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

'Bout Missie

At breakfast the next morning, Clark told Marty that Missie's birthday was coming up in just a few days. She accepted the information quietly, but he noticed that she was distracted through the rest of the meal.

"Somethin' be a troublin' ya?" he asked at last.

She said no, but it was clear that there was something. Clark waited without prodding, and was not surprised when she spoke up again. It's jest thet I don't know what ya would want planned fer Missie's birthday. Do ya have company? A party? Do somethin' different? I don't know."

"I see." He was glad she had asked—it was nicer when they could share in the planning.

He got up and refilled both their coffee cups. Coming back to the table, he let an increasingly restless Missie out of her chair. She ran off to the other room to find her book, and Clark sat down with his coffee, settling back with a sigh. It was nice to have a leisurely morning ahead of him.

"Funny thing," he said, thinking on it as he spoke, "but I don't rightly remember any fixed thing thet we be a doin' fer a birthday. Seems in lookin' back thet they were all a mite different somehow. Missie now, she only had one afore an' she was a bit young to pay it much mind. I think though thet it would be nice to be a havin' a cake fer her. I got a doo-dad in town last Saturday while I was there. I hope it pleases her. Jest a silly little thing really, but it looks like it would tickle a little 'un. I don't think thet we be needin' company's help in celebratin'. She'll enjoy it jest as much on her own."

Marty nodded, looking relieved. Clark thought that might be the end of it, but after a moment of gazing intently into her coffee cup she looked up at him. "I been thinkin'. Seems thet I don't know much 'bout Missie an' seems as tho I should be knowin' a sight more iffen I be goin' to raise her an' all. Ya know how young 'uns be. They like to hear their folks tell of when they did this an' when they said thet, an' how cute an' clever they was, an' quick in their ways an' all. Some day soon Missie's goin' to be wantin' to hear sech things, an' I should be able to tell her. The only thing I know 'bout her is her name."

Clark couldn't help laughing a little. It was the longest Marty had ever talked at once since the day he met her, and he was surprised by how nice it was to have her take part in the conversation. It would be hard to explain to her why that made him laugh, though, so he let her think that he was laughing because he had just realized she didn't even really know Missie's name. He told her as much. "Her real name be Melissa—Melissa Ann Davis."

"Thet's a pretty name," Marty said. "I don't be goin' by my real name, either. My real name be Martha, but I don't much like it. All my friends call me Marty, 'cept my ma when she was mad. Then it was Martha, real loud like. Martha Lucinda—" She stopped abruptly. "But tell me 'bout Missie."

"Well, Missie be born on November 3, two years ago, 'bout four o'clock in the mornin'. She weren't much of a bundle, seemed to me, an' she was rather red an' wrinkled, an' had a good head of dark hair. She seemed to grow fast an' change a lot right from the start, an' afore ya knowed it she was a cooin' an' smilin'. By Christmas time she was most givin' the orders round here it seemed. She was a good baby as babies go an' slept through the night by the time she was three months old. I thought I'd picked me a real winner. Then at five months she started to cut her teeth. She turned from a sweet, contented, smilin' darlin' into a a real bearcat. Lucky fer us, it didn't last fer too long, though at the time it seemed ferever. Anyway, she made it through. So did we, an' things quieted down again."

He took a sip of coffee, looking up and out the window as he went on, remembering just how things were. "When she had her first birthday, she could already say some words. Seemed real bright fer a little tyke, an' al'ays from as far back as I can remember she loved pretty things. Guess thet's why she took so to the little whatever it be thet ya sewed fer her. Started walkin' 'fore her first birthday an' was soon climbin' to match it. Boy, how she did git around! One day I found her on the corral fence, top rail, when she be jest a wee'un. Got up there an' couldn't git down. Hangin' on fer dear life she was. She was gettin' to be a right good visitor, too. A lot of company she was. Chattered all the time an' more an' more there was gettin' to be some sense to it." He pictured her as she had been then, smiling a bit over her antics. "One day she came in with a flower. Thrilled to pieces with it she was. Picked it right off the rose bush. The thorns had pricked her tiny fingers an' they was a bleedin'. But she never paid them no mind at all, so determined she be to take the 'pretty' to her mama. Thet flower be pressed in the pages of her mama's Bible." Clark was struck by sorrow so fresh it was as though Ellen had been here just yesterday. He pressed his lips together to try to get control over himself, not wanting to cry in front of Marty.

"Ya don't need to tell me anymore," Marty said, and he could hear from her voice that she knew what he was struggling with. "I know enough to be able to tell young Missie somethin' about her young days. I know how painful it be—to remember, an' anyway when the day comes thet young Missie need hear the story of her mama—an' she should hear it, to be sure—but when thet day comes, it be her pa she should be hearin' it from."

She got up from the table and left him there to compose himself. He was glad she was showing an interest, and it helped to have her acknowledge that they had both lost in the same way—somehow it made him feel more even with her, more as though they were talking to each other from the same place.