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

Something that Would Grow

A new connection seemed to have been formed between them after Easter. Marty listened more attentively to the Bible readings every morning, and Clark was happy to sit with her and talk over whatever questions she had afterward. Being a bit late to get to his work a few times was more than worth it if the result was helping her deepen and grow her relationship with God.

One morning, as spring was well on and the days were warming, Clark came whistling in from the chores to the familiar smell of pancakes. They hadn't had them for a while now, but he thought he would never stop associating pancakes with those first few days that Marty had been with them, with her valiant attempt to take on this role in the midst of her heavy grief, and with how much she had learned and opened up since then. She was a right good cook these days, he thought, his eyes resting on her bright head with a fondness he still was afraid to let her see. And a good mama to the two children, and an entertaining and thought-provoking companion. He was glad he had given her a home. He would be even more glad to give her his heart, if he thought she might want it.

After prayers that morning, Marty spoke up. "Be it about time to plant the garden?"

He was surprised to hear her mention it. She never had before. "Some of the seeds should go in now. I be thinkin' this mornin' thet I best put the plow to work on the turnin' of the ground. Should be ready fer ya in short order. Ya wantin' to plant it today?" He didn't have anything planned that couldn't wait until tomorrow.

"Oh, yes," Marty answered, with an enthusiasm that was still rare for her. "Me, I'm right eager to get a goin' on it. Only—"

"Only what?"

She blushed. "Well—I never planted before."

"Planted what?"

"Well—planted anythin'."

"Didn't yer folks have 'em a garden?" he asked, surprised.

"My ma said 'twas a nuisance, thet she'd as leave buy off a neighbor or from the store. She didn't care none fer the soil, I reckon."

"And you?" He was genuinely curious.

"I think thet I'd love to git into makin' somethin' grow," she responded, her face bright with enthusiasm. "I can hardly wait to try. Only—"

"Only?"

"Well ... I know thet the garden be a woman's work, but I was wonderin' ... jest this one time, could ya show me how to plant the seeds an' all?"

Clark hid his smile. He felt a mite guilty for making her ask rather than offering, but she had never asked him for anything or wanted him to teach her anything. He kind of liked hearing it. "I reckon I could—this once."

Relief showed plain on her face. "The best time be right after dinner while the young'uns be havin' their nap. Will the ground be plowed an' ready by then?"

Clark nodded, getting up to pour himself a second cup of coffee. He took his time over it, savoring it, enjoying the quiet kitchen and the warm day. "Thet be good coffee," he told her, meaning more, but still afraid to say it.

Later, while the children slept, they spread the seeds, painstakingly saved from last season, across the table, and Clark told her about them, finding her an engaged and curious learner, picking up the facts quickly.

They gathered the seeds they needed for today and went out to the garden. Marty let some of the freshly turned soil trickle through her fingers, and then took off her shoes and stockings and dug her toes into the earth. Clark sympathized. Spring made him feel the same way, putting seeds into the dirt and tending them and watching them grow.

They worked together in a companionable silence, both of them equally enjoying the fine day and the smell of the earth and the feeling of planting something that would grow.

The planting was almost done when, as Clark crouched over a mound of seed corn, he felt two small hands on his back, a quick push, and the next thing he knew he was sprawled face-first in the dirt. Once he got over his shock—she had never touched him before, not like that, certainly, and had never shown any sign of this kind of foolery—he couldn't help smiling, getting to his feet bent on evening the score.

"Me thinks there be someone be askin' fer sweet corn kernels down her neck."

Her eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in, and then she hiked up her skirts and ran. Clark followed her, catching up easily, his legs being much longer than hers, although she was right fast for such a little thing.

He put his arms around her, holding her against him while she twisted and writhed, laughing in a way he had never heard her do before. She sounded so young, and so free. Clark was laughing, too, making it hard to hold her and maneuver his handful of corn kernels. At last he managed, dropping them down the front of her dress.

She looked up at him, her eyes dancing, and he couldn't help it—he wanted to kiss her. From the way her eyes darkened, her face flushed, he thought maybe she was thnking that, too. His arm tightened around her waist, his head beginning to dip toward hers ...

And then she pushed against his chest to disentangle herself. "Thet be Clare?" she asked hastily, and she ran off.

Clark was just as glad. It took him a few moments to collect himself again, to slow his breathing and go on as if nothing had happened. He finished the garden himself, bringing the rest of the seeds inside, and they didn't speak about what had happened.

But he couldn't stop thinking about it, or imagining what might have happened if she had stood still just a little longer.