Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel

by Janette Oke

  She noticed many voices joining hers as she recited the prayer. Next Beth asked her students to recite a pledge to the Union Jack. Here fewer children knew what to say, but with a little coaching, Beth helped them repeat with her, “I salute the flag—the emblem of my country—and to her I pledge my love and loyalty.” It seemed incongruous with no flag displayed, but Beth seemed to be the only one troubled by the fact. “Please take your seats.”

  Beth noted the mothers slipping from the room, no doubt returning to a day full of the duties required simply to feed and clothe their families. Molly and Frances followed them out, smiling broadly toward Beth before departing.

  She drew back her shoulders and set herself to presenting an appropriate disposition before her students—friendly yet strict, kind yet commanding, even though the room itself, the tables lit only by whatever light came in through the open windows, and all the outside noises, seemed to work against her. From time to time, usually just as Beth was calling for everyone’s attention for another assignment, the hinges on the exterior door would announce the arrival of a new family, and all would turn to the doorway to see who would appear. Soon there were twenty-three students, from six to sixteen, randomly spread out before her. Beth struggled just to make eye contact with everyone scattered around. In order to keep each student’s attention she had to wander the room in circles, weaving among the tables. This will never do.

  Just as Beth was about to dismiss the students for lunch, a long whistle blast sounded from the direction of the mine. She had noticed the piercing noise the previous day at what seemed to be random times, but Beth now thought it must indicate the workers’ breaks or changes of shifts. Apparently the sound would serve as a signal for school lunchtime as well. Clearly her students were attuned to it, rousing in attention as the whistle called to them through the window.

  Because of the close proximity to the students’ homes, the room emptied quickly, and Beth was left alone. Instantly her mind began to grapple for solutions to the immediate problems. It was simply imperative that she be able to address directly the students to whom she was aiming a lesson. During that time it was not as necessary for those particular students to sit at the tables, since some by turns would be working at the chalkboard.

  It took all Beth’s strength and determination to push and drag the most central of the heavy pedestal tables from the middle of the room and fill the open area with unused chairs. This provided a small cluster of seats near the front and a circle of tables surrounding them. In her busyness, she almost forgot to eat the sandwich and apple Molly had provided. She ate hurriedly now, hoping that the students wouldn’t return before she had finished.

  The thirty minutes she had expected them to take for lunch passed by without a sound in the hallway. Then forty—forty-five. As each minute ticked past, Beth was slowly resigning herself to her worst fears. The students are not going to return for the afternoon. Sinking into one of the empty chairs, she crossed her arms on the cool tabletop and dropped her head onto them in defeat, refusing to allow any tears.

  At last, when a full hour had passed, a second whistle pierced the silence and, almost simultaneously, footsteps and voices filled the hallway as the children crowded in together. An hour, Beth chided herself. They take an hour for lunch—just as the miners do. I wish one of them had thought to tell me. A deep breath, and she was back to work.

  Beth passed out paper and pencils, which she had been able to borrow from Molly, to each of the older students, and asked them to write a letter to her about themselves, conveying anything of interest to them. “Put your name at the top of the page,” she instructed, “and then tell me what you like to do.”

  As they began—with some grumbling from the boys, she noticed—she moved the younger children to the central chairs and worked on simple phonetics on the chalkboard. Instantly, she could see they had become more attentive. She noticed too that pairs of eyes from the surrounding tables were intent on what she was teaching the younger ones. Perhaps she should not assume the older students had advanced beyond such a simple lesson. So, though Beth kept her eyes directed at the smaller ones before her, she raised her voice and wrote the alphabet in bolder print on the chalkboard for any on the periphery who needed a review of their letters.

  It came as no surprise that she encountered a wide range of ability among the students. She had been trained that in a one-room school setting, the primary focus should be upon reading instruction. Once reading was mastered, the world would be unlocked to any student interested in pursuing more—it was the key to any occupation or endeavor. All that would be necessary to advance was one’s personal desire and drive. The second objective would be mastery of writing and spelling. And, thirdly, teaching basic arithmetic.

  Since there were no other teachers to share the load, Beth would use history and geography, science, literature, and music as tools to promote broader interests among her students—but always, the critical goal each day would be to reinforce the most basic, most essential skills known as the three R’s. This was even more important as Beth recalled that her older students would be writing examinations at the end of the year to assess these primary skills. She expected already that her task would be enormous and that, in her duties of teaching, the year among them would prove rather short for what needed to be accomplished.

  She was therefore not surprised when some of the papers remained blank—whether from unwillingness or inability, she did not know. Trying to catch a glimpse of the downturned eyes, she smiled and prompted simply, “Can you write your name on your paper, please?” The full group was able to accomplish this small task before she asked Marnie to collect them. It was a beginning, and the expression on the young girl’s face when she brought the somewhat wrinkled pages up was another bright spot in the otherwise difficult first day.

