Where Hope Prevails

by Janette Oke

  The sisters watched in silence as the cat wove its way between Julie’s ankles. Slowly she lowered a hand and scratched at the tabby’s back. Penelope wriggled in delight, moved forward out of reach, then circled back into position again.

  Julie smiled. “She likes me.”

  Beth sighed and watched her sister bond with the persnickety feline. Stretching her hand carefully, she managed to rub a little under its whiskered chin. “What would I write? I can’t be seen as working against Robert.”

  “Here, kitty” was Julie’s only response as Penelope played hard to get.

  Suddenly Beth pushed herself upright. “That’s it. We’ll write up a summary of what the position requires, and we’ll simply state each person’s qualifications. It’ll be obvious immediately that Frank is the best choice—to everyone. Oh, Julie, what a wonderful idea.” Already Beth was hurrying up toward her door.

  Julie trailed behind as Penelope scurried away. “If that’s all you’re going to do, why not get your students to do it instead? Call it a civics lesson and let them do the work.”

  Beth had the key into the lock, but she turned to look at her sister. “Another excellent idea! This will keep it from looking like I’m just pushing for Frank.”

  “But . . . aren’t you?”

  The project quickly became a school assignment. Beth took some time the following day to discuss the election with her students and to format a list of questions related to their town. What should the mayor do first? What did Coal Valley need most? What problems did its citizens observe? They narrowed it down to only six questions. Beth had every student copy them on a sheet of paper which could be taken home. They were instructed to discuss the list with their families, including older siblings, and would be given extra points if they could find a non–family member to interview as well. Lastly, they were to write down the answers to each of the questions, and Beth would summarize all their findings into a pamphlet that would be circulated as good information for the community, put together as a community effort and a school project, both.

  Little Dorothy Noonan whispered to her friend, prompting Pearl Ruffinelli to raise a hand. Beth anticipated the question from her first-grade students. “Miss Thatcher, what if we don’t write so good? Can Henry help me? An’ can Dotty get David, her big brother, ta help her?”

  “Yes, darling. So long as no one else does the interviewing for you. If you’re second grade or younger you may have a family member write out the answers for you. But I’d like you to be the ones asking the questions. That’s good reading practice too. So I want each of you to be leading the conversations at home, and let’s have your papers back by next Monday. Do you all understand?”

  “Yes, Miss Thatcher,” the class answered in unison, most of them looking rather intrigued at this different kind of assignment.

  Beth and Julie sorted through the results Monday evening. Nothing was particularly surprising to Beth, except for more attention given to town expansion than she had expected. The requests were that the store should be bigger, the roads wider, and there should be more homes built within the next year. Beth was personally enthused about the requested telephone service. This would meet a pressing need, particularly in emergency situations. Though she knew stringing lines so deep into the mountains was unlikely for many years yet.

  Some students tucked in their own requests—a carousel, an ice cream parlor, and a runway for airplanes. Beth was disappointed, though, to see no outcry against those ugly stumps abandoned all around town. Apparently no one else felt as Beth did about a removal program.

  “What you need now,” Julie grumbled when the sorting was complete, “is a printing press.”

  Beth laughed. “We only need to copy out thirty of the pamphlets. That should cover each family as well as the single men too.”

  “Why don’t you just make it another assignment—in penmanship?”

  “I could, but that would put all of the burden on poor Ida Edwards. She’s really the only one whose penmanship is up to the task. The others haven’t mastered an inkwell enough to avoid blots all over the page.” And with that, the two sisters set to work.

  With only two more days until the election, Beth distributed copies of the pamphlets to the students to deliver to family and friends. It felt a little awkward to place one in the hands of Thomas Green. She wondered what his father would think. His son had written the short description of Fred Green’s qualifications—all about fishing—and Beth was sure Thomas would let the man know who had written it.

  Ida Edwards had talked with Mr. Harris Hughes for his short biography, and Wilton Coolidge had spoken with Frank. They also were brief. Robert’s listed his education, and Frank’s covered his many years working and living in Coal Valley.

