Where Hope Prevails

by Janette Oke

  Molly set her cup back in its place, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Beth, I don’t have nigh the education of the pair of ya. But what you’re callin’ this new, modern humanism seems to have been around fer a long, long time, don’t it?”

  “Of course, Molly. It’s as old as the book of Genesis.”

  “An’ as much as we wish it, it don’t seem practical to try and remove all those who believe the age-old lies from our kids’ world.” Beth opened her mouth to reply, but Molly hurried on with a pat on her arm. “On the other hand, we ain’t powerless, dearie. The truth is gonna win out. And there’s love we got as a weapon too. Ain’t never been as mighty a weapon for upholdin’ truth and winnin’ souls as what love can do. And there ain’t nobody gets more of our love and attention as our own children. That counts fer a lot.”

  “It does, Molly. Of course it does.”

  “Then you keep on teachin’ ’em—and we’ll all together keep on lovin’ on ’em and prayin’ fer ’em. And that includes Mr. What’s-his-name. The Spirit of truth won’t ever be silenced in speakin’ to their hearts or his. I don’t think we got too much ta fear from just one man.”

  Beth lifted her teacup to partially conceal her inner turmoil. Since being so terribly deceived over the summer by three people she had thought were friends, she did not consider herself to be so naïve as she’d once been.

  For several days Beth hadn’t bothered banking the fire to ensure a hot breakfast, but the cold nights of early November were finally too much to ignore. She shivered as she rose from her snug bed and hurried into her clothing. Now that there was snow on the ground, a dependable fire would be necessary to keep her little home warm enough.

  Lunch was easy—sandwiches at school using Molly’s homemade bread. Dinner, which Beth usually ate alone while Marnie helped Molly, often consisted of just toast and tea, sometimes followed by a can of fruit if she was particularly hungry. It seemed like too much work to fry up something more substantial just for one when the cast iron skillet was so difficult to clean. In the back of her mind was the nagging worry that soon she’d need to manage meals for two, and Jarrick may not be quite as content with a snack-sized meal in the evenings.

  The fact was that Beth’s skirts were rather loose now around the waist. What will Mother say? It won’t be long until my family comes for the wedding, and I’d best not look as thin as Penelope. The thought of family brought a sigh as Beth recalled the cook who’d cared for their nutritional needs during her growing-up years. She didn’t suppose one could be retained on a Mountie’s salary—even supplemented with her teaching income.

  Furthermore, she was very busy with events such as Bible club two evenings a week. At first Beth wondered if the older students might lose interest. However, their mothers apparently supported the effort, and it seemed like even the teenagers weren’t bored. She had continued where she left off last in the book of Exodus. The stories were some of her favorites and were easy to dramatize, using each of the children to represent a Bible character during the evening. Most of the youngsters’ inhibitions had long ago been abandoned, and even the new members seemed eager to take part in the lively action.

  Then at last Beth heard the kind of statement she had feared. “Mr. Harris Hughes says there weren’t really no pharaohs like the one the Bible tells about.” Daniel Murphy was leaning against her desk while the others organized the evening’s skit. “He says men called arch-ologists been diggin’ in Egypt for over a hundred years, and nobody’s found a single word about no Israelite slaves.”

  Beth could feel the hair on her scalp bristling. She struggled to maintain composure. “That’s very interesting, Daniel. Have you been studying Egypt?”

  “Naw, he was just saying.”

  Beth motioned him to a chair along with two boys who’d joined him. “Do you know why there’s so much sand covering a country that was once so great?”

  “No, ma’am,” David Noonan spoke up.

  “In the time of Moses, Egypt was a very great nation. One of the greatest on earth. People like Abraham often headed off to Egypt when there wasn’t enough food or if another enemy was too strong. Later in the Bible, we learn that God even told Joseph in a dream to flee there with Mary and baby Jesus.”

  “But hows come it ain’t like that no more?” chubby little Henry Ruffinelli asked, his eyes fixed on Beth’s.

  “Don’t interrupt her, Huffy! Let ’er talk.”

