Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel

by Janette Oke

  Philip offered to help with the dishes and refused to allow Molly to dissuade him. This meant Beth might have his attention rather privately while he washed and she dried. Molly would be bustling around them, putting away the leftovers, but only periodically commenting. Ideal, she thought. The two chatted congenially as they worked together before he turned the conversation.

  “And I heard you’ve been quite busy too—with a new Bible club.”

  Beth’s response came tumbling out as she described the joys and the frustrations of working on the short dramas with the schoolchildren—all happening right before the eyes of most of the community. He listened carefully, smiling and wincing appropriately by turn.

  “I’m proud of you, Beth. I’m sure what you’re doing will be used by God in ways you can’t even imagine right now. God’s Word never returns without fruit. That’s a promise.”

  She smiled but admitted, “It isn’t what I pictured it would be—it’s been much more difficult and less inspiring than what I had envisioned. But I do think the children are learning. And that was always the point.”

  Molly inserted a comment once more. “An’ I told her, them mommas is learnin’ too.”

  “I’m sure that’s the case,” Philip agreed.

  Molly retreated to the dining room, and Philip looked over at Beth with a gleam in his eyes. “I heard you had a little adventure last night,” he teased. “Or maybe we should call it a misadventure.” His expression assured her he was not scolding. But a chortle from Molly indicated she had returned as she now scooped leftover potatoes into a bowl. Philip glanced at Molly over his shoulder and handed the next plate to Beth.

  She made slow circles over it with the dish towel as she tried to best phrase her answer. “Yes, I’m afraid I had a rather frightening experience. But I also met Mr. Russo—at his wife’s grave in the forest.”

  Philip sent a surprised glance in her direction. “You did? Did you know about the grave?”

  “No, I was just out walking and stumbled across him there. He told me a little about Colette and how she died. Such a sad story.”

  “Yes, it is. But he’s a remarkable man.”

  “I agree. Miss Molly has already told me about the kind things he does to help the widows and their families.”

  Molly interjected, “He is a good man, no denyin’ that.”

  Philip nodded. “Yes, Frank has a very good heart, and he knows how to love with his actions.”

  The conversation moved on, and Beth was wondering how to bring up the topic that had been on her mind most of last night. Then Molly dropped her apron onto its hook and excused herself, an opportunity for which Beth had been hoping.

  “May I ask you,” she began, her towel and the last cup held still before her, “I was wondering—is there anything being done for the men in the camp?”

  Philip looked a bit startled. He paused, then asked, “Do you mean their personal needs or their spiritual needs?”

  Beth found she couldn’t answer his question as concisely as it was asked, so she tried another approach. “I met a young man who just joined his father in the mine. He speaks English well, but his father does not. The family is from Italy.”

  “You’re referring to Alberto Giordano. I had heard his son would be joining him soon, but I didn’t know he’d already arrived. You met the young man? Paolo, I believe?”

  “Yes, Paolo. He’s a very nice young man—but he’s only fifteen. He has received some education, and he’s clearly intelligent, with a gift for languages. It grieves me that the only life before him is likely one of toiling in the mine. It looks to me like there’s little hope of achieving more.”

  Philip nodded.

  Beth found it hard to explain all that was in her heart. “Isn’t there something that can be done for him?”

  There was another long pause. “It’s a complicated issue, Beth,” Philip said slowly. “I do understand your feelings, and I admire your tender heart. I also share your concern and, believe me, so does the district church board.

  “When we first decided to begin this work, our district leaders approached the mining company. They own all the land where the camp sits, so we needed their permission to engage with them, invite them to a service. We were told that the men—the newcomers—had their own ‘religion,’ and we were not to confuse them by intruding with our ‘Canadian brand of Christianity.’ Simply put, their answer was a flat no. We could use their hall for others in the community, but not for the camp workers. Our hands have been tied.” He paused a moment, staring at the plate he was working on.

  “I’ll admit we had hoped to reach out to them by discipling the other men of the community who worked alongside the Italians—encouraging them to share Christ’s love with their peers at work. Now most of those men are gone.” He stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t really that complicated. Maybe it’s harder to ignore a problem that already existed, now that the majority of the miners are from across the ocean.”

  He handed the last plate to Beth, dried his hands on a nearby towel, and turned to lean against the work table. “I wish I knew what the answer was, Beth. I can’t imagine what life is like for them. There isn’t even enough space to adequately house them all anymore. When I was last there, I saw that some of them were still in tents. I think by this time they’ve finished building some additional housing, but it must be miserable—and now with the approach of winter . . .”

  Beth had not even considered the very real concerns about housing and weather and the restrictions the mine company had put on them. “Paolo suggested to me once that he would like to teach English,” she said. “If I worked with him, maybe that would help a little.”

  Philip’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. “It might. At least it would begin to remove the language barrier that exists between them and the townspeople.” He shook his head. “To be honest, though, I can’t fathom a situation where it would be acceptable. The folks around here are duly concerned about safety and are not interested in inviting strange men into their midst—especially now that they’ve lost their husbands, their protectors. I think that would present your biggest obstacle—not the if, but where?” He looked into her eyes. “I can only tell you that if God is calling you to become involved in some way, then He’ll provide the means for it to happen. And if there’s any way I can help, I promise I’ll do what I can.”

