Love's unending legacy (Love Comes Softly #5) (10 page)

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Marty turned from hugging the young man to Kate.

"An' this is Kate, Clare's wife," she introduced him warmly. "An' ya already met our Ellie."

Ellie stood rooted to the spot, feeling rather self-conscious and silly under Lane's gaze. He stepped forward.

"Not really." he said. "I sorta found her--but we weren't introduced proper like."

"Ellie," said Marty, "this is Lane, the one we've told ya so much 'bout."

Lane moved closer to acknowledge the introduction.

Ellie held out her hand. "I'm pleased to meet ya," she said softly. "I'm sorry I didn't realize who ya were."

Lane took the hand and looked into Ellie's blue eyes. Neither of them spoke. Ellie was rather surprised and not a little dismayed by her tumbling thoughts. She'd had no shortage of young men who would have stood in line to come calling if she'd given the slightest hint of interest, but none of them had made her feel like this.
You only just now met this Lane,
she told herself sternly.
Now get yourself back in hand,
she finished her silent lecture.

Marty insisted that Lane stay for supper. It hadn't been too difficult to persuade him. He said he was anxious for a good, long visit with Clark and Marty. He had news concerning Willie and Missie and their family. He had up-to-date reports on the new little church and its growth since they had left. There were messages from the ranch hands. And then, he said, there was his number-one reason for being in their home that evening--the package from Missie that he was to hand deliver. He reached into his shirt pocket. "Missie sent this, an' she told me not to dare fergit."

Lane withdrew a piece of carefully folded paper.

"Missie sent ya a lock of Baby Melissa's hair." He handed the small packet to Marty. Marty unwrapped it carefully, and a tiny scrap of soft, fluffy baby hair lay snuggled against the paper.

Ellie watched her mother struggle to hold back the tears.

"Far away in the West I've got a little granddaughter," Marty

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whispered as she held up the tiny baby curl. She lifted it up and it wrapped around her finger. There was just a tint of red to the golden lock. Marty held it to her lips and the tears began to fall.

Marty wiped her eyes as she turned to Lane. "Thank ya," she murmured. "She must be beautiful."

"We think so," Lane said. "We all think so."

"What a place fer a little girl to grow up," Clark spoke up. "There on a ranch with a dozen men to spoil her!"

They all laughed.

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ELEVEN
Ma Graham

Marty wanted to see Ma one more time before Christmas, so she asked Clark to hitch up the team for her while there was still a pleasant break in the winter weather. He reluctantly agreed because he knew how important it was to her, but his eyes showed his concern.

"Sure yer not wantin' me to drive ya on over?"

"I'll be fine," Marty assured him. "Really, Clark, I'm feelin' just fine now. Best I been feelin' fer months."

Clark eyed her rounded body. "Well, be extra careful," he cautioned.

But Marty stopped him with a playful toss of her wet dishrag. "I won't be doin' any racin'," she promised with a smile.

Though the wintry sun was shining, the air still held a sharp chill. Marty had not gone far when she was glad for the extra blanket tucked about her at the insistence of her family.

She wondered who might be meeting her in the Graham yard to take the team now that Ben was gone. He had always been so quick to greet her and hurry her off to see Ma while he tended the horses. The thought of Ben not being there made Marty's heart ache once more for the empty place left in their lives.

She thought of Ma and wondered just how she was handling the long days and nights alone. It must be awfully hard on her and even more so with Christmas approaching. Christmas was a

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beautiful time of year but also a very lonely time if a person had recently lost a special loved one.

When Marty turned the team into the Graham yard and alighted from the sleigh, she was soon greeted by Lou, who came from the barn. He welcomed her warmly and sent her on in to see Ma, just as his father had done on so many previous occasions.

Marty did not have time to knock, for Ma had seen her through the window and came to meet her.

"Been so hopin' ya would come!" Ma said. "Been needin' ya somethin' awful."

Marty removed her heavy coat, hugged Ma, and crossed to warm her hands at the kitchen stove.

"I was thinkin' ya might," she said, her own tears close to spilling. "My thoughts are of ya so much, an' I'm prayin' so often ... but thet ... even thet doesn't help much, I'm afraid."

"Oh, it helps. To be sure, it helps," Ma assured her. "I've just been feelin' the prayers of those who are upholdin' me. I have no idea how I'd ever make it without 'em."

