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Authors: Janette Oke
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like an intruder. What had she been like, this Ellen? Had she ever boiled the coffee over or made a flop of the biscuits? No, Marty was sure that she hadn't. But she had been so young-- only twenty-one tomorrow-- and she was already gone. True, Marty was even younger, nineteen in fact, but still twenty-one seemed so young to die. And why did she die? Marty didn't know. There were so many things that she didn't know, but a few things were becoming clear to her. There had been a woman in this house who loved it and made it a home, who gave birth to a baby daughter that she cherished, who shared days and nights with her husband. Then he had lost her and he hurt-- hurt like she did over losing her Clem. She had been feeling that she was the only one in the world who bore that sorrow, but it wasn't so.
"It's a mean world," she thought as she turned her face upward. "It's mean an' wicked an' cruel," she stormed.
The stars blinked down at her from a clear sky.
"It's mean," she whispered, "but it's beautiful. What was it that Ma had said? 'Time' she'd said, 'it is time that is the healer-- time an' God.' " Marty supposed that she meant Clark's God.
"Iffen we can carry on one day at a time, the day will come when it gets easier an' easier, an' one day we surprise ourselves by even being' able to laugh an' love agin." That's what Ma had said.
It seemed so far away to Marty, but somehow she had the firm belief that Ma Graham should know.
Marty turned back to the house. It was cool in the evening now, and she realized that she was shivering. When she entered the kitchen she found that all traces of the machine and the crate had been removed.
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On the kitchen table was a large package wrapped with brown paper and tied with store twine. Clark indicated it.
"I'm not sure what might be in there," he said. "I asked Missus McDonald at the store to make up whatever a woman be a needin' to pass the winter. She sent thet. I hope it passes."
Marty gasped. Just what did he mean? She wasn't sure. "Would ya like me to be a movin' it in on yer bed so's ya can be a sortin' through it?"
Without waiting for her answer, which may have taken half the night, she felt so tongue-tied, he carried it through to her room and placed it on her bed. He turned to leave.
"It's been a long day," he said wearily. "I think I'll be end- in' it now," and he was gone.
Marty's fingers fumbled as she lit the lamp. Then she hurried to try to untie the store string. Remembering the scissors in the sewing basket, she hastened to use them to speed up the process. She could hardly wait, but as the brown paper fell away she was totally unprepared for what she found.
There was material there for undergarments and nighties and enough lengths for three dresses. One piece was warm and soft-looking in a pale blue-gray; already her mind was picturing how it would look done up. It would be her company and visiting dress. It was beautiful. She dug farther and found a pattern for a bonnet and two pieces of material. One light weight and one heavier, for the colder weather.
There was lace for trimming, and long warm stockings, and even a pair of shoes, warm and high for the winter, and a shawl for the cool days and evenings, and on the bottom, of all things, a long coat. She was sure that no one else in the whole West would have clothes to equal hers. Her eyes shone and her hands trembled. Then with a shocked appeal to her senses, she pulled herself upright.
"Ya little fool," she muttered. "Ya can't be a takin' all this. Do ya know thet iffen ya did, ya'd be beholden to thet man fer years to come?"
Anger filled Marty. She wanted the things, the lovely things, but oh, she couldn't possibly accept them. Oh, what
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could she do? She would not humble herself to be 'beholden' to this man. She would not be a beggar in his home. Tears scalded her cheeks. Oh, what could she do? What could she do?
"We are not fancy, but we try an' be proper," haunted her.
Could it be that he
"It's a mean world," she thought as she turned her face upward. "It's mean an' wicked an' cruel," she stormed.
The stars blinked down at her from a clear sky.
"It's mean," she whispered, "but it's beautiful. What was it that Ma had said? 'Time' she'd said, 'it is time that is the healer-- time an' God.' " Marty supposed that she meant Clark's God.
"Iffen we can carry on one day at a time, the day will come when it gets easier an' easier, an' one day we surprise ourselves by even being' able to laugh an' love agin." That's what Ma had said.
It seemed so far away to Marty, but somehow she had the firm belief that Ma Graham should know.
Marty turned back to the house. It was cool in the evening now, and she realized that she was shivering. When she entered the kitchen she found that all traces of the machine and the crate had been removed.
60
On the kitchen table was a large package wrapped with brown paper and tied with store twine. Clark indicated it.
"I'm not sure what might be in there," he said. "I asked Missus McDonald at the store to make up whatever a woman be a needin' to pass the winter. She sent thet. I hope it passes."
Marty gasped. Just what did he mean? She wasn't sure. "Would ya like me to be a movin' it in on yer bed so's ya can be a sortin' through it?"
Without waiting for her answer, which may have taken half the night, she felt so tongue-tied, he carried it through to her room and placed it on her bed. He turned to leave.
"It's been a long day," he said wearily. "I think I'll be end- in' it now," and he was gone.
Marty's fingers fumbled as she lit the lamp. Then she hurried to try to untie the store string. Remembering the scissors in the sewing basket, she hastened to use them to speed up the process. She could hardly wait, but as the brown paper fell away she was totally unprepared for what she found.
There was material there for undergarments and nighties and enough lengths for three dresses. One piece was warm and soft-looking in a pale blue-gray; already her mind was picturing how it would look done up. It would be her company and visiting dress. It was beautiful. She dug farther and found a pattern for a bonnet and two pieces of material. One light weight and one heavier, for the colder weather.
There was lace for trimming, and long warm stockings, and even a pair of shoes, warm and high for the winter, and a shawl for the cool days and evenings, and on the bottom, of all things, a long coat. She was sure that no one else in the whole West would have clothes to equal hers. Her eyes shone and her hands trembled. Then with a shocked appeal to her senses, she pulled herself upright.
"Ya little fool," she muttered. "Ya can't be a takin' all this. Do ya know thet iffen ya did, ya'd be beholden to thet man fer years to come?"
Anger filled Marty. She wanted the things, the lovely things, but oh, she couldn't possibly accept them. Oh, what
61
could she do? She would not humble herself to be 'beholden' to this man. She would not be a beggar in his home. Tears scalded her cheeks. Oh, what could she do? What could she do?
"We are not fancy, but we try an' be proper," haunted her.
Could it be that he
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