by Janette Oke
"Then what do you mean, 'move'?"
"Well, we decided thet it might be kinda fun to spend a winter in the soddy."
"You are joshin'!" Missie could not believe that Clark was serious.
"No, I'm not."
"Why would you ever do that?"
"Why not? The soddy is snug and warm and big enough fer the two of us. It would be an adventure to talk about when we git back home."
"Oh, Pa," said Missie in exasperation. "Don't talk about anything so silly."
"Little girl," said Clark firmly, "It's not silly and I really am serious 'bout this."
Missie turned to Marty. "Tell me he's only teasin'." "No," said Marty matter-of-factly. "He's not. We talked it all over last night. We decided thet it would be better fer all of us if we lived separate fer the winter."
Missie arose from her chair, her face white and set.
"I don't understand one word of what you're sayin'," she said. "Iffen you're serious, I'd like to know why. Haven't we been carin' for you--?"
Clark interrupted her. "My dear," he said gently, "ya shore as the world have been doin' everythin' fer me--an fer yer ma. An' we 'preciate it--more'n we ever could say. But now thet I'm gittin' about an' am able to sorta care fer myself some, well, yer ma an' me think thet it's 'bout time thet yer family had ya back ag'in--all to themselves."
Willie's eyes widened, then he lowered his gaze. Marty knew that he would say nothing, but she also knew that he had realized they understood well the situation in his home.
"That's silly," fumed Missie. "My family has had me all along. Never have I been more'n a few feet away from any of
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them. Why, they always knew right where to find me. We've loved havin' you here. After all, it was because you came to see us that you lost that leg."
Clark interrupted. "Missie, I don't want to ever hear ya say thet I lost my leg because I came here. It coulda happened at home jest as well as here. The place has nothin' to do with it, an' I never want ya to feel any kind of guilt thet the accident happened because I was here."
Missie lowered her eyes and brushed aside Clark's comment. "Well," she said, "I won't feel guilt--I promise--but I still don't understand your wantin' to move on out. We love to have you here. Before we know it, the winter will be over an' you'll be off home again. We want you here as much as possible. Tell 'em, Willie," she implored her husband. But Willie merely continued eating his scrambled eggs and muffins.
"Tell 'em, Willie," Missie said again.
Willie swallowed and looked from one to the other. It was apparent that he did not wish to be involved in the discussion. Clark spoke up before Willie was obliged to answer for himself.
"We know thet our son-in-law would never suggest thet we leave his home an' his table. We really want to do it, Missie, not because we are not welcome here, but because we feel thet it would be good fer all of us. We'll be right nearby and can come in fer coffee whenever we need a stroll. Yer ma will be over often to borrow cups of sugar and talk 'girl talk.' The boys can come an' visit us in the soddy." Clark winked. "It could be jest a heap of fun. Marty an' I have never lived all by ourselves, ya know."
"An' nothin' that I can say will make you change your mind?" Missie said, in one last effort at persuasion.
" 'Fraid not. Iffen the winter gits too tough an' we begin to get cold, we might come crawlin' back a-beggin' to be 'llowed in," said Clark, in an effort to keep things light.
"I'll let ya in, Grandpa," assured Nathan, and everyone began to laugh.
"I'll let ya in, G'an'pa," echoed Josiah, not wanting to be outdone.
Missie moved for the coffeepot. "Well, if you are determined
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to do it, I guess I can't stop you, but I still don't like it."
"Look, honey," said Marty, understanding how the girl felt, "if we didn't think thet it is fer the best, we wouldn't do it. Honest! Jest give it a chance, will ya, Missie? Iffen it doesn't seem to be workin' fer the best of all concerned, we'll move back in here. Please?"
Missie brightened some and leaned over to kiss Marty on her forehead.
"I'm sorry. It just took me off-guard like." She managed a smile. "Iffen you're sure that it's what you want, my soddy is all yours. But I'm warnin' you, Mama, it can get awful cramped on a winter's day."
