Love's Long Journey (Love Comes Softly Series #3) (23 page)

Chapter 34

Looking to Another Winter

Missie and Willie made the promised trip to their new neighbors, Maria and Juan, two weeks after Maria last visited Missie. Missie teased Cookie about accompanying them, but Scottie who could also speak a little Spanish went with them instead. When the day came for the trip, Missie felt far more inclined to ride her horse than travel in a bumpy wagon. Little Nathan was lifted up to share his father's saddle, and the four started off, Scottie setting a leisurely pace in spite of Missie's impatience to reach their destination.

The fording of the river gave Missie some butterflies, and she saw again in her mind's eye the Emorys' bobbing, tilting wagon and the plunging, terror-stricken horses. But once her horse was in and swimming strongly, Missie realized that the current was not very swift.

They found Juan and Maria living in a sprawling stone house that was cool and comfortable. Missie decided right away that she would prefer stone to any other available material. Juan was pleased to show Willie around and explain the process of building

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such a home. It wasn't what Missie had been used to, but it was cool against the heat of the day, and seemed so spacious after their small sod shack. Juan promised his help when the day came for Willie to build.

They left early. Mountain rains had swollen the river waters which Scottie declared to be higher than normal for the time of year, and even though it was not considered dangerous, he wanted to ford the river in full daylight.

Maria and Missie each took great comfort in knowing that there was another woman within calling distance.

When they reached home, Willie took Missie's horse and passed Nathan to her. Missie lingered outside, enjoying the coolness of the late afternoon.

Willie turned and called back to her, "Hold supper, will ya? I'm gonna ride on up to the upper spring an' see iffen it's still flowin' enough fer the cattle over thet way. I should be back in a couple of hours."

Missie agreed, glad for the extra time before lighting the fire in the stove. She placed Nathan on the ground, guiding his tottering steps toward their small home. How shabby and tiny it looked compared to Maria's. Missie would be so thankful to have more room, a floor for rugs, and windows big enough on which to hang fluttery curtains. She heard Willie's horse leave the yard as she laid Nathan down for a much-needed nap. He was sound asleep even before Missie had completed a row on the sock she was knitting.

There was a knock at her door. Missie was not used to callers. Maybe Henry had found time for a chat; she hadn't seen him since their Sunday "church" time. She stepped to the door and opened it, fully expecting Henry--or Cookie. But it was Brady. Missie fidgeted beneath the smile that he gave her and the intensity of his eyes.

"Oh," she began, but he moved past her and entered the room. Missie felt the air tighten around her.

" 'Scuse me fer intrudin', Ma'am," he said. But there was no apology in his voice. "I thought thet maybe you being' a woman, thet ya could help me out some."

Missie remembered her lightly spoken promise of being

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available to Willie's men if there was a need. A strange, fluttery feeling made her wish that she hadn't been so quick to speak. She did not move from the door.

"I seem to have picked up a sliver in my finger here, an' do ya know--there's not one of those mangy, ol' cowpokes thet has 'em a needle."

"Oh," Missie said again, and then life seemed to return to her, "Oh, yes--I have needles. Of course." Missie moved from the open door to her sewing basket, and heard the door close behind her.

She fumbled with a package of needles and finally disengaged one that she felt to be the proper size. As she rummaged her mind whirled.
What is Brady doing here? At this hour of the day all the hands are normally busy, checking cattle, mending fences, fixing gear--something. I haven't even noticed Cookie about--
oh, yes, I did. As we rode up, Cookie was headin' for the spring with two water pails.

She turned with the needle to find Brady close behind her. "Here you are," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. But he didn't take the needle extended to him.

"I'm afraid, Ma'am, thet I'll have to ask you to be kind enough to work thet little bit of a tool fer me. My hands never were any good with anything thet size."

"Me?" Missie asked dumbly, thinking that there was no way that she was going to bend her head and work over this man's hand as she held it in her own. She could almost feel his breath upon her now in the closeness of the small room.

"I'm sorry," she said evenly. "You'll have to do it yourself-- or else ask Cookie to help you."

"Now, Ma'am," the cowboy murmured, inching closer. Even in the dimness of the shanty, Missie could see his eyes seem to darken. "Don't tell me yer man-shy?"

He reached a hand out to touch her arm and Missie stepped backward, feeling the hardness of the bed as she bumped up against it. She wanted to scream, but her throat tightened in a dryness that she had never felt before. She felt her knees threatening to give way beneath her and a short prayer welled up within her.
Oh, God, strengthen me, help me, uphold me as
You

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promised.
Then the door swung open.

"Mrs. LaHaye?" There had been no knock, but there stood Scottie. "The boss home?"

You know he's not,
Missie responded to herself. You
heard him say that he was going to the upper spring.

Instead, she said nothing. She shut her eyes to muster enough strength to remain on her feet.

"Brady?" said the foreman as though surprised. "Got those fences checked already?"

Brady turned, his eyes full of anger. Without a word he slammed out through the door. Scottie pulled out a stool for Missie. She accepted it without speaking. Then he handed her a small dipper of water; she was surprised to find that she could still swallow.

"Brady got a problem, Ma'am?" Scottie asked lightly, but Missie felt that his voice was edged with steel.

"A sliver--in his hand."

"You fix it?"

She looked down at the needle that she still held in her trembling hand and shook her head.

"I told 'im he'd have to do it himself--or get Cookie." "Slivers bother you?"

"No," Missie replied shakily, "no, but Brady does. I don't know why. I only know--" She swallowed again. "Here," she said, holding out the needle, "would you give it to him?"

"Thet's all right, Ma'am--keep yer needle. I'll look after Brady." Then he was gone, gently closing the door behind him.

