by Janette Oke
Wynn thought quietly, nodding his head at the pastor’s words.
“We need other teachers in the children’s department as well. There is only one teacher for all of the primaries. She has fourteen, from grades one through four. They’re a real handful. She’s threatening to quit.”
“I would love to teach some of them,” I quickly responded.
“And I would consider that group of boys,” said Wynn.
The pastor’s face relaxed. Then a broad smile began to spread across it.
“My wife will be so relieved,” he said. “She’s the teacher of the primaries now. It has been such a handful for her. She’s not as young as she once was, you know. She raised five of her own, but it’s not as easy for her to handle young ones now as it used to be. ”
There was silence while the pastor wiped his brow.
“I noticed you have a piano,” I said cautiously.
The man smiled. “A piano, yes, but no pianist. It would boost the singing so much if we had someone to play.” Then he grinned, a twinkle in his eye. “As you could undoubtedly tell, I’m not much of a song leader. I’m afraid the Lord neglected to give me that gift.”
He laughed, and I found myself liking the man who tried so hard to do all he could.
I stole a glance at Wynn, wondering just how he would respond to my announcement.
“My husband has a lovely singing voice,” I said, “and he knows almost all of the hymns.”
The preacher looked from me to Wynn. Wynn showed no signs of embarrassment or resentment.
“Would you consider—” The pastor let the words hang.
“If you feel it would be of service, I would try it,” said Wynn, very simply.
“Oh, my, I would appreciate that,” the man said sincerely.
Then Wynn cleared his throat and looked at me with his special grin, “And while we are announcing the talents of one another,” he said, “I might inform you that my wife is a pianist.”
Pastor Kelly looked at me. Now his eyes were very wide. His mouth hung open. He pulled out his handkerchief again, but this time he wiped at the corners of his eyes.
“Would you?” he asked sincerely.
“I would be happy to,” I assured him.
He blew his nose rather loudly, put his handkerchief away and fumbled for words. “You folks can’t appreciate what this means to me—and to Martha. We sort of struggled along here—and it’s been tough going. We served in larger parishes before, but we felt the Lord wanted us to give some of our years of service to a mission. I ... think perhaps we did it backward. We should have spent our years in a mission first and then gone to a larger parish.
“Anyway, it has been hard for us. Especially for Martha. Wait until she hears the news. You see, we’ve been praying for some time now—”
He stopped and cleared his throat. Then he looked up with glistening eyes. “Well,” he said, “one should not be so surprised when God answers. Just thankful. Just thankful.”
My own eyes felt a little misty, so I decided it was time to serve the tea and cake.
After the good parson had left us, Wynn and I reviewed our commitments of the past hour. It would be so good to be involved in the life of the church again, we both decided. We had missed it.
“I need to go over to the church and get in a little practice on that piano,” I said. “It has been so long since I have played that I’m sure I’m quite rusty.”
“Bring a hymnbook home with you if you can,” Wynn said, “and we’ll pick out the Sunday hymns together.”
“I’m going to love teaching children again,” I mused, thinking about the small minds and their interest in the Bible stories. It had been several years since I’d had the privilege.
Wynn just smiled. “Well, since you’re so enthusiastic, I might give you my junior boys and I’ll take your little people,” he said laughingly. “Do you know what junior boys can be like?”
“I do. And I’m sure you will make out just fine.”
“You heard the pastor. Some of them have already dropped out. I’m guessing the rest of them are looking for an excuse too.”
“Don’t forget,” I reminded Wynn. “They have never had a man for a teacher. I’m sure you’ll win them over in no time—just wait and see.”
“I hope you’re right, Elizabeth, but I wouldn’t count on junior boys being quickly ‘won over’ by anyone.”
I patted Wynn’s shoulder. “Just wait,” I said with total confidence. “You’ll see.”
The truth was I could hardly wait to start teaching, and deep down under his banter, I was sure Wynn felt the same way.
I had a caller the next morning. When I answered the door, a small, carefully dressed lady stood on the step. I smiled a welcome and opened the door.
“Mrs. Delaney,” she said, “I do hope this isn’t an imposition. I’m Martha Kelly and I wanted to bring the Sunday school material for you and your husband.”
“Oh, yes. It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Kelly,” I said, extending my hand. “Please come in.”
I led Mrs. Kelly to our small but cozy sitting room and took her coat. She retrieved the bundle she had brought with her and lifted out a small package.
“I brought you a bit of baking,” she said rather shyly, “as a welcome to our church and little town.”
It had been so long since anyone had welcomed me in such a way. I was delighted. I expressed my thanks to Mrs. Kelly and excused myself to put on the teakettle.
She showed me the Sunday school material and explained how the classes would be divided and where my room would be found and then we chatted about other things.
She was a delightful lady! It would be so nice to have a friend—a warm and understanding friend.
I went to the church the next day to practice the piano. I knew I would be rusty and fumbling. The first few tries were frustrating, but I was surprised at how quickly it all came back to me. Soon I was enjoying the sound of the hymns of praise.
