Read Online Love Finds a Home (Love Comes Softly Series #8) by Janette Oke - Free Book Online Page A

him home."
    "Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah, she sure was, all right. Sid said thet it was real hard fer her to let 'im go again."
    Clark held the door for Belinda and she passed into the big farm kitchen. On the table a steaming plate of pancakes sent waves of warmth upward. The scrambled eggs and sausage, along with the coffee already poured and waiting beside their plates, added to the delicious breakfast smells.
    Hurriedly father and daughter washed for breakfast, using the corner washstand and the big blue basin. Belinda had not shared a towel for ages and it was a rather unfamiliar experience for her now.
    Turning again to the heavily laden table, she looked at the syrups, the jams, the jellies. Then her gaze went back to the pancakes and the egg platter. How in the world will I manage such
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    a breakfast? Does Mama really expect me to eat like a farmhand? Belinda had become used to scones or tea biscuits or, at the most, a muffin with fruit ... and now. . . ? She crossed to her plate.
    "Ya want some porridge to start with?" asked Marty, adding quickly, "It's yer favorite."

To start with? echoed Belinda silently. Oh my!
    "A . . . a very small helping, please," smiled Belinda. "I . . . I haven't done anything to work up an appetite yet."
    Clark smiled. "Well, we'll right that quick enough," he joked. "I got some hay thet needs forkin' this mornin'."
    Belinda just smiled and bowed her head for the table grace.
    After breakfast they had their family devotions together as they'd always done for as long as Belinda could remember. It was wonderful to hear her father read Scripture again. His voice trembled with emotion as he read the stories that to them had become commonplace. Belinda loved to hear him read. He had always made the Bible come alive for her.
    It was Marty's turn for the morning prayer, and Belinda's thoughts traveled across the country with her as she presented each one of her children and grandchildren to her Lord, asking for His guidance and protection for another day. It was a lengthy prayer. Clark and Marty never hurried their morning devotions.
    Afterward Clark pushed back from the table and reached for his hat. Marty waved Belinda aside as she rose to clear the table.
    "Now, I want you to jest take the day and git reacquainted with yer home," Marty told her.
    "But I'm not that rushed for time," Belinda objected. "I'm to be here for six weeks. I can certainly help with the dishes and--"
    "No, no," argued Marty. "I've nothin' else to do this mornin'. You jest run along."
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    Belinda at last agreed. "I guess I'll go back to the spring, then, and finish the raking," she told Marty. "Pa wasn't quite done when I called him for breakfast."
    Marty smiled. "I think thet rakin' the leaves from the spring is one of yer pa's favorite tasks," she said softly. "In the fall he does it every few days. It's a good thing thet the wind always favors 'im by puttin' more leaves back in. I think yer pa enjoys the gurgle an' the talkin' of the stream. But I don't think he'll mind sharin' the pleasure with you."
    Belinda smiled in answer.
    "'Course, it's my favorite spot, too," Marty admitted. "Always did feel I could do my best thinkin' there. An' prayin'," she added without apology.
    Belinda understood. The running water had the same effect on her. She had to admit to herself that she was going to the spring now not so much to rake leaves as to think--to recall.
    Thoughtfully she walked down the path again, and when she reached the stream she took up the rake leaning against the tree where Clark had left it. She dipped it dreamily into the clear, clean water, wondering as usual how the stream stayed so sparkling, and pulled a few wayward leaves toward the bank.
    So Drew has been home, her thoughts began. It seems such a long, long time since I've seen him--such a long time since I've even heard anything about him. Why, Drew left when I was only seventeen. I'd almost forgotten that Andrew Simpson existed. Almost! She stopped