Missie sat for some time before she felt her legs strong enough to stand. At length she was able to stir herself, and build a fire to prepare Willie's supper.

She said nothing to Willie--not yet; but she vowed to keep an eye open for Brady. She'd put some kind of lock on the inside of her door if she had to. There was no way that man would enter her house again.

The next morning, as she left the house to go to the spring for water she glanced about furtively.
How dreadful not to feel safe in one's own yard,
she thought. Then she heard voices coming from the side of the bunkhouse. One was Willie's voice, and with

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the sound came renewed courage for Missie.

"Henry says thet Brady drew his pay."

"Yep," Scottie replied.

"Not happy ridin' fer me?"

"He didn't say nothin"bout being' unhappy."

"But he quit?"

"Nope." And after a pause, "I fired 'im."

"Thought he was known to be
good
with cattle." Willie's voice seemed to suggest a shrug of his shoulders as though he couldn't quite understand the situation, but Scottie was boss where the cowhands were concerned.

"Reckon he was." Scottie was noncommittal.

"Reckon you had yer reasons," Willie said.

"Yeah," Scottie said softly, "reckon I did."

Missie continued on her way to the spring. Her world suddenly belonged to her again--her garden, her chickens, her house. She could count on Willie's men to care not only for his cattle but to care for her as well. And with Willie's men and her Heavenly Father, she really had no need to worry. None at all.

Missie placed a chair in the shade of the sod house and continued her work on a pair of trousers for Nathan. His dog lay nearby, already grown almost to full size. The black mongrel showed some intelligence, and was ever so gentle with young Nathan. For the gentleness, Missie allowed him her devotion.

It was cool in the evenings now, and Missie was thankful for the relief from the intense summer heat. For many days she had been busy canning the produce from her garden; and as she watched it stack up around her, she began to wonder where she would keep it from freezing over the long winter. Unless she could persuade Willie to dig
a
root cellar, they would have to bury the food in the hay in the barn. Missie wished again for a new, bigger house, but she held her tongue. She knew that it would be hers as soon as Willie was able.

She looked up from her work and saw Henry approaching. "Hi, stranger," she teased. "I had begun to wonder if you were still ridin' for this outfit. I haven't seen you for so long." "It's this boss I got," Henry responded. "Don't know nothin'

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but work, work, work!"

Missie laughed.

"But then," Henry added, "guess he can't be all bad. He's promised me two weeks off."

"Really? Ya makin' a trip?"

Henry flushed with pleasure. "I sure am," he offered. "Jest as fast as ol' Flint can carry me. Seems like downright years. . . ."

"I'm so happy for you an' Melinda," Missie said. "She must be missin' you somethin' awful, too."

"I sure hope so," Henry said. "Iffen she misses me half as much. . . ." Again he let the sentence hang.

"Have you set a date?" Missie asked, "Or am I being' nosy?" "Don't mind yer interest none. An' no, not yet. Sure wish thet we could, but it depends."

"On what?"

"On how soon I can build a house."

"With a little help, you can have a house up in a few days." "I mean a
house,
Missie, not a sod shanty."

Missie was surprised at the intensity of Henry's reply.

"I agree," she said carefully, "that there's not much invitin'

'bout a sod shanty, but it can be a home--be it ever so simple an'

confinin'."

"I'd never ask Melinda to live in such conditions--never." Henry said vehemently. "Don't you think thet I saw the look in yer eyes when ya spotted the dirt floor, the dingy windows, the crowded--" but Missie stopped him.

"Henry," she said softly, "answer me true. Do you still see that look there now? That look of surprise, of hurt, of disappointment? Is it still there?"

Henry paused, then shook his head. "No," he said, "I guess not. You've done well, Missie. Really great--an' I've admired ya fer it. A girl like you--leavin' what ya had, an' comin' way out here to this. I've truly admired ya. But, beggin' yer pardon--I won't ask thet of Melinda."

"An' I respect you for your thoughtfulness concernin' her, Henry. But you should know something." Missie stopped to choose her words carefully. "Henry, I want you to know that I'd far sooner share this little one-room dirt dwellin' with Willie

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than to live in the world's fanciest big white house without him. An' I mean that, Henry."

Henry chuckled softly to hide the depth of his feelings.

"You women are strange creatures, indeed," he said. "No wonder we men never succeed in understandin' ya. But thanks be to God fer makin' ya the way ya are. Ya really do mean thet, don't ya?"

"I really do," Missie said. And deep in her heart she marvelled at just how much she meant it. The glory of the truth somehow unshackled her spirit from the small, shabby little dwelling, to soar far above it in the strength of her love for Willie. Somehow, the long, dreaded winter ahead did not look so frightening now, even though she still faced being shut away in the one, confining room. She and Willie and Nathan might be crowded together, but they were bundled comfortably in the blanket of love.

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Chapter 35

Sundays

When Henry returned from visiting his Melinda, Missie sensed about him a loneliness that he never had to express. She wondered if he was silently realizing that perhaps love could have seen them through a winter in a little sod house; but Henry never admitted as much. He missed Melinda--that was very evident. He often found excuses to drop by the sod shanty and chat or play with Nathan to help fill the lonely hours.

Henry and the young Rusty seemed to enjoy one another's company as well, and often rode out together. Missie knew that Scottie wisely tried to team up the men who worked well together. In the evenings in the bunkhouse, Henry was teaching Rusty to strum his guitar. The two young cowboys spent many hours singing range songs and old hymns.

One Sunday as Willie, Missie and Henry sat talking after their usual time of Bible study and prayer, they discussed the coming railroad, the people it would bring, future shops, schools and even a doctor.

Then Willie said with deep feeling, "Ya know what I long fer