by Janette Oke
“Ya don’t know him. None of ya.”
Molly’s voice came low and clipped. “Then where . . . ?”
“In the woods. I met him in the woods. That ain’t so hard to believe, is it?”
“Who is he? How long have ya . . .”
At last the information poured out. “His name is Harold. He’s a miner. He’s new. He come out to join his uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards. An’ he’s not a bad person—he’s just . . . he’s just the nicest man I ever met.”
“A man? How old is he? Why ain’t we seen him at church?”
“He wants ta come,” Marnie said quickly, skipping over the harder question. “He says he plans on it. But they’re makin’ him do the work nobody else wants, ’cause he’s new, I guess. An’ he has ta go in at times when the others are off.”
“On Sunday?” Beth puzzled over the strange claim.
Molly was unrelenting, and before the girl could answer, she demanded, “Then how’s it come to be that you an’ him meet up?”
“We don’t got long ta talk. We just, we just chat a minute or two, in between times—”
“He could’a lose his job, Marnie,” Frank said quietly. “You cannot take’a such chances.”
Beth held her breath. Molly pushed back her chair and headed toward the stove. Frank’s eyes followed her and then turned back to Marnie. “You know it’sa not right to hide this. It don’ta look good. To us . . . or anyone.”
“Yes, Papa Frank.”
He wiped a hand across his face. “You don’ta go no more to meet’a him in the woods. He wants to talk’a to you, he comes here, eh?”
“Yes, Papa.” Her voice was small. “May I be excused, please?”
Frank cast a glance back toward Molly. “Yes, mia cara.”
Sunday dinner continued in silence.
Molly and Beth cleared and washed all of the dishes, and Frank dried them, skillfully pinning each piece against the worktable with the stump of one arm while using the towel with the other hand. The kitchen was back in order before Marnie was mentioned again. There didn’t seem to be a rush. At least for now the girl was safe in the parlor, reading. She had no place to retreat. Beth was certain Marnie was missing the privacy of her own room, especially now.
Beth laid a hand on Molly’s shoulder and kept her voice low. “Want to step out to the porch with me before I leave?”
“That would be nice—a quiet place to talk.”
“If it helps.”
“You ladies go,” Frank encouraged. “I will’a stand guard.” He managed a teasing grin.
The rocking chairs were covered with dust and dried leaves. Molly and Beth leaned against the rail, looking out to the street.
At last Beth said, “What are you thinking?”
“Don’t know yet. It’s a shock to my heart.”
“I understand. I can’t believe she’s been hiding it. I thought she and I were . . .” Beth shook her head with a little groan.
“Frank’ll find out about him. Won’t waste a day. But if he’s a miner, then he ain’t no schoolboy.”
“How young do they take them in the mine? Paolo Giordano was fifteen when he started. Is there anyone else his age—or younger?”
“Don’t know, dearie. We’ll have to wait on Frank.”
“Molly, she’s only fourteen.” Beth could hardly keep the lament out of her voice.
“True. But we don’t know nothin’ yet. Maybe it’s just a childish crush. We gotta let this play itself out. Only she won’t be walkin’ around alone again fer a long while. That I can say fer sure.” Molly shook her head. “Thank the good Lord I got Frank fer these hard days.”
“He loves her, Molly.”
“Oh, he’s got a mighty tender heart fer that girl.” Molly’s face crumpled.
Beth put an arm around Molly’s shoulders, surprised to see the weathered face betraying such deep emotion. She was certain about what her dear friend was unable to voice—that Molly’s heart was fracturing with how much love she too felt for Marnie.
Back in her rooms and stretched out on the sofa during the lazy afternoon, Beth’s heart was too troubled to read. Her thoughts kept returning to dear Marnie, trying to imagine what would happen next. First she pictured Frank standing atop the porch steps, facing off with a leering miner—a grown man with a rough beard, spitting chewing tobacco into the grass. Then she’d see a boy instead, covered in coal dust, far too young for the mines, wheezing out his affections for Marnie. Every scene she imagined only increased her distress.
