When Calls the Heart Read online

“You’ve what?”

  “His son, Phillip, is my student.”

  “Phillip?”

  “Yes, Phillip, and I’ve—”

  “Elizabeth, Phillip is Lydia and Phillip’s child.”

  “Whose?”

  “Lydia and—”

  “Is she divorced?”

  “Lydia?” Mary’s voice was incredulous.

  “She lives with Wynn,” I insisted.

  “Wynn is the senior Phillip’s brother.”

  “And where is this—this other Phillip?”

  “Here—in the hospital. That’s why Wynn is in Calgary so often. Lydia and Phillip, Jr. are here now too, staying with her parents.”

  My knees felt weak. I groped behind me for the bed and sat down.

  “Beth—are you all right?” Mary asked anxiously.

  I honestly didn’t know. My head was whirling and my stomach was in knots.

  After a long silence, I whispered, “Mary, are you sure?”

  “I’m sure—very sure.”

  Parts of the crazy puzzle began to slip into place. Lydia—her friendliness—her statement that “everything has been so upset”—her ability to laugh and enjoy the spectacle of the battle for my box at the social.

  “Oh, Mary,” I moaned, but I could say no more. I buried my face in my hands and thought of the times when I had been rude—inexcusably so, I was now discovering—to Wynn Delaney. How could I ever make him understand? How could I ever make things right?

  “They have good news,” Mary continued brightly. “Phillip can go home on Monday. I talked to Lydia today, and she is wild with excitement.”

  “I’m—I’m sure—I’m sure she is,” I stammered.

  “I must go, Beth. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I managed a weak smile. “Sure—I’m fine—just fine. Just give me a minute or two and I’ll be right down. I guess things just caught up with me all of a sudden. Don’t worry. I’m all right.”

  Mary left, and I tried hard to find some composure. My heart thumped so hard I could almost hear it.

  Wynn Delaney was not a married man. He was not Lydia’s husband. He was not anyone’s husband. And so many times, when he had made some small gesture of kindness, I had coldly rebuffed him. How would I ever explain my foolishness? What must he think of me? Now I knew that I was going to be sick.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Dee

  I did appear for dinner. I must have still been pale, and I felt that my smile looked a little weak; but in the midst of the chatter and laughter around the table, I hoped that it wasn’t noticed. I was quiet during the meal, but I never had done a lot of talking, and I was able to respond when I was spoken to.

  Kathleen had requested that she sit between her Dee and her Aunt Beth, and on this occasion her mother saw no harm in humoring her; after all, she had just been “jilted” by the man whom she had planned to marry. Dee fussed over her, perhaps in an effort to show her that he still cared about her even though the wedding was “off.” Kathleen did not act as one forsaken and forgotten. Her little tongue was constantly going, telling Dee of her new doll—“show ya right after dinner”, her new green dress—“almost the color of Aunt Beth’s”; what she did while Sarah was at school—“helped Mamma”; and how much Baby Elizabeth liked her.

  Occasionally Kathleen would say, “Isn’t that right, Aunt Beth?” And I would be obliged to enter into their conversation.

  I was glad for the seating arrangement. At least I did not have to sit opposite Wynn Delaney—Kathleen’s Dee—where I would have to look at him once in a while throughout the meal. Those sensitive eyes might look right through me and see my tumbled emotions.

  When Jonathan decided that there had been enough children’s chatter, he excused them from the table to go to their rooms for a bit of play before bedtime.

  The grown-ups then had a quieter conversation over second cups of coffee. I had preferred the din of the children, for with their leaving attention suddenly focused uncomfortably on me. Jon and Mary plied me with questions about my school, my pupils, my neighbors and my little teacherage. Because I loved them all so much, I imagine that love showed in my eyes and voice, in spite of the way I was feeling.

  “Elizabeth must be very tired,” Wynn interjected after a time, and I looked at him in surprise. For one thing, I had never heard him call me “Elizabeth” before.

  “She’s been working very hard with her students,” he elaborated, “and then she took on the extra load of organizing a money-raising social for a local family in need.”

