Love comes softly (14 page)

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"All of 'em?" It was said in shock.

"Course all of 'em. I know there be thirteen of 'em an' three of us; thet makes sixteen. The kitchen table, stretched out like, will hold eight. Thet's the four grown-ups an' the four youngest of the Grahams. Missie'll be in her chair. Thet leaves seven Graham young 'uns. We'll fix 'em a place in the sittin' room an' Laura an' Sally Anne can look to 'em."

She would have babbled on but Clark, with a laugh and an upright hand, stopped her.

"Whoa." Then he went on. "I see ya got it all sorted out. Did ya speak with Ma on it?"

"Course not," said Marty sounding almost insulted. "I wouldn't be a doin' thet afore I checked with you."

He looked sideways at her, and his voice took on a serious note. "I don't know." He hesitated. "Seems to me it be a pretty big order, gettin' on a Christmas dinner fer sixteen, an' servin' it in our small quarters, an' ya being' the way ya are an' all."

Marty knew that she must fight for it, if it was to be. She scoffed at his protest.

"Pawsh! There be nuthin' wrong with the way The. I feel as pert now as I ever did. As to fixin' the dinner, I'll have as much of thet done ahead as I can, afore the house packs jam tight. Then t'won't be sech a problem. When they gits there Ma and the girls will give a hand-- an' with the dishes too. Oh, my-- "

She stopped and fairly squealed. "The dishes! Clark, do we have enough dishes to set so many?"

"I don't know, but iffen ya don't, Ma'll bring some of hers along."

"Good!"

She smiled to herself. He had as good as said that they could come. She had sort of swung him off the track by diverting his attention to the dishes. She felt a bit guilty, but not enough to be bothered by it. "It be settled then," she ventured, and it was more a statement than a question.

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Chapter 19

Snowbound

Clark went back to spending his days in the hills felling trees, and Marty went to work in her kitchen. She pored over the recipes and after finally making her choices, spent day after day turning out tempting goodies. Baked goods began to stock up almost alarmingly and she was having a hard time finding a place to put them.

Missie sampled and approved, preferring the gingerbread boys that Marty had made especially for the children.

In the evenings she and Clark worked on a doll house for Missie. Clark had constructed a simple two-room structure and was busy making wooden chairs, tables and beds. Marty's part was to put in small curtains, rugs and blankets. "Those things a woman usually be a makin'," Clark said. She had found it fun helping with the project, watching it take shape. As they worked they got new inspiration. The kitchen had a small cupboard with doors that really opened, a table, two chairs and a bench. This was Clark's work. Marty had put up little kitchen curtains, added a couple of bright rugs on the floor and put small cushions on the chairs.

The sitting-bedroom had a small bed complete with blankets and pillows, a tiny cradle, two chairs, a foot stool and a trunk with a lid that lifted. Marty still had to fix the blanket and pillow for the cradle and the curtains for this room. Clark was working on a stove for the kitchen.

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"Wouldn't be much of a kitchen without a stove," he reasoned.

Marty was pleased with their effort and relieved that they should easily have it finished in time for Missie's Christmas.

Clark had made a couple more trips into town, stopping the first time to invite the Grahams to Christmas dinner. He seemed to feel that these trips were so important, yet as far as Marty could see, he had nothing to show for them when he returned. She shrugged it off.

The last time he had gone he had brought back some special spices for her baking and a few trinkets for Missie.

"She be a needin' somethin' fer her Christmas sock," he said, as he handed them into Marty's care.

Marty reviewed all of this in her thinking as she laid cookies out to cool.

"Would Clark be expecting a gift from her?" Marty wondered. She supposed not. It would have been nice to have some little thing for him, but she had no money for purchases and no way of buying anything if she did have. And what could one sew for a man?

As she worked she remembered the piece of soft blue-gray wool that still lay in her sewing basket. After she finished the cookies she'd take a look at it and see if it were possible to make a man's scarf out of the material.

When she later checked the material, she decided that it was quite possible, and knowing that Clark wouldn't be in from cutting trees until chore time, she set to work. She finished the stitching, finding it necessary to do a bit of piecing, and then tucked it away. Tomorrow while Clark was away she would hand embroider his initials on it.

Christmas would soon be here. She wondered if the day itself would be half as exciting as the preparations for it had been.

Day three-- only three days to go now. They had finished their gift for Missie the night before and complimented each other on the outcome. Now breakfast was over and Clark had gone back to cutting wood. Marty had asked him to keep an eye open for nice pine branches bearing cones so that she

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might form a few wreaths. He said that he would see what he could do.

He would work in the morning in the hills and in the afternoon he would kill the gobbler, who at the present was going without his breakfast. Marty hurried through her morning tasks, then took up the scarf for Clark. Carefully she stitched a bold C. D. on it, and had it tucked away in her drawer before Clark arrived for dinner.

Day two-- two days until Christmas, but the day was the Lord's Day, and any further preparations would have to wait. Marty conceded that perhaps a day of rest was not such a bad idea, and when Missie was tucked in for her afternoon nap, she stretched out on her own bed, with a warm blanket drawn over her. She felt weary, really weary, and the weight of the baby she carried made every task that she took on doubly hard. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to a delightful sleep.

Day one-- the morrow would be Christmas. The tom was killed and hung to chill in preparation for stuffing. Marty had carefully formed her wreaths, pleased with Clark's selected branches, and tied them with her cherished store twine. She had placed one in each window and one on the door. A small tree had come from the hills with Clark and waited expectantly until the time when Missie would be tucked in bed and it would be placed in a corner of the sitting room. The corn had been popped and strung and Marty had made chains from the bits of colored paper that she had come up with. She had even made some out of the brown storewrap that had come from town.