  Beth’s steps felt heavy as she trudged the short distance back to Molly’s house. It had taken Marnie and Beth longer than expected to put the room back in order for Helen Grant and Beth was quite exhausted even before they managed to heave the last table back into its original position. Beth was certain she could hear quick, impatient-sounding footsteps from the living quarters above them, where she assumed the Grants must reside. That thought had made her work even more quickly. Teddy, whose help would have been a great benefit, was needed at Molly’s to chop extra wood for washday on the morrow.

  Beth silently rehearsed what she would say to Molly—how she could put into adequate words a summary of such highs and lows. And, further, what she would include in her letter written later to those at home. Though perhaps there was little that would sound like an accomplishment, she felt at least a good foundation of trust had been laid.

  As they mounted the steps of Molly’s front porch, Beth and Marnie were met with the sound of clattering lids from the kitchen. It’s suppertime, she thought with a quick glance at the watch pinned to her dress, and Marnie seemed to realize it at the same moment and rushed through the screen door toward the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Molly,” the girl called, “I shoulda come back quicker.”

  Molly tossed more potato cubes into her pot. “I’m sure ya did yer best, child,” she answered comfortably. “But now I need ya to ready the green beans.” Marnie hastened to comply.

  Beth set the table—with the minimum of utensils—and then pulled hot rolls from the oven, spreading butter across their crusty tops. Having watched two meals prepared, she imitated what she had seen previously. Next she chipped a large piece of ice from the block in the icebox and placed it in a basin. She set to work chipping off shards small enough to fit inside the glasses and poured each with fresh water. Just as Molly set the last of the serving dishes on the table, the company men, conversing in loud voices and stamping their boots, appeared on the doorstep.

  Beth looked down at the wet splotches on her apron—even on her blouse. Her hair likely was disheveled, and there were deep wrinkles in her sleeves where she had rolled them up. She was no
t at all presentable—nor was she interested in sitting once again with the men. “Miss Molly,” she began, “I really can’t eat with them like this.”

  Molly frowned. “S’pose yer right, dearie. Fix yerself a plate, and you can eat in yer room. Though it would please me some if you’d come back for dessert.”

  “Thank you. I’ll try.”

  While Beth helped herself from the pots on the stove, Molly lingered next to her for a moment. “An’ how was yer day? How many did ya have?”

  Beth smiled. “Twenty-three.”

  “That’s all of ’em, leastwise. They stay all day?”

  “Yes,” Beth answered, then sighed. “I worried for a time they wouldn’t return after lunch, but when the mine whistle blew, every one of them came back.”

  “Then ya musta done somethin’ right,” Molly affirmed with a pat on Beth’s shoulder and moved back to the sink.

  This wasn’t what Beth had pictured—no describing of all the day’s details to Molly, who seemed to love conversation. But the simple encouraging statement carried more impact just because it came from such a busy, caring, and no-nonsense woman.

  That evening Beth read through the writing assignments from the older students. Several were fairly long and described hunting, nature, or some other personal interest. Beth wiped away tears as most of them referenced the collapse of the mine and the loss of their daddies. The words underscored to Beth that theirs was a community far from the end of hurting and healing. Lord, help me, please, she prayed, to know how to help them.

  The next day unfolded in much the same way. But from the opening recitation of the Lord’s Prayer to working on the last assignment of the day, lessons were less frantic and more predictable, though still a struggle. Especially without all the materials and books she had planned to have with her.

  Beth watched the clock carefully after school so she and Marnie arrived home sooner. Molly, as expected, made no comment but appeared appreciative. For a second time, Beth begged off eating with the men and was given reluctant permission to carry her supper up to the privacy of her room.

  Setting her plate down on the dresser, she kicked off her shoes and decided to stretch out for a moment on the bed. She was utterly fatigued, but it was Friday, and she anticipated two days in which to recuperate and plan for the upcoming week. She was satisfied with what had been accomplished thus far. . . .

  And before she could manage another conscious thought, Beth had drifted off to sleep, her supper turning cold across the room.

  Despite Molly’s declarations that it was unnecessary, that Beth was “a payin’ guest,” she chose to join Marnie on Saturday in the expansive garden, while Molly’s skillful hands labored indoors to preserve the bounty for winter. The gardening proved far more difficult than Beth had expected, with all the bending to pull carrots, onions, and parsnips from the rich black soil. Soon she was sweating and stiff, her hands dirty and sore. What would Mother say? But the thought brought a small though victorious smile to her lips. Truth is, I’m keeping up with Marnie fairly well, she thought, glancing over at her partner. It had seemed rather ironic that morning as the two exchanged roles, the youngster explaining and showing Beth just how it should be done.

  Molly’s carefully tended plot stretched up the hillside in a broad sunlit clearing behind the boarding house, guarded by a picket fence, rows of thorny berry bushes, a sagging scarecrow, and several spinning whirligigs—all meant to ward off deer and other nuisances. The dreaded outhouse stood discreetly in its own corner. Teddy was busy nearby, cleaning out the chicken coop for Molly’s small flock and chopping firewood. Next he shoveled coal from the small shed into the hod, then hefted it into the kitchen.

