When Calls the Heart Read online

  She carefully unfolded it now. But rather than pass it to me as she normally did, she began to hurriedly read aloud. She passed quickly through Jonathan’s greetings as though she was anxious to get to the real heart of the letter. As I continued to sip my tea, I could hear the excitement growing in her voice. She suddenly slowed down, and I knew that she intended for me to hear and understand every word.

  “‘There is no end to opportunities here in the West. I know several men who came out with nothing and who now have great homes and flourishing businesses. All that one needs is determination, stamina and a bit of horse sense.’ ”

  Surely Mother isn’t conemplating urging Papa to move West was the foolish thought that popped into my mind. Mother read on.

  ‘I have given a great deal of thought to my family lately. It would be so good to have one of my own here. I miss you all so much. Especially you, Mother, but you know that.

  ‘It’s easy to think of the West as a man’s land, and so it is; but there are plenty of opportunities here for women as well. And I might add that we in the West realize that if we are to grow strong, we need fine young women to make homes for our men and ensure proper families for our future.’ ”

  I must have grimaced some as I thought, What a cold, calculating way to look at marriage. But Mother continued without interruption—I had missed a few words.

  “‘ . . . so I thought of Elizabeth.’ ”

  Confusing thoughts exploded in my mind. Elizabeth? Me? Me WHAT? Is he suggesting that I go bargain-hunting for some western shopkeeper or backwoods rancher for a husband? Not me! Never! Never! I felt that I would rather die first.

  The blood had drained from my face as I started to rise from my chair. “Never,” I whispered to myself. But Mother had paid no attention to my soft gasp and hurried on.

  “ ‘Teachers are sorely needed here. Many mothers in country areas still must tutor their children. But these women have little time and no training. We are anxious to change all of that. We want our next generations to be well educated, because in the future we hope to pick the leaders of our new province from among our own.

  “ ‘You say that Elizabeth is a fine teacher and a sensible young woman—and I am sure that she is. I talked today with a school superintendent whom I know. He is short of teachers, and some of those that he does have, he would replace if he could. He says that if Elizabeth is willing to come west, he would gratefully give her a position, and, as I said before, it would be so good to have someone from my family here.’ ”

  Stunned, I watched Mother’s eyes continue on down the page, but she was reading silently now. I got the impression that I was temporarily forgotten and that her thoughts were with her beloved son Jonathan somewhere out West.

  I was glad for those few moments to compose myself before I had to meet her eyes again. Jonathan was actually proposing that I go west. For what? Before he had suggested the teaching opportunities, he had written that they needed young women to “ensure proper families.” Well, I in no way intended to help them do that. Definitely not!

  I hoped that Mother wouldn’t be too hard on Jonathan when she replied to the letter. I knew that he had meant well, though he must have known that our mother would never agree to a daughter of hers, on the pretense of teaching, going off to the wilds to find herself a man. Even if that isn’t Jonathan’s intent at all, I reasoned, and he is simply looking for more teachers, I have a perfectly good teaching position right where I am.

  Mother finished reading Jonathan’s rather lengthy letter and again tucked it in her bosom. Her tea had grown cold, but she absently reached for her cup and sipped from it with a far-away look in her eyes. I was on the verge of, “Look, Mother, don’t let it upset you. Jonathan meant well, but you needn’t fear. I have no intention of taking it seriously . . .” when she lifted her eyes from her cup and looked directly at me. I expected a mild reprimand of Jonathan, but instead she said simply, “Well?” She smiled at me, and I could easily detect eagerness in her voice.

  I was startled and flustered.

  “Well?” I questioned back, wondering just what she meant. I couldn’t understand Mother’s rather extraordinary reaction to Jonathan’s preposterous proposal. Is she actually thinking that I would even give the matter consideration? How CAN she? Surely she must see that it is totally . . . And then in a flash it came to me. I was to be Mother’s love-offering to Jonathan, his “piece-of-the-family” presented to him over the miles. Somehow my going west to be with him would bring comfort to my mother’s heart.

