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

The Sewing Machine

Clark kissed Missie goodbye, warned Marty that there would be a lot of items to unload from the wagon when he came home so to keep the evening meal simple, and headed off to town.

He went over the list quickly with Missus MacDonald, the proprietor, and stood hesitating at the counter as she got an assistant to fill it. The store was busy on Saturdays, Clark being far from the only farmer who came into town then to get his supplies, and Missus MacDonald looked impatient as she stood in front of him. Finally, he made up his mind. "Can ya put me together a bundle like of what fabric a woman might need fer clothes?"

"Yes, I heard ya was marryin' up with thet new widder woman. So, she's not well set up, I take it?"

He was reluctant to offer up too much information. Missus MacDonald was a well-known gossip, and anything he told her would spread across the community quickly. Still, just ordering the bundle would give her enough to talk about. "Thet's right," he confirmed. "An' Missus Davis could use a few things afore winter sets in. I'd be obliged iffen ya could pick out somethin' warm that will last."

"Of course."

Missus MacDonald hadn't missed his naming of Marty as his wife. It was the first time he had done so, and it felt surprisingly normal. Then again, he had never thought of Ellen as Missus Davis—she had always been just his beautiful Ellen, who filled his heart and lightened his life.

"Mister Davis? There's somethin' arrived fer ya. Ya want us to bring it around to yer wagon?"

For a moment he couldn't think what she might be meaning. And then it struck him, and he actually stepped backward with the force of it, like a blow to his chest. The sewing machine he had ordered for Ellen's birthday. He could see her now in his mind's eye exclaiming over it, running her fingers across the wood and metal and coming to him with a kiss for thanks, and he could barely see for the blur of tears.

It took him a moment to compose himself, and he was grateful that Missus MacDonald had chosen that moment to consult with one of her assistants, giving him a chance to pull himself together. When she turned her attention back to him, he was able to thank her with some amount of calm and confirm that they should load the sewing machine in the wagon.

On the way home, though, he lost his battle with the tears, letting them flow. Fortunately Dan and Charlie knew the way, so the shaking of his hands on the reins didn't distract them.

He had himself mostly together by the time he got home, although the prospect of going inside where Marty would be waiting silent and unresponsive, rather than Ellen who would have been so excited, bringing Missie into the fun of peeking into bags and crates, was something less than heartening. He did it anyway, because there was nothing else to be done.

Missie ran to him, and he lifted her into his arms, holding her tightly for a moment, grateful to God for the gift of his child. He didn't know what he would have done without her.

They sat quietly at supper. At least the food was good, Clark thought with relief. Ma's visit had been truly heaven-sent.

"'Fraid the totin' in of all the supplies will sort of mess up yer well-ordered house fer the moment," he said to Marty at last, wanting to dispel the gloom of his thoughts with some conversation.

He was surprised when she answered readily. "Thet's okay. We'll git them in their proper place soon enough."

They talked about where things would go, and Clark told her about the loft above the kitchen, which she hadn't known about. She considered whether it would be easier to bring everything into the kitchen to have it handy to put away, or have it stored in the shed where it wouldn't be underfoot, and eventually opted for the shed.

After supper, he took a small bag of candy out of his pocket, giving one piece to Missie. Her eyes brightened as the sweetness flooded her tongue. "Num!"

"Num," he agreed, offering the sack to Marty, who took a piece gingerly, as if afraid to accept even candy from him. He sympathized, but it also stung a bit. "Ya can keep this in the cupboard an' give Missie some fer a treat some other time."

"'Course."

The last thing left in the wagon was the sewing machine, which felt particularly heavy as he carried it into the house. He uncrated it, not because he wanted to but because it seemed foolish not to.

He heard Marty come to stand in the doorway as he was doing so, and he explained, forcing the words out. "I ordered it some months back as a s'prise fer my Ellen. She liked to sew and was al'ays makin' somethin' fancy-like. It was to be fer her birthday. She would have been twenty-one—" He paused from the sheer pain of the admission. "Tomorrow." He looked up at Marty, seeing her for the moment not as his wife in their strange arrangement but as someone who understood his pain. "I'd be proud if ya'd consider it yourn now. I'm sure ya can make use of it. I'll move it into yer room under the window iffen it pleases ya."

Marty's eyes filled with tears, whether in sympathy or with wonder at the gift, he didn't know, but he felt his own tears threatening to flow in response. "Thank ya," she whispered. "Thank ya. Thet'd be fine. Jest fine."

Clark pressed his lips together, trying not to cry in front of her, and was grateful when Marty brushed past him and hurried outside, leaving him to get himself under control again.

While Marty was outside, he put the sewing machine in her room where he wouldn't have to see it, packed away the pieces of the crate, and brought the bundle Missus MacDonald had put together in to lay it on the table. When she came inside, Marty looked at the bundle and then at him, questioning.

"I'm not sure what might be in there," he told her. "I asked Missus MacDonald at the store to make up whatever a woman be a needin' to pass the winter. She sent thet. I hope it passes."

Marty gasped in surprise.

"Would ya like me to be a movin' it in on yer bed so ya can be a sortin' through it?"

She nodded, biting her lip as if trying to find words.

In the bedroom, he put the bundle on the bed, stopping to look at Missie's sleeping face only briefly before hurrying out, not wanting the reminder of the nights he had spent in that bed with Ellen. "It's been a long day," he told Marty wearily. "I think I'll be a-endin' it now."

Leaving her, he went into the lean-to, laying back on the cot but knowing it would take time for sleep to come. What a difference this day was from the way he had planned it. Ellen had been fun, always laughing and singing, where Marty was silent much of the time. He couldn't fault her—only five days a widow, how could she be anything but sad? Clark was still struggling much of the time, and it had been longer for him.

He felt guilty for resenting Marty's presence in the house—he had brought her here, and Missie needed her. But he still wanted his Ellen so badly. As badly as Marty wanted her husband, he imagined. He would have to try harder to understand her, to help her through her grief and out the other side. Missie deserved a home that was more than gloom and suffering. Maybe with time he and Marty could both start to recover and be more cheerful. For Missie's sake.

Well, he would try, Clark thought, rolling over and sighing wearily. He would try.