[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart Read online

  There were a few men whom I presumed to be unmarried. Two of them were in their twenties, I would have guessed, and the others were older. Three of them in particular made me uncomfortable-I wasn't used to such open stares. One was especially bold. I was afraid that he might approach me, but he never left his companions. I hoped that I wouldn't be thrown into his company at some future date.

  Unconsciously, I found myself watching for a possible glimpse of Wynn, but I did not see him. It was obvious that he was not concerned about meeting the new schoolteacher. A foolish disappointment trailed me about the room as I made the acquaintance of my new neighbors. I forced the ridiculous thought from my mind.

  I liked my new neighbors. In comparison to my upbringing, they lacked refinement and polish; but they were open and friendly, and I respected their spirit of venture and their sense of humor. They were hearty people, these pioneers. They knew how to laugh and, obviously, they knew how to work.

  When the last of the group had returned to their homes, I walked slowly to my teacherage, my heart singing. I already felt that I was a part of this community, and I liked the feeling. I was completely happy here; then I thought of my stillpresent mice companions, and my song left me. What would I do with them? Live with them, I guessed....

  Chapter Eighteen

  Letters

  I was busy chalking an assignment on the blackboard the following afternoon when I heard a firm rap. Before I could respond, the door began to open, so I continued on with my writing, thinking that it was a student who had forgotten some item.

  "Be right with you," I said without turning around, and set out to finish the sentence that I was writing.

  "That's fine, Miss Thatcher," came a very grown-up, male voice. I swung around leaving a "g" with a very odd, long tail. I'm sure my face must have betrayed my surprise. There was Jon's Calgary friend, Wynn. My breath caught in a gasp and I stood staring for what seemed like eons. My voice would not cooperate in saying the greeting I knew I should extend.

  "I'm sorry if I startled you," he began.

  "Oh, no-it's fine. It's just-I thought-"

  "I've frightened you." His voice held apology.

  I shook my head and tried to laugh. It sounded ridiculous, high-pitched and nervous. I decided not to laugh any further.

  "I was expecting a student to be standing ..." My voice sounded nervous also.

  "I might have a lot to learn." He smiled and his eyes hinted at teasing. "But I'm afraid that I would look a little out of place in your classroom."

  I swallowed, then rubbed at the chalk dust on my hands.

  "I'm afraid that I had to miss your party, Miss Thatcher. I hear that it was a success."

  "Yes-yes, it was-very nice," I said lamely.

  His eyes took in my white-dusted hands that were rubbing together nervously, then lifted to meet my eyes. Afraid that he was about to make some silly statement about my students being lucky to have such an attractive teacher, I squared my shoulders. He didn't. His eyes shifted to the assignment on the board and then glanced around the room. He stepped away from me and went on a brief tour, carefully taking in all that there was to see. I stood watching him, noticing that even in this small room, he moved with confidence and purpose. Keenly aware of the chalk dust on my frock and the strands of hair that had loosened themselves and wisped about my face, my thoughts tumbled over each other. What a sight I must be. I probably even have a shiny nose.

  He finished his tour, seeming to approve of what he found.

  "I'm so glad that we finally have a school," he said with sincerity, his voice deep and convincing.

  "Yes," I almost whispered, "I'm glad too. They are so eager . . .

  Love for my pupils and his unsettling presence made my voice waver, and I was forced to turn from my visitor. I slowly erased the last "g" I had put on the board and rewrote it properly. Finishing the sentence carefully, I put away the chalk I was holding and wiped my hands on a cloth that I kept for the purpose.

  "Now, Mr.--Mr.-?" I faltered.

  "Forgive me," he said. "I was so fascinated with your room I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Wynn Delaney-long-time friend of your brother Jonathan."

  I did not bother to explain that I was quite aware of that last fact.

  "How do you do, Mr. Delaney?" I even managed to smile slightly. I admired myself for my control-now that I felt it slowly returning.

  "Won't you sit down, Mr. Delaney?"

