Love comes softly (17 page)

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pale and her damp loose hair showed the signs of her tossing, but she smiled up gallantly. His gaze shifted to the small bundle. He was a bit red yet but he sure was one fine boy. One small clenched fist lay against his cheek.

"He's a real dandy," Clark said at last. "What ya be a callin"im?"

"He be Claridge Luke," Marty answered.

"Thet's a fine name. What the Luke be for?"

"My pa."

"He'd be right proud could he see 'im. His pa'd be right proud, too, to have sech a fine son."

Marty nodded. The pain was hurting her throat again.

"Claridge Luke Davis." Clark said it slowly. "Right good soundin' name. Bother ya any iffen I shorten it to Clare sometimes?"

"Not a'tall," said Marty. Indeed she wondered if anything would ever bother her again.

They had both forgotten Missie during the exchange, and the little girl remained silent in her pa's arms watching the strange squirming bundle. She noticed that it had on some of the pretty things, and that it was in Mama's bed. At last she inquired, as though trying to sort it out, "Ba-by?"

Clark's attention was brought back to her. "Yah, Missie, baby. That's the baby thet yer mama done got ya. Little Clare, he be."

"Rock-- baby?" Missie asked.

"Oh no, not yet awhile," laughed Clark. "First the baby an' yer mama have to have a nice long rest. We'd best be goin' now an' let them be."

Marty answered only with a slight smile. She was a strange mixture of delirious happiness intermingled with sadness, and oh so very tired.

"I do declare," she thought, "I think thet be the hardest work I ever did in my whole lifetime," and after slowly sipping some of Ma's special tea she drifted off to sleep.

Clark continued his prayer. "Thank ya, Father, thank ya for helping Ma, and fer Marty's safe birthin' an' thet fine new boy." This time he said, "Amen."

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Chapter 22

Ma Bares Her Heart

Ma stayed on with Marty for a number of days after the arrival of Claridge Luke.

"I wanna see ya back on yer feet like afore I leave ya be," Ma declared. "Sides there be nothin' a pressin' at home jest now."

Marty was more than pleased to have the older woman's company. She was thrilled with her new son and eager to be up and around. Not being one to be happy when kept down, she was at Ma to let her get up from the second day on. Ma, reluctantly at first, allowed her small privileges that gradually grew until she was about again.

Missie was excited about the new baby and loved to share Marty's lap with him as they rocked in the chair. Even Clark seemed to take on a new glow, declaring that "he has already growed half an inch and gained two pounds. I can see it by jest lookin'."

The day soon came when Marty felt sufficiently able to cope with everything on her own. She felt that in spite of Ma's kindness she must be anxious to get home and "look to her own."

Ma nodded her agreement. "Yeah, things do be a goin' fine. Ya take care o' yerself an' things be jest okay. I'll have Clark drive me on home tomorrow."

Marty thought of the morrow with mixed feelings. She

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would miss Ma when she left, but it would be good to have her little place all to herself again, too.

That afternoon as they had their coffee together, their conversation touched on many things. They talked of their families and their hopes for the future. Ma again expressed her need to adjust to the fact that her Sally Anne was soon going off on her own.

"She seems so young yet," said Ma. "But ya know ya can't say no once a young 'un has the notion."

"But she's not jest being' a strong-willed girl," protested Marty; "she jest be in love. Don'cha remember, Ma, what it was like to be so young an' so in love thet yer heart missed beatin' at the sight o' him an' yer face flushed when ya wasn't a wantin' it to? 'Member the wild feelin' thet love has?"

"Yeah, I reckon," Ma said slowly. "Though 'twas so long ago. When I met Thornton, guess I didn't behave myself much better than Sally Anne be a doin.'

"What was it like, Ma, when ya lost Thornton?"

"When I lost Thornton?" repeated Ma. "Well, it be a long time ago now. But I 'member it still, though it don't pain me sharp like it used to. Myself-- way down deep-- it wanted to die, too; but I couldn't let it, me havin' three little ones to look to. I kept fightin' on, yet all the time I only felt part there. The rest of me seemed to be missin' or numb or somethin'."

"I know what ya mean," Marty's heart cried.

To Ma she said, "Then ya met Ben."

