meet this here train.” Marty felt her heart sink with disappointment. Missie was not here.

  Clark set down a case so he could extend a hand. “Glad to meet ya, Mr. Scott.”

  “I’d be happy to take ya on over to the hotel, ma’am, and let ya freshen up some. It’s gonna be a bit of a ride to the ranch.

  Then we’ll collect yer things an’ be off.”

  “I’d like thet,” replied Marty as cheerfully as she could, and they followed Scottie down the street.

  “Mrs. LaHaye is ’most bustin’ with eagerness. She could hardly stand it thet she ain’t here to meet ya herself. Never know when this here train is finally gonna pull in. This one was scheduled to be in here yesterday. ’Course, one day late ain’t so bad. Sometimes it’s been as much as five. A little hard fer her to stand around waitin’ with two little ones in tow—ya know what I mean?”

  But Scottie didn’t wait for an answer.

  “Boss, he came into town to check yesterday—brought the whole family, jest in case the train happened to be on time. Well, she warn’t. He sent me on in today. He was gonna give it another try tomorra. Missus will be right glad thet it won’t be necessary.”

  Marty was glad, too. Mercy me, she thought, I’da never stood it if we’d been five days late—and neither would poor Missie!

  They entered the small hotel, and Scottie spoke to the man at the desk. Marty was shown to a room. It was not fancy, but it was clean. Marty was glad for a fresh supply of water for a good wash. The men left again to go pick up their baggage from the train station. Marty prayed that everything had arrived safely and intact.

  She couldn’t help but feel some disappointment at the further delay. She had thought when she arrived in this little town that her long wait to see Missie would be over. But of course Scottie was right. It would have been very foolish for Missie to make the long trip every day, not having any idea when the train might actually arrive.

  The room seemed cool in spite of the warm weather, and after Marty’s wash she lay down on the bed, promising herself that she’d just rest for a few minutes while she waited for Clark and Mr. Scottie to come.

  The next thing she knew Clark was bending over her. He said Scottie was ready to take them for a little something to eat before they headed for the ranch.

  Despite Marty’s hunger, she begrudged even the time spent on the meal. They hurried with their dinner because Scottie, too, was anxious to get back to the ranch.

  Marty sat in the wagon on a seat that had been especially fashioned for her by Willie and made as comfortable as possible. Clark sat up on the driver’s bench with Scottie. Scottie was not a great talker, but he was generous in answering any questions. Marty paid no attention to the conversation. Nor did she particularly watch the passing scenery. Her mind was totally on Missie, wondering how much reserve the passing years might have put between mother and daughter. Would they still be able to share feelings and thoughts, or would the time and the experiences have closed some doors for them? Marty
felt a little fear grip at her heart. And what about Missie’s children, her grandchildren? Would they see her as only a stranger they did not particularly welcome to their world? The questions and doubts persisted until her mind was whirling with anxieties as they rumbled along. Clark turned back to check on her now and then, and she managed to give him a shaky smile. She hoped he didn’t notice her agitation.

  And then they came over a hill, and Scottie pulled up the team. “There’s the boss’s spread, right down there,” he said, pride coloring his voice. It was evident he felt a measure of ownership in the ranch, just by his association. Marty’s heart skipped. Right down there! Right before her very eyes was their Missie’s home. Marty saw a large, sprawling, gray stone home. Soft smoke curled up from the chimney. Off to one side, she could see a garden and a very small stream flowing away from a rocky embankment. She let her eyes seek out the pen with the chickens, the seeming miles of corrals, the bunkhouse and cook shack, and, yes, there on the other side was a strawcolored mound. That must be Missie’s soddy. Marty’s eyes filled with tears, and she had an impulse to jump from the wagon and run down the hill. Remarkably, she held herself in check. Scottie clucked to the team, and they moved forward.

