by Janette Oke
“Really, Mother. I couldn’t eat anything. Just the coffee. Thank you. Danny—my goodness. That piece is awfully large.”
“It’s my favorite,” explained Danny, forking in his first bite.
“Favorite or not, you’re going to have a tummy ache.”
“No, Mama, I won’t. Gramma’s pies don’t give tummy aches.”
A chuckle rippled around the table. Only Danny missed the joke. He was much too busy enjoying his pie.
“I’m sorry to have barged in,” his mother said. “I had no idea you had a guest. I thought you’d be all done with your dinner.”
“We’ve just been chatting over our dessert,” said her mother.
“As soon as Danny eats his pie we’ll be off and leave you to finish your visit.”
Henry was quick to offer his first comment since her arrival. “Please, don’t feel you need to go. I was just about to take my leave. I’ve so enjoyed the dinner and the visit I’m afraid I’ve stayed much longer than I intended.”
Mr. Martin turned to his daughter. “Sergeant Delaney has kindly offered to—” He broke off. “I guess we should talk about it sometime when we are alone.” He nodded toward the young boy. “Best not get any hopes up before we get it sorted out,” he added in an undertone.
Henry already felt certain what her answer would be. He cast a quick glance at her face, and he didn’t think she had changed her mind.
“I’ve done a fair bit of outdoor activity with young boys,” Henry said in an effort to reassure her. “Camping. Fishing. Snowshoeing. Mushing. Young boys love the out-of-doors. I thought it might be one way I could help out at the church. Work with the boys. My father—that was how he first talked me into attending his Sunday school class.” Seeing their expressions of curiosity, he hurried on. “I was adopted. My RCMP father taught the boys’ class in Athabasca when I was a kid. I don’t suppose I would have ever been interested in church if it wasn’t for him.”
Henry was touched by her parents’ evident warmth and interest, but she said, “That’s a great idea,” without much enthusiasm. “For older boys.”
Henry nodded and rose to go. It was difficult to express his heartfelt thanks to his host and hostess because of the keen disappointment he felt. It was clear that the younger woman was not going to open any doors to friendship.
CHAPTER Eleven
Boyd did find interesting things for them to do. Reluctantly at first, Christine agreed to outings. First a drive in the country. Then a picnic along the river. Then a concert. Out to dinner. Soon it was expected that they’d date each weekend. Christine had done a lot of praying about the matter to begin with, but gradually she pushed her concerns aside and began to count the days, living for that weekend event with Boyd. Then it became twice a week. Three times.
There was no mention of church, though Christine continued to pray that Boyd would change his attitude concerning God. Occasionally there was a casual mention of his friends. “My friends are having a party. Want to go?” Or “They’re meeting at the beach this Saturday. Interested?” Christine always shook her head. She had no desire to try to fit in with that crowd. “You go if you like,” she would say.
Sometimes he would sulk, turning cold and angry. Her heart sank when he was in that mood. But always, by the end of their date, he changed back to the attentive suitor she appreciated. Most of the time they did indeed have delightful times together.
She had no idea what he did with his days when he was home from college for the summer. She knew he did not have a job. From snippets of conversation, she understood that he was not an early riser. His father joked about him at times but always in good humor. “Boyd’s resting up for university life,” or “Boyd’s a growing boy. Needs his sleep.”
He did spend time tinkering with his car. In fact, he now had two cars. Why, Christine could not imagine, but he did enjoy the hours with wrenches and grease. “I think Boyd could make anything run,” Mr. Kingsley boasted proudly. “Listen to that baby purr. Soft as a kitten.”
Christine would smile. She was willing to accept the purring motor as an outstanding accomplishment.
But all through the glorious yet troubling months of their short summer, Christine continued to feel an uncomfortable sense that something was not quite right. She was getting too involved. The changes being made were not for the good. Instead of Boyd being more open to her faith, he seemed to be coaxing her more and more into his world. She had resisted—had told herself she was being firm. Strong. But was she? She prayed harder. “God, change him” was the heart of her prayers. Already she knew she did not want to lose him.
With the end of summer approaching, Christine knew Boyd was again leaving for college. “Why can’t you transfer here?” she asked as he drove her home after their last dinner together. She recognized her own voice as pleading.
“I’ve started out in Toronto. I want to finish there.”
Christine did not say that, from what she had gathered, he had not had too auspicious a start.
“I’ll be home for Christmas,” he said cheerfully. “That’s only a few months.”
Christine was sure they would be very long months. She had unwisely lost touch with the church group her age. Her attendance at the Sunday morning service had not stopped, but that was as far as her commitment now would go.
He pulled the car in against the curb and put it in neutral. “I’ll miss you,” he said, and his voice was warm and genuine. He pulled her close and kissed her. She knew she would miss him too. With all her heart.
She wanted to tell him she would be praying for him, but she swallowed the words along with the tears in the back of her throat.
“You’ll write?” she asked as she clung to him.
He laughed. “I’m not much good at writing. I’ll phone.”
Christine thought of the common phone in the hall at the boardinghouse. She knew that under the circumstances the calls would not be very satisfactory.
