Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel

by Janette Oke

  Molly immediately vetoed the cow as impractical. She was unwilling to even discuss it. “If yer set on gettin’ ’em breakfast, then porridge is yer best bet,” she maintained.

  Beth had a difficult time imagining the children would be very enthusiastic at the idea of porridge every morning, but perhaps if they were hungry enough it would suffice. However, it did not satisfy the wide nutritional range her mother had asserted was required.

  “A while ago,” Molly said thoughtfully, “some o’ the mothers were talkin’ ’bout settin’ up somethin’ like this. You should ask Katie Frazier—or Frances. They’d know who else.”

  After a quick lunch, Beth walked to Frances Tunnecliffe’s home for a visit. Molly’s friend was able to offer additional information about which families were suffering most through the difficult winter. It was a painful conversation, underscoring to Beth how very poor some of the families were.

  As Beth rose to leave, Frances cautioned, “Don’t be lettin’ the gals hear about this. They won’t like to know their private affairs are being discussed. And they wouldn’t take kindly to charity—especially from an outsider.” Beth tried not to let the label hurt. She so wished she could be considered a neighbor among them—but she knew all too well that it took time to earn their trust. And her year was passing quickly.

  Still, she had expected much more support than she’d found. Surely the welfare of the children should be paramount, but others seemed to perceive only obstacles. Late in the afternoon she lay down on her bed for a rest, pouring her heart out to her heavenly Father.

  “I don’t know what to try next, Lord. I need somebody to help me determine what can be done. The children need food, proper nutrition. Maybe I could get word back home to my parents. I’m sure they would be willing to help, though maybe it’s not fair to ask it of them. But then, what can I do? We can’t get a cow—even though they need milk. Porridge alone is not enough—and I can’t even offer them that without finding others who are willing to help. And my health, Father—now that I’m feeling stronger again, I don’t want to start all over. . . .” Soon tears accompanied the words.

  She whispered Father’s verse once again. “‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.’” Yet somehow this time it failed to fill her with courage. She tried to convince herself that all she needed to do was rally the others in support of her ideas, but she had become much more aware of her own weakness and limitations. She sighed, wiped her eyes, and rose from the bed.

  If anything were to happen, it would begin with Molly.

  Beth entered the kitchen quietly and took a seat at the table, waiting to be acknowledged. Molly was setting out bread dough to rise at the back of the stove. When she had greased the top and covered it neatly with a towel, she turned toward Beth.

  “Ya been cryin’?”

  Beth nodded. “I’ve been praying about the breakfast idea.”

  “Hmm” came the calm response. “An’ did God speak on it?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know if He did.” Beth wiped her eyes again on a handkerchief already wet with her tears. “I just don’t know yet what I’m supposed to do.”

  Molly set the teapot on the table, spooned in the loose tea, pulled the kettle from the back of the stove, and carefully poured hot water to fill the pot. She worked slowly, as if there were no crisis. Beth found her methodical motions aggravating. The herbal aroma drifted through the room while Beth watched Molly make her way around, gathering the honey and spoons—even setting out a plate of sweets. At last she settled into her chair.

  “Ya seem troubled ’bout it all.”

  Beth nodded again and blew her nose quietly.

  “I ain’t no preacher.” Molly stirred her tea slowly, deliberately. “Can’t tell ya all the ins an’ outs of prayer. But I done my share of it, I guess.” She clinked the spoon on the edge of her cup before placing it on her saucer. Finally she looked over at Beth. “Wish I could give ya yer answer, dearie. But it ain’t my call ta say. I seen ya work real hard for all them kids since ya got here. An’ I know ya done plenty ta help ’em out—them kids and the rest of us too. I also seen ya laid pretty low by it all.”

