Love's Abiding Joy
Janette Oke
Love’s Abiding Joy
Books by Janette Oke
www.janetteoke.com
ACTS OF FAITH*
The Centurion’s Wife
The Hidden Flame
CANADIAN WEST
When Calls the Heart When Breaks the Dawn
When Comes the Spring When Hope Springs New
Beyond the Gathering Storm
When Tomorrow Comes
LOVE COMES SOFTLY
Love Comes Softly Love’s Unending Legacy
Love’s Enduring Promise Love’s Unfolding Dream
Love’s Long Journey Love Takes Wing
Love’s Abiding Joy Love Finds a Home
A PRAIRIE LEGACY
The Tender Years A Quiet Strength
A Searching Heart Like Gold Refined
SEASONS OF THE HEART
Once Upon a Summer Winter Is Not Forever
The Winds of Autumn Spring’s Gentle Promise
Seasons of the Heart (4 in 1)
SONG OF ACADIA*
The Meeting Place The Birthright
The Sacred Shore The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
WOMEN OF THE WEST
The Calling of Emily Evans A Bride for Donnigan
Julia’s Last Hope Heart of the Wilderness
Roses for Mama Too Long a Stranger
A Woman Named Damaris The Bluebird and the Sparrow
They Called Her Mrs. Doc A Gown of Spanish Lace
The Measure of a Heart Drums of Change
*with Davis Bunn
JANETTE
OKE
Love’s Abiding Joy OKE
BETHANY HOUSE
MINNEAPOLIS MINNESOTA
Love’s Abiding Joy
Copyright © 1983, 2003
Janette Oke
Newly edited and revised
Cover design by Jennifer Parker Cover model photography by Jason Jorgensen
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 978-0-7642-2851-3
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Oke, Janette, 1935-
Love’s abiding joy / by Janette Oke. — Newly edited and rev
p. cm. — (Love comes softly ; bk. 4)
ISBN 0-7642-2851-X
1. Davis family (Fictitious characters : Oke)—Fiction. 2. Women pioneers—Fiction. 3. Grandparents—Fiction. I. Title. II. Series.
PR9199.3.O38L57 2003
813'.54—dc22 2003017660
* * *
Dedicated with love
to my second sister, Jean Catherine Budd,
who left us for heaven in 1998,
with deep appreciation for the many times she
was my extra pair of hands
and for her open heart and open home
that always made me welcome;
and to Orville, the special guy
she brought home
to the family, who was reunited
with her in 2001.
JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife, and she grew up in a large family full of laughter and love. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward, and they were married in May of 1957. After pastoring churches in Indiana and Canada, the Okes spent some years in Didsbury and Calgary, where Edward served in several positions on college faculties while Janette continued her writing. She has written over five dozen novels for adults and children, and her book sales total over twenty-two million copies.
The Okes have three sons and one daughter, all married, and are enjoying their dozen grandchildren. Edward and Janette are active in their local church and make their home near Didsbury, Alberta.
Visit Janette Oke’s Web site at: www.janetteoke.com.
Contents
1. Family
2. Birthday Dinner
3. Planning
4. The City
5. The Real Journey Begins
6. Arrival
7. Catching Up
8. Marty Meets Maria
9. The Rescue
10. A Day of a Million Years
11. Struggles
12. Juan
13. Adjustments
14. Growing
15. Moving
16. Winter
17. Jedd
18. From Death to Life
19. Plans and Farewells
20. Homeward Bound
ONE
Family
“Good mornin’.”
The words came softly, and Marty opened sleep-heavy eyes to identify their source. Clark was bending over her, smiling, she noted. Clark did not normally awaken her before his early morning trek to the barn. Marty stirred and stretched, attempting to come fully awake in an effort to understand why he was doing so now.
“Happy birthday.”
Oh yes, today was her birthday, and Clark always wanted to be the first one to greet her on her special day. Marty snuggled the covers below her chin, planning to close her eyes again, but she couldn’t resist answering his smile.
“An’ you woke me jest to remind me thet I’m another year older?” she teased.
“Now, what’s wrong with gettin’ older? Seems to me it’s jest fine—considerin’ the alternative,” Clark teased back.
Marty smiled again. She was fully awake now. No use trying to get to sleep again.
“Fact is,” she said, pushing herself up and reaching to run her hand through Clark’s graying hair, “I don’t think I’m mindin’ this birthday one little bit. I don’t feel one speck more’n a day older than I did yesterday. A little short on sleep maybe,” she added mischievously, “but not so much older.”
Clark laughed. “I’ve heard tell of people gettin’ crotchety and fussy as they age… .” He left the sentence hanging but leaned over and took any sting from the words with a kiss on Marty’s nose. “Well, I’d best get me to the chorin’. Go ahead, catch yerself a little more shut-eye, iffen ya want to. I’ll even git yer breakfast—jest this once.”
“Not on yer life,” interjected Marty hurriedly. “I’d hafta clean up yer mess in the kitchen.” But her hand brushed his cheek, and the love and care between them would have been apparent to anyone who might have been watching.