  I had already told Jon and Mary about Andy, and the eyes around the table softened at the mention of the fund-raising effort.

  I swallowed hard. I still found my heart hurting at the mention of the dear little fellow.

  “The work wasn’t too much,” I hurried to explain. “If things had turned out differently—”

  Wynn reached across the empty chair that separated us and gave my hand a sympathetic squeeze. Shocked, I looked up quickly to catch the expression in the eyes around the table. But no one looked surprised. I presumed they understood such gestures better than I did—and they also knew the man better than I. Mary quickly took charge of the situation. I think that she was a little afraid that talking of Andy would have me weeping again.

  “I have four children to care for,” she announced with a smile. “Jon, dear, why don’t you move our guests to a more comfortable setting, and I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  “I must go, my dear,” Nanna said, rising. “This has been lovely, and I so much enjoy sharing dinner with you and your children. It’s much better than sitting up to a table alone.” She gave a mock shiver. Mary stopped to kiss her on the cheek.

  “We love to have you. You just come over whenever you wish.”

  “Oh, I do—I do,” she said with a twinkle.

  Jon took Nanna home. We all said appropriate things as we bid her good-bye, and then Mary hurried upstairs to put the children to bed.

  The moment that I had dreaded had come. I knew that Wynn deserved an explanation for my rudeness in days past, but I didn’t know quite how to approach the subject.

  Wynn and I were sent to the front parlor and each given another cup of coffee—which I neither wanted nor needed, but at least the cup gave me something to do with my nervous hands. I knew that Jon would soon be back to join us, so I decided I dared not fill in the time with small talk.

  “I’m afraid that I owe you an explanation,” I began in a rather quavering voice as soon as we were seated before the fire.

  He had been watching the flames, but he turned to look at me. I didn’t know if it was my words or my voice that gave away the fact that what I had to say was important.

  His eyes held a question but he did not speak, so I went on.

  “You see, I thought—that is, I understood, that—that you were Phillip’s father.”

  His jaw dropped with astonishment.

  “You thought that I—that I—that my brother’s wife was raising my child?”

  “I didn’t know that you had a brother.”

  “You thought that—that what?”

  “I thought that Lydia was your wife.”

  “But how . . . ?” He shook his head in disbelief, then held up a hand as though to stop me from proceeding too quickly. Finally he spoke again. “Lydia is a sweet, lovely woman—but my brother Phillip is the fortunate man.”

  “I know that now. Mary told me.”

  He stood up and paced a few steps, then stood gazing into the fire. When he swiveled to face me, his face was still filled with puzzlement.

  “You thought that I—was a married man?”

  “Yes.”

  He again shook his head, then stood thoughtfully looking into the fire. Finally he turned toward me.

  “Where did you ever get such an idea?” His tone was not accusing, merely baffled. But I was on the defensive now. Surely it wasn’t all stupidity on my part. Tears were stinging my eyelids. I stoo
d to my feet.

  “I got the idea,” I said, with deliberate emphasis, “because you were living in the same house as Lydia, you came to school to see me about young Phillip, you asked me for his homework, you spoke of ‘his mother and I,’ and you shared the same last name—and nobody ever mentioned to me that there was such a person as Phillip, Sr.”

  My voice had become quite loud by the time I had finished my speech. The astonished look left his face as he followed my reasoning; a look of frustration took its place.

  “I see . . . ” he said a little lamely when I had finished, and he turned to the flames again.

  I sat back down. My hands were trembling. Carefully I set my cup and saucer on the small table beside my chair.

  “I see,” he said again, and turned back to me. “So, figuratively speaking, you tossed your box lunch back in my face?” Again, his openness and honesty took the sting out of the words.

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even look up. I just sat there twisting my handkerchief slowly around a finger and feeling the color rising into my face. Suddenly I heard a soft chuckle. I looked up quickly then, wondering why his sudden change of mood.