  “But I can’t just overlook the fact that they’re hungry—”

  “I know all that, dearie. I know.” Molly was shaking her head, her hand held up to quiet Beth’s arguments. “Some folks say God don’t give us more’n we can handle. Some say God helps them who helps themself. An’ I suppose there’s plenty enough who wanna just wait fer some kinda sign to show ’em what to do next. I guess I figure it’s best to listen first to what God already said, ’stead’a all them folks. So I’m reluctant ta add my own thoughts till we look in here.” She drew a well-worn Bible from a shelf beside the table.

  “Good Book says ta cast yer cares on Him for He cares for you. Also says, ‘My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.’ Now, like I said, I’m no scholar, but maybe if yer gettin’ crushed by it all, then, dearie, jest maybe yer tryin’ to do something that isn’t yers to do . . . or doin’ something wrong.”

  Tears threatened again. “I don’t know,” Beth whispered. “I’m trying so hard to find out what God wants me to do about this.”

  Molly reached across the table and took Beth’s hand. “An’ I’m not aimin’ ta criticize. Please hear me out. I jest wanna say that it don’t appear that cares are the same as burdens. Yer to cast your cares and worries at His feet, and in trade He gives ya a burden you can lift. Amazing how hard it is to carry all them worries—and then it turns out that the burden of the real work ain’t near as vexin’ as yer worries been. So we gotta let go of all that frettin’. Thet’s the key ta knowin’ how to rest in the Lord. An’ it seems ya gotta be able to do ’em both—not jest the workin’, but the restin’ too.” She leaned back and took a slow sip of tea, shaking her head. “I seen folks who don’t know how ta rest—an’ I seen other folks who don’t know how ta work. Wish we’d all jest learn ta do the right amount on each.”

  Beth gave Molly a shaky smile and went back to her room and back to prayer, unloading before her Father all of her worries about the children, including the fears that she would create hurt feelings or cause damage to relationships in her genuine attempts to help. Trying to align her heart as best she understood to the correct attitude God wanted her to take, she laid down all her concerns, presented her willingness to be used, and asked God to direct, claiming in faith that He already had an answer waiting.

  It was so different than her previous prayer. Instead of feeling wound up afterward, she truly did feel a kind of release—an increased trust that something would work out—with or without her. Each time in the coming days when she felt worry return, she did her best to place it back into God’s hands through prayer. It was more of a struggle than she had imagined—not to be anxious for her desired outcome to happen on cue.

  On Tuesday morning before school, Molly presented Beth with a wrapped platter. “It’s muffins,” she explained. “Guess I made too many. Jest set ’em out an’ see if any kids’re interested.”

  Beth wasn’t sure what to expect as she explained to the children that Miss Molly had sent the muffins and they were free to help themselves. Would there be a rush? Would the children share? She was very pleased to observe Luela Coolidge, who had five siblings, take charge and divide things up in such a way that there were three leftover.

  Luela wrapped them up again in the cloth and said, “Levi, why don’t ya take them extras home. It can be your turn today,” as if this were a common occurrence. As Beth walked past Luela during their opening exercises, she laid a hand on her shoulder and smiled her gratitude.

  Wednesday morning while Beth was still preparing the schoolroom for the day, she was surprised by the arrival of Frances. The older woman looked rather sheepish as she passed a large burlap sack to Beth. “It’s apples,” she explained. “And why I bothered to keep ’em so long I can’t say, as they were just gettin’ wrinkled in my cellar. You can give ’em
to the wee ones if you want.”

  Beth knew Frances was trying to diminish her act of kindness but couldn’t resist reaching out for a quick hug. She was surprised to feel Frances’s arms tighten firmly around her. No words were spoken, but when Beth closed the door behind the shawl-wrapped figure, she knew God had begun to answer her prayers in the best possible way.

  There was no offering of food on Thursday or Friday—but there were still apples in the bowl that Beth had placed at the back of the room. Even the children seemed to understand the unspoken arrangement—these were to be shared by all with an extra portion going to the ones among them who had less at home.

  Thank you, thank you, Father, Beth’s heart sang.

