Where Hope Prevails

by Janette Oke

Just as Beth was about to respond about the value of a good teacher, Harold added, “Fact is, Mr. Harris Hughes reminds me a lot of him.”

  Beth turned away in pretense of retying her scarf.

  “I know, Marnie, that you don’t like his airs, but you’re learnin’,” he told her. “And that’s the whole reason for school.” His attention returned to Beth. “I keep tellin’ her, Miss Thatcher, she’s gotta finish all the way. It’s not that many more years—not when you compare it with the rest of her life.”

  Somehow Beth managed to keep from throwing her arms around Marnie’s fine young man. If Harold Edwards had said nothing else all afternoon, this statement alone would have won Beth over. She could only smile broadly, not quite trusting her voice.

  Together they found fresh beaver tracks but did not catch sight of the creatures that had made them. To Marnie’s rapt attention, Harold provided a wealth of interesting facts, explaining how they live in small colonies and store up enough food for the winter. Beth followed after, remaining quiet as the couple explored together.

  They turned back as the sun began its afternoon descent. Beth led the way this time, giving Harold and Marnie a chance to feel almost alone as their pace slowed and they lagged behind. When Beth reached the gate she called back to them, “I’m going in. You can say your good-byes on the porch if you like.”

  Harold hurried forward with Marnie close behind. “No, we’ll come inside with you.”

  Molly was stitching in the parlor, Frank dozing loudly in a chair next to her. Beth and Marnie removed their outdoor things quietly and hung them on hooks.

  Harold, still in his winter coat, addressed Beth softly, with a glance at Frank sleeping in the parlor behind. “Miss Thatcher?”

  Beth looked up from the boots she had set aside and saw he was holding the red hat. Marnie hung behind him, twisting a strand of hair nervously. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology. I went and did a silly thing, and I’m afraid it caused some trouble—a misunderstanding—that I never intended.”

  “What is it, Harold?” Beth whispered back. She wondered if the new hat had been damaged somehow.

  He glanced down at his hands and back up at Beth. “I’m embarrassed to say, but I’m sure—certain, actually—you’d rather know the truth instead of finding out later some other way. I’d never want to put you in that position.” He grimaced, one eyebrow raised in a rather endearing fashion. “This week I dropped a box on the doorstep where Marnie lived, but I failed to write her name on it . . . or mine neither. An’ so I caused—”

  Beth’s gasp stopped his explanation, and she clamped a quick hand over her mouth. “Oh, Harold!” She moved to face Marnie, but the girl was still staring at the floor. “I’m so sorry, Marnie! I just assumed. I very rashly assumed that . . . oh, Marnie, I’m awfully sorry,” she repeated.

  Only then did the girl shyly look up. “It’s fine. No harm done.”

  Beth managed a laugh, then groaned, then laughed again, and the two joined in. “What if I had”—she faltered over how to say it—“I could have, oh, I’m so embarrassed, I can’t even . . . Marnie, did you know it was coming?”

  Harold grinned, and Marnie started to snicker. “Well, yes. Harold told me to watch fer a surprise. ‘Something to keep the snow off.’ But then I didn’t know what ta say when you showed me. I tried, I just couldn’t say anything without soundin’ . . .” The shifting expressions on Marnie’s face were oddly comical, wavering between pathetic and amused.

  Beth laughed harder, wiping at a tear from the corner of her eye. “You must have been fit to be tied.”

  Marnie took a small step nearer to Harold. “We couldn’t think of a good way ta tell ya.”

  “Oh, darling, and I just kept telling you how lovely it looked on you—your very own hat!” Laughter was shaking Beth’s shoulders now. “You must have thought I was out of my mind.”

  “No, ma’am, just awful kind to let me wear it first.”

  With a touch on Marnie’s shoulder and a tip of his hat to Beth, Harold excused himself, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Marnie and Beth walked the short hallway into the kitchen in order to muffle their laughter, each spontaneously breaking into giggles again whenever one looked up at the other, triggering more laughter long after they thought they were done.

