Love's Abiding Joy (Love Comes Softly #4)(66)

"An' someday I'm gonna come all the way on the train to the farm an' see ya," he promised.

And Josiah echoed, "See ya."

"Yah," said Nathan, "me and Joey. We'll come an' see ya."

"That would be wonderful," said Marty and held her "Joey" even closer.

When they reached the town, Clark checked their trunk through, and they gathered their hand-baggage and went to get a cup of coffee while they waited for the train.

It was hard to know what should be said in their last few minutes together. It seemed that there was still so much to say, in spite of the fact that they had spent months talking.

They filled the time with small talk and reminders of messages for each one of the family members on the farm.

It was time to leave when Scottie appeared.

"I wasn't able to see ya off at the house," he said, extending his hand to Clark, "but I shore didn't want to miss sayin' a good-bye. Guess I needn't say thet we are gonna miss ya 'round the spread. S'pose now I'll have to mend my own halters and clean my own barns."

Clark smiled. He didn't feel he had helped Scottie that much, but he knew that what he had done had been appreciated. He shook Scottie's hand firmly. "Ya'll always have a warm spot in our hearts an' prayers," he told the ranch foreman, and Scottie smiled.

They walked slowly to the train station. Already the train was sending up great puffs of smoke as the firebox was filled in preparation for the departure. Long cars were filled with bawling steers, and Marty knew that they would share the ride



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with many cattle heading for market. She wondered if some of Willie's herd might be on board.

It was time for the last tearful good-bye.

"Pa," spoke Missie, her voice choked, "ya s'pose thet ya could be shippin' me out some apple cuttin's by train? I've been missin"em something awful."

Clark was thoughtful. He wasn't sure that apple trees would grow in the area, but he nodded his head to affirm his answer. "Why not?" he said. "It's shore worth a try. Ya can plant them down by yer spring an' make sure thet they git plenty of water. Might not produce too much fruit, but ya might git enough fer a pie or two."

Missie laughed through her tears. "Truth is," she stated, "I won't even be carin' too much if I don't get fruit. It's the blossoms thet I miss the most. Seems they promise spring, an' love, an' happiness, ever'time they appear."

Clark gave his daughter an understanding hug.

They all embraced one last time and told one another again how much the visit had meant to each one of them. Marty and Clark held their two grandsons for as long as they dared; and then the "all aboard" was called, they waved one last time, and climbed on the train.

Marty waved until the train turned a curve and then the town and her family were left behind. She then wiped her tears on her handkerchief and resolved that she would cry no more.

The day dragged by, measured by the rhythms of the steel wheels. Each revolution took them farther away from Willie and Missie, but closer to the other members of their family.

There were a few stops at small towns here and there-- some of them seeming to take far too long--but then they traveled on again, day and night. On the third day, they pulled into the town where they had switched trains on their westward journey. Again it meant an overnight stay. Clark and Marty both remembered the dirty little hotel and its bedbugs. "Surely we can do better than thet," Clark assured Marty, and made some discreet inquiries. They were pointed to an elderly lady's house whom, they were told, kept roomers on



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occasion; fortunately, the woman had room and accepted them as overnight guests.

By the time they neared the station the next morning, shoppers were beginning to appear on the streets. The town was again awakening as it had done the year before.

When they reached the train station, Clark held the door for Marty and she passed through and headed for some seats near the window. She would just sit and wait while Clark checked out the departure time.

Clark walked closely behind her to settle the luggage that he carried, before going to the ticket counter. Other passengers milled about the room as well.

Marty heard the loud voice of a youngster. "Ma, look-- look at thet poor man."

Marty's head came up slowly and she looked around her, already feeling pity in her heart for some unfortunate person. She spotted no one.

"Ya lookin' fer the man?"

At the sound of Clark's voice, Marty flushed, embarrassed to be caught staring about because of curiosity. Her eyes admitted to Clark that, indeed, she had been looking for "the poor man."

Clark was quick to ease her guilt.

"I was, too," he confessed. "Did ya spot 'im?"

Marty shook her head no.

"Me neither," said Clark and then began to chuckle. Marty looked at him in surprise.

"Thet is," went on Clark, " 'til I looked at myself." "Yerself?"

Clark chuckled again.

"He was talkin"bout me, Marty."

"You?"

Then Marty's gaze fell to the pinned-up empty pant leg and the crutch held in Clark's hand. Her breath caught in a little gasp. It was true. The boy was speaking of Clark--and Clark was chuckling!