  On Saturday, Jarrick stopped in at the boarding house and shared lunch with them. As he chatted amiably with Molly, the children, and Beth, he told them about some of the other communities where he worked and things happening elsewhere. Having rare interactions with the outside world, Beth was delighted to get some news through Jarrick.

  Just as he was leaving, he drew Beth aside. “I have something to show you.” He helped her into her coat and ushered her to where his car was parked in front. Raising the lid to the trunk, he grinned. “Word’s gotten out, and some folks started sending things. Before long we couldn’t stop it.”

  Beth’s eyes took in six large crates of food, and her hands went to her cheeks as she stared at the bounty.

  “There’s cheese,” he began. “Big blocks of cheese—so I guess you don’t need a cow after all.”

  Beth shot him a glance. “Who told you that?”

  “We Mounties are trained to know things—you haven’t heard that?” He grinned at his quip and then sobered. “I talked with Philip.” He paused to search her face. “You’re not angry, are you?”

  “No, of course not. I have a feeling it wasn’t mere gossip but concern.”

  His brow furrowed. “You can be sure of that, Beth,” he said. “Anyway, there are also potatoes, powdered milk and eggs, flour, oatmeal, and some jars of canned foods—fruit and whatnot. I think it’s more than enough to hold you for a while. And every bit of it was donated by folks who are simply concerned about your town—your kids.”

  Beth wanted to throw her arms around his neck but held herself in check, grasping his arm instead. “I can’t tell you what a blessing this is. It will last most of the winter, I’m sure.”

  “There’s just one more thing,” he cautioned. “Philip wanted to be sure this was handled properly. He has a suggestion—he explained it in a note that he put in one of the boxes. I think it would be wise to consider carefully what he has counseled about this program.”

  “Of course,” she answered, eyes shining, “I’ll make sure I read it. Oh, I can hardly believe this, Jarrick—I would never have been able to do this on my own.”

  “Then let’s get it all inside. You go get Teddy to come help. And let Molly know what it’s all for. I didn’t say anything to her yet, but she’s going to have to find room to store it.” Jarrick hoisted one of the large crates, and Beth held the gate for him and then opened the front door. They made quite a ruckus hauling it into the kitchen.

  “Molly,” Beth called. “We’ve got our answer.”

  CHAPTER

  20

  AFTER ALL THE BUSTLE of putting away food and saying good-bye to Jarrick, thanking him again and again, Beth retreated to her room to read the note from Philip. It was not long, but very specific.

  My dear Beth,

  I would advise you against simply beginning to distribute food or offering it before school starts each day. This shall surely lead to offense. What I would suggest instead is that you take on a service project, and invite interested students to participate each day before school. This maybe could be done at Molly’s home—which would make the food preparation easiest. I would caution you against making a request of the Grants at this time, though I would rather not go into reasons just now.

  That comment gave Beth a moment’s pause. I’ve rarely seen Helen Grant out and about in the town. And, even more unusual for Coal Valley, she did not recall ever having seen her husband, Davie.

  Philip continued,

  As far as the actual project goes, I have a strong prospect for it. My mission board has acquired dozens of boxes of donated yarn to be used overseas. It all needs to be sorted and rolled neatly. I am willing to provide this yarn if you can find children who are willing to do the work of rolling it. This would benefit many, as well as instill in your children the idea that they can, in turn, help others. I would encourage you to feed only those who are willing to work. I know they’re children, but you are planting the seed of a concept that will grow into life-long attitudes as they move into adulthood. Please do so carefully and thoughtfully.

  I suspect that you will be excited to start on this project, so I will plan to deliver the yarn to you this Saturday.

  Yours very sincerely,

  Philip Davidson

  P.S. It is difficult for me to adequately express how your love for this community encourages me personally. I am grateful for you, Beth.

  Beth folded the note slowly and tucked it away inside the cover of her Bible. God’s answer had been so much more efficient and effective than what she could have even imagined. She prayed her gratitude.

