When Calls the Heart Read online

  “My scalp, complete with its hair, is quite safe from the Indians,” I had assured Julie, but I will admit that she made me shiver a few times. She had nodded solemnly and informed me that I was probably right and it was all due to the fortunate fact that the West now had the North West Mounted Police. According to Julie, they were the West’s knights in red-serge armor, and Calgary abounded with them. Should the need ever arise, a lady had only to call, and Red Coats would come running. Judging from the sparkle in Julie’s eye as she described this scene, I would have expected her to avail herself of their services quite regularly.

  Julie had also claimed that Calgary was a land of perpetual blizzard. It stopped snowing only long enough to allow an occasional “chinook” to blow through, and then the cold and neck-deep snow would again take over.

  Calgary was now only minutes away, according to the conductor, and on this August afternoon, with the hot sun beating down unmercifully upon the stuffy coach, I realized that Julie had been wrong at least on this one point—unless, of course, this was just one of those chinooks. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if Julie may have been mistaken about some other “facts” as well. I would soon see. In my impatience I stood up to pace the floor.

  There really wasn’t much room for walking, and I got the impression that my stalking back and forth in the narrow aisle was irritating to some of the other passengers. I smiled my sweetest smile at those nearest to me. “After sitting so long, I simply must work some of the knots out of my muscles before we reach Calgary,” I explained. I hoped that they didn’t realize it was in reality nerves rather than stiffness that drove me from my seat.

  I walked to the end of the aisle and was nearly hit by the door when it swung open before the returning conductor. He looked at me with a startled expression and then got on with his job which was at this point to call out in a booming voice, “Calgary!—Calgary!” He passed through the car and into the next, still calling.

  A bustle of activity followed in his wake as people gathered their belongings, said good-byes to new acquaintances, donned jackets or shawls, and put on bonnets or hats that had been laid aside. I used the reflection from the window glass to adjust my new green bonnet.

  The train blew a long, low whistle. One could almost feel exhausted thinking of the amount of steam necessary to produce such a sound. Then the clickity-clack of the wheels began to slow down till I was sure that if one would choose to concentrate on the task, each revolution could be counted. We were now traveling past some buildings. They appeared rather new and were scattered some distance apart. Most were constructed of wood rather than the brick or masonry which I was used to back home. A few of the newest ones were made of sandstone. The streets were not cobblestoned, but dusty and busy. Men and, thankfully, some women too, hurried back and forth with great purpose. The train jerked to a stop with a big hiss from within its iron innards like a giant sigh that the long journey was finally over. I sighed too as I stood and gathered my things from the seat where I had piled them neatly together. Working my way toward the door, half-step by half-step in the slow-moving line of fellow passengers, I couldn’t keep my eyes from the windows. It was all so new, so different. I was relieved to spot many men in business suits among the waiting crowd. It was a comfort of sorts to realize that the men of the West were not all rough-and-ready adventurers.

  And then through the crowd, seeming head and shoulders above all others, I noticed two men in red tunics and broad-brimmed Stetsons. Julie’s Mounties! I smiled to myself at the thought of her excitement if she were here! Even their walk seemed to denote purposefulness, and though people nodded greetings to them, the crowd seemed to automatically part before them out of respect. I bent down a bit so that I could get a better view of them through the window. I was immediately bumped from behind by a package tucked beneath the arm of a rough-looking man with a cigar in his mouth. I flushed and straightened quickly, not daring to meet his eyes.

  When it was finally my turn, I carefully stepped down, grateful for the assistance of the conductor with all my parcels and a small suitcase. When I had negotiated the steps, I looked up into the smiling eyes of an almost stranger—yet somehow I knew instantly that it was Jonathan. Without a moment’s hesitation I dropped what I was carrying and threw my arms around his neck.

  Chapter Four

  Calgary

  Despite my proper upbringing, I was sorely tempted to stare at everything that our automobile passed on the way to Jonathan’s house. Never in my life had I seen a town like Calgary! Cowboys on horseback maneuvered expertly between automobiles and pedestrians in the dusty street. Two ladies, their long skirts lifted daintily, crossed quickly in front of us. And there was a real Indian, in dark coat and formal hat with a long braid down his back! I tried desperately not to let my extreme fascination at the interesting activities around me show, but I guess I failed.

  Jonathan chuckled, “Calgary is a show-off, isn’t it, Elizabeth?” As the color moved slowly into my cheeks, he courteously turned his eyes back to the road so as not to embarrass me further. He had not lived so long in the West as to forget that it was improper for a lady to stare.

  “Do you know that I’ve lived in this town for almost sixteen years, and I still can’t believe what is happening here?” Jonathan continued matter-of-factly. “It seems that every time I drive through the streets another building has sprung up. It reminds me of when I was a child at Christmastime. I went to bed at night with the familiar parlor as usual; but in the morning, there was a bedecked tree, festooned with all manner of strings and baubles and glittering candles. The magic of it! No wonder children can easily accept fantasy. And this is almost like a fantasy, don’t you think, Elizabeth?”