Clark left, chuckling to himself, and Marty lay back and stretched to her full length beneath the warmth of her handmade quilt. She wouldn’t hurry to get up, but Clark’s breakfast would be waiting when he returned from the barn.
Today is my birthday, Marty’s thoughts began. Though she wasn’t actually feeling older, it seemed, suddenly, that there had been many birthdays. Forty-two, in fact. Forty-two. She silently repeated the number in an attempt to grasp the fact of it. Funny, it really doesn’t bother me a bit. No, there was nothing disturbing about this birthday—not like thirty had been, or forty. My, how she had disliked turning forty! It seems a body must be near worn out by the time one reaches forty, she mused. Yet here she was, forty-two, and in all honesty she felt no older than she did when she had come to those previous monumental milestones.
Forty-two, she mulled over the number again but did not dwell on it for long. Instead she thoug
ht ahead to the plans for the day. Birthdays meant family. Oh, how she loved to have her family gathered about her! When the children had been little, she herself had been “the maker of birthdays.” Now they were grown and old enough that it was her turn to have a special day celebration. Nandry had served the birthday dinner last year, Clae had reminded them at a recent Sunday dinner. Marty couldn’t really remember. The years had a tendency to blur together, but, yes, she was sure Clae was right.
Today being Saturday, the birthday dinner would be held at the noon hour instead of in the evening. Marty liked it better that way. They had so much more time with one another, instead of trying to crowd in the celebration between the return of the schoolchildren and the milking of the cows and other farm chores. Today they would have the whole afternoon ahead of them for visiting and playing with the grandchildren.
Just thinking about the promise of this day filled Marty with anticipation. All thought of sleep now long gone, she threw back the covers, stretched on the edge of the bed, and moved to the window. She looked out upon a beautiful June morning. The world was clean and fresh from last night’s rain shower. What a lovely time of year! There was still that lingering feeling of spring in the air, even though many plants had already grown enough to ensure that summer really had arrived. She loved June. Again she felt a stirring of thankfulness to her mother for birthing her in this delightful month.
Marty’s thoughts turned to her own children. Nandry … Nandry and her little family. The oldest of the Davis brood now had four children of her own, and what a perfect young mother she made. Her husband, Josh, teased about their “baker’s dozen,” and Nandry did not even argue with his joking remarks. Yes, their beloved adopted Nandry would have made her natural mama proud. And then there was Nandry’s sister, Clae, their second adopted daughter—Clae and her parson husband, Joe. Clae, too, loved children, but Marty felt— though Clae had not said so—that she secretly hoped the size of their family would not grow too quickly. They had one little girl, Esther Sue. Parson Joe still dreamed of getting more seminary training. Marty and Clark added little amounts to the canning jar, which was gradually accumulating funds to help pay for the much-wanted schooling. Marty hoped there would soon be enough for Joe to go, though the thought of their moving so far away was bittersweet.
Marty could feel the smile leave her face and her eyes cloud over as she thought of their next daughter, Missie. Oh, how she missed Missie! She had assumed it was gradually going to get easier over the years of separation, but it had not been so. With every part of her being Marty ached for Missie. If only … if only, she caught herself thinking again, if only I could have one chat—if only I could see her again—if only I could hold her children in my arms—if only I could be sure that she is all right, is happy. But the “if onlys” simply tormented her soul. Marty was here. Missie was many, many days’ journey to the west. Yet how she longed for her sweet Missie. Though this daughter was not bone of her bone nor flesh of her flesh—Missie being the daughter of Clark and his first wife, Ellen—Marty felt that Missie was hers in every sense of the word. The tiny motherless baby girl with the pixie face who had stolen her heart and given life special meaning so many years ago was indeed her Missie. In fact, Missie had captured her love even before Clark had, she remembered. Oh, how I miss you, little girl, Marty whispered against the pane as a tear loosed itself and splashed down on the windowsill. If only— But Marty stopped herself with a shake of the head and a lift of her shoulders.
Across the yard she could see Clare and Arnie. Men now in size and years, they each still had much of the little boy in them. Some folks—those not aware of the death of Marty’s first husband—were surprised by the differences in their appearance. Clare looked and acted more and more like his father, Clem— big, muscular, teasing, boyish. Arnie was taller, darker, with a sensitive nature and finer features like Clark. By turn they loved each other, teased each other, fought with each other, couldn’t live without each other. They were laughing now as they came in for the milk pails, and Clare, who usually did most of the talking, was telling Arnie of some incident at last night’s social event. Arnie didn’t care much for neighborhood socials, but Clare never missed one. Arnie joined in his brother’s laughter at Clare’s description of the mishap, but Marty heard him exclaim over and over, “Poor ol’ Lou! Poor ol’ Lou. I woulda nigh died had it been me.” Clare didn’t seem to feel any sympathy for “poor ol’ Lou,” wholeheartedly enjoying the telling of the story. As the boys neared the door, Marty turned away from the window and dressed slowly. There was still lots of time to get the breakfast on. They were just now going to milk.