  Molly offered her yarn scrap basket to begin teaching the children the proper technique for rolling yarn into tidy balls. So on Sunday, Beth wrote out notes to each of the mothers, explaining the new school project and inviting their children to participate on Monday. She slid into her boots, pulled her coat tightly around her shoulders, and braved the wintery wind to deliver what she prayed would be seen as the giving and receiving of a blessing.

  On Monday morning, Molly’s front entrance filled with children. She had cooked a large pot of oatmeal over which she planned to spoon some of the canned fruit. Beth could not help but notice the hungry eyes of Levi and Anna Kate as they waited politely for their turn to be served, but there were others who seemed just as interested. Beth dragged the basket of yarn to the parlor, where they would work together. As the children finished their breakfast, Beth set each one to work rolling the yarn scraps, demonstrating how to start each ball and how to tie a new piece on when the end was reached. It took some of them several attempts before they had a nice tight ball of yarn.

  All too soon it was time to bundle them off to school. Beth no longer had the preparation time in the early quiet of the makeshift schoolroom, but she felt what they were accomplishing more than compensated. With just a small effort on her part, and much help from Molly and Marnie, who had taken on all of the cooking, they were able to offer breakfast.

  As he had indicated, Philip arrived on Saturday with several boxes of yarn for the children to roll. He assured Beth that there was plenty more once she and the children had managed to detangle and tidy it, and that he would periodically bring replenishments of food along with the yarn as he made his Sunday circuits.

  Frances, sipping a cup of coffee, shook her head as the boxes were carried past her into Molly’s kitchen. “An’ just where are ya plannin’ ta put it all, Moll?”

  In answer, Molly drew back the curtain to reveal the small pantry already crowded with the children’s food. “Blamed if I know,” she said with a shrug.

  In the end, half of the boxes of yarn were stacked in Beth’s bedroom and half in another room that was rarely needed. Then Beth began the work of managing it all, carrying it down one box at a time as the children worked their way through, satisfied little smiles on their faces.

  Weeks settled into a contented routine. The one thing that was difficult for Beth to adapt to—even more so than the bitter cold of a mountain winter—were the short, dark days in the classroom. She checked her watch pin in the mornings, noting just when she could see the sun brightening the windows on the east and then noting again during the afternoon when it faded on the other side of the building. Each day it rose a little earlier and set a little l
ater, but the tedious progress toward a full day of light was exasperating.

  One day when a coal train had gotten through the snow with mail, Beth received a letter from Julie. Her sister had written only twice since Beth’s departure, with the exception of a few lines tagged on to the end of most of Mother’s letters. Beth would have recognized her sister’s showy handwriting on the envelope without even reading the return address.

  Waiting until she had gone to her room, Beth fell across the bed and tore open the letter. Anticipating a long, newsy report of the goings-on of Julie’s peers along with her own plans for the near future, Beth was stunned to read Julie’s enthusiastic announcement—with many exclamation points—that she would be traveling west for a visit. Surely Mother and Father are aware that Coal Valley is still in the grip of winter, Beth thought, but scanning down the page further she learned that Julie’s trip was still weeks away. Beth had long ago dismissed the idea of a possible visit from Julie. She was thrilled to write back and begin planning for it.

  Beth could not immediately think of special outings with which to entertain her gregarious sister. And just the thought of Julie in the midst of so many trees and so few people was daunting. But she put all that aside in light of sharing her new life with someone from her family. Julie would certainly be stretched and challenged by the experience.

  Beth and Molly discussed the implications of the visit and made a plan for how Julie would be brought from the city and where she would sleep. As Beth walked through her days, she began envisioning each situation through Julie’s eyes. How would she explain the pool-hall classroom? Beth had never had the courage to fully describe the building to Mother. How will Julie respond to the townsfolk? What will she think of Molly’s rather primitive boarding house—no indoor plumbing or electricity? Beth hoped winter would have spent most of its fury before the visit in May. It would theoretically be spring—if only the Rocky Mountains would acknowledge the fact.