Marty laughed. "Well, I have an advantage thet you didn't have, my dear."
"Meanin'?" asked Missie.
"You," said Marty. "Iffen I git to feelin' cramped, I can jest bundle up an' make a dash fer yer big, beautiful home. You didn't have a big house nor a daughter nearby, so ya jest had to sit tight."
Missie smiled again. "Well, I hope that you feel cramped real often," she said. "Then you'll visit me lots."
Clark put down his empty cup. "Well, fellas," he said to the boys, "guess we'd better git started with this here move."
The boys scrambled down and led the way to the bedroom that had been known as Grandpa and Grandma's for the last few months. Clark followed, his crutch beating a rhythmic tatoo behind them.
"I'll see what I can find for rugs an' blankets," offered Missie. "You'll need some decent dishes, too. Those in the soddy are in bad shape."
"Now, don't ya fuss none," Marty warned her daughter, but she knew that she might as well bid the sun not to shine. Missie was sure to fuss. Marty just shrugged her shoulders. Perhaps in the fussing Missie would find some fun. She followed Missie out, determined to make a real adventure for them all on this moving day.
The nights were cooler now, and the wood fire in the old
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cookstove made the snug little soddy cozy and warm. Clark had encouraged Marty to visit Missie often during the first few days after their move, to assure her that indeed they had not forsaken her. Marty also invited Missie down to the soddy for afternoon tea; and Missie's many memories of the small shack gave her parents a new understanding of their daughter's first years in the West. She told of her first shocking sight of the small, grass-covered mound that was to be her home, and her horror at seeing from inside the dirt roof and dirt floor, and her feeling of fear as she laid Nathan on the bed lest the chunks of earth come tumbling down on top of the wee baby. She described their first Christmas and the cowboys sitting almost toe-to-toe, enjoying a simple Christmas dinner. She told of Cookie holding the baby Nathan and helping him to breathe freely again when he had the croup. She talked about her first visit from Maria, her difficulty in drying her wash, her cooped-up feelings; but all the time she talked there was nostalgia in her voice, and her deep affection for the old sod shack showed. Marty even began to wonder if Missie might be envying their chance to live in the little soddy!
The boys loved to come, and Marty and Clark found themselves listening for their knock on the door and the two little voices calling, "Grandpa!" "G'am'ma!" They would pester Clark as he tried to study for the Sunday lessons. They coaxed to be able to add fuel to the fire. They wanted to roll on the bed, scratch marks in the dirt floor, and have their meals at the small table. They brought garden vegetables, fresh eggs, or milk from their mother. They even brought treats from Wong's kitchen.
Clark and Marty enjoyed them but always made sure they were home to greet their father when he returned at the end of the day.
Life finally had settled into a warm, comfortable, wholesome routine for all of them. Marty was thankful that Clark had proposed the move, feeling that it truly was better for all concerned. Willie looked less tense, more relaxed and happy, as well. He had needed to be master in his own home again. Even Missie took on a new glow. The past months had drained
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all of them, but now it was time for life to return to normal once more.
Marty sat in front of the soddy, knitting and soaking in the late fall sun; Clark came around the corner, expertly managing his crutch and a pail of spring water. He set the pail down and sank into a chair beside Marty, wiping his brow.
His chuckle brought Marty's head up. Now what is he fin
din' so funny? she asked herself and then repeated it to Clark.
"Nothin's funny, really. Jest thinkin' thet God really does make 'all things work together fer good.'
"Meanin'?"
"This here leg--the one thet I ain't got no more. Ya noticin' which one is missin'?"
"Yah, the left one."
"It's the left one--but more'n thet. Look, it frees up my right hand when I'm a doin'. See, I use the crutch in the left. Not only thet, but thet there left one is the one thet I chopped into thet winter takin' out logs. Remember?"
Marty wondered how he thought she could forget. She still went weak and sick inside when she thought of Clark's return to the house with his pale face and blood-drenched foot.
"I remember," she said, her voice tight.
