Love's abiding joy (Love Comes Softly #4) (7 page)

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Marty nodded. It was a bit cool in the morning air; she could do with a little sun. She hoped that the warmth of the rays would reach them quickly.

It was a while before others also were stirring about the streets of the town. The livery hand arrived first and went about the duties of feeding the horses and a pair of mules. Roughly dressed men eventually swaggered out of the hotel, a few at a time; then the blacksmith began pounding on some metal in his shop. Shopowners began to open doors and rearrange window signs. The sheriff checked his office and then headed for the hotel and a cup of morning coffee. There was more movement toward the hotel, and soon Marty and Clark could smell cooking bacon and brewing coffee. Marty had not realized she was hungry until that moment.

Clark turned toward her. "Rather fun to watch a town wake up. I've never done thet before," he commented, and Marty nodded her head in agreement.

"It's not really so different from home as far as looks goes--yet it 'feels' strange," she answered. "Still, I haven't seen anything--" Her words were interrupted.

Four cowboys rode into view, their horses dusty and tired. They led four other horses behind them with some kind of bundles tied on their backs. The horses were spotted and wore no saddles, although two of them had colorful blankets tossed across their backs. The men rode past silently, their leather- encased feet swinging freely and their hair hanging past their shoulders in long, black braids. Upon observing the braids, Marty snatched a second look. Why, those weren't cowboys. They were Indians! Now
that
was different. The riders looked neither to the left nor the right as they rode down the street and pulled their mounts to a stop before the General Store. They swung down from their horses and began to untie the bundles from the backs of the pack animals.

"Looks like they've got 'em a pretty good catch of furs," observed Clark.

"Furs," said Marty. "I never thought of furs. What kind, ya supposin'?"

"I've no idea. Coyotes, badgers, maybe. Not close enough

58

to the mountains fer bears or wildcats, I'm a-thinkin'. But then I'm not much fer knowin' jest what they do have hereabouts."

Marty turned only after they had all disappeared. "Well," said Clark, "ya ready fer some breakfast?" He stood up and stretched his tall frame.

Marty stood too and picked up her lunch bundle and hatbox. Without thinking, she reached to scratch an itching spot on her rib cage, then checked herself; a lady did not go about scratching in public. At the same time, she realized that Clark was scratching his neck. Marty looked at the spot. "Oh, my," she whispered.

Clark looked at her.

"Ya sure enough got yer share," stated Marty. "They're beginnin' to show up all along yer collar."

"Bedbugs?"

"Bedbugs. Well, not the bugs exactly--but where they been."

"Guess they liked me better'n they did you, huh?"

" 'Fraid not," said Marty. "I got me four or five places thet I'd jest
love
to be a-scratchin'."

Clark laughed. "Well, maybe a cup of coffee an' a slice of ham will take our mind off 'em." He picked up the cases and motioned Marty toward the hotel's dining room they had passed up the night before in favor of the saloon place.

"Fella told me thet this ain't the fanciest place around; but it's the only one thet's open this time of the day, so I guess we'll give it a try. Surely nobody can make too much of a mess outa just boilin' coffee."

Maybe Marty was just hungry, or maybe the food actually wasn't so bad; at any rate, she ate heartily.

59

Chapter Seven

Arrival

The next three days on the slow-moving train were even more difficult for Marty. For one thing, she was in a fever to reach Missie, and the many delays and the hesitant forward crawl irritated her. She was also tired from several nights without a good rest, and the train they rode was even less elegant than the first. The worn seats and cramped quarters made it difficult to sit comfortably, and there was no room for stretching or walking.