  I loved her. She was a dear mother. Never would I wish to hurt her. I didn’t dare bluntly blurt out that the whole idea was outlandish and that Jonathan had been foolish even to suggest it. With Mother sitting there before me, the “well” still lingering in her gaze, I couldn’t say no. But could I say yes? Definitely not. But I could say maybe, until I had taken time to think this whole thing through, to sort it out in my mind, and to plan some way I could get out of it without hurting my mother.

  “Well—it’s—it’s such a surprise. I’d—I’d never thought of the possibility of leaving—of going . . .”

  My mind fumbled about for words but found none to still the look of concern creeping into Mother’s eyes. I willed my confused mind into control and hurried on.

  “It sounds—interesting—very interesting.” I tried to put some sparkle into my voice, but it was difficult when I could hardly get the words past my tight throat.

  Mother relaxed some, and her eyes began to shine again. It was a moment before I realized that they were bright with unshed tears. I felt almost panicky. I couldn’t disappoint her—at least not at the moment. I tried to swallow away the lump in my throat and forced a smile as I put down the fragile china cup.

  “It’s—well—I’ll—I’ll do some thinking about it and we’ll—well, we’ll see. . . .”

  Mother reached out and touched my hand. The tears spilled a bit from her eyes, wetting her dark lashes and dropping onto her cheeks.

  “Beth,” she said, “there is no one whom I would rather send to Jonathan than you.”

  I was touched, but frightened. I swallowed hard again, attempted another smile and rose from my chair. After a light kiss on Mother’s forehead, I excused myself. I had to get away, alone, where I could think. My whole world was spinning around, and I felt that if I didn’t soon get control of things, I would end up hurling off somewhere into space.

  I was willing to consider being Jonathan’s love-package-from-home, for Mother’s sake. Yes, I was even willing to consider teaching out West. But as for marrying some uncouth, unkempt man out of the frontier, there I drew a definite, solid line. Never!

  Later that evening, Papa knocked quietly at my door. I had been trying to read in bed, a luxury that I normally enjoyed, but somehow Jane Austen’s young women had failed to intrigue me.

  He walked to my window and stood looking out at the quietness of the city. The street lamps flickered softly against the gathering darkness. I waited for him to speak; but when he said nothing, I laid aside my book, pushed myself up to a sitting position, and asked softly, “You’ve talked to Mother?”

  He cleared his throat and turned from the window. He still didn’t speak—just nodded his head.

  “And what do you think?” I asked, secretly hoping that he would exclaim that the whole, idea was outrageous and unthinkable. He didn’t.

  “Well,” he said, pulling up a chair beside my bed, “at first it was a bit of a shock. But after I thought it through for a while, I began to understand why your mother is rather excited about the whole thing. I guess it could be an adventure for you, Elizabeth, and, it would seem, not too risky a one.”

  “Ten you think I should—”

  “Consider it? Yes, consider it. Go? Not necessarily. Only you will be able to decide that. You know that you are loved and wanted here, but should you want this—this new experience, we will not hold you back.”

  “I don’t know, Papa. It’s all so—so new
. I don’t know what to think about it.”

  “Elizabeth, we trust you to make the right decision, for you. Your mother and I have agreed to abide by it. Whatever you decide we want it to be what you feel you should do. Your mother, as much as she would love to see you go to Jonathan, does not want you to feel pressured to do so if it’s not what you want. She asked me to tell you that, Elizabeth. She is afraid that your loyalty and desire to please her might lead you to go for her sake. That’s not enough reason to make such a life-changing decision, Elizabeth.”

  “Oh, Papa! Right now I’m all butterflies. I never dreamed—”

  “Don’t hurry, my dear. Such a decision needs much careful thinking and praying. Your mother and I will be standing behind you.”

  “Thank you, Papa.”

  He kissed my forehead and squeezed my hand.

  “Whatever you decide . . . ” he whispered as he left my room.

