Love's unfolding dream (Love Comes Softly Series #6) (15 page)

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Much later than their parents had anticipated, Luke and Belinda turned in from the road. Marty had been frequently checking out the kitchen window, her eyes scanning for any sign of them. It was with great relief she saw Luke's team of blacks coming up the lane.

Luke came in with Belinda, though the hour was getting late.

Marty met them at the door, the questions showing in her eyes. It was evident from the extreme weariness of both her offspring that something unexpected had faced them at the farm home.

"It wasn't just a break," Luke informed her quietly.

"Ya like a cup of hot tea and a sandwich?" Marty asked him.

"That would be nice," said Luke, and he shrugged out of his coat, then unwrapped the blanket Belinda had clutched about her.

"Ya be needin' me, Ma?" asked Belinda in a weary voice. "No. No, guess not," Marty responded, then cast a glance Luke's direction.

"I think I'll go on up to bed, then," said the young girl. "Don't ya want somethin' to eat?"

"No. Thank ya, Ma. I'm not hungry. Jest awful tired." Luke's eyes told Marty to let her go.

Marty pulled Belinda close for a moment and then kissed her on the forehead. Belinda looked like she was glad for the comfort of her mother's arms and gave a weary smile.

Marty reminded her that Melissa was staying overnight with Amy Jo, so she'd be able to get to bed and rest right away. Belinda didn't look like she would be up to answering any questions.

Luke pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Clark joined him but shook his head no at Marty's offer of a cup of tea. Marty busied herself at the stove and cupboard and soon had a

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roast beef sandwich, made with thick slices of homemade bread and farm butter, to set before her weary son. She poured two cups of tea and sat down to join him.

"I take it this was a tough one," Clark was saying.

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Marty felt both pride and concern at the words of her son. She would watch Belinda very carefully during the next few days--maybe try to get her to talk about her feelings and thoughts on it all.

"An' the patient?" asked Clark. "He's gonna make it?"

"He's a kid of seventeen," said Luke with deep compassion. "He'll make it--physically. He's out of danger now, barring complications. But whether he'll make it emotionally or not, only time will tell. It's going to be tough. I don't need to tell you that."

Clark nodded solemnly.

"I was wondering. . . would you mind making a call in a few days? Give him a bit of time to get used to . . . his . . . his misfortune, then just stop by?"

Clark nodded in agreement.

"And, Pa," said Luke quietly, "wonder if you'd mind leaving your artificial limb at home." *

Clark said nothing. Just nodded again in understanding.

"Well," said Luke, getting to his feet. "I'd best be getting on home. Abbie will be concerned." Luke looked evenly at Clark and Marty and then turned toward the stairs. "First, I think I'll just go up and say good night and thanks to my little sister."

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THIRTEEN

The New Neighbors

Marty did watch Belinda carefully over the next few days. The girl did not seem withdrawn or troubled, but she was much more solemn than she had been. She did not join in with the other two girls in the sighing and tittering over Jackson. Overnight, it seemed, she had become more mature--above such childish games. Marty did not know if she was thankful or regretful. Belinda was still very young. Marty worried about the experience robbing her of even a brief moment of girlhood.

When Melissa returned home to the big house from her overnight with Amy Jo, she wanted to know all about Belinda's last "adventure." Belinda answered her questions very briefly. A boy's arm had been crushed in a logging accident, she informed Melissa, and Luke had needed to amputate the limb.

Melissa grimaced and looked over at Clark and glanced at his leg.

"Was it awful?" asked Melissa.

"Yes," answered Belinda briefly and went out to get the clothes off the line.

Clark and Marty waited for a few days, and then as Luke had suggested, they hitched the team and went to call on their new neighbor. Clark felt a bit awkward returning to his crutch. He had almost forgotten how to use it.

The ride to the Coffms' old farmstead was a quiet one. A cold

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wind whipped about little flurries of snow, and Marty shivered against the cold. What would happen when they got to the new neighbors? What would they say? What
could
they say? There really weren't any words in the world that would comfort them.

"Looks like winter's really settlin' in," Clark mentioned as he hurried the team with a flick of the reins. Marty shivered again. The thought of winter somehow fit with thoughts of the visit ahead.

As they turned the team down the lane to the log house, Clark and Marty both noticed the condition of the farmyard.

"Things sure do go down quickly when a farm is left vacant," Clark commented, and Marty silently agreed.

Clark tied the team. They both had expected someone to come to the door, if not out to the yard, to welcome them, but there was no sign of movement anywhere. Clark led the way up to the door. A wisp of smoke was struggling from the chimney, fighting its way against the wind and snow.Marty pulled her coat more tightly about her and, too, fought her way against the wind.

Clark rapped loudly on the wooden door. They could hear some shuffling inside, but the door did not open. Clark rapped again.

The door opened a crack, and the pale face of a young man peeked out at them. He looked pained and hesitant.

"What d'ya want?" he rasped out.

"We're neighbors--from down the road a piece," Clark responded. "Jest thought we'd pay a call."