There were only two other women on the crowded train, and neither seemed inclined to make new friendships. The men, rough and rugged, appeared to be gold-seekers or opportunists. The constant smoking of strong cigars and cigarettes made Marty feel like she was going to choke. The temperature was getting hotter and hotter, and the heat and the stuffiness of the one passenger car almost overcame her; the bedbug bites did not help her frame of mind. Occasionally there was something of interest out of the train window, like the small herd of buffalo that wandered aimlessly along beside the

60

track, but usually there was nothing at all to see but brown hills and wind-swept prairie. Now and then herds of cattle or a squatter's makeshift buildings came into view. Marty counted only three
real
houses, each surrounded by many outbuildings. She guessed each of these places to be someone's profitable ranch.

The small towns along the route, though few and far between, looked very busy. Marty wondered where the people came from. As much as she normally enjoyed watching people, she did not care for that activity now. She just wanted to get to Missie, and each time that the train stopped and frittered away precious time, Marty chafed inside. What could they possibly be doing to take so long in such an insignificant place anyway? Marty fussed, minding the heat, the cramped quarters, the smoke, the delay, and the itching bites.

But all of her fretting did not get them one mile closer to Missie, she gradually came to realize. At length Marty willed herself to take a lesson from Clark and learn some patience. She settled herself in her corner and determined not to stew. She even decided to study the countryside and see what it might have to share with her.

Early on the third morning, Clark returned from chatting with a fellow in a seat farther up the coach and informed Marty with a grin that the man had said Missie's small town was the next stop; and unless something unforeseen happened, they should be in by noon. Marty was wild with joy. Now it was even harder to sit still and not chafe about the sluggish engine that took them forward at such a snail's pace.

The man was right. Just before the noon hour the train began to slow, and they all stirred themselves and started to gather together their belongings.

Marty cast one final look around at her fellow passengers. She noticed a youth hoist up his small bundle and move toward the door. He looked tired and hungry, and there was a bit of fear and loneliness in his eyes, too.

Why, he don't be lookin' any older than my Luke,
Marty thought compassionately.
Suppose he's come on out here all by hisself an' don't know where he's goin' or what he'll find when he gits there.

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Marty was about to ask Clark if there wasn't something they could do for the youngster when the train stopped and the boy disappeared in the crowd.

They climbed down the steps from the train, looked around quickly, and moved toward the dusty new sidewalk. The boards had not fully weathered yet, and they were newer than the town. Marty noticed the buildings were recently built, but many of them looked like they had been constructed in a big hurry and with the cheapest material available; little attention was given to fanciness.

Marty's eyes turned to the scores and scores of bawling cattle milling around in the corrals to the right of the tracks, kicking up dust and drowning out all other noises. Yes, this was a cattle town, to be sure.

Marty was not interested in buildings or cattle--only people. She was busy scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Missie.

Dust-covered cowboys--and equally dust-covered horses--moved back and forth on the main street, wide hats almost hiding the features of their faces. A number of ladies walked by, none of them in hats but wearing cheap and practical bonnets or nothing on their heads at all.

Marty was trying to stay close to Clark through the crushing passengers from the incoming train, all the while straining her eyes for the first sight of Missie, when a deep voice drawled beside them, " 'Scuse me, sir, but do you folks be the Davises?"

Marty looked up at the cowboy who stood beside them, hat in hand.

"Shore are," replied Clark.

"Right glad to meet ya, sir--ma'am. I'm Scottie, foreman for the LaHayes, an' I been sent to meet this here train." Marty felt her heart sink with disappointment. Missie was not here.

Clark set down a case so that he could extend a hand. "Glad to meet ya, Mister Scott."

Scottie did not correct him.

"I'd be happy to take ya on over to the hotel, ma'am, and let ya freshen up some. It's gonna be a bit of a ride to the ranch. Then we'll collect yer things an' be off."

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"I'd like thet," replied Marty, and they followed Scottie down the street.

"Mrs. LaHaye is most bustin' with eagerness. She could hardly stand it thet she ain't here to meet ya herself. Never know when this here train is finally gonna pull in. This one was scheduled to be in here yesterday. 'Course, one day late ain't so bad. Sometimes it's been as much as five. A little hard fer her to stand around waitin' with two little ones in tow--ya know what I mean?"