The scarf lay completed, but as Marty looked at it a feeling of uneasiness possessed her. Somehow it didn't seem the thing to be giving a man like Clark. She wondered if she'd really have the courage to go through with it.

"Well," she said, shelving the matter, "I'll have to be a handlin' thet when the time comes, an' jest keep my mind on what I'm a doin' now."

What she was 'a doin' now' was peeling large quantities of carrots, turnips and potatoes for the morrow's meal. There

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would be cabbage to dice as well. The batch of bread was raising and would soon be ready for baking. The beans were soaking and would be flavored with cured ham later. Canned greens and pickles were lined up on the floor by the cupboard, waiting to be opened, and wild nuts were placed in a basket by the fireplace to be roasted over the open fire.

Mentally Marty ticked off her list. Things seemed to be going as scheduled. She looked around her at the abundance of food. Tomorrow promised to be a good day and tonight they'd have the fun of decking the tree for Missie, and hanging her sock.

Christmas Day! Marty opened her eyes earlier than usual and already her head was spinning. She must prepare the stuffing for the turkey, put the vegetables on to cook in her largest kettles, bring in plenty of the baking from the shed where it was sure to be frozen in this weather. Her mind raced on as she quickly dressed.

The room felt so cold she'd be glad to get to the warm kitchen. She crossed to check that Missie was properly covered, then quietly tiptoed from the room.

It was cold in the sitting room, too, and she hurried on to the kitchen. There was no lamp lit there so Clark was not up. She shivered as she hastened to light it and moved on to start the fire. It was so cold that her hands already felt numb. She could hear the wind whining around the cabin as she coaxed the blaze to take hold. It would be a while before the chill left the air. She moved into the sitting room to light the fire there. She must have it warm for when Missie got up.

When both fires were burning she checked the clock. Twenty minutes to six. No wonder Clark wasn't up yet. He usually rose about six-thirty in the winter months. Well, she needed every minute that she could get. She had so much to do.

She turned to the frost-covered window and scratching a small opening with her fingers, she pressed her face to the pane to look out on Christmas Day. An angry wind swirled

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heavily falling snow, piling drifts in seemingly mountainous proportions. She could not even see the well at times for the density of it.

Marty didn't need to be told that she was witnessing a dreaded prairie blizzard. The pain of it all began to seep in, taking possession of her. She wanted to scream out against it, to curse it away, to throw herself on her bed in a torrent of tears. Her shoulders sagged, she felt weary and defeated, but what good would it do to strike back? The storm would still rage. No one in their right mind would defy it simply for a Christmas dinner. She was licked. She felt dead again. Then suddenly a new anger took hold of her. Why? Why should the storm win?

"Go ahead," she stormed inwardly. "Go ahead and howl. We have the turkey ready to go in the oven. We have lots of food. We have our tree. We have Missie we'll-- we'll jest still have Christmas!"

She wiped her tears on her apron, squared her shoulders and turned back to add more wood to the fire. She had not noticed Clark standing there, boots in hand, watching her.

He cleared his throat and she looked up. What could he say? He knew the hurt that she was feeling. She had worked so hard for this day and now she was cheated out of it. What could he possibly say? But Marty said it for him. She stopped in front of him as he sat lacing his boots and with a smile that he could not believe and a wave of her hand toward the laden cupboard said, "My word. What we ever gonna be a doin' with all this food? We'll have to spend the whole day a eatin' on it."

She moved back to the cupboard to prepare the turkey for roasting.

"I do hope thet the Grahams haven't been caught short- fixed fer Christmas. Us a sittin' here with so few an' all this food, an' them sittin' there with so many-- "

Clark sat open-mouthed. When he trusted himself to speak he said persuasively, "Ma's too smart to be took off guard like. She knows this country's mean streak. I don't think they be a wantin' at all."

Marty seemed relieved at that.

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"I be right glad to hear thet," she said. "The storm had me a worryin'."

Clark sat quietly while she finished stuffing the turkey, then hurried forward when it looked oven ready.

"Best ya let me be a liftin' thet bird. He's right heavy.Marty

did not object. The turkey was in and the stove was gradually warming the kitchen. Marty put on the coffee pot and then took a chair.

"Seems the storm nearly won," she acknowledged slowly, "but it can't win unless ya let it, can it?"

Clark said nothing but his eyes told her that he understood her disappointment-- and more than that, her triumph over it.

He reached out and touched her hand. When he spoke his voice was gentle. "I'm right proud of ya."

He had never touched her before except for helping her in and out of the wagon, something about it sent a warm feeling through her. Maybe it was just knowing that he understood. She hoped he hadn't noticed her reaction to his touch and in order to cover, spoke. "We'll have to cook the whole turkey, but we can freeze what we can't eat. I'll put the vegetables in smaller pots an' cook only what we be a needin'. The rest will keep fer a while in the cold pit. The bakin' "-- she stopped and lifted a hand to the baking, as though it were a hopeless thing, and then she laughed. "We be eatin' thet till spring iffen we don't git some help."

"Thet's one thing thet I don't be complaining 'bout," Clark said. "Here I was a worryin"bout all those Graham young 'uns with their hefty appetites a comin' an' not leavin' anythin' fer me, an' now look at me, blessed with it all."

"Clark," Marty said in mocked shock, "did you go an' pray this storm?"

She'd never heard him laugh so heartily before and she joined in with him. By then the coffee was boiling and she poured two cups while he went for the cream. The kitchen was warmer now and the hot coffee washed away the last of' the chill in her.

"Well," she said, getting up as quickly as her heavy burden