"Well, thet's the foot thet's gone. Thet rascal has kept me awake more'n one night--'specially when the weather's 'bout to change."
"You never mentioned thet before."
"Weren't no reason to. Guess it won't keep me awake again though."
Clark chuckled again. Marty couldn't quite bring herself to join him, but she smiled at this strong, patient man of hers who saw God's hand in all the circumstances of his life.
Clark had a visit from Juan. It had been three weeks since they had seen the De la Rosas. They had been informed that Juan and Maria had gone away and assumed that Juan was still gathering equipment and supplies for his medical practice. He greeted Clark now with a firm handshake and clear
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eyes. Marty sensed that he wanted to talk to Clark in private and left the two of them alone over steaming cups of coffee.
"Well, after much prayer and struggle," began Juan immediately, "I did as you recommended."
"You have been home?"
"I have been home," Juan said with deep feeling.
"I'm glad," said Clark. "An' how did yer pa receive you?" Juan's eyes clouded for a moment. "My father, I am sorry to say, was not there to greet me. He died seven months ago." "I'm sorry," Clark said with sincerity.
"I am sorry, too. I should have gone sooner. I should not have let stubborn pride keep me away."
"An' yer mother?"
"My mother welcomed me with outstretched arms." Clark smiled. "I'm sure she did."
"My father had died and left my mother all alone. Daily she prayed that if her son Juan was still living he would come back to her. Because of my foolishness, it took a long time for my mother's prayers to be answered."
"We are all foolish at times," Clark reminded him.
Juan went on. "My mother could scarcely believe her eyes when I walked into her room. She had failed much. She did not eat well or care for herself since my father died. When she saw me, she wept long for joy. Then she told me how my father had pined after sending me away. He tried for many months to find me--to ask for my forgiveness--but there was no trace of where I had gone. Before he died, he had my mother promise that she would keep trying. She did. She sent out men and offered rewards, but she could not find me."
Juan stopped to wipe a hand across his eyes. "I caused them much hurt," he murmured.
"Ya didn't know."
"No, I didn't know. I was too busy nursing hurts of my own. . . . My mother was so happy to hear that I am a doctor again. I would like you to meet her."
"I'd love to meet her. Maybe someday--"
"Not someday. Now."
"Ya mean--?"
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"She's here. I left her up at the house having tea with Missie and Maria. She wants very much to meet the man who sent her son home to her."
"But I . . . didn't do thet. Ya went on yer own. It was yer decision."
"Yes, you let me make the decision. You left me my dignity. But you knew when you talked to me how I would have to decide." Juan smiled.
"I'd love to meet yer mama," said Clark, picking up his crude crutch.
"An' I have something for you," said Juan, returning to the door and reaching outside for a carefully fashioned crutch with a padded arm bar. "They can make very good crutches in the city," he added.
Clark took the new crutch and handled it carefully, looking over every angle and the total length of it.
"It's a dandy," he grinned. "An' I thank ya."
Clark, with his new "store-bought" crutch, and Juan went to the house together. Juan explained as they walked, "My mother had no desire to live alone on the rancho. As I did not wish to return to ranching in that area, we decided to sell the ranch to the man who has run it for my father. Mother is insisting on using much of the money from the sale for my medical practice. She wants us to have good equipment for those who need help. She is going to live with us. We are all so happy. Maria can't remember having a mother. Hers died when she was a very young girl. We are all very happy, Mr. Clark, and we thank you."
Senora De la Rosa was a delicate, dark woman with flashing eyes and a quick smile. In spite of her years and the intense sorrow in her past, she still had a youthful spirit and vibrant outlook on life. Clark and Marty liked her immediately.
"Mama has said that we shall all come to service together," said Maria. "When God works to answer her prayers through people who worship--even though they worship in a different way than she is used to--they must have the approval of God, she says. And so God would also surely approve of us worshiping together with them. So we shall be here next
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Sunday--and all the Sundays--and we will be glad to help in the building of the new church."