They both were silent for a moment.

"It sure does git lonely, though," Ma went on as she motioned Marty toward a chair at the table. "Even with my family nearby--an' they've been so good, always invitin' me fer supper or coffee or just to talk. But I've got to make the adjustment on my own, Marty. At first I was over there 'most every day. Thet was fine fer a while, but I can't keep on like thet. I've just gotta make the adjustment to livin' alone."

Marty sat down, and Ma pulled out a chair across from her. "Ya know, in some ways," Ma went on, "this time is harder than when I lost Thornton."

Marty was surprised.

"What I'm meanin' is this: when I lost Thornton, even though it was terrible hard--'cause I loved him so much an' he was so young, and I was so unprepared--still I had my young'uns, an' I knew thet I couldn't give up--not fer a minute. They sorta kept

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me goin', if ya know what I mean. I scarce had time to think of my own sorrow. Well, this time I'm here all alone. My young'uns are grown now. It seems there just isn't a good reason to keep on a goin' a'tall."

"Oh, but there is," Marty quickly put in.

"I know. I know. I preach myself all those sermons many times a day, but I have a hard time believin' 'em."

"Ya said thet it takes time," Marty reminded Ma. "Remember? Ya haven't had much time yet, Ma." Marty reached across to grasp the work-worn hands folded one on top of the other.

Ma sat with head bowed, and Marty feared Ma would suddenly begin sobbing. Instead she squared her shoulders and looked up with a shaky yet brave smile. "Time?" she said. "It do take time, all right. Time an' God."

Marty toyed with an edge of the table, running a finger back and forth on the wood grain. "Wouldn't hurt none, either, iffen ya tried to look ahead," she said. "Christmas is comin'. Ya got a whole passel of grandchildren. Got their gifts all ready?"

Ma shook her head.

"Best ya git out yer knittin' needles and yer crochet hook, then, 'cause they're all gonna be expectin' Grandma to come up with the usual passel of scarves an' mittens."

"Oh, Marty, I just have no heart fer Christmas!" Ma mourned.

Marty rose and moved around the table to lay her hand on the shoulder of the older woman. "The hardest Christmas I ever faced was the one just after I lost Clem," she stated. "But ya know what? In lookin' back now, I see it as my most meanin'ful Christmas. Never have I felt the true meanin' of Christmas more'n I did thet year.

"I've often wondered why," she went on, sinking into the chair next to Ma, "but I think maybe it was because thet year I decided to use Christmas as a growin' time. I didn't even understand what it was all 'bout at the time, but I knew God had a far deeper meanin' fer Christmas than we usually give it. I wanted it. I wanted

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to find an' understand thet meanin'. At the time, all I knew was thet I wanted to give Missie a special Christmas. She had already lost so much, an' I wanted to help heal some of those painful memories. In givin' to Missie, I got far more myself I kinda think thet's the true meanin' of Christmas. ..." Marty paused and looked into Ma's face.

"Now, ya got a family," she continued after a moment. "A family thet ya love very much." Marty's voice was low but clear. "They are all hurtin' in their own way, but mostly they are feelin' deep sorrow fer you. Christmas isn't gonna mean much to any of 'em--unless
you
can give it meanin'. They need ya, Ma. They need ya ever' bit as much as they did when they lost their other pa."

Ma was crying softly as Marty spoke. When Marty finished, the older woman blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

"Yer right," she said. "In my sorrow I just haven't seen it. They do need me. All of 'em."

She left the table and went for the boiling coffee.

"My lands!" she exclaimed as she poured two cups and lowered herself wearily back into her chair. "I'm way behind. By this time most years I already had four or five pairs of mittens finished. I'm really gonna have to hustle, ain't I, Marty?"

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TWELVE
Lane Helps Out

The LaHaye family got away on their visit west as planned, and Lane settled in to oversee their farm. There really wasn't all that much to do over the winter months. The stock needed tending, and there were two cows to milk night and morning, but he still wondered if he'd have empty hours hanging over him.

Glad that he had an excuse, he went to see the Davises and explained his predicament to Clare and Arnie. He began with, "What ya usually doin' with the long days of winter when there be no field work?"

"Well, we more'n have our days full with cuttin' the year's wood supply." answered Clare.