  I could only nod my agreement, too spellbound to speak. I turned my head to glance back over the way that we had just come. We had climbed steadily as we left downtown Calgary. Jonathan’s home must be up on a hill rather than in the valley beside the river.

  As I looked back down the street, I could see the buildings of Calgary stretched out across the flatness of the valley. Water sparkled in many places, reflecting the afternoon sun. I looked in awe at the scene and finally found my voice.

  “The river—it seems to twist and turn all around. Everywhere I look, there seems to be another part of the stream.”

  Jonathan laughed. “There are two rivers that merge down there. They’re called the Bow and the Elbow.”

  “Unusual names.”

  “Yes, I guess they are. You’ll find a number of strange names in the West.”

  I smiled. “Well,” I conceded, “I will admit that we have our share of strange names in the East, too.”

  Jonathan nodded, a grin spreading over his face, and I could almost see names like Trois-Rivieres and Cap-de-la-Madelaine flitting across his mind.

  “Tell me about Calgary.” I just couldn’t wait to learn something about this intriguing town.

  Jonathan gave me an understanding smile.

  “Where do I start?” he asked himself. “Calgary was founded as a fort for the North West Mounted Police in 1875—not so long ago, really. It was first named Fort Brisebois, but Macleod, the commander, didn’t care much for that name, I guess. He renamed her Fort Calgary—this is a Gaelic word, meaning clear, running water—after his birthplace in Scotland.”

  “Clear, running water,” I repeated. “I like it. It suits it well.”

  I looked again at the portions of the rivers that gleamed between the buildings and the thick tree growth of the valley.

  Jonathan continued, “After the railroad was built in 1883, people began to take seriously the settling of the West. It was much easier to load one’s belongings on a train than it had been to venture overland by wagon. And with the train, the women were even able to bring with them some of the finer things of life that previously had to remain behind.

  “In the earlier days mostly adventurers or opportunists moved westward, and though a fair share of those still came, many de
dicated men and women arrived each year hoping to make a home for themselves in this new land.”

  “It was still difficult, wasn’t it?” I questioned.

  “Fortunately for us, the Mounties got here before the bulk of the settlers. The new people at least had law to appeal to if the need arose—and the need often did. The Indians had already learned that the Red Coat could be trusted—that a law-breaker, no matter the color of his skin, would be brought to justice. The Mounties helped to make Calgary, and the area around it, a safe place for women and children.”

  “That doesn’t sound like the West which Julie told me about.”

  “Oh, we’ve had our skirmishes, to be sure, but they’ve been few and far between; and the North West Mounted Police have been able to restore control rather quickly.”

  “Have the Indians been that bothersome?” I asked, wondering if Julie had been right after all.

  “Indians? Can’t rightly blame the Indians. Most of the trouble comes from the makers of fire-water.”

  “Fire-water?”

  “Whiskey. Well, I guess it can’t really be called whiskey, either. It was known more often as—pardon me, please—as ‘rot-gut.’ It had an alcohol base, but the brewers threw in about everything they could find to give it taste and color—pepper, chewing tobacco, almost anything. Don’t know how anyone could drink the stuff, but some braves sold furs, their ponies—even at times a squaw—just to get hold of a few bottles.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “It ruined many of the choicest young Indian men. Threatened whole tribes, at times. Some of the chiefs saw the danger and hated the rotten stuff, but they were hard put to control its evil. Wicked, horrible stuff! A real disgrace to the white men who peddled it at the expense of wasted, human lives.” Jonathan shook his head, and I could tell that the previous trade of illegal liquor disturbed him greatly.

  “Anyway,” he continued, brightening, “the North West Mounted Police were organized, found their way west in spite of extreme hardship, and went right to work on the problem. Their first big job was to clean up Fort Whoop-Up.”

  “Whoop-Up,” I chuckled. “That’s even stranger than Elbow. Is that around here?”

  “Doesn’t even exist anymore. It was in Southern Alberta about six miles from where Lethbridge is now located. They say the things that went on there would make your hair curl. Old Johnny Healy operated the place, and his vile concoction could purchase about anything he wanted. One cup of his whiskey would buy him a choice buffalo robe. Old Johnny made himself rich. He gathered together a group of rascals with like leanings—rum-runners, wolvers, law-dodgers, and the like. He built himself a nice little fort for them all to flock together in. Nobody knows exactly how many were living there; in fact, the estimates seem to vary a lot, but, at any rate, it seems that there were too many. At times they went too far, drank their own whiskey and went on the rampage. It was some of the wolvers who eventually brought the whole thing to an end. They were led by a man who had, somewhere in his past, developed a real hatred for the Indians. He had already shown his hostility on more than one occasion. When a few bucks made off with his ponies, it wasn’t enough for him to try to get his horses back. Instead, he used it as an excuse to start shooting. He and his men murdered several Indians at a place called Cypress Hills—they didn’t seem to care that those Indians weren’t even of the same tribe as the horse thieves.”

  “Was nothing done?”

  “Word got back East, along with an urgent appeal to Prime Minister Sir John A. McDonald. He sped up the organization of the new police force for the West and sent them out as quickly as possible. That’s why the North West Mounted Police were hurried westward.”

  “To bring justice, law and order to the West?”

