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

  I recovered quickly as I realized that Mr. Delaney was waiting for my response to his suggestion. which I had missed in my dismay.

  "I'm sorry-" I stumbled along awkwardly, "I'm afraid my thoughts ... I-I was off somewhere and I didn't-"

  I left it dangling and he repeated, "His mother and I thought that if you could send uncompleted work home with him, we would see that it was finished and returned."

  "Of course." I felt embarrassed that he had to explain again.

  It seemed like a good enough plan. And right now I was willing to agree with almost anything that would speed this man's departure from my schoolroom.

  I stood up and hurried on, "That sounds like a good approach. I will tell Phillip of the new arrangement. And now if-if you'll excuse me, Mr. Delaney, I do have things-a lot of things to attend to."

  He arose with a questioning look in his eyes; I then remembered I had told him when he entered that I was finished and ready to leave. He did not mention the fact, however, and excused himself in a gentlemanly fashion.

  Odd feelings were quivering within me as I watched him go. What a silly goose I had been to blithely assume that he was unmarried. The fact that he was the most attractive man I had ever met I could not deny-but had I known he was married, I never would have allowed him another thought. Well, 1 know now-so that is that, I thought mentally, giving myself a shake. I firmly pushed all thoughts of the man from me and walked briskly from the classroom. I decided to run over to Anna's for a cup of her good, strong coffee. She was always coaxing me to come, and I too often pleaded busyness. Well, tonight I would take time. I was in no mood to sit by myself and calmly sip tea. I might even stay for supper if she insists, I told myself, knowing full well that she would. It will save me standing on my head to dig something from my trunks, and thus keeping my thoughts in control, I resolutely shut the door behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Pupils

  Only once did Phillip need to have work sent home with him. He gave it to me the next morning, carefully completed. From then on, Phillip finished his work easily in the allotted time.

  He was a little charmer. I suppose that, try as I might not to, I must have shown a slight amount of favoritism. He found little ways to spend time with me, and I'm sure that I enjoyed it every bit as much as he did.

  Else Peterson was also one of my "special" students. She was quick to learn and eager to please. I did have opportunity to have her for Saturday "tea." That day she had run across the field between us with some warm coffeecake, fresh from her mother's oven. It was delicious, and we called it "tea" cake instead, eating it right away with our tea served in my china cups. Else's tea, diluted with milk, was a marvelous treat for her, and her eyes sparkled through her shyness as she looked at the cups and the dainty teapot.

  "Miss T'atcher," she told me solemnly, "it is like having a fairy picnic."

  I loved little Else. She was a precious, gentle child.

  Sally Clark also found a warm place in my heart. She was rather pathetic, this girl-turning-woman. She wanted so much to enter into the adult world, yet she clung to her childish world as well. I noticed, as the days went by, her shy watching of me and her awkward attempts to copy me. I took it as a sincere compliment, and I often wished that I could take her home with me and put her in one of my pretty dresses, arrange her hair, and then let her see the attractive girl in the mirror. She was a pretty girl in her own way, and I often had the impression that someday we might waken and find this shy little butterfly free of her cocoon. I realized that I would be unwise to try and rush nature's own slow, yet certain, process. To show Sally through my wardrobe and tempt her with pretty things that I had always taken for granted would only make her worn and simple clothing look all the more drab in her eyes. So, rather, I made simple suggestions and spoke words of encouragement when I could: "Blue is one of your best colors"; "That type of collar suits you well"; "Your hair looks very pretty that way-you have such pretty hair." I tried to build up each one of my pupils with sincere praise, but with Sally my smiles and words had extra meaning. She flushed slightly when I did this, but I knew that my approval was important to her.

  Then there was Andy. Even to look at him made my heart ache. He seemed to grow worse as the days went by. At times I saw him reach up and grasp his head with both hands as though he were in pain, a look of confusion and misery filling his eyes. I tried not to draw attention to him, but as soon as I was able I'd come to his side and kneel beside him.

  "Andy, why don't you just put your head down on your arms for a few minutes," I would whisper.

  What I truly longed to do was gather him into my own arms and shelter him there, though I seldom had the appropriate opportunity. Usually he would look at me with thankfulness in his eves, and then he would do as I suggested, sometimes rocking himself gently back and forth. I was concerned that his inability to cope with the schoolwork might be causing him physical problems. I did not push him, but I did so want to offer him all that he was capable of retaining. I was on the verge of trying to find out where he lived so that I could call on his folks when, one school morning, Andy did not arrive with his sister Teresa.

  "Mamma think he need rest," she said, and I nodded my head in sympathetic agreement.

  All the students missed Andy. He was a favorite with everyone, for even though he could not fully participate in classroom learning or outside games, he vigorously cheered on all who could. In the classroom his eyes would shine whenever anyone read or recited well, and occasionally he spontaneously clapped his hands in jolly appreciation. I never reproached him for his exuberance, and the students watched Andy as they recited, hoping to win his favor. On the playground he watched the games with intent, and shouted and jumped wildly for any accomplishment. Andy did not pick favorites. He cheered everyone on with the same enthusiasm. His clapping hands and fervent exclamation of, "You did good! You did good!" was something that each student worked for.

