by Linda Ford
"Amen." Mother's word was the signal to begin, as hands reached for the dishes and spooned the food onto their plates.
Chastity looked around the table.
Mrs. B sat across from her, where her mother could unobtrusively give whatever help she needed.
Next to Mrs. B was Beryl Hanes, her fan of dark curls emphasizing her plumpness. Beryl had been with them almost a year and worked at the bank. Catching Chastity watching her, Beryl smiled.
Chastity smiled back before continuing her quick assessment of the others at the table.
Carl and Orsby Knutsen were newcomers. They had come from the farm a month ago and managed to find jobs on the section crew of the Canadian Pacific Railway. Still too shy to say anything in front of the others, they kept their heads down, focusing on their food.
Louise, secretary to a lawyer, was the last one on that side. She had been at the boardinghouse a little longer than Beryl. Louise was tall, blond, and willowy. Chastity admired her bearing. Even her name was elegant—Louise Leishman.
Mr. Elias maintained his post at the end of the table with quiet dignity.
Emma sat next to him so she could watch to see if anything was needed at that end of the table.
Between Chastity and Emma were Roy Vandenberg, who worked in the drugstore, and John Nelson, who worked in the land titles office. They had been living in the boardinghouse since last fall.
Michael sat beside Chastity. Besides Emma, who lived with her folks at the far edge of town, Michael, a teacher, was the only one who didn't live in the house. But he was regular enough not to be thought of as a guest.
"I stopped in at Silverhorn's on my way home from work," Louise said in her cool, controlled tones. "The place was in quite a state of confusion. I believe the older son, Adam, has returned. Seems he's going to set up a photography shop in conjunction with the store."
Beryl leaned forward. "I was there too. And I saw the most amazing painting. You should have seen it." Her look included everyone. "It was huge. Even bigger than the one over the fireplace in the other room."
Chastity knew she meant the guardian angel picture.
"What was it of?" Roy asked.
Roy had a need to know the particulars of everything. One time the discussion had been about a trip to Banff, and someone said it looked like Main Street sprung from the roots of Cascade Mountain. Roy kept asking how high the mountain was and how far it was from the administrative building to the Banff Springs Hotel until everyone became quite annoyed.
But this time Beryl showed no annoyance at his questions. "It was of a mountain but nothing like the mountains we have here. It was all ice with light glistening off it and the sun setting—or maybe it was rising, for all I know. Anyway, it tinted parts of the snow with pink." She waved a hand. "But pink isn't the right name for the way the color shone."
Louise broke in. "Goodness, Beryl. You make it sound mystical."
"It was. You'll have to see for yourself."
"Where was this mountain?" Roy demanded.
"I asked. Mr. Silverhorn said it was in the Yukon. Then his son—"
"Adam," Louise supplied.
"Yes, Adam. He came in and said it was Muir Glacier." She sighed. Her hands lay still, and she got a dreamy look on her face. "He said to think of Niagara Falls frozen stiff, add about thirty feet to its height, and you begin to imagine what it's really like." For a moment she stared across the table at nothing in particular, then laughed a little. "It was very romantic."
Wondering if she meant the painting or Adam, Chastity saw that everyone was caught up in Beryl's description. Even the Knutsen brothers lifted their heads and listened as if it was as important as food.
"Muir Glacier then. Not really a mountain—is that what you're saying?" Roy had to know.
Beryl shrugged. "Looked like a mountain to me. A mountain covered with ice."
"Remember she said the Yukon? Isn't it always frozen?" Even John, who usually avoided taking part in discussions unless they had to do with crops or farm prices, was drawn into the conversation.
Michael spoke up. "They have summer too. The sun shines twenty-four hours a day."
"Adam was here today," Emma said. "He told us about his travels."
Emma made it sound as if they had been visited by royalty.
"Here?"
"Did he say where he'd been?"
"Who is this Adam?"
They were asking so many questions that Emma waved her hands in the air. "I wasn't the only one who saw him. Chastity, Mr. Elias, Mrs. B, Miz LaBlanc—they all saw him. In fact, he picked Miz LaBlanc off the floor."
The young people turned to Chastity's mother.
"Why were you on the floor?" Roy demanded.
"I fell."
Beryl reached for Mother’s hand. "Are you all right?"
Before her mother could answer, Chastity said, "She's hurt her hip again."
Everyone but Mrs. B, muddling over her meat, looked at Mother.
"I'm so sorry," Louise said gently.
"I suppose this means you won't be wanting your job back anytime soon?" Michael murmured close to Chastity's ear.
"Shh." She shook her head, not wanting her mother to hear.
He leaned closer and whispered, "We'll talk later."
She nodded and turned back to the conversation.
Emma told about Adam's visit. "He said he would give Miz LaBlanc a private showing of his pictures."
"I'm sure he didn't mean anything as formal as that," Mother said. "And he didn't mean only me."
Roy reached for the potatoes before he asked, "So he's planning to stay?"
Emma shrugged. "I guess. Sort of."
"Until something more exciting comes up." Chastity smiled in an attempt to take any sting from her words.
Roy demanded to know how long Adam had been gone and where.
