Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel

by Janette Oke

  So Beth was determined to make the best of the early celebration at their service today. She pushed aside her aches and prepared to worship with a surrendered heart, still so grateful for the way God had been with them during last night’s performance.

  She filed into their familiar row of seats, following Molly, Marnie, and Teddy. Someone had already redecorated the Christmas tree, so its ornaments hung neatly again. The manger, too, had been given a fresh armful of hay, a swaddled dolly tucked neatly into it—not nearly as precious a sight as Charlotte Noonan’s baby. Beth looked around at all the familiar faces and, encouraged, realized how many more were in attendance now than were at her first service in Coal Valley.

  Jarrick appeared at the end of the row, questioning with his eyes if he would be able to join her. Beth nodded and smiled an invitation, and he slid in beside her.

  She soon lost herself in the words of the carols and the Scripture readings. She prayed with a heart overflowing in gratitude for the gift of a Savior and the hope He had purchased with His own life. She prayed also for the community, which had come to mean so much to her and with whom she could share in this Christmas celebration. She added a prayer for the young man seated next to her, for his family and the Christmas celebrations that would occur so far from him this year.

  Philip’s message was particularly moving and somewhat unexpected—more of a testimony than a sermon. He spoke of his childhood and the difficulties he had faced because of his broken home. Beth’s heart immediately went out to the man. She had not heard any of his personal story before this. As a youth, he told them, he had made some poor choices, involving himself with those who drew him further away from the church and his family. And then, finding himself at his darkest moment hiding from trouble and frightened that he might have sunk so low he could not recover, he had turned back to the faith of his childhood—a faith that his grandmother had modeled despite the failings of his own parents.

  And God restored him, he said, looking around at the congregation. He admitted solemnly that it had not been an easy road—that he’d had debts to pay from items he had stolen and repairs on property he had damaged. But he testified that, looking back, he would not have changed even the most difficult aspects of the restitution process—through it all, Christ had been glorified in his life. The pain he had experienced had led to a surrender he doubted could have been so complete if he had not been through so much beforehand. Philip professed clearly that the most cherished gifts he had ever received were forgiveness and redemption because of Jesus.

  After the service, Beth was pleased to find out once more they would share a meal with Philip and Jarrick. Molly had prepared a lovely pre-Christmas dinner—a ham roast steaming with a smoky maple glaze and scalloped potatoes. There was fresh-baked bread, her own dill pickles, and baked green beans in creamy mushroom sauce.

  The company-men boarders had already ridden the coal train out of the mountains to join their families for Christmas. Philip and Jarrick chatted with two supervisors who remained, the ones responsible for shutting down the mine during the next week.

  Jarrick asked them, “How close are you to heading out yourselves? I’m sure your families will be anxious to have you home again.”

  Pat reached for another thick slice of bread. “It’ll take a few days for us to be sure things here are locked up proper,” he said, spreading butter liberally. “But if it goes well, we’ll be driving out on Thursday—’course, that’s only if the road stays clear.”

  “That’s a week before Christmas. I’m sure you’re ready for a break.”

  The men exchanged nods. “You bet we are.”

  Beth interjected quietly, “What do the miners do for Christmas?”

  “Huh?” Sid’s face revealed his surprise; clearly he had given no thought to them.

  Undaunted, Beth repeated, “What do the miners do—the men who stay here, whose families are far away?”

  An awkward silence hung over the room. Molly eventually said in her direct way, “They stay here. Got no other choice.”

  “Hmm,” Beth answered, and let the matter drop.

  After dinner while the dishes were being removed to the kitchen, Philip stopped Beth, a quizzical expression on his face. “You seem pensive. I have a feeling you had more to say on the topic of the miners. What is it you might be cooking up now?” But his tone was friendly.

  Beth sighed. “Nothing, really. I was just thinking that it’s a shame not to share some kind of Christmas with them.”

  Philip had an eager look in his eye. “Then how about a service for the miners? Is that what you were thinking?” His own questions seemed to prompt a flood of ideas. “I wonder if the villagers are comfortable enough by now to allow such an event to take place. The company has already given permission for the church to meet in the hall on Sundays—even with the bosses away. Since there’s nothing planned here during my absence, perhaps some of you could put together a special Christmas morning service for them.”

  Beth was torn—wanting badly to be able to accomplish such a feat, but not certain her strength would hold out through another busy week. In fact, the very idea made her want to sit down and cry. She was dreadfully tired.

  Philip looked intently at her. “I’m sure there would be many who would help out,” he suggested. “And it wouldn’t be as complicated as the children’s program—just music and reading the Christmas story. I’m sure Frank would lead the readings—he could share them in Italian.” Philip was growing increasingly enthusiastic. “He can even help with the music. Frank plays violin too. Did he tell you that?”

  “What?” Beth stared at him in shock. Not only was it hard to comprehend that a miner would be in possession of a violin, but to be able to play it with only one hand . . . “Now you’re just teasing me,” she said.

