Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel

by Janette Oke

  It was not smooth and well performed. Beth was nearly desperate at some points, trying to make any progress through the story at all. But in the end they managed to practice and present the story of creation and the first sin from start to finish. She walked to the front again, quite prepared to apologize to the mothers for such a disastrous performance of a Bible story. What would Mother have thought about such a light-hearted form of presenting a Bible passage? But to Beth’s amazement, the women appeared to be delighted with what the children had done.

  So instead, Beth addressed them all with an impromptu thought regarding the story they had just witnessed. She explained how sin had come into the world when that very first command was disobeyed, and that every person born afterward had inherited a sinful nature as well as the curse of death. She reminded them of what Pastor Davidson had explained on Sunday—about Jesus being the only solution. As she looked across the crowded room, she asked them to pause a moment, and she prayed aloud that the Spirit would stir hearts to understand and believe. Then she dismissed them, and the students went tumbling out in all directions at once, laughing and teasing each other about their various parts. Beth was very relieved that the children seemed to enjoy the evening.

  The mothers crowded around her. “What story are you going to do Thursday, Miss Thatcher?” “I think my Thomas will want a part next time—now he understands how it’s done. I’d like ta see ’im try.” “Are you goin’ to act out all the stories in the Good Book?” and on and on.

  “Thank you so much for coming,” Beth repeated to each one as she answered their queries as best she could.

  Watching carefully for Esther Blane, Charlotte Noonan and Abigail Stanton, Beth drew each of the ladies aside when she arrived. She had divided up her fabric purchases to bring with her that evening, and she found opportunities to speak privately with these mothers about sewing for her. Each woman was visibly pleased to take on the projects.

  Between teaching and grading and getting the room ready each day, Beth had very little time for preparation of the skits. She had thought just a little scenery and basic costumes could be included—but she was simply unable to prepare for such extras. Imagination would be essential—fortunately, the children were blessed with an abundance of that particular characteristic.

  On Thursday the evening crowd was even a little larger. Molly had chosen to attend and brought along her friend Frances. This time Beth was going to present the much shorter story of Cain and Abel. Since there were only three parts to play, she had divided it into shorter readings and let several of the students have a chance to be the narrator. It seemed to work out quite well, with a bit of intervention needed when Daniel Murphy spent a little too much time “killing” his brother Abel. This was met with laughter all around, and Daniel basked in the pleasure of having stolen the show, even bowing low at the end, causing more giggles.

  Beth quickly had learned it was best to undertake shorter passages—even though there would be fewer parts—and simply be certain to rotate the roles each week among all the children.

  By Saturday she had already received two lovely dresses sewn with care. It blessed her heart to be able to pay Charlotte Noonan, David’s mother, for her work. Perhaps this would help alleviate some of the conflict between the Noonan family and the Stantons. And Beth could imagine it would be a great help since Charlotte’s baby was expected anytime.

  Beth was also able to have the first of her tea parties, inviting the four oldest students. She had planned to purchase cookies at the company store, but Molly wouldn’t hear of it. “Store bought! Might as well give ’em cardboard. I’ll bake up a big batch. You can have some for your fancy doin’, an’ I’ll have some ta put out for supper.”

  The lovely tea service Mother had sent was arranged on the dining room table. Right on time, Addison Coolidge and his sister Luela arrived dressed in their Sunday best. They joined Teddy and Marnie, standing stiff and awkward just inside her door.

  “Please don’t be shy. This is for you. You are the guests of honor today.” She gestured toward the waiting table.

  Still the boys hesitated. Beth felt it would help to instruct them. Keeping her voice matter of fact, she explained how the “men” were to assist the “ladies” by holding their chairs before taking their own seats. With a few awkward grins and some blushes, the task was accomplished.