  Beth placed a warning hand on David’s arm. “Well, boys, in the Bible God instructed His prophets to announce that Egypt would become a desolate wasteland. And that’s exactly what happened. Other nations came marching in and destroyed its cities and temples, stealing the gold and jewels wherever they could find them. In time the beautiful buildings were covered with drifting sand and forgotten. However, the Bible recorded the importance of Egypt. And even when many historical scholars wondered if it was quite so special, those who read the Bible knew better. We’re only just now beginning to uncover the evidence of what a wealthy and powerful nation it was.” The boys were watching her closely with wide eyes. “Mr. Harris Hughes is correct about that. It wasn’t until a hundred years ago that a stone was found which helped archeologists to decipher the picture writing, called hieroglyphics, that covers many of the Egyptian buildings. And once they could read more of the secret writings, they could read words inside the tombs and learn which belonged to each pharaoh—their kings. Eventually, that led to one of the greatest recent discoveries of all in Egypt—the tomb of Pharaoh Tutankhamen, or King Tut. Have you heard of him?”

  “No,” they answered in unison. Four more children had gathered around.

  Beth could feel her pulse quicken at their rapt attention. “Most of the tombs where the wealthy pharaohs were buried had long ago been opened by grave robbers, with all the treasures stolen away. But one man was certain he could find the tomb of a particular pharaoh named Tutankhamen, who was just a boy when he ruled and when he died. This archaeologist searched for a long time, and many people laughed at him, but he went right on digging anyway. And finally, just a few short years ago, Mr. Carter found what he had been looking for—the tomb of this boy pharaoh. It had been hidden safely from thieves for thousands of years. Imagine how exciting that was for him to be the first man to peek through a hole in the wall and to see glittering gold covering tables, a throne, and a massive sarcophagus—that’s a big box for a coffin.”

  “Wow!” Several sighs followed.

  “What did they do with all that gold, Miss Thatcher?”

  Beth smiled. “Most of what they found there stayed in a museum in Cairo, Egypt. So I’ve never actually seen anything from that tomb, except in pictures. But once when I was at a museum in Toronto with my father, I did see a golden crown, a staff, and another pharaoh’s coffin. It was fascinating.” Noticing that all other activity in the room had come to a halt, Beth tried to bring things back to her lesson about Moses. “And do you know, children, that the things I saw in Toronto were even older than our story today.”

  “They were?”

  “But, Miss Thatcher, why?” Henry asked. “Why don’t any of them writings tell about Moses and the Israelite slaves?”

  Beth smiled confidently. “Well, if you were a great and powerful pharaoh and your slaves all ran away, would you allow anybody to write about it in carvings on your buildings or on the pages of history that you hired people to record on fancy papyrus papers? The pharaohs were the ones who dictated what would be written. Sometimes they even told workmen to chisel away the names of the pharaohs who came before them, attempting to erase them from history. Do you think they always told the truth when something they didn’t like happened?”

  “No, ma’am,” the boys agreed.

  “I guess not,” Henry admitted.

  “So, if you want my opinion, I think that’s why we don’t find a record of the Exodus.” They seemed to follow her explanation, but before more could be discussed Beth hurried the students back into positions, fe
eling rather pleased at neatly counteracting Robert’s teaching.

  “Mr. Harris Hughes made Daniel and David and Huffy stand in the corner today,” Teddy announced with a full mouth during Friday’s supper at Molly’s.

  “Oh? Why did’a he do that?” Frank asked.

  Marnie was quick to commandeer the story. “Fer their ‘disrespectful attitudes.’”

  Beth’s eyes darted from Marnie to Teddy, searching for additional clues.

  “Sounds like’a they deserved to be punished.”

  “No,” Teddy countered, waving his fork back and forth. “They was just tellin’ him what Miss Thatcher said ’bout Egypt and Moses. But he didn’t like hearin’ it at all.”

  Beth choked a little, quickly reaching for her water glass.

  “David told him the Bible talks about King Tut, but Huffy said that weren’t right, that it talks about other pharaohs and how God was gonna punish them. And then Daniel said the pharaohs even lied on their walls ’cause they didn’t want to tell the truth about God sendin’ Moses to save the people.”

