Love's unfolding dream (Love Comes Softly Series #6) (8 page)

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"Does she look like her ma or pa?"

"We've never seen her--none of us."

"But didn't Aunt Missie ever write who she looks like?" This question caused Belinda to stop and reflect. But after a few minutes she was unable to come up with any answer. She

leaned forward and tapped Marty on the shoulder.

"Mama, did Missie ever say who Melissa takes after?" Marty too, thought for a few moments before responding. "No-o," she said slowly now. "Don't recall she did, but I . . .

I s'pose she'll look like her ma. No reason fer her not to."

The answer was unsatisfactory to Belinda, but she didn't say

SO.

"Well," whispered Amy Jo relentlessly, "she might be real fat. She might even be ugly."

Belinda recalled a comment of her mother's from a few days back. Marty had said it was far more important how Melissa
acted
than how she
looked.
Would Melissa be difficult to get along with? Belinda had heard her ma and pa on more than one occasion talk about how the ranch hands doted on the girl. They enjoyed the boys, but she was their favorite, and they were her self-appointed protectors. Yes, Melissa Joy could well be spoiled.

Belinda had a fleeting wish that she could escape the smartly moving buggy and return home to her own room. Maybe she shouldn't have been so quick in offering to share it. Maybe it would have been better if Melissa had stayed in the West instead of coming here to continue her schooling. Maybe. . .

But Amy Jo was asking questions again. "What if she has freckles?"

"Nothin' wrong with freckles."

Amy Jo tossed her head and scowled. "Oh yeah," she sputtered,
"you
can say thet. You ain't got none. Iffen ya had 'em, ya'd know there's somethin' wrong with 'em, all right."

Belinda gave her an impatient look. They had discussed

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freckles many times in the past. She knew Amy Jo had always hated her own scattering of freckles. Belinda always felt that the discussion led nowhere and accomplished nothing.

"You've hardly got any, either," she said. "Don't know why ya fuss 'bout 'em so."

"Well, iffen ya had 'em you'd--"

"Girls!" said Marty sternly.

Belinda and Amy Jo exchanged glances, knowing better than to continue the bickering. Amy Jo gave Belinda an angry look and mouthed a few words Belinda did not understand. Belinda looked away. At least now Amy Jo might be quiet for a while.

But not for long. "How big do you think she is?"

"She's past fourteen."

"Not 'old.'
Big.
How tall?"

Belinda shrugged. Amy Jo's guess was as good as hers. She couldn't understand why the girl persisted. Perhaps it hadn't been so wise to invite Amy Jo to meet the stage with them.

Amy Jo toyed with the ribbon on her long reddish brown braid. In spite of being peeved with her, Belinda found herself marveling at Amy Jo's unique coloring. It wasn't often that auburn hair was paired with large violet-colored eyes.

Without thinking Belinda blurted out,
"You
don't look like yer ma."

Amy Jo's head swung around to stare at Belinda, her lovely eyes wide with questions. Marty, too, turned to listen from the front seat.

Belinda hastened to explain her sudden comment. "I meanya don't look
only
like yer ma. Ya got her eyes, and her chin, too, I think, but not her hair color or the shape of her face."

"Ma says my hair is the same color as my gramma Warren's," declared Amy Jo, flipping one braid back over her shoulder.

Belinda nodded.

"An' my face is shaped like Pa's," Amy Jo went on.

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"Ya see," pointed out Belinda, "Melissa could have bits--I mean, parts--of things that are like any of the family. She doesn't have to look like her ma or her pa--at least not
jest
like one of 'em."

Amy Jo scowled, not willing to part with her owlishness. But she did stop asking questions that had no answers.

As they continued the journey into town, Marty thought more about the two girls' recent discussion about looks and Amy Jo's last declaration on the subject.
Like yer pa's,
Marty agreed silently,
an' like his pa's.
Every once in a while she caught a fleeting expression or a turn of Amy Jo's head that reminded Marty of Clare's father--her first husband, Clem. Those reminders were not disturbing or sad--simply a memory of a long-ago time.

The long ride to town finally ended. Now they faced a wait for the stage to arrive. Marty fervently hoped it would not be late.

"Why don't you two go git yerselves some
ice
cream?" Clark offered, fishing some coins from his pocket, and the girls gladly accepted the money and ran off down the street.

Marty turned to Clark, relief showing in her face. Clark no doubt had read her thoughts. He knew how much quibbling children bothered Marty.

"They're jest all keyed up, thet's all," he said. "They'll calm down once the stage gets here."

"I do hope so," murmured Marty with a sigh. "Oh, I hope this works. I hope it don't turn out to be two girls against one. I couldn't stand the bickerin' iffen it did."

"Now don't ya go borrowin' trouble," said Clark as he flipped the reins of the team over the hitching rail.

Marty stood still, her brow creased in thoughtfulness.

"Maybe we should have at least asked a few questions," she continued. "Clark--we really know nothin"bout this granddaughter of ours."

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"Know all we need to know," responded Clark comfortably, reaching out to take Marty's arm and steer her across the dusty street. "We know she's our granddaughter, and we know she needs a place to stay whilst she gits her schoolin'. Now thet there is enough, to my way a' thinkin'."

Marty sighed again and lifted her skirts to keep the dust from sifting up onto them with each step. Clark might be right, but she did hope they weren't in for any unhappy surprises.

Marty did some shopping in the local store. She really didn't need further provisions, but it helped to fill the minutes until the stage was due. With time left over, she decided to look at the yard goods. Melissa might be needing some new frocks for school. Missie had written nothing about it, but it wouldn't hurt for Marty to know what was available should she need to do some sewing.