If only I could reason with her. But Beth wondered what she would say if she were in charge. I think I would just forbid her to see the boy again. I would put my foot down, insist that she focus on her schooling until she’s completed it. That’s what my mother would do. The last thought stung a little. Beth knew far too well how it felt to be young and for youthful wishes to be contradicted and denied—even with the best of intentions. How ironic that all I wanted then was to teach, and my mother just wanted to see me properly wed. Now Marnie’s chance to get a teaching certificate might be in peril because she’s lost her heart to a man. But even so, it’s different with Marnie. She’s just a child, and she has no idea yet what she wants. It’s just that the idea of love sounds so tempting, so exciting. She has no way of knowing how hard it is to be a wife.
Beth looked across toward that cranky old stove. In not too long she’d be solely responsible for keeping the rooms warm day and night, and for preparing meals on it for her new husband. She wasn’t certain she could rise to those challenges. But Jarrick would never make enough money to afford household help.
Then again, she wondered if that luxury might indeed be possible if Jarrick worked for her father. It doesn’t matter. Beth shook her head firmly. I would rather struggle to put a meal on our table every day here in the West than watch him leave every morning for an office job in Toronto. He’ll hate it. Heavenly Father, if only You would work out some way to keep us here. The prayer sounded selfish, but she rushed on. And please, please protect Marnie from shackling herself to a kitchen, and laundry, and cleaning, and . . . well, You know all the things she’d face—while she’s so young.
On Monday Molly appeared at Beth’s classroom door as soon as all the students had gone. Beth pulled the door closed behind her, and they wasted no time.
Molly kept her voice low as she said, “He is a miner. Frank talked to Lloyd Edwards, his uncle.”
“Oh dear, Frank didn’t mention anything about Marnie to the uncle, about the two of them—”
“’Course not. Just bein’ friendly.”
Beth exhaled her relief.
“They call ’im Harry—he’s twenty-one.” Molly hurried on. “He’s a good boy. Come out here when his uncle made an offer of room an’ board. His family’s poor, and he sends most his money home. Mr. Edwards said he’s steady and smart and was the top of his grade-eight class ’fore he started workin’ instead.”
“He’s twenty-one?”
“Yes, but now, don’t miss the bigger picture.”
Beth sank into a desk chair, and Molly dropped into a seat across the aisle. “Frank says he’s met the boy today too. Invited him to the house fer supper soon. And by the look on Harry’s face, seems he’s grateful fer the chance. So there’s something there between ’em.”
“He’s twenty-one,” Beth said again. “He’s not a boy.”
“Well, he ain’t exactly a man though neither, dearie.”
“Molly, he’s seven years older than Marnie! Seven—half her life. She’s far too young . . .” But Beth couldn’t continue.
A shadow crossed Molly’s face. “I was sixteen when I married Bertram, and he was twenty.”
“But . . . but things were different.”
“Different how? We still fell in love in the same way, seems ta me.”
Beth felt frustration growing but fought to stay calm, reasonable. What should I say, and how can I say it in a way that helps Molly understand?
; But it was Molly who broke the silence. “I see in that girl more ta offer a marriage than I had at the time. Marnie’s been through a lot, forced ta grow up quick-like, Beth. Her momma died when she was just a slip of a thing, an’ I know she carried a load long ’fore she was ready. She can cook ’most everything I can, knows all there is ta know about keepin’ a house, carin’ fer others. She’s over-mature fer her age. A real capable young woman. It’s—”
“Exactly!” Beth interrupted, unable to hold back longer. “She is capable, and I . . . I had such . . . such dreams for her. She’d make such an excellent teacher, Molly. She’s got so many of the right qualities. I’m wishing so much more for her than keeping a house, slaving in a kitchen . . .”
At the expression on Molly’s face, Beth’s words abruptly halted and she felt her face grow hot with shame. That wasn’t really what I meant. Or was it? Confusion clouded her thinking. How could I say such a thing—and to Molly of all people? Not to mention that I’m looking forward to marriage myself. How can I explain how different this seems? For a long, tense interlude there was silence.
