Love comes softly (7 page)

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Chapter 8

It's a Cruel World

Saturday dawned clear and cooler and breakfast of porridge and corn muffins was hurried so that Clark might get an early start to town. Marty presented him with the list that Ma Graham had helped her with the day before.

"Mind ya," said Ma, "in the winter months it be sometimes three or four weeks between the trips we be a takin to town because of winter storms, an' ya never know ahead which Saturdays ya be a missin' so ya al'ays has to be stocked up like."

So the list had been a lengthy one and Marty inwardly felt concern, but Clark did not seem surprised when she handed it to him and he read quickly through it to be sure that he had no questions concerning it. He kissed Missie good-bye, promising her a surprise when he returned, and was gone.

Marty sighed in relief to again have a day without him about, and turned her thoughts to planning what she would do with it. Clark had warned her to take things a bit easier, and Ma Graham said that she feared that she was `overdoin' for a woman in her state, but Marty knew that she must have something demanding to fill her hours or her sense of loss would overwhelm her. So she looked round about her to see what to tackle on this day. She'd finish her cleaning, she decided. First she'd put water on to heat so that she could wash the bedding. Then she'd do the window, walls and floor in the

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bedroom and, if time still allowed, she'd do the shed. She did not even consider cleaning the lean-to. That was Clark's private quarters she felt, and she would not trespass.

All day she worked hard, forcing her mind to concentrate on what she was doing. A dull fear raised its head occasionally. If she finished all of the hard cleaning today, what would she do tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow? Marty pushed it aside. The tomorrows would have to care for themselves. She couldn't handle that right now. She was sure that if she let her mind fix on that, she'd break under the weight of it.

She finished her final task of the day just in time to begin her supper preparations. Clark had said that he should be home for the usual chore time. She thumbed through the recipes that Ma had left. She'd fix biscuits and a vegetable stew, she decided, using some of the meat broth that Ma had brought to flavor the stew. She went to work, discovering that she had forgotten the fire again.

"Dad-burn it. Will I never learn?" she fretted, as she set to work to rebuild it.

The vegetables were simmering when she heard the team. Clark unhitched the wagon near the house to make it easier for the unloading of the supplies, and went on down to the barn with the horses.

Marty continued her supper preparations. This time, thanks to Ma Graham, the biscuits looked far more promising.

She noticed that Clark looked weary when he came in from his chores. He gave Missie a hug before he sat down at the table, but Marty thought that his shoulders seemed to sag a bit. Was shopping really that hard on a man, or had she made the list too long, and spent all of his money? As she sat at supper Marty fretted over the problem but there didn't seem to be an answer, so she concentrated on cooling Missie's stew.

" 'Fraid the totin' in of all of the supplies will sort of mess up yer well-ordered house fer the moment." Clark's voice cut in on her thoughts.

"Thet's okay," Marty responded. "We'll git them in their proper place soon enough."

"A lot of the stock supplies will go up in the loft over the

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kitchen," Clark went on. "Ya reach it by a ladder on the outside of the house."

Marty's eyes widened in surprise.

"I didn't know there be a loft up there."

"It's nigh empty right now, so there wasn't much use in a knowin'. We stock it up in the fall, so's we won't run out of sech things as flour an' salt come the winter storms. I'll carry the stock supplies direct up, so's I won't have to clutter yer house with 'em. The smaller things though, I'll have to bring in here, so's ya can put 'em all away in the place where ya want 'em. Do ya be a wantin"em in the kitchen or in the shed?"

Marty knew that it would be handier in the kitchen, yet if they were in the shed, it wouldn't make such a clutter until she got them put away. She opted for the shed, and they hurried through their supper in order to get at the task.

After they had finished eating, Clark pulled from his pocket a small bag of sweets and offered one to Missie. Then he gave the sack to Marty, telling her to help herself, and then to tuck it up in the cupboard for future enjoyment. Missie smacked and sucked at the special treat, declaring it 'num' and Pa's 'yummy'.