  Whether it was Scottie’s driving or Marty’s wishful thinking or the eagerness of the team to return to their stalls, Marty never knew for sure. But the remainder of the trip down the long winding hill went more quickly.

  At the bottom of the hill, Scottie “whoaed” the horses and handed the reins to Clark. “I’ll jest be gettin’ on back to my duties,” he said. “You’ll be wantin’ to make yer greetin’s in private,” he added as he stepped down from the wagon.

  “And many thanks to ya fer yer welcome an’ fer drivin’ us this long way,” Clark said warmly. Scottie tipped his hat to them and moved off toward the barn. Marty climbed up beside Clark for a better view of the house as the horses moved forward. A flash of red calico in a window, and then … there was Missie, her arms opened wide and her face shining with tears, running toward them calling their names. Marty ran to embrace her beloved daughter. They held each other close, crying and laughing and repeating over and over tender, senseless endearments. At last, at last, sang Marty’s heart.

  At last I have my “if only.”

  The hours that followed were wild with excited chatter and activity. The two grandsons had immediately captivated their newfound grandparents. Marty was so thankful that the boys moved forward without hesitation and even allowed hugging. Nathan beamed his pleasure. He was all ready to take charge of the entertainment of these two special people in his mother’s life. “Mama said I could show ya my room,” and “Mama said you’d go ridin’ with me, Grandpa,” and “Mama said you’d like to see my own pony,” and “Mama said you’d read to me sometimes.” Missie laughed, and Marty realized she had been carefully preparing her children for the adventure of meeting their grandparents.

  Josiah was too young to be as active in the conversation, but he pulled at coattails and hands and insisted on “Up!” Marty was thrilled with how quickly the two little boys felt at ease with their grandparents. When Josiah did manage to steal a scene from Nathan, he was full of chatter of “See this” and “Do you like my… ?” and “Lookit, G’amma.” For Clark and Marty, their hearts were captured at sight by the two small boys.

  The whole house was filled with happy sounds as Missie proudly showed them from room to room. Marty exclaimed over the comfort, the coolness, and the attractiveness of the big stone house. They had entered through wide double doors into a large cool hall. The floor was of polished stone, and the inside walls were textured white stucco. Missie had used paintings with Spanish-Mexican influence to decorate the walls and had placed an old Spanish bench of white wrought iron against one wall. The bench had cushions of a flower-print material, and Missie had picked up the shade of green in them to highlight little finishing touches in the room, a pleasing and cool effect. The living room was large and airy with a mammoth stone fireplace and deep red and gold fabrics on the furnishings. The draperies, of matching material, were tied back with gold cords. It looked Spanish and—thought Marty—very rich and inviting. The floor was dark-stained wood, and the walls were, like the entry, textured stucco. Scattered across the polished wooden floors were deep-colored rugs—not the homemade variety but store bought. The pictures and lamps were Spanish—and elegant, with blacks, reds, and golds predominant. Marty viewed her surroundings in awe. Never had she seen such a grand living room, she told Missie.

  On they moved to the dining area. “And,” said Missie, with a wave of her hand and a laugh, “that’s as far as we’ve been able to go with our grandness. From here on, it’s common living. But it’ll come together, little by little, with each cattle shipment.”

  Missie gestured toward a long homemade trestle table that easily seated eight. “Willie has promised me some dining room chairs and a real table this fall.” Though the chairs looked comfortable enough, they were not matched or of particular quality. The white-stuccoed walls were quite bare, and inexpensive curtains hung at the windows. A simple cabinet against the far wall held the good dishes that Marty had insisted Missie take west. Somehow the simple, homey room put Marty’s heart at ease. The differences now between them might not be so great after all.

  “Oh, Missie, I’m so proud of you and so happy for you!” she exclaimed with a quick hug. Clark’s approving grin echoed that sentiment. The bedrooms were all big and roomy, but again, the furnishings here were simple and the curtains and spreads and the rugs on the floor were all homemade. Marty recognized many things she had helped to sew.