  Beth poured their tea and placed her napkin in her lap. She was pleased to see each follow suit, and they passed the plate of fresh oatmeal cookies from one to another. Once Beth finally managed to engage the boys in the conversation, she discovered that Teddy had plenty to say when bolstered by the presence of his friend. They described in great detail a nest of squirrels they had found, about how gentle and small the babies were, how soft to hold—at least until the mother returned. They had tossed her young back inside the shelter of the tree and skedaddled out of there, the poor mother chattering her anger, twitching and lunging after them. Beth found she immensely enjoyed the story and the chance to get to know her young charges better.

  After their tea party was over, Beth was thrilled to be invited by the children to visit their favorite fishing hole along the river. The Coolidges ran home to change their clothes while Beth, Teddy, and Marnie did the same, and then they met at the river. Beth held a pole for a while, but soon passed it over to ones with more experience. Still she shared in their satisfaction on the way home with three lovely trout for Molly’s supper preparations, while Addison and Luela would bring two of their own to their mother.

  Leading the way, the boys holding high the poles strung with their catches, the two suddenly stopped still on the path. Beth hurried forward.

  Addison was gesturing toward the river, and Teddy seemed to be drawing him in the opposite direction. Beth could see a man in the distance, hauling a small boat up onto the shore.

  “Do you know him?” she questioned Teddy. He shook his head firmly. “Ain’t never seen him before.” He looked at the figure again. “But we better not pester him. He’s prob’ly fishin’. We’ll keep goin’.”

  Addison started to speak, but Teddy cut him off tersely. “I said no, Addie.”

  Beth glanced from one to the other, wondering what was going on. But before she could find out, the boys were off again, and she and the girls were hurrying just to keep up.

  Having already accomplished the story of Noah and the flood, Beth chose to present the Tower of Babel. She noticed during their rehearsal that an older gentleman, perhaps in his late sixties, had entered and taken a seat at the back of the hall. Since he was obviously dressed more like a miner than a company man, it seemed strange to Beth. She wondered if he was one of the newly recruited workers. Yet he was much older than she would have expected for such a strenuous job. She would introduce herself to him following the play.

  Then the empty wooden crates being used to make the tower came clattering down during the performance. Beth was so busy afterward supervising their proper return to the company store that the man was gone by the time she might have greeted him. Later she inquired of Molly about him.

  “Oh, yah, that’s Ol’ Man Stub. He’s a miner—least he was. Lost a hand in an accident. ’Twas a shame. Had a good job leadin’ a crew.”

  The meaning of his moniker slowly dawned on Beth. “You don’t mean to say they call him Stub because of his missing hand?”

  Molly chuckled and shrugged. “Guess so. I quit thinkin’ ’bout that. But yah, that’s what it means.”

  “Doesn’t that . . . well, hurt his feelings?”

  “Don’t know. Never heard him say.”

  Beth grimaced. “What is his given name?”

  It took Molly a moment to remember. “It’s Russo. Frank Russo. From Italy—but he speaks English real good. Bin round these parts a lotta years. He’s a good man. Knew my Bertram. They use ta play pool t’gether.” She chuckled to herself. “Funny we call him Old Man—since he can’t be more’n eight or ten years older than me. Guess Old Stub’s had
a long, tough road.”

  “What does he do—now that he doesn’t work at the mine?”

  “Helps out mostly.” Molly sighed. “Sometimes at the mine—he bin blastin’ fer so long they come to rely on him fer advice. Then, since the mine fell in, he’s bin helpin’ widows. Jest little things—extra wood in the stack, sometimes a bag of apples or a venison roast. Jest drops it off and scoots away ’fore they can thank him proper. Knew all their menfolk. Worked side-by-side with ’em—even led the crew fer some. Good man, Ol’ Frank.”

  “I hope he comes again.”

  “I think he will.”

  Beth cast a sideways glance at Molly. “May I be honest?”

  “Ain’t ya been?” She winked at Beth.

  “I don’t even know why the adults are coming. I can see that the children are enjoying themselves, but the acting is poorly done, and we have a terrible time keeping to the script. There’s so much chaos. I don’t know why it’s attracting a crowd.”