As Marty washed the dishes Clark brought the supplies in to the shed so that she would have things there to work on as soon as she was free to do so.

As she filled cans and crocks to put them away Marty felt heady with the bounty of it all. She could hear Clark as he labored under the heavy bags, moving again and again up the ladder to the kitchen loft.

Marty found it necessary to finish the job by lamplight, but at last it was all done. The cupboards were bulging. Imagine if she and Clem could have stocked up like that. Wouldn't it have been like Christmas and picnics and birthdays all wrapped up in one? She sighed and wiped away an unbidden tear.

Marty was tucking Missie in for the night, wondering if Clark was going to hear her prayers as he usually did, when she heard him in the kitchen. He seemed to be struggling with

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a rather heavy load and Marty's curiosity led her back to investigate. She arrived to find Clark, hammer in hand removing a crate from some large object. She stood watching silently from the door while Clark's tool unmasked the crate's contents. Her breath caught in her throat, for there with shining metal and polished wood, stood the most wondrous sewing machine that she had ever seen.

Clark did not look at her, but began speaking. His voice sounded as weary as his shoulders had looked, but he seemed to feel that a brief explanation was in order.

"I ordered it some months back as a s'prise fer my Ellen. She liked to sew an' was al'ays makin' somethin' fancy-like. It was to be fer her birthday. She would have been twentyone-- tomorrow." Clark looked up then. "I'd be proud if ya'd consider it yourn now. I'm sure ya can make use of it. I'll move it into yer room under the window iffen it pleases ya."

Marty held back a sob. He was giving her this beautiful machine. She was speechless. She had always dreamed of having a machine of her own, but never had she dared to hope for one so grand. She didn't know what to say, yet she felt that she must say something.

"Thank ya," she mumbled. "Thank ya. Thet-- thet'll be fine, jest fine."

Only then did she realize that the big man before her was fighting for control. His lips trembled and as he turned away she was sure that she saw tears in his eyes. Marty brushed by and went out into the coolness of the night. She had to think, to sort things out. He had ordered the machine for his Ellen, and he was weeping. He must be suffering, too. She had noted the weary sag of his shoulders, the quivering lips, the tear- filled eyes. Somehow she had never thought of him as hurting-- of being capable of understanding how she felt. Hot tears washed down Marty's cheeks.

"Oh, Clem," her heart cried. "Why do sech things, sech cruel things, happen to people? Why? Why?"

But Marty knew that there was no easy answer. This was the first time that Clark had mentioned his wife. Marty hadn't even known her name. Indeed, she had been so

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wrapped up in her own grief that she had not even wondered much about the woman who had been Clark's wife, Missie's mama, and the keeper of this house. Now her mind was awake to it. The rose by the door, the bright cheery curtains, Missie's lovingly sewn garments that she was fast outgrowing, the many colorful rugs on the floor. Everything-- everything, everywhere spoke of this woman. Marty felt suddenly like an intruder. What had she been like, this Ellen? Had she ever boiled the coffee over or made a flop of the biscuits? No, Marty was sure that she hadn't. But she had been so young-- only twenty-one tomorrow-- and she was already gone. True, Marty was even younger, nineteen in fact, but still twenty-one seemed so young to die. And why did she die? Marty didn't know. There were so many things that she didn't know, but a few things were becoming clear to her. There had been a woman in this house who loved it and made it a home, who gave birth to a baby daughter that she cherished, who shared days and nights with her husband. Then he had lost her and he hurt-- hurt like she did over losing her Clem. She had been feeling that she was the only one in the world who bore that sorrow, but it wasn't so.

"It's a mean world," she thought as she turned her face upward. "It's mean an' wicked an' cruel," she stormed.

The stars blinked down at her from a clear sky.

"It's mean," she whispered, "but it's beautiful. What was it that Ma had said? 'Time' she'd said, 'it is time that is the healer-- time an' God.' " Marty supposed that she meant Clark's God.