  "Thank you, but no. I must go. I apologize for bursting in on you unannounced and unknown, but I admit to having a feeling of already knowing you. As I said, I've known Jon and Mary for a number of years, and I have seen you-though I was not granted an introduction."

  And, I mentally supplied for him, `I never forget a pretty face"-right, Mr. Delaney?

  He did not say that, nor anything like it, however. He continued, "I spent the weekend in Calgary and was asked to deliver to you this packet of letters. Mary seemed to feel that it was quite urgent that you receive them to stave off your great loneliness." His eyes twinkled again. "They asked how you were, but I had to confess that I knew nothing, except that school was in session."

  He smiled and handed me a bulging envelope.

  "Thank you. It was kind of you to act as messenger-boy." I hoped that he recognized and appreciated my attempt at humor.

  "No problem-since I was going right by. Should I see your family again soon, may I relay that you look to be in good health and spirits?"

  "By all means, Mr. Delaney. I am quite enjoying the community and my school."

  He nodded his own dismissal with a slight smile, replaced the hat he carried in his hand, and left the schoolroom.

  I stood and gazed toward the closed door. I could hear the jingle of harness and the creaking of wheels in the yard, but I did not allow myself the privilege of running to a window.

  He had not said that he hoped to see me again. He had not made any mention of finding another excuse to call. He had not even offered any of the light flattery that I was rather acus- tomed to expect.

  A long sigh escaped me, and I turned back to my chalkboard. It was no use. I couldn't concentrate on what I had been doing. I looked down at my hand that held the packet of letters. The letters! Of course, it was the letters from Jon and the family that had disrupted my thoughts. I would hurry home, have my tea and read my letters. After that I would be myself again and able to gather my thoughts back to my lesson preparation.

  I hurried home, built my fire and put on the kettle. I immediately began digging into my parcel of mail. There was a short note from William telling me about his new schoolteacher, and a copied, carefully penned note from Sarah-my name filled most of one sheet. She also wrote I MISS YOU in big block letters, and squeezed her name in at the bottom. There was a sheet with hugs and kisses from Kathleen, and in one corner was a little hug and kiss marked from Elizabeth; Mary had written an explanation that Kathleen insisted Baby Elizabeth have opportunity to send her love as well.

  Jon's letter was brief and brotherly, expressing concern for my well-being and happiness, and imploring me to come to Calgary whenever I had opportunity. Mary's letter, a lengthy epistle, included a recitation of everything that had happened in the brief' time I had been gone. She added anecdotes and cute sayings from the children. I devoured it all hungrily. I was so glad to hear from them. I wished they were nearer so that I might more readily share my happiness with them.

  My tea water had boiled and then cooled because I had neglected to fuel the fire beneath it. I coaxed a flame back to life and nourished it with more kindling and then larger pieces. While the fire took hold again and began to reheat the kettle, I prepared some bread and cheese.

  As I sipped in,,, tea and nibbled the bread, my feet resting on my new footstool (which wasn't very ladylike, according to Mother), I again scanned through my letters. I laughed at Mary's comments concerning Mr. Higgins. She had met him at a downtown store, and he had awkwardly asked about me. Mary had replied that she as
sumed I was just fine, although she had not heard from me since just after I had arrived. He had replied with astonishment, "You mean she stayed?" "Of course she stayed;" Mary said. "Isn't that what she was supposed to do?" "Oh, yes-yes, of course," Higgins mumbled and walked off with a red face.

  My thoughts kept turning from the letters to their courier, but I refused to let my mind dwell on him. Even though I deliberately tried to keep my mind from straying to Wynn Delaney, I found that the name and the face kept taunting my fancies. Finally I laid aside my teacup, changed my dress and went out to split wood for my fire. Perhaps some vigorous activity would settle my imagination, I reasoned, and I attacked my woodpile with a vengeance.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Living Mousetrap

  The following morning I got up to find that the furry squatters had been prancing around on my cupboard top. I had to do something! There simply was no living with them. I could not bear sharing my cozy home with the mice.

