Love's Abiding Joy (Love Comes Softly #4)(38)

"Didn't give 'im as much," Scottie whispered to Willie. "We gotta ration this here stuff out."

Willie nodded.

The light from the dawn was gently coloring the morning sky. Clark slept, then spoke and slept again. Willie knew that Marty was anxious for a word with her husband. Perhaps she had slept enough and needed to be called.

"Scottie, can ya stay a few minutes with 'im? I should wake Mrs. Davis. She'll want to see 'im." Scottie nodded. Willie woke Marty gently.

"He's awake now. Not too much awake, but he's able to talk some."

Marty threw back the quilt that covered her fully clothed body and bounded from the bed.

Willie attempted to slow her down. He took her arm. "He's in awful pain, Ma. It ain't easy to see 'im like thet." Marty nodded dumbly, but her step did not slow.

When they reached Clark's room, Scottie stepped outside; and Marty threw herself at Clark's bedside and began to weep against him.

He reached out a trembling hand and soothed her hair. He let her cry. He knew her well enough to know that she needed that. When her tears were spent, he spoke to her.

"I'm all right. Don't fret yerself."

"Shore," she smiled, blinking away tears. "Shore ya are." "My leg's not too good, though. Ya knowin' thet?"

"I know." The way Marty said it made Willie aware that



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she truly did know. Marty must have been the one who had changed the bandages. Once again, Willie felt a surge of respect for the strength of this woman.

Clark ran a feeble hand through Marty's tangled hair. "Yer not lookin' yer best, Mrs. Davis," Clark teased her. "Thet's funny," said Marty, smiling through tears, "ya

ain't never looked better."

Willie left them.



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Chapter Sixteen




More Struggles



Scottie was there to portion out small amounts of the morphine as Clark needed it. Clark really could have used far more painkiller than he was allowed, but once their supply was gone there would be no more.

Clark was able to talk with his visitors. Nathan even was allowed a short visit with his grandpa. He was awed to see his strong grandfather lying pale and still on the bed; but when Clark teased him and rumpled his hair, Nathan felt reassured. Marty and Missie both spent their time trying to think of something they could do to ease Clark's pain or restore his body. Missie fussed in the kitchen over special dishes that she hoped would tempt her father's appetite. He tried to eat to please her, but it was difficult for him to swallow the food with the dreadful pain always present throughout his whole body.

Word came from town concerning the boys who had been involved in the disaster. Andy seemed to be recovering. His broken ankle had not been crushed, and his parents felt that it would heal with time. They were deeply grateful to Clark for his courageous rescue.



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Funeral services were held for Abe. Marty hardly knew how to tell Clark, but she felt that he deserved to know. She approached the subject cautiously.

"They say thet Andy's leg should be healin'."

"Thet's good," said Clark. "The way thet timber had 'im pinned, I was a-feared thet it might be bad broke."

"The other boy--Casey--he's fine. Jest some scrapes an' scratches an' his deep inner hurts, I guess. The third boy, Abe, was his younger brother."

"He told me."

"Abe didn't make it, Clark."

"I know." Clark spoke very quietly.

"Ya know?"

"He was already dead when I first found him."

Marty was surprised and, for a moment, angry. "Ya knew he was dead when ya risked everythin' to go back on in there an'--"

Clark hushed her. "If it had been our boy, would ya have wanted him out?"

Marty was silent. Yes, if it had been her boy, she would have wanted to hold him one more time.

Marty was relieved at the clearness of Clark's mind. She was so glad that the head injury had not caused permanent damage, but she could not shut from her mind the picture of Clark's leg and the condition it was in. Each time she entered the sickroom, the stench of the injured leg met her with increasing force. The leg was in bad shape; it might even claim Clark's life. Marty fought that thought with all of her being. They needed medicine. They needed a doctor. At times, she was tempted to demand that Willie hurry them to the train so they might head for home. In more rational moments, Marty knew the length of the trip and the weakened condition of Clark would certainly snuff out his life.

And then Clark began to flush with fever. His eyes took on a glassy look, and his skin was hot and dry. It's the poison, admitted Marty. It's the poison from the wound.

Marty could hardly bear this new dilemma. He had been



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doing well. He had been gaining back a little strength. He had even been able to talk. And now this. They had no way to fight this. Oh, dear God, what can we do?

At first, they did not talk about Clark's condition; for to talk about it would be to admit it, and also to admit that they were defeated, for they had nothing with which to fight the dreaded killer.