The piano was understandably out of tune, but it was not horribly so. I decided that Wynn would have no problem leading the singing to its accompaniment.
The pastor came out of his study just as I was about to leave the church. I apologized for disturbing him. I realized, too late, that I should have checked before I began to play.
“It was not a disturbance,” he assured me. “It was a ministry. I needed that music to lift my soul. I am sure my Sunday sermon will be the better for it.”
I asked about taking home a hymnal for Wynn and me to pick the hymns. He assured me I was most welcome.
I asked for the theme of his Sunday sermon, and he said he planned to speak on the surety of God’s promises. I could hardly wait for Sunday.
I was beginning to settle into our new little community. After I had done all of my sewing and arranged our small house, I could not find enough to do to fill my days. The hours until Wynn came home often weighed on me. I was sure there were things I could be doing to serve this small community if I could just discover what they were.
I still had not become very acquainted with neighbors. In fact, where our house stood we had few neighbors. To our right was a large vacant lot and beyond it was the property belonging to the North West Mounted Police. Their small office was located there as well as storage sheds, wagon yards and barns.
Wynn was so close that he could come home for his noon meal, which helped to fill my day. It was a great pleasure for me to be able to see so much of my husband after his being gone all day and sometimes many days at a time.
Wynn settled into the routine of office work. I knew it was a very different life than he was used to, and I am sure he sometimes chafed under the load of paper work, but he did not complain. He seemed to like the two young men who served under him, and that certainly helped his circumstances.
The two-month sentence of the young brave from the village expired and Wynn had his horse, which also had been kept in custody, brought to him. Wynn also saw to it that he ha
d provisions for the long ride home. I sent a letter for LaMeche to read to Silver Star. Then Wynn escorted the boy a day’s ride out of town to make sure he wouldn’t come into possession of illegal whiskey again; and bidding him goodbye and a safe journey, he sent him on his way.
When I asked Wynn if he felt the young man had learned a lesson, he smiled.
“I think he has learned several lessons, Elizabeth,” he said: “how to play blackjack, how to chew tobacco, how to curse in English, and who knows what else.”
I cringed at Wynn’s words. Though he spoke partly in jest, I knew there was truth in it.
As for me, I was getting acquainted with the shopkeepers in the town, though I still knew few of them by name. Most of the shopkeepers were men, but there was a woman working in the drygoods store and one in the bakeshop.
Our home was small but adequate, our town was scattered but interesting, our church was struggling but growing, and though we both missed our life with the Indian people, we settled in to enjoy this one winter set apart.
We talked about and prayed often for the village we had left in the fall. We hoped with all our heart that the building was going well, that the young Mountie was able to care for the needs of the people, and that the Force would see fit to return us to the posting in the spring. We also prayed that the gospel witness in that town would take root and grow.
Mail from the South arrived. Wynn brought the letters home to me when he came for lunch one day. There were four of them: one from Mary, one from Julie, one from my mother, and one from Mother Delaney.
There was both good news and bad news. The war was finally over and Matthew had returned home safely. I thanked God fervently. Matthew was now busy learning the business to take over from Father.
Julie’s baby boy had arrived. He had been a healthy baby until he was five months old, at which time he had contracted measles with complications and he had gone home to God. Julie had been heartbroken, but God had been with her and her husband. They were now expecting a second child.
My tears fell uncontrollably as I thought of my dear, light-hearted sister and her deep sorrow. I thanked God her letter held no bitterness, only love for her young preacher husband and faith in her mighty God.
Jon and Mary’s family were keeping well, though Elizabeth, their climber, had suffered a broken arm in a fall from a ladder left beside the house. The arm had healed nicely, and they hoped she had learned a lesson.
Mother Delaney had had two more hospital stays, one resulting in gall-bladder surgery. Now she was feeling much better. Phillip and Lydia’s family were all well and growing.
I read each letter over many times before I laid them aside. It was the next best thing to a good visit with those we loved.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Service
I was excited with my new Sunday school class—even more excited than I was about the opportunity to again play the piano. I was given a class of six energetic seven- and eight-year-olds. Four of them were girls and two were boys.
One of the boys, a real handful, had been raised by a man who had lost his wife in childbirth. He had chosen, in his bitterness, not to remarry. I’m afraid his wrath affected his growing son. It was a neighbor lady who somehow managed to get Willie to Sunday school. The father had no room in his life for God, but the woman’s son was the only friend of the young boy and so the two came to Sunday school together.
They could not have been more different. Stephen Williams was a quiet, small-framed boy with a lisp and questioning blue eyes. He had learned not to speak unless spoken to. I think it had to do with being ridiculed by other children rather than because of good manners.
Willie Schultz, on the other hand, was big for his age, loud and cantankerous, never stopped talking, and had a quick and fiery temper to go with his shock of unruly reddish hair.
They seemed such an unlikely pair to be “best friends,” but it was evident to me from the first Sunday that they considered themselves just that.