The door opened a bit farther. Marty could see the bandages over the stub of an arm. There were traces of blood showing on the whiteness. She shivered but not from the cold. She wasn't quite prepared for this.

"Nobody home but me," the lad said, still not inviting them

in.

"Then guess we'll jest visit with you a spell," answered Clark

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cheerily, and he moved slightly to usher Marty in before him.

The boy moved back from the door, allowing it to open wide enough for their entrance. Marty could tell that it was only manners, not desire, that allowed them into the cabin. Her heart was deeply stirred for the young man.

He turned to them. "Won't ya sit," he said gruffly.

Clark did not take the chair nearby, the one that had been offered. He helped Marty out of her coat and seated her, then walked across the room to a chair near the window His crutch thumped strangely on the wooden floor. There had been a time when the thumping crutch had sounded familiar. Now, after a number of years with the artificial limb, it sounded strange and eerie.

The boy had noticed. Marty saw him stiffen.

Clark seated himself and laid the crutch aside. He turned to the young man.

"Don't think I've heard yer name," he began. The boy didn't respond, and he went on, "Understand yer pa jest bought the place here."

"We're jest leasing," answered the boy. "Got no money for buying."

"Heard about yer accident. Powerful sorry. Terrible pain, ain't

it?"

The dark eyes of the boy shadowed. Marty wondered if he was about to ask Clark what he knew about the pain, but his eyes fell again to the stump of a leg. He didn't say anything, just nodded dumbly.

"The worst should soon be over now," Clark continued. "It should soon be lettin' ya get some sleep at night."

Again the boy nodded. He still said nothing. Marty concluded he did not want to discuss his missing arm.

"Care for some tea?" the boy finally asked into the silence. "That would be nice," exclaimed Marty, sounding a bit too

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enthusiastic to her own ears. The young fellow moved forward to lift the teapot from a cupboard shelf and put in the tea leaves. The kettle on the stove was already hot, and he poured the water into the pot. It slopped over some, hot water sizzling as it hit the iron of the stove surface. Clearly he was still adjusting to managing with only one hand.

"Can I give ya some help--" Marty began, rising from her chair, but as she caught the quick glance of Clark, she sat back down and busied herself with easing imaginary wrinkles from her full skirt.

The boy fumbled with cups from the cupboard. He handled them without too much problem, but when he went to slice some dry-looking bread to go with the drink, Marty turned away. She could not bear to see him struggling with the small task.

She could feel the tears stinging her eyes.
Why? Why should one so young face such pain and loss?

Marty let her eyes move over the small room. She needed something--anything--to fill her thoughts.

The room was dingy and sparsely furnished. The little that was there needed care. The bare wooden floor was in need of scrubbing. Dirty dishes were stacked on the bit of available cupboard space. The stove was covered with charred bits of remaining spills. The walls and windows were empty of anything that would give the place a homey look. Marty shuddered again and turned back to the young boy. It was clear that the family was not very well off. Marty felt pity for them rising within her. Determinedly she shook it off. She felt sure they would not welcome her pity

just pull up your chairs," the boy was saying, and he placed the bread and tea on the table.

"'Fraid we're outta butter," he acknowledged without any real apology in his voice. He was just stating a fact.

Clark helped Marty move her chair to the table and then he pulled his own forward. Marty ached to be allowed the privilege

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of serving the tea, but she held her tongue. The boy poured. Some of it splashed on the table without comment from anyone.

"Where you folks from?" asked Clark as he sipped the tea.

"We jest came back from the West," said the boy. "Afore that Pa worked in a hardware store. He was sure the West would make us a better living, but we had us some hard luck."

"Sorry to hear thet," responded Clark.

"My pa got sick with some kind of lung fever, and Ma an' me just couldn't keep things going. He's some better now, but by then we'd lost our claim. Pa tried to get jobs in various towns, but there wasn't anything there, either. So we came on back. Got this far on the cash we had. We heard 'bout this here place. Fellow in town said we could live here cheap. Just a few dollars a month, but it needs lots of fixing. Can't rent the land though. Guess one of the boys still farms it."

That would be Josh, the Coffins' son-in-law Clark and Marty knew that Josh farmed his father's land along with his own.

It was not intended as a hard-luck story, they could tell, just a brief statement of how things were.

"Where're yer folks now?" asked Clark.

"Logging," replied the boy. "This fellow said we could help ourselves to all the logs we wanted. We need firewood, and Pa reckoned anything extra we could take out we could sell for supplies."

Logging! Both his pa and his ma. Logging to try to get fuel supplies so that the family could survive the harshness of the prairie winter.
Marty shivered again. Logging had already cost the young boy his arm.

"I got me a whole root cellar of vegetables and fruit," Marty said. "I was wonderin' what to do with all the extry. It'll jest up and spoil a sittin' there. I hate haulin' out rotten vegetables come spring. We can jest bring some of 'em over here fer the use of you folk."

Clark caught the look on the face of the young man. The