Love's Abiding Joy

by Janette Oke

  “And the right thing for me as you see it?”

  “I can’t tell ya thet. I know thet if yer troubled ’bout things as they are now, maybe ya should do somethin’ to try to straighten ’em out. I know mothers can hurt somethin’ awful, not knowing ’bout their sons. I know fathers can make mistakes thet they suffer fer, an’ sometimes it’s most difficult to be man enough to say they was wrong. Thet’s all I know. Yes … I know another thing, as well. I know God can help us do the right thing—even though it seems impossible. But only you can decide what is the right thing fer you.”

  Juan weighed the words of the older man. At length he turned to him and extended his hand.

  “I am not making any promises, except that I will think about what you have said. It is a very hard thing.”

  Clark took the hand and shook it firmly. “I’ll be prayin’ you make the right decision,” he said.

  They returned to the others. There were questions in many eyes, but none were asked. Maria and Juan soon declared that they must be on their way home.

  Cookie came to visit Clark whenever his work would allow him a break. He usually waited until he saw Clark out on the veranda getting some fresh air or early-morning sun, and then he would hobble over to ease himself to a step or a nearby chair. He seemed to feel he and Clark had much in common. One day he even dared to talk about it.

  “Leg bother ya much?”

  “Not bad now. Gives me a bit of a jar if I happen to bump it.”

  “Any trouble with ‘phantom pain’?”

  “Some.”

  “Must be a peculiar feelin’. Somethin’ hurtin’ thet ain’t even there.”

  “Yah, bothers me some, all right. Itches somethin’ awful at times, an’ ya ain’t got nothin’ to scratch.” Clark chuckled ruefully.

  “Well, at least I don’t have them problems,” said Cookie.

  “Yer leg still bother ya a good deal?” asked Clark.

  “Sometimes.” There was a moment of silence while Cookie thought of the pain. “Not as bad lately, though. Was a time I near went wild with it.”

  Clark nodded his head in understanding. “How many years now?” he asked.

  “I try to fergit. Guess it must be ’bout five already. No, six. Lotsa folks said as how I’da been better off to have it removed like you done.”

  “Well,” Clark reminded him, “I wasn’t able to do my own choosin’. Don’t know’s I’da really picked this way to do it, iffen I had.”

  “Yer leg was bad broke, Clark,” Cookie assured him evenly. “I knew as soon as I seed it thet only a miracle could save it, an’ seems to me we been a little short on miracles in my lifetime.”

  Clark smiled. “Well,” he said firmly, “I ain’t seen an overabundance of miracles myself, but I shore ain’t doubtin’ them none.” Watching Cookie’s expectant face carefully, Clark went on, “Guess one of the biggest miracles I know of is when God takes a no-good sinner and makes a saint fittin’ fer heaven outta ’im. Now, thet’s a real miracle, to my thinkin’. With some trainin’ an’ the right tools an’ medicine, even an earthly fella like the doc can put a badly messed-up body together again. But only God, through His love an’ grace, can take a crushed and broken soul and restore it again. Yes sir, thet’s a miracle.”

  Cookie scuffed the dust with the toe of his boot.

  “Take me now…” Clark said confidingly, “ya know what happened with me? When I first woke up to the fact thet I had only one leg, a part of me died inside. I started tellin’ myself all kinds of stories ’bout bein’ only half a man, an’ how sad it was to be a cripple, an’ how sorry I could be fer myself, an’ even how God had let me down. Fer a minute, I almost had me convinced thet I had good reason to jest turn over to the wall and have a real good feelin’-sorry-fer-myself time. My body was broken … was bruised and hurtin’ … an’ my soul wanted to sympathize with it, see? My soul wanted to curl up an’ hurt an’ suffer an’ become bitter an’ ugly. Now, God didn’t choose to do a miracle on this here leg.” Clark tapped the stump lightly. “But He did a bigger an’ more important miracle. He worked over the inner me—the soul of me. Thet’s where I needed the miracle the most, so thet’s where He applied His amazin’ power. In here”—Clark pointed to his broad chest— “I don’t hurt anymore.”

