[Canadian West 04] - When Hope Springs New Read online

  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.