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

In the Woods

Clark was surprised at breakfast Sunday morning when Marty asked him if he was intending to work at Jedd's that day. He started to frown at her, but then remembered that she hadn't been used to prayers at meals or Bible readings in the morning, either, and gave her a more careful answer. "Jedd has him a bit more to finish off, an' I wouldn't be none surprised iffen he'd work at it today. Me, though, I al'ays take a rest on the Lord's Day. I know it don't seem much like the Lord's Day with no meetin', but I try an' hold it as sech the best thet I can."

Marty flushed and looked down at her lap. "'Course. I'd plumb fergot what day it be."

He supposed she might have; it had been a long week, likely the longest of her life. "I been thinkin' as how me an' Missie might jest pack us a lunch an' spend the rest of the day in the woods. 'Pears like it may be the last chance for a while. The air is gettin' cooler an' there's a feelin' in the air thet winter may be a mite anxious to be a-comin'. We kinda enjoy jest spendin' the day lazyin' an' lookin' fer the last wild flowers, an' smart-lookin' leaves an' all. Would thet suit yer plans?"

"Sure—sure—fine," she agreed with hasty gratitude. "I'll fix yer lunch right after breakfast."

He brought out the carrier he had made for Missie when she was smaller, showing it to Marty. Something in her eyes as she looked it over, in the glance she gave him, told him that she was really thinking of what it had been like for him. He was glad to see that she was starting to see him as someone she could understand, rather than someone to be wary of.

Ole Bob joined them as Clark and Missie set out. She chattered away on his back as he hiked up into the hills, pointing out interesting things they passed.

They came to Ellen's grave, the grass grown up over the mound and falling leaves drifted across it. She would have loved the colors, Clark thought, trying to imagine her with all her zest for life so peacefully asleep there. More likely her spirit was in the wind, he thought fancifully, in the leaves blowing past and the richly colored wildflowers that marked the end of fall.

He spread out their lunch there, and took Missie in his arms. She was wearied from the fresh air, and she curled up willingly enough in his lap, sharing the food with him.

"Missie, I hope thet ya never regret the choice I made fer ya. Yer new mama seems willin' enough and I think she is growin' to care fer ya. But I al'ays want ya to remember yer mama Ellen, how much she loved ya, what a blessin' ya were to us from yer very first days. Can ya say 'Ellen', Missie?"

"El-len," Missie repeated slowly. She reached up and patted his cheek with her baby hand. "Pa sad?"

"A little," he acknowledged. "But ya make me happy, Missie. I thank God fer ya, every day."

"Thank God," she echoed, snuggling more closely into his lap, her eyes drooping now that her stomach was full.

He leaned back against a tree while Missie took her nap, talking to Ellen, telling her everything he thought and felt, telling her about Marty and how conflicted he felt. Ellen would have reached out to Marty if she was still here, enfolded her fiercely to herself, given up her own bed to the new widow. He felt consoled by that, sure that he had her blessing.

They hiked some more, wandering the fields and bringing back handfuls of flowers and leaves to pretty up the house. Clark hoped Marty wouldn't mind. Not all women were happy to have such things around.

He dropped off Missie in the house, where the mouth-watering smell of frying chicken made Clark wonder if Marty had entertained a visitor while they were gone. It seemed a very big reach for someone who had made pancakes for every meal for the first several days she had been here.

Sensing that Marty wouldn't appreciate him asking, he didn't. On his way to the barn, he stopped by the chicken coop and saw the chopping block still out, and twine tied to two trees. He looked at the twine with curiosity for a moment before realizing she must have used it to tie the chicken down and hold it still. Inside the coop the dirt had been disturbed, feathers everywhere, and the water and feeding pans had been overturned. When Clark went in to put them back and refill them, he couldn't help but notice the big rooster, the granddaddy of the flock, sitting on the corral fence. Half his beak was missing.

Clark appreciated the efforts Marty had clearly gone to in order to prepare tonight's meal. He'd have to do something about the old rooster tomorrow—but tonight, he intended to enjoy his fried chicken.

He whistled all the way through the chores, and headed into the house with a hearty appetite.