Love Finds a Home (Love Comes Softly Series #8)

by Janette Oke

A few days later Belinda decided to make a visit to the little log house. She asked Marty about it. After all, it had belonged to Clare and Kate long after it had been Marty's home. They might still feel some ownership and not be comfortable with others snooping about. Belinda didn't want to intrude.

  "Go ahead," responded Marty.

  "You don't think Kate would mind?"

  "Mind? Why no. I think she's as happy to be in a new home as I was."

  "But I don't want. . ." began Belinda.

  "She's moved everything out," Marty assured her. "The house is totally bare now. S'pose it would be wise to tear it down . . . but there it still stands."

  "Why . . . why. . . ?" began Belinda, but she didn't finish the question. She couldn't imagine the farmyard without the old house.

  But Marty must have misunderstood, and instead of answering why the house would never be torn down, she tried to explain instead why it was still standing.

  She shrugged. "I dunno," she admitted. "Maybe yer pa an' me are jest sentimental. I dunno. We keep sayin' things like, 'Dan might want it,' and stuff like thet. We even talk about makin' it into somethin' else--a granary or a chicken coop-- but we won't. I think we both know thet." Marty chuckled, amused by the little game she and Clark continued to play between them.

  "Well, I need a key. Is it locked?" Belinda asked.

  "Oh my, no. Don't s'pose it's ever been locked. Don't know if we even could. . .'less one put on a padlock of some sort."

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  Belinda walked down the short trail that led to what used to be Amy Jo's house, feet dragging. She wasn't sure if it was really wise to go there. But she felt she had to--really must do it--if she was to put the past to rest.

  The door opened slowly, creaking its complaint on rusty hinges. Belinda pushed harder and managed to squeeze herself through the small opening that she forced from the tight-sticking door.

  The back entry had the same brown walls, the same square in the middle of the floor that opened up to the dumbwaiter into the cellar. More than once she and Amy Jo had been scolded for playing with the ropes.

  Belinda stood and looked around. The room seemed very small--and bare. There were no coats on coat hooks. No boots in the corner. No pail of slop for the pigs. No life here at all.

  Belinda shivered slightly and moved farther into the kitchen.

  Belinda could not believe her eyes. The kitchen looked as if it belonged in a dollhouse. She had always thought it--well, at least adequate if not big, but now it looked so small and simple. Much too simple for a woman to really live with each day. The colors were still the same. There was an outdated calendar on the wall, a picture of a little boy holding a brown, curly-haired puppy on the front. Belinda guessed that Kate had not had the heart to discard the picture when the year ended. The last sheet with its month had been discarded.

  Belinda crossed into the room that had been used by the family. Memories flooded her mind as she looked about the small area. Here she and Amy Jo had flopped on the floor, lying on their tummies, to draw. Here they had stretched out before the open fire to eat popcorn and giggle over boys. They had rocked in the big rocker that had sat right over there. They had bundled up baby dolls and propped them against the mantel.

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  She didn't bother with the bedroom Clare and Kate had shared, and she didn't check the room the boys had used. Instead, she passed directly to the room that had been Amy Jo's. It had always been a pale green and white--until Amy Jo herself had decided to change that. Amy Jo had wanted a room that was "vibrant." She had been allowed to have her way, and "vibrant" her room had become.

  Belinda would have been terribly disappointed if the room had been changed--but except for being unfurnished, it was the same. For a minute Belinda stood stock-still, the memories flooding over her and giving her goose bumps. Then she shut her eyes and pictured again the room as she had last seen it. The bed--right there. Against that wall, the dresser with Amy Jo's socks and undies. Amy Jo's nightie always hanging from the peg in the corner. The little desk where she sat to do her drawing. The dolls, the books, the paints and pencils. Belinda could see it all as vividly as if it were actually before her.