  As Beth watched her class scurry out that afternoon with the pamphlets clutched in mittened hands, she was certain the choice of mayor was obvious. She closed the door behind the last one and prayed, “God, may this do some good for Coal Valley.” Then she remembered to add, “And may Your will be done.”

  Beth woke early on Saturday morning and, shivering in the darkness, stirred up a fire so the rooms might be warm by the time her sister got up. She lit the oil lamp beside the sofa and, covered from toe to chin by a thick afghan, drew out her Bible. Her prayers focused mostly on the election, on the children’s well-being, and on the fast-approaching moment when she must leave Coal Valley. And she whispered once again, “Help Jarrick to know what is best. For him and . . . and for our marriage to come.”

  “What time is it?” Julie asked with a yawn and a long stretch, standing in the bedroom doorway.

  “Oh, I was hoping you’d be able to sleep longer, dear. I’m not sure of the time. I didn’t check.”

  Julie pulled up a corner of the afghan and snuggled beneath it with Beth. “I’ll pray with you, if you like.”

  “That would be wonderful.” Their heads close together, the sisters broadened the prayer time to include family and friends back in Toronto.

  After a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, Beth and Julie prepared to walk over to Coulter’s store, where the ballot box had been set up. A considerable number of people were also making their way to the wooden sidewalk in front of the store. Beth was astonished at the sight of a cluster of horses tied to trees at the end of the building.

  “Who in the world could that be?” she wondered aloud.

  “Isn’t that common?” Julie laughed. “A good old-fashioned western automobile, right?”

  Beth was in no mood for joking. “Nobody here owns a horse or could afford the upkeep. Bringing in enough grain and hay over the winter would be impossible. The company car and two trucks serve us well.” She didn’t tell Julie that she had once suggested introducing a cow, for its milk, to their little town. She felt her face grow warm as she remembered how quickly she was informed of the impracticalities.

  They smiled greetings to Betty McDermott and Charlotte Noonan as the ladies approached from the opposite direction. Holding her youngest on her hip, Charlotte thanked Beth for the homework assignment now clutched firmly in hand, adding, “My Dotty was so excited about doin’ it. She had me sittin’ down while she read the questions all serious like.” They laughed and moved inside.

  Groups, gathered in various corners, held whispered discussions. A table at the window held the ballot box, waiting for each resident’s vote. Beth’s eyes swept the room, noting who was present.

  Fred Green, in a narrow aisle among the dry goods, was surrounded by a few strangers in long, heavy coats and cowboy hats. Beth presumed it was his friends whose horses were tied outside. She frowned, wondering if he was bringing them from elsewhere to boost his chances. Surely there are rules about who can vote.

  Toby Coulter leaned his back against the counter, arms crossed above the apron tied around his ample belly. Beth was sure he had never had a crowd of customers this large in the store. He smiled and called greetings to all who entered. “Mornin’, ladies,” he said above t
he din. “Glad ya come. We have some fine new yard goods, if you’re interested today.” And, “Hey, Parker, I seen that the new pair’a work gloves ya ordered is here. You can pick ’em up today if ya want.”

  At the back of the store, Beth noticed a second, larger cluster of men. These were familiar faces, mostly bearded, of workers and husbands who attended church. Beth was relieved to see Frank among them. She waved hesitantly, but he didn’t look up.

  Her sister had walked to the counter, browsing the small selection of women’s items—simple jewelry and handkerchiefs and such. Since Julie would not be voting, it seemed she had decided to shop a bit while Beth involved herself in conversations with the townsfolk.

  Beth chatted for a few moments with some of the mothers, always mindful of the waiting ballot box standing almost forlorn on the table. As she moved on toward another group, she passed a tower of crates and found herself face-to-face with Robert. No doubt he’d been biding his time, watching the proceedings from a safe distance. “Good morning,” she offered, catching a quick breath and squaring her shoulders.

