When Calls the Heart

by Janette Oke

  I started the fire in the stove beneath the boiler and also made room on the stove top to put on the kettle for tea. I fixed a simple meal, which I practically wolfed down in my hunger, and then I drank my tea slowly from my new teacup, staring at the other teacup as I drank. Would there ever be a second person in my little teacherage to share my teatime? Suddenly a wave of loneliness overtook me. I was happy here, but I was alone. I longed for Julie, and then realized that even she would not properly fill the void I was feeling. Julie would be bubbly and chatty and light. I needed someone with serenity, strength, purposefulness to share my thoughts and my days. Someone like—and my mind involuntarily began to review the men that I had known. Each face that appeared in my mind’s eye was readily dismissed. Then suddenly, without warning, I saw again the face of Jon’s friend. The intense eyes, the slight smile, and the strength of character that was evident was attractive and yet made me stir uneasily. In spite of the fact that not another soul was anywhere near, I found myself blushing in embarrassment at my foolishness. Changing my thoughts to safer things, I stood quickly, teacup in hand, and proceeded to add wood to the fire. Oh, how I was anticipating that hot bath!

  While I waited for the water to heat, I carried my small washtub to my bedroom and placed it on the rug. Then I began the slow procedure of dipping and transporting the warm water to fill it. By the time I had finally finished my preparations, the water had cooled considerably. Next time, I informed myself, I must begin with the water on the hot side.

  I stepped into the small tub and experimented with ways to curl myself into it. Why didn’t I buy the larger one? I chided myself. I twisted and turned and curled and uncurled, but there was no way that I could get all of me into the tub at one time. Finally I hung my legs out over the edge in hopes of getting the warm water onto the aching parts of my body. It wasn’t very satisfactory. Still sore from the wagon’s jostling, I finally gave up the effort. Drying myself thoroughly, I slipped into my warmest nightgown and snuggled under the quilts. I would empty the tub of water in the morning.

  Safe in bed, I listened to an occasional coyote howl. It didn’t sound so spine-chilling now. In fact, I imagined that, with a little time, a person might even be able to get used to it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Saturday

  When I awoke the next morning, I felt stiff all over. I was tempted to stay under the covers, but my body would not allow me the privilege. I thought of the small structure marked “Girls” way across the clearing and wondered if my legs would be able to walk the distance. I did wish that they had thought to build it nearer the teacherage.

  I dressed clumsily and started walking slowly. The sun was up and shining down on a picture-pretty world. By the time I had traveled across to the building and back, some of the kinks were loosening, and I decided that I would be able to face the day after all, even emptying the tub of cold bath water!

  While I waited for the water to heat for my morning coffee, I took my Bible and turned to the passage in Nehemiah where I had been reading. Though Nehemiah was leading a whole nation and rebuilding a city, I found some exciting parallels between his story and my new life way out here in the Canadian frontier. The day suddenly seemed to hold great promise. The kettle was singing merrily before I finished my prayer, and I proceeded to fix my breakfast.

  I spent the morning carrying books and classroom aids to the little schoolhouse, then made a quick lunch and spent the afternoon organizing things. The classroom soon looked inhabited and inviting. I even wrote a few simple adding exercises on the blackboard. I hung the alphabet and number charts, put up some study pictures and maps, and the room began to come alive.

  Around five o’clock while I was still lingering in the classroom, choosing the Psalms that I would read for the opening on Monday morning, I heard the jingle of harness. It was Mr. Johnson delivering the tables and benches. He had a near-grown son with him who took one look at me and went red to the very roots of his hair. I pretended not to notice, to save him further embarrassment, and showed them where to place the furniture. Mr. Johnson gazed around the now-furnished classroom, and tears began to gather in his eyes and trickle down his creased cheeks.

  “Da Lord be praised!” he exclaimed. “It really be so. Ve do haf school. Yah?”

  His deep feelings touched me.

