Love Finds a Home (Love Comes Softly Series #8) (7 page)

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"Why don't ya jest join us here?" Marty invited. "I have a roast in the oven--thet's the one thing I did git done on time. We'll make it stretch."

"I've got a couple pies," Kate responded. "I can bring 'em over."

Marty nodded. "I baked jest one today," she answered. "Yer two sure would help."

"I'll fix a salad, too," said Kate on her way out.

Marty nodded again, then called to Kate, "Do you s'pose you could send David over to Arnie's? They should be told. Tell Anne to bring what she has an' come to supper iffen she wishes--or else come over as soon as they can after supper for coffee."

Belinda smiled, soon to be reunited with her family. At least all who lived nearby. Missie and Willie, Ellie and Lane and all their offspring were still far away in the West. Nandry and Clae and their children weren't close enough to join them, either. But the ones Belinda had grown up with, the family near home--she would soon see them all.
It's so good to be home again!
she breathed.

Late that night when the last team left for home, Kate reluctantly lifted her shawl from the coatrack. "I guess we'd better get on home, too," she sighed. "The boys still have school in the mornin'."

"Aw. Do we hafta?" protested Dack.

"I'll be here when you come home again tomorrow," Belinda reminded him.

"This is David's last year," Kate informed Belinda. "He's our scholar. Likes school much better'n the others ever have. Never have to coax David to get him up in the mornin's," she finished proudly.

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"What's he planning to do?" asked Belinda.

"Hasn't decided, but he'd like to go on fer further schoolin'."

"Good for him," Belinda nodded, pleased about David and happy for Kate.

The last good-byes were said, and Belinda settled back at the table with Clark and Marty, still lingering over coffee cups.

"I s'pose yer awful tired?" commented Marty, touching Belinda's cheek softly.

"I am. It's the excitement, I guess. And I couldn't sleep well on the train at all. It rumbles and groans all night long. But, really, it was the thought of coming home that kept me from relaxing."

Marty took Belinda's hand, squeezing it slightly as her eyes filled with tears. "Iffen I had knowed ya were comin'," she admitted, "I wouldn't have been doin' any sleepin', either."

Clark chuckled. "An' thet's the truth," he agreed with a sage nod.

Belinda decided that maybe her plan of coming home unannounced had turned out to be right, after all.

"Arnie looks good," Belinda commented. "Looks even better than he did when I left."

Marty nodded. "Finally got his problems worked out an' his bitterness taken care of," she acknowledged. "Bitterness can age one like nothin' else can."

"It's a fact," nodded Clark. "'Most made an old man of 'im fer a time."

"His Abe's arm looks good," continued Belinda. "Not nearly as twisted as it was. Why, folks wouldn't even notice it much anymore. One can almost forget he ever had that encounter with the bull."

"Three surgeries it took." Marty shook her head, the difficult memory on her face. "Three surgeries to straighten it out

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again. But worth it--every one of 'em. Arnie can see thet now . . . but my . . . it was a struggle fer 'im to let the boy go under the surgeon's knife."

"I'm so glad he finally consented," Belinda commented. "Ya wantin' more coffee?" Marty asked suddenly.

"No. No thanks. I've had plenty." Belinda laughed lightly. "I guess Aunt Virgie and I have taken more to drinking tea. I'm not so used to much coffee anymore."

"Well, I sure can fix a pot of tea," Marty replied, jumping up from her chair.

"Mama," Belinda said quickly, reaching out a restraining hand to her mother, "I don't need tea, either. Why, I've been eating and drinking ever since I set foot in the door. I won't be able to even move in six weeks if. . ." Belinda stopped.

The shadow darkened Marty's eyes again. "Six weeks, is it?" she asked slowly.

Belinda nodded, toying with her cup.

"I thought as much," said Marty. She pushed her cup back listlessly.

"It's . . . it's that I can't . . . can't feel comfortable just leaving Aunt Virgie," Belinda began, sensing that some kind of explanation was needed. "She . . . she is so alone. She really has no one . . . no family who cares about her. Her grandsons are in France, busy with their own lives, and she gets so lonely. I can see it in her face. I . . . I . . ." Belinda faltered to a stop.

"'Course," said Clark, reaching for Belinda's hand.

"Is there . . . is there . . . anyone special in the city?" Marty asked.

Belinda smiled but shook her head.

"Ya know," Marty remarked slowly, "it really would be easier iffen there was. I mean . . . fer me. Ya wouldn't seem so . . . so alone yerself then."

Belinda was surprised at her mother's comment but understood.

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"I'm not an old maid yet, Mama," she reassured Marty with a smile.

"We-ll," responded Marty, "yer not gittin' any younger, either. All the other girls was. . ." but Marty dropped the sentence. Belinda well knew her sisters had married when they were much younger than she was now.

"No one ever said thet everybody has to marry," Marty quickly amended. "Thet's somethin' each person has to decide fer herself."

Belinda nodded.

"It's not so much I want ya married. It's jest I don't want ya all alone an' lonely . . . ya understand?"

Belinda nodded again.

Marty reached over and patted the hand Clark was still holding. "Are ya lonely?"

Marty's question surprised Belinda. For a moment she could not answer. A lump in her throat threatened to choke her. She blinked back tears and nodded slowly.

"Sometimes," she admitted, dropping her head. "Sometimes I get dreadfully lonesome. I'd come home--so fast--if I could see my way clear to do it."

Belinda lifted her face to look from her mother to her father. Their eyes were wet, as well.

Marty patted the hand again.

"Well, ya know what ya gotta do . . . an' ya know thet ya can come home again . . . anytime . . . anytime ya be wantin'

to."