  CHAPTER

  15

  MISS THATCHER, WE GOT AN IDEA.” Three teenage girls stood in a row in front of Beth’s desk, their expressions serious. It was lunch break, and Beth was just catching up on some grading while eating her sandwich. A few of Robert’s students had begun bringing their lunches so they could eat together in the classroom, but all of Beth’s younger ones simply walked the short distance home to their mothers.

  Beth looked at each face, from Bonnie Murphy to Marnie and then Luela Coolidge.

  “What do you have in mind, girls?”

  “We want ta write the Christmas play this year,” Luela announced.

  Beth quickly restrained a frown. Things were far more complicated this year with two teachers, particularly since she was avoiding meetings with Robert. She had been contemplating a quiet evening of recitations for her own class, their families invited. Beth struggled to find a proper response. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. But why are you asking me? Have you spoken to Mr. Harris Hughes about this?”

  They nodded solemnly, and Bonnie made a little face. “He told us just ta talk to you. Said it was yer department.”

  “Why mine?” Beth asked.

  “He said he’ll stick with teachin’ us science and mathematics and facts and stuff.”

  “He don’t even go to church, Miss Thatcher!”

  “And he doesn’t say the prayer before class.”

  Beth sighed. “Fine, then. If that’s how he wants it, then of course we’ll plan a Christmas celebration. If Mr. Harris Hughes has no interest in spiritual things, then we won’t let that stop us,” she said as she set her pen in its stand. “What do you have in mind?”

  They all talked at once. “We want all the kids to do the show, like last year. . . . We can have it in the church. . . . We’ll tell Bertie Benedict to ask her mama if we can use her little baby brother to be Jesus. ’Cause Charlie, we used him last year, he’s already one and he don’t sit still no more—I mean anymore.”

  “Those are wonderful ideas. I’ll speak to Pastor Davidson about holding it at the church. Why don’t we get together after school tonight, if you have time after homework and chores, and we can start to work on the details. Shall we start with the script?”

  Her suggestion was met with silence. Marnie, the youngest of the three, drew in a breath. “We’d like ta write it ourselves, please, Miss Thatcher. And do all the work fer it too. We can get the kids together on Saturday and give ’em their parts to practice and such.”

  “You want to do it all?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Luela took charge again. “Teddy Boy and Addie said they would help build a set, and Sadie’s gonna ask her mama to play the organ fer the songs. We hoped you and Grandpa Frank could do a duet on yer violins again like last year. Maybe even the same song.”

  Beth thought about her neglected violin. It would require practice if she would be ready for a public event. Frank kept up much better than she did—even with the contraption he had rigged to keep the bow strapped to his wrist after he had lost his right hand. She leaned back in her chair and surveyed the girls. “It sounds like you’ve given this a great deal of thought and planning already. I’m proud of you all. And it’s wonderful to see you take initiative. May I make just one request?”

  “’Course!”

  “Will you show me your ideas as you’re working them through? I think it would be good to have an adult involved and at least aware of what all will be taking place. After all, this will be a school event.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” They hurried from the room to join their co-conspirators eating lunch next door.

  Beth put away her tiny bit of disappointment, smiled, a
nd sent up a quick prayer that the evening would turn out the way the girls envisioned it—and that Robert would not put any stumbling blocks in their way.

  “Heard the news, Beth?” Molly asked over a quilt block she and Marnie were piecing together on the sofa. Half of the top was already assembled, an intricate Bear’s Paw design set against a light green twill. They had gathered in the parlor, each in favorite places.

  Beth, in an armchair, looked up from her book. “What news? I don’t suppose I have.”

  “The apartments in the old company building are ready. So some of the men are movin’ there this weekend, an’ Marnie can have her own room back. Frank and Teddy Boy can pick up all her things on Saturday. If that works for ya.”

  “They finished in this weather?”

  “Just had the rooms inside left—the outside they got done ’fore the snow.”

  “Oh, that’s good. I’m sure the men will appreciate being able to spread out a little. You must be glad too, Molly.”

  “Yes, an’ no. The money’s been real good ta have. Maybe come spring we can put a coat of paint on this old house. But I’m plumb wore out with all the extra washin’. Most of ’em will still come fer dinner, so that’s good income yet. Means we’re doin’ fine still.”

