Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel Read online

  By her third day on the train, Beth felt thoroughly miserable and desperately bored. The clouds had burst open again, and strong winds drove sheets of rain against her window, blocking out any scenery there might have been to help the passage of time.

  Then came Winnipeg, and it was in the worst of the weather that Beth faced a train change. She looked at the water streaming down the outside of her window and drew an umbrella from the crammed suitcase. It was foolish, she knew, to expect much protection from such a small, frilly contraption designed for fashion more than function.

  She gathered her belongings and found herself swept along with the crowd of passengers, down the narrow steps and across the train platform. Even the covered loading area, meant to keep passengers out of the elements, was not able to protect them from the rain driven crossways by the winds.

  Other travelers, their heads ducked beneath umbrellas, hats, and newspapers, were heading toward a second train. Beth fell in step and arrived at the end of the huddled line, awaiting a turn to climb aboard the next long row of cars. There too was the mother with her two boys, grasping at their hands and dragging them along behind a porter who carried their luggage.

  Even with her umbrella clutched tightly above her, Beth could feel the rain coursing down the back of her neck and soaking through her traveling suit all the way to her skin. The wind pulled wildly in one direction and then the other, almost whipping the ineffective umbrella from her hands. It was no use. There was nothing she could do but let the torrent soak in and endure the shivering. She folded the useless accessory and tucked it under one arm. Beth’s past experience with these late-summer rains often had included the threat of another round of illness.

  If Mother were here, what on earth would she say? “Elizabeth, you’ll be sick. For pity’s sake, ask for assistance at the train station. There are people whose job it is to carry your bags and see that you arrive safely. A girl like you should take full advantage of their services. There is no earthly reason to suffer difficulties. And”—she could almost hear aloud her mother’s repeated warning—“if you expect to endure life in the West, you shall need much assistance.”

  The very memory of such belittling words caused Beth to hoist the suitcase higher and step in closer to the others ready to board. Her eyes strained through the mist to read the numbers painted on the side of the train.

  She stared in shock—205? That is not right. She put her suitcase down and hurriedly reached into her jacket sleeve for the ticket Father had purchased. It says 308. Panic gripped her as she cast a look around. There were other waiting trains at the station.

  “Please, sir,” she called to a porter standing nearby. “Excuse me, please! I think I must find number 308.”

  The man took quick steps toward her and reached for her ticket. “Well, miss, that one leaves from the far end of the station.”

  Beth choked out a thank-you and grasped the handle of the suitcase. Just then she heard the man shout, “Darby! Help this young lady with her bag; see that she gets to the right train.” A young porter was by her side in an instant with a much larger umbrella. He took the ticket, lifted her suitcase effortlessly, and tipped his elbow out for her to grasp. Beth breathed a sigh of gratitude and clutched his offered arm as he held the umbrella over her. Perhaps Mother is right. It’s easier to allow others to assist. Yet it was disheartening to admit she was already failing at the capability she had hoped to demonstrate during her adventure west.

  “We’ll have to step it up, miss. Your train’s about ready to leave.”

  They hastened toward a second waiting train—the farthest away. It was a struggle for Beth to keep up with the porter’s long stride as he fairly pulled her along through the crowds. Her fitted tweed skirt allowed for only tiny, quick steps. The hurried clicking of Beth’s heels was swallowed up in all the confusion, noise, and rain.

  The man delivered her to the steps leading onto the proper train, and Beth reached for the next offered hand that easily drew her small frame up into the vestibule. She made a vain attempt to shake off the rain and pushed a stray strand of hair from her eyes, sure that the new hat purchased specifically for this trip must be ruined beyond repair. She could feel the left side of the velvet brim, now soaked through, resting on her ear. She knew she must look an absolute fright, but Mother had taught her to always be dignified, even in difficult circumstances. So she drew in a deep breath, lifted her chin, and moved into the passageway. A third porter was standing ready to carry her suitcase and see that she found the right sleeping compartment.

  “Oh,” she exclaimed, “I didn’t tip the other porter—”

  “Not to worry, miss, we’re just doing our jobs,” the current attendant assured her, but she wished she had been more aware and had thought to express her gratitude properly.

  At last she was able to close a door between herself and the rest of the world. She collapsed against it for a moment, not certain how to proceed. Just then the train lurched forward and only her hand grabbing for support from the nearby door handle kept her on her feet.

  Beth knew she had come perilously close to being left on the station platform. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Thank you, God,” she whispered. “I have no idea what I would have done had I missed this train!”

  In short order she had locked the passageway door, pulled the curtains closed, slipped out of her wet garments, dried herself as best she could with a small linen hand towel she found hanging at the washstand, wrestled her suitcase open, and donned dry clothing. Even then Beth could not stop shivering. She dug through the case once again and found a sweater to add to her outfit. The pieces did not work together, but there was no one near enough to criticize.