  “It’s rather funny, isn’t it?” His eyes held their usual good humor, and he chuckled again. “Here I spend ten dollars and sixty-five cents so that I can sit with the pretty schoolteacher; and, instead, I eat alone because she thinks—”

  “You paid ten dollars and sixty-five cents? For a box lunch?”

  He laughed as he nodded sheepishly, like a schoolboy.

  “But that’s—that’s ridiculous! All of the baskets were going for one or two—”

  “Not that one.”

  Now my face was hot with embarrassment. That evening I had not paid attention to the price that my basket had brought.

  “It was a good cause,” he assured me seriously, “so I do not begrudge the ten-sixty-five.”

  I remembered little Andy again. It had been a good cause. . . .

  “And,” he said, this time in false lament, “it could have been a good buy as well.”

  “I’m—I’m sorry. Truly, I—I—”

  “So am I, Miss Thatcher.” His eyes fixed on mine for an instant, then he turned back to the fire.

  The few seconds of awkward silence that followed seemed far longer.

  “Actually,” he ventured, “perhaps it was all for the best.” He stepped back from the fire and took the seat opposite me, putting down his now-empty cup.

  “The best?” I questioned, not understanding him.

  “I’m afraid I was beginning to think like a farmer.”

  “And there is something wrong with thinking like a farmer?”

  He smiled. “Not for a farmer.”

  “And—you’re not a farmer?”

  “I?”

  I nodded.

  “No, not I.”

  “But you—”

  “I was given a special leave so that I could give Phillip a hand—to take off his crop. I was raised on the farm, so at least I know what to do and when to do it. I even enjoyed it—for a change. Once or twice, I even wished that I had stayed on the farm myself. A farmer is, after all, his own boss—to the extent that the elements will allow him, while . . .” He paused and shrugged. “But Phillip will soon be back to again take charge of his farm—and his son—and his wife.”

  He was teasing, and I once more felt my face flush.

  I wanted to ask what he now would do, where his work would take him, but I didn’t. Instead, I went to the window and looked out on the quiet evening. I was just in time to see Jon return from taking Nanna home.

  “I think that I will go say good-night to the children,” I said and gathered up the coffee cups to take them to the kitchen.

  I felt his eyes upon me as I left the room. It was rather impolite of me to desert him, but Jon would soon be in to keep him company.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Return to School

  We saw Wynn, Lydia and Phillip, Jr. at church the next morning, but we had little opportunity to chat. I was glad about that. I still had some sorting out to do.

  That afternoon, Mary and I had some time alone; she directed the conversation to Wynn.

  “So,” she said directly, “what do you think of our Dee—now that you’ve allowed him his rightful single status?” She laughed as she said it, and I tried to laugh with her, but I flushed too.

  “He’s—he’s a very nice man.” The words sounded silly, but I couldn’t think of anything else that I felt was appropriate to say.

  “He’s more than nice,” Mary said with enthusiasm. “He’s—very special. I had even dared to hope—” She restrained herself, and looked at me quickly as though to see if I had caught on to what she had been about to say. Changing her mind, she said, “Just wish he weren’t so stubborn.”

  “Stubborn?”

  “Well, not about everything, but he’s got this crazy notion that marriage and his work do not go together.”

  “Oh?” I was hoping she would understand that as a question.

  “He’s determined—absolutely determined—that he will never ask a woman to share his life with him. He says that other men can run their lives in this order: God, wife, work; but his has to be God, work, wife, and he won’t ask a woman to take the lesser position.”

  “My, my,” I said, trying to sound casual and even a bit sarcastic, “he must be a very special man.”

  “No, no. He doesn’t think he’s special. He just thinks that his job is. He’s totally dedicated to it—but then, of course, it does take him into some rather primitive settings. He has already spent time up north, and I’m sure he will again. And he says that he won’t ask a woman to share that. I guess it’s rather tough—”

  “But if a woman really loved a man,” I interrupted, “surely she wouldn’t mind . . . Doesn’t he know there is such a thing as love—real love—and if a woman—”

  “Little Beth,” Mary said, her eyes twinkling, “maybe you’ll have to show him.”