  And then she opened her eyes slowly. The empty room stared back at her, the marks on the floor where the bed castors had rolled. The smoky blue paper with its small violet flowers and green leaves was marked here and there by a tack or a smudge. There was a rubbed spot where the desk had stood. Amy Jo had spent so many hours at that desk that she must have soiled the paper. Perhaps Kate had even needed to wipe it with a damp cloth on more than one occasion.

  Belinda looked again at the room. In her mind she could hear the childish voice of her then-constant companion. "Oh, Lindy!" Amy Jo would exclaim in exasperation, and Belinda smiled. They were so different, but so close.

  With a shiver Belinda turned from the room. Memories were not always pleasant, she decided. Memories could bring pain, too.

  She retraced her steps without looking back and slipped

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  through the door into the afternoon sunshine. The shiver passed up her spine again. She felt she had suffered a chill. She tugged the complaining heavy wooden door tightly closed behind her.

  On the path to the white house, Belinda's thoughts were delivering a sharp message: Nothing is the same. The place, the family--nothing! I am not the same. I love my family. . . but I don't fit here anymore.

  You don't fit. You don't fit, her shoes seemed to squeak with each step that Belinda took along the path back to the big house. She had a hard time to keep from running.

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  NINE

  Return to Boston

  Belinda knew the time of her visit home went far too quickly for her mother, but the days dragged somewhat for Belinda. Each morning as she climbed from her bed to face the inconvenience of no bathroom, she was reminded that she was no longer the young girl who had occupied the room where she now slept. No longer did she fit in with the farmhouse, the outdated clothes in the closet, the hens and horses. boston had changed all of that. At least, Belinda told herself, it must have been Boston.

  There was only one place where she felt she still fit. The little country church--for though the people dressed plainly, the warmth and the preaching tugged at her heart. She had longed for such messages, had ached to be part of such worshipful services. She had sometimes sensed deeply within herself that something important seemed to be missing in the big stone church in Boston.

  Yes, in the little country church Belinda felt at home--all in one piece. Whole and complete. But one could not take refuge in the church all week long.

  For Belinda, the family devotional time was an extension of the Sunday worship service. She felt mentally and spiritually restored and nourished during the time spent with her mother and father as they read from the Word, discussed thoroughly

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  each Scripture passage, and spent unhurried time together in prayer.

  This is what I've missed the most, Belinda recognized. The spiritual feeding. The sharing. It's hard to grow if a person is not nourished.

  Belinda decided to make each day at home a source of spiritual refreshment. Often the morning hours slipped by while the three sat and talked and prayed.

  "I knew I was missing--what does one call it--'fellowship'? These talking and sharing times," said Belinda one morning as she sat with her mother and father after their devotional time, "but I hadn't realized just how much."

  "Don't ya have anyone to talk to?" asked Marty

  "Well, not about. . . about spiritual things. Not really talk." "What 'bout yer church?" asked Clark. "Does yer preacher give the Gospel?"

  "Well . . . yes . . . sort of," faltered Belinda.

  Clark and Marty both looked questioningly at their daughter.

  "He . . . he preaches that Christ is the Son of God," went on Belinda. "And he preaches that Christ came to bring salvation to man. He even talks about our sin and that we need to turn away from it . . .
to repent of our sinful deeds. He uses all the words. Repentance. Redemption. Salvation."

  Clark nodded, looking pleased at Belinda's report.

  "But he never really tells people how to find that forgiveness or claim that salvation for themselves," Belinda went on. "Sometimes I get so frustrated, wishing that he'd go that one step further . . . that he'd tell folks to ask God for His forgiveness . . . to ask Christ to come into their lives and take over. Trying to be good--all on one's own--isn't the answer."

  Clark nodded solemnly. "Does he encourage folks to read

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  the Scriptures for themselves?" he asked.

  "No . . . no, I don't think I've ever heard him suggest it."

  Clark was shaking his head, his eyes full of concern. "Thet's a shame," he said soberly. "If folks was readin' the Word, they might discover on their own how to find salvation."

