Love's unfolding dream (Love Comes Softly Series #6) (16 page)

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family did not ask for charity The boy threw a glance toward Marty and she stumbled on quickly, "In exchange for some of the logs, thet is. Thet is--iffen ya be carin' to trade?"

The boy relaxed. "I reckon we might," he said evenly. "I'll ask Pa."

Marty wasn't going to worry about what they would do with the extra logs.

"I'm a member of the school board here," Clark was saying. "Ya got any sisters or brothers of school age?"

"One brother. He should be in school, right enough, but I don't know as Pa can spare him. He's out logging, too."

Marty's head came up, concern gripping her heart. Oh,
Clark
, we've got to stop him, she wanted to say.
He might get hurt, too!
But she did not say it. It was really out of their hands.

They drank their tea and ate their bread, Clark dipping his in his cup. Marty wanted to chide him, but the fact was, she wished she dared do the same thing. The bread tasted rather old.

Marty looked out at the weather. The snow had increased. She thought about the man, woman, and child out in the woods chopping trees on such a day, but she made no comment.

"I was wonderin'," Clark was saying. "I have me a surplus of dry firewood--but I could sure find ways to use green logs. I'm wonderin' iffen yer pa would be willin' to make a swap. I'm in no hurry fer the green. Anytime next spring will be jest fine. I can git the firewood over to ya right away--git it outta my way"

Relief showed on the young face. "Reckon Pa would make the trade," responded the boy

"We'll plan on thet, then," Clark said and rose to go.

They thanked their host for the tea and shrugged into their warm coats. Clark was about to lead Marty to the waiting buggy when the young lad stopped them.

"I didn't catch your name," he said.

"Clark. Clark an' Marty Davis."

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"My doc's name is Davis."

"Yeah, he's our son." There was pride in Clark's voice. But the shadow in the eyes of the young boy quickly snatched it away.

"Yer wonderin' iffen he coulda saved yer arm, 'stead of takin' it, aren't ya?" Clark said softly.

The boy turned slightly away. He swallowed hard. The tears that started to form were not allowed to fall. It was several minutes before he could speak.

"Naw," he said. "Now, not really. Ma an' Pa told me he didn't have any choice." He swallowed again, obviously working to get his emotions under control. "He's . . . he's been back a number of times. He's . . . he's a fine doc. Nothing he could have done different."

Marty watched as Clark put out a hand and let it drop to the muscular shoulder. He said nothing except what the boy might understand from the slight pressure of his hand, and tears filled her eyes.

They turned to leave when the boy spoke again. "Ma said there was a girl . .. she helped the doc. Ma says I owe both of them my life. You wouldn't. . . you wouldn't know who she was, would you? I forgot to ask the doc."

"Belinda," said Clark. "Belinda. She goes with Luke some. Wants to be a nurse someday"

"Belinda," repeated the boy. "I . . . I guess I'm beholden to her. I'd like. . . I'd like to tell her thank you someday."

Clark nodded. "I think thet could be arranged," he said with a smile, and followed Marty out into the bitter wind.

133

FOURTEEN

Talking It Out

Marty kept thinking they would get their daughter back again, but Belinda was still thoughtful and quiet.

"Land sakes," said Marty to Clark as they prepared for bed one night, "I'm havin' me one awful time tryin' to keep up to all these suddenlike changes. Our Belinda--she's gone from one stage to the next before I can scarcely turn my head: A gigglin' young girl one day, an' the next, a serious young lady. Do ya think we'll get Belinda's childhood back fer a bit? I wasn't quite prepared to let 'er go jest yet."

Clark drew Marty close. He held her quietly for a few minutes, his hand stroking the long hair that she had unpinned to fall down around her shoulders.

"I've noticed it, too," he said. "Thet there accident seems to have changed our Belinda."

"Do ya think it's eatin' away at her, Clark?"

"She doesn't seem bothered--jest more serious somehow" "Guess what she went through would sober up anyone," Marty reasoned.