Emma did her best to supply the answers.
Beryl fairly bounced on her chair. "I heard him tell his father he was going to display some pictures from the Klondike. Doesn't it sound exciting?"
"I wonder if he would let the children see them." Michael strained forward. "Think of how educational it would be." He turned to Chastity. "What do you think, Chastity? Do you think he would give a talk at the school?"
"That's a good idea. Why not ask him?" She pushed back from the table. "I'll get the pie."
Emma gathered up the plates and serving dishes as Chastity sliced pie and spooned on whipped cream.
When she returned, the conversation still centered on Adam Silverhorn and his adventures. Chastity held her tongue as she passed the dessert. She longed to bring everyone back to reality, but everything she thought of sounded like the words of a bitter old maid. She certainly didn't want people to have that impression, but all this excitement about a man who had left his home and family without a backward look seemed uncomfortably out of proportion. It made normal life appear narrow and dull, which it wasn't. Life was full and satisfying.
Like now, for instance.
Chastity slid Mrs. B's plate under her arm and set the fork where she would find it without searching. She felt pleasure in seeing Mrs. B happy; in the grateful comments of the boarders as they sampled the pie; in the closeness of her "family." She met Michael's dark brown gaze and smiled. No, she couldn't imagine why anyone would feel the need to seek adventure elsewhere.
Chastity and Emma carried the dishes back to the kitchen and cleaned off the dining room table. Chastity wanted to do the dishes right away, but Michael pulled out a handful of papers. "I thought you might like to read some of the essays the class wrote."
"Emma, I'll be a minute." She dried her hands and sat down again, taking the papers Michael offered. He often brought assignments and tests for her to help check, along with regular news of the class she had taught until two years ago—the class that was now his responsibility. "What was the topic?"
" 'The Importance of Being Trustworthy.' "
"Good topic." She read the first one. "An
nie's developing her expression."
Michael leaned back. "She's improving, but I'm having a hard time deciding how to grade the essay."
Chastity straightened. "But why?"
He pulled his tie to the center of his shirt and folded his long arms across his chest before he answered. "It's written well enough, but I don't think she's properly addressed the topic."
With a puzzled look, Chastity read the essay through again. "She talks about truth a lot. Isn't that being trustworthy?"
"True. But she's missed the biggest part—doing what you say you will and what others are counting on from you. We talked about this a long time before I gave them this assignment."
Still feeling as if they were talking about different things, Chastity asked, "So how did you explain trustworthiness to a group of ten and eleven year olds?"
"I told them about my brother, Timothy, and me. When we were growing up, I tried to be honest about some of the things I felt, and it was perceived as a failure to do what I should. On the other hand, Timothy did what he was told while never agreeing with anything my parents believed. They felt they could count on him. And I learned my lesson: Sometimes it doesn't matter how we feel inside. We should simply do what's expected."
His reasoning troubled Chastity. "You make it sound like believing and doing are different things. Isn't that hypocrisy of the worst sort?"
He shook his head. "Not exactly. Sometimes you have to do things even when you don't like or agree with them. Take yourself as an example."
She drew back. "Me?" When had she acted out of insincerity?
"Certainly. You were happy as a teacher. You had plans."
He read the denial in her expression and added, "You know you did. You told me how you hoped to get yourself a little house someday."
She wanted to explain, but he continued before she had a chance.
"Then you had to quit teaching to look after this place." His gaze swept the room, then touched on the ceiling including the rooms upstairs. "So what do you do? You smile and do your work as if it's all that matters."
"You make it sound as if inside I'm a quivering mass of resentment and unfulfilled dreams."
He didn't answer, only held her gaze.
"But I'm not. I was disappointed at first, but I wasn't unhappy about it. I'm not unhappy now."
"You certainly have maintained a good face, and that's truly admirable. Even today, after your mother fell again, you smiled and acted as if it didn't matter that you're stuck here even longer."
"Michael." She couldn't believe he had misjudged her so. Michael of all people. She began again on a quieter note. "I'm not pretending—putting on a good face, as you say. I'm content. And, yes, happy. Happy to be helping my mother and doing a good job running the house. But more than that, I'm convinced God is in control. He will work out what is best for me. He is totally trustworthy."
"You're right, of course. But I wanted the children to express something more than simply being honest. There's more to it."
She nodded. "I realize that. But shouldn't what we believe reveal itself in how we act?" Not waiting for him to answer, she bent her head and focused on the next essay.
It was true she had thought her life would be different. Before her mother's accident, Chastity took it for granted the older woman would manage the boardinghouse until she was too old to do so and then sell it. And Chastity would teach until—she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her dreams had included love and marriage and a quiet little home that sheltered only her, her husband, and their children.
But she had fought her disappointment and won. She would leave her future in God's hands. And above all, she would not allow herself to become a bitter old maid with a razor-sharp tongue. She pictured Pastor Simpson's sister, Martha, with her puckered mouth and sour-apple comments and shuddered. Even if she never married, she vowed she would not let bitterness turn her into another Martha Simpson.
Forcing her mind back to the papers in her hands, she read young Joel's comments about the dire results of being untrustworthy and chuckled.