Scottie didn't wait for an answer.

"Boss, he came into town to check yesterday--brought the whole family, jest in case the train happened to be on time. Well, she warn't. He sent me on in today. He was gonna give it another try tomarra. Missus will be right glad thet it won't be necessary."

Marty was glad, too.
Mercy me,
she thought,
I'd a-never stood it if we'd been five days late--and neither would Missie!

They entered the small hotel, and Scottie spoke to the man at the desk. Marty was shown to a room. It was not fancy, but it was clean. Marty was glad for a fresh supply of water for a good wash. The men left again to go pick up the baggage from the train station. Marty prayed that everything had arrived--and safely.

She couldn't help but feel disappointed and empty. She had thought when she arrived in this little town that her long wait to
see
Missie would be over. But of course Scottie was right. It would have been very foolish for Missie to make the long trip every day, not having any idea when the train might actually arrive.

The room seemed cool in spite of the warm weather, and after Marty's wash she lay down on the bed, promising herself that she'd just rest for a few minutes while she waited for Clark and Mister Scottie to come.

Clark found her sleeping when he returned and was tempted to leave quietly and allow her to get some much-needed rest; but he felt that she would never forgive him if he did, so he roused her gently and said Scottie was ready to take them in for a little to eat before they headed for the ranch.

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Marty was hungry, but she did begrudge even the time spent in eating. They hurried with their dinner, because Scottie too was anxious to get back to the ranch.

Marty sat in the wagon on a seat that had been especially fashioned for her by Willie and made as comfortable as possible. Clark sat up with Scottie. Scottie was not a great talker, but he was generous in answering any questions; Marty paid no attention to the conversation. Nor did she particularly watch the passing scenery. Her mind was totally on Missie, wondering how much reserve the passing years might have put between mother and daughter. Would they still be able to share feelings and thoughts, or would the years and the experiences have closed some doors for them? Marty felt a little fear grip at her heart. And what about Missie's children, her grandchildren? Would they see her as only a stranger they did not particularly welcome to their world? The questions and doubts persisted until her mind was seething with anxieties as they rumbled along. Clark turned back to check on her now and then, and she managed to give him a shaky smile. She hoped he didn't notice her edginess.

And then they came over a hill, and Scottie pulled up the team. "There's the boss's spread, right down there," he said, pride coloring his voice. It was evident that he felt a measure of ownership in the ranch, just by his association. Marty's heart skipped. Right down there! Right before her very eyes was their Missie's home. Marty saw a large, sprawling, gray stone home. Soft smoke curled up from the chimney. Off to one side, she could see a garden and a very small stream flowing away from a rocky embankment. She let her eyes seek out the pen with the chickens, the seeming miles of corrals, the bunkhouse and cookshack, and, yes, there on the other side was a straw-colored mound.
That must be Missie's soddy.
Marty's eyes filled with tears, and she had an impulse to jump from the wagon and run down the hill. Remarkably, she held herself in check; Scottie clucked to the team and they moved forward.

Whether it was Scottie's driving, or Marty's wishful thinking, or the eagerness of the team to return to their stalls,

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Marty never knew for sure; but the remainder of the trip down the long, winding hill went more quickly.

At the bottom of the hill, Scottie "whoaed" the horses and handed the reins to Clark. "I'll jest be gettin' on back to my duties," he said. "You'll be a-wantin' to make yer greetin's in private," he added as he stepped down from the wagon.

"And many thanks to ya fer yer welcome an' fer drivin' us this long way," Clark said warmly. Scottie tipped his hat to them and moved off toward the barn. Marty climbed up beside Clark for a better view of the house as the horses moved forward. A flash of red calico in a window, and then . . . there was Missie, her arms opened wide and her face streaming with tears, running toward them calling their names. Marty ran to embrace her beloved daughter. They held each other close, crying and laughing and repeating over and over tender, senseless endearments.