  “Well, you deserve a break—or at least a little less labor. I’m so happy it’s all worked out for you.”

  Beth could tell Marnie was watching for her reaction, and with an easy approval of it all, the girl seemed relieved. “Miss Thatcher, it’s been so nice stayin’ with ya. But I do think I’d like my own bedroom back.”

  “Of course you would, darling. Who could blame you? But, Marnie, you’ve been the best roommate I could have wanted, and I hope you know how much I’ll miss you. You’ve even taught me many important things, like keeping that silly fire going.”

  The three chuckled, and Molly said, “Best part is, Marnie dear, next time yer Harry sends a hat, I get to be the one can call dibs. Hope it’s a blue one this time to match my new dress.”

  “Oh, Molly,” Beth groaned with a soft smile, shaking her head in response to the woman’s mischievous, twinkling eyes.

  Marnie muttered quietly, “It’s Harold.” Yet as she rose to leave, she stooped to press a kiss against Molly’s hair and added, “Thanks for yer help on the quilt.”

  Molly folded up the project for the night and gathered the other supplies to put back in her sewing kit just as Frank returned from the time-consuming job of toting buckets of hot water to fill the bathtub and took his spot in the corner chair.

  He seemed pleasantly surprised to find Beth in the parlor. “Buona sera, Miss Beth. I thought’a you’d be busy at home.”

  “Good evening to you too, Frank. I finished grading at school today. So I had a free evening.”

  “That’sa nice.”

  Almost to the doorway, Marnie turned to Molly. “Can I use the dining table now, fer homework?”

  “’Course, dearie. Just don’t leave nothin’ behind when yer done.”

  Beth set her book aside, slipped her feet from her shoes to tuck under her, and settled in for a nice long visit. Having Frank and Molly all to herself was a rare pleasure. “It’s so quiet tonight, and it’s never quiet here.”

  Molly laid an afghan over her lap. “There’s a meeting fer the company in the new buildin’. Some high mucky-mucks are in town, so they want all their people to gather.”

  “Where’s Teddy this evening?”

  Molly leaned back into the sofa with a contented sigh. “At school.”

  “At school? This late? Whatever for?”

  “Mr. Harris Hughes has got ’em workin’ on some project. Somethin’ about ’lectricity.”

  “Is that so?” Beth dropped her gaze to the area rug, following the vine all the way around its edge as she mulled over thoughts about Robert. “Do you think he’s going to be elected as mayor, Frank?” Turning in the older man’s direction, Beth watched him stir and hoped she hadn’t awakened him.

  “Maybe so. I know you don’ta like him, but the townsfolk, they seem’a to trust his knowledge. An’ I think they like’a too that he don’t work’a for the mine.”

  “I suppose.” I’m just as well educated. Well, almost, she mused. If I weren’t a woman, perhaps I’d be the one. . . . And then always that second thought, Except I’ll be leaving this summer.

  Frank’s eyes had closed again.

  “I spoke with Philip about him the other day.” Her voice was so low she didn’t think she’d been heard. “He doesn’t seem to take issue with Robert either.”

  Molly answered, “That right?”

  “Philip asked me how club was going, and I told him about the kerfuffle with Robert a while back. I was truly surprised that Philip wasn’t more concerned.” Frustrated, Beth pushed back her hair with both hands. “I’ll be blunt, Molly. I don’t understand what everyone else seems to see in him. Maybe it’s just that I’m closer to the situation—that I cross paths with him daily instead of just socially.” Beth shrugged. “Sure, he’s a rather nice person out of the classroom. Very polite. Well-spoken.”

  Molly lifted one eyebrow and cocked her head. “What exactly ya have against him? Exactly,” she asked, leaning forward and watching Beth carefully.

  Beth bristled at the reproof in her question. “You haven’t heard him, Molly. Sometimes when he talks to me he’s so . . . he’s so condescending and, well, smug.”

  “Ya mean when he disagrees with ya?”

  “Yes, but, it’s more than that. It’s as if he fully intends to disagree with me. And that even when he knows how I feel about something, he’s going to do it his way regardless.”