  Cookie’s eyes hinted ever so slightly of unshed tears, and Clark wondered how many years Cookie had been in pain both inwardly and outwardly. He reached out a hand and gently squeezed the cowpoke’s shoulder.

  “We needn’t fear.” His voice was almost a whisper. “He’s still doin’ miracles.”

  FOURTEEN

  Growing

  In the fall Willie returned to the range and the business of ranching. Cattle needed to be rounded up and a few stray dogies branded. The steers for market required cutting and sorting from the herd and then would be driven to the train station for shipping. Sagging and broken fences were repaired and pastures checked out before the coming winter, including the all-important water holes for the cattle. And of course the dreaded rustlers mandated constant vigilance. The warm fall days were busy from dawn till dark at the LaHaye spread.

  Missie still tried to spend most of her time with her father. Occasionally her own responsibilities suffered because of the attention she was showering on Clark—reading to him, though Marty thought that was one of the things he could do well on his own, making favorite dishes for him, and talking about this and that so his confinement would not seem too burdensome. But Missie’s two little boys did not seem to fare too badly, because they also were usually hovering closely around their grandfather.

  Soon, though, Marty was noticing that Willie, who came back at night exhausted from his day full of hard work and the pressures of running the spread, was getting little consideration from his wife. Missie was so busy fussing over Clark that she scarcely had time to notice. Marty hoped she was exaggerating things and tried to tuck her anxiety into the back of her mind. She attempted to take care of Clark so fully that Missie would not feel this was her duty, but this did not ease the situation. Missie still hovered close by.

  Marty then turned some of her own attention toward Willie, hoping to at least make him aware that he was still loved and appreciated. She of course was fully aware that Willie needed the attention of his wife—not his mother-in-law. Even the boys did not run to meet Willie with the same exuberance at the end of the day, for they had spent the day with a grandfather who carved them tops and fashioned whistles and answered their every question with serious attention.

  In spite of her determination to put the matter aside, Marty daily felt her concern grow. To her surprise, Clark, who was normally so sensitive to the feelings of others and aware of situations, did not seem to notice it. Perhaps he was just too close to it.

  Marty put her worries into fervent prayers for the Lord to intervene as He saw fit.

  Henry came to see Clark. He obviously had something on his mind. After a simple greeting, he came directly to the point.

  “Been doin’ a great deal of thinkin’ lately,” Henry said. “We really need us a church.”

  Clark nodded his head in agreement and looked up from the crude crutch he was carving, having determined it was time he did something to aid in walking. “Good idea.”

  “Seems like now would be as good a time as any to be plannin’ fer it,” Henry went on. “I know thet now ain’t a good time at all fer ranchers. Real busy time of the year, but things will be slowin’ down again ’fore too long. But we shouldn’t wait fer things to slow down ’fore we git started. Thet’s sorta like puttin’ God last. Been thinkin’ thet we really are in need of some preachin’. We read the Bible together, an’ thet’s good, but some of these folks need someone to explain what it’s meanin’. Take thet there new family thet’s been comin’—the Crofts—they need someone to tell them what the Word means, to show them how to accept the truth fer themselves.”

  “I was thinkin’ thet when ya said ‘church’ ya was meanin’ a buildin
’,” Clark noted.

  “Well, I was, an’ I wasn’t,” answered Henry. “Shore, we need a buildin’, an’ I think we could work on thet real soon, too. But I was also thinkin’ of people an’ of those who need to know the truth. I think it’s time to give ’em more’n we been doin’.”

  “Sounds good to me,” responded Clark. “Ya got some plans fer this?”

  “Yah,” said Henry, “been thinkin’ on you.”

  “Me?” Clark couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

  “Shore. You.” Henry did not waver.

  “But I don’t have any Bible trainin’.”

  “Ya been studyin’ it fer years, haven’t ya?”