“I can only use the phone for five minutes at a time,” she informed him sadly. “And then for one call a night.”
“Hey,” he said suddenly, “why don’t you take my dad up on his offer? Move in. No reason you should still be sitting over here dictated to by that Mrs. Whatever-her-color-is.”
Christine laughed in spite of her aching heart. “Mrs. Green.”
“I’ve never cared much for your Mrs. Green,” he continued. “She’s a pompous little dictator.”
“You don’t even know Mrs. Green.”
“I’ve run into her a few times when I’ve come to get you. She’s always sharp and sour and looks at me like I came to steal the silver. Worse than Ol’ Bones.”
“She’s not. She’s been most kind to me.” She pulled away slightly. He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s not fuss,” he whispered against her hair. “This is our last night together.”
She didn’t need to be reminded.
“Well ... why not?” he asked again, nuzzling her hair.
“I ... don’t know. It just doesn’t—”
“Is it the cooking? Hey—if you don’t want to cook, don’t cook. Just live there. Be good for the old guy to have some company. And he likes you. Lots.”
“It’s not the cooking. I like to cook. It’s just ... well, it doesn’t seem proper ‘for a girl to be living ... like that.”
“Proper to whom? Why should you care what others think? If you were at the house, I could call you anytime I wanted and talk for as long as I cared.”
It was tempting.
“Come on,” he coaxed further. “Just think-when I come home for Christmas, you would be there waiting for me.”
She would like that. She’d really like that. “I’ll ... I’ll think about it.” She swallowed hard. Even thinking about it was against her better judgment. Well ... she’d pray about it. That was safe enough. Dared she say that to him?
She stirred. “Mrs. Green locks the door at nine.”
“See what I mean? She’s a ty
rant. You can’t even live your own’life. Move in with Dad.”
“I have to go. Really.”
“Not yet.”
“But I must. I don’t want to be locked out.”
“I’ll take you home with me. Now. We’ll get your things and tell Mrs. Green to stick the key in her ear and you’re out of here,”
“No—please. Not tonight. I ... need some time to think about this. To pray...”
“I thought you were getting over that praying stuff.” He was angry now. She hadn’t wanted him to be angry—hadn’t wanted their last evening together to end like this. She wished to turn her face against his shoulder and cry, knowing instinctively that he would hold her close and comfort her. But there was no time for comfort. At any minute Mrs. Green would be heading for the door, key in hand. Christine put a hand up to his lips. “Please,” she whispered, “I need to go.”
He not only released her, he almost pushed her away. He was already reaching for the gearshift before she could even open the car door.
She reached the door just as Mrs. Green came down the hall, jingling the keys in her hand. Christine managed a smile and a “good night,” but it required every ounce of will she had. She wanted to do nothing other than throw herself on her bed and weep. Boyd was leaving in the morning, and they had parted with a quarrel.
When Christine dragged herself into the office the next morning, a lovely bouquet of red roses graced her desk. The card said simply, Love, Boyd. She wondered if he had ordered the flowers before or after his angry departure. She pushed that thought aside and buried her face in the blooms, drinking deeply of the fragrance. Tears threatened to come again, but she willed them away.
“Mr. Kingsley wishes to see you,” said Miss Stout once again.
Christine pulled herself away from the flowers and turned toward the massive door leading to the office. She dreaded the coming exchange. Had Boyd told his father they had parted company with words? Had he declared they were through?
She braced herself with a deep breath and entered. The familiar head came up. A big grin welcomed her.
“Well ...” he said, leaning back as though he expected the visit to take a while. “Got Boyd off to school this morning.”
He nodded to the chair before his desk, and Christine sat down. She began to wonder what this was all about. Surely he didn’t call her into his office just to tell her what she already knew.
“You’ve been good for my boy.” His statement surprised her. “Steadied him down. He’s not as flighty as he used to be. I appreciate that,” he continued, obviously fighting to keep his voice controlled. His unusual show of emotion made Christine wish to weep.
“He was talking to me this morning before he drove out. Says he’s really going to miss you.”
Christine’s heart sang. He wasn’t still mad at her.
“Boyd thinks,” he went on, “that it would be so much better for you—for the both of us—if you’d just move on over to the house.”
So that was it. Boyd was having his father put on some pressure.
“No use your paying room and board and sitting over there all by yourself. Besides, then he’d be able to call you more. Keep in touch. I suppose he gets a bit lonely down at that university. Only natural. He’s not good at letters. But then, neither am I. We use the phone.”
Christine said nothing. Her momentary relief that Boyd still cared for her had now turned into another disappointment.
“It would mean a lot to me to have you keep contact with him,” Mr. Kingsley was saying. “I’m not hiding that any. I’m afraid he gets a little ... well ... they can be a bit wild on those university campuses. Drink too much. Party too much. Only natural. Wild oats and all. But if he had you to call and chat with every night ... then he’d pay a bit more attention to the studies.”
So I’m to be your son’s policeman, Christine’s thoughts clamored, keeping him in line via the telephone wires. She began to shake her head, her heart heavy.