  After they had gone, I surveyed the schoolroom again, my feelings swinging between pride and apprehension. Walking back and forth, touching each article, changing this or that, rearranging something here or there, I was only too aware that I had very few aids to assist me in teaching these children. How I wished that I had more—but that was foolishness. I would just have to do what I could with what I had.

  After writing “My name is Miss Thatcher” in block letters on the blackboard, I reluctantly turned to go home to prepare my evening meal.

  Monday, I thought, please come quickly—lest I burst.

  As I walked toward the door, I noticed a printed list posted beside it. I had not spotted it before, and I now stopped to read it. It was captioned, “Rules for the Teacher,” and my eyes ran quickly down the page. They read as follows:

  1. A teacher may not marry during the school year.

  2. Lady teachers are not to keep company with men.

  3. Lady teachers must be home between the hours of 8:00 P.M. and 6:00 A.M., unless attending a school function.

  4. Man teachers must not chew tobacco.

  5. There must be no loitering, by male or female, in downtown stores or ice-cream parlors.

  6. A teacher may not travel outside the district limits without permission from the school-board chairman.

  7. Neither male nor female may smoke.

  8. Bright colors are not to be worn, either in or out of school.

  9. Under no circumstances may a lady teacher dye her hair.

  10. A lady teacher must wear at least two petticoats.

  11. Dresses must not be shorter than touching the ankle.

  12. To keep the schoolroom neat and tidy, the teacher must sweep the floor and clean the chalkboard every day.

  13. The schoolroom floor must be scrubbed with hot, soapy water at least once a week.

  14. The teacher must start the fire, when needed, by 8:00 A.M. so that the room will be warm for the pupils by 9:00 A.M.

  I didn’t expect to have any trouble obeying the lengthy list; still, it bothered me some to be dictated to in such a fashion. At first I was going to blame the whole thing on Mr. Higgins; but then I remembered other such lists that I had read and realized this one wasn’t so different after all. I decided to pretend that I hadn’t seen it. I would have observed all of its mandates anyway.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sunday

  There wasn’t any reason for my early rising on Sunday except perhaps habit. After I had carefully dressed and groomed my hair, I fussed about my small kitchen, fixing myself a special breakfast, as had been our tradition at home on Sunday mornings. It really didn’t turn out to be very special, for I had gained very little experience in cooking. I determined that I would put time and effort into learning how to prepare tasty dishes. No matter one’s education or other abilities, a woman should be able to hold her head up proudly in her own kitchen, I decided.

  After I had cleared away the mess I had managed to make, I went outside for a walk. The sunshine felt good on my shoulders and back where the stiffness from my wagon ride still made me feel old and creaky. I wanted to lie down in the grass and let the warm rays do for me what my inadequate tub had not been able to do.

  The morning hours seemed to lag. Eventually I returned to the house, hoping that my clock would tell me it was now time for me to prepare my noon meal. It was still plenty early, but I started the preparations anyway.

  Again I ate, cleared away and cleaned up, all without using up very many minutes out of the lengthy day.

  In the afternoon I read more about Nehemiah and spent time in prayer. I missed, more than I had ever thought possible
, our church back home. I thought, too, of Jon and Mary and the family in Calgary and the Sundays that I had enjoyed worshiping with them in their small church. I should have thought to ask the Petersons if there was a church nearby where I might meet on Sundays with other believers. I couldn’t imagine living, Sunday after Sunday, without an opportunity for worship and fellowship. How dry the endless days would become with no Sunday service to revive and refresh one’s spirit!

  I was sorely tempted to find some excuse to journey over to the Petersons, but my Eastern reserve and mother-taught manners held me in check. I had not been invited; one did not impose upon others.

  I tried to read; I took short, unsatisfactory walks; I fixed afternoon tea; and all the time I ached with loneliness, and the day dragged on.

