Love's Long Journey (Love Comes Softly Series #3) (19 page)

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warm their bones before trying to get a few hours of sleep. The early morning sun would soon summon them to another busy day with the branding irons.

Shortly before daybreak, mayhem broke loose. At first Henry and Clem were unable to pinpoint the source of the sudden restlessless and shifting of the herd. By the time they realized the cause, they found themselves helpless.

A band of rustlers was driving off a large portion of the herd. Henry and Clem rode hard, but in spite of their best efforts they were able to cut back only the stragglers from the stampeding cattle. No shots had been fired, but Henry and Clem had counted, in spite of the darkness and confusion, at least five rustlers. By the time the sleeping men in the wagons heard the commotion and recognized what it was, it was too late for them to assist.

The next morning the discouraged men ranged out farther, gathering the few head that had somehow eluded the rustlers. After all the cattle in their possession had been gathered and counted, Willie found that his herd now numbered only fifty-four head of full-grown cattle and thirty-two calves.

After the final count, Willie turned away, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He had known all along that he would suffer some losses to rustlers, but he had dared to hope that the numbers would be few and over a longer period of
time. Why!
he asked himself,
Why did I think that we would be spared when so many other ranchers have been completely wiped out? I should feel lucky to have any cattle left, any at all.

Willie swallowed the hard lump in his throat, and lifted his broad-brimmed hat to wipe the dust from his brow. The sick feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to leave. Could he get back on his feet? How long would it take? If he had been more patient and had worked for another year before coming out to his ranch, he could have laid aside enough cash to cover such a tragedy.

Now the only extra cash he had was the money for Missie's house. How could he ever tell her? Even now he could picture those frank, blue eyes, intense with hurt and fright from the news.

Though he wished with every ounce of his being that he could do so, he knew it would be useless and untruthful to try to keep it

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from her. She deserved to know the truth--even to know the seriousness of their situation. But Willie determined that in every way possible he would try to shield her from the pain and the fear that came with the knowing.

Willie presented Missie with the facts as honestly and simply as he knew how. He talked like it was an inevitable event--the loss of his cattle; but deep down, Missie knew better. She ached for him. If only there was some way that she could help him.

Then within her breast arose a tiny surge of hope. Maybe now he would be satisfied to have tried his dream and be content to go back home. But Willie had no such intention. Instead, to Missie's surprise, he told his men that as soon as the work could be started, they would begin building the permanent ranch house.

Missie said nothing until they were alone that night. She began very carefully, "I overheard you discussin' with the hands your plans for buildin'."

"Yeah, iffen it's gonna be ready as planned we need to git started."

"But, Willie," Missie protested softly. "Can we afford it?" "What ya meanin'?"

"Well, with the cattle losses an' all."

"Thet changes nothin'. The money for the house has been set aside."

"But what 'bout rebuildin' the herd?"

"Thet'll jest have to wait."

"But can it? I mean, if we don't have a herd, there won't be cattle to sell, an' if--"

"There'll be some--eventually. An' I promised ya a house. We can't do both, Missie; an' the house comes first."

"Willie, listen." Missie felt afraid that she might later regret what she was about to say. But she had to say it: "Willie, I know 'bout your promise. I know that you want to keep it--an' you will. But it could be postponed, Willie, for just a bit--untiluntil we have the cattle to sell. If we stay in this house, just for now, and use the put-aside money to help rebuild the herd, then next year--well, we could build our house then."

Missie saw Willie's jaw muscles tighten as if he was fighting for control.

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"Please, Willie," she coaxed. "The cattle are important to
me
too, you know."

"But ya couldn't keep on livin' here, not fer another whole year--another winter."

"'Course I could," she hurried on with as much conviction as she could muster. "I'm gettin' used to it now. It's not very big, but it's warm. And now that spring is here, Nathan an' I can go outside more. We'll manage. Honest!"

Silence followed. For
a
time Missie wondered if she had been refused. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or sorry. The house was small and difficult. Yet she knew that if Willie was intending to stay, and it seemed that indeed he was, then he needed to rebuild that herd. Without it their future was very insecure. Her love for Willie drove her to decide for his happiness. He'd never be happy to admit defeat, to leave his beloved hills and valleys and return back East.

Oh, God,
she prayed silently,
help me to support Willie in spite of what I want. Keep Your promise to uphold me now.
And He did.

Missie felt peace go through her being. The next thing she knew, Willie was pulling her close. She understood that Willie was accepting her gift of postponement on the house in order to rebuild his herd. She reached her hand up to touch his cheeks and felt the dampness. Willie was crying.

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Chapter 29

Missie's Garden

With the smell of spring in the air, Missie was even more restless as she anxiously waited for the final disappearance of snow. Nathan, more active now, needed room in which to explore. Missie dared not leave him in the small sod house longer than a dash out back for more chips or to scoop up a pail of snow for her water supply.

She had tired of the snow water, but she did not feel that it was any longer safe for her to go to the trickling spring and leave the baby alone in the house; she could not carry him and a bucket of water too. But her reason did not keep her from
wanting
to go to the spring. Just the sight of running water would be a sign to her that spring was truly here.

She needed desperately an escape from the four tight walls. She also needed a change of activity. Her fingers felt heavy and numb from the hours of knitting and sewing. She was just plain bored--bored with everything about her world.