"It's hard to let her grow up so fast . . . I know thet . . . but truth is, I rather like 'er this way. She's kinda . . . kinda sweet, don't ya think?"

Marty smiled. "She always was yer pet. Didn't expect thet to change none jest because she adds a few years." She reached up

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to playfully pat Clark's cheek. "I'd expect ya to think she's sweet."

"I jest mean. . . well, she seems miles ahead of Amy Jo in her bearin'. She acts an' looks like a grown-up somehow. Even more than Melissa. Ya noticed thet?"

"I've noticed," said Marty.

There was silence for a moment.

"Clark, do ya think we should sorta help her talk it out? I mean, iffen this accident is botherin' her, we don't want it to turn up later in her life with scars we never guessed were there."

Clark thought about it. "Wouldn't hurt none, I guess."

"Speakin' of scars," went on Marty, "did ya see the young man again when ya took over the foodstuff and the firewood?"

"Saw 'im," Clark answered simply, knowing whom she meant.

He drew back and walked to the window. He ran a hand through his hair and stood quietly looking out at the night sky. Marty knew he was troubled. She crossed over to stand beside him and look out across the dark outlines of the farm buildings by moonlight. She laid a hand gently on Clark's arm but waited for him to speak.

"He's hurtin', Marty. Really hurtin'," Clark finally said, his voice low.

"But he seemed so . . . so acceptin' when we saw 'im before."

"I don't think the reality of it all had hit 'im yet. He was still in so much pain with the arm. . . he was still in deep shock over the whole thing. But now . . . now he knows thet it's fer real . . . permanent. . . an' there's nothin' to be done 'bout it. He'll always be a one-armed man. Thet's tough. Thet's really tough."

"Do ya think the parson could help him any?"

"I thought so . . . until I talked to the parson. He'd already been there. . . twice. He didn't even git in the door."

Marty's eyes grew large with concern.

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"Did ya . . . did ya say anythin"bout how God helped us when--?"

"Tried. Wouldn't hear it. Luke says they won't even let him make doctor
calls
anymore."

"Oh my!" exclaimed Marty. "Might thet make a problem with the wound?"

"Not physically. Luke says the arm has healed nicely. Shouldn't be infection or anythin'. But emotionally . . . well, Luke worries a fair bit 'bout thet."

"Oh dear!" Marty lamented.

"Is there anythin' we can do, Clark?" she finally asked.

"I've been thinkin' and thinkin' on it. Can't think of one thing--'cept pray"

"Did he ask 'bout Belinda again? We had promised to arrange fer 'im to see her. He wanted to thank--"

"Thet's another thing. He said to fergit the Whole thing. Doesn't want to see her. Says she didn't do 'im such a favor after all."

"Ya mean--?"

"Says he'd be better off dead."

Marty's breath caught in a quick little sob. Clark put his arm around her.

"I was so taken with him," she said. "Strugglin' with thet heavy teapot an' thet dry bread, as mannerly and self-possessed as ya please. I thought he was so plucky an' brave an'--"

"Now, let's not think less of the boy" Clark was quick to say. "He is all those things. It's normal what he's feelin'. Remember, we had God and His help . . . or I might have done exactly what this here boy is doin'. It's a tough thing he's goin' through. . . an' understandable how he's feelin'. I jest hope an' pray he's able to sort it all out and git beyond it. . . thet's all. Talk 'bout scars. This young fella's got scars all right . . . an' the worst an' deepest ain't on thet arm."

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Marty thought about the Simpson family. So nearby, yet so shut off from the help of their neighbors. She wished there were some
way--some way
they could reach out and break down the walls.

"They didn't refuse the food--the vegetables an' fruit?"

"No-o. But I think they would have iffen they hadn't been on the brink of starvation. They are proud people. It hurt them powerful to take it. Man insisted thet he'd work it off."

"So what did ya do?"

Clark shrugged. "Told 'im he could. Now I gotta come up with somethin' fer 'im to do."