  About six-thirty I heard voices. It was Lars and Else. I don’t recall ever being happier about seeing visitors. I fairly ran to meet them! They must have seen my eagerness, but Else held back as Lars walked with me to my door.

  “Lars,” she whispered, “ ’member.”

  “Yah,” he answered, but kept on walking.

  “But Mama said,” Else persisted.

  “It’s okay,” Lars said, seeming a little exasperated.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Mama said not to bot’er you.”

  “She said, ‘if Miss T’atcher vas busy or didn’t vant company,’ ” Lars informed Else. “She’s not busy.” He turned to me quickly, “Are ya?”

  “Oh, no.” I hurried to assure them, lest they get away from me. “And I’d really like some company.”

  I sat down on my step, and they joined me. It had been such a lonely day.

  “I’m not used to a Sunday all alone, nor am I used to a Sunday without going to church. Is there any church around here?”

  “Nope—not yet,” said Lars. “Mama vould sure like vun, but dere are only two Lut’ran families—not ’nough fer a church.”

  “Ve have church,” Else corrected her brother in great astonishment.

  “Not in a church,” Lars replied.

  “Still, church,” she insisted.

  “Where?” I asked, excited about any kind of service.

  “In the school,” Else said.

  I was confused.

  “But I’ve been here all day—no one came.”

  “I know,” Lars said. “Mr. Laverly said dat ve vouldn’t haf it today. He said dat da new teacher might not be happy wid us all meetin’ here, messin’ up t’ings. Ve’d yust haf to vait an’ see.”

  “So that’s it,” I said, thankful that I wouldn’t have to put in another Sunday like this one. “I will speak to Mr. Laverly, and we’ll have church as usual next Sunday.”

  Else’s eyes lit up, and I could tell that she, too, had missed church that day. Lars didn’t appear to care too much one way or the other.

  “Ma says, ‘Ya need anyt’ing?’ ”

  “No—no—nothing. You hauled such a good wood supply that I still have plenty. The days are nice and warm, and I let the fire go out as soon as I have finished cooking my food.”

  “An’ vater?”

  “It’s good for me to haul my own water. I just finished getting a bucket.”

  I glanced down at my hands. My scratches were healing nicely, but already my hands had lost their well-cared-for look. I wasn’t unduly upset by it, but I wasn’t especially pleased with the new look either. Julie would laugh, or cry out in alarm, if she could see my hands now. I smiled.

  Looking back at Lars, I suddenly thought of Matthew. How good it would be to have him here with me! For some reason, which I couldn’t put my finger on, I decided that this land would be good for my young brother Matthew also.

  Else’s quiet question brought my mind back to my visitors.

  “Did ya get da books?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Yes—yes, I did. Mr. Laverly came right over after you saw him on Friday, Lars. I must thank you for going over so promptly.”

  Lars flushed slightly at my thanks, so I hurried on. “We went to Lacombe in the wagon and got all of my things. I’ve unpacked everything and organized both the schoolroom and my house. Do you want to see them?”

  I could tell by Else’s eyes that she did, so I led the way.

  The house was certainly nothing fancy. I had brought very little with me in the way of furnishings—a few pictures of my family, a spread for my bed, a soft rug, a few favorite ornaments, some dresser scarves and small pillows; but they managed to give my little home a feeling of warmth. It was plain to see that Else was impressed. Even Lars seemed to notice the difference.

  “It’s nice,” he said.

  I saw Else’s eyes skim over everything, then rest on my china teapot and cups and saucers. I knew at once who would be the first person that I would invite for a cup of tea—though she was but six years old. She could drink milk from the cup if she preferred.

  Even as Else’s eyes assured me that she appreciated my little house, they also declared that something was missing. At length she gave voice to her concern.

  “Is dat all da books?” She pointed at my Bible and the book of poetry with which I had attempted to fill my day.

  “Oh, no. I have no bookshelves you see, so I had to leave my books in the trunk.”