  By evening Beth had to admit she was physically exhausted. Certainly from the work of the day, as well as emotionally wrung out from her attempts to join in the wide-ranging conversations of the mine company’s officials over supper. She was pleased to see them strike out together for the pool hall. Grateful for the quiet, she retreated to the parlor to grade a few papers and make further plans for Monday’s lessons before turning in for the night.

  She rose early on Sunday but found herself for the first time with little to do. There was no permanent pastor in Coal Valley, and this was a week when the itinerant minister was busy elsewhere. Beth felt strangely restless. The town was quieter than she had yet known it to be—each family observing some sort of Sunday rest. If only . . . if only there were music somewhere. Singing, or a church organ, or a Victrola. . . . Beth’s heart ached to express itself in music—and the memory of the violin she would never play again dampened her spirits further.

  She spent some time reading a borrowed Bible and sitting around Molly’s house—though she found she was not truly enjoying her leisure. The inviting cool breeze on the front porch was not enough to lure her out with the four men already relaxing in Molly’s rocking chairs. They seemed to view her as an odd but interesting diversion.

  During the afternoon, Beth decided to take a stroll along the road that had brought her into the small town, and she was pleased when Marnie agreed to join her. Even with no one nearby, Beth could not successfully elicit conversation from the shy girl except for short answers to her questions. But it was pleasant to spend some quiet time together, picking fall berries growing not far from the road and walking through the speckled patches of shade.

  There was little evidence of the woods attracting others until Beth noticed a faint trail heading away from the road and disappearing behind a tangle of bushes. “Marnie, should we go that way? Do you feel like a little exploring?” Beth tried to coax a smile.

  “No, ma’am!” She shook her head with more spirit than Beth had yet seen from the girl. “That don’t go nowhere.” But Beth wondered at the look of fear her suggestion had seemed to stir and the quiet girl’s emphatic protest.

  “That’s fine,” she assured Marnie. “We can stay near the road if you’d like.” Beth was unclear what had elicited such a response—whether wild animals or the idea of being lost, or something else. Beth simply put the incident behind her.

  Rain fell in sheets on Monday morning, and several of the children were absent, but Beth forged ahead with the lessons. She was aware that it was difficult for her students to hear her over the sound of the heavy downpour through the open windows, but she chose the noise rather than the stuffiness of the closed room. All in all, Beth was pleased to note progress, mostly in the willingness of the children to take part and attempt what she was asking of them.

  As each day passed into the next, she felt that small steps forward had been accomplished, and she thought her students agreed. But Beth subconsciously felt the weight of limited time with them—only one year. She had no way of knowing what or whom the following year would bring. The older children in particular were running out of time for the education their mothers wanted for them.

  Also, Beth had begun to realize the significant sacrifice Molly was making in allowing Marnie to attend school. The bashful thirteen-year-old was grown enough to be nearly indispensable around the guest house, and Molly’s responsibilities had been significantly impacted by the girl’s absence. The woman rarely rested from the work of cooking for the men, washing linens, and keeping up the large house. Beth realized quickly that when this woman—who was not even Marnie’s mother—had declared that the town’s children should have an education, it meant she was also prepared to do what she could to ensure that it happened.

  Further, even as tirelessly as the brother and sister worked in Molly’s home, Beth heard no word of complaint from either of them. She couldn’t imagine her own sisters back home—or herself—working so diligently without even a crossways look. She understood now that her older students would have little time for homework if they all helped out as much as Teddy and Marnie.

  Beth pitched in around the house as best she could, and she was embarrassed to discover how few domestic skills she possessed. Molly had gradually given up reminding Beth that she was a
“payin’ guest,” and she no longer discouraged her from assisting with domestic chores. Given the options of being alone, being with the four men, or being with the family, Beth found it an easy choice to make. She was pleased already with her own increasing ability to be useful in the kitchen. She found she enjoyed watching and imitating such a skillful cook. Wouldn’t Julie be surprised? Though, perhaps, not quite as impressed as she should be.

  At the end of another long but mostly satisfying week, Beth returned to the boarding house. Molly was waiting for her and motioned her upstairs with a grin and a wink. Beth discovered, crowded into the room in a row along one wall, three large trunks—the replacement supplies from Mother! Molly said she had to see to supper and went back downstairs.

  Beth unlatched the straps and threw open the first to dig through the contents, which turned out to be mostly clothing. She drew out one frilly frock after another, held it against her, then laid it across her bed. The colors were lovely, in stark contrast to the faded browns and dull blues of her borrowed clothing. Some were in shades of soft pastels—even white. In a coal-mining village? Mother, what were you thinking?

  Though Beth thought the dresses lovely, and exactly what her mother would have chosen for her, she couldn’t help but wonder how they would fit in here. Absently fingering the beadwork on one of the new dresses, she could only imagine what effect such a display of finery would have upon her students. It wasn’t until that moment that she thought of how readily the children had accepted her among them. Can it be that since the borrowed dresses are from their own families and friends, this acceptance came more easily? Still musing, Beth unbuckled the second trunk.