Molly pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and drew it across her brow. Beth heard her sigh. When the woman lifted her face again, Beth thought she saw tears glistening in the corners of her tired-looking eyes. To Beth’s surprise Molly reached out and took her hand.
But there was no reprimand in her voice when Molly spoke softly. “I know you love her too, and I know ya want her to have the best that life can offer. But, but have ya considered that to Marnie this—this other path—might just be her dream? She wants a home, Beth. Her own home. Fer far too long she ain’t really had that. Just a house full up with boarders, men she don’t know. Ain’t even got her own room no more. She wants love, not things. And Marnie has all the gifts of a homemaker, a good wife. I think that when that times comes she’ll be more ’an ready. An’ she’ll do a fine job of it too. She’s capable, that girl o’ mine. So I gotta trust her. I gotta trust her heavenly Father to keep her.”
Beth wiped away her own tear and nodded. “You’re right, Molly. I . . . I know that. I suppose I was imagining a life for her that I had no right to plan. I . . . I saw a wonderful potential teacher, a . . .” She wrung her hands together, sighed, and tried again to put her thoughts into words. “Marnie relates so well to children. She has such gifting and is so patient and organized and meticulous. It’s just . . .” Beth stumbled to a stop. She plucked at the lace on her sleeve, wondering where to go to make amends for her thoughtless words. Another apology was the only option.
“Molly, it was presumptuous and selfish of me to assume. I had no right. And my words didn’t convey how much respect I have for you—for the role you’ve had in so many lives, for all the ways you give so much of yourself every day. I’m so sorry, Molly.” Beth lowered her head and bit her lip to keep it from trembling.
A slight squeeze of her hand lifted her gaze. Molly was smiling. “I know how ya feel, dearie. And now, you must know I ain’t sayin’ we’re gonna let ’em rush things. At present they both seem ta have interest. I’m smart enough to see that light in her eyes. But nobody says they’re headin’ to the altar anytime soon. We’ll just trust ’em to the Lord and let Him be the one decidin’ the if and when of it. We’ll talk to her, me an’ Frank. I have faith that Marnie will listen, so long’s we’re speaking truth in love, not forcing our own way.”
Beth managed a weak smile as she returned the pressure on her hand. “Of course,” she responded. “Of course. And, Molly, I have faith in her too.”
Back in her home, Beth took a book from the shelf, but she knew it would be impossible to concentrate on reading. Thoughts about Marnie ran through her mind.
Father, she prayed, I can’t help it. I can’t help but believe that if she’d just finish school it would open so many doors for her. But I’m sure Molly’s right that we can’t force her, that we have to allow her to set her own course and listen to Your voice in her heart.
A perplexing thought nagged at Beth, and finally she asked herself outright, Am I that much like Mother? Would I truly impose my will on another, despite knowing she wants something else instead? Beth let the book slip from her hands and clasped them together. O Lord, please forgive me for believing I know best. I want Your will for Marnie’s life, not mine. But, God, please give all of us wisdom to guide her in these important decisions. And close our mouths if we have anything to add beyond what You would have us say. Amen.
CHAPTER
13
SNOW WAS FALLING on the Saturday of the town meeting, a perfect late-November morning with not a breath of wind. Large, feathery flakes filled the air, suspended in a breathtaking, slow descent. As Beth made her way to the school building, she saw the children calling to each other in excitement, making snow angels, and opening their mouths wide to catch enormous snowflakes on their tongues.
Beth paused to watch for a moment, delighting in their joy in greeting the snow. They are exactly what this meeting is about—the children. The school is for them, and the town will be theirs soon enough. Oh, Father, please help me to do whatever I can on their behalf, and help me to honor You with every word and action.
She entered the building and stamped the snow from her boots, slipping her feet into dry shoes she had carried with her. There was already a small crowd gathered in Robert’s classroom, many of them standing. Beth worked her way forward, speaking with several mothers before taking a seat near the front. More people here than I expected, she thought, pleased as she looked around.