"Iffen we can carry on one day at a time, the day will come when it gets easier an' easier, an' one day we surprise ourselves by even being' able to laugh an' love agin." That's what Ma had said.

It seemed so far away to Marty, but somehow she had the firm belief that Ma Graham should know.

Marty turned back to the house. It was cool in the evening now, and she realized that she was shivering. When she entered the kitchen she found that all traces of the machine and the crate had been removed.

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On the kitchen table was a large package wrapped with brown paper and tied with store twine. Clark indicated it.

"I'm not sure what might be in there," he said. "I asked Missus McDonald at the store to make up whatever a woman be a needin' to pass the winter. She sent thet. I hope it passes."

Marty gasped. Just what did he mean? She wasn't sure. "Would ya like me to be a movin' it in on yer bed so's ya can be a sortin' through it?"

Without waiting for her answer, which may have taken half the night, she felt so tongue-tied, he carried it through to her room and placed it on her bed. He turned to leave.

"It's been a long day," he said wearily. "I think I'll be end- in' it now," and he was gone.

Marty's fingers fumbled as she lit the lamp. Then she hurried to try to untie the store string. Remembering the scissors in the sewing basket, she hastened to use them to speed up the process. She could hardly wait, but as the brown paper fell away she was totally unprepared for what she found.

There was material there for undergarments and nighties and enough lengths for three dresses. One piece was warm and soft-looking in a pale blue-gray; already her mind was picturing how it would look done up. It would be her company and visiting dress. It was beautiful. She dug farther and found a pattern for a bonnet and two pieces of material. One light weight and one heavier, for the colder weather.

There was lace for trimming, and long warm stockings, and even a pair of shoes, warm and high for the winter, and a shawl for the cool days and evenings, and on the bottom, of all things, a long coat. She was sure that no one else in the whole West would have clothes to equal hers. Her eyes shone and her hands trembled. Then with a shocked appeal to her senses, she pulled herself upright.

"Ya little fool," she muttered. "Ya can't be a takin' all this. Do ya know thet iffen ya did, ya'd be beholden to thet man fer years to come?"

Anger filled Marty. She wanted the things, the lovely things, but oh, she couldn't possibly accept them. Oh, what

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could she do? She would not humble herself to be 'beholden' to this man. She would not be a beggar in his home. Tears scalded her cheeks. Oh, what could she do? What could she do?

"We are not fancy, but we try an' be proper," haunted her.

Could it be that he was embarrassed by her shabbiness? Yes, she decided, it could well be. Again her chin came up.

Okay, she determined, she'd take it-- all of it. She would not be an embarrassment to any man. She would sew up the clothes in a way that would be the envy of every woman around. After all, she could sew. Clark need not feel shame because of her.

But the knowledge of what she knew or thought that she knew, drained much of the pleasure from the prospect of the new clothes.

In his lean-to bedroom, Clark stretched weary, long legs under the blankets. It had been a hard day for him, fraught with difficult memories.

It used to be such fun to bring home the winter supplies to Ellen. She made such a fuss over them. Why, if she'd been there today she would have had Missie sharing in the game and half-wild with excitement. Well, he certainly couldn't fault Marty, only five days a widow. He couldn't expect her to be overly carried away about salt and flour at this point. She must hurt-- she must really hurt. He wished he could be of some help to her, but how? His own pain was still too sharp. It took time, he knew, to get over a hurt like that, and he hadn't had enough time yet. The thought of wanting another woman had never entered his head since he'd lost Ellen. If it weren't for Missie, this one wouldn't be here now either; but Missie needed her even if he didn't, and one could hardly take that out on the poor girl.

At first he had resented her here, he supposed-- cleaning Ellen's cupboards, working at her stove-- but no, that wasn't fair either. After all, she hadn't chosen to be here. He'd just have to try harder to be decent and to understand her hurt. He didn't want Missie in an atmosphere of gloom all the time. No, he'd have to try to shake the feeling and in time maybe