Love's Long Journey (Love Comes Softly Series #3) (12 page)

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"I just may
never
wear 'em again," she answered.

"Now, now," Henry replied, "ya sure wouldn't want thet part of yer edjication to jest go to waste, would ya?"

"Seems every
other
part of my education has gone to waste," Missie responded. There was a quiver in her voice as she thought of her classroom of eager children back home.

"Not so," Henry was quick to say. "Don't fergit thet you'll soon be 'teacher' agin."

Missie glanced down at her blossoming figure and flushed. Henry quickly changed the subject.

"See'd the town yet?"

"Not yet--but Willie has. I didn't feel much like goin' in yesterday. I'm more ready-like today."

Henry nodded.

"Big place really--but not too fancy."

"Where'd they get the name?"

"Man named Tettsford first set up a store there to catch the trade of the wagons goin' through."

"He still there?"

"Naw. He made his money, then cleared out. Went back East--to spend it, I guess."

"Smart man," Missie said under her breath.

"Ya know what I'm gonna miss most 'bout wagon-trainin'?" Henry's abrupt change of subject surprised Missie; but she soon recovered and answered with a teasing voice, "Now,
I
won der."

Henry blushed.

"Naw," he said, "nothin' like thet. I'm gonna miss the Sunday gatherin's."

Missie sobered.

"I guess I will, too," she said. "They weren't nothin' like home, but they were special in their own way, weren't they? An' you did a first-rate job, Henry. A real good job. Did you ever think of being' a preacher?"

Henry's blush deepened. "I thought on it--sorta. But I ain't got what it takes to be a preacher. Very little book learnin' and not much civilizin' either."

"That's not true, Henry! You're a born leader. Didn't you

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notice how the people followed you, accepted you, expected you to take the lead?"

Henry sat silently. "They did, some," he agreed. "But thet was a wagon train, not a settlement church. There's a heap of difference

there. I did decide one thing, though. . ." He hesitated. "Being'?" Missie prompted.

"Well, I jest told the Lord thet iffen He had a place fer me-- wherever it was--I'd be happy to do whatever I could. I don't expect it to be in a church, Missie--but there's lots of folks who need God who never come a-lookin' fer Him in a church."

"I'm glad, Henry," Missie said softly. "I'm glad you feel that way. And you're right; God needs lots of us--everywhere--to touch other people's hearts."

Missie turned back to tend the breakfast and Henry settled himself on a low stool. It wasn't long until Missie heard a cheery whistle and knew that Willie would soon join them.

Willie's eyes brightened when he saw Missie. His whistle changed abruptly. Then he grinned.

"Yer lookin' right smart this mornin', Mrs LaHaye."

"Oh, Willie, stop teasin'. You've been seem' me in plain dresses an' walkin' shoes for so long that you've forgotten what I really look like."

"Then I hope ya remind me often. Looks good, don't she, Henry?" Willie said with a wink.

"I already told her so."

"Oh, ho," Willie laughed. "Now thet the young Miss Weiss has favored yer presence, ya think thet ya can pass out compliments to all of the womenfolk, do ya?"

"Nope," said Henry. "Jest the
special
ones."

Willie laughed again. "Well, she's special, all right."

He kissed Missie on the cheek. Missie leaned primly away. "Really, Willie," she reprimanded. "We don't need to put on a show for all to see." She busied herself with serving the breakfast.

After they had eaten, and read a portion of scripture--which Willie ended as he had throughout the journey with the special passage given to them by Missie's father--and had prayer together, Missie began clearing up.

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"Will ya be needin' me today?" Henry asked Willie. Willie thought a moment.

"No, I can manage carin' fer the stock. Go ahead. Make any plans thet ya care to."

"Thanks. I reckon I'll give the Weisses a hand at gettin' settled in town. They did manage to find a house--such as it is." "Is Mrs. Emory gonna stay with 'em?"

"No, and she needs some settlin' too. She found a small room over the general store, but there's not much furniture there to speak of. She's already signed up to teach school come fall; but, until then, she's gonna work in the hotel kitchen."

"The kitchen? Seems rather heavy, burdensome work for such a genteel little woman," Missie commented doubtfully.

"Thet's what I thought. But the job is there--an she insists."