Belinda fumbled for her handkerchief. "I know," she nodded. "And that keeps me going during the really lonely times. Thanks. Thanks. . . both of you."

For a moment their eyes held, and then Marty pushed back from the table. "An' now you'd best be off ta bed afore ya fall off yer chair," she urged. "Yer pa and me have kept ya up long

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enough. We needn't say everything tonight. We have six weeks to catch us up."

"You have anything thet needs carryin' up?" asked Clark, rising from the table.

"Luke took my suitcase up," answered Belinda.

"Ya go on, then," Marty continued. "Yer room should be ready fer ya. I dusted and freshened it up just last week. I'll jest gather these few cups in the dishpan. We'll be right up ourselves--yer pa and me."

Belinda kissed them both and climbed the familiar steps to her room. The door stood ajar, the suitcase at the foot of the bed.

She entered the room and stood looking about her. It was a simple room. The bed was still covered with the same spread Belinda remembered so well. At the window the matching curtains breathed in and out with the slight movement of the night air. Braided rugs scattered here and there brightened the plainness of the wooden floors. Belinda couldn't help but remember that at one time she had considered this bedroom the most beautiful in the world.

It was still very special, in a homey sort of way. She smiled as she crossed to the bed and turned down the blanket, fluffing up the pillow. She would sleep like a baby back in her own bed. Belinda yawned and began unpacking before retiring.

But after three years the bed seemed reluctant to mold to her unfamiliar form, and tired as she was, the clock downstairs had chimed twice before Belinda was finally able to forget the events of the day and settle down to sleep.

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SEVEN

Adjustments

Belinda awakened to the crowing of the farm roosters, the bellowing of the cows, and the clatter from the farmyard. She didn't mind. She didn't want to waste precious time in bed anyway. She threw back the blankets and eased herself up, thinking to hurriedly care for her toilet before choosing what she would wear for the day.

But as she poised, one foot reaching for a slipper, she remembered with a start that there was no bathroom in the farmhouse. She would have to dress first. She would need to wash in the kitchen--and she would have to carry and heat water when she wanted a bath.

She hurried to her closet to choose from the dresses that had remained behind when she left for the East. She intended to pick something homey--something simple for her day about the farm. A simple calico or gingham would take the place of her city silks or satins. Belinda immediately spotted a blue print, one of her favorite dresses. Excitedly she pulled it toward her, then stared in bewilderment.

Is
it really this . . . this simple, this childish? Why, it looks like a dress belonging to a little girl,
she thought, astonished.
Surely . . . surely I was more grown-up than that when I left the farm. After all, it's only been three years,
she argued with herself.
Was I really wearing such . . . such tasteless things before going to Boston?

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Soberly Belinda rehung the dress in the closet and pulled out another one. But she was even more shocked as she studied it. One after the other, she assessed each dress left in her closet.
There really isn't a fit one in the lot
was her judgment.

What do Kate and Abbie wear?
Belinda found herself asking.
Do they really look as . . . as old-fashioned as this? Have I just not noticed it before?

Belinda pictured Kate at their family dinner last night. Yes, Kate did dress very simply, in country frocks much like Marty wore. Belinda had never given it a thought before--but they were dreary and out-of-fashion, though not any different from what the other women in the community wore.

Now, Abbie usually wears brighter things--dresses with a bit more taste and style,
Belinda reflected. But even Abbie, though thought of as one of the best-dressed young women in their town, was not what the ladies of Boston would have considered fashionable by any standard.

Belinda had never been conscious of fashion before living in Boston, and even during her time there, she had been unaware that she had developed an eye for style.

The thought upset her.
Am I getting proud and. . . and stuffy?
she asked herself impatiently, and she pulled the blue frock from her closet and tossed it on her bed.

It's a perfectly good dress,
she scolded herself.
It's certainly more suitable for farm wear than anything I brought with me.
She slipped her frilly nightdress over her head and put on the simple frock before she could change her mind.

The dress still fit . . . after a fashion. Belinda noticed with chagrin that it didn't quite fit like it had before. Though she had not gained weight over the past few years, the dress was a bit snug in places. Belinda fretted and pulled, but there was no give. At last she tied up the sash, adjusted the collar, and proceeded down the stairs.

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Marty was in the kitchen at the big black stove. The room already felt hot to Belinda, and it was just early morning.
Whatever will it be like by nightfall?
she found herself wondering. The early fall weather could still be very warm during the day.

"My, you look nice," Marty beamed at Belinda. She knew Marty enjoyed seeing her back in her old flowered blue calico. Belinda didn't trust herself to comment. She feared her voice might give away her true feelings about the wardrobe upstairs.

"I'll be right back," she informed her mother and set out down the path at the back of the house. It had been a long time since she had used an outside facility, and she found it strangely disagreeable.

When she returned, Marty was dishing up a platter of scrambled eggs and farm sausage. "Pa said to call him in as soon as you were up," Marty informed Belinda. "Would you like to call 'im? He's at the spring."

Belinda nodded, looking forward to a quick morning walk to the spring. It had always been one of her favorite spots--just as it had been her mother's. She nodded again and turned to leave.

"Tell 'im everything is ready," Marty called after her, and Belinda took it as a signal that she was to hurry.

It really wasn't far to the spring, but she ran anyway. She would have enjoyed a leisurely walk so she could smell the fall flowers and enjoy the colors of the leaves. She would walk the path again later--many times, perhaps--and enjoy the smells and the colors to her heart's content.

Just as Marty had said, Clark was there, raking fallen leaves from the crystal water.

"Pa," Belinda called, out of breath, "Mama says breakfast is ready."

Clark looked up from his task.

"My, don't ya look bright and pretty," he responded.