Love's Enduring Promise (Love Comes Softly Series #2) (22 page)

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"Like--?"

"Like Ma--she's still not well, ya know, an' other things. Thought maybe next summer--maybe."

"Not soon then?"

"Depends."

Missie turned back to her boards and finished erasing the day's lessons.

"How's the teachin' goin'?" Willie asked.

"Good," said Missie "--only I had to send Luke to a corner today."

"What'd he do?"

"He dipped Elizabeth Anne's ribbons in an inkwell." "Spoil-sport."

Missie remembered her own ribbons being dipped in an inkwell.

"It's not smart," she said defiantly, "hair ribbons cost money."

"Reckon they do. I'd never thought about that."

"Well, I told Luke that he had to save his pennies to buy new ribbons for Elizabeth Anne."

"You're a smart teacher."

"Not smart--just--"

"Pretty?"

"Of course not. Look, if you're not going to talk sense, I refuse to talk to you."

Missie walked over to close the open window. It was stuck. It wasn't the first time that it had stuck.

"Here let me help."

Willie stood directly behind her and reached out for the offending window. Missie was imprisoned between his arms. Her face flushed. She dared not turn around or she would be face to face with him.

Willie didn't seem in any hurry to lower the window, though looking at the muscular arms, Missie knew that the problem wasn't inability.

"Can't you get it either?" she asked, her voice surprisingly controlled.

"It's stuck all right."

"Willie LaHaye!" she stormed swinging around suddenly;

"you're a liar."

"Yeah," he said grinning as the window came effortlessly into place. And there was Missie standing within the circle of Willie's outstretched arms.

Before Willie could make a move, Missie ducked down and under, then stepped back a pace, her eyes flashing fire. Then she swung on her heel and grabbed her coat.

"Please see that the door is closed when you leave!" she hissed, and was gone.

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Chapter 45

Missie's Callers

Missie had her first caller. Marty knew that it was bound to happen, and soon, but even so she was unprepared for it when it did.

Missie had been the youngest member of her small class at the normal school, and, though Missie never said so, a popular member as well. Occasionally Missie referred to this fellow student or that fellow student, but Marty had had no reason to feel that anyone was
special
for any reason. Then one day at her door appeared a tall, sandy-haired young man, very well groomed and properly mannered. An expensive-looking horse, appearing to have some racing blood, stood tethered to the hitchingrail.

"How do you do. My name is Grant Thomas. Would Miss Melissa Davis be in please?" His voice was most respectful.

Marty stammered. "Why--why, yes--she's in." She finally found her tongue and her manners. "Won't ya come in please?"

"Thank you. And are you Melissa's mother? She spoke of you often."

Marty was still flustered. "Thet's right--please step in. I'll call Missie--a--Melissa--right away."

Missie seemed pleased to see the young man. Marty watched carefully for signs of more than just pleasure.

Grant stayed to share supper with them and proved to be a quiet, yet intelligent, young man. Clark seemed to quite enjoy him, and Marty kept sending Clark silent warnings that he shouldn't encourage him too much.

He said that he planned to ride on into town before nightfall. Missie saddled Lady and rode part way with him. They visited and laughed as they rode, thoroughly enjoying one another, which made Marty feel funny little shivers of fear run through her. Missie was so young--only seventeen. "Please, please don't make me give her up yet."

When Missie returned she went to the pasture gate and turned Lady loose, brushing and fussing over her before she sent her on her way. When she stopped outside at the basin to wash her hands, she looked quite normal enough. She paused to admire Ellie's cushion top that the younger girl was making before coming into the kitchen. She came in humming to herself as she often did. Marty could hardly wait.

"This here Grant, don't recall ya sayin' much 'bout 'im." "Not much to say. Let's see--"

Marty could already see Missie's trick coming--"throw Ma off with some facts, nonessential facts, but facts none the less." "He's three years older than me, an only child, his ma leads the Ladies' Aid and his pa's a doctor. His folks live in a big stone house on Maple Street, I believe, only about seven blocks from the normal school. They like to entertain, so they have Grant's friends--which includes almost everyone--over for tea, or tennis, or whatever. There."

Marty wasn't to be sidetracked so easily. "What I want to know is, are you one of Grant's friends?"

"Guess so."

"Special like?"

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"Oh, Ma," Missie groaned, "how do you make a fella understand that you like him fine--but it ends there?" "Did ya tell 'im?"

"I thought that I had before."

"An' this time?"

"I hope that he understands."

Missie moved on to her room and Marty kept her knitting

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needles clicking. She must remember to speak to the boys and inform them that she wanted to hear no teasing about the young man who had called. She hoped that the fellow truly did understand. Poor Grant.

Marty was not to be at peace for long, for Lou Graham asked Clark for permission to call. Marty had no problem accepting Lou, but she still had trouble accepting the fact that Missie was growing up. Nandry and Clae had both been older than the norm when they received callers and married, and Marty had half hoped that Missie would follow their example. Perhaps Missie would have, but the young men seemed to have other ideas.

Lou sat in their parlor now. He and Missie were busy playing checkers. Marty noticed Missie deliberately lose. Missie was a good checker player and would never, without intention, be caught as she was. Lou's mind didn't seem to be too much on the game, however, so perhaps the young man had some excuse.

Clare, Arnie, and Luke found it difficult to understand why Lou did not choose to join them in pitching horseshoes as he always had in the past. The three boys were finally sent to bed still puzzling over the situation.