  “Now wait a minute . . .” I started, blushing to my roots. Mary laughed outright.

  “I really don’t think that he would be such a difficult pupil; and I have heard that you’re a good teacher,” she teased.

  Though blushing and tongue-tied, I still refused to be baited.

  “So—” I began, trying to gain control of the conversation—and myself, “what is this special, oh-so-important, impossible-to-live-with job?”

  Mary became serious.

  “You don’t know what Wynn does?”

  “No. Why should I know?”

  “He’s a Mountie.”

  “What?”

  “A North West Mounted Policeman.”

  “I know what a Mountie is. I’m just surprised. I never thought . . .”

  Then, as if I finally had found the lever to release the nervous tension of the previous twenty-four hours, I burst out in laughter. “Julie would swoon,” I gasped out.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I was starting to recover from my laughing.

  Baby Elizabeth cried, and Mary rushed off to look after her. I was left alone with my churning thoughts and emotions.

  I remembered the words, “. . . I was beginning to think like a farmer,” and I thought that I now understood what Wynn had meant—at least a bit. A farmer certainly didn’t need to worry about his work conflicting with the taking of a wife.

  On Monday morning I wanted to spend time in the local library to search out some information I needed in my teaching; I asked Jon if he would drive me downtown well before train time. So he delivered me to the station where we purchased my ticket and left my suitcase with the clerk. I bid Jon good-bye, trying hard to explain just how much the weekend had meant to me. I now felt ready to return to my classroom.

  I walked the short distance to the library and began to browse through the titles. It was a small library so I had not bothered asking for help but went looking on my own. My eyes caught a rather unusual t
itle, The Origin and Meaning of Names. I pulled it from the shelf and flipped through the pages. I found “Elizabeth.” It was Hebrew, the book said, and meant “consecrated to God.” The meaning pleased me. It was nice to belong to Him.

  I cast a quick look around to see if anyone was near, then turned quickly to the W’s. I didn’t expect to find Wynn, but I did. “Old Welsh,” it said—“fair one.” I closed the book quickly and tucked the small bit of information away. I agreed with the book. I then thought of Mary’s teasing—that I should try to change Wynn’s mind about marriage. Against my will, the idea popped into my mind, I’d like to—I’d really LIKE to. With a smile I thought that I should have taken lessons in winsomeness from Julie. I had no idea how to go about changing a man’s mind—especially regarding marriage. I jolted myself from my reverie and set about searching for the information I needed for teaching.

  Boarding the train in plenty of time, I selected my seat. It appeared that the coach would not be very full. I settled myself for a long, tedious journey as we pulled away from the depot. This time I was prepared—I had brought along a book to read. Perhaps the stopping and unloading, loading and shuffling, would not bother me quite so much if I kept my mind occupied.

  I couldn’t concentrate on my book. I found myself staring out of the window watching the slowly passing landscape and the bustle of activity in the small towns where we stopped to exchange passengers and cargo. As we pulled out of Red Deer, I decided to take a walk through the coach and stretch my legs.

  When I stood up and looked down the car, I discovered that I had been sharing the car with the Delaneys. I attempted to quietly sit back down before I was spotted, but Lydia noticed me. She waved and I returned her greeting, and then she beckoned me to come and join them. I didn’t see how I could politely refuse. Wynn rose to his feet as I approached them, and he motioned for me to take his seat beside Phillip, Jr., facing Lydia and Phillip, Sr. I had not met the elder Phillip before. It would have been easy to tell that he and Wynn were brothers, even though Phillip was pale from his hospital stay and was shorter and fairer than Wynn. Lydia was beside herself with joy; it was plain to see that she had missed her husband terribly, and I imagined the strain it must have been on her. No wonder there had been so many weekend trips to Calgary. It seemed strange to me that Phillip had never mentioned his father, but perhaps that was the way the small boy had determined to handle his anxiety. In fact, I had never heard him refer to his Uncle Wynn either, though he certainly seemed to think highly of him.