"Yeah, then I met Ben. I could see he be a good man an' one ya could count on."

"An' ya fell in love with 'im."

Ma shook her head. "No, Marty, there was no face-flushin' an' fast-heart skippin'."

Marty stared.

"No, it be different with Ben. I needed 'im, an' he needed me. I married 'im not fer love, Marty, but fer my young uns-- an' his."

Ma stopped talking and sat studying her coffee cup, turning it round and round in her hand. "Fact be, Marty." What she was saying, Marty knew was very difficult for her. "Fact

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be, at first I felt-- well, guilty like. I felt like I be a-- a loose woman, a sleepin' with a man I didn't feel love fer."

If Ma hadn't been so serious, Marty would have found that statement funny. It was hard to imagine Ma, a steady, solid plain woman, with a faith in God and a brood of eleven, as a loose woman. But Marty did not laugh. She did not even smile. She knew the deep feeling of the other woman.

"I never knowed," she whispered. "I never woulda' guessed thet ya didn't love Ben."

Ma's head jerked up, her eyes wide.

"Lan' sake, girl!" she exclaimed. "Thet were then. Why I love my Ben now, ya can jest bet I do. Fact is, he's been a right good man to me an' I 'spect I love 'im more'n I love myself."

Now it was Marty's turn to show surprise.

"When-- when an' how did it happen?" she inquired. "The head spinnin' an' the heart flutterin' an' all?"

Ma smiled.

"No, there never been thet. See-- I learnt me a lesson. There's more than one way thet love comes. Oh, sure, sometimes it comes wild-like, makin' creatures into wallerin' simpletons. I've see'd 'im, I've been there myself; but it doesn't have to be thet way, an' it's no less real an' meaniniul iffen it comes another way. Ya see, Marty, sometimes love comes sorta stealin' up on ya gradual like, not shoutin' bold words or wavin' bright flags. Ya ain't even aware it's a growin' an' growin' an' gettin' stronger until-- I don't know. All the sudden it takes ya by surprise like, an' ya think, 'How long I been a feelin' like this an' why didn't I notice it afore?'

Marty stirred. It was all so strange to get a look inside of Ma like that. She saw a young girl, widowed like herself, with pain and heartache, doing what she had felt was best for her children. And Ma had felt-- guilty. Marty shivered.

"I do declare," she thought, "I couldn't have done it. Thanks be to whatever there be, thet I wasn't put in a position like thet. Me, I jest had to be a mama."

She turned from her thoughts, pushing them from her and rose to get more coffee. She didn't want to even think of it anymore. She turned her thoughts to the now. Now Ma was happy

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again and she needn't feel guilty anymore. She now loved Ben. Just how or when it happened she couldn't really say, but it had. It just-- well, it just worked its way into her heart-- slowly, softly.

Marty pushed it all aside feeling more at ease with her thoughts at this point, and changed the subject.

The days passed by quickly now. Little Clare was growing steadily and Missie took great pride in her new baby "brudder." Clark was happy to take the young "fella" and rock him if he needed quieting when Marty was busy getting on a meal or doing the dishes. Marty was often tired by the end of the day, but she slept well, even though her sleep was interrupted by night-time feedings.

Clark worked doubly hard on the log cutting. He had confided in Marty that their cabin was too small, and, coming spring, he planned to tear off the lean-to and add a couple of bedrooms. Marty secretly wondered if he had forgotten his promise of the fare for the trip back home. Well, there was plenty of time to remind him of that. It was just the first of March.

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Chapter 23

Visitors

A new baby gave the neighbor ladies a valid excuse to put aside the daily duties and go calling, and so it was in the weeks following the arrival of little Clare that Marty welcomed into her home some of her neighbors whom she had not previously known, except perhaps as a face at Clem's funeral.

The first to come was Wanda Marshall. She was small and young, with blond hair that at one time must have been very pretty. She had light blue eyes that somehow looked sad even as she smiled. Marty recognized her as the young woman who had spoken to her the day of Clem's funeral, inviting her to share their one-room home.

Marty set aside the butter she was churning when Mrs. Marshall arrived and welcomed her sincerely. "So glad thet ya dropped by."

