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

It Can't Win Unless Ya Let It

The day before Christmas dawned cold and clear. Clark and Marty had finished the dollhouse for Missie, and were proud of how well it had come out. The tree waited outside to be brought in and decorated that night; wreaths hung on the door that Marty had made from pine boughs Clark had brought from the woods. Every cupboard was filled with treats prepared for the morrow's meal.

Marty spent the day in the kitchen, whirling from one task to another, it seemed to Clark. This day, with the Grahams invited, was important to her. He prayed it would go well.

As night fell and Missie went to sleep, Clark stealthily brought in the tree, and they strung the popcorn and the chains of colored paper Marty had made, admonishing each other often to be quiet lest they waken Missie, and laughing far more than Clark had expected in the process.

They said good-night with a feeling of anticipation for the day ahead that Clark hadn't had in a long while. The surprise for Missie had them both feeling like children. A nice way to be, Clark thought as he eased into the cot in the lean-to. After all, weren't each of them children in the eyes of God?

He woke to the familiar sounds of a prairie blizzard. The wind howled as if it would come right through the walls of the lean-to. His first thought was for Marty, for how disappointed she would be. The Grahams couldn't come through a storm like this; all her careful plans had been for nothing. Clark's heart went out to her.

Quietly in the dark room he dressed, picking up his boots and carrying them with him so as not to awaken Marty or Missie. But the kitchen fire was already going and Marty stood at the window, her shoulders shaking. So she knew.

Even as he watched, her shoulders straightened, and she turned to see him standing there. He sat down to start putting on his boots, not knowing quite what to say, and was startled when she stopped in front of him and, in a deliberately light tone, said, "My word. What we ever gonna be a doin' with all this food? We'd have to spend the whole day a eatin' on it." Clark stared at her as she casually crossed to the cupboard and began preparing the turkey as though nothing had happened to change her plans. "I do hope thet the Grahams haven't been caught short-fixed fer Christmas. Us a sittin' here with so few an' all this food, an' them sittin' there with so many—"

Clark gathered his wits about him enough to say, "Ma's too smart to be took off-guard like. She knows this country's mean streak. I don't think they be a wantin' at all."

"I'm right glad to hear thet. The storm had me a worryin'."

He sat still in the chair, watching her as she finished stuffing the turkey. Who would have thought she would have taken it so well? It seemed every time he thought he knew her, she showed him another hidden well of strength he hadn't expected.

Clark realized she had finished stuffing the bird and was about to lift the heavy pan—in her condition. He hurried to get there before she could. "Best ya let me be a liftin' thet bird. He's right heavy."

As he tucked the turkey into the oven, Marty put the coffee on. As she sank slowly into a chair, she said, "Seems the storm nearly won, but it can't win unless ya let it, can it?"

Before he thought, Clark reached for her hand and said, "I'm right proud of ya."

His fingers lingered on her skin, and he was conscious of not wanting to remove them, her hand softer than he had expected for how hard she worked, and warm. Marty was looking at him with wide eyes, and he took his hand away with some reluctance.

"We'll have to cook the whole turkey, but we can freeze what we can't eat," she said briskly, and Clark wondered if he had imagined the whole moment, the look in her eyes. He hadn't imagined his own reaction to touching her, however, and he set that aside to be considered at another time. Marty went on, "I'll put the vegetables in smaller pots an' cook only what we be a needin'. The rest will keep fer a while in the cold pit. The bakin'—" She waved at the cupboards and laughed. "We be eatin' thet till spring iffen we don't git some help."

Clark smiled. "Thet's one thing I don't be complainin' 'bout. Here I was a worryin' 'bout all those Graham young'uns with their hefty appetites a comin' an' not leavin' anythin' fer me, an' now look at me, blessed with it all."

Marty gave him a stern look. "Clark, did you go an' pray this storm?"

As jokes went, it was fairly mild, but it was the first time she had teased him about anything—the first time she had used his first name, and Clark laughed more heartily than he had in many months. Marty frowned at him in mock severity for a moment, but then began to laugh, too. She had a nice laugh, musical and light, and Clark hoped he heard it a lot more going forward.

The coffee was boiling, and Marty got up to get them both a cup. Gesturing at the cupboards, she said, "Well, we may as well have some bakin' to go with it. Gotta git started on it sometime. What ya be fancyin'?"

Clark took a tart, rich and spicy, and Marty a buttery shortbread cookie, and they sat and planned for the day. He would wait to do the choring until after Missie got up, so he wouldn't risk missing those first moments of wonder. Then they would eat a late, light breakfast and the heavier Christmas dinner in early afternoon, and supper would be the "pickin's".

"We used to play this game when I was a kid. Haven't played a game fer years, but it might be fun. It was drawed out on a piece of paper or a board an' ya used pegs or buttons. While ya be busyin' about, I'll make us up one."

The kitchen was cozy and quiet this early morning, just the two of them, as Marty finished her meal preparations and Clark drew out the game board, and the wind howled but couldn't get in. It was only them, and Clark found that was just fine.