by Janette Oke
Table of Contents
Books by Janette Oke
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ONE - Uprooted
TWO - Smoke Lake
THREE - A New Home
FOUR - Getting Settled
FIVE - Lonely Days
SIX - Blueberry Pie
SEVEN - Winter
EIGHT - Neighbors
NINE - Spring
TEN - Planting the Seed
ELEVEN - Introductions
TWELVE - Summer
THIRTEEN - Panic
FOURTEEN - Reversal
FIFTEEN - Aftermath
SIXTEEN - Difficulties
SEVENTEEN - Counting the Days
EIGHTEEN - The Gift
NINETEEN - Misunderstanding
TWENTY - Relief
TWENTY-ONE - Reunion
TWENTY-TWO - Starting Over
TWENTY-THREE - Adjustments
TWENTY-FOUR - Change
TWENTY-FIVE - Leaving
TWENTY-SIX - Athabasca Landing
TWENTY-SEVEN - Involvement
TWENTY-EIGHT - Service
TWENTY-NINE - Winter
THIRTY - Sunday Dinners
THIRTY-ONE - Answers
Children’s Books by Janette Oke
Books by Janette Oke
Another Homecoming*
Tomorrow’s Dream*
Return to Harmony*
CANADIAN WEST
When Calls the Heart
When Comes the Spring
When Breaks the Dawn
When Hope Springs New
Beyond the Gathering Storm
When Tomorrow Comes
LOVE COMES SOFTLY
Love Comes Softly
Love’s Enduring Promise
Love’s Long Journey
Love’s Abiding Joy
Love’s Unending Legacy
Love’s Unfolding Dream
Love Takes Wing
Love Finds a Home
A PRAIRIE LEGACY
The Tender Years
A Searching Heart
A Quiet Strength
Like Gold Refined
SEASONS OF THE HEART
Once Upon a Summer
The Winds of Autumn
Winter Is Not Forever
Spring’s Gentle Promise
SONG OF ACADIA*
The Meeting Place
The Sacred Shore
The Birthright
The Distant Beacon
The Beloved Land
WOMEN OF THE WEST
The Calling of Emily Evans
Julia’s Last Hope
Roses for Mama
A Woman Named Damaris
They Called Her Mrs. Doc
The Measure of a Heart
A Bride for Donnigan
Heart of the Wilderness
Too Long a Stranger
The Bluebird and the Sparrow
A Gown of Spanish Lace
Drums of Change
Janette Oke: A Heart for the Prairie
Biography of Janette Oke by Laurel Oke Logan
www.janetteoke.com
When Hope Springs New
Copyright © 1986
Janette Oke
Cover design by Jenny Parker
Cover artwork based upon photograph in the book Victorian & Edwardian Fashions for Women 1840-1919 by Kristina Harris.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan.
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Oke, Janette, 1935-
When hope springs new / by Janette Oke.
p. cm.—(Canadian West ; 4)
Summary: “Leaving behind their dear friends in Beaver Creek, Elizabeth and Wynn take over an even more primitive RCMP outpost in the Canadian Northwest. A frontier woman now, Elizabeth had triumphed over the worst life could offer, or had she?”—Provided by publisher.
ISBN 0-7642-0014-3 (pbk.)
1. Women pioneers—Fiction. 2. Northwest, Canadian—Fiction.
I. Title. II. Series: Oke, Janette, 1935- . Canadian West series ; bk. 4.
PR9199.3.038W35 2005
813’.54—dc22 2004024205
Dedicated with love and respect
to my youngest sister,
Sharon Violet Fehr,
another proof of the old saying,
“last but not least.”
I appreciate her faith
and her dedication.
This comes with love—
to her, to her husband Richard,
and to Shawna, Eric and Amy.
JANETTE OKE was born in Champion, Alberta, to a Canadian prairie farmer and his wife, and she grew up in a large family full of laughter and love. She is a graduate of Mountain View Bible College in Alberta, where she met her husband, Edward, and they were married in May of 1957. After pastoring churches in Indiana and Canada, the Okes spent some years in Calgary, where Edward served in several positions on college faculties while Janette continued her writing. She has written more than four dozen novels for adults and children, and her book sales total over twenty-two million copies.
The Okes have three sons and one daughter, all married, and are enjoying their dozen grandchildren. Edward and Janette are active in their local church and make their home near Didsbury, Alberta.
ONE
Uprooted
“Is it much farther?”
I felt like a small child asking again, but I really could not help myself. My whole being seemed to be in a state of agitation as we topped each hill, and the settlement was still not in view.
Wynn smiled understandingly. “Not too far,” he comforted.
He had been saying that for quite a while now.
“How many hills?” I asked, hoping to pin him down to an answer that I could understand.
Now he didn’t just smile, he chuckled. “You sound like a kid asking—‘How many sleeps?”’ he teased me.
