When Calls the Heart Page 6

  “Remember,” he finally grated out as we neared my brother’s place, “I am the school superintendent. I hire and I fire.”

  “Perhaps you would rather I returned to the East. I’ll just tell Jonathan—”

  “How absurd,” he cut in. “We’ve plenty of schools where teachers are needed. I’m sure that I’ll be able to find a spot suitable for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said stiffly. “That is why I came.”

  The appointment came by letter. The note was short and formal. After careful consideration, it stated, I was to be given the Pine Springs school. Enclosed was a train ticket which I was to use the next Wednesday. The train would take me to Lacombe where I would be met by Mr. Laverly, the local school-board chairman. I would have the remaining days to get settled before classes commenced on the following Monday.

  “Lacombe,” I said aloud. “Where is Lacombe?”

  “North,” said Jon from behind his paper. “Why?”

  “That’s where I’m to go.”

  The paper went down and Jon’s face appeared.

  “Go? For what?”

  “My school.”

  “That can’t be.”

  “It’s right here—even a train ticket.”

  “But it’s—it’s more than a hundred miles from here. That can’t be.”

  “Over a hundred?”

  “Right. There must be some mistake.”

  It hit me then. Mr. Higgins was seeing to it that I was a long way removed from Calgary. His revenge? Perhaps he was even hoping that I would refuse the placement and go whimpering back east. Well, I wouldn’t.

  “I’m sure that there’s no mistake, Jon,” I said evenly. “It sounds delightful.”

  “You mean you’d consider—”

  “Of course.”

  “Lacombe, eh?”

  “No, actually it’s called Pine Springs.”

  “It’s way out in the country!”

  “Sounds delightful,” I said again.

  “It’s backwoods, barely opened up. I’m sure there’s been a mistake. I’ll talk to Thomas.”

  “No, Jon, please,” I said quickly. “I want to take it.”

  At the startled and hurt look in Jon’s eyes I hurried to explain. “Oh, I’ll hate to leave you, and Mary, and the children. I’ve learned to love you all so, but really, it’ll be good for me. Can’t you see? I’ve been so sheltered, so—so coddled. I’d like to find out if I can care for myself, if I can stand on my own two feet.”

  “You’re sure?” Jon looked at my carefully groomed hair, my soft hands and manicured nails, at my stylish clothes.

  I understood his look. “I’m sure,” I said emphatically.

  “Well, I don’t know what Mother will think. You were supposed to be under my protective wing.”

  “Mother won’t need to know—yet.”

  “But—”

  “She’ll know that I am on my own, certainly, but as to the distance between us, that would only worry her unnecessarily.”

  “I’m still not convinced, but if you think—”

  “Oh, I do. I really want to try it, Jon.”

  Jon’s newspaper went back up to indicate that he considered the issue closed. I sat very still and fingered the ticket to Lacombe.

  “Say, I just thought of something,” said Jon, coming out from behind his paper again. “Pine Springs—that’s Wynn’s country.”

  “Who?”

  “Wynn, the fellow that you saw me talking to the other day when you did your shopping. Remember?”

  Did I remember! I tried to sound very nonchalant. “Oh, yes, I believe I recall the one you mean. He’s not from Calgary?”

  “Not really. He comes and goes. He was in that day visiting his brother Phillip. Phillip’s been in the hospital here.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  I could feel the excitement flowing through my veins, warming my cheeks. I was glad that Jon was behind his paper again.

  I gathered up my short letter and my now-welcome train ticket and muttered something about beginning my packing, then headed for my room.

  So Jon’s friend Wynn was from Pine Springs. Perhaps when I reached Pine Springs I would have the pleasure of meeting him. Jon had not introduced me to him, even though he had been given the perfect opportunity. If I understood my brother’s little code, this meant that Wynn was single. I smiled softly.

  You silly goose! I scolded myself. You’re acting in a manner that even Julie would declare to be childish. Stop this nonsense this minute! I honestly don’t know what has come over you.