She noticed that the bright bolt of colorful print Amy Jo had picked for the curtains and bedspread was still on the shelf. She wasn't surprised. She couldn't imagine anyone else wanting it. Marty considered buying it on the sly and tucking it away until Amy Jo's birthday surprise, but she decided against it. Amy Jo was so changeable she might pick something entirely different by the time her birthday rolled around.

Where are the girls, anyway?
Marty checked the store clock. They were taking an unusual amount of time to get their ice cream.
They haven't gone and gotten themselves in some kind of trouble!
Marty laid aside the bolt of blue gingham she was holding and went to look for them.

She didn't need to look far. They were stationed on the sidewalk in front of the stagecoach office. The two girls had claimed a bench there. They sat sedately swinging their legs and talking excitedly.

Looks like they're friends again.
Relieved, Marty turned back to the yard goods. There were some very pretty pieces, and she

69

decided to buy a length for a new dress for Belinda, who was quickly outgrowing her frocks. Marty could not decide between two pieces of material and ended up taking them both. She would need another one soon anyway, she reasoned, and this would save her an extra trip into town.

Purchasing the yard goods and the thread took several minutes, and Marty was glad for the distraction from waiting. She chatted with the store owner as the yard goods were measured. To her chagrin, her voice sounded almost as high-pitched and excited as did Belinda's and Amy Jo's.

At last she went to join the girls. Clark was already there, seated on the sidewalk talking with the local livery man. Marty slowed her steps. She must get her emotions under control. She was acting like a giddy schoolgirl! What kind of a grandmother would Melissa think she had?

Marty decided to take her parcels to the buggy and staw them beneath the seat. Clark offered to do it for her, but she declined. Then Belinda jumped up and said she'd run them over, and Marty knew Belinda would most likely "run," all right.

"I'll go with ya," Amy Jo offered enthusiastically, jumping up.

"No--no, thet's fine," assured Marty. "There's still lots of time. I'll jest take 'em on over. Give me somethin' to do."

By the time she returned, others had gathered to meet the stage, as well. Some were strangers to Marty, but she also noticed neighbor folk and some from the little town. They exchanged greetings and pleasantries.

"You expectin' someone in on the stage?" asked Mrs. Colson, the new grocer's wife.

Marty didn't suppose she'd be standing there in the heat and dust unless she was waiting for someone, but she smiled warmly and informed Mrs. Colson that their granddaughter from the West was joining them for the school year.

"How nice," said Mrs. Colson with a matching smile. "I got

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a sister comin' in. She jest lost her husband a couple months back an' don't know what to do with herself."

Marty murmured her sympathy and understanding.

"I do hope me thet she ain't a burden," Mrs. Colson went on quite frankly. "Some people in their grievin' feel thet the whole world should grieve with 'em. I ain't got the time nor the inclination to--"

But the stagecoach rounded the bend, and her words were covered by the cheer that went up from the waiting group. Though Marty did not join the cheer, the whole of her being suddenly seemed to strain forward. She wondered for a moment if she'd be able to stay on her feet, and then the dizziness quickly passed. She stepped forward to take Clark's arm, more for emotional support than for physical aid.

Clark, as always, sensed her emotion and reached down to gently squeeze the hand that rested on his arm.

What if Melissa missed the stage--or changed her mind at the last minute?
flashed through Marty's mind. She shook the thought aside as Belinda pressed in against her, excitement making her tremble.

"Mama," she asked, tapping on Marty's arm for attention as she'd done when a youngster. "Mama, how will we know her?"

Marty's face turned blankly to Belinda's upturned one. She had no answer. She had never seen her granddaughter and had not thought to ask for any "sign." She just thought . . . just thought they'd know her
somehow.
What if they didn't? What if they had to ask?
How embarrassing!
thought Marty in panic. But Clark was speaking.

"Well, now, I don't s'pose there's gonna be too many fourteen-year-old girls a travelin' all alone on thet there stage," he said confidently.

The worry left Belinda's eyes. Marty reached down and

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pulled her close. She wondered just which heart was beating the hardest.

In a flurry of trail dust, the stage skidded to a stop. The driver threw the reins to the waiting liveryman and jumped to the ground. The door was opened, and a well-dressed man stepped down. Marty's eyes quickly noted that he wasn't an acquaintance, and she dismissed him.

A matronly lady was next, and Marty looked over at Mrs. Colson. But it was not she who claimed the woman. A man stepped forward, one Marty did not know, and the two embraced and walked off toward a bay team that stood at the nearest hitching rail.

Marty's heart continued to hammer away in her chest.

A younger man descended. He cast a glance in their direction at the two girls, nodded his head at the nearby men, claimed one piece of luggage, which he shouldered, then walked toward the hotel.

Marty could feel Belinda quivering. The suspense was tying them all in knots.

And then a young lady--no, a child, or was she a young lady?--stepped carefully down from the stage. A mass of curly brown hair hung beneath her hat, and deep brown eyes looked curiously around at the crowd. Marty started to dismiss her.
Missie has fair hair,
she argued with herself. And then the girl smiled. Smiled right at them. And Marty recognized Missie's smile, and she knew with a quickening of her heart that she was looking at Melissa Joy.

Clark must have known it even before her, for he had already stepped forward and was even now reaching to claim the hand luggage the girl carried.

But she didn't offer her luggage she offered herself With a glad little cry she threw herself into his arms. It was enough to propel Marty forward. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she