Love comes softly (2 page)

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yer husband an' all-- but I'm afraid the matter can't wait none fer a proper-like time an' place."

He cleared his throat again and glanced up from the hat in his hands.

"My name be Clark Davis," he hurried on, "an' it peers to me thet you an' me be in need of one another."

At the sharp intake of breath on Marty's part, he raised a hand and hurried on.

"Now hold on a minute," he told her almost as a command. "It jest be a matter of common sense. Ya lost yer man, an' are here alone." He cast a glance at the broken wagon wheel.

"I reckon ya got no money to go to yer folks, iffen ya have folks to go back to. An' even if thet could be, ain't no wagon train fer the East will go through here 'til next spring. Me, now, I got me a need, too."

He stopped there and his eyes dropped. It was a minute before he raised them and was able to go on.

"I have a little 'un, not much more'n a mite-- an' she be needin' a mama. Now as I see it, if we marries, you an' me-- " he looked directly at her then, squatting down to put himself more on her level, "we could solve both of those problems. I would have waited but the preacher is only here fer today an' won't be back through agin 'til next April or May, so's it has to be today."

He must have seen the look of sheer horror in Marty's eyes. "I know. I know," he stammered. "It don't seem likely, but what else be there?"

What else indeed? thought Marty's fuzzy brain. I'd die first that's all. I'd rather die than marry you-- or any man. Get out. Go away. But he didn't read her raging thoughts, and went on.

"I've been strugglin' along tryin' to be pa an' ma both fer Missie, an' not a doin' much of a job of it either with tryin' to work the land an' all. I've got me a good piece of land an' a cabin thet's right comfortable like, even if it be small, an' I could offer ya all the things thet a woman be a needin' in exchange fer ya takin' on my Missie. I be sure thet ya could learn

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to love her. She be a right pert little thing." He paused. "But she do be a needin' a woman's hand, my Missie. That's all The askin' ya, Ma'am. Jest to be Missie's mama. Nothin more. You an' Missie can share the bedroom. I'll take me the lean- to. An'," he hesitated, "I'll promise ya this, too. When the next wagon train goes through headin' east where ya can catch ya a stagecoach, iffen ya ain't happy here, I'll see to yer tare back home-- on one condition: thet ya take my Missie along with ya. It jest don't be fair to the little mite not to have a mama."

He rose suddenly.

"I'll leave ya to be a thinkin' on it, Ma'am. We don't have much time."

He turned and strode away. The sag of his shoulders told her how much the words had cost him. Still, she thought angrily, what kind of a man could propose marriage to a woman who had just turned from her husband's grave-- even this kind of a marriage? She felt despair well within her. I'd rather die, she told herself. I'd rather die. But what of Clem's baby? She didn't want death for him, for her sake or for Clem's. Frustration reigned within her. What a position to be in. No one, nothing, out in this God-forsaken west country. Family and friends were out of reach and she was completely alone. She knew that he was right. She needed him and she hated him for it.

"I hate this country! I hate it! I hate him, the cold miserable man! I hate him! I hate him!" But even as she stormed against him, she knew that she had no out.

She wiped her tears and got up from the shady grass. She wouldn't wait for him to come back in his lordly fashion for her decision, she thought stubbornly, and she went into the wagon and began to pack the few things that she called hers.

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Chapter 2

A Mama for Missie

They rode in silence in his wagon. The preacher was at the Grahams where he had gone for dinner. Missie was there too, having been left with the Graham family for the older girls to look after while her pa was at the funeral. They'd have the preacher speak the words, pick up Missie and then go on to the homestead. Marty sat stiff and mute beside him as the wagon jostled on. She lifted a half-dead hand to push breeze- tossed hair back from her hot face. He looked at her with concern in his eyes.

"Won't be too long now. It's powerful hot in the sun. Ya be a needin' a bonnet to shade yer head."

She sat silent, looking straight ahead. What did he care about the hot sun on her head? What did she care? Nothing worse could possibly happen to her. She turned her head so that he couldn't see the tears forming against her will. She wanted no sympathy from this heartless man beside her.

The horses trudged on. Her body ached from the bouncing of the wagon over the track of ruts that was loosely referred to as the road.