  Marnie chimed in, “And when Mr. Harris Hughes asked ’em where they heard all that, the boys said you taught ’em last night at Bible club. And then Mr. Harris Hughes sent ’em, all three, to stand in a corner.” She giggled. “Not the same corner. Different ones.”

  Beth dropped her gaze to avoid Molly’s questioning eyes. “It’s not exactly what I said. You know how children are.” She tried to laugh it off as she rolled a cluster of peas around on her plate with a fork.

  After dinner Frank and Molly took seats on the sofa on either side of Beth. She felt small and subdued, like a child between her parents.

  “We wanted to talk with ya,” Molly began.

  “Oh, Molly, I didn’t explain it to them so they’d argue with him. I tried so hard to just give them the truth. I don’t know how it ended up sounding so . . . so quarrelsome.”

  Frank nodded, leaning closer. “We believe’a you. It’sa just we worry—that the kids, they will’a be caught in the middle.”

  “I know.” Beth dropped her face into her hands and whispered, “That’s not what I wanted.” Her fingers slid down her cheeks, coming together at her lips. “I feel terrible. It wasn’t their fault.”

  “Now hold on a minute, dearie. Let’s talk this through. That man taught ’em what he believed was true, and then so did you. I don’t feel ya done wrong there, unless yer heart was against him. Do ya think so?”

  Beth cringed and dropped her hands to fidget with the buttons of her sweater. “I don’t know, Molly.” She paused, trying hard to speak honestly. “I don’t really like him very much. He irritates me every time I speak with him.” She sighed and her shoulders sagged. “And, oh Molly, a little while ago I said some things to him that were critical and unkind.”

  “I see. Well, did ya apologize?”

  “Oh—oh, no, I didn’t.”

  “Think ya should?”

  The very idea turned Beth’s stomach. How can I apologize for just standing my ground? “He was pushing his ideas on me, Molly. And so I told him, emphatically, that I was not going to agree with him.” Beth slowly recalled that she had said much more to Robert. “I suppose I should . . . should apologize.” At the moment it sounded impossible.

  Frank caught her gaze again. “That is’a something you’ll have to ask’a the Father. But what do you think can’a be done to keep this, this confusion, from’a happening again?”

  “He’s not going to change—he’s quite resolute. But, on the other hand, if I hear the children talking about things he’s taught them that go against God’s Word, I feel I must tell them the truth. I suppose in an ordinary school it would be the school board that would deal with such matters. But Coal Valley is too small—”

  “No, not so.” Frank was shaking his head, his face lighting up. “Look around, mia cara. We are a big town now, eh? Maybe it’sa time to learn’a to govern ourselves.”

  “But we don’t even have a mayor anymore. The Ramsays were one of the families who moved away in the summer. We’ve gone backward instead of forward.”

  “That’sa not so hard. We need another one, eh?”

  Beth stared down at the carpet. Her words came slowly. “An election? But who would run for mayor?”

  “Who knows? But if it’sa the right thing, then that’sa what we do.”

  “And after that we get us a school board,” Molly put in. “The mayor would be on it fer one. And a few of the parents, I suppose. So that helps ya already.”

  Beth was feeling a little heady and breathless. Yes, a mayor and a school board. Maybe that’s exactly what it will take to keep Robert from leading our children astray. Her mind was quickly sorting through the townsfolk, wondering who might be interested in serving.

  “But,” Molly added pointedly, “still think ya might need to pray on the other matter—on that apology.”

  CHAPTER

  11

  BETH TOSSED AND TURNED all Sunday night in her chilly bedroom. Three times she dashed across the floor to stir up the embers and add more coal. Not much additional warmth came from her efforts, but in the morning she was able to manage a quick cup of tea and a bowl of oatmeal for her roommate. The tea was a soothing balm to her jittery nerves, and the more substantial breakfast for Marnie appeased her guilt. She knew she would have to face Robert and deliver a sincere apology. Worse, she still wasn’t sure if she could actually go through with it. Lord, help me do the right thing, she prayed as she walked to school.