  Still, I couldn’t help but whisper as I fingered the train ticket, “Thank you, Mr. Thomas Higgins.”

  Chapter Eight

  The New School

  The time drew near for my trip to Lacombe, and I felt both excited and sad. I would miss my newly found family; Jon and Mary had become very dear to me, and the children were all so special. William hovered nearby to see how he might help, and Sarah looked ready to cry the entire time that she watched me pack. Kathleen insisted upon helping me fold the green emerald velvet as I returned it to its tissues; she expressed her sorrow that I hadn’t even worn it during my stay.

  I held Baby Elizabeth for the last time, and she gave me the most endearing smile. I kissed her soft dimpled cheeks and a tear or two trickled down my own.

  Mary was forever reminding me that I would be welcome in their home at any time. “Please,” she begged, “come whenever you can, even if it’s only for overnight.”

  I promised that I would try.

  “And should you find—”

  “Everything will be fine, I’m sure.” I knew that she was giving me an invitation to flee back to her if I found my situation unsuitable. I appreciated her concern, but I didn’t want to be a baby. I suppose, too, that I wanted to show Mr. Higgins a thing or two!

  “But you never know what kind of a family you will be boarding with,” Mary suggested, her voice hesitant.

  “I’m sure that they wouldn’t place me in an objectional home,” I said, trying to sound confident. In truth, I had little faith in Mr. Higgins’ concern for my well-being. I did not know how far he might go in gaining revenge.

  “But remember . . .” Mary said, and I assured her that I would.

  Jon drove me to the train, and William, Sarah and Kathleen rode along. Kathleen, very serious, asked me, “Aunt Beth, will you ’member me if I grow up while you’re gone?”

  “Of course I will, sweetheart,” I assured her. “But I’m not going to stay away nearly as long as that.”

  She seemed comforted by my reply.

  “Wish you were gonna be my teacher,” William pouted.

  “Me, too,” Sarah echoed with great feeling. She was to begin school the next Monday and, though she was looking forward to it, she had some fears also.

  “So do I,” I said, hugging them. “But I promise I’ll write and tell you all about Pine Springs and my pupils there, and you can write me about your new teachers and friends.”

  They brightened at the thought of a letter.

  After the final good-byes, I boarded the train and chose what I hoped would be a comfortable seat. A cigar-puffing man across the aisle made me realize that I had chosen unwisely, but I was reluctant to move for fear of appearing rude. His wife finally demanded that he put out his cigar; she couldn’t stand the closeness of the “foul-smellin’ stuff.” I was delivered.

  I thought that the train would never reach Lacombe. We limped along, stopping at any place with more than one building. The train hissed and coughed and shuttled and groaned, seemingly forever, at these tiny train stations before finally rolling on.

  We spent an especially long time at a town called Red Deer. I watched with interest as dray wagon after dray wagon drove away with loads of freight—sacks of flour, unmarked crates, even a stove. At last, when I was sure that they must have removed even my luggage, we resumed our forward crawl.

  The landscape had changed over the miles. We had le
ft the prairies behind and now rolled through timbered land. Here and there were fields where settlers had cleared the land for the plow. Large piles of logs and stumps were scattered about, some of them surrounded by planted grain.

  The crops that had been sown were now nearly ready for harvest, and much of the talk of my fellow passengers was centered on yield, quality and the weather. It was conversation unfamiliar to me, and I found myself listening intently.

  It was well into the afternoon before the conductor came through calling, “Lacombe! Next stop, Lacombe.”

  I began to bundle together the items that I had brought with me. I carefully tucked away the wrappings of the lunch that Mary had insisted upon sending. I had been most reluctant to comply at the time she suggested it, but I was now glad that she hadn’t allowed me to talk her out of it. I had eaten every morsel of the lunch and been thankful for it. I brushed at my lap for unseen crumbs and stood to my feet to smooth my skirt.

