by Janette Oke
The few steps to the mercantile took only moments, and Emily pushed open the heavy door and stood quietly while her eyes adjusted to the darkness inside.
“Can I help ya?” a female voice asked, and Emily noticed someone behind the counter.
“Oh yes, please,” she began, moving into the store. “I’m Miss Evans, the new mission worker. I—”
“I know who ya are,” the woman interrupted, but there was no animosity in her voice even though it was curt and gruff.
Emily looked across the counter to the face of a tall plain woman. Her graying hair was pulled back tightly to form an odd kind of roll at the top of her head, her ample frame was shrouded in a cotton dress covered by a stiff dark apron, and her lined face looked as if it had long since forgotten how to smile.
But it was her eyes that drew Emily’s attention. They were intense and piercing. Perhaps at one time they had danced with merriment or glowed with understanding.
“Oh ... oh,” Emily’s voice faltered. Then she continued nervously. “I need some-some coverings for my windows. I have—”
“Yer right,” said the woman briskly. “I chased them kids off the fence three times this mornin’ ”
Emily flushed. “Oh, it-it was you. I-heard a voice-I ... Thank you,” she finished lamely.
The woman just waved an arm and advanced toward a shelf at the rear of the store. “Jest curious-like kids always are.” Then she went on. “Whatcha wantin’?” she asked.
“Well, I—I don’t wish to spend too much. I would like curtains for the—the hominess, but I might have to settle for shades-if you have them.”
“We do,” the woman responded curtly. “Both. An’ not too expensive either.”
Emily was relieved. She followed the woman to the corner counter and waited for her to produce her merchandise.
Emily still felt as if she could not see clearly enough. She wasn’t sure if the bolt of material the woman pushed toward her was blue or green.
“Could I-do you mind if I take it nearer the window?” asked Emily hesitantly. “I’m having trouble telling just what color—”
“Thet’s John. He won’t let us have the light on here in the daytime. Can scarcely see to get around. Says it’s bright’nough without it. Might be-if the place had some decent windows. Jest a waste of good money, he says. And besides, he says thet the light would jest heat the buildin’ up more, and it’s hot enough in here as it is in the summertime. Won’t let no doors be open. Says the flies will come in-an’ nobody wants flies in their molasses or pickles.” She finished with a “humpf” and passed the bolt to Emily.
The material was green. Emily hated to say so, but she didn’t like the color.
“Then we have these here blinds,” the woman continued when Emily laid the bolt back on the counter top. “Not expensive. You could maybe make some light curtains to go with’em for the same price as thet there heavier material.”
Emily brightened. She looked at the light material. It had a soft ivory background and a small flower print, and Emily much preferred it to the rather sickly green.
Emily pulled out her measurement calculations. “How much would it be,” she asked, “for the blinds and the curtain material?”
The woman did some quick figuring on a piece of paper and quoted Emily a price. It would cost more than she had hoped, but she did need to have some protection from curious eyes.
She nodded. “And I will need a spool of thread,” she added. “I wasn’t planning on sewing the curtains.”
The woman added the spool to the list, and Emily drew out the required cash. It cut deeply into her meager finances, and she fidgeted as the woman cut the cloth and bundled her purchases. Emily was glad to escape the dark shop and head for home.
The remainder of her day was spent in putting up her blinds and hand sewing her curtains. In spite of the cost, when she was finally finished, she was pleased with the results.
But in some ways the clean, bright little curtains made the rest of the room look shabbier than ever. Emily sighed. She did wish that there was some way to cheer things up a bit.
The next morning Emily was back in the dark mercantile again.
“Do you have calcimine?” she asked the woman behind the counter, and the woman nodded her head and moved to a shelf behind her.
“Ya want tinted or white?”
Emily hadn’t thought of getting tinted.
“White, I guess.”
“How much ya need?” the clerk asked.
“Well, I-I don’t really know,” responded Emily, embarrassed. “I’ve never used it before—but the walls are in desperate need of some cleaning up, and I figured it would be the cheapest—”
“Yer right,” the woman answered curtly. “Much cheaper’n paint.”
Emily was relieved to hear that information.
“Ya doin’ all the walls?”
“I would like to-in the living area. I haven’t checked the—the church yet.”
The woman nodded but said nothing. Emily wondered if she found it difficult to think of the former billiard room as a church.
“This ought to do if’n ya jest put on one coat,” the woman said, lifting a can from the shelf. Then added, “Ya have a brush?”
Emily fumbled. She hadn’t thought of a brush. “No-o,” she stammered.
“Ya need a brush. No use buyin’ one. You can use the one I used on the back shed.”
“Thank you so much,” Emily told the woman with a smile when a nice, clean brush was produced. “I do appreciate your lending it to me. And I’ll make sure it comes back clean.”
She paid the bill, mentally cringing as each coin left her hand, and then went home to tackle the job of whitewashing her little parsonage.
When the task was finally accomplished and the blinds and curtains were back in place, Emily looked around with contentment.