  Missie led them to the other wing, the kitchen area of the house. Marty was surprised when Missie stopped at the door and gave a brief rap, then walked in. A wiry little Chinese man was busily engaged in preparations for the evening meal. Marty had not known that Missie had a cook.

  “Wong,” said Missie, “this is my pa, my mama.”

  The Chinese man favored them with a big grin and bobbed his head up and down as he acknowledged the introductions.

  “How’do, how’do,” he said over and over. “Wong pleased with pleasure. How’do, how’do.”

  Clark and Marty both answered with smiles and greetings.

  “Wong is trying hard to learn our difficult English,” Missie explained while Wong beamed at them. “He has done very well in a short time. He does not need to learn how to cook. He knew all about cooking when he came. Every rancher hereabouts envies us and hopes for an invitation often to eat his delicious food.”

  Wong bobbed his head again and led them around the large kitchen. Marty had never seen so much working room. The stove was big, too, and Wong proudly lifted the covers from several steaming kettles, all sending forth delicious fragrances.

  Missie led her parents down a hall and toward a back door.

  “I had me no idea thet ya had a cook. My, my,” remarked Marty.

  “Wong has not been with us for long,” Missie answered. “At first, I thought Willie was being silly to suggest it, but I wonder now why I even tried to fight it. Wong is so much help. He helps with the laundry, too. It gives me more time for the children, and I still have plenty to keep me busy with this big house. I’m glad that we have him—and it gives him a job and a home, as well. Nathan and Josiah adore him. But it made Cookie terribly jealous at first,” Missie continued. “He was so afraid that someone else would take his place with our boys. But the two rascals have managed to keep both of the men happy. Actually, the two cooks seem to really enjoy each other now. Most evenings they get together for a cup of coffee and a chat. In fact, Cookie is the one who volunteered to teach English to Wong.”

  Missie’s long speech had brought them to the patio at the back of the house. The front, the bedroom wing on the one side, and the kitchen wing on the other surrounded this lovely area on three sides. The fourth side looked out toward the spring beyond Missie’s flower beds. When Marty remarked on their beauty, Missie informed her that
they were all flowers she had taken from the neighboring hills, except for the bed of roses. Scottie, a little red-faced with embarassment, had presented 72 her with the roses when he had returned from purchasing some choice livestock farther south.

  The sheltered veranda between the patio and the house was shaded and cool in the late afternoon. Marty imagined what a pleasant place this would be to spend an afternoon sewing or reading to the children. She was very impressed with the home Willie had built for Missie. Marty was pleased with their good taste, and she admired Missie’s choice of color and texture in the living room. Also, it all said to Marty that times were good, that Missie and Willie were making upward strides after their primitive start in the soddy. The homier simple furnishings in the remainder of the house also spoke to Marty. These told her that Missie and Willie were willing to wait, to build gradually, to not demand everything at once, showing maturity and good judgment. Marty was proud of them—both of them.

  After the tour through the house, Willie invited Clark out to see the barns and stock, and Missie took Marty to show her the garden, the spring, her chickens, and then the little soddy.

  Nathan, who clung to Grandma’s hand, didn’t like to leave her to go with the men, but he was most anxious to show off his pony. Josiah, who had been riding on Grandpa’s shoulder, hated to climb down but did not want to get too far away from his mother. Besides, he absolutely adored the chickens! After some complaints from both of the children, the three “men” headed for the barn, and the women and the younger son took the path to the garden.

  Marty was pleased at the sight of Missie’s garden. True, it wasn’t as far along as her own had been on the farm back east, but the plants looked healthy and productive, and Marty could see that many good meals would be coming from the little patch.

  The water from the spring was not as ambitious as the spring back home, but the effect it had on the surrounding area outweighed the difference. All around were brown hills and windswept prairies, but near the spring crowded green growing things and small shivery-leafed trees—truly an “oasis.”