  At the end of the day she straightened her desk and listened for the last of the footsteps out the door to be sure she would find her colleague alone. She took several deep breaths, squared her shoulders, walked into the entryway, and knocked on the doorframe of his open door.

  “Yes?”

  “Hello, Mr. Harris Hughes,” she began timidly, stepping across the threshold. “Do you have a moment?”

  “Yes. Certainly. Please have a seat.” He waved his hand, and Beth slipped into a front-row desk.

  “It has come to my attention . . .” She paused, began again. “I’ve learned that three boys in your class got in trouble on Friday for some things we talked about at our Bible club. And I just wanted to say—”

  “That’s not entirely accurate, Miss Thatcher,” he interrupted, moving out from behind his desk and half sitting on its edge. “I corrected the boys for speaking out of turn and in an argumentative tone.”

  “I see.” Beth faltered. “I was under the impression that . . . that you didn’t approve of what they said and found their statements contrary and disrespectful.”

  “Miss Thatcher, I attribute no fault in the boys’ expressing an opinion different from my own. I find that interchange perfectly acceptable and even invigorating. The exchange of opposing ideas is an excellent exercise for the mind. My only objection was the manner in which they chose to express themselves. I am attempting to train them to respond like gentlemen in any situation. I believe it is crucial to the betterment of society that we each articulate our opinions effectively and defend them as well—but do so using proper decorum.”

  “I see.” Beth had begun with what she hoped would be the easier topic. She now wrestled with how to transition to the second, more difficult issue. “I’m afraid I too failed to speak to you with the proper decorum when we were out in the street last week. And I want you to know that I’m very sorry, Mr. Harris Hughes. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “Miss Thatcher.” He cleared his throat and leaned far back, pushing his hands deep into his pockets, then rocking forward again. “I was not as offended by what you said . . . as by what you did not.”

  “Excuse me, sir? I don’t—”

  “I have expressed my desire to meet with you to discuss our shared responsibilities at this school. And you have denied me the opportunity.”

  Beth stiffened. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel that would be, well, prudent.”

  “Why, if I may ask?”

  This wa
s not what she had expected. Perhaps even worse. “I don’t think we can speak together on a subject about which . . . which we clearly don’t agree. And we’re unlikely to come to an agreement.”

  “Even if it might simply help us come to a better understanding of one another?”

  Beth thought back to their previous discussion and to his intimidating declaration that he would have the final influence on the children. “I don’t think you listen—” She stopped short before adding his name.

  “Miss Thatcher, as you are the person refusing a meeting at all, I’m afraid I could more reasonably assert that you are the one who chooses not to listen.”

  Beth’s head was beginning to cloud. This man claimed to promote communication, even to encourage opposing ideas, and yet she felt defensive every time she spoke with him. “No,” she insisted. “I don’t think a meeting between the two of us would be wise.”

  “As you wish.” He stood to his feet.

  Beth rose quickly too, retreating down the aisle and back to her classroom without further comment. Scooping up her evening grading before she hurried away, her mind was still reeling.

  I don’t understand him. His words seem so rational, but somehow there’s a sting to them. Then with a gasp she wondered if the students were feeling the same—stifled and small. Is that what Teddy and Marnie were trying to express? Is there more to this incident, one that he tried to make sound so calm and reasonable?

  Beth had decided to enlist Marnie’s help in making fabric flowers for the wedding. Even during church services, she’d been distracted by thoughts of what she could do to enhance the sanctuary. After a discussion with Molly about the possibility of fresh flowers in April, Beth knew her options would be severely limited—and rather unpredictable. Instead she’d ordered several yards of white organza, tulle, and satin to arrive with Alberto Giordano’s next return from the city. She had seen these fabrics cut into petal shapes, the edges heated over a candle to curl them and finish them nicely, and the pieces sewn in mixed layers to produce rather lovely fabric blooms. Several pearl beads in the center gave an enchanting finish. However, the process took a great deal of time.