  I again washed and boiled all of my dishes and scrubbed and rubbed everything that I imagined they might have touched. With a great deal of difficulty, I moved two empty metal trunks from my bedroom and placed all of the dishes from the cupboard in one and all of the foodstuffs that I could fit into the other. Surely the mice will not be able to get in there, I determined as I closed the lids with a bang and marched over to my school, too upset to bother about breakfast.

  By the time the students began to arrive, I had calmed down a bit and was able to welcome them with a smile.

  The next two days went well, though it was a nuisance to be digging around in the trunks every time I fixed a meal.

  On Wednesday, Lars brought me a fresh supply of produce and stared in amazement as I placed bread, cheese and eggs in my large trunk.

  "I have mice," I informed him as I went to place the milk, cream and butter in the metal pail with a lid in the dugout on the north end of the house.

  "Ya need a cat?" he asked, and I wondered why I hadn't thought of that.

  "Do you have one that I could borrow?"

  "Ve have lots. More all da time."

  "I'll think about it."

  We went to the classroom together.

  On Thursday morning I awoke to find a drowned mouse in my slop bucket. I was horrified as I stared at the soggy lump of lifeless fur.

  Well, at least it wasn't my water pail, I thought as I carried my slop bucket to the farthest corner of the school grounds and dumped it. I half expected the dead mouse to jump up and dash for my house but, fortunately, it stayed put. I turned and ran for the house myself.

  I wanted to scrub out the slop bucket with soapy water, but that seemed foolish, so I just rinsed it a bit and set it a little farther away from my eating area. Again I skipped breakfast and went right to school.

  That night I laid aside all of my reserve and headed over to the Petersons to beg, borrow, or steal a cat.

  The one that Lars offered me was rather mangy looking, a big, yellow thing.

  "She be a good mouser," he maintained, and I didn't doubt him for a moment.

  He carried her home for me-an act that I appreciated very much. I would rather have had one of the many cute little kittens, but Lars talked me out of that. "No good fer mice," he said. I took his word for it.

  Lars deposited the large, hungry-looking cat in my kitchen and turned to go. "Vatch da door," he cautioned. "If she get out, she run home."

  I watched the door. Lars left and the cat stayed.

  Later I almost wished that she had gone. She prowled and yowled until I thought I. wouldn't be able to stand another minute of it. Still, if she cleared my house of mice, the noise and commotion would be worth it.

  At bedtime I shut my door against her nervous activity. I could hear her prowling and climbing, jumping and mewing. and I mentally followed her about the room-my chair, my table, my cupboard, my trunk. That cat didn't respect a single piece of furniture.

  And then I heard a dreadful crash. If that was my teapot! was my first thought as I reached for a match to light the lamp. Fortunately, it was only a chipped cup that I had neglected to remove from the table. I swept up the broken pieces and dumped them into the stove. I took my teapot into the bedroom and carefully placed it in the trunk with my books. Then I blew out the lamp and crawled back into bed. I tried to force my thoughts away from the restless cat as it prowled about my house. No mice will show tonight, I thought, with all of that racket going on. I was wrong. About four in the morning I was awakened by a commotion in my kitchen, and then a sharp, sickening squeak of fright or pain. The cat had pounced.

  The dreadful sound reverberated through my brain long after the cat had decided to call it a night. What an awful thing to be a small mouse caught by a mammoth cat!

  In the morning my revulsion toward the incident hung over me like a cloud. I delayed getting up for as long as I dared. I was sure that I would find my kitchen strewn with dead mice. I didn't. Puss was still there, looking hungry and lean. There was no evidence of her nocturnal hunting.

  I was nearing the conclusion that I must have imagined the sounds in the night when my tidying brought me to my favorite chair. At first I supposed that a small twig had somehow found its way onto the seat. I reached down and picked it up. It was in my hand before I recognized it-the tail of a mouse! The cat had dared to have her dinner right where I did my evening relaxing!