  Next she had to determine what to do with the sopping clothing she had removed. But there seemed to be no ready answer. The washbowl was far too small to contain it all, and there was no other receptacle of any kind. So, holding each piece well away to avoid soaking wet patches into her dry clothes, she folded them neatly, tucking personal garments discreetly in the middle of the pile, and laid the bundle on newspaper pages that she’d spread over one corner of the floor. She had tried to imagine what her mother would do, but had concluded that Mother would never be found in such an out-of-control situation. Beth could only hope the train had some type of laundry service.

  Reminded of her mother, Beth rummaged again in the suitcase to bring out the familiar bottle of Scott’s Emulsion. Had Mother been present, she would certainly have insisted Beth take a draught now of the dreadful fluid. Mother had long ago concluded that Beth’s bout with whooping cough had rendered her lungs unable to properly supply oxygen to her body and that this was causing her many ailments—even her small stature. It wasn’t as if any doctor had pronounced such a conclusive diagnosis, but no one doubted Mother’s veracity. And armed with that verdict she had set out to find the right medicines and tonics and elixirs to bring Beth to a state of perfect health. Beth could remember the dreaded spoon being held to her mouth each night, carrying some new smelly, ill-tasting concoction. It made this current adventure all the more unexpected that Beth, then, would be the one of the three sisters to brave a journey alone so far from home. But even here she surrendered to Mother’s prescribed treatment.

  Tucking the bottle away, she dropped to the seat and looked around for something to pass the time and help her relax. Reading came first to mind. But she had already finished the books she had packed in her suitcase. With a glance toward the corner, she bemoaned the fact that she had rendered the courtesy newspaper useless. All her other books except her Bible had been packed in the trunks that had been checked—

  The trunks! Would they have been sent to the wrong train? Beth’s mind whirled in panic. She took a deep breath to calm herself and sort through what she knew. Father had placed her trunks together on a cart at the platform in Toronto, and they had been wheeled away by a porter. Father had told her they were “checked through.” So they should have been transferred to the proper tra
in, probably before she herself had managed to arrive there. She blew out a long breath of relief.

  She considered spending some time reading her Bible. But she was sure she lacked the proper frame of mind right then, so she settled herself onto the padded velvet seat and tucked her feet up beside her. Drawing the window curtain back, she cast a glance outside, finding only the river of rain still streaming down the glass panes.

  No diversion there, she concluded. She felt rather tired after her chase across the station, so she leaned back against the seat and let her mind wander. She much preferred to be alone with her thoughts just now and focused her mind back toward her childhood memories—hoping to overshadow the recent nightmare with happier recollections.

  It was a simple matter of remembering Julie. It seemed to Beth that no one could deny the charms of the new baby sister who’d arrived about a year after William’s death. The chubby cherub burst into the world smiling and laughing. Every chance Beth was given she asked to hold the new baby in her bundle of blankets, though sometimes she was only allowed to sit very close to Mother and offer one finger to the plump curling fist of her tiny sister as she nursed.

  However, Mother often let Beth stand beside the crib and sing lullabies until Julie drifted off to sleep. Beth recalled with fondness how she had also been permitted to place a toy or dolly next to Julie, where she could look at it and smile. But Mother would chide Beth whenever she discovered all the toys lined up inside the walls of the crib like soldiers keeping watch over their sleeping baby. The thought brought a tightness to Beth’s throat even now. She remembered how closely they had all guarded Julie.

  In time Julie began to walk and talk. From that moment on there seemed for Beth to be no memory in which the two of them were not together. They played together in the nursery and almost always shared nicely. When Julie demanded a toy that Beth had already claimed, it was not so very difficult to give it up for the sake of her young sibling, particularly because doing so always made Mother smile approvingly.

  Even while they were very young, Beth, Julie, and big sister Margret enjoyed most the pleasure of being read to. Together with Mother, or with Father whenever he was present, they shared tales of all the talking animals in Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories and imagined the chaotic world of Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. They read too from a book of Bible stories illustrated for children, growing familiar with the lives of Father Abraham, and brave Daniel, and kind Jesus. And after just a few sessions spent with Father, Beth had quickly learned to decipher the letters of the alphabet and was soon reading on her own.

  A change in the train’s speed brought Beth back to her present surroundings. Familiar now with the train’s motion, Beth could sense the gradual slowing of the chugging engine while the effort of the brakes rippled from car to car in jerking fashion. Even though she would have loved to get out on firm ground for a short walk, she determined to ignore another stop.

  She closed her eyes instead to shut out the present and drew upon a favorite event from childhood. With a deep, longing breath, Beth summoned the feelings once more.

  She had been seven and Julie was three. They had been allowed to accompany their parents for the first time to the expansive home of the Montclairs, who were hosting a concert. Holding hands and sitting close together, the sisters were still and solemn with full-moon eyes at the display of bright brass instruments so near at hand trumpeting out their songs above the quivering of the strings. The loud boom of drums and sudden clash of cymbals always made the sisters tremble just a little. But in spite of the moments of startling crescendo, Beth was so enthralled by the music she could hardly breathe. She could almost hear it echoing now despite the thrum of the train’s engine.