The prayer time together before the De la Rosas left for home was full of fervent thanksgiving to God.
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Chapter Twenty-four
Winter
Nathan celebrated his sixth birthday--a big event for him at any time, but even more important on this occasion because his grandparents were there to help in the merrymaking. The Kleins and De la Rosas also came for the event, and the house rang with laughter and chatter.
Josiah got a full share of the attention on the occasion; he came in from the kitchen bundled up in one of Wong's big white aprons and looking like a huge cocoon. Everyone had a good laugh, and Joey was pleased with the response.
Nathan had insisted that he wanted a crutch "jest like Grandpa's" for his birthday and could not understand the objections to getting him one. He wished to imitate his grandfather in every way, and he felt that the use of a crutch--even though he did plan to keep his leg--would be one more thing that he could share with the man whom he loved so dearly. Missie was horrified at the very thought of such a thing, fearing that Nathan toting about a crutch might be tempting fate. She tried to talk Nathan out of it, promising him all kinds of
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things in its place. Nathan still wanted one. Clark finally had a man-to-man talk with the boy, and Nathan came away from the talk happy to be able to walk on two good legs "like his pa."
Willie was pleased with the profit from the fall cattle sale, and he and Missie left by train for a larger city to do some shopping. Clark and Marty cared for the two boys while the LaHayes were gone.
The shipment of furnishings eventually arrived, and Missie now had a new dining room--splendid in its dark wood furniture, thick rug and rich draperies. Marty complimented Missie many times on her excellent taste, but Missie laughed and replied that anyone had good taste as long as he had good money.
Missie, too, had a birthday. Marty thoroughly enjoyed the chance to make the cake and prepare the birthday dinner after the number of years they had been apart on Missie's birthday. All of the ranch hands were invited for the meal. The large family dining room was almost as crowded as the little soddy had been many Christmases ago. But Missie loved it, and the cowboys all seemed to appreciate it, too.
The winter's first storm moved in without warning. Marty awoke to hear the wind howling around the little soddy. Clark was already up and reading his Bible at the small table while the fire sent out comforting waves of heat, even though the wind tried to tear away its warmth.
Marty snuggled
down under the covers again and thought about how fortunate they were. Winter might be here with all of its fury, but they were snug and warm and dry. Marty did not put off getting up for long; Clark had coffee perking, and the smell of it quickly drove away her sleepiness and enticed her from the bed. She crawled forth rather hesitantly but the howling wind had no power in their warm shelter.
"My, thet coffee be smellin' good! I think thet ya purposely made it jest to tempt me from the bed," she said, slipping her arms around Clark's shoulders and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Ya hear thet wind?" asked Clark. "Sounds like we're gonna find out all 'bout a western winter."
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"Guess we will at thet," said Marty, "but ya know, it ain't scarin' me none."
Clark merely smiled.
"Whatcha doin'?" asked Marty.
"Well, Henry figures thet when the storms strike on Sundays the folks from any distance won't be able to make it here fer the service. So we talked it over an' decided to make 'em up some lesson materials so thet they might do their own read- in' at home."
"Thet's a good idea!" Marty responded.
"At least this be helpin"em to feel a part of the group even iffen they can't git here. They'll be studyin' the same portion of the Word as the rest of us."
"Thet's nice," Marty said again.
"But I've been at this fer what seems ages already, an' I shore could do with breakfast. I was jest sittin' here a-thinkin' this shore is the kind of a mornin' thet I could use a nice big stack of pancakes."
Marty laughed and went to get dressed so that she could make Clark his pancakes.
The winter weather continued as it had begun. The storms moved in and out of the area. As predicted, the Sunday crowd at the LaHayes' diminished. Henry saw to it that the other members of the little congregation received Clark's Sunday lesson materials.
The church building committee worked hard at drawing plans and arranging for the materials for spring building. All the members of the group were anxious to get into their own little church. Juan's mother sent away to the city and ordered a bell for the spire. She felt that a church of God should have a bell with which to call together the worshipers.