  “Has the mining company forbidden the men to come into town?”

  “Frank Russo would know more about that than I do. I suspect that it’s not so much a case of forbidding as a very strong suggestion. They no doubt are told it’s better if they don’t interfere with the life of the town—probably veiled behind some statement such as not ‘making trouble.’ Any miner who might do something offensive would be sent back to Italy. To be fired and sent back is a real threat. They came because they need the money for their families.”

  “So now the knife cuts both ways,” observed Beth. “The company discourages the miners from mixing, and the town women are afraid of these men they don’t know or understand.”

  Philip nodded. “It’s really quite complicated and so sad. Here we have men on our doorstep whom we want to introduce to faith in Christ—and we can’t converse with them, can’t even invite them for coffee.”

  “But you’ve been to the camp?”

  “I went in with Frank on a couple of occasions. Well—not really in. Frank had a few of the miners meet me on the opposite side of the road just across from their shacks. Not company land. Frank is gravely concerned about the men—and though he still draws a pension from the company and periodically is brought in as an experienced specialist, they don’t seem to want him spending a great deal of time with the younger miners. Perhaps they feel his presence could make the men restless—more demanding of better treatment. There have been strikes at other mines. Still, Frank has a certain influence, I’m sure.”

  “So you don’t think I will ever be able to help Paolo
with an English class.”

  Philip hesitated and then answered, “Not as things stand currently. I’ve been as frustrated as you are. It seems we’ve come to an impasse.”

  “But what . . . what if something happens? Another collapse? Another accident—and they haven’t heard the good news of the gospel? I’m . . . I’m afraid I’ll have trouble sleeping just imagining such a disaster—both the physical one and the eternal one.”

  Philip shook his head, and Beth could see that he too was deeply troubled. Though she felt disheartened, she thanked Philip for being honest. There seemed to be no way for her to reach out. Even so, she determined that she would not yet give up. She would continue to pray for God to move someone—someway.

  She wrote a long letter home describing the predicament of the miners, so isolated from the rest of society. But she once again found herself editing the truth. How would Mother respond to hearing about such a camp? How could she adequately describe Frank Russo? And what would Mother think about the possibility of her interaction with these men in the future? Beth wondered if her mother might not take the next train west to rescue her daughter.

  She laid the letter down and pressed her hands against her face. It was a conundrum, one that was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Through her letters she wanted Mother to be reassured that Coal Valley was a safe place, one where her daughter’s influence could be worthwhile and productive. Beth was convinced in her own heart that these things were true, but if the descriptions she presented were not the complete picture, was she actually being deceitful? Was she essentially conceding all independence and self-sufficiency through her feeble attempts to save Mother from worry? The guilty feelings clung stubbornly—even while she was trying so hard to work for good. . . .

  CHAPTER

  13

  AS BETH TRUDGED along the dusty road to school on Monday, her mind was on Paolo and the rest of the miners in the rough camp outside of town. If one was not aware of their presence, it could seem they did not even exist. She wondered what it would be like to live so close to a town and yet be entirely excluded from it.

  But even as she puzzled over it, she reminded herself that she was still a stranger herself despite her growing care for the people of Coal Valley. In truth, even Philip really was an outsider. Perhaps there was a reason—a good reason—why this unpleasant-sounding division was accepted by the entire town. Were the people here aware of issues of which Beth was not? Even Molly, in fact, had not brought it up. Beth knew that it would be prudent to use caution before meddling. And yet she could not help but worry about Paolo. He was a polite and articulate young man. Surely something could be done to help him. And maybe through him help the others.

  Beth was entering the shadowed hallway leading into the schoolroom when she was reminded of those deep passageways into the mountain. She could not imagine what it would be like to spend one’s days deep within the rugged walls of rock and timbers. No sun. No fresh air. The very thought made her feel claustrophobic.

  And the dangers? Many men from Coal Valley had already lost their lives in the dreadful underground calamity. How could these replacement miners dare go back into the belly of that mine? How could their wives and families even consider letting them enter the tunnels? And young sons like Paolo . . . the very idea made Beth shiver.

  As she pushed open the windows on the lovely autumn morning, she heard the sounds of her students arriving for another day of learning. It would be a perfect day to take the class on a nature hike. She wondered how the mothers would respond to such an idea and wished she’d had the foresight to ask Molly. Winter would soon be upon them, and such an opportunity might not present itself again.

  With the feelings among the townspeople toward the miners’ camp, though, would such an outing even be considered? Surely knowing that the miners spent their days deep within the mountain would provide the mothers confidence enough to allow such an excursion. Taking herself in hand, Beth hurried with last-minute lesson preparations before it would be time to ring the bell to call the students inside. They no doubt were enjoying every minute of the lovely fall weather and were in no hurry to leave the outdoors.