She was relieved to see the homestead of the Grahams appear at the base of a cluster of small hills. They drove into the yard, and he leaped lightly down and turned to help her. She was too numb to refuse, fearing that if she tried it on her own she'd fall flat into the dust. He lifted her down easily and

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steadied her on her feet before he let her go. He flipped a rein around the hitching post and motioned her to precede him into the house.

She noticed nothing of her surroundings. Her mind refused to record anything in its befuddled state. She remembered only that the door was opened by a surprised Mrs. Graham who looked from the one to the other. She was aware that others were there, apparently waiting for the call to the midday meal. In the corner she saw the preacher in conversation with a man, who, she supposed, was Ben. Children seemed to be all around. She didn't even try to discern how many. Clark Davis was talking to Mrs. Graham, including the preacher and Ben in his explanation.

"We has decided-- "

"We-- " she stormed within herself. "Ya mean you."

"We has decided to marry up while the preacher be still here to do the honors. It will mean a home fer Missus Claridge here an' a mama fer my Missie."

She heard Mrs. Graham's, "It's the only sensible thing to be a doin'," and the preacher's, "Yes, yes, of course."

There was a general stir about her as a spot was cleared and in what seemed almost an immoral shortness of time she was hearing the familiar words. She must have uttered her own responses at the proper times, for the preacher's words came through the haze . . . "now pronounce you man and wife."

There was a stirring about her again. Mrs. Graham was setting extra places at the table and encouraging them to "set up an' eat with us afore ya go on." And then they were at the table, the children having been fed by the older girls before the grown-ups arrived home from the funeral. The preacher blessed the food and general talk continued on around her. She must have eaten something, though she later could not remember what it was nor if it had been tasty or otherwise. She felt like a mechanical thing, moving, even speaking automatically with the controls handled by something quite outside of herself.

They were moving again. Getting up from the table, making

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preparations to be on their way. The preacher was tucking away a lunch that had been prepared for him and saying his farewells. One of the older Graham boys led his horse up from the barn. Before the preacher left the house he turned to Marty and in a simple, straightforward manner took her hands in his and wished God to be very near her in the coming months. Ben and Clark followed him to his waiting horse, and Mrs. Graham said her good-bye from the open door. Then he was gone. Mrs. Graham turned back into the room, and the men went toward the hitching rail to get Clark's team ready to move on.

"Sally Anne, ya go an' git young Missie up from her nap an' ready to go. Laura, you an' Nellie clear up the table an' do up these dishes."

She bustled about. Marty wasn't sure what she was doing. She was aware only of the movement about her as she sat limp and uncaring.

Sally returned, carrying a slightly rumpled tiny figure, who, in spite of her sleepiness, managed a happy smile. Marty noticed only the smile and the deep blue eyes that looked at her, stranger to the little one. This must be Missie, she thought without feeling. This was verified when Clark stepped through the door and the girl welcomed him with a glad cry and outstretched arms. He swept her up against his chest and for a moment placed a cheek against hers. Then, thanking his host and hostess, he turned to let Marty know that they'd be on their way.

Mrs. Graham walked out with her. There were no congratulations or well-wishing on the new marriage. No one had made an attempt to make an occasion of it, and Marty breathed a sigh of relief for that. One misplaced word, no matter how sincerely spoken, would have broken her reserve and caused the tears to flow, she was sure. But none had been spoken. Indeed, the marriage was not even mentioned. These pioneer people were sensitive to the feelings of others.

They said good-bye only as one neighbor to another, though Mrs. Graham's eyes held a special softness as she looked up at Marty and said simply. "I'll 'llow ya a few days to

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be settlin' in an' then I'll be over. It'll be right nice to have another woman so close to hand to visit now an' then."

Marty thanked her and the team moved forward. They were again at the mercy of the dusty road and the hot sun.

"There it be-- right over there." Marty almost jumped at Clark Davis' words, but she lifted her eyes to follow his pointing finger.

Sheltered by trees on the north and a small rise on the west, was the homestead that belonged to this man beside her.

A small but tidy cabin stood apart, with a well out front and a garden spot to one side. A few small bushes grew along the path to the door, and even from the distance Marty could see colors of fall blooms still upon them.