  I didn’t pick up Jane Austen’s book again. I knew that now for certain I couldn’t concentrate on the words. So I pulled the chain to put out the lamp and punched my pillows into what I hoped would be a sleep-inducing position. With the covers tucked carefully about me, I settled down for the night. It didn’t work. It was a long time until I was able to fall asleep.

  Chapter Two

  The First Step

  The next few days were full of soul searching. I was so preoccupied that I sometimes wondered if I were actually teaching my students. They didn’t seem to notice any difference in me, so I guess that I was at least going through the proper motions.

  As she promised, Mother didn’t press me; but I could sense that she was anxiously waiting for my decision. I knew that she was praying too. I did hope that she truly was leaving it to the Father’s will and not merely pleading for Him to “send me forth.”

  I wavered—which was unusual for me. One moment I would think of all those that I loved: my family, my students, my church friends; and I would inwardly cry out, “I can’t go, I just can’t!” The next instant I would think of that part of my family in the West. Something invisible was drawing me to the older brother whom I had never really known. I also thought of all those children without a teacher, and I knew that they, too, wished to learn. I even considered the great adventure that this new opportunity held, and I would find myself reasoning, Why not? Maybe this is the answer to the restlessness within me. Maybe I should go. . . .

  Back and forth my feelings swung, like the pendulum on our grandfather clock.

  After considerable debate and prayer and thought, I felt directed to Joshua 1:9: “Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.”

  I repeated the passage out loud and felt my anxieties relax into peace. I would go.

  Mother was almost beside herself with joy and excitement when I told her. Julie begged to go with me. I loved Julie and I was sure that there would be many times in the future when I would wish for her company; but the thought of trying to watch over a girl like Julie, in a land filled with men looking for brides, fairly made me shiver. I was glad when Papa and Mother promptly told her no.

  Another month, and the school year came to a close. I waved good-bye to the last pupil, packed up all my books and teaching aids, and closed the door of the classroom carefully behind me for the last time. Blinking back some tears, I said good-bye to my fellow teachers and walked away from the school without looking back.

  I had let Mother tell Jonathan about my decision, and he seemed overjoyed that I actually was coming. He even wrote a letter to me, telling me so directly. His and Mother’s excitement seemed to be contagious, and my desire to see my brother was growing daily.

  Jonathan had passed the word to the school superintendent, and he, too, hurried a letter off to me. Mr. Higgins (the name somehow suited my mental image of him) assured me that he was pleased to hear that I would be coming west; and, his letter stated, he would give care and consideration in assigning me to the school that he felt was right for me, and he would be most anxious to meet me upon my arrival.

  The days, filled with shopping, packing and finally shipping my belongings, passed quickly.

  Jonathan had said that anything I could spare should be shipped early. The freight cars had a tendency to get shuttled aside at times and often took longer for the trip than the passenger cars. I secretly wondered if Jonathan wasn’t using this as a ploy, reasoning that the shipped-ahead trunks would be a measure of insurance against a girl who at the last moment might wish to change her mind.

  It could have happened, too. When the day arrived that Papa and I took my trunks to the freight station and I presented my belongings to the man behind the counter, the realization fully hit me that I was taking a giant step into the unknown. Somewhat dazed, I watched my trunks being weighed and ticketed and finally carted away from the checking desk on a hand-pulled wagon. In those trunks were my books, bedding, personal effects, and almost my entire wardrobe. It seemed to me that a large part of my life was being routinely trundled away. For a moment fear again tightened my throat, and I had an impulse to dash out and gather those trunks back to myself and hurry back to the familiar comfort of my own home and room. Instead, I turned quickly and almost stumbled out of the building. Papa had to break into full stride in order to catch up to me.

  “Well, that’s cared for,” I said in a whispery voice, trying to intimate that I was glad to scratch one more task from my awesome list. I think that Papa saw through my bluff, He answered me heartily but completely off the subject. “Saw a delightful little hat in that smart little shop beside Eatons. I thought at the time it was just made for you. Shall we go and take a look at it?”

