Love comes softly (18 page)

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good in buryin' three of her babies, but you is young yet, maybe-- " she was about to say maybe Clark's God-- "maybe the time thet lays ahead will still give ya babies to hold an' love. Ya jest hold on an' keep a havin' faith an'

Marty's voice trailed off. Land sakes, she didn't know that she could talk on so without stopping.

"An' sides," Marty went on as another thought overtook her, "we're gonna have a doc in town now, an' maybe with his help . ."

She let the thought lie.

Wanda seemed quieted now. She lay against Marty for a few more minutes; then she slowly straightened. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm very foolish, I know. You're so kind and so brave, and you're right too-- I'll, I'll be fine. I'm glad-- about the doctor.

The coffee threatened to boil over and Marty ran to rescue it. As they sat with their coffee and cake they exchanged backgrounds for something to talk about.

Marty learned that Wanda had been a "city girl," well- bred, well-educated, and perhaps a bit spoiled as well. How she ever had gotten way out west still seemed to puzzle her. She shook her head as though she still couldn't quite fathom how it had all come about.

Clare fussed and Marty went to bring him out, nursing him as they continued their visit over their coffee. Not knowing just what effect the baby's presence might have on Wanda. Marty kept him well hidden with the blanket.

Wanda continued on about having so little to do. She did beautiful stitchery, that Marty knew, but she didn't have anyone to sew for. She didn't quilt, she couldn't knit or crochet, and she just hated to cook, so didn't do any more of that than she had to. She loved to read but had read her few books so many times that she practically could recite them and she had no way of getting more.

Marty offered the practical suggestion that she would teach her to quilt, knit or crochet if she cared to learn.

"Oh, would you?" Wanda enthused. "I'd so much love to learn."

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"Be glad to," Marty responded cheerily. "Anytime ya care to drop in ya jest come right ahead."

Young Clare finished nursing and set himself to squirming. Marty turned her attention to the baby, properly arranging her clothing and lifting him up for a noisy burp.

Wanda giggled, then spoke softly. "Would you mind if I held him for a minute?"

"Not a 'tall," Marty responded. "Why don't ya jest sit ya there in the rockin' chair a minute. He's already spoiled by rockin', I'm a thinkin', so a little more won't make no difference."

Gingerly Wanda carried the baby to the rocking chair and settled herself with him snuggled up against her. Marty went to clear the table.

When Missie called a few minutes later and Marty crossed through the sitting room to get the little girl, she noticed Wanda gently rocking eyes far away, yet tender, the young Clare fully enjoying the extra attention.

"Poor thing," Marty's heart responded. "Poor thing. I be jest so lucky."

Ma Graham came next, bringing with her a beautiful handknit baby shawl. Marty declared that she'd never seen one so pretty. Ma brought the youngsters with her on this trip. They all were eager for their first look at their new little neighbor. Ma watched with thoughtful eyes as Sally Anne, eyes shining, held the wee baby close. Each one of Ma's children took a turn carefully holding the baby-- even the boys, for they had been raised to view babies as treasures, indeed.

They lunched together and before it seemed possible, the afternoon was gone.

The next day an ill-clad stranger, with two equally ill-clad little girls, appeared at Marty's door. At Marty's welcoming "Won't ya come in," she made no answer, but pushed a roughly wrapped little bundle at Marty.

Marty thanked her and unwrapped the gift to find another bib. It was quite unlike the one that Wanda Marshall had

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brought-- in fact, as different as it could be. The material was coarse, perhaps worn overalling, though the stitches were neat and regular. There had been no attempt to fancy it up, and it looked wrinkled from handling. Marty, however, thanked the woman with simple sincerity and invited them again to come in.

They came in shyly, all three with downcast eyes and shuffling feet.

"I don't remember meetin' ya afore," Marty ventured. "I be-- ," the woman mumbled, still not looking up. Marty

didn't catch if it was Reno or Tina or what it was, but she did

make out Larson.

"Oh, ya be Missus Larson."