After checkers, Missie fixed cocoa and sliced some loaf cake. The adults were invited to join the young people at the kitchen table, and they found no difficulty in chatting with the young Lou.

Missie walked with Lou to the end of the housepath and waited as he untied his horse and left for home. They had grown up together and should have felt quite at ease in one another's company, but their new relationship had placed a bit of tension between them. Time would care for that.

"Will he be back?" Clark asked Missie when she returned to the kitchen.

"I expect so."

Marty felt that her voice lacked enthusiasm.

"Nice boy," she commented.

"Uh hum. All the Grahams are nice.""Do ya remember when ya were gonna marry Tommie?"

Missie giggled. "Poor Tommie. He must have been embarrassed. I told just everybody that--but he never said a word about it."

"Well, thet's all long in the past," continued Marty. "Tom has his Fran now."

"And me?"

Marty looked up in surprise.

"That's what you're thinking, isn't it, Ma? What about me?"

"Okay," said Marty, "what about you?"

"I don't know," said Missie. "I think that I need lots of time to sort that out."

"Nobody's gonna rush ya." Clark expressed both his and Marty's feelings.

Lou continued calling. Missie was friendly and a good companion, but Marty noticed that she didn't show the bloom of a girl in love.

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Chapter 46

Disturbin' Thoughts

Missie was about to leave the school building when the door opened and Willie came in.

"Should I have knocked?" he asked.

"Wouldn't have hurt."

"Sorry," said Willie. "Next time I'll knock."

Missie continued to button her coat.

"Come to think of it--guess there won't be a next time." Missie looked up then.

"I really came to sorta say good-bye."

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Day after tomorra."

"You said that you weren't going until summer."

"I said thet it depended on some things, remember?" "I--I--guess so. Is your mother better then?"

Willie shook his head. "Fraid not. I don't think thet Ma will ever be better." There was sadness in his voice.

"I'm sorry," Missie said softly; then, "How are you going?"

"I'm takin' the stage out to meet the railroad. Then I'll go by rail as far as I can. Iffen I want to go on, I'll buy me a horse or a team."

"What are you planning to do once you get there--pan for gold?"

Missie's sarcasm was not missed by Willie, but he chose to ignore it.

"Kinda have my heart set on some good cattle country. Like to git me a good spread and start a herd. I think I'd rather raise cattle than plant crops."

"Well, good luck." Missie was surprised that she really meant it, and how much she meant it.

"Thanks," said Willie. He paused a moment, then went on. "By the way, I have somethin' fer ya. Sort of an old debt like."

He put his hand in his pocket and came out with some red hair ribbons.

"Iffen I remember correctly they were a little redder than these, but these were the reddest red thet I could find."

"Oh, Willie," whispered Missie, suddenly wanting to cry. "It didn't matter. I--I don't even wear these kinds of ribbons anymore."

"Then save 'em fer yer little girl. Iffen she looks like her mama, she'll be drivin' little boys daffy, an' like as not she'll have lots of ribbons dipped in an inkwell."

He turned to go. "Bye, Missie," he whispered hoarsely. "The best of everythin' to ya."

"Bye, Willie--thank you--and God take care of you." Missie wondered later if she had really heard the soft words, "I love ya," or had only imagined them.

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Missie tossed and turned on her pillow that night. She couldn't understand her own crazy heart. One thing she knew. She'd have to face up to Lou--tell him honestly and finally that she wanted him as a friend but nothing more. But even with that settled, her troubled mind would not let her sleep. She reached beneath her pillow to again finger the red hair ribbons. That crazy Willie LaHaye! Why did he have to trouble her so, and why did the thought of his leaving in two days bring such sorrow to her heart? Was it possible that after all these years of fighting and storming against him, she had

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somehow fallen in love? Absurd! But Missie couldn't convince her aching heart.

She arose the next morning suffering from a loss of sleep and hurried off to school, not in her usual good humor.

The news came with the Coffin children. Mrs. LaHaye had died during the night. Somehow Missie made it through the day. Her heart ached for Willie. He had dearly loved his mother. What would he do now? Certainly he would not be able to leave on the stagecoach on the morrow.

If only she had a chance to talk to him, to express her sorrow, and to take back some of the mean things that she had said down through the years.

The day finally drew to a close. Missie announced that due to the bereavement in the community, classes would be cancelled for the following day. She did not remain behind to clean the chalkboards or tidy the small schoolroom but slipped into her coat and hurried home.

That evening Lou came to call. It didn't seem quite right to Missie that a young man should go courting on the eve of a funeral, and her agitation made it easier for her to follow through on her intention of putting a halt to the whole affair.

The next day a third mound was added to the cemetery by the church. Missie stood with other mourners, the wind wrapping her long coat tightly about her.

When the others went in to be warmed by hot coffee, Missie left the group and walked toward a grove of trees at the far end of the yard.

She was standing there silently, leaning against a tree trunk, when a hand was placed on her elbow. She did not even jump. Perhaps she had been expecting him.

"Missie?"

She turned to him. "I'm sorry, Willie--truly sorry about your ma." Tears overspilled and slid down her cheeks.

Willie lowered his head to hide his own tears, then brushed them roughly away. "Thank ya," he said, "but I'm glad--sort of glad--thet I was still here. It could have happened after I'd gone, an' then--then I'd always been sorry."

"Are you still going?"