  “Good morning, Miss Thatcher. And how are you today?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” Beth brushed at some dust on her sleeve from the crates, casting a glance around in hopes she’d find a reason to cut the conversation short.

  “I see you’ve come early to cast your vote.”

  “Yes, there’s no reason to delay. My sister and I have been up—” She hadn’t finished when he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head.

  “You and your sister have been rather busy I see.”

  “I suppose we usually are. And you are referring to . . . ?”

  “To this, Miss Thatcher.” He held out a copy of the pamphlet.

  Beth was surprised he had received one of their rather scant number of copies. There’s no reason for concern, she told herself, there’s nothing in the pamphlet but truth. “Yes,” she said, looking directly at him. “I felt Ida did a good job with your biography. Thank you for allowing her to speak with you about it. In fact, all of the children worked very hard on this project.”

  “I must admit, I didn’t think you were particularly political. I suppose that I’ve misjudged you.”

  Beth cleared her throat, trying to maintain composure. “I really am not, but it seemed like an opportunity to introduce the students to the importance of civic responsibility and public service.”

  “I see.” He smiled slowly, and Beth held her breath. “So it was not a thinly veiled attempt at manipulating the election results?”

  “Mr. Harris Hughes, I must say—”

  “Don’t bother denying it, Miss Thatcher. Your intentions, while not transparent to all, are not especially difficult to ascertain. Mind you,” he said hurriedly before Beth could respond, “I’m not disappointed by your efforts. I respect your desire to bring all to light. I just find it a shame that you chose to hide your true motives behind a classroom full of schoolchildren.”

  “And of what are you accusing me, sir?”

  “Miss Thatcher.” He clucked his tongue as if he were talking to a child. “You only brought another candidate forward when it became evident there was a possibility I might win. And then you promoted him—rather effectively, I confess—with this flier. Why not take full credit for your idea? It was quite well conceived.”

  Beth could feel her legs beginning to tremble. But she wanted to end the conversation fearlessly. She straightened and said as quietly as possible while still being heard, “You aren’t a part of this community, Robert. And you clearly have no serious intention of becoming so. The mayor should be someone devoted to these people and working for their good, not trying to prove ideals that sound good in a lecture hall far from here.”

  He smiled triumphantly. “Now, then, was that so hard? To tell the truth about your goals?”

  Beth pushed past him. “Good day, sir.”

  “Good day, Miss Thatcher.” She could hear the haughtiness in his words. And was there some mirth too?

  By the time Beth reached the table to cast her vote, her hands were unsteady. She scrawled Frank’s name on a slip of paper and stuffed it in the box, forcing a smile at Bill Shaw, who was standing watch a short distance away. She motioned to Julie and hurried out the door.

  Julie caught up to her. “What is it, Bethie? What’s upset you?”

  “I just want to get home,” she whispered. The cold air felt awfully good on her flushed face.

  Beth’s agitation lasted into the afternoon, even while she and Julie had their usual Saturday visit with Molly. Seated in the parlor, Molly and Marnie stitching on the quilt, no one spoke about the fact that the votes were now being tallied. But a heavy silence hovered over the room, if only in Beth’s mind. At last she noticed her sister speaking with Frank privately, who nodded and left the room.

  “What did you say to him?” Beth asked.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Julie, what?”

  “I just . . . I merely suggested that you might enjoy a nice bath.”

  “Oh no, it’s so much work. I don’t want Frank to—”

  “He’s gonna be busy with baths soon enough, dearie,” Molly interjected from across the room. “Ya might as well get yers in now. It’ll give ya somethin’ soothin’ to keep yer mind busy.”

  Embarrassed that her anxiety was so obvious, Beth accepted the gracious offer and hurried home for a clean set of clothing. When she had returned and settled gratefully into the hot tub of water, she allowed herself to recall Robert’s words, and soon her tears were falling. He knew, Lord. He knew exactly what I intended. Should I be sorry? Was it wrong? Was I wrong?