The next piece belonged to Jack Silverhorn, and she read it with sharpened interest.
"Being trustworthy," she read, "means being honest all the time even when it's hard. It means being honest in what you say and do. It means doing what you said you will even when you change your mind and don't want to do it. It means always coming back. It's important to be trustworthy so people know what to expect from you."
She put her finger on her chin. Always coming back. Did Jack mean Adam, the brother he had met for the first time a few days ago? She hated to think of Jack's being hurt when Adam decided to leave again.
Michael pulled out another sheaf of papers, and Chastity knew he was settling in for a night of correcting papers and working on lesson plans. But beyond the door, Emma rattled the dishes.
"Michael, I have to help Emma."
He barely glanced up. "Let her do it. It's her job."
"Not really," Chastity said, sighing.
Emma had volunteered to extend her day until the supper dishes were done, but Chastity knew Emma had a life apart from her job and would be anxious to go home or out with friends.
"But I thought we would work on the lesson plan for next week."
He looked up with a pleading, wide-eyed look she found hard to resist, and she wondered, not for the first time, if he did it on purpose.
"If you want to wait until I'm finished—"
He grinned. "I have nothing else to do."
Chastity hurried to the kitchen. "I'm sorry," she told Emma. "You go on home. I'll finish up."
Emma shook her head. "I'll stay, or you won't finish until time for bed." She plunged her hands into the hot dishwater. "Doesn't Michael realize you're busy?"
Chastity shrugged. "I enjoy hearing about the children."
"I know you do, but he should have seen you had extra to do today."
Her mother had needed help back to her room. Mrs. B was fretful and wanting to talk. And there was still the dough to set to rise for tomorrow's bread. "It's just one of those days." She dried the dishes as fast as Emma washed them. "But then I guess every day has its share of good and bad."
"I guess overall it was a good day."
"I take it you mean Adam Silverhorn?" The younger girl was blinded by the man.
Emma sniffed. "You know I do. Stop pretending you weren't impressed."
"But I wasn't."
"You need your eyes checked."
Chastity smiled. "Maybe I saw more than you think."
"So you're admitting he's handsome as a king?"
Chastity's smile widened. "I didn't mean his looks."
Emma straightened to look at her. "What do you mean?"
"I saw a man who lives for adventure. How long do you think he'll be happy to hang around Willow Creek?"
Emma shrugged. "What difference does it make? I intend to enjoy his company as long as he's here—and see his pictures and ask him about his travels. If he goes again, at least I won't have wasted the opportunity. If he stays, so much the better."
Chastity didn't answer. Emma's words held an element of truth, yet it wasn't enough for her.
Emma grabbed Chastity by the shoulders, her wet hands making two damp spots, and pushed her toward the window. "What do you see out there?" she demanded.
Dusk had fallen, and the yard lay in gray shadows. "I can't see much. It's dark."
"You know what's out there. Tell me."
Chastity shrugged. "Trees and grass and lilac bushes."
"Exactly. And how long do lilacs last?"
"Not nearly long enough."
"That's not the point. The point is, you enjoy them the little while they're in bloom." Emma returned to scrubbing the roaster.
"It's not the same."
Chastity looked out for a minute longer. Trees and flowers were supposed to change with the seasons. She sighed and turned back to the chores. Michael was right. She longed for other things in life.
"Of course there's a very big difference between a bunch of lilacs and Adam." Emma sighed loudly to indicate her opinion in Adam's favor. "But you can enjoy it just the same and let it go when you have to." She paused. "As long as you don't fall in love."
Chastity couldn't help the way she pulled back. "That would be begging for trouble."
Emma shrugged. "A person could always go with him on his adventures. Think of all the things you'd get to see."
It was so far removed from what she wanted that Chastity's mouth went dry at the very thought. "I don't understand why anyone would want to go to those places."
Emma studied her. "Don't you find them interesting?"
"Oh, yes, I find them immensely interesting. They're like the different flowers of the seasons. Each season to be enjoyed and admired. It's just—" She didn't know how to explain that the mere thought of wandering from place to place, living from day to day, left her with an empty echo inside.
"Then I suggest you don't fall in love with Adam Silverhorn."
"You can count on that."
"Chastity, are you finished yet?" Michael called from the other room.
"In a minute." She pushed back a strand of hair clinging to her cheek. She still had the dough to mix and a list of small things—like watering the African violets on the window ledge, putting away the clutter on the cupboard, wiping the table, checking to see if everything was handy for the morning. But those things could wait. It wasn't every night Michael called. Not quite.
She flipped off her apron. "You go on home now," she said to Emma. "I'll see you in the morning."
Emma shook her head. "Everything doesn't have to be done tonight."
"I know." Chastity waited until Emma closed the door before she hurried to the dining room. "I'm sorry, Michael, but I'm finished now."
"Don't worry about it." He sat at the table, a fan of papers before him. "I understand." He grinned up at her. "It takes a lot of work to look after this place, and you do it very well. You should be proud of the job you do."
Tension slid from her shoulders. "Thank you. I like making sure things are well taken care of and doing little extras that make a difference."