The woman nodded, still staring at the floor.

"An' yer two girls?"

The two referred to flushed a deep red, looking as though they wished that they could bury themselves in their mother's wrinkled skirt.

"This be Nandry an' this be Clae."

Marty wasn't sure that she had heard it right, but decided not to ask again.

As they waited for the coffee to boil, Marty took a deep breath and ventured forth. "Be nice weather fer first of March."

The woman nodded.

"Yer man be a cuttin' wood?"

She shook her head in the negative.

"He be a bit down," she finally responded, twisting her hands in her lap.

"Oh," Marty grasped at this. "I'm right sorry to be a hear- in' thet. What's he ailin' from?"

Mrs. Larson hunched her shoulders to indicate that it was a mystery to her.

"So be it fer thet," thought Marty.

"Would ya like to see the baby?" she inquired. The trio nodded.

Marty rose. "He be nappin' now. Come along."

She knew that there was no need to caution for silence.

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This ghostly trio was incapable of anything louder than breathing, she was sure.

They reached the bed where young Clare slept and each one of the three raised her eyes from her worn shoes just long enough for a quick look at the baby. Was that a glimmer of interest in the youngest girl's eyes? No, she must have imagined it, Marty decided, and she led the way back to the kitchen.

Marty was never more thankful to see a coffee pot boil in all of her life. Her visitors shyly helped themselves to a cookie when they were passed and seemed to dally over eating them as though to prolong the enjoyment. Marty got the feeling that they didn't have cookies often.

They left as silently as they had come, watching the floor as they said their mumbled good-bye.

Marty crossed to the kitchen window and watched them go.

They were walking. The drifts made the road difficult even for horses, yet they had walked over with their small gift for her baby. The air was cold with a wind blowing and she had noticed that none of her visitors were dressed very warmly. She watched as they trudged through the snow, leaning into the wind, clasping their wanting garments about them, and tears formed in her eyes. She reached for the gift that they had brought with them and suddenly it became something to treasure.

Hildi Stern and Mrs. Watley came together. Hildi was a good-natured middle-aged lady. Not as wise as Ma Graham, Marty told herself, but a woman who would make a right fine neighbor.

Mrs. Watley, Marty didn't hear her given name, was a rather stout, boisterous lady. She didn't appear to be overly inclined to move about too much, and when Marty asked if they'd like to go to the bedroom for a peek at the baby, Mrs. Watley was quick with a suggestion. "Why don't ya jest bring 'im on out here, dear?"

They decided to wait until young Clare finished his nap. Each lady brought a parcel. Hildi Stern's gift was a small

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handknit sweater. Marty was thrilled with it.

Mrs. Watley presented her with another bib. This one was well-sewn and as simple and unfussy as it could be. Marty thanked them both with equal sincerity.

When they had finished their coffee, Mrs. Watley seeming to enjoy her several helpings of cookies and loaf cake, exclaimed rather loudly what a grand little cook Marty was. Next they inspected the new baby. After they pronounced him a fine specimen, saying all of the things that a new mother expected to hear, Mrs. Watley turned to Hildi Stern.

"Why don't ya run along an' git the team, dear, an' I'll be a meetin' ya at the door?'

It was done.

Mrs. Vickers was the last of the neighbor ladies who lived close enough that a new baby merited a drive on the winter roads. She had her boy, Shem, drive her over, and sent him on to the barn with the horses while she came bustling up the walk, talking even before Marty got to the door to open it.

"My, my, some winter we be a havin'. Though I do declare, I see'd me worse-- but I see'd me better too-- ya can jest count on thet-- heerd ya had a new young'un-- must be from the first mister, I says, when I hears it-- ain't been married to the other one long enough fer thet yet. How it be doin'? Hear he was a healthy 'un-- an' thet's what counts, I al'ays say. Give me a healthy 'un any day over a purdy 'un-- I al'ays say-- take the healthy 'un ever'time-- ."