  “Ya don’t?” Molly shook her head and chuckled. “They’re learnin’, dearie. They’re learnin’ right along with them kids.”

  Beth had not considered such a notion. “And why do you come?”

  “I still got me some learnin’ ta do.” Then Molly’s eyes twinkled playfully. “’Sides, it’s powerful funny to watch all the nonsense—and you tryin’ so hard to keep things goin’. Yer face when the tower fell—priceless!” Molly laughed heartily, and Beth couldn’t help but join her.

  CHAPTER

  11

  MISS THATCHER, MISS THATCHER! There’s a Mountie outside.” Marnie had just placed the last of the chairs in order and was looking out the window. Beth, collecting her books and the papers, immediately thought of Edward. She had anticipated that he would make an appearance at some point. He would say he was following Father’s request to keep an eye out for her.

  Marnie was sounding rather frantic. “I think he’s comin’ in here! Should I let him in? Did we do somethin’ wrong? Or one of the boys—?”

  “It’s fine, Marnie. Yes, please invite him in.” Beth pushed at her hair and unrolled the sleeves on her dress. Edward no doubt would disapprove of the simple homemade dress.

  The door in the hall banged open, but it was not Edward who entered the room. The coat was the same, but the face was that of Philip’s friend with the copper-colored mustache. Beth took a step back, trying to recover from—her unexpected disappointment.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Thatcher. I hope I haven’t disturbed you.”

  “No, no—not at all. I . . . I thought . . .”

  He seemed to read her confusion. “Would you have been expecting Constable Montclair?”

  “Why, yes!” How did he know? She rushed once more to cover her surprise. “He is a . . . a friend. From home. I thought perhaps . . .” Then a new thought clouded her eyes. “He’s not . . . not hurt, is he?”

  “No, miss. Oh, no,” the man quickly assured her. “I saw him just last week. He knew I was being stationed in this area, so he asked me to drop by and see how things are going for you here.”

  “Oh, yes, and thank you,” answered Beth. “And where is he now?”

  “He’s just been transferred north.”

  “North?”

  “Yes, Athabasca, I believe. He asked me to tell you he was sorry he couldn’t come to see you before leaving.”

  “Thank you . . . for bringing the message, I mean.” Then she added, “I’ll admit you frightened me for a moment. I thought perhaps something had happened. His parents would be— Well, you see, they’re family friends. And I—”

  “No, no,” he said, hastening to alleviate her concern. “Nothing of the sort. I’m sorry to have alarmed you. Maybe I should have sent word through the post instead. . . .”

  She flushed and tried to begin again. “Of course not,” she said, attempting to express heartfelt gratitude. “It was very kind of you to deliver his message. I’m sorry—it just caught me off guard somewhat. But I’m relieved he is fine. I’m sure he was excited about his new . . . posting?”

  He nodded. “Posting—yes.”

  Finally she could recall her manners. “I apologize, but I don’t remember your name—from when we met at Sunday dinner.”

  With an amiable smile and a playful bow, he said, “Corporal Jarrick Thornton at your service, ma’am. But my friends just call me Jack.”

  Prompted by the twinkle in his eye, she queried, “What does your mother call you?”

  His eyebrows raised. “Well, that would be Jarrick, Miss Thornton. Always Jarrick.” Now that she had turned the tables, she could see him wondering if she was poking fun at him or if it was good-natured teasing.

  “I like your mother’s choice.” Beth extended her hand. “It’s nice to know you, Jarrick.” As they shook hands, she remembered Molly working on dinner. “I’m afraid I must excuse myself, though. It’s been kind of you to come so far just to deliver Edward’s message.”

  “Is there any way I can be of help?”

  “Thank you, but no.” Beth drew her hand away, then looked at his hand. “Oh mercy, I may have offered you some chalk dust with my handshake.” She brushed her palm against her skirt. “It’s something that goes with being a schoolteacher.”

  Jarrick turned his own hand over. “No chalk dust. I feel cheated.”