“Now—don’t go saying no until you’ve thought about it. Nothing wrong with the plan that I can see.”
“I told Boyd I’d pray about it,” she finally said, hoping it would close the conversation and let her escape further argument.
“He said that.”
Christine had the feeling that, like his son, Mr. Kingsley thought praying was a total waste of time and only delayed a decision.
“Don’t take too long,” he said. “We should be making our plans. Boyd will want to know.”
Christine nodded and rose to her feet. She did hope she was dismissed. The conversation had made her extremely uncomfortable. Mr. Kingsley moved his chair forward again, and Christine knew the conversation was over. She moved quickly to the door.
She was opening the door when he called, “Roses okay?”
She stopped and looked back, sorting through his words and his meaning. “They’re beautiful.”
“Boyd had me get the florist out of bed this morning, get him on down to the shop, and have them ready. Wanted to be sure you had them first thing.”
“They’re beautiful,” Christine said again and quietly closed the door.
Christine did not move in with Mr. Kingsley. She did pray about it, but she knew even as she had said the words that prayer was not necessary. She knew deep within herself it was not the right thing to do. One way she knew was when she imagined herself trying to explain the arrangement to her parents.
Mr. Kingsley was not happy with her decision—nor was Boyd. But she started their months apart by writing every day. Just because Boyd was not good about letters did not mean she couldn’t be. He did call. Two or three times a week to begin with. This meant Christine called home fewer times. She did not want to use up her precious allotted time in conversations with her folks. She missed that. But it seemed a small price to pay. Her parents would be with her always.
But then the telephone calls from the university came less and less frequently. Boyd told her the classes were keeping him busy—and Christine hoped that it was so. He had decided that journalism wasn’t for him after all, and he was now taking some sociology courses.
Christine, who usually enjoyed the first snowfall, walked home with drooping shoulders. It was just something cold and messy and not at all welcomed. But at least the months were passing. Snow meant it would be time for Christmas soon. Her folks were expecting her home for Christmas. She had thought about how much fun it would be to take Boyd with her. Show him what a real family Christmas was all about. But that would leave Mr. Kingsley all alone. She couldn’t do that. She gave up the idea.
Her letters soon slacked off to twice a week. Then once a week. There really was nothing much to say, and with Boyd not responding in kind, there was nothing to refer to on his end of things. She really knew very little about his university life. When they talked on the phone, they were hurried. He asked about her day and her plans and told her he missed her and hoped she was fine. It didn’t take long at all to use up five minutes.
Occasionally there were disagreements. Boyd still did not understand what he called her stubbornness in refusing to move in with his father. He still was upset if he called on Sunday and was told she was at church. Christine felt he should know that’s where she would be; then she reminded herself of the time change. Perhaps Boyd had forgotten to factor it in.
Christine decided that long-range courtships were not very satisfying. Courtship? Was that where she really was? If so, she needed to do some serious sorting and thinking. Boyd still had not made any move whatsoever toward her faith. Could she seriously consider him as a potential life partner? She’d pray harder.
CHAPTER Twelve
Elizabeth found herself pacing the floor as she anxiously waited for Wynn to come home. He was not later than usual, and normally she kept her emotions firmly in control. But her latest phone conversation with Christine had left her agitated. Even Teeko whined and shifted positions in the room at her restlessness. She heard the dog but paid little attenti
on.
Elizabeth heard Wynn let himself in the door. She and Teeko both were facing him as he entered the room. His eyes moved from the face of his wife to the whining dog.
“Something wrong with him?” he asked as he removed his coat.
Elizabeth looked quickly at the husky. “I don’t think so. Why?”
“He doesn’t normally just lie there and let me walk in. Teeko meets me at the door and nearly bowls me over.”
At the sound of his name, Teeko leaped to his feet and went bounding forward, tail sweeping great arcs from side to side. He appeared to be fine. Wynn reached over to take the silky head between his palms and rock him back and forth. The dog rumbled his pleasure.
“Supper’s ready,” said Elizabeth, pulling her thoughts back together. She started for the small kitchen where the evening meal had been prepared.
“Be there just as soon as I get some grime off my hands,” Wynn responded and disappeared into the bathroom.
He came back out refastening his cuff buttons. “Whew,” he said. “Wish it was as easy to wash away the mental grime.”
“Mental grime?” Elizabeth was putting out the bowl of mashed potatoes and the small platter of venison steaks. She went back for the carrots as Wynn continued his comments.
“Some days one has no choice but to deal with society’s filth.”
“And this was one of those days?” she asked over her shoulder.
He nodded. “Our world isn’t getting any better—or cleaner, Elizabeth. I don’t know how people can treat one another the way they do. Or themselves, for that matter.”
She did not ask questions. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answers. “I talked to Chrissie,” she said instead. She saw she had his immediate attention.
“How are things?”
“I gather she is still very involved with that young man—though she didn’t say so directly.”
“I thought he was away at university.”
“Oh, he is. But they correspond. Well ... she corresponds. He phones. She is always antsy when I call since he might be trying to get the line. She quite cut me off today. She did apologize but said he hadn’t called yet this week, and she was sure he’d try tonight.”