  I raised the lid of one of my trunks to show her the volumes that had become my good friends over the years. Her eyes caressed them.

  “Maybe you’d like to see the school. I took the books for classroom use over there.”

  They both flashed excited glances at each other, so together we walked to the school.

  If I had been in doubt about teaching in a one-room class-room with students who had never had any formal learning, I would have lost all such doubts after seeing their response to their first look at the school.

  First they stopped and stared, their eyes traveling over everything. Lars began to softly name the letters on the alphabet chart, while Else migrated toward the meager stacks of primers and books on the two small shelves at the front of the room. I went with her and lifted a book from the others.

  “Here, try this one,” I encouraged her. “You may look at the pictures if you’d like.”

  She took the book, crossed to a desk and sat down. She gently turned each page, missing nothing as her eyes eagerly drank in the pictures and her mind sought for the words on the printed pages.

  Time passed quickly. Before we had realized it, the sun was crawling into bed. Lars, who had also chosen a book and retreated to a desk, looked up in unbelief.

  “Ve gotta go,” he said quickly. “Mama vill vorry. Come, Else.”

  Reluctantly Else handed me the book.

  “Why don’t you take it home with you and show it to Olga and Peter? I’m sure that they would like to see it, too. You may bring it back in the morning.”

  She hesitated, wondering if she was worthy of being entrusted with such a treasure.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Lars may take his, too.”

  They ran off then, now eager to get home for more than one reason. I walked slowly back to the teacherage.

  I felt contented now. I was sure that in the evening hours I would be able to enjoy Wordsworth, Longfellow, or Keats. Perhaps my heart wouldn’t even skip a beat tonight at the howling of the coyotes. I sat warm and comfortable in my lumpy chair and sipped tea from my china cup. I knew that tomorrow held great promise.

  Chapter Fifteen

  School Begins

  I was up with the birds on Monday morning. I was far too excited to sleep. I had always enjoyed teaching, but never before had it affected me in quite this way; the eagerness of the people in the area had rubbed off on me.

  The bell was to be rung at nine o’clock. I felt that I had already lived two full days that morning before nine o’clock arrived.

  Dressing carefully, I did my hair in the most becoming way that I knew. It really was too fussy for the classroom, but I couldn’t reason myself out of it. I tried to eat my breakfast but didn’t f
eel at all hungry, so I finally gave up and cleaned up my kitchen area.

  I left early for the classroom and dusted and polished, rearranged and prepared, and still the hands on the clock had hardly moved.

  The first students arrived at twenty to nine. Cindy and Sally Blake were accompanied by their mother and father. Mr. Blake was a quiet man—but every family can use one quiet member, I decided. Mrs. Blake was chattering before she even climbed down from the wagon, and didn’t actually cease until the schoolroom door closed upon her departing figure.

  The Clarks came together—seven of them. It took me a few moments to sort them all out, and the harder I tried the more confused I became. It helped when I learned that there were two families involved, cousins—three from one family and four from the other.

  Mrs. Dickerson brought her small son in by the hand. I think she had hoped he would be shy and reluctant to leave her side, but his face brightened at the first glimpse of his school.

  Others came too quickly for me to learn each name as they entered. I would have to wait until the bell rang and the students had taken their places—and their parents had returned home.

  I smiled at the Peterson children. Else and Lars presented me with carefully wrapped packages. Their mother wanted the precious books to be returned safely without soil, so she had wrapped them in brown paper ‘and tied them securely with string.

  The morning was spent in organizing a roll call and trying to determine the grade level of each student. Even the older ones had previously had very little opportunity to learn, so it was going to be “back to basics” for the first few weeks of my teaching. I prayed that I would be able to present the simple lessons in a manner that would not offend the older students. It was difficult to include a girl of fourteen with a row of six-year-olds for a lesson on the alphabet or the phonic sounds without making her feel embarrassed, but I’d need to devise a way to do it.