  Molly settled against the sofa again and repeated, “Ya mean, he disagrees with ya.”

  “No, it’s not just that.” Beth’s irritation with the man was making it very difficult for her to express her feelings. “He’s fully aware of it all, Molly. I don’t think people understand the motives behind his actions, behind his words. He realizes that we’re a Christian community and he’s the outsider. And he intends to fix us, I think.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Why is it ya think he wants ta fix us?”

  “Because I believe he feels he knows better.”

  “And you don’t agree?”

  Beth’s eyes narrowed. “No, Molly. I don’t. I think he’s an elitist. I think his first-class, expensive education has made him feel superior. I think because of it he hasn’t just put himself above us all, above this whole town, but he’s put himself above God too. And I’m afraid for those children who sit in his class every day and hear him spout his noxious ideologies.” Beth tried to make herself smaller in her chair. Even she wasn’t comfortable with the rancor she heard in that last phrase.

  “I see.” Molly lifted her head and slowly adjusted her position to face Beth, draping an arm across the back of the sofa. She patted the cushion beside her. “Will ya come sit here, dearie?”

  Beth obliged, but her movements were rather stiff and formal. She sat straight, her fingers laced together in her lap.

  Molly leaned closer, reaching across and taking one of Beth’s hands in her own, softened with age. “There’s a battle—I ain’t denying. But ya gotta remember who the enemy is.”

  Beth’s gaze darted toward Molly. The woman’s eyes held great concern.

  “I’m not sayin’ ya can’t make a fuss when ya need to. I ain’t sayin’ that at all. Goodness knows, I done my own share of fussin’ in my day. But what I am sayin’ is that ya gotta do it right—the Bible way.”

  “And you don’t think I am?” Beth swallowed hard, already knowing the answer in her heart.

  “I don’t think ya swung a fist out at nobody. Yet.” She gave Beth’s hand a playful shake. “Ya ain’t killed nor stolen nor perjured. It’s just yer words are showin’ what yer heart is feelin’, and I’m afraid you’re settin’ yerself up pretty hard against him.” She added guardedly, “And ya even might’a d
one some gossippin’, don’t ya think?”

  Beth squeezed her eyes closed. Molly is right. “Yes, I’ve done those things . . . all of them,” she whispered through trembling lips, and tears filled her eyes. “But what can I do, Molly? I can’t just sit back and watch it happen, can I?”

  “Well, I guess that brings to mind a couple Bible verses. I know ’em well ’cause I’ve needed to recall ’em so many times. The first one’s from the Sermon on the Mount. The very words of Jesus. ‘Love yer enemies, bless them that curse ya, do good to them that hate ya, and pray for them which despitefully use ya, and persecute ya.’” Molly shook her head sorrowfully. “It’s a hard one—powerful hard sometimes. I know that well. But it don’t change the fact that it’s the Lord’s way. And He knew a thing or two about enemies, didn’t He?” Beth slowly nodded, wiping her damp eyes.

  Molly pressed Beth’s hand tenderly. “And the second is from 1 Peter. ‘Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh ya a reason of the hope that is in ya with meekness and fear.’ Now, that fear, it ain’t fear of man. It’s fear of God only. And no one else. Ya see, the Bible way of fussin’ don’t mean you can’t speak. It just tells ya the right way to do it. And did ya notice those words ‘to every man that asketh’? Sometimes our best course is ta wait till we’re asked.”

  Beth blew her nose. “I’m not very good at that—at waiting. And then when I do speak up, I’m usually good and angry and don’t do it right at all.”

  “That’s the fleshly way that got passed down to ya from every generation that come before. So that means we all got room fer growin’.” Molly drew Beth close in a strong embrace. “We’re all just pilgrims makin’ our way along, tryin’ to follow in the footsteps of Him who was the only One who took every single step just right.”

  Frank crossed the room, taking a seat on the other side of Beth. “Can’a we pray with you, mia cara?”

  Beth melted, at last allowing tears to trickle from her eyes. “I’d like that,” she whispered.

  Molly spoke again softly. “Do ya love him, Beth?”

  “Who . . . ?”