Off to one side was a sturdy log barn for the horses and cattle, and a pig lot stood farther back among a grove of trees. There was a chicken house between the barn and the house and various other small buildings scattered here and there. She supposed that she must learn the purpose for each one of them all in good time. Right now she was too spent to care.

"It's nice," she murmured, surprising herself, for she hadn't intended to say any such thing. Somehow, in her mind, it looked so much like the dreams that she and Clem had shared, and the knowledge hurt her and made her catch her breath in a quiet little sob. She said nothing more and was relieved when Missie, seeing her home, took all of her pa's attention in her excitement.

When they pulled up at the front of the house, a dog came running out to meet them and was greeted affectionately by both Clark and Missie.

Clark helped Marty down and spoke gently. "Ya best git ya in out of the sun and lay ya down a spell. Ya'll find the bedroom off' en the sittin' room. I'll take charge a Missie an' any- thin' else thet be a needin' carin' fer. It's too late to field work today anyway."

He opened the door and held it while she passed into this strange house that was to be her home, and then he was gone, taking Missie with him.

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She didn't bother to look around her but, feeling that she must lie down or else collapse, she made her way through the kitchen and found the door off the sitting room that led to the bedroom. The bed looked inviting and she stopped only long enough to slip her feet from her shoes before falling upon it. It was cooler in the house and her tired body began to demand first consideration over her confused mind. Sobs overtook her, but gradually her seething emotions subsided enough to allow her to sink into deep, yet troubled, sleep.

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Chapter 3

Marriage of Convenience

Marty awoke and looked out the window. She was surprised to see that it was already dusk outside. Vaguely aware of someone stirring about in the kitchen, the smell of coffee and bacon made her realize that she was hungry. She heard Missie's chatter and remembered again why she was here. Without caring about anything, she arose, slipped on her shoes and pushed her hair back from her face. She supposed that she was a mess, but what did it matter? She was surprised in the dim light to see her trunk sitting against the wall by a chest of drawers. Everything that she owned was in there; even that thought failed to stir her.

She opened the trunk, took out her brush and ran it through her hair. Then she rummaged for a ribbon and tied her hair back from her face. At least she had made some improvement, she hoped. She smoothed her wrinkled dress and headed toward the smell of the coffee. Clark looked at her inquiringly as she entered the room, then motioned her to a chair at the table.

"I'm not much of a cook," he said, "but it be fillin'."

Marty sat down and Clark came from the stove with a plate of pancakes and another of side bacon. He set it down and went back for the steaming coffee. She felt a sense of embarrassment as she realized that he was doing what she should have been doing. Well, it would be the last time. From now on

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she'd carry her load. Clark sat down, and just as Marty was about to help herself to a pancake she was stopped short by his voice.

"Father, thank ya fer this food ya provide by yer goodness. Be with this, yer child, as Comforter in this hour, an' bless this house an' make it a home to each one as dwells here. Amen."

Marty sat wide-eyed looking at this man before her, who spoke, eyes closed, to a God that she did not
see
nor know-- and him not even a preacher. Of course she had heard of people like that, who had a God outside of church, who had a religion apart from marryin' an' buryin', but she had never rubbed elbows, so to speak, with one before. Nor did she wish to now, if she stopped to think about it. So he had a God. What good did it do him? He'd still needed someone to help with his Missie, hadn't he? His God didn't seem to do much about that. Oh, well, what; did she care? If she remembered right, people who had a God didn't seem to hold to drinkin' an' beatin' their women. With a little luck maybe she wouldn't have to put up with that anyway. A new wave of despair suddenly overwhelmed her. She knew nothing about this man. He could be anything! Maybe she should be glad that he was religious. It might save her a heap of trouble.

"Aint ya hungry?"

His words made her jump and she realized that she had been sitting there letting her thoughts wander.

"Oh, yeah, yeah," she stammered and helped herself to the pancake that he was holding out to her.

Missie ate with a hearty appetite, surprising in one so tiny, and chattered to her father, at the same time. Marty thought that she picked out a word or two here and there, but she really didn't put her mind to understanding what the child was saying.

After the meal she heard herself volunteering to wash up the dishes and Clark said fine; he'd see to putting Missie to bed then. He showed her where things were and then, picking up Missie, he began washing and readying her for bed.

Marty set to work on the dishes. As she opened doors and drawers of another woman's cupboards, a strange sense of uneasiness