Missie detected genuine concern in Henry's voice. He put on his hat.

"Well, iffen yer sure I'm not needed, I'll git on over there an' give 'em a hand."

"He's got it right bad, hasn't he?" Willie remarked after Henry had walked away. "Well, Mrs. LaHaye, may I escort ya into town? I take it ya didn't git all prettied up jest to sit out in the sun."

"I think, sir, that I might consent to that," Missie replied archly.

Missie found the town much as she had expected. There seemed to be very little that was green. A few small gardens looked up thirstily at the sun-drenched sky. The vegetables that fought for an existence were dwarfed and scraggly. Here and there some brave grass put in an appearance--under a dripping pump or close to a watering trough. As far as Missie could see, there had been no attempt to plant trees or shrubbery. Puffs of dust scattered whenever the wind stirred.

The buildings, too, were bleak. No bright paint or fancy signs. Square, bold letters spelled SALOON over a gray, wind-worn wood building. Another plain sign read HOTEL. Missie winced to think of Melinda Emory working there in a hot, stuffy kitchen. Several other weathered buildings lined the dusty streets. There were sidewalks, fairly new-looking, but they too were layered

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with dust where the women's skirts had not whisked them clean.

There was more than one saloon. In fact, as Missie let her eyes search down the street, she counted five.
What does such a town need with five saloons?
she wondered. It certainly was not as blessed with churches, but Missie did spy a small spire reaching up from among the buildings huddled over to her left.

There were blacksmith shops--at least three--but maybe, as Mr. Weiss had said, a town this size could use another.

There was also a bank, a sheriff's office, a printshop, a telegraph office, liveries, a stagecoach landing, and an assortment of stores and other buildings that Missie had not yet identified. Missie smiled as she read the notice, "Overland Stagecoaches," and wondered where on earth they could take a body.

The town didn't interest her much at this point. She still dreaded the fact that she had to stay in it for three months, or more, without Willie. She didn't want this town. She wanted Willie's land, the place where she intended to make a home. It would be so different there. The cool valley, the green grass and Willie's beloved hills, rolling away to the mountains. Missie could hardly wait for a look at those mountains.

"The Taylorsons live jest down here," Willie announced, disturbing her thoughts. He made a right-hand turn. Soon they were walking down a street lined with houses. There were no sidewalks, but the street was smooth, though dusty.

"Thet there is where the doc lives. He has a couple a' rooms for his office in the sheriff's, but he also has one room there at the front of his house fer off-hour treatin'."

Missie let her glance slide over the doctor's residence. The house was unpretentious.

"An' here we are," Willie said, and opened a gate. Missie stared at the house. It was of unpainted lumber, big and sturdy- looking, but as barren as the rest of the town. They passed by a bit of a garden that seemed to be struggling valiantly for existence. Missie's thoughts returned to Marty's full, healthy, vegetable garden at home.

"My, things be dry!" she ventured.

"They git a little short on water here 'bouts."

Willie rapped on the door and a plump, pleasant-faced woman answered.

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"Oh," she said with a smile, "ya brought yer little wife." Her gaze traveled over Missie. "She do be in the family way, all right."

Missie felt the color rush to her face.

"This be Mrs. Taylorson, Missie," Willie said, attempting to ease over the situation. "An' this be my wife--Mrs. LaHaye."

Missie was glad that Willie had introduced her as
Mrs. LaHaye.
Somehow it made her feel more grown-up and less like an awkward schoolgirl.

"Come on in," Mrs. Taylorson said, "an' I'll show ya yer room."

She turned and clumped up the stairs that were to the left of the hall, puffing as she climbed. At the top of the stairs she again took a left turn and pushed open a door. The room was stifling hot; not a bit of air stirred the curtains. It was a plain room, but it was clean. The bed looked old, but rather comfortable. Mrs. Taylorson was a no-nonsense person.

"Yer husband said thet ya had yer own things," said Mrs. Taylorson, "so I jest took out the beddin', an' such."

"Yes, I do," Missie answered, wondering why the faded curtains at the window had escaped Mrs. Taylorson's clean sweep. "It will be just fine."

"I don't usually keep boarders," she said, "but yer husband seemed in a real need-like. An' he said thet ya were clean--an' sensible. So I says, 'Okay, I'll give it a try.'