  Carl Clark, just entering his teens, was a problem for me. He was Sally's cousin and made it known that he didn't need this "dumb of school"-he was going to be a cowboy and work on a ranch in southern Alberta. He spent far more time practicing with his lariat than poring over his reader. He spent every recess roping fence posts.

  He had started out roping fellow students until I had firmly put a stop to it.

  One day I gave Harvey Mattoch, one of my younger children, permission to leave the room; and, as I did with all of my children, I kept an eye out for his return. The minutes ticked by, and still no Harvey. I went on with the spelling lesson, but my mind kept wondering about Harvey. When I dismissed the class for recess, I immediately went to look for him. I found him cowering behind the woodpile in tears.

  "Harvey," I coaxed, "come on out and let's talk about it."

  He shook his head, and a fresh torrent of tears began to fall.

  "What happened?"

  He cried harder.

  I sat down on a block of wood and waited for his outburst to subside. As soon as he seemed to have control, I passed him my handkerchief, let him mop up and blow his nose, then asked him again.

  "The-the door to-to the boys' place is all tied up," he managed between sobs.

  Sure enough, it was-with Carl Clark's lariat. Harvey had tried to get the rope untied and the door free, but not in time to avert an "accident." I gave him permission to run home for dry clothes.

  "You stay right here out of sight," I told him, "until I call the children in from recess. No one else has missed you vet."

  I wrote a quick note to his mother in the hope that the boy wouldn't be scolded or shamed at home, smuggled it to him, and then rang the bell. A few minutes later I saw the bobbing of his head as he ran down the road in his hurry to get home unnoticed.

  At the end of the day I asked Carl to remain behind. I told him how disappointed I was that he would use his rope to tie up a needed building and that for the next week his recesses would be occupied in hauling wood for the school
stove. I also told him that his lariat was not to be seen at school again. He sulked as he left the room, but I had no further problem with the rope. Eventually Carl even joined the other boys in their games. I did have to revise my recess punishment, however. The weather had been too mild to use the big iron stove, and Carl hauled enough wood in two days to completely fill the wood storage bin in the schoolhouse and stack more by the door.

  Considering the fact that my students had never had any formal education prior to this year: considering the fact that I had very few educational aids to use on their behalf; considering the fact that I had all of them under one roof' and on all grade levels; considering the fact that they came from various ethnic backgrounds, and some of them did not even speak English well; considering the fact that I was young with only two previous years of teaching experience, I was rather proud of everyone-well, almost everyone.

  During the weeks that followed I had the pleasant experience of being invited to several neighborhood homes for Sunday dinner or a weekday supper. Some of the homes I visited were even more simply furnished than my little teacherage. A few were surprisingly comfortable and charmingly decorated and arranged. But wherever I went, the people were anxious to share with me the best they could offer. I loved them for it.

  It was difficult for me to accept their hospitality when I was not in a position to return it. They seemed to sense how I felt and were quick to assure me that this was their small way of saying thanks to me for coming to teach their children. It made me more determined than ever to do the best that I could.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The School Stove

  Very suddenly the warm weather turned cold and rainy. One morning I awoke to a cloudy, dark sky, a cold wind and rain like ice water. Even in my snug little house I shivered as I dressed. I could hardly believe that a day could be so drastically different from the one just preceding it. I decided that my schoolroom must have a fire-the first one yet needed. At least we were well stocked for wood, thanks to Carl.

  As I looked at the sky, I was glad that it was Friday. Maybe by Monday we'd have our sunshine back again.

  I built my own fire and put on my coffeepot. The hungry flames began to lick at the wood quickly, and the warmth was soon spilling out into the room. As I looked at the dismal day, I wondered how many of my students would venture forth. I wouldn't have blamed them if they'd stayed home.

  I decided to do everything that was necessary before leaving the house so that once I had crossed to the schoolhouse in the rain I could stay there.

  With this in mind, I cared for my daily grooming, almost gasping for breath as I washed in the cold water; I breakfasted, had my morning Bible reading, and tidied my two small rooms. Before I left I banked my fire the way that Lars had shown me and then bundled myself up tightly in my coat, tied a scarf on my head, and dashed for the school.

  It was cold in the room, all right, but I still had plenty of time to take the chill from the air before my students arrived.

  I threw aside my coat and went to work on laying the firewood. My hands were already numb with the cold and dampness. I got the paper and kindling ready to light but, though I searched everywhere that a matchbox might he, I found none. I buttoned on my coat, donned my damp scarf, and dashed back through the rain to the teacherage for some matches. In my haste as I returned to the school, I stepped into a big puddle and splashed muddy water up my leg. Undaunted, I ran on and, once inside, threw off' my coat and dripping scarf and went to work on the fire again. I had no problem getting the kindling to accept the flame and soon a brisk fire was begging greedily for more fuel; also, soon the room was beginning to fill with blue woodsmoke. I opened the door of the stove and peered in. Smoke puffed out and stung my eyes. I slammed the door shut. Maybe it will take just a few moments to begin to draw, I thought, thinking of my father's words concerning our fireplace at home.