She kicked the snow from her boots and went on into the kitchen. "My, my, ain't ya jest the lucky 'un-- nice little place here. Sure beats thet covered wagon ya was a livin' in. Not many women here about have a home nice as this, an' ya jest gettin' it all a handed to ya like. Well, let's see thet young'un ."

Marty tactfully suggested that they have coffee while Clare finished his nap, and Mrs. Vickers didn't turn the offer down. She settled herself on a kitchen chair and let her tongue slide over her lips as though adding oil to the machinery so that it would run smoothly.

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Marty had opportunity for little more than a slight nod of her head now and then. She thought that maybe it was just well. If she'd been given a chance for speech, she may have said some unwise things to her visitor.

Between helpings of loaf cake and gulps of coffee, Marty heard that:

"Jedd Larson be nothin' but one lazy good-fer nothin', al'ays gettin' started when ever'one else be done-- ceptin' when it come to eatin' or raisin' young'uns-- they been married fer ten years-- already had 'em eight young'uns-- only three thet lived though-- buried five-- his Missus-- so ashamed an' mousy-like-- wouldn't no one round even bother to go near-- ."

Marty made herself a promise that come nice weather she'd pay a call on Missus Larson.

"Thet Graham clan-- did ya ever see so many kids in the self-same family? Almost an insult to humans, thet's what it be-- bad as cats or mice-- havin' a whole litter like thet-- ."

Marty found herself hard put to hold her tongue.

"See'd thet young Miz Marshall yet? I declare me-- thet young prissie would a been better off to stay her back East where she be a belongin'-- her an' her first-class airs-- an' not even able to raise her a young 'un-- woman got no business a being' out west if they can't raise a young 'un-- an' confident like-- I think there be somethin' funny there-- hard to put yer finger on-- but there all the same-- doesn't even give ya a proper welcome when ya call-- me, I called, neighbor-like

when each of the young 'uns died told her right out what she prob'ly be a doin' wrong-- well, ya know what she most turned her back on me-- ."

Poor Wanda, thought Marty, aching for her.

"Well, now-- if that's the way she be, I says, leave her to it. Have Hildi and Maude been over? I see'd 'em go by t'other day-- goin' over to see thet new young 'un of the Davis', I says to myself-- well, Hildi be a fine neighbor-- though she do have some strange quirks-- me, I'm not one to be a mentioning 'em. Maude Watley now thet be another matter wouldn't do

nothin' thet took any effort, thet one she wasn't always big

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as the West itself-- be there a time afore she catched her man thet she be a dance-hall girl-- she wouldn't want one a knowin' it o' course-- but it be so-- have ya been to town yet?"

At Marty's shake of her head, she hurried on.

"Well, mind ya, when ya do go, don't ya be a tellin' nuthin' to thet there Miz McDonald thet ya don't want spread round thin like. She be a first rate tongue-wagger, thet 'un."

Marty also heard that:

Miz Standen, over to town, had her a Saturday beau. She be a bettin' thet the visitin' parson had him somethin' to hide, or he'd settle himself to one place.

The Krafts were expectin' them another young 'unmakin' five.

Milt Conners, the bachelor of the area, seemed to be get- tin' stranger ever'day. Should git 'im a woman-- thet would be doin' him some good he was gettin' likker somewhere too-- nobody knowed where but she had her s'pisions.

The new doc be arrivin' in April-- folks a sayin' thet Clark bought 'im-- well-- they needed a doc-- jest hoped he was worth it an' not here jest to make money on people's woes.

Young Sally Anne was hitchin' up with Jason Stern-- supposed those two families be a pairin' off regular like in the next few years.

She finally stopped for a breath, and Marty wondered aloud that Shem had not come in from the barn, and supposed that he was getting cold and tired of waiting. Well, she'd send a slice of cake and a gingerbread cookie or two out with Mrs. Vickers.

Mrs. Vickers took the hint and took her leave, still chattering as she left, leaving Marty's head spinning and her ears tingling. She hadn't even looked at the baby.