Love's New Beginning (a Love Comes Softly fanfiction)

They That Mourn

Clark was anxious about returning home from the Larsens' place. He had wondered if he shouldn't stick closer to home for the first day as Marty got used to the new life and Missie got used to her new mama, but he felt strongly that he couldn't put himself between the two of them and expect them to get along ... and he imagined that Marty probably needed the space from him as much as he needed time away from the home he had shared with Ellen in order to come to terms with another woman living in it and messing with what he still thought of as Ellen's things.

He had wanted to urge the team to hurry as he turned toward home at last, and had in fact rushed his last task at Jedd's in order to be home sooner than he had anticipated.

Charlie shied at something and Clark tightened his hand on the reins, pulling both horses up. "Whoa. What be the trouble?" he said soothingly to them, and was startled nearly as badly as the horses when a small and familiar voice nearly under Charlie's nose said, "Hi, Pa!"

"Missie? Missie!" He jumped down from the wagon and gathered his girl in his arms, holding her close, and then looked her over quickly to be sure she wasn't hurt. Dirty, yes, and the dress was torn in a couple of places, but otherwise she was fine. "Where be yer mama?"

"She sleep."

The whole story unfolded itself for Clark. Marty had put Missie down for a nap, likely worn herself out in the morning—and had been through enough the past few days to need some extra sleep, anyway—and had fallen asleep herself, and he had never thought to warn her that the crib could no longer contain Missie when she didn't want to be contained. This was as much his fault as Marty's, he realized, tamping down the anger that wanted to rise in him that this woman he had brought into his home would endanger his child the very first time he left them alone.

Nothing could have looked more woebegone and miserable than Marty did when Clark and Missie drove up to her on the road later. There were streaks of dirt on her face, her own dress was torn, and she was in utter despair—until she saw Missie on his knee, safe and sound and chattering away.

Clark reached a hand down to help her into the wagon. He kept quiet, hoping if he did so the whole incident could just disappear—at least long enough for everyone to get back to the house and get cleaned up and in their right minds. He could see from the tenseness in Marty's shoulders and the lift of her chin that she was angry and holding it in, and he appreciated the effort she was making. He wasn't entirely free from anger himself at the moment, and it seemed to him best that they both hold their tongues until they had a chance to calm down a bit.

When he pulled up outside the house, she climbed down from the wagon without waiting to be helped, ignoring entirely the fact that she tore her skirt further on the edge of the wagon in the process. Clark swung Missie down to the ground as well, and Marty picked her up unceremoniously and carried her into the house. He chuckled a bit at the scene likely to go on inside. Missie was a willful one, and Marty appeared to have a temper. Likely they'd get along just fine once they got used to each other, but it was looking like it would be a colorful process.

He hadn't expected much for supper, after the events of the day, and wasn't particularly surprised to be served pancakes again. Hopefully once Marty got settled he'd discover she knew how to cook other things ... or she'd learn to, eventually.

The coffee was good, though. He didn't know what she did to it, but it was easily the best coffee he'd ever tasted, rich and flavorful. Just what a man needed when coming in from a long day at work. He told her so as he got up for a second cup, wanting her to know he appreciated what she was doing, and that he was aware of how hard it must be.

Marty went to bed shortly after she put Missie down, and Clark sat down and stretched his feet out, reaching for his Bible, as he often did in times of trouble. As he opened it, he could hear the muffled sounds of Marty crying, and his heart ached for her. Only a few days a widow, and now burdened with another man's house and child in the throes of her fresh grief. He remembered, only too well, those first few days after Ellen died, how impossible it felt that she could be gone, how bleak every day seemed, and his own eyes filled with tears—for himself and for Marty.

"'Blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted,'*" he whispered to himself, reaching for that comfort, trusting in God to heal the pain they felt and allow them to move forward in hope.

*Matthew 5:4