  The minutes passed by, and the stove did not draw; it only seemed to blow-billows of choking smoke filled the classroom.

  I poked and fussed with the fire, but it only increased in,, coughing and watering eyes and got soot and ashes all over my hands and clothing. Determining that the only way to save my room from total disaster was to drench the fire, I picked up the pail of water. I was about to heave it into the stove when the school door opened and there stood Wynn Delaney. I gasped, choked, and began another fit of coughing.

  Without speaking he crossed to me, took the pail from my hands and set it back on its shelf. Then he moved on to the stove.

  "These country school stoves can be contrary things," he stated matter-of factly as he flipped some metal lever'on the stove pipe and another on the stove itself. Then he walked purposefully to the windows and began to open them one by one. After the last one had been flung wide, he returned and picked up my coat.

  "I have a few minutes," he offered. "Why don't I stay and tend the fire while you go on home and freshen up. It'll be a good forty minutes before any students appear."

  He held my coat for me, and I shrugged into it without speaking. I fled from the building in embarrassment at being discovered in such a predicament. What a mess I was! I had soot streaks up my arms and even across my cheek. My legs and dress were splattered with mud, my shoes were soggy, and my hair was tumbling down. I eyed the clock as I scrubbed and changed but I did not hurry. I even had a second cup of coffee, feeling a bit like a child stealing from the cookie jar. I then slowly and deliberately picked my way across the yard to the schoolhouse, skirting all of the deeper puddles. By the time I reached the school, most of the smoke had cleared, and the room was beginning to warm with the cheerily burning-and smokeless-fire. My benefactor was still there.

  In spite of my embarrassment, my sense of humor held me in good stead, at least in measure.

  "I want to thank you," I began, "for rescuing the schoolhouse. We nearly went up in smoke."

  When he saw that I could laugh at myself, his eyes began to twinkle, but he was too kind to tease me.

  "Someone," he said, placing all the blame on an unknown and unseen "someone," "left the damper completely closed." He stepped over to the stove and turned the damper lever slightly. "When the fire gets going well, you can turn it-like this-to slow it down some; but to start with, it should always be turned upright, like this."

  I nodded, berating myself for not thinking of dampers. He didn't remark about my folly, though, but went on, "I must warn you, though, don't et,er use a full pail of water to douse a fire in a stove like this. It can be very dangerous-and at best, very messy. The water forces the ashes, some of them carrying live sparks, to blow out through the stove door."

  A mental image of the forcefully splashing water, the flying ashes and soot made me thankful that he had come in when he did.

  "If you must quench a fire," he continued, "gently pour on water, a dipperful at a time, working your way over the flames. Remember, too, it doesn't take long for an iron stove to heat; a sudden change in temperature might even split the metal."

  I nodded meekly, feeling that I had just been given a fatherly lecture on fires.

  "Never did hold to this business of a young woman teacher having to care for her own fire," he remarked, as though to himself. I cringed inwardly as I imagined him at some future meeting of the parents in the community, taking his stand to argue that young women teachers had no business caring for the fire in the classroom.

  I quickly assured him, "It'll be fine, now that I know how it operates."

  He threw two more good-sized chunks of wood on the flames, closed the door of the stove and straightened to his full height. I saw his eyes fall to my hands, and I became more self-conscious and nervous. Was he noticing that my hands showed I was not used to manual work of any kind? Was he checking to see if they were losing their cared-for look under the rigors of work in a country school?

  I moved to a window.

  "Do you suppose we can close them now?" I asked in an effort to direct his attention elsewhere.


  "Certainly," and he moved to the nearest one.

  I looked around my room and as soon as the last window had been closed, I turned to him.

  "I do want to thank you-and I will remember to check the damper. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have lessons to prepare."

  He smiled slightly and reached for his hat. It was strange, this feeling I had. I knew instinctively that he was the kind of man who would be worthy of anyone's friendship, especially since he was a long-time friend of Jonathan's; yet I felt that I dared not encourage a friendship of any kind. I had never felt such a barrier, or rather the need for such a barrier, with a man before. Perhaps I feared lest he somehow was aware of my attraction to him before I had realized that he was a married man. Perhaps if I met his wife I would be able to feel differently. But for now I held myself stiffly at a distance.

  "I stopped to let you know that Phillip won't be attending class today. He has a cold, and his mother has decided not to send him out in the rain."

  At the words "his mother," I backed away a step farther from the man who spoke to me.

  "I'm-I'm sorry," I managed. "I do hope that it will not be serious."

  "I'm sure that it won't. You know children. They can be back racing about in an hour's time. Mothers take a little longer to recuperate from a child's illness." He grinned.

  "Yes," I answered. "I guess so."

  "I'll be coming back this way sometime between three and four. Lydia would like me to pick up Phillip's work so that he won't fall behind his classmates. She'll go over the lesson with him at home-if that's not too much trouble for you."

  "No-no, of course not. I'll have it ready for you when you come by."