  Beth felt a bit unsettled by the conversation. “And you say you are to be in our area?” she asked, changing directions abruptly.

  “Blairmore.”

  “Oh, is that close? I’ve heard it mentioned but didn’t realize it was large enough for a— What do they have at a ‘posting,’ then, a jail?”

  He smiled, and Beth noticed a small dimple nearly hidden beneath his neatly clipped mustache. She wondered if he grew the mustache to cover it and appear more authoritative in his job. “Not much of a jail,” Jarrick admitted. “It’s a new location. More for security and aid than for enforcement, really. But we try to have postings scattered throughout the province in case we’re needed.”

  Just then Marnie, waiting in the hall, dropped a book and startled Beth. “Oh my,” she told him, “I really should be going. There’s work to do at home.”

  “I apologize, Miss Thatcher. I’ve kept you too long.” Jarrick stood just a moment more, though, shuffling the brim of his hat through his hands. “It was a pleasure to see you again.”

  “Yes, and thank you. That is, I do thank you for—for bringing greetings from Edward. I have often wondered how things were going for him. At times I’ve wondered if perhaps he had returned home.”

  “Oh no, I assure you. He has very much adapted to our work out here in the West. Very committed to the job. Doing well. He’s developing into a fine officer and a particularly good investigator. It seems that part of the job appeals to him most. I expect he’ll increasingly be found in that role.”

  Beth nodded and rubbed her hands on her skirt once more.

  With a solemn nod, Jarrick returned his Stetson to his head and turned to leave. “Oh shucks, I almost forgot.” He fished inside his coat pocket for something. “Edward would have been very annoyed with me. He told me to be sure you received this.” He produced a small object. “I believe there is a bit of a note somewhere.”

  Beth’s mind was whirling at the size and shape of the little box wrapped in brown paper. A gift? Jewelry? What could it mean? She tore open the package and gasped in disbelief. Instantly her eyes filled with tears and the room started spinning as she struggled to catch her breath. Father’s compass. . . . She felt her knees go weak.

  Jarrick quickly reached for her and held her up, then led her to a nearby chair and crouched down beside her. No longer aware of anything else, Beth dropped her head against his shoulder and sobbed. Several moments passed before Beth was cognizant enough to straighten and look away.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, feeling humiliated at her emotional reaction. “I can explain . . .” she started, but more tears ran down her cheeks.

  He quickl
y drew a chair over to sit beside her and looked at her with a mystified and concerned expression.

  She wiped at the tears with one hand, the other clutching tightly to what had been returned. “It . . . it is the compass my father gave to me when I came west. It was stolen on the way—I never thought to see it again. However did Edward . . . ?”

  He pointed to the floor. “Perhaps the note will explain. May I . . . ?” Jarrick reached down, picked up a piece of paper that had fallen to the floor, and placed it in her hands.

  Her words tumbled out. “I’m so sorry I became emotional. It’s just—it was my father’s—and it’s so special to us, to me especially, and he entrusted it to my care, and . . .”

  “I see.” But he appeared to be worrying more over her state of mind than her explanation. “I thought perhaps it was a gift . . . well, from Edward.”

  “Oh no. My father—he spent years at sea. This compass—he said I was to keep it so I would—I would always be able to . . .” Her voice trailed away, and she took a big breath. “To find my way home . . .” Her lip had begun to quiver and she quickly covered it with a hand.

  “I understand. I do,” he said quietly.

  There were no words Beth could find to adequately explain her strong reaction to this man who was leaning toward her, assessing her condition. She could think of nothing else to say. Suddenly he was reaching for her hand and lifting it gently. “Miss Thatcher, I have a sister. I miss her terribly at times. And if she had lost something so precious to her, I know she would have responded exactly as you did. And I . . . I would have loved her for it.” He held her gaze. Then the moment passed, and he patted her hand and released it, again assuming his role of caring bystander. “Are you certain you’ve recovered?”