"The LaHayes got wood stacked a mile high," Lane informed them. "Told me not to be botherin 'bout gittin' out any more. They gotta use thet up before it goes rotten."

"Then we've got all of the stock to care fer."

"They don't keep much stock. One sow, a few chickens, some milk cows, and a few beef cattle. They don't even have 'em a dog." Arnie laughed. "Hope ya like readin'," he joked.

"Don't mind readin'," answered Lane, "but I sure don't wanna be doin' it all the time. Mind iffen I give ya a hand with yer cuttin'?"

"Yeah, we're gonna be gittin' out a little extra wood this year. Gonna have three fires of our own to keep burnin', what with the folks', mine, an' Arnie's here," said Clare. "'Sides, we kinda

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thought we'd like to add a bit to Ma Graham's woodpile, as well. Sure could use some extry help. Wanta swing an axe fer a few days?"

It was more than Lane had dared to hope for. His days would easily be filled with activity and, in working with the Davis boys, he might even catch a glimpse of Ellie now and then. He promised Clare and Arnie he would be over the next morning as soon as he had finished the farm chores.

The chores took Lane a little longer than he had hoped, and he was concerned about the time as he hurried to the Davis farm, not even stopping for breakfast. He wondered if Clare and Arnie would be waiting or had already left for the woods without him.

He need not have worried, for the hour was still early and the Davis men were busy with the livestock when he arrived.

"Go on in an' say mornin' to Ma," Arnie called to him. "I'll be in shortly fer another cup of coffee an' my lunch. Ya might even be able ta talk the womenfolk into a cup for yerself."

Lunch,
thought Lane, disgusted with himself.
I never even thought 'bout fixin' myself some lunch.

Ellie opened the door to his knock. Trim and attractive in a dress of blue gingham with white cute and collar, a stiffly starched apron tied around her, Ellie smiled when she saw him, and Lane could feel his heart thumping.

"Won't ya come in?" she welcomed him. "The boys said thet ya had kindly offered to help git out the wood."

Lane entered and flipped his hat onto a peg near the door. "Ma'll be right down," said Ellie. "She just went up to git her knittin'. Care fer some coffee?"

"Theed be powerful nice, ma'am," answered Lane, suddenly realizing just how hungry he was.

Ellie wrinkled a pert nose at him. "An' don't call me
ma'am,"
she teased. "Ya make me feel like an old-maid schoolmarm."

Lane grinned. "Well, ya sure don't look like one," he dared to say and quickly added "miss."

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"Ya needn't say miss, either," retorted Ellie.

At Lane's raised eyebrows, Ellie said, "Just `Ellie` will do."

Lane nodded and Ellie indicated a chair at the table. Lane sat down and wondered what on earth to do with his hands. They seemed too big for his lap and too awkward for anything else. Ellie was no doubt too busy pouring a cup of coffee and selecting some morning muffins to notice.

"Those sure do look good, miss ... Ellie," he said as she set the fresh-baked pastries before him.

"Bet ya didn't even stop fer a decent breakfast," she chided. "I know how my brothers batch. They'd starve to death iffen someone didn't look out fer 'em." And so saying, Ellie went for her frying pan and some eggs and bacon.

Lane was hungry, but he sure didn't want her to go to all the trouble. Still, he wasn't quite sure how to stop her, so he just sat and watched her as she fixed the plate of food.

"There, now," she said as she placed the plate before him. "Iffen yer kind enough to work for the Davises, the least thet we can do is to feed ya." She reached for his cup to refill it but discovered he had not yet touched it.

"Ya don't care fer coffee?" she asked him.

"Oh no. I do. I love coffee. Don't know how I'd ever git by without it. Why, on the ranch--" Lane stumbled to a stop. "I was just too busy to start drinkin'," he finished lamely.

"Busy?"

"Watchin' ya," he said softly. He could feel his face turn red at the boldness of it.

Ellie flushed, too, and turned back to the cupboards. "Best ya eat 'fore it gits cold," she said, sounding a little flustered. "I've got some lunches to make."

Lane busied himself with his plate and soon had cleaned up the bacon and eggs and finished the muffins. He crossed to the stove to refill his own cup. Ellie raised her eyes from her sandwiches. Lane took a sip and then lifted his cup to her.