  Philip shook his head. “I’m very serious, Beth. He played for years—long before he lost his hand. And the fact that his right hand was the one to be crushed was a particularly difficult blow. But he’s able to strap the bow to his wrist and his left still works the strings. Frank rigged the contraption himself. As I mentioned before, he’s a most remarkable man.”

  “Why didn’t he say something to me?” she asked, feeling just a bit hurt.

  “Well, I think he would have felt he was stepping on your toes—to mention he played just as you were taking on the role of accompanist for the children.”

  Could this be something Frank and I share? Is there a chance to play together? The possibility was delightful.

  “I’ll speak with him tomorrow,” she whispered.

  Jarrick crossed the room to join them. “What secrets are you two guarding?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. Noticing Beth’s expression, he sobered and said, “You look rather shaken, Beth. I hope there’s nothing wrong.” He reached out to grasp her arm. “Would you like to sit down?” But she shook her head.

  Philip chuckled. “Well, Jack, I’ve just been telling Beth that Frank Russo still plays violin, and she’s having a very difficult time believing me.”

  “Well, that is a surprising bit of news.”

  “I suggested she might do a special Christmas service for the miners. As you recall, Beth is concerned about their being on their own for the holiday.”

  Jarrick’s gaze swept over her face. “Actually, I think that’s too much to ask of someone who’s expended much of her energy in preparing for the last event.” He turned back to Philip. “I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but I’m afraid adding another Christmas will tax her beyond what is prudent. Don’t you think that would be too much, Beth?”

  Philip was quick to agree, “Of course, if it’s too overwhelming for you, Beth, it was only an idea. Perhaps another time—when you’re feeling more rested.”

  Beth glanced back and forth between them, dismayed that these two men were making their own pronouncements on her ability to recover from ordinary fatigue and forge ahead. Having a simple church service would not be much additional work, sh
e told herself in some indignation. If something can be accomplished for these miners who have no one else with whom to share Christmas, it is more than worthy of pursuing.

  “I think it’s a very good idea,” she answered evenly, drawing her arm away from Jarrick. “I’ll speak with Molly about it later tonight.” Both pairs of eyes watched her closely as Beth excused herself and retreated to the kitchen.

  Later in the afternoon Beth drafted another letter to Mother. With steely conviction, she admitted to her lingering illness and the hardships of preparing for the Christmas program. She also enthused about how much God had blessed it for so many in attendance. And then she asked for prayer that she would be strong enough to accomplish one more event before Christmas.

  “There,” she whispered as she sealed the envelope. “It’s honest. She knows I’m not quite back to full health, and she knows I’m working too hard. That’s the worst one yet. I can only imagine how she’ll respond to that.”

  It took surprisingly little convincing to obtain permission for the miners to have a Christmas service in the company hall. The English lessons had begun to have their effect, bridging the gap between town and the camp. It gave the residents a reason to be concerned about the welfare of the miners who lived so near to them. Soon Frances had enlisted the aid of some of the women to bake and decorate. Beth was more than surprised when they agreed to allow the children to help serve refreshments. This was far more than she had hoped.

  Deciding on an approach to Frank, however, had seemed more difficult than Beth had expected. Suddenly she felt reticent asking about his musical abilities, still wondering why he had chosen not to disclose the talent to her. But he agreed immediately to participate, very pleased along with Beth about the positive response from the families in town. She learned it would be no surprise to any of the miners that he played the violin. They had listened to him often as he lifted their spirits with his gift of music.

  Beth awoke to another busy week of teaching. Besides the usual classroom work with her students, her Monday evening was spent in English lessons, Tuesday and Thursday were club nights—the last before their Christmas break—and Wednesday evening had been the only time for rest, such as it was. Beth had spent it with Molly, organizing tableware for Sunday morning’s refreshments. Friday involved another English lesson in the evening, and it was also the last day of teaching before Christmas break.

  Saturday morning Beth insisted on hosting the last group of students—the youngest of them all—for tea. Although tempted, she could not possibly see her way to postpone the event. They all looked forward to their turn at tea. She smiled when she overheard the children reminding one another about simple things—like boys needing to hold chairs for girls to be seated, or asking for the cookies to please be passed instead of reaching across the table. They were learning. And the best part, it seemed to elevate their opinion of others and give them confidence.

  Saturday night was devoted to setting up the hall and practicing the songs Beth and Frank would accompany. He was in charge of all of the readings and had chosen hymns familiar to both cultures.

  As they stood at the front of the room for their initial rehearsal, Beth watched in awe at how well Frank had adapted to the violin’s makeshift apparatus. “How beautiful!” she gasped.

  “It was’a my great-grandpapa’s,” he informed her proudly, assuming she had been speaking of the instrument. “He played with the symphony in Milan. When I was’a just a small boy in Italy, he saw my love for the music. He let’a me hold it—such a precious thing. He showed’a me how to search for the notes, trying this and that till I found what I wanted them to say. He gave’a to me this violin before he passed on’a to glory. I was’a five years old.”

  The story touched Beth, and she wondered what tragedy or circumstance had brought such a talented young man from possibilities in the music halls of Milan to the coal mines of Alberta. The thought made her even more pleased that Frank would have this opportunity to share his music with the people of the community—townspeople and miners alike.