"One must have rules, though, when one has boarders, so I've made 'em up an' posted 'em here. Don't expect this third one will bother ya much, ya being' the way ya are, but one never knows-- an' one needs rules. I'll leave ya now to look over things an' decide what ya want to be a bringin' in. I'll go put on some tea."

She stepped out of the room and they were alone.

Missie wanted to cry but she fought it. She must keep herself well in hand.

Willie hurried over to the window and threw it wide open. Missie turned to the posted list.

"Oh, oh," she said, "you just broke rule number one." Willie was at her side.

"Number one," Missie read, " 'Do not leave window open; the dust blows in!'

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"Number two, 'No loud talking or laughing.'

"Number three, 'No having men to your room or going out with them, 'cepting your husband.'

"Number four, 'All water must be used
at least twice
before it is thrown out. We're powerful short, you know.'

"Number five, 'Mealtimes are 8:00, 12:30 and 6:00, and must be strictly kept. It bothers Mr. T's ulcer iffen he is kept waiting.' "Number six, 'Bedtime is 10:00.'

"Number seven, 'Borders'--look at the spellin' of that; makes me feel like a bunch of petunias.--`Borders are expected to attend church on Sundays.'

"Number eight, 'Rent must be paid in advance.'

"Number nine, 'No borrowing money or property.' "Number ten, 'Border must care for her own personal needs and clothes.'

"Number eleven, 'Hair can be washed at back door basin-- once a week.'

"Number twelve--I guess she ran out of ideas," Missie said. "There's no number twelve listed here."

"Good," Willie said. "Then I won't be breakin' a rule when I kiss ya." He pulled Missie into his arms.

Missie fought to keep her tears from coming as Willie held her close. She was glad that Willie did not release her right away. It gave her time to regain her composure. At last she stepped back and smiled.

"I'll bet if she'd thought of it, that would have been on the list," she said. Willie grinned and kissed her again.

Willie and Missie went downstairs and promptly settled the account. Missie could have cried as she watched him pay for three and a half long months. How could she ever bear it? She would die of lonesomeness. She turned her back and bit her lips in an effort to keep herself under control.

Mrs. Taylorson tucked the money in the bosom of her dress and smiled at the couple.

Mrs. Taylorson insisted that Missie move in right away. The day would be spent in sorting out what Missie would need and getting her settled. There was no rule about sewing machines, but just to be safe, Missie asked concerning hers. She was

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pleased that Mrs. Taylorson did not object to having hers in the room. Missie would enjoy her machine and the hours that she could spend sewing for her coming baby.

In order to lose no time, Mrs. Taylorson informed them that they would be expected for the evening meal at 6:00 sharp. She would see them then. If they needed assistance in the meantime, they could feel free to knock on the kitchen door.

Willie drove their wagon down the dusty street that ran in front of the Taylorsons' home and the sorting began. It was hard to decide what should go and what should stay. Missie tended to want to send everything, and Willie kept thinking of things that she might need or long for. At last they reached a compromise and Missie was soon settled in. Willie, too, moved in his few needs for the one week that he would share the room with Missie. He then returned the wagon to the outskirts of the town where it was left in Henry's care.

Promptly at six the LaHayes descended the steps toward the hall, hoping that it would not be too difficult to find the dining room. It wasn't; the aroma of food guided them. They entered the room and found the table set for four.

A gentleman was already seated, fork in hand, but he did have the courtesy to lay down his fork and rise to his feet as the couple entered. It wasn't exactly a smile that crossed his face to welcome them, but neither was it a frown.

"Howdya do," he said officiously, extending a hand to Willie. "I'm
J.
B. Taylorson."

Missie wondered what the J. B. was for.

"I'm William LaHaye--an' this is my wife Melissa," Willie responded. Missie almost snickered.

Mr. Taylorson nodded to the chairs, "Won't ya sit down." It was plain that he wanted to get on with the business of eating.

Willie seated Missie and took the chair beside her, just as Mrs. Taylorson entered from the kitchen with a dish of food in each hand.

"Here ya are," she said. "I told
Ben thet I told ya
six sharp." So the "B" was for Ben. That still left the "J."

Mrs. Taylorson settled herself and Mr. Taylorson blessed the food. He said the prayer in the same manner that he said his