'em all away in the place where ya want 'em. Do ya be a wantin"em in the kitchen or in the shed?"
Marty knew that it would be handier in the kitchen, yet if they were in the shed, it wouldn't make such a clutter until she got them put away. She opted for the shed, and they hurried through their supper in order to get at the task.
After they had finished eating, Clark pulled from his pocket a small bag of sweets and offered one to Missie. Then he gave the sack to Marty, telling her to help herself, and then to tuck it up in the cupboard for future enjoyment. Missie smacked and sucked at the special treat, declaring it 'num' and Pa's 'yummy'.
As Marty washed the dishes Clark brought the supplies in to the shed so that she would have things there to work on as soon as she was free to do so.
As she filled cans and crocks to put them away Marty felt heady with the bounty of it all. She could hear Clark as he labored under the heavy bags, moving again and again up the ladder to the kitchen loft.
Marty found it necessary to finish the job by lamplight, but at last it was all done. The cupboards were bulging. Imagine if she and Clem could have stocked up like that. Wouldn't it have been like Christmas and picnics and birthdays all wrapped up in one? She sighed and wiped away an unbidden tear.
Marty was tucking Missie in for the night, wondering if Clark was going to hear her prayers as he usually did, when she heard him in the kitchen. He seemed to be struggling with
58
a rather heavy load and Marty's curiosity led her back to investigate. She arrived to find Clark, hammer in hand removing a crate from some large object. She stood watching silently from the door while Clark's tool unmasked the crate's contents. Her breath caught in her throat, for there with shining metal and polished wood, stood the most wondrous sewing machine that she had ever seen.
Clark did not look at her, but began speaking. His voice sounded as weary as his shoulders had looked, but he seemed to feel that a brief explanation was in order.
"I ordered it some months back as a s'prise fer my Ellen. She liked to sew an' was al'ays makin' somethin' fancy-like. It was to be fer her birthday. She would have been twentyone-- tomorrow." Clark looked up then. "I'd be proud if ya'd consider it yourn now. I'm sure ya can make use of it. I'll move it into yer room under the window iffen it pleases ya."
Marty held back a sob. He was giving her this beautiful machine. She was speechless. She had always dreamed of having a machine of her own, but never had she dared to hope for one so grand. She didn't know what to say, yet she felt that she must say something.
"Thank ya," she mumbled. "Thank ya. Thet-- thet'll be fine, jest fine."
Only then did she realize that the big man before her was fighting for control. His lips trembled and as he turned away she was sure that she saw tears in his eyes. Marty brushed by and went out into the coolness of the night. She had to think, to sort things out. He had ordered the machine for his Ellen, and he was weeping. He must be suffering, too. She had noted the weary sag of his shoulders, the quivering lips, the tear- filled eyes. Somehow she had never thought of him as hurting-- of being capable of understanding how she felt. Hot tears washed down Marty's cheeks.
"Oh, Clem," her heart cried. "Why do sech things, sech cruel things, happen to people? Why? Why?"
But Marty knew that there was no easy answer. This was the first time that Clark had mentioned his wife. Marty hadn't even known her name. Indeed, she had been so
59
wrapped up in her own grief that she had not even wondered much about the woman who had been Clark's wife, Missie's mama, and the keeper of this house. Now her mind was awake to it. The rose by the door, the bright cheery curtains, Missie's lovingly sewn garments that she was fast outgrowing, the many colorful rugs on the floor. Everything-- everything, everywhere spoke of this woman. Marty felt suddenly
Marty knew that it would be handier in the kitchen, yet if they were in the shed, it wouldn't make such a clutter until she got them put away. She opted for the shed, and they hurried through their supper in order to get at the task.
After they had finished eating, Clark pulled from his pocket a small bag of sweets and offered one to Missie. Then he gave the sack to Marty, telling her to help herself, and then to tuck it up in the cupboard for future enjoyment. Missie smacked and sucked at the special treat, declaring it 'num' and Pa's 'yummy'.
As Marty washed the dishes Clark brought the supplies in to the shed so that she would have things there to work on as soon as she was free to do so.
As she filled cans and crocks to put them away Marty felt heady with the bounty of it all. She could hear Clark as he labored under the heavy bags, moving again and again up the ladder to the kitchen loft.
Marty found it necessary to finish the job by lamplight, but at last it was all done. The cupboards were bulging. Imagine if she and Clem could have stocked up like that. Wouldn't it have been like Christmas and picnics and birthdays all wrapped up in one? She sighed and wiped away an unbidden tear.
Marty was tucking Missie in for the night, wondering if Clark was going to hear her prayers as he usually did, when she heard him in the kitchen. He seemed to be struggling with
58
a rather heavy load and Marty's curiosity led her back to investigate. She arrived to find Clark, hammer in hand removing a crate from some large object. She stood watching silently from the door while Clark's tool unmasked the crate's contents. Her breath caught in her throat, for there with shining metal and polished wood, stood the most wondrous sewing machine that she had ever seen.
Clark did not look at her, but began speaking. His voice sounded as weary as his shoulders had looked, but he seemed to feel that a brief explanation was in order.
"I ordered it some months back as a s'prise fer my Ellen. She liked to sew an' was al'ays makin' somethin' fancy-like. It was to be fer her birthday. She would have been twentyone-- tomorrow." Clark looked up then. "I'd be proud if ya'd consider it yourn now. I'm sure ya can make use of it. I'll move it into yer room under the window iffen it pleases ya."
Marty held back a sob. He was giving her this beautiful machine. She was speechless. She had always dreamed of having a machine of her own, but never had she dared to hope for one so grand. She didn't know what to say, yet she felt that she must say something.
"Thank ya," she mumbled. "Thank ya. Thet-- thet'll be fine, jest fine."
Only then did she realize that the big man before her was fighting for control. His lips trembled and as he turned away she was sure that she saw tears in his eyes. Marty brushed by and went out into the coolness of the night. She had to think, to sort things out. He had ordered the machine for his Ellen, and he was weeping. He must be suffering, too. She had noted the weary sag of his shoulders, the quivering lips, the tear- filled eyes. Somehow she had never thought of him as hurting-- of being capable of understanding how she felt. Hot tears washed down Marty's cheeks.
"Oh, Clem," her heart cried. "Why do sech things, sech cruel things, happen to people? Why? Why?"
But Marty knew that there was no easy answer. This was the first time that Clark had mentioned his wife. Marty hadn't even known her name. Indeed, she had been so
59
wrapped up in her own grief that she had not even wondered much about the woman who had been Clark's wife, Missie's mama, and the keeper of this house. Now her mind was awake to it. The rose by the door, the bright cheery curtains, Missie's lovingly sewn garments that she was fast outgrowing, the many colorful rugs on the floor. Everything-- everything, everywhere spoke of this woman. Marty felt suddenly
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