  “Yah, but—” “An’ you’ve heard lots of preachin’?”

  “Shore nuff.”

  “An ya believe the Holy Spirit can teach the truth?”

  “ ’Course I do.”

  Henry grinned. “An’ ya ain’t overly busy these days, are ya?”

  Clark couldn’t help but chuckle. “No,” he said, “I ain’t over busy. Been makin’ a few tops an’ whistles, an’ tyin’ a few knots, an’ eatin’, an’ complainin’, an’ makin’ folks run around waitin’ on me. Come to think on it,” he said, scratching his head with the blunt end of his knife, “seems I been powerful busy after all.”

  They laughed together.

  “Well?” spoke Henry, turning serious.

  “Well,” responded Clark, “I need to do some thinkin’ an’ prayin’ ’bout thet one.”

  “You do thet,” encouraged Henry and straightened up. He looked quite confident about where Clark’s thinking and praying would lead him.

  “Gotta git,” said Henry. “The fellas will be wonderin’ where their boss has disappeared to. See ya come Sunday.” And he swung up into the saddle and left the yard at a canter.

  Clark continued the work on his crutch, but his thoughts were far away from the task at hand. He paused occasionally to wipe away a tear or two. Maybe God was indeed turning this whole tragic accident into something far beyond what any of them could have imagined.

  The group that gathered on Sunday in the large living room of the LaHaye household had again increased. With the Crofts were two other women from town and their children. One was the mother of Andy, the boy Clark had rescued from the mine. The other woman, young and sad looking, had just buried an infant son.

  Four of the LaHaye cowboys sauntered in and took inconspicuous seats toward the back of the room, clearing their throats and fingering their wide-brimmed hats self-consciously as they waited for the singing to begin. The simple service was just starting when Cookie hobbled in with a reluctant-looking Wong in tow. Cookie had privately told the family he was going to get Wong to come by telling him this would be a good opportunity to add some new English words to his vocabulary.

  Henry led the singing with his guitar, and Willie read the Scripture. After a time for prayer and another song, Willie allowed anyone from the congregation to share a Scripture or a thought. Henry rose to his feet. Clearing his throat, he began slowly with great seriousness.

  “Ya all know as how we been feelin’ the need to git together like this Sunday by Sunday to hear the Word an’ pray. Maybe ya all ’preciate it as much as I do, but ya still feel somethin’ is missin’. Like we need to learn more ’bout the Bible. Thet’s why churches have preachers—to explain the meanin’ of God’s Word. Well, we ain’t had us a preacher. ’Course we do have the Holy Spirit as our teacher, an’ I thank God fer thet.

  “This here summer Missie an’ Willie had the blessin’ of Mr. and Mrs. Davis comin’ fer a visit. It was jest to be a short one— a couple a’ weeks. We all know the tragic circumstances thet bring ’em to still be here. I say ‘tragic’ ’cause thet’s the way it seems to all of us. But I been thinkin’. Maybe God can bring good outta even this tragedy. The Word says thet all things can work together fer our good if we love God. Lately I’ve been thinkin’ ’bout some good thet might come from this. I spoke to Mr. Davis ’bout it, an’ he promised to pray on it. I’ve asked Mr. Davis if he won’t be our preacher an’ explain the Word to us Sunday by Sunday. Now, he ain’t a preacher, really. He’s a farmer. But he knows the Word of God, an’ he’s heard lotsa preachin’, an’ I think he’d have lotsa good Bible teachin’ to share with us.”

  Faces began to turn toward Clark, and it was apparent many people were waiting expectantly to see how he would answer. Clark looked around him at the strange little congregation. Missie and Willie, along with Henry and Melinda, had grown even more in their faith since coming west. Rough cowhands sat before him, probably knowing very little about the Bible but seeming to be open to learning more. The sad young woman from town was obviously longing for some kind of comfort. The Crofts also needed healing for their recent bereavement. The family with the son whose arm still needed to be straightened sat with the group, along with Andy beside his mother. The de la Rosas had joined them that day, and the pain and the questions still lingered in Juan’s eyes. Clark’s heart went out to them all. He felt a strange stirring within, and he knew that, with God’s help, he must feed this flock. He stood up, his crutch held firmly in hand for support, and looked around at the faces before him.

