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

His Ongoing Prayer

The days after young Clare's arrival were like a dream to Clark. The baby was a prize-winner for sure, and all three of them loved to rock him in the rocking chair. Missie took her big sister duties seriously from the beginning, and if Clare so much as fussed Missie was sure to come running for one of her parents, looking up at them with worried blue eyes until they tended him.

Ma stayed on long enough to be sure Marty wouldn't overdo it—a sensible precaution, because Marty was fretting to be up and about almost immediately. Clark was concerned that she wasn't taking adequate care of herself, but Ma assured him that it was a good sign that Marty felt good enough to be getting back to her usual routines.

In the midst of their happiness at the safe arrival of the baby, Clark couldn't help feeling fear clutch at his chest. It was late winter now, and spring would be coming soon. Nothing had been said between him and Marty about the wagon trains in the spring, but the memory of his offer was still present in his mind, and he suspected it was in Marty's, as well. He couldn't help picturing the cabin empty and silent, himself the only person in what had been the home of a happy family. And they were that—he and Marty got along increasingly well, they understood each other, they wanted the same things for the little ones. But she didn't give any indication that she wanted him, and as the days lengthened so did Clark's conviction that he had learned to love this little woman he'd brought home to be Missie's mama, and his despair that she would leave him without giving him a chance to show her how much.

He had always been a man who liked to sort through his thoughts while working, so he took on a new task for himself—cutting extra logs with an eye toward building on to the cabin. With two children now, another bedroom seemed called for ... and maybe, just maybe, if he made more space, Marty would feel more comfortable staying. And beyond that ... well, someday maybe she would be ready for more, by the time the love in his heart had grown so that he could no longer contain it.

As March wore on, they fell into a routine, sitting together by the fire at night once the children were in bed, Clark with a book and Marty with her knitting or sewing, talking of their day. It had become a time Clark looked forward to all day long, sitting there watching the firelight on Marty's bright hair as she bent over her work, asking questions and hearing her laugh at something funny Missie had done. They touched occasionally on plans and dreams, but only in a vague manner, neither of them wanting to commit to the conversation that would eventually have to happen.

Clark had begun on a little bed for Missie so that Clare could move into the crib once he was big enough—which would happen soon, at the rate he was growing. And Marty was making the quilt that would go on the bed, a bright pattern that Missie would love.

One night as he carefully sanded the headboard, they began talking about the Scripure he had read at breakfast that morning.

"Do ya really think thet God, who runs the whole world like, be a knowin' you?" Marty asked. She kept her eyes on her needle, but he sensed that she truly wanted to know.

"I'm right sure thet He do."

"An' how ya be so sure?"

"'Cause He answers so many of my prayers."

"Ya mean by givin' ya whatever ya ask for?"

Clark shook his head. "No, not thet. Ofttimes He jest helps me to git by without what I asked fer."

Marty did raise her eyes to look at him at that, frowning in confusion. "Thet be strange talk."

"I'm a thinkin' not," Clark said slowly, trying to think how best to explain it to her. "A lot of times, what folks ask fer, they don't at all need."'

"Like what?"

"Like good crops, new plows, an extry cow or two."

"What about iffen ya lose somethin' thet ya already had an' had sorta set yer mind on?"

Clark put down the sandpaper, looking at her with sympathy. He knew what she was getting at. "Ya mean like Clem or Ellen?"

Marty nodded, her eyes fixed on his face, really seeking the answer.

"He don't take away the hurt, but He shares it with ya."

"Wisht I woulda had me someone to share mine with," she said softly.

"He was there, an' I'm a thinkin' thet He helped ya more than ya knowed."

"But I didn't really ask Him to."

He held her gaze. "I did."

After a moment, Marty nodded. "Thank ya."

Instinctively, Clark began to reach for her hand, but he stopped himself. If this conversation had brought her closer to God, Clark didn't want to muddle the situation with his longing to bring her closer to himself. There would be time enough for that—if God chose to answer his ongoing prayer.