  "That's why I worry about Aunt Virgie," went on Belinda. "I'm afraid she just doesn't understand that she has to make a decision herself--a commitment."

  "We'll pray along with ya," put in Marty "We've already been a prayin', but now thet we know how things are, we'll do it even harder."

  Belinda nodded, appreciating the concern of her parents. She was glad they would join with her in her prayer concern.

  Many things began to crowd into her visit at home. Belinda spent some time with Luke and Abbie, with Arnie and Anne, with Clare and Kate, and she enjoyed catching up on the happenings of each family. She and Marty hitched the team and drove to Nandry's, Belinda's foster sister. Nandry and Josh were alone now, too. All their children had homes of their own, and Nandry boasted proudly about their seven grandchildren.

  Belinda was also brought up-to-date on Clae and Joe. They had never come home to the little town they had left so many years before--though they had always intended to. And now Belinda felt that she knew the reason. Clae and her pastor husband, Joe, would fit in here no better than she herself did.

  Belinda heard all the news of Willie and Missie, Lane and Ellie, and their families in the West. She was especially anxious for every scrap of information she could gather about Amy Jo and Melissa. Without consciously realizing it, she found herself expecting that the two girls would still be there at the farm, now that she was home.

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  Belinda ached to just flop across her bed, as was their fashion of old, and talk and talk with her two nieces.

  Belinda took a few short rides through the familiar countryside on Copper. He proved to be just as self-willed as ever. Belinda never dared dismount to try to tie him up while she investigated a bush or patch of flowers. She knew how skillful Copper was at leaving for home without her. She did enjoy her outings, regardless, and always returned home with flushed cheeks and shining eyes.

  One fall day when the wind was rattling the tree limbs and sending showers of autumn leaves scurrying to the ground, Luke turned his team into the farm lane.

  "You busy?" he asked Belinda.

  "Why, no," she answered, and Marty swung around to question her son with probing eyes.

  "I'm not kidnapping her, Ma," teased Luke. "Just wondered if she'd like to make a call with me."

  Marty nodded encouragingly as Belinda reached for a warm shawl.

  "Is it cold?" she asked. By the expression on her mother's face, Belinda guessed Marty was hoping this little outing with Luke might somehow bring her back to them.

  "It's a bit chilly," Luke responded. "I think you'd be wise to take your coat."

  Belinda went for her coat and soon joined Luke in the buggy.

  "Do you still make a lot of house calls?" she asked him. "Not like I used to before Jackson came, but yes, I still make my share of them."

  "Where are we going today?" asked Belinda.

  "Little Becky Winslow has a bad throat. Her mama wants

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  it checked. Didn't want her in my office in case it was contagious," Luke explained.

  "I hope it's nothing serious," Belinda commented. "Doesn't sound like it is, but one always needs to be careful," Luke replied.

  They rode in silence for a time, then Luke spoke again. "Well, it's official. Dr. Jackson Brown and Nurse Flo have announced their coming marriage."

  "How nice for both of them!" Belinda exclaimed with a smile. She had seen Jackson on one occasion since she had been home. To her relief it had not proved awkward. They had chatted sociably, easily, as two old friends. Belinda was truly happy for Jackson.

  "How soon?" Belinda asked.

  "Next spring. May. So I won't be losing my nurse immediately. Still, we are training another woman to help in the office. We don't want to be left with no one in an emergency. We had decided long ago that we should have at least two nurses who know the procedures at all times."

  Belinda nodded.

  "Remember that place?" Luke pointed with a finger. Belinda recognized the Coffin farm. The one that Josh had rented to the Simpsons.

  "Pa said that Mr. Simpson passed away," Belinda said, her mind suddenly churning with many other thoughts.

  "He did. It was sudden--and unexpected. By the time

  Jackson got there, it was too late."

  "That's too bad," Belinda commented soberly.

  "Mrs. Simpson and Sid still live there," Luke went on. "That's what Pa said. Looks like they've fixed things up quite a bit," Belinda noted.