  “It honors me to be asked to open God’s Word with ya here. With God’s help, I will try to give to ya the meanin’ of the Scripture read each Sunday. We can learn together.”

  He sat down, and enthusiastic nods and smiles swept around the room. Marty was so proud and happy she could have put her head against Clark’s shoulder and wept tears of joy.

  Henry stood again, his face beaming. “We got us a preacher!” he exulted. “Now, what we gonna do ’bout a church? We’re gettin’ to be too big a crowd to fit here anymore.”

  There were enthusiastic and spontaneous responses to the question. Many voices began to call that they would build their own church, and some made suggestions about where it should be located. Henry finally got things quieted enough to speak again.

  “I’ve been thinkin’,” he said, “thet since there’s not a church in town yet, an’ this is a powerful distance fer some to travel, we oughta try to even things up a bit an’ put the church ’bout halfway fer everyone.”

  “I’m ’bout halfway!” exclaimed Mr. Newton, jumping to his feet. “I shore would be right proud to be givin’ some of my land fer a church.”

  Others nodded, their faces full of enthusiasm and anticipation. It was agreed that the church building could be located on the Newton ranch. “We’ll need us timber an’ materials an’ a buildin’ plan,” said Henry. “Lots of things to be decided.”

  “Then let’s git us a committee,” someone called.

  Eventually the group concluded that Willie, Henry, and Mr. Newton would be the building committee. The rest of the congregation would wait for orders and do their bidding. Excitement ran so high that tongues could not slow down even when Missie served coffee and cookies. They were going to have their own church! A dream come true.

  Marty wrote another long letter to send east. They would not be returning home to the farm and the rest of their family until the next spring. Though Clark was daily gaining strength and would now be able to tolerate the train trip, he was going to stay and help establish the new church, giving the people lessons from the Scriptures and encouraging them in their building project.

  Marty was pleased to see the enthusiasm with which Clark greeted each new day. He spent hours poring over his already-well- used Bible, and as his heart discovered new truths, his lips shared them with others. He often could not wait for Sundays but spoke excitedly with anyone who was within listening distance.

  Clark also was busy with other matters, thinking about little inventions that would help him in overcoming his handicap. Daily his independence was growing. He scarcely needed aid any longer. He even adapted a saddle so he could again ride horseback with the men or with Nathan. He moved about the ranch on his own, carrying buckets or saddles in the hand that wasn’t occupied with the
crutch. He went out to the garden and helped to dig the last of Missie’s vegetables. He went with Nathan to gather eggs and prepared fryers for Sunday dinner. Marty marveled and rejoiced as she watched him move about with confidence and assurance.

  Marty knew that Missie, too, was glad to see her father up and around again. But she still could not seem to keep from fussing overly much. Marty realized it was Missie’s admiration for her father that was motivating her—trying to make him comfortable whenever she came near him, feeding him special treats from the kitchen, entertaining him with chats and games. But Marty could no longer ignore her concerns. Surely Willie could not help but miss the attention that rightly should have been his.

  In her growing anxiety, Marty took a walk, hardly knowing where to begin in her thinking to address the problem. Certainly Clark was loved in Missie’s home. Willie had great respect for him. Missie loved him deeply, and the boys doted on their grandfather. Still, Willie’s immediate family needed their own father and husband, and he needed Missie and their sons.

  Marty wondered just how to discuss the issue with Clark. Would he see her concern and understand? What could they do? They were committed now to staying for the winter. And it wasn’t possible to live in Missie’s home and shut one’s self away from the rest of the family.

  At last Marty decided she must at least talk it over with Clark. If he did not see it as anything to get concerned about, then Marty, too, would try to put it from her mind.