  The very next day young Auntie Elizabeth had arrived at their home with a gift for Beth—a child-size violin she herself had used for lessons years before. The little girl’s rapture at the concert had not gone unnoticed, and soon Beth was struggling with every ounce of determination in her soul to coax out the same sounds that had come from the strings that night, lifting her eyes to watch her instructor as he bobbed his chin in rhythm with her labored efforts. Over time, his face seemed to grimace less and less while Beth played. She became quite proficient at an early age. So with her dual loves of music and books, it was as if for Beth that reading brought the whole world closer while music filled it with color and joy.

  She thought of her concert violin—the full-size version that Father had given her when she turned thirteen—and the discussion with him about bringing it along. It was packed away safely now in one of the trunks. Beth was glad to know that it was close, but couldn’t help but be concerned that it might be damaged on the trip. She chose to trust that Father had wrapped it well.

  Thinking back with fondness, Beth stirred on the confining train seat as she remembered again how very fascinating it was that she would now be following in Auntie’s footsteps, traveling to the West to teach. And even though Beth had later come to discover that her namesake Elizabeth was not truly an aunt—being the daughter of Father’s eldest brother Ephraim and thus an older cousin whom Mother insisted be addressed respectfully—Beth and her sisters chose to continue the term of endearment. She had rarely seen Aunt Elizabeth, who had moved west not long after the concert and rarely returned to visit, but Beth nurtured a delightful sense of pleasure at their similarities, particularly as she was offered the position out west.

  Beth contemplated again the remark she had overheard in the dining car. Perhaps childhood memories were actually fickle things, she thought now. That what one comes to understand about a particular person or event sometimes beguiles the mind, fashioning simple, unadorned truth into something slightly askew from reality. She wondered how many small alterations she had woven into her own memories over the years.

  Beth gave a long sigh and leaned forward for another look out the window. Still raining . . . From the hallway she heard the porter’s voice calling the dinner hour and prepared to make her way to the dining car. Maybe she would work up the nerve to invite someone to join her.

  She reached eagerly for her Bible and carried it along with her to the table. A beloved psalm assured her once again that her heavenly Father was with her even when her dearest earthly father could not be. She prayed for her family and settled in for more hours of travel, spending time between the dining car and her cabin.

  Another emotionally exhausting afternoon dragged on, and she was not close yet to her destination. The tight compartment in which she had already spent dreary hours offered small comfort. After supper Beth stood in the center of it and shook her head wearily. Too early to dress for bed and too late to spend any more time in aimless strolls, she chose to surrender the day and struggled to pull her high-heeled shoes from her aching feet.

  Just then there came a firm knock on the door.

  CHAPTER

  3

  RATHER MYSTIFIED, Beth stood to answer the knock. As she reached for the door handle, she remembered the obvious. It would be the porter, there to pull out the bed and prepare her compartment for the night.

  “Yes, one moment,” she called, turning the latch.

  But instead of the porter’s black coat, the doorway was filled with a bright red jacket. She stepped back and quickly realized it was that of an officer of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

  “How nice to see you again, Elizabeth.” The familiar voice came just as Beth’s eyes lifted to see a face she knew all too well. The wavy brown hair hung over dark green eyes eagerly fastened on hers.

  “Edward?”

  He bowed slightly. “Yes, ma’am, it is I.”

  “But what—what are you doing here?” She was so astounded—and mortified—she could hardly speak.

  Edward cleared his throat. “May I?” He gestured into the compartment.

  She would have rather denied his request, but her mother’s training forbade it. Beth heard her voice answer, “Yes, of course.”

  She drew back
as Edward stepped across the threshold, leaving the door wide behind him. His manners weren’t always what Beth would have desired, but in this case he was acting appropriately. “Your father requested that I accompany you during your travels—see you safely through to Coal Valley,” he explained.

  His explanation only left Beth more bewildered. “My father? He asked you to accompany me? Whatever for?”

  “I also have been posted in the West,” he hurried to explain, “and was traveling at this time. As a favor to your family, I agreed to see to your needs and safety.”

  Beth’s thoughts rushed back over the day—the thorough soaking while she struggled with her own suitcase and nearly missed her connection. “But—” she labored to find expression for her dismay—“then where have you been?” Immediately she wished she could take back the question. That was not the point. She did not want nor need his help.

  Sounding aloof and defensive, Edward replied, “I boarded this train at the last stop. My company already had other travel arrangements. But at the suggestion of your father, I received special permission to travel with you instead. I have gone to considerable trouble to be of assistance, I assure you.”

  Beth refused to soften her tone. “And I assure you, Mr. Montclair, that it was entirely unnecessary. I have been managing just fine.” Beth knew her words sounded weak and pathetic and, worst of all, were far from the truth. Just at that moment she remembered the soggy pile of discarded clothing still stacked in the far corner of the cabin. She shifted slightly to shield the sorry mess from Edward.

  Her conscience brought to mind the two helpful porters. What would she have done without them? But this?—this was too much. How could her father—

  “Nevertheless,” Edward was saying, “I intend to keep my word to your father.” He cleared his throat again. “I shall return in the morning at eight o’clock to escort you to breakfast. Is that acceptable to you?”