"Oh, Clark. What will ya give 'im? Ya got everything done that needs doin'."

"I dunno. It's gotta be somethin' in outta the cold. His coat is so thin ya could sneeze clear through it."

"He could build some more fruit shelves in the cellar." "Ya needin' more?"

"Not really. But it's warm--an' there's room there--an' it wouldn't hurt none."

"It's an idea," said Clark, reaching out to pull the window shade down. Then he turned to climb into bed. Marty turned to follow him. She was surprised to find she was still holding her hairbrush.

"An' the firewood?" asked Marty as she returned the brush to her dresser.

"He's determined to pay fer thet, too. Guess we'll have us more green wood come spring."

"What ya gonna do with it?"

"Dunno. I'll check with Arnie an' Josh. See iffen either of 'em have any need. We should be able to figger out somethin'."

"Funny," murmured Marty as though to herself. "I don't care none fer a grown man with his hand out . . . but pride can sure enough be a hurtful thing, too."

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"Makes it a bit hard to be neighborly," agreed Clark. "Still, a man needs his dignity. We've got to allow 'im thet."

Clark blew out the light and they pulled the warm blankets up around their chins. The winter nights were cold, and there was no heat in the upstairs rooms except for what drifted up the stairs from the stoves below.

"Ya don't have sewin' thet ya need done, do ya?" Clark asked. "Clothes? Quilts? Rag rugs? Anythin'?"

Marty turned to him in the darkness. "Nothin' I can't git done over the winter. Why?"

"I was wonderin'--maybe the missus could help earn 'em a bit, sewin' or somethin'."

Marty was silent. There really wasn't that much the household needed. And she liked to do it. The long winter days and even longer evenings were made more bearable by the things that took shape in her hands. She looked forward to the projects and planned for them all fall as she worked hard in her garden patch. And now--?

"Might be," she answered Clark. "I'll see what I can come up with."

Marty finally had an opportunity to talk with Belinda. She had been watching for an opening. She did not wish to force the issue but did want to give the girl a chance to express her feelings concerning her involvement in the amputation. But it was difficult to find time.

The occasion turned up when Melissa was sent on an errand to Kate's. She asked for some extra time there because Amy Jo had sketches she was anxious to show her. Also, now that Amy Jo had gotten some practice, she wanted to try her hand at drawing some of her kin. Melissa was picked for the first sitting.

Luke had stopped by on his way back from delivering a baby.

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Belinda, as yet, had not been invited to participate in a delivery. She had coaxed--more with her eyes than words--to be able to go with Luke on one of his happier duties as a doctor, but so far Luke had held back.

After Luke had drunk his coffee to warm up some from the cold and eaten some of Marty's sponge cake, he put on his coat again and left for home.

Belinda, busy stirring up a batch of cookies for school lunches, opened the conversation.

"I fergot to ask 'im how the boy who lost his arm is doin'."

Marty looked at her daughter. She wasn't sure just what to say. Belinda seemed to sense her unrest. Her eyes turned to Marty questioningly.

"He's okay, isn't he? He didn't git infection or--?"

"No, no. He healed nice. Thet is, his arm healed."

"What're ya meanin'? He wasn't hurt anyplace else. Luke checked him carefully fer cracked ribs or--"

"No, no," Marty said again. "Nothin' like thet."

"What is it, then?" asked Belinda. "I can tell yer holdin' back somethin'."

"He's havin' a tough time adjustin', thet's all," said Marty slowly

Belinda looked relieved. "I would, too," she said simply. "Thet's to be expected. Luke talked 'bout it on the way home. He said thet workin' it through is one of the stages of acceptin' an amputation."

Marty nodded her head in agreement.

"So when Luke talks to 'im, does--?"

Marty didn't allow her to finish her question. "The boy won't see Luke any more."

"Ya mean Luke has quit callin' already? Why, he told me thet he'd keep goin' back jest to be sure thet--"

"They won't let Luke call. Told 'im not to come anymore."