  That did it. I went to my door, and feeling a little foolish, opened it slightly and called the cat. As she slinked out and started running for home, I asked forgiveness of the mice. Surely there was a more civilized way of getting rid of them. One thing I knew for sure: there must be a quieter way.

  Chapter Twenty

  A Visitor

  Before long, I was reminded again that I was still not rid of mice. I had no idea how many remained, but I judged it to be more than enough.

  My cupboard stood empty while my trunks fairly bulged with what should have been on the shelves. Just making a cup of tea required extra effort. Those things that I couldn't fit into my trunks I covered. I covered my water pail. I even covered the spout of my teakettle. No matter what job I did, I checked first for the evidence of a mouse having been there before me. It was an awkward way to live, but I forced myself to adjust to it.

  My pupils were progressing favorably. I had been assured that after the field work was finished, I would have three or four more students.

  I was having a problem with Phillip Delaney. He tended to occupy himself with things other than what he was assigned to do. When, for three days running, his copy work was not completed by dismissal time, I asked him to stay for a chat after the pupils had been dismissed. I explained very carefully that should it happen again, I would require him to remain behind to finish his work.

  The next day, to my dismay, his work was not completed.

  "Phillip, I am disappointed," I said. "You had plenty of time to do your work."

  He didn't seem concerned. "Shall I stay and do it like Tommy does?"

  "Thomas needs special help with his lessons. He doesn't understand them on his own. That's why he stays, so that I can help him."

  "But you said if I didn't finish, I'd have to stay."

  "That's right."

  He made no comment but reached for his pencil and began to work.

  He finished his work quickly and then lingered until I insisted that he run home.

  The next day his work went unfinished again.

  "You'll have to stay until it's done," I declared. "Maybe this will help you to learn to work more quickly." I knew that Phillip's problem was not difficulty in understanding, for Phillip, unlike Thomas, was a bright child.

  He did not protest. Again the work was done in good time, and again Phillip hung around chatting. I finally sent him home.

  A short while later, I had an unexpected visitor. I was just putting away the last of the books that had been used in the day's lessons and was tidying up, when there was a rap on the door. Wynn Delaney walked in.<
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  As usual, his presence unnerved me, and I expect that I flushed slightly.

  "Am I interrupting?" he asked.

  "Not at all. I was just leaving. Please come in."

  He stepped to the front and took a seat near my desk. It looked odd to see such a tall man curled up in the small desk. He had to stretch his long legs out before him to make room for them. Somehow his relaxed attitude put me more at ease.

  "More letters?" I asked mischievously.

  He smiled and shook his head.

  "No, this time it's school business. I came to see you about Phillip. He's had to stay after school a couple of times."

  I thought, What do you have to do with Phillip? But I pushed it aside as the issue of my discipline being questioned seemed more important.

  "You object to my method of discipline?"

  "Not at all," he responded, almost as quickly. "I merely wonder if it's the best way to handle Phillip."

  "Meaning?"

  "Tell me, Miss Thatcher, how did Phillip respond to staying late? Did it upset him-annoy him?"

  "Not at all." I was becoming defensive.

  He smiled-a slow, deliberate smile, and in spite of myself I noticed what a pleasant smile he had. Yet his smile also told me that he had somehow just proved a point. He didn't even say anything; he just waited for me to understand what he had just said.

  "You mean... ?" I began slowly.

  "Exactly. Phillip likes nothing better than the extra time and attention, Miss Thatcher."

  "I see," I said, looking away from him, realizing as I reviewed the past few days that he was quite right. I turned slowly back to him.

  "So-" I began, reaching out for advice, "What do you suggest?"

  "Well, his mother and I-"

  His mother and I. The words hit me like a pail of cold water and I could feel the air leaving my lungs and the blood draining out of my head. For a moment I felt dizzy, and I lowered myself into my chair, not even checking first to make sure that it was really where it was supposed to be. His mother and 1-Delaney ... of course, Phillip Delaney-Wynn Delaney. This was Phillip's father. What a fool ice been, I upbraided myself, to be nursing illusions about a married man.