Love's Abiding Joy (Love Comes Softly #4)(39)
At last Marty knew they could no longer try to pretend that the problem was not there.
"Bring me a pan of hot water," she said to Missie. "An' boil a good, sharp pair of yer best scissors. We've gotta do somethin"bout yer father's leg."
Then Marty went to find Scottie. Willie and Scottie had thought the drug ministrations to Clark had been unnoticed by Marty, so Scottie was caught off guard when Marty walked up to where he was working on the cinch of a saddle and calmly announced, "Scottie, I don't know how much medicine thet ya still have left, but Clark needs a good-sized dose now. I've got to clean up thet leg the best thet I can or it's gonna kill 'im. The poison from thet gangrene is goin' all through his system an' we don't have much time."
Scottie looked at the small figure before him. She was nobody's fool. She also had more inner strength than any woman he knew. In no way would he be able to stomach the cleaning up of the offensive leg.
He went for the medicine and gave Clark a large dose. Marty waited until the medicine had taken effect, then gathered together all of her limited supplies and every ounce of her courage and went to Clark's room. She threw the window wide open and lit a small piece of rag to help with the odor and then threw back the light quilt and removed the bandages. It was even worse than she had feared. Never before had Marty faced such a sight and smell. She wanted to faint, to go be sick; but she would allow herself neither. She soaked and snipped and cut away dead flesh, but even as she worked she knew that she was fighting a losing battle. She finished her difficult task, knowing that what she had done would not be enough.
Gently she covered Clark, all but the damaged leg. She left
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it exposed to the air, thinking that the air might somehow do it some good. Then she cleaned the scissors and knife that she had used and put things away in their proper places and went to her own bed.
Down upon her knees, she cried out her anguish to God. She began by telling Him how much Clark meant to her and reminding God of how faithfully Clark had served Him over the years. She told God that she had already suffered through the loss of one husband and couldn't possibly bear to lose another. She reminded the Lord of her family at home and of Missie and the grandchildren here. They too needed Clark. And then she pleaded and finally demanded that God heal her husband. Hadn't He promised to answer the prayers of His children when they prayed in faith, prayed believing?
Then she returned to Clark. Clark's breathing was just as shallow, his face just as flushed, his brow just as hot as before; but Marty determined that she would sit right beside him and wait for the Lord's miracle.
Missie came in. At the sight of her father's infected leg, she gave a little cry and, placing her hand over her mouth, ran from the room. Marty's heart ached for her. What would she ever have done if she'd seen it 'fore I cleaned it up? thought Marty. Marty was thankful Missie had been spared at least that much.
Missie too went to her room and fell down beside her bed. "Oh, God," she prayed. "Ya can't let Pa die. Ya can't! Please, God. Please." Missie was unable to do more than tearfully plead.
In Clark's room, the drug began to wear off. Clark tossed and turned in his pain. Marty bathed his hot face and body in an attempt to get the fever down. It had little effect. Clark soon became delirious, and Marty had to call for help to hold him. Willie came and then Cookie, and the two men sent Marty from the room. Marty paced back and forth, back and forth, praying that God's miracle might soon come. Still Clark's screams and groans reached her ears.
Maria came. White-faced and wide-eyed, she stood in the hallway and talked to the tearful Missie. She did not stay
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long. The agony of Clark and the distress of the total household drove her crying from the home.
The hours crawled by. Marty went to the sickroom occasionally, but Clark's misery was more than she could bear. At last, she went to her room again, and again fell beside her bed. This time her prayer was different.
"Oh, God!" she cried. "Ya know best. I can't stand to see 'im suffer so. I love 'im, God. I love 'im so. Iffen Ya want to take 'im, then it's all right. I won't be blamin' Ya, God. Ya know what's best. I don't want 'im to suffer, God. I leave 'im in Yer hands. Yer will be done, whether it's healin' or takin', thet's up to You, God. An', God, whatever Yer will, I know thet Ya'll give me--an' all of us--the strength thet we need to bear
it."
Marty arose from her knees and went to find Missie. A strange peace filled Marty. She still shivered with each scream from Clark. It still pierced her very soul to know that he suffered so, but Marty knew that God was in control and that His divine will would be done.
She found Missie in the boys' room. The boys were not there. They had been taken to the barn by Lane so that they might not hear the agonizing cries of their grandfather.
Missie clutched the small harness that Clark had used to carry her as an infant and that she in turn had used to carry her own sons. She was sobbing out her hurt and anguish.
"Missie," Marty said, taking the girl into her arms. "It's gonna be all right. I know it is."
Missie burst into fresh tears. "Oh, I wanna believe that. I've been prayin' an' prayin' for God to make him well." "He may not," said Marty simply.