  “Right! From the start they had their work cut out for them. One of their jobs was to gain the confidence and respect of the Indians. After what had been happening between the Indians and the whites, you can believe that job wasn’t any small task. But they managed it. The white offenders were brought to trial, and the Indians began to see that they had friends in the Force who wore red coats.

  “The motto of the new Force was ‘Maintien le Droit’—‘Uphold the Right,’ and they worked hard and long to accomplish just that.”

  “And the Indians did learn to accept them?” I asked.

  “I guess Red Crow, the head chief of the Blackfoot Nation, sort of summed it up when he signed the treaty of 1877. This wise and cunning old man was speaking of Macleod at the time, but the same could have been said about the other commanders of the Force as well. Red Crow said, ‘He has made many promises, and kept them all.’ ”

  I had sat motionless, listening to Jonathan. What if Julie had been there to hear him? Thanks to all of the romantic notions with which she had filled her mind, she would be swooning at the very possibility of meeting one of the West’s great heroes in red! Even with my more practical outlook, I was stirred by this background on the Mounties and their part in Canadian history. Certainly many men and women—not to mention a nation—owed them a great debt of gratitude. I added my thanks to the already lengthy list, then promptly shifted my thoughts to the present, content to place the North West Mounted Police back in history where I felt they belonged.

  “How much farther?” I asked Jonathan.

  “I must confess,” he answered with a twinkle in his eye, “I have taken you on the scenic route. We could have been home several minutes ago, but I just couldn’t wait to show you our—” He stopped in mid-sentence and looked at me with concern. “You must be tired, Elizabeth. I’m afraid my enthusiasm was ill-timed.”

  “Oh, no. I’m fine. I’ve truly enjoyed it,” I quickly assured him. “It’s all so new and so different, I’m—”

  “Just one more thing, and I’ll hurry you home—Mary will have my hide anyway. She’s so anxious to meet you, and so are the children.”

  We topped a hill, and there before us was the most beautiful scene that I had ever beheld. I had seen glimpses of the mountains as the train rolled toward Calgary, but the panorama which lay before me now was indescribable. The mountains seemed near enough to smell the tang of the crisp air and feel the freshness of the winds. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I sat and looked and loved every minute of it. Jonathan was pleased. He loved the mountains; I could sense that.

  “That,” he said at length, “is why I would never want to leave the West.”

  “It’s beautiful beyond description,” I finally managed to say, exhilaration springing up within like a fountain. To live and move and work in the shadow of those awe-inspiring mountains was more than I had ever dreamed of. A little prayer welled up within me, Thank you, God, for the unexpected. Thank you for pushing me out of my secure nest.

  All too soon, it seemed, Jonathan turned the automobile around, and headed us down the hill and back into town.

  Chapter Five

  Family

  Mary was waiting at the door when we pulled up in front of the house and she ran to meet me as I stepped down from the auto. She pulled me into a warm embrace almost before my feet had a chance to properly settle on the ground. I was glad for the enthusiastic welcome and immediately felt I was with family.

  I studied the woman who was Jonathan’s wife, my sister-in-law. A wealth of reddish-brown hair was scooped rather casually in a pinned-up style. Curly wisps of it teased about her face and neck, giving her a girlish look. Her green eyes sparked with merriment and her full mouth produced the warmest of smiles. I smiled in return.

  “Oh, Elizabeth,” she exclaimed, “it is so good to meet you!”

  “And you, Mary,” I returned. “You are just as Jonathan described you.”

  She hurried me toward the house to meet the children while Jonathan busied himself in gathering up my belongings.

  We passed right through the main hall and out a back door to a shaded yard that seemed to be filled with shouting, wiggling small bodies. These were my nieces and nephew. At once t
hey made a dash for me; they were not at all reserved or inhibited. It did appear that they believed the coming of an aunt was a great event.

  When Mary had restored order, I was able to meet each one of them in a quieter fashion.

  At eight, William, the eldest, looked like Jonathan except that his hair had a reddish tinge which he had inherited from Mary. Sarah, six, was small and dainty; if any of the offspring could have been deemed retiring, Sarah would have been the one. Kathleen was next. This four-year-old looked like she should have been a boy; mischief sparkled out of her intensely blue eyes, and her pixie face was always fixed in a grin. Baby Elizabeth, named for my mother, had only recently joined the family and was much too young to take part in the present merry-making. She slept through the whole commotion.

  After a quick tour of the house, the evening meal was served, and we gathered around the table. Jonathan believed that the family should share this special time of day, and so the children joined us at the table. As I watched them clamber into chairs, I wondered just what Mother would have thought of the whole event. In our home, children, even quiet, well-mannered ones, did not join the adults at the table until they had passed their twelfth, or at the earliest, tenth birthday.

  Jonathan’s children proved to be well-behaved in spite of their high spirits, and we adults were able to converse, uninterrupted by childish outbursts. It was obvious that they had been instructed well as to how to conduct themselves. Maybe it is wise to start them young at the family dinner table, I decided as I watched them. I did wonder as I studied Kathleen just how long she would be able to sit primly like a little lady. She looked like a miniature volcano about to erupt.