Wanda smiled shyly and presented a gift for the new baby.

When Marty opened it, and found a small bib, carefully stitched and with embroidery so intricate she could scarcely understand how one could do such fine work. It looked so delicate and dainty that Marty felt that it resembled the giver. She thanked Wanda and exclaimed over the stitching, to which Wanda gave a slight shrug of her thin shoulders.

"I have nothing else to do."

"Lan' sake," said Marty, "seems I never find time fer

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nuthin' since young Clare came along. Even my evenin's don't give me much time fer jest relaxin'."

Wanda let the comment pass as her eyes searched around the house. She spoke in almost a whisper. "Could I see the baby?"

"My, yes," Marty answered heartily. "He be havin' a sleep right now-- he an' Missie-- but iffen we tippy-toe in, we can have us a peek. Maybe we'll be able to have us coffee afore he wakes up a wantin' his dinner."

Marty led the way into the bedroom. Wanda looked over at the sleeping Missie with her mussed up curls and sleep- flushed cheeks. "She's a pretty child, isn't she?"

"Missie? Yeah, she be a dollie thet 'un." Marty said with feeling.

They then turned to Marty's bed upon which little Clare was sleeping. He was bundled in the pretty finery that his proud mama had sewn him. His dark head showed above the blanket and, stepping closer, one got a look at the soft pink baby face, with lashes as fine as dandelion silk on his cheeks. The small hands were free and one tiny fist held a corner of his blanket.

Marty thought that he looked beautiful, and wondered that her visitor made no comment. When she looked up it was to see Mrs. Marshall quickly leaving the bedroom.

Marty was mystified. Well, some folks you never could figure. She placed a tender kiss on Clare's soft head and followed her guest back to the kitchen.

When Marty reached the kitchen Mrs. Marshall stood with her back to her, looking out of the window. Marty made no comment but went to add more wood to the fire and put on the coffee. Finally Mrs. Marshall turned slowly to her and Marty saw with surprise that she had been struggling with tears. "I'm sorry," she said with a weak attempt at a smile. "He's-- he's a beautiful baby, just perfect."

She sat down at Marty's table, her hands twisting nervously in her lap, her eyes kept low, studying the movement of her hands. When she looked up again, Marty thought that she looked old. With another effort at a smile she went on.

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"I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't know that it would be so hard. I mean, I had no idea that I'd react so foolishly. I'd-- I'd love to have a baby. My own, you know. Well, I did. I mean-- that is, I have had babies of my own-- three in fact, but they've not lived-- not any of them, two boys and one girl, and all of them-- " her voice trailed off; then anger filled her eyes. "It's this wretched country!" she stormed. "If I'd stayed back East where I belong, things would have been different. I would have my family-- my Jodi and Esther and Kyle. It's this horrible place. Look-- look what it did to you, too. Losing your husband and having to marry a-- a stranger in order to survive. It's hateful that's what-- just hateful!"

By now the young woman was sobbing, in broken, heartrending sobs. Marty stood rooted to the spot where she had been standing cutting slices of loaf cake. "Lan' sakes," she said to herself, "the poor thing. What do I do?"

She finally got herself under control and crossed to Wanda, laying a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she said. "So sorry. Why iffen I'd lost young Clare, I don' know, I jest don' know iffen I could of stood it."

She made no reference to her loss of Clem. This woman was battling with a sorrow that Marty had not had to wage war against-- bitterness. Marty continued. "I jest can't know how ya must feel, a loosin' three babies an' all, but I know ya must hurt awful."

By now Marty had placed her arms around the shaking shoulders and pulled the young woman against her. "It's hard, it's truly hard to be a losin' somethin' thet ya want so much, but this I know too: ya mustn't be a blamin' the West fer it all. It could happen anywhere-- anywhere. Womenfolk back East sometimes loose their young'uns too. Ya mustn't hate this land. It's a beautiful land. An' you. Yer young an' pretty too, an' ya mustn't let it bitter ya so. Don't do a lick a good to be a fightin' the way things be, when there be nuthin' a body can do to change 'em."

By now Wanda had ceased her sobbing and was allowing herself the comfort of the other woman's words and arms. "Life be what ya make it, to be sure. No woman could find