  Beth groaned and crawled out of her bed on Sunday morning. Just one more event, she told herself. She straightened the covers and tucked them in neatly, all the while repeating to herself that after lunch she would be able to snuggle right back into them, sleep until she had no more need of rest. It was the one thought that helped her as she dressed, ate a quick breakfast, and went to the hall.

  When she arrived, chairs had already been set neatly in rows and the front was decorated with red candles and evergreen branches, filling the room with a sweet pine aroma. Several women were arranging the dessert table, and coffee was brewing in large pots on the hall’s wood stove. With a quick cup herself for added energy, Beth tuned her violin and awaited Frank’s arrival.

  It was almost heartbreaking to see how timidly the miners arrived in the hall, gathering just inside the doorway with hats in hand. Here were robust men, diffidently standing back to await an invitation before venturing forward. Molly took charge immediately, directing them toward the coat racks, where they could hang their all-too-thin jackets, and then beckoning them to come and help themselves to the food items.

  As soon as Beth noticed Paolo arrive, she hurried forward to greet him.

  “Miss Beth,” he called to her, “Merry Christmas—perhaps a little early, but merry just the same, eh?”

  “Merry Christmas to you, Paolo. Isn’t this exciting?” She squeezed his arm and gestured around her.

  In all directions were miners enjoying the warmth and welcome of the resources that the town had to offer. And scattered throughout the hall were ordinary, everyday exchanges, their significance magnified by the fact that this had not ever happened in Coal Valley before. Children carrying simple cups of coffee to men whom they had feared as thugs and thieves just a few weeks before. Mothers sharing their best baking with strangers who had been brought from afar to take the jobs of the husbands cruelly lost to the same hazardous profession.

  “It could never have happened if God had not intervened,” Beth whispered. Paolo merely smiled at her and took another large bite out of a muffin on his plate. “This is a big room,” he commented, his eyes wide as he looked around inside the building he had not previously been welcome to enter.

  Promptly at ten o’clock, Frank called for their attention in both Italian and English, then instructed everyone to take a seat. Beth was increasingly amazed at his confidence and poise in front of the villagers and the miners. She had never seen this side of him before, the natural but effective leader. He read from the gospel of Luke, first in English and then in Italian.

  During the singing of carols, Beth’s violin led with the melody line, strong and sweet. Over the sound of her instrument she could hear voices all around, the tune shared but the words a blending of English and Italian. Truly uplifting and unique.

  Standing beside her, Frank played a harmony that gradually swelled, filling the pauses with beautiful counterpoint phrasing. Beth was in awe. This was not the way it had sounded in rehearsal. Frank was feeling the music in the moment and instilling it with pure, worshipful emotion. It did not take long for Beth to understand their varied styles. She had been skillfully tutored to play by note and by memory. Frank, on the other hand, had a naturally developed talent. She wondered if he had ever received private lessons, except perhaps what his great-grandfather had taught him at such an early age. Frank played by ear—and by heart. Just listening to him was a blessing that overwhelmed Beth to the core of her being.

  Though she also was exhausted—entirely spent—the music flowed, filling the room with sincere expressions of worship. She could see faces change from weary and lonely to relaxed and joyous. But Beth could sense in every muscle in her body the sacrifice of praise she was offering up at this moment.

  Her mind filled with the struggle required to achieve the gathering. The ladies too had given of their own meager resources to contribute to this worship service. And Frank, with his bow tied to h
is disfigured limb, had perhaps offered the greatest sacrifice of all, presenting his gift of worship through music in spite of his devastating injury. The thoughts washed over Beth in a flood of emotion, too tired and worn to hold herself in check. Not the glorious rush of ecstasy she had felt in the Christmas concert, this was altogether different—a painful, aching praise in which she was entirely aware of how emptied she had become, and still grateful that the truths of God’s love were real, even in this moment.

  Beth struggled to finish the song. Instead of returning to her seat, she slipped out a side door into the frigid air without stopping to grab up her coat, while the Bible readings continued without her. She dropped her face into her hands and wept alone, overcome by the churn of emotions filling her soul.

  It was with Herculean effort that she was able to force herself back into the building to finish the last of the Christmas songs. She knew her puffy red eyes betrayed her state, but she refused to let herself fail her responsibilities. Once the service was completed, she even managed to speak with several members of the miners from the English classes before Molly noticed her condition and sent her home immediately, no questions asked.

  Beth crumpled onto her bed, pulled the quilt up around her, and fell into a deep, fitful sleep. When she finally awoke, it was morning. There was a plate of food sitting nearby on the side table, but she was completely unaware of who’d brought it or when.

  A sudden cough reminded her of how much her throat hurt. Then the physical inventory began. She could tell she had a fever, her nose was congested, and her stomach felt queasy. Her next thought was a rush of relief that there was no school all week. If sickness was going to take her down once again, she was grateful that at least it had waited until now.

  A soft knock sounded on the door. In answer to Beth’s call, Marnie entered. “I heard ya stirrin’. Can ya eat?”