Yes, I did sound like a kid. We had been on the trail for what already seemed forever. My common sense reminded me that it really hadn’t been that long—four days, to be exact—but it felt like weeks.
Wynn reached out and squeezed my hand. “Why don’t you ride for a while again?” he asked me. “You’ve walked enough now. You’ll tire yourself out. I’ll see what I can find out from the guide.”
He signaled the driver of the lumbering team to stop and helped me up to a semi-comfortable position on a makeshift seat. We resumed forward motion as he moved on down the line of wagons to seek out the guide of our small, slow-moving expedition.
He wasn’t gone long; and then, without even slowing the wagon, he swung himself up beside me.
“You’ll be happy to know that we should be there in about forty-five minutes,” he said. Giving my shoulders a hug, he hopped down and was gone again.
Forty-five minutes! Well, I would manage somehow, but that still seemed like a long time.
During our four days of travel I had acquired aching bones, a sunburned nose, and a multitude of mosquito and blackfly bites. But it wasn’t these irritations that had me troubled the most.
I realized that my agitation, that hollow, knotted spot in the center of my stomach, was all due to my fear of the unknown. I had not been nearly as frightened when I had come with Wynn to our first northern outpost. Then I had been a new bride, eager to share the adventures of my Mountie husband.
I was still eager to share the adventures with Wynn, but this move was different. I had learned to know and love the Indian people at Beaver River. I had left behind not only the known but the loved. Now I had to start all over again.
I don’t believe I was afraid that I would not be able to make new friends. What worried me was how well I would be able to get along without my old friends. I was going to miss Nimmie so much. Surely there was not another person like her in all of the Northland. I would even miss Evening Star and Mrs. Sam and Little Deer and Anna. I would miss Wawasee and Jim Buck and my other students. I would miss the familiar Indian trappers, the simple homes I had visited so often, the curling woodsmoke, even the snarling dogs. Tears welled up in my eyes and slid down my cheeks again. I must stop this, I chided myself, as I had done so many times already on the trail. I will have myself sick before I even arrive.
I pushed my thoughts back to safer ground, making myself wonder what our new home at Smoke Lake would be like. Well, I would not need to wonder for long. Wynn had said forty-five minutes, and the minutes were ticking by, even though slowly, with each rotation of the squeaky wheels.
Home again, I exulted inwardly, after these days and nights on the trail! I was looking forward to a nice hot bath and a chance to sleep in a real bed. Mosquito netting on the windows and a door to close for some privacy would seem like a luxury after this trip—with its heat, rain, and wind, by turn; with its steep hills, flat marshland, dusty trails, and soggy gumbo. Well, it would not be long now.
I looked at the sky. Perhaps we had had our last rain shower four hills back. The sky above me was perfectly clear. Surely it can’t cloud over and drench us again in just forty-five minutes time—probably thirty-five by now. Even as I reasoned with myself, I wasn’t completely convinced of our safety against another storm. Some of them had seemed to come upon us with incredible swiftness. I fervently hoped we would arrive at the new settlement in dry clothes. I hardly had anything left fit to wear. I was anxious to get out my washtubs and scrub up the wet and soiled things we had been stashing away in the wagon. They would be ruined if I didn’t get at them soon.
The driver stopped to rest the team, and I climbed down from the wagon again. At least when I was walking, my anticipation was being channeled into something. I debated whether I should walk ahead of the team where I felt the risk of being run over at any minute, behind the team, where I would be forced to swallow trail dust, or off to the side where the walking was even more difficult. I decided to follow the team. I would lag far enough behind to let the dust settle a bit.
While I waited for the team to resume, I strolled to the side of the trail and looked around for signs of berries. I hoped there would be some in our area. Many of my canning jars were empty, and I did want to fill them again before another winter.
The area did not look promising.
There’s lots of land around here, I assured myself. There could be many good berry patches.
Kip came bounding up. In contrast to me, he thoroughly enjoyed the trip and all the new things there were to investigate. I had hardly seen him all day. He ran this way and that, ahead and behind, only coming back occasionally to check and make sure I was still traveling with the wagons.
I patted his head and was rewarded with generous waves of his curly tail. He licked my hand, then wheeled and was gone again before I even had time to speak to him.
Wynn dropped back, bringing with him a canteen of water.
“Need a drink?” he asked, and I suddenly realized I was thirsty. I smiled my thanks and lifted the canteen to my lips. The water was tepid, not like the refreshing water from our cabin well. Still, it was wet and it did help my thirst.
“We will soon be there,” Wynn informed me. “I think it would be good to slip the leash on Kip. The village dogs might be running loose.”
“He’s gone again,” I answered, alarmed. “He was here just a minute ago and then he ran off.”
“Don’t worry,” Wynn assured me; “he won’t be far away.”
He was right. At the sound of Wynn’s whistle, Kip came bounding through the underbrush at the side of the trail. His coat was dirty and tangled with briers and leaves, his tongue was lolling out the side of his mouth from his run, but he looked contented, perhaps even smug, about his new adventures.