Marty brushed her long light brown hair and lifted it, heavy and full, to the back of her head. She had sometimes noted the thinning hair on many older women and secretly pitied them. Well, she didn’t have any need to worry on that score yet. In fact, her hair had really not shown much gray, either. Not like Clark’s. His hair was quite gray at the temples and was even generously sprinkled with gray throughout. On him it looks good—rather distinguished and manly, she thought.
Marty dawdled as she pinned up her hair, still examining her thoughts carefully one by one. A birthday was a good time to do some reminiscing. At length, her hair in place, she made up the bed and tidied the room.
As she left the bedroom, the smell of morning coffee wafted up the stairs to her. Surely Clark didn’t carry out his offer to make breakfast was her first thought. No, she had just seen him down by the far granary. Marty sniffed again. Definitely it was coffee, and fresh-perked, too.
Her curiosity now fully roused, Marty picked up the fragrance of bacon frying and muffins baking. She hurried into the kitchen, her nose fairly twitching with curiosity and the inviting smells.
“Aw, Ma. It was s’posed to be a surprise!”
It was Ellie.
“My land, girl,” said Marty, “it sure enough was a surprise, all right! I couldn’t figure me out who in the world would be stirrin’ ’bout my kitchen this early in the mornin’.”
Ellie smiled. “Luke wanted ya to have it in bed. I knew we’d never git thet far without ya knowin’, but I thought thet maybe I could have it ready by the time ya came down.”
Marty looked at the table. It was covered with a fresh linen cloth and set with the company dishes. A small bowl of wild roses was placed in the center, and each plate and piece of cutlery had been carefully assigned to its place.
“It looks to me like ya are ’bout ready. An’ it does look pretty, dear. Those roses look so good I think I could jest sit an’ feast my eyes ’stead of my stomach an’ not be mindin’ it one little bit.”
Ellie flushed her pleasure at the praise. “Luke found ’em way over at the other side of the pasture.”
Marty buried her nose in the nearest rose, smelling deeply of its fragrance and loving it in a special way because it was given to her in love by a caring family.
“Where is your brother?” she asked when she straightened up.
“Don’t think I’m to be tellin’ thet,” answered Ellie, “but Luke’s not far away an’ will be back in plenty of time fer breakfast. Ya like a cup of coffee while we’re waitin’ fer the rest to git here?”
“Thet’d be nice.” Marty smiled. Instead of merely a birthday girl, she was beginning to feel like royalty.
Ellie brought Marty’s coffee and then returned to the stove to keep an eye on the breakfast items. Marty sipped slowly, watching her younger daughter over the rim of the cup. Had she realized before just how grown-up Ellie was? Why, she was almost a woman! Any day now she might be taking a notion to cook at her own stove. The thought troubled Marty some. Could she stand to lose another of her girls? The last one? How lonely to be the only woman in my kitchen! Ellie had kept life sane and interesting in the years since Missie had left. What would Marty do when Ellie, too, was gone? Why, just the other day, Ma Graham had remarked about what an attractive young woman Ellie had become. Marty, too, had noticed it, but secretly she had
been hoping no one else would—not for a while yet. Once people became aware of her little girl turning into a woman and began to whisper, there would be no turning back the clock. Soon their parlor would be buzzing with young gentleman callers, and one of them would be sure to win Ellie’s heart. Marty was blinking back some tears when the men came in from the barn.
Clare was first. “Hey, Ma, you don’t look so bad, considerin’,” he joked, then laughed loudly at his own absurdity as though it were something truly hilarious.
Arnie looked embarrassed. “Aw, Clare, nothin’ funny ’bout yer dumb—”
But Clare slapped him noisily on the back and declared with good humor, “Ma, ya forgot to have ’em give this kid of yers a funny bone when they made him up. Don’t know how to laugh, this kid.”
Clare then turned his attention to his sister. “Hey, it still smells all right. Haven’t ya got it to the burnin’ stage yet?”
Ellie laughed and tried to swipe a wet dishrag across his face, but he ducked away. She was used to Clare’s teasing. Besides, she doted on her oldest brother, and he would have done anything in the world for her. Clare roughed her hair and went to wash for breakfast. Ellie tried to pat her hair back into its proper place, then dished up the scrambled eggs. Arnie, content to wait his turn at the washbasin, finally crossed to Marty. “Happy birthday, Ma,” he said, laying his hand on her shoulder.
“Thank ya, son. It sure has had a promisin’ start.”
“An’ soon we’ll all be headin’ for Clae’s. Boy, those kids of Nandry’s git noisier ever’ time we see ’em. ‘Uncle Arnie, give me a ride.’ ‘Uncle Arnie, lift me up.’ ‘Uncle Arnie, help me.’
‘Uncle Arnie—”’ “An’ you love every minute of it,” cut in Ellie.
Arnie did not argue, only grinned. Marty nodded her agreement with Ellie. Arnie did indeed love the kids.
Clark came in, drying his hands on a towel, and glanced around the kitchen. “Well, it ’pears thet my family has ’bout gathered in. Everyone waitin’ on me?”