  "They have. Mr. Simpson worked awfully hard to get it back to what it once was. Say what you like about the family

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  they can't be accused of being lazy. Hard workers, every one of them."

  Belinda kept her thoughts to herself for a few minutes as the team traveled on down the road, leaving the Simpson home behind.

  "You mentioned Jackson," she said at last. "Jackson was called when Mr. Simpson died. Does that mean they still haven't forgiven you?"

  "Oh no. I've been there several times. I just was out on another call when it happened, that's all. Why, Drew himself was in to see me a while back. He was here to visit his ma."

  Belinda nodded. "Pa told me," she admitted.

  There was silence again. Belinda finally broke it. She wasn't sure what to ask--how to ask--but she did want some answers to all her questions.

  "Was Drew. . . has he . . . has he changed much?"

  Luke shook his head and clucked to the team. "Well, yes . . . and no," he answered. "He's grown-up . . . filled out. . . gotten to be a good-looking man."

  Nothing different about that, thought Belinda to herself. He was always good-looking.

  "He's . . . he's very mature," Luke continued. "He'll make a good lawyer. A real good lawyer. Just wish we had him here." "He doesn't plan to . . . to come back?"

  "I don't expect so. Guess he really didn't say one way or the other. . . but he did say that he's happy where he is. He's working in a good firm. Getting lots of good experience. . . making good money, too, I'd expect. Not much to come back here for."

  Belinda nodded.

  "He asked about you," Luke surprised Belinda by saying. Belinda's eyes widened. "He did?"

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  "Said he never did thank you--properly--for your part in his surgery."

  Belinda felt a swirl of emotions that came with the memory. It had been one of the most difficult experiences of her life.

  "What did you tell him?" asked Belinda.

  "Just said that an elderly lady had been brought from the train to us and that you'd gone off to the city to become her private nurse. He seemed happy for you."

  A few more minutes of silence slipped by.

  "Luke," asked Belinda slowly, "do you think the city is where I really belong?"

  He was quiet for a while, then said, "That's a question only you can answer." He turned his head to look into her face, and Belinda nodded.

  "It's just . . . just . . . I don't know anymore," she admitted. "I . . . I don't seem to fit here."

  "What is 'fitting'?" Luke asked. "How does one feel when one 'fits'?"

  "Well, I . . .
I guess like I used to feel," Belinda stammered. "I never used to even think about fitting before."

  Luke nodded. "When I'd been away .. . to get my training," he said slowly, "and came home again . . . well, I wasn't quite sure if this was the place for me or not. I sure didn't fit in the same way I had before, but I decided that there was little use looking back. That really wasn't where I wanted to be anyway--a young squirt tagging along after Doc. So it seemed like the only thing to do was to make myself a new place, a new 'fit.' One of my very own. And I set to work doing that. I feel quite comfortable in my little spot now. . . and Abbie and the kids, they seem happy, too."

  "I guess that's what I'm going to have to do," agreed Belinda, and she thought of Boston. She didn't really look

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  forward to settling permanently in the big city, but to her thinking there was really nothing else that she could do--at least for now Aunt Virgie needed her--and she certainly didn't seem to have a place here in the country anymore.

  She sighed deeply. Life could be so complicated.

  "Hey," Luke said, reaching across to squeeze her folded hands. "I have faith in you. You'll know the right thing to do when the time comes."

  "But . . ." began Belinda, "I . . . I can't just put it off forever . . . and . . . and drift. I have to make up my mind sooner or later."

  "And you will," said Luke. "I'm counting on it."

  They had reached their destination. Luke hopped down and turned to help Belinda, then tied the team and lifted his black bag from the buggy.

  "Let's take a look at Becky's throat," he said to Belinda, and they entered the house together.

  It turned out to be simple tonsillitis, and Luke left some medicine and soon they were on their way again.

  "It's always a relief when it isn't something serious," Luke said, and Belinda nodded in agreement. If only life could always be so simple and straightforward, she thought.