I couldn’t help but envy him. There was no concern showing in his eyes, like I must surely have been showing in mine.
Wynn slipped the leash on Kip and handed it to me. “I’m expected to be up at the front of the wagons when we enter the village,” he stated simply. “Would you like to walk with me?”
I hesitated, not knowing what I wanted to do. I would like Wynn’s support; still, I hated to walk into that new village like I was on display. I disliked the thought of all of those staring eyes.
“I think I’ll just stay back here with Kip,” I mumbled. “He won’t fuss as much if he isn’t in the center of the commotion.”
Wynn nodded. I think he might have guessed my real reason.
The wagons up ahead had paused on the brow of the hill. I knew without even asking that just down that hill lay our new settlement—our new home. I wanted to see it, yet I held back in fear. How could one be so torn up inside, wanting to run to see what lay before, yet holding back from looking, all at the same time?
Without comment, Wynn reached forward and took my hand, then bowed his head and addressed our Father simply, “Our Father in heaven, we come to this new assignment not knowing what is ahead. Only You know the needs of these people. Help us to meet those needs. Help us to be caring, compassionate and kind. Help Elizabeth with all the new adjustments. Give her fellowship and friendships. Give her a ministry to the people, and keep us close to one another and to You. Amen.”
I should have felt much better after Wynn’s prayer, and I guess I did, but it was also another reminder of all the new things and experiences lying ahead.
I smiled at Wynn to assure him that I was fine. The wagons were moving again. We turned to follow, Wynn crossing the ground in long strides that would soon carry him out in front where he was expected to be.
I hesitated, holding in check the impatient Kip. The dust could settle some before I followed. There would be much commotion in the village at the coming of the new law enforcer. Everyone would be out to check him over. I was in no hurry to be thrust into the center of the staring throng.
TWO
Smoke Lake
There it was—our new village stretching out before us on the floor of the forested valley. Wynn was right. It was larger than Beaver River. It was also more primitive and scattered in appearance. Wynn was right again. Yet it did not seem to be properly named. In the hazy stillness of the summer afternoon, not one of the many village homes had smoke ascending from the chimney.
I stood and let my eyes wander over the small, roughly constructed houses. Which one was ours, the one we would call home? In Beaver River our cabin had been set apart from the settlement. I let my eyes travel to the west, then the east, then the north and south. I could find no cabin located on the outskirts of the little village.
I found myself searching then for the sign of a garden. Surely someone in the village must wish to plant. But no, I could find nothing that looked like a cultivated area.
Even from this distance the small cabin homes looked shoddy and ill-kempt. Compared to our homes in Beaver River, these looked like shacks. The large building in the center, which I assumed was the trading post, also looked hurriedly slapped together and run-down. Disappointment welled up within me.
For a moment I wished I could turn around and head back to the village I knew and loved. There I would be welcomed with softly curling woodsmoke. I would f
ind a well-constructed, well-stocked trading post. I would discover my comfortable cabin at the outskirts of the village. I would be welcomed by neighbors and friends with gardens and berry patches.
Kip did not share my longings. He pulled forward on the leash and reminded me with a whine that I was to follow the wagons down the dusty, winding hill.
I broke from my reverie and started my descent. Already I could hear the village dogs as they set up their frenzied barking to announce the coming of strangers. Wynn’s crated dog sled team, which rode the second wagon, responded to the howls. What a noise they all made!
Amid the din caused by the dogs, there were a few shouts and hellos, and arms were lifted in greeting. The first wagon was already rolling to a stop, boiling dust whirling in around it.
I pulled back on Kip’s leash. I wanted some of the excitement to die down before I entered the village.
I saw a larger rock at the side of the trail in the shade of the tall pine trees. I led Kip to it and sat down to watch the milling around in the village below us. Kip whined and strained at the leash until I commanded him to be quiet and to lie down. He obeyed, rather reluctantly, and I turned my eyes back to the scene below.
It was several minutes before the wagons moved forward again. They stopped before a very small cabin with a sagging roofline, and I saw Wynn signal the men to begin unloading our crates and boxes.
Surely there must be some mistake! I thought. That cabin isn’t large enough to house Wynn’s office, let alone our household too.
Then a new thought passed through my mind. No, we couldn’t possibly be expected to live in that. It must be that our cabin is not ready, and we need to make do with temporary quarters.
The unloading continued, and I saw Wynn look toward our hill. I knew he was searching for me, wondering what was taking me so long. I lifted my arm to let him know I was fine and coming to join him, and Kip and I started down the hill again.
I had not avoided the curious eyes. The people of the village stood in groups all around me as I entered with Kip straining forward on the leash. I knew they considered the white woman a strange spectacle. My skin was different, my hair was different, my dress was different—even my dog, leashed and fluffy, was different.