  Some men despise being seen in a lady’s shop. My father was not one of them. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he had four daughters and an attractive wife. Papa loved to see his women dressed prettily and took pleasure in helping us to choose nice things. Besides, he was well aware of the fact that a new hat was often good medicine for feminine woes—especially when the difficulty was no more serious than a butterfly stomach.

  I smiled at him, appreciative of his sensitivity. Who would pamper me when I was away from Papa? I took his arm and together we headed for the little shop.

  Papa was right. The hat did suit me well; the emerald-green velvet looked just right with my dark gold hair and hazel eyes. I liked it immediately and was glad that he had spotted it. In fact, I decided right then and there that I would wear it upon my arrival in Calgary. It would give me a measure of confidence, and I had a feeling I would need all of it that I could get.

  As we rumbled home in our motor car, I again thought of what a thoughtful man I had for a father. I reached over and placed my hand on the arm of his well-cut suit. I would miss him. I used my handkerchief to wipe some tears from my eyes, murmuring something about the wind in my face. There was still a week before I would board the train. I didn’t need to get soft and sentimental yet.

  Chapter Three

  On the Way

  I fidgeted on the worn leather of the train seat, willing my nerves to quit jumping and my heart to quit its thunderous beating. I would soon be arriving in Calgary. The very name with its unfamiliar ring made my pulse race.

  I would soon be seeing my brother Jonathan. My memories were vaguely outlined in the shadowy figure of a tall, gangly youth with a strong will of his own. I would also be meeting his wife, Mary, whom he declared to be the sweetest and most beautiful woman on the face of the earth. And I would be introduced to four little children—one nephew and three nieces. I was prepared for them, having purchased sweets at our last stop. Children were easy to win, but would my brother and my sister-in-law be pleased with me? Was I ready to step out of the relative safety of the train into a strange, new world?

  My four slow-moving days on the Pacific Western, spent sitting stiffly in cramped train seats, and even slower-passing nights, had been gradually preparing me. I finally had b
een able to overcome my intense homesickness. The first three days I had missed my family to such an extent that I feared I might become ill. Gradually the ache had left, and in its place there now seemed to be only a hollow.

  As the pain had left me, I had been able to find some interest in the landscape, which seemed amazingly different from what I was accustomed. Jonathan had tried to describe the land to me in his letters, but I had not visualized the emptiness, the barrenness, the vastness of it all. As I gazed out the train window, it seemed that we traveled on forever, seeing hardly any people. Occasionally we did pass small herds of animals—antelope, deer and even a few buffalo, roving slowly across the prairie, and delaying the train once in a while as they lazily crossed the iron tracks.

  I had expected to see Indian teepees scattered all across the countryside. But in fact, I saw very few Indians at all, and they were almost all in the small towns that we passed through, looking very “civilized” indeed. I saw no braves painted for the warpath. Most Indian people moved quietly along the streets, concerned only with their own trading activities.

  Now we were nearing the frontier town of Calgary, the home of my brother Jonathan and many other adventuresome persons. What would it be like? Would it be at all modern? After I had made my decision to go, Julie had read all she could find about the West. Where she discovered all of her information, I never did learn; but at any hour of the day or night that she could corner me, she would announce new “facts” she had gathered. According to her, the West was full of reckless, daring men, so eager for a wife that they often stole one. (I wasn’t sure that she disapproved.) Julie painted word pictures of cowboys, voyageurs, miners and lumbermen—all roaming the dusty streets in their travel-stained leather and fur, looking for excitement, women, wealth and danger, though not necessarily in that order. And Indians—every-where Indians. Though most were rather peaceable now, she was sure they still wouldn’t hesitate to take a scalp if the opportunity existed. This irrepressible sister of mine had even dared to whisper that perhaps I should bob my hair so none of them would be overly tempted by my heavy mass of waves. She warned me that they might find my dark gold curls with their red highlights irresistible.