“Well, the calcimine didn’t cover up all the problems, so it’s not perfect, but it’s much better—and it’s clean,” she declared. “Now I won’t be embarrassed to have ladies in to tea.”
Humming to herself, Emily set about washing up the borrowed brush. Maybe she was going to feel at home here, after all.
Chapter Eleven
The Church
Benches and a small pulpit would be arriving on the following Wednesday, thanks to arrangements by the district superintendent, so Emily wanted to have the meeting room cleaned up before then. The idea of a Sunday passing without a service distressed her, but there was really nothing she could do.
With a good deal of self-determination she gritted her teeth and picked up her broom and dustpan. The first task would be to remove the piles of debris from inside the church building. Then the scrubbing would begin.
Emily found an old apple crate, lined the bottom with a piece of cardboard so it would hold the clutter, and loaded it again and again as she swept the floor. Each time she filled it she had to carry it out and empty it at the back corner of the fence. She had quite a pile when the task was done-and the day was already spent. There would be no time for scrubbing this Friday.
Emily emptied her box one last time and dragged her tired body back to her living quarters. Her back and shoulders ached. Her face and hands were smudged with dirt. All she wanted was a chance to wash up, have some tea and a sandwich and fall into her bed-lumpy though it was.
It was early when Emily crawled from her bed the next morning and lit the fire so she could heat water for the scrubbing. During her work of the day before, Emily realized that some of the scattered chairs appeared to be fixable. There were also five or six crates scattered about the floor of the building. She was sure she would find a use for them. She had even found a back closet with shelves, which probably had been used as some type of billiard equipment room. It too was dirty, but Emily was thrilled at the discovery. It would be perfect for Sunday school supplies and hymnbooks.
As Emily entered the meeting room with her first pail of hot, soapy water, three sparrows made
their exit through a broken window.
Emily set her pail on the stained floor and looked about her.
“I’d better fix the windows—somehow,” she spoke quietly. “There’s no use scrubbing if the birds are still living here.”
Emily searched around until she found some scraps of board that she thought would do. She had discovered a few rusty nails on the shelf in the closet the previous day, and she went for them now. She was too short to reach the windows that needed repair, so she chose what she considered to be the safest chair to stand on. But she had no hammer.
Emily thought of crossing the street and asking the blacksmith to loan her one; instead, she went outside and searched her backyard until she found a rock large enough to use as a hammer. With that firmly in her hand, she began her repairs. It wasn’t a good job, but as Emily studied the boarded-up window, she decided it should keep the birds out until a proper job could be done. Then she set to work with her water and scrub brush.
It was another long day for Emily. Twice she had to take rest breaks for her aching back and arms. At those times she found something lighter to do in the parsonage. She organized her books on the newly scrubbed small shelf and swept the rickety steps that led down into the cellar hole beneath the kitchen.
“I’m going to have to start cooking properly,” she told herself as she sat down to another meal of tea and sliced bread. “If Father were here, he would say that I’ll be making myself sick.”
Emily quickly put the few dirty dishes in the pan on the cupboard and hurried back to her scrubbing.
She didn’t finish the task that day either. She groaned as she surveyed the small area she had managed to clean, wondering if she could possibly be ready by next Wednesday. Tomorrow was Sunday. There would be no scrubbing then. Emily felt a bit impatient that she could do nothing further till Monday, yet she was appreciative of a day of rest. She allowed herself the luxury of sleeping later and then arose to a leisurely breakfast and a long time of Bible study. She let the words from the Psalms and the Gospels rejuvenate her soul.
Then Emily prepared a nutritious dinner with vegetables from her father’s garden and some of Ina’s canned chicken, washed up the dishes that had been stacking higher and higher in the dishpan, and lay back down on her bed to read one of her favorite books. But the warm day outside beckoned to her. “I need to get out,” she told herself. “A walk might help me settle down.”
She debated about wearing her black bonnet and decided against it. I’m not on church business, she reasoned. I’ll just slip out down the alley and into the country.
Walking felt good and Emily followed the road until she came to a little creek, crawled the fence, and followed the creek bank.
She loved the little stream, even though it seemed lazy and joyless, sometimes seeming to sit in disjointed, stagnant little pools.
She continued walking along the creek until she came to a spot where it truly did gurgle along. She sat down, her back against a tall poplar, and let the song of the stream ease some of the weariness from her mind and body.
“I must remember this spot,” she murmured to herself. “It is restful here.” She closed her eyes and listened to the song of the birds and the faraway bawl of a milk cow in the pasture beyond.
Just as she was close to dropping off to sleep there was a crashing through the undergrowth and Emily’s eyes flew open.
Surely there aren’t bears here! was her first frantic thought. But it was a man with a fishing pole who broke through the bushes.
Emily wasn’t sure which one of them was the most surprised at seeing the other. He stared while she scrambled quickly to her feet, her eyes mirroring his surprise.
“I—I—was just resting,” she stammered, and he seemed to gain some composure.
His smile was slow in coming, but when it did, Emily noticed that it was delightful. He nodded his head, let the smile come in full and then spoke slowly. “I’m not too used to finding a girl in my woods,” he said with a chuckle. “Hello.”
