Free Love Finds a Home (Love Comes Softly Series #8) by Janette Oke Page A
Authors: Janette Oke
left the kitchen. She did not hurry on her way to fetch Kate. She was looking at things--at life--far differently than she had ever done before.
She had never considered loneliness as something universal. She had never supposed it to be anything other than temporary and something to be resisted. In her innocence, she assumed it should be, and could be, easily disposed of. Fixed up. Remedied. And now her mother was calmly, though with open painfulness, admitting that lonesomeness was an unavoidable part of life.
When one loved, one was vulnerable. There was no guarantee that things would remain constant. Older folks died.
72
Youngsters grew up. Children chose lives of their own. Nothing stayed the same for long.
It was a troubling thought to Belinda. Wasn't there some way--any way--a person could hang on to what was good? Couldn't one have some control of tomorrow?
But she already knew the answer to that. Would Missie and Ellie be living out west if Marty could have held on to them without at least partially destroying them? Would Amy Jo be miles away from home if Kate could have kept her and given her freedom to grow at the same time? One could not control life, it seemed. Particularly the lives of those you loved. To love was to give freedom. To give freedom often meant pain and loss.
Then why even have a family? Belinda asked herself. Why let yourself love? Maybe without intending to I've chosen a wiser way. If I never love, never marry, never have children, I won't have to face what Mama--or Kate--is facing now. Is that the answer? Perhaps! Perhaps it is!
For a moment Belinda felt satisfied. She had solved one of life's riddles for herself.
And then another thought came. But I already love--it's too late. I was born loving, I guess . . . or I was taught to love awfully early. I love deeply. Pa . . . Ma . . . each of the family. Aunt Virgie. Even Windsor and Potter and the household staff in a special way. I'm not safe. Not even now. There is no way that anyone can be safe from the pain of love. Not ever. Not as long as you love anyone ... anyone at all.
And Belinda knew better than to assume that life would be better with no one--not one soul--to love.
I guess it's like Mama says, she admitted at last. One just has to let go of the past, enjoy the present, and look forward to whatever the future holds.
73
She lifted her face heavenward. "But, oh my, God," she said in a whisper. "Sometimes that's hard. Awfully hard."
A few days later Belinda decided to make a visit to the little log house. She asked Marty about it. After all, it had belonged to Clare and Kate long after it had been Marty's home. They might still feel some ownership and not be comfortable with others snooping about. Belinda didn't want to intrude.
"Go ahead," responded Marty.
"You don't think Kate would mind?"
"Mind? Why no. I think she's as happy to be in a new home as I was."
"But I don't want. . ." began Belinda.
"She's moved everything out," Marty assured her. "The house is totally bare now. S'pose it would be wise to tear it down . . . but there it still stands."
"Why . . . why. . . ?" began Belinda, but she didn't finish the question. She couldn't imagine the farmyard without the old house.
But Marty must have misunderstood, and instead of answering why the house would never be torn down, she tried to explain instead why it was still standing.
She shrugged. "I dunno," she admitted. "Maybe yer pa an' me are jest sentimental. I dunno. We keep sayin' things like, 'Dan might want it,' and stuff like thet. We even talk about makin' it into somethin' else--a granary or a chicken coop-- but we won't. I think we both know thet." Marty chuckled, amused by the little game she and Clark continued to play between them.
"Well, I need a key. Is it locked?" Belinda asked.
"Oh my, no. Don't s'pose it's ever been locked. Don't know if we even could. . .'less one put on a padlock of some sort."
74
Belinda walked down the short trail that led to
She had never considered loneliness as something universal. She had never supposed it to be anything other than temporary and something to be resisted. In her innocence, she assumed it should be, and could be, easily disposed of. Fixed up. Remedied. And now her mother was calmly, though with open painfulness, admitting that lonesomeness was an unavoidable part of life.
When one loved, one was vulnerable. There was no guarantee that things would remain constant. Older folks died.
72
Youngsters grew up. Children chose lives of their own. Nothing stayed the same for long.
It was a troubling thought to Belinda. Wasn't there some way--any way--a person could hang on to what was good? Couldn't one have some control of tomorrow?
But she already knew the answer to that. Would Missie and Ellie be living out west if Marty could have held on to them without at least partially destroying them? Would Amy Jo be miles away from home if Kate could have kept her and given her freedom to grow at the same time? One could not control life, it seemed. Particularly the lives of those you loved. To love was to give freedom. To give freedom often meant pain and loss.
Then why even have a family? Belinda asked herself. Why let yourself love? Maybe without intending to I've chosen a wiser way. If I never love, never marry, never have children, I won't have to face what Mama--or Kate--is facing now. Is that the answer? Perhaps! Perhaps it is!
For a moment Belinda felt satisfied. She had solved one of life's riddles for herself.
And then another thought came. But I already love--it's too late. I was born loving, I guess . . . or I was taught to love awfully early. I love deeply. Pa . . . Ma . . . each of the family. Aunt Virgie. Even Windsor and Potter and the household staff in a special way. I'm not safe. Not even now. There is no way that anyone can be safe from the pain of love. Not ever. Not as long as you love anyone ... anyone at all.
And Belinda knew better than to assume that life would be better with no one--not one soul--to love.
I guess it's like Mama says, she admitted at last. One just has to let go of the past, enjoy the present, and look forward to whatever the future holds.
73
She lifted her face heavenward. "But, oh my, God," she said in a whisper. "Sometimes that's hard. Awfully hard."
A few days later Belinda decided to make a visit to the little log house. She asked Marty about it. After all, it had belonged to Clare and Kate long after it had been Marty's home. They might still feel some ownership and not be comfortable with others snooping about. Belinda didn't want to intrude.
"Go ahead," responded Marty.
"You don't think Kate would mind?"
"Mind? Why no. I think she's as happy to be in a new home as I was."
"But I don't want. . ." began Belinda.
"She's moved everything out," Marty assured her. "The house is totally bare now. S'pose it would be wise to tear it down . . . but there it still stands."
"Why . . . why. . . ?" began Belinda, but she didn't finish the question. She couldn't imagine the farmyard without the old house.
But Marty must have misunderstood, and instead of answering why the house would never be torn down, she tried to explain instead why it was still standing.
She shrugged. "I dunno," she admitted. "Maybe yer pa an' me are jest sentimental. I dunno. We keep sayin' things like, 'Dan might want it,' and stuff like thet. We even talk about makin' it into somethin' else--a granary or a chicken coop-- but we won't. I think we both know thet." Marty chuckled, amused by the little game she and Clark continued to play between them.
"Well, I need a key. Is it locked?" Belinda asked.
"Oh my, no. Don't s'pose it's ever been locked. Don't know if we even could. . .'less one put on a padlock of some sort."
74
Belinda walked down the short trail that led to
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