  Beth glanced once more through the window and noticed Teddy and Addison engaged in an animated discussion on the other side of the street. Their hands were gesturing as part of the exchange, and their laughter was reaching Beth’s ears—whatever it was must be highly amusing.

  She stood gazing at them, deep in thought. How much longer will the oldest students be allowed to be children? Already they have taken on responsible tasks as the eldest in their homes. Will they soon be called away from the schoolroom and required to take on some sort of occupation? How much longer will they have to prepare for life as adults?

  Sobered by her thoughts, she prayed, Please, Lord—not the mines.

  It wasn’t until that moment that Beth realized how much the mine disaster troubled her spirit. She had recently run across the account of another one, a slide that had occurred in 1903 at a town called Frank not too many miles away. Much of the town had been buried when the side of the mountain gave way and covered the town, and there was great loss of life. Beth tried to still her anguished heart with the truth she knew. Yes—God is good. And God is in charge. But in spite of her faith in Him, fear nibbled at the edges of her confidence. She wondered if her young students felt the uncertainty, the fear, as well.

  And what of the miners themselves? The most frightening part was that she had no idea if they were ready to die. What if they are not ready for eternity and no one is able or willing to share the truth with them? Beth believed in Philip’s sincere concern, but she wondered why someone who spoke Italian had not been sent here. Far better still, someone to teach them English, make friends with them, prepare them for the gospel’s invitation. Something needs to be done—and soon.

  A light rap on the outside door brought Beth up short. She lifted her hand and realized she was still holding the school bell . . . and that she had not yet rung it. She moved quickly into the hallway to the door. Her young students huddled together on the doorstep, wide-eyed and silent, staring at Beth until Sadie dared ask, “Are we havin’ school today?”

  Beth lifted the watch pinned to her dress and gasped. It was already fifteen minutes past class time.

  “Oh my” was all she could manage. “Oh my. I am so sorry. I was lost in thought. I’m very sorry.”

  Sadie turned and waved a hand toward a group of boys kneeling on the ground by the bushes. “They’re still playin’ marbles,” she informed Beth.

  Beth looked again at the silent bell in her hand. “Come in,” she invited the cluster of younger students before her, and gave the bell a firm shake. The boys scrambled to their feet, dusting off knees as they came. It was not long until she had all her students in their proper places, ready for the recital of the Lord’s Prayer. But she did fervently hope none of the townsfolk had been watching the clock and noted the late school start.

  Beth’s day ended the same way it had begun—concerns for the town and for the camp so near—yet so far—were uppermost in her mind as she trudged back toward the boarding house. In whom could she confide? With all her heart Beth wished she could talk with her father, could seek his counsel. She was sure he would share her distress. Hadn’t he advised her to find out what God had for her to do? Beth was becoming convinced that the task for her was much bigger than simply the classroom. Her students clearly were the main reason God had brought her to Coal Valley, but unless something more was done—something for the town and the miners—those growing up now would face the same troubles as those of their parents. In Beth’s mind, the biggest need for the entire area and the one thing that would bring them together was a shared faith. But what could she do? She was just one person—and a woman. She felt helpless.

  A sudden thought lifted her spirits. Mr. Russo. He knew both the town and the camp. He could speak both English and Italian. He was highly respected in both places. He was the common b
ond. If the miners could not come into the town, then she would go to them—with Frank. He would be her chaperone. Her interpreter. Her co-worker. She knew he had faith. He must be as concerned about his countrymen as she.

  With a lighter step Beth hurried into the house. She would seek the very first opportunity to speak with Frank. But she would not share that fact with Molly until they’d had their discussion. If he vetoed her proposal, she would accept his decision and press the matter no further. In the meantime she would pray. In fact, she would spend time in prayer as soon as she entered her room. She would pray until Molly or Marnie called her for the evening meal. Surely God’s concern was even greater than her own.

  Now that she had the beginnings of a plan, Beth had felt both agitated and excited all evening. She knew she would not really be able to relax until she put the first piece of her plan in motion. Already she had spent time after the supper hour pouring over some school primers, sorting out what she might be able to use in the first English lessons for Paolo and his co-workers. She finally laid aside the books to prepare her lessons for the next day’s classes.

  It was almost midnight before Beth convinced herself to retire for the night. By the time she climbed into bed, she was frazzled and exhausted and wondered if she would be able to turn off all her swirling thoughts. Yet she must.

  Outside her window she noted that the sky, previously bright from a full moon and a canopy of glittering stars, was now dark with a cloud cover. She could hear a wind whining among the branches of the large evergreens covering the hillside. I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow, so Mr. Russo will be out and about, she fretted. We need to get started right away. Eventually she must have relaxed enough to fall into a restless sleep, because the next thing she knew a bright light filled the window and a rolling, clamorous sound rattled the windows and seemed to shake the very foundation of the building. Beth leaped to her feet before her eyes were fully open. It’s happened! Another explosion—and she was too late. Too late to teach them English. Too late to share the gospel. Too late . . .