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

Gifts

After some discussion, Clark and Marty had decided to build a dollhouse for Missie for Christmas. He put the house together in the barn—a simple cabin, with kitchen and bedroom—and then brought it inside one night after Missie had gone to bed, and they sat and talked about what they could put in it. After that, it just unfolded, one thing after another as one of them had inspiration for what to add next. He had managed to fashion a cupboard with doors that opened, a trunk with a lid that came off, a tiny cradle, while Marty made tiny rugs and blankets and curtains and cushions.

Meanwhile, Marty used her spare time during the day to bake Christmas treats. The cupboards were filling up with tempting goodies, although he had been told in no uncertain terms that he wasn't to touch anything in there until the Grahams arrived for Christmas dinner.

The evenings working together were peaceful and pleasant. With their minds and hands focused on creating Missie's gift, any awkwardness between them, any gaps in conversation, were filled, and occasionally they found their conversation wandering far afield—their childhood Christmas celebrations, or playthings they had once owned. Marty liked to ask Clark for stories of when Missie was a baby, as a way to get prepared for her own baby's arrival and to know more about Missie.

Thinking back to those early days when she had barely opened her mouth or lifted her eyes from the floor, when grief had weighed her down and the effort of taking on another woman's house and child had consumed her, Clark was so impressed with how far she had come in such a short time. Here she was laughing with him over some silly thing Missie had done, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners, and their home was warm with her caring for it and scented with the baking she had learned so painstakingly. He was proud of her, Clark realized. And realized as well that he couldn't tell her so. She would find such an idea, that he had a right to pride in her, intrusive. Likely it was, he admitted to himself. Still, it was hard not to feel it.

He continued his trips into town, working on the plan for the doctor. Clark was looking for space for a home and office and communicating by letter with the doctor as he came closer to agreeing to come to the area. It was moving frustratingly slowly, and Clark often had recourse to remind himself that it was all in God's hands, in order to keep from impatience or despair.

On one of those trips he was in the store, picking up some spices for Marty's baking and some small items for Missie's Christmas sock, when it occurred to him that he should get a gift for Marty, as well.

Trying to avoid Missus MacDonald's eyes and attention, he wandered discreetly through the store, studying on the idea. He had already brought her material for clothes for herself and the baby, and the bundle of wool and quilting supplies ... but in Clark's mind, those things had been part and parcel of what he had agreed to when he married her, that he would take care of her in a manner befitting how a man should treat his wife—and Clark had high standards there. No, those things had not been gifts.

She hadn't had much to begin with, he thought, remembering that poor little wagon. It might be nice for her to have something special, something that was just hers. With that thought, his eye fell on a little ivory dresser set, comb, brush, and mirror, with hand-painted flowers on the backs in gold and orange. Marty had pretty hair, but it had a tendency to tangle, and she was often impatient with it. He didn't know the state of her current brush or comb, but it seemed like she might appreciate a new one.

He called Missus MacDonald over. "I'll take this here set, iffen ya please. And ... iffen ya could, would ya mark it with some initials, special-like?"

He nearly blushed under the frank appraisal in Missus MacDonald's gaze, knowing she would attribute the gift, and the special request, to a more romantic reason than he actually had. "What initials would those be?" she asked.

Clark thought back, trying to remember. What had she said, at dinner? "Martha Lucinda—" To Missus MacDonald, he said, "M.L.D." Then he thought better of it. He didn't know what her name had been before she married, but he thought she might like it if he used her married name, too. "Ah, make that M.L.C.D."

Missus MacDonald raised her eyebrows, but she agreed to have it done, and told him he could pick it up the following Saturday. That would be just in time for Christmas. He was already nervous about what her response would be, if she would read too much into the gift, and he wondered if he would have the courage to give it to her.