Missie looked out on the sparkling day and, as many times in the past, wished with all her heart that she had some excuse to be

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out in the sunshine. If only she could saddle a horse and go out onto the prairies like the menfolk did. But with no one to leave small Nathan with, the idea was not workable.

Or was it?

Missie suddenly recalled a nostalgic item that she had slipped into one of the boxes when packing. She had found it tucked in the back of a drawer at home and, with tear-filled eyes, she had smuggled it in among some blankets. To another's eyes it would have simply been some kind of strange contraption, but to Missie it was
love
wrapped up in one simple, practical piece of equipment. Though Missie had no recollection of being carried in the backpack, her mama had long ago showed it to her and explained how her pa had lovingly fashioned it in order to carry her with him after she, just a tiny girl, had lost her first mother; he never left her at home alone while he plowed his fields and did his choring. Missie ran to the storage shed in her eagerness. With the backpack she would be able to take that horseback ride, and the baby would be able to join her!

Once the backpack had been located and shown to Willie, he selected a gentle mare and made her available to Missie whenever she wished to ride. Now some of the boredom would be gone from Missie's days. But even with the backpack, she could not go far before Baby Nathan became heavy to carry and Missie would be forced to return to the little shanty.

Missie was also bored with the sameness of the food that she had to prepare every day. Nothing tasted good anymore--nothing was fresh. Canned, dried and bland--described everything she had to prepare. No amount of herbs and spices seemed to improve it any. She wondered if Willie found it as unpalatable as she did. But, of course, Willie was too much of a gentleman to say

so.

It seemed to Missie's worn, restless spirit that planting a garden would revive her again--and so she paced back and forth, willing the snow to go away. When fresh flurries sent scattered flakes whirling through the still crisp air, Missie wiped tears of disappointment on her apron.

Finally the snow flurries changed to rain showers, and Missie's hopes grew.

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The snow melted reluctantly--especially where it had drifted by the spring--the very place Missie wanted for her garden. She felt sorely tempted to go out with a shovel, but checked herself from such foolishness. The snow gradually lost the battle, and one day when Missie went to check she was surprised and thrilled to find all traces of the winter's cold and ice gone. She began hinting to Willie that he put a plow to the sod. Willie showed more patience than Missie.

"Be a bit early yet," he insisted. "The ground hasn't had a fair chance to warm. An' remember, this ain't the East. We're right close to the mountains here, an' frosts still come on the early spring nights."

But Missie could not bear the thought of being detained. Willie, realizing what it meant to her, relented and plowed the spot, though he was sure that it was far too early to do so.

Missie felt released from captivity as she sorted her seeds and set off for planting. She took a blanket on which to deposit Nathan, and set to work. She was sure that the baby would be
as
joyful as she, at finally being free from the four walls of the shanty, but he looked about in a perplexed manner and began to fuss. Missie tried to amuse him, but he continued to wail. She then turned him over onto his tummy and patted him gently until he fell asleep. At least the fresh air would do him good.

"You're missin' so much by sleeping, my boy," she whispered. "The clear blue sky, the feel of the spring air, the smell of the soil. I do hope that someday you appreciate it all. But for now, your mama will just enjoy it for you."

Missie went to her planting. She was so glad that she had plenty of seed. She was so hungry for green, growing things; and her impatience mounted with each seed that she dropped into the ground. She could almost smell the vegetables cooking in the days ahead. The imagined taste and tang of them was pungent even in her thoughts.

Her job ended too soon; the little garden was planted. Nathan still slept, so Missie sat down beside him on the blanket and listened to the soft gurgle of the spring only a few paces away. It was so good to feel alive again. She thanked God that life was not always winter, that spring always came at last--to chase away

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the cold and heaviness, and to release one to warmth and movement again.

Nathan awoke and Missie reached for him. She talked to him, begging him to behold and enjoy what she saw, to feel the things that she felt, to breathe as deeply as she breathed. But all that the baby seemed in need of, or atune to, was the face and arms of the mother who held him close and cooed words of love to him. At length Missie gathered everything together, bundled up her baby and headed back to her sod house. Nathan was hungry, she knew, and would soon be demanding his dinner.

That very night it snowed. When Missie looked out the next morning, hoping to see another fair and sunny day, she saw instead a thin layer of white over the entire world. Willie saw her face and heard her sharp gasp. He joined her at the window, ducking his head so that he could look out.

"Moisture!" he said quickly. "Be mighty good fer those seeds of yers. Soon's the sun's up to work on it, it'll soak in real good."

Missie changed her mind about crying and gave Willie a rueful smile instead. She didn't know if Willie was right, but she wanted him to know that she loved him for his concern for her.

The sun did melt the snow, almost as soon as its warm fingers began to reach out over the brown earth, sending up to heaven little shimmering mists, like dancing vapors.

There were other mornings when Missie awoke to scattering snowfalls or frost on the ground. On such mornings she prayed that none of her brave little plants had as yet lifted their heads from the protective soil bed. Though Missie knew that her seedlings were safe as long as they were not exposed, yet she longed for their appearance. Daily she watched for signs of life in her garden. Eventually it came--a green blade here and there; a suggestion of a green spray down a row; a pair of tiny leaves breaking forth, gradually joined by others until a row could be defined. At length Missie was able to recognize onions, radishes, beans, peas and carrots. Her garden was growing.

And then one night--the dreaded frost came. Some of the hardier vegetables were seemingly untouched, but the more tender things wilted and curled up tightly against the ground. "Still plenty of time fer replantin'," Willie assured. "Ya want