“But I’m not—not a girl,” Emily quickly pointed out, making his eyes crinkle even more deeply at the corners.
“I—I mean, I’m Miss Emily Evans,” Emily finished, as though that should be explanation enough.
“Miss Evans,” returned the man with a nod.
Emily’s face began to redden. She knew he still assumed her to be a young girl.
“I—I mean I’m the new deaconess. The mission worker sent here to start a new church.”
For a moment the man’s face showed surprise; then he smiled again. “Well, I should expect you won’t have much trouble finding a willing congregation,” he teased. “A pretty young girl-I mean, woman—” Then surprisingly his voice turned serious. “I guess your church knew well what it was doing.”
Emily was at a loss to understand his words.
“What do you mean?” she asked softly, reading the irony in his voice.
He cast a quizzical glance her way. Emily’s puzzled frown assured him that she truly didn’t understand.
“People are always a bit more tolerant of girls,” he replied. Then he cast a meaningful look her way and added, “Children—or defenseless young women.”
By then Emily’s face was flushed and her eyes flashing as she straightened to her fullest height and lifted her chin.
“I am not a girl,” she repeated stubbornly. “Nor—nor am I a-a ‘defenseless young woman.’ I have been sent here to start a mission, not to-not to lure people to the church through pity. I—”
At the sound of his chuckle, she stopped and lifted her chin even higher. He is insufferable! she fumed. She would not stay and have him mock her further. With a defiant toss of her head she started back down the trail, but was quickly jerked up short. Her pinned hair had somehow become entangled in a branch.
Emily refused to cry out in spite of the sharp wrench. She lifted a trembling hand to disentangle herself. She could hear further laughter, and her anger increased.
In spite of her efforts, all she managed to do was dislodge the pins until her hair was tumbling about her shoulders. Still the small branch held her prisoner. She tugged and fumbled but could not free herself.
“If you don’t spook, I’ll help you,” said a quiet voice from behind her.
Emily wanted to cry, but she choked back her anger, took a deep breath and willed herself to respond in a reasonable fashion. “If you would, please.”
Never had she felt so humiliated. Never so at the mercy of another, particularly one so arrogant and irritating.
She heard him put down the rod he carried and step closer. Then she felt his hands on her hair. She sensed now that he was much taller than she and thus had an advantage-he could see what he was doing.
“Here’s a—a peg,” he said, thrusting a pin into her hand.
Emily almost corrected him, but she bit her tongue.
“Here’s another,” he said, and again passed her a hairpin.
“You are stuck!” he said as he began to untwine the locks of Emily’s hair. In trying to free herself, she had managed to make things much worse.
At last he had untangled her hair and stepped back while she ran shaky hands over her hair to get it under some measure of control. She could hardly walk back to town with her hair flowing wildly about her shoulders.
“It’s a shame you can’t always leave it down,” he surprised her by saying, and Emily looked at him evenly, making no comment in return.
His broad shoulders shrugged indifferently. “But I guess a mission worker couldn’t do that.”
Still Emily didn’t answer. She feared he was taunting her again.
“Is this ... your land?” Emily asked hesitantly, hoping to change the subject.
He shook his head. Emily was relieved that she hadn’t trespassed a second time since coming to this community.
“It belongs to my uncle,” he went on, and Emily’s eyes expressed dismay.
He noticed, and another smile played at the corner
of his mouth.
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “My uncle is a generous man. He’ll share his creek with you. He even lets me call it mine.”
It was Emily’s turn to smile. He had understood her concerns so accurately.
“I don’t even live here,” the young man went on. “I’ve come to my uncle’s farm every summer since I was a kid. I grew up in Edmonton. Live in Calgary now.”
Emily hoped her face gave no hint of her confusion—he seemed so rude one minute and rather gentlemanly the next.
Her hair was secured as well as she could manage without brush or comb. Emily took a deep breath and made sure that no low overhanging branches obscured her path.
“Well, I must be going,” she explained. “It’ll be dark before I get back to town if I don’t hurry.”
“I have a car. I could drive you,” he offered simply.
Emily blushed. What on earth would the town’s folk say if she came driving into town with a complete stranger? She shook her head quickly. “No—no, thanks,” she hastened to say. “But—I ... thank you.” She began to stumble down the path, anxious to get going.
“Good fishing,” she called back over her shoulder in an effort to be neighborly. He waved a hand, and she heard another chuckle.
She dared not look back. He might still be standing there, watching her go. She really did need to hurry. It would be dark before she could cover the distance back to town. Then a new thought came, I don’t even know his name!
Chapter Twelve
A Busy Week
On Monday morning Emily was anxious to get back to her scrubbing in the church, but she did take the time to wash three of the orange crates thoroughly and give them a coat of calcimine. They could be stacked as shelves in the corner of the bedroom, giving her some storage place. Emily could hardly wait for them to dry so she might place her clothing on the little shelves and hang one of her towels over the front.