They insisted on sitting together, sharing a book, that they be separated from “the girls,” and that they be allowed to communicate whenever they wished.
I, on the other hand, insisted that they sit across the room from one another, each have his own book, be intermingled with the girls and be quiet unless I asked them to speak.
For a few moments it seemed as if I would be the loser. They looked glumly at one another, threatening to “never come again,” Willie’s rage showing in his eyes, but as the lesson went on they got involved and forgot to continue their protest.
Thankfully, all four of my girls were quite well behaved. I learned that one, called Mary, was the daughter of the lady in the bakeshop. She was a bit on the chubby side—she must have free hand in sampling the goods, I decided.
Molly and Polly were twins, daughters of the town’s blacksmith, and Sue Marie was the daughter of the man who worked on the ferry boat. I later learned that Sue Marie and her family had lived in many places, her father shifting from job to job. For this reason Sue Marie had had very little education. She would just be starting classes at one school and they would be on the road again, often to places where there was no school. Sunday school was a new experience for Sue Marie as well, and it was because of the kindnesses of Mrs. Kelly to the family that Sue Marie was allowed to attend.
So I looked at my Sunday school class as a great challenge. Here were six students who needed to know the truths from God’s Word. For some of them, this might well be their only opportunity. I prayed for the help of the Lord.
Wynn began his class with a group of four reluctant and withdrawn boys. The first Sunday he was discouraged with their actions and their response, but much to his surprise all four were back the following Sunday.
He took them on a backpacking trip the next Saturday. Over the open fire they cooked the fish they had caught, and Wynn taught them some of the skills of survival in the wilderness. The next Sunday there were six boys in his class, and the following Sunday he had eight, all eager to get in on the activities if not to learn, and pressing for his attention.
Wynn followed the backpacking trip with canoeing and hiking. One Saturday was even spent showing how to properly start training a puppy. The puppy belonged to Jock MacGregor, and all the boys then clamored for a dog of their own so they too could get involved. I knew that when Revva’s litter arrived, we would have more trainers than we had puppies.
Wynn enjoyed his “boys” and they took to dropping by our house in the evenings or on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. I often felt like I was running a restaurant for hungry youngsters, but it was fun and I never objected.
My class, too, felt welcome at our house. We spent some Saturdays baking cookies or making candy. Even the boys took part, though they were much better at eating than baking. We went for nature walks together. I promised them that when the snow was deep enough, I would teach them how to walk with snowshoes, and they were all eager to try.
With the activity of our classes and the dropping in of our students, my days were soon full. It was like having a great big family of our own.
Not all of our “family” listened well to our instructions. Willie, though he never missed Sunday school and came to the house oftener than any of my other students, still seemed to carry a chip on his shoulder. He was often belligerent and unyielding, and sometimes flew into a rage if things didn’t go his way.
I tried to understand him and his needs, but I also had to be quite firm. In spite of the fact that Willie was a boy who needed lots of love and attention, I felt he also needed strong discipline to help him grow up to be of use to himself and society.
Wynn had two boys who were also a problem. One was from a home with no resident father. His father had gone away, leaving the home and the family, and no one seemed to know where. The second one was the youngest of a brood of twelve, very needy and excessively transient. They stayed in one place only long enough to completely wear out their welcome and then moved on.
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p; Only two of the twelve were not still living at home, though many of them were of an age to be considered adults. They stayed with the family group, clinging to one another—not out of love, however. Continual inner strife often resulted in horrible fights, with fists, or knives or anything they could get their hands on. That family was Wynn’s greatest source of distress. The police force probably answered more calls to that one ramshackled home than to any other area under their patrol.
Wynn feared the young boy would grow up to follow the same wayward path as the rest of his kin. So he tried to spend time with the boy and encourage him in any way he could. The boy’s name was Henry Myers, but the kids at school all called him “Rabid,” a nickname he seemed quite pleased with.
Because of all the time we were spending with our Sunday school classes, Wynn and I found that we were not getting much time to ourselves or to becoming acquainted with other people our age. We discussed it and decided we would have to set aside one night a week, informing our students we were unavailable that night. We would use that time to cultivate friendships of our own.
It didn’t work out too well. There always seemed to be one child or another standing at our door with a problem to solve or a joy to share. We finally decided we would save Sunday dinner for inviting couples or families in, and the rest of the time we would be available to our class members.
I had two mothers approach me about giving piano lessons to their children, and, with the permission of the kind pastor, we used the church piano. I began by teaching three lessons a week. More mothers were soon calling and the lessons increased to eleven per week, There would have been more, but I felt that was all I could handle.
Our lives were busy, our days so full, that it caught me quite by surprise when it started snowing. Winter was with us again, and I hadn’t even had time to anticipate or dread its coming.
TWENTY-NINE
Winter
This was a very different winter than I had been used to. Instead of hauling wood and melting water to keep my fire going and wash my laundry, I was teaching piano lessons to prim little girls and baking cookies for hungry boys.