Toby Coulter was going to lead the meeting from Robert’s desk. Soon the sharp whistle through his fingers brought conversations to a close.
“Come to order,” Toby said, looking a bit sheepish. “We’re gonna give this a go. I ain’t led a town meetin’ before, but we’re all friends, and we’ll get through it fine. Henry Gowan here’s gonna be our secretary—writin’ down the minutes—so we even got a record of what’s said, all official like.”
A deep voice called out, “Should’a had the teacher do it. Everybody knows old Gowan can’t spell.” Laughter followed.
“All right, all right. We ain’t havin’ no foolishness today, Fred. Keep yer comments to yerself.”
Beth blushed, glad that she had not been asked to transcribe the meeting notes. Then she noticed Robert stand to his feet on the opposite side of the room and nod his head in acknowledgment as the teacher. “I’m happy to serve in any capacity, gentlemen.”
“Thank ya kindly, Mr. Harris Hughes. We’re glad yer here. Might come back to ya if we have a question ’bout a point of order.”
Robert nodded again, his tweed jacket and sculpted hair looking incongruous among the denim overalls and rough beards all around. Yet he seemed to be at least acquainted with these men. Beth squeezed her hands together in her lap. It was Robert they acknowledged as teacher—not me. It was a humbling realization, particularly when she had arrived a year before him.
“First, we better give a sum’ry of what’s been goin’ on till now. The old mayor left the records with Bill Shaw, and he brung ’em so we can go over some things. Bill, ya wanna come up and read what ya got?”
“Won’t take long! We ain’t got much.” More laughter.
“Fred, I’m tellin’ ya fer the last time.”
Sadie Shaw’s father lumbered to the front of the room. What followed was a long reading about boundaries and easements, taxes and annexation, departments and committees. An inordinate amount of bureaucracy for such a small town, Beth thought.
She soon noticed the same names appearing often in the reports—Silas Ramsey, Stanley Murphy, Bill Shaw, and Noah Stanton. These men had made up the town council and had been deeply involved in all previous Coal Valley endeavors. But Mayor Ramsey had moved away, and Stanley Murphy and Abigail’s husband, Noah, were among those killed in the mine collapse. Even poor Bill had lost a grown son on that terrible day. Beth winced to think that one bereaved father was all that was left of the town council.<
br />
“Now, folks,” Toby Coulter continued, “we’re gonna get into the council nominations, and from there we’ll let ya think on it before we hold an election fer mayor. We don’t hafta get a mayor from those we elect today, but seems like if you’ve got a man who’s willin’ to serve, best ta speak out now. No sense holdin’ back any good candidates. Oh, and we’re all agreed that we’re gonna hold the election after Christmas, prob’ly mid-January. So we’ll start collectin’ names fer mayor any time after tonight.” He paused. “Alrighty then, don’t seem to me to be any reason to talk more ’bout it. Let’s just get to it, then. Who ya want on the council?”
“How ’bout you?” a voice from the back called out.
Toby shook his head firmly. “I ain’t got the time. You all know that’s why I ain’t let my name stand before now. Who else?”
The long silence was punctuated only by the occasional shuffling of shoes. At last someone said, “Howard McDermott.”
“Ya up fer it, Howard?”
An inaudible response.
“Whad’ya say?”
“He said nay,” said a strong voice from next to Howard. Several men laughed aloud.
“Write that down,” Toby instructed their secretary.
He studied the crowd. “Who else?”
Another extended pause. “I nominate Lloyd Edwards.” The shuffling sounds increased.
“Yes er no, Lloyd?”
A confident “Ya, sure” carried through the room.
“Good. That’s one, then. Everybody know Lloyd yet? Step forward, will ya?”
Beth turned to see a tall man with straw-colored hair and a full beard raise a hand in greeting from his place against the back wall. He seemed friendly enough, making eye contact around the room. So this is Harry’s uncle—father of four new children in our school. Beth searched in the vicinity of Lloyd for a young man who might be Marnie’s beau, but she could see no one young enough.
“Who else?” Toby prodded. Faces began to turn toward each other, reflecting the same question.