  Again the faces of the children came to mind. Beth thought too of Molly’s advice to “make a fuss in the Bible way.” She hoped that’s what she had done, and yet the niggling feeling persisted that her motives were somehow askew. Back and forth she argued with herself, first one way and then the other.

  “I give up, Lord,” she finally surrendered pitifully, whispering into her dripping hands. “I don’t know if what I did was right or wrong. I know I prayed about it, and I thought You led me, Father. But whatever happens next, I give that up to You. I trust You. God, You’ve displaced kings and princes, set whomever You desired on thrones. You are powerful and wise and fully capable of caring for this silly little election in a very small town in the middle of nowhere. I surrender my will to Yours. Whatever You want, Your will be done.”

  The prayer of surrender brought a fresh flow of tears, but Beth’s heart at last felt freer and more hopeful.

  A knock on the door echoed inside the small room. Julie’s voice whispered loudly into the keyhole. “Darling, they’ve counted the votes. It was very close, but I’m afraid it’s Robert who won.”

  “Thank you,” Beth managed before sinking under the water. She knew she couldn’t hide away for long. But it was going to take a few moments for her to properly compose herself.

  CHAPTER

  20

  BETH WOKE THE NEXT DAY with a sore throat and a fever. Her mind flooded with recollections of last year’s Christmas in Coal Valley and how long it had taken to recover from that illness. She groaned aloud in the darkness. She had thought the fragile health of her childhood was a thing of the past, or had at least wished it to be true.

  “Julie,” she rasped out. “Julie, I’m sick.”

  Her sister’s groggy voice came from beside her, somewhere beneath the heavy covers. “Want me to get you something? An aspirin? A cold cloth?”

  Beth realized she was trembling with chills. “Will you . . . could you stir up the fire?”

  Julie rose, pulled on a robe, and shuffled into the next room. Soon lamplight flickered through the doorway. At last she returned, sliding back under the covers and shaking a little herself. “Oh my, it’s cold even if I’m not sick! I’ve relit the fire. I think it’s catching well. And I hung the afghan over a chair in front of it so it’ll warm up for you. I’ll bring it to you in a few minutes.”


  “Thanks,” Beth managed. A fit of coughing started her lungs burning. These familiar sensations had all the markings of another awful bout with flu. “Julie,” Beth added, “could you also bring the large trash pail, just in case?” Beth felt the covers tossed aside and heard feet scrambling across the floor once more.

  The remainder of Sunday was a blur for Beth. She knew Julie was at her side often, that she had been given many sips of tea, and that there was a knock at the door at some point, but she remembered little else. She was most aware of the fingers of cold stealing through gaps in the layers of blankets every time she moved.

  Opening her eyes fully at last, she was surprised to see Molly’s soft round face peering down at her in the glow of the lamp. “Well hello, dearie. Thought ya was gonna sleep all the way through my visit.” A practiced hand felt Beth’s forehead and cheeks. “Yup, yer fever’s still too high. See if you can sit up ta eat some broth, then we’ll give ya another dose of aspirin.”

  Beth moved to comply, her muscles aching and stiff. “Is it nighttime already?”

  “No, it’s just past supper.”

  “But tomorrow . . .” She sat forward, eyes wide. “I have school.”

  “No ya don’t. Already canceled it—your class, that is. Mr. Harris Hughes will still meet with his group. So no doubt yer kids are rubbin’ it in to their older kin that they’s the ones get to stay home this time.”

  Beth pushed herself up straighter. “We can’t. They have theme papers due, and we’re finally caught up with arithmetic and spelling from the fall. I don’t want to get behind again.”

  “What ya don’t want’s got nothin’ to do with it. This is ’bout what ya can’t.”

  Molly placed a mug of soup in Beth’s hands and instructed her to do her best. She began to sip it from the spoon dutifully, each swallow bringing pain. Her mind was whirling with solutions for her students. If I’m out for a day, we can still catch up this week. If I’m out for two, that will take some thought and planning. How many weeks are left? There are thirteen until the wedding, so twenty to the end of school. Yes, we should be able to manage. But what if there’s another snowstorm?