  The train squealed to a jerky halt. I clutched my belongings and went forward to meet Mr. Laverly. Stiff and bedraggled after only these few hours on the train, I had difficulty imagining how I had endured the four days it had taken me to journey from Toronto.

  As I descended the steps, my eyes searched hastily about for a man that looked like a Laverly. I easily spotted the one who had been sent to meet me; he was the other nervous person on the platform. I introduced myself, and he suggested that I might like a cup of coffee before we started out. He would stay and load my belongings. His daughter, Pearlie, was pushed forward with instructions to be my guide to the local hotel tearoom. I was glad to fall in step with Pearlie. The hotel was only a short distance, and she led me at a brisk pace.

  We found a table in the corner, and after we had placed our orders and I had caught my breath, we began to chat. I was pleased to find that Pearlie was not shy and offered information freely. I was anxious to discover any information I could about Pine Springs.

  “How do you like school?” I asked, thinking that this would be a normal question for a teacher to ask.

  “Fine, but I didn’t like my last teacher good as the one before. But,” she hurried on, after a quick check of my response to that, “least he was better than the one ’fore that.”

  “Do you have a new teacher every year?”

  “Most of the time. One I had for a year an’ a half once.”

  She shrugged it off as of no consequence.

  “How far is Pine Springs?”

  “Pa says it’ll take ’bout half an hour.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Don’t know. Never been there before.”

  My eyes must have opened wide at this reply.

  “You don’t live in Pine Springs?”

  “Uh-uh. Live here in Lacombe.”

  “But I thought that it was your father who will be driving me to Pine Springs.”

  “ ’Tis. Nobody in Pine Springs has got an auto, so Mr. Laverly hired my pa to drive you on out. Team takes a long time an’ Mr. Laverly said that by the time you got there by horse an’ wagon, you might decide to pack right up an’ head on back East. An he sure didn’t want that.”

  “I see.” I smiled at Mr. Laverly’s assessment of a lady from the East. “Then you aren’t a Laverly.”

  “Nope. We’re Ainsworths.”

  “You live and go to school here in Lacombe?”

  “Yup.”

  “Do you have any idea how many children attend the Pine Springs school?”

  “Never been any yet.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “It’s bran’ new. They jest built it. They been tryin’ to get a teacher, an’ Mr. Higgins never had one for ’em. They built the school two years ago—an’ no teacher. An’ then last fall, no teacher. Now this year they get a teacher. Mr. Laverly sounded real excited. That’s why he asked Pa to drive you out. My pa’s ’bout the only one ’round here with a good auto,” she added proudly.

  “That’s very nice. What does your father do?”

  “He’s an undertaker, an’ business has been unusual good—I heard him tell Ma. Says that she can even have that new washing machine that she’s been a’wantin’. Won’t need to use the old scrub board no more.”

  I smiled and nodded. “That will be nice for your mother.”

  Pearlie watched me carefully. As soon as I had finished my tea, she rose from her chair.

  “We best get back. Pa will be done loadin’ your stuff.”

  “Are you going with us to Pine Springs?” I asked, hoping that she was.

  “I gotta,” she stated. “I gotta help Pa start the car.”

  “You help? What do you do?”

  “I choke it an’ things, whilst he cranks.”

  We walked back to the station and found Pearlie’s pa pacing back and forth in an agitated fashion. Before him on the platform sat my trunks. I guessed by the look that the station master sent my way that he and Pearlie’s pa had already had words. Without any preliminaries, Pearlie’s father stated, “These’ll have to stay. Got no place in my automobile for freight like thet.”

  “But I need them!” I protested. “They contain my clothing, my—”

  “Can’t do a thing ’bout thet. I can take the luggage the you’re a’carryin’, but the trunks will have to stay here. Someone will jest have to come on in with a wagon an’ pick ’em up.”

  I could see that his mind was made up. Besides, he appeared to be right. There was no room in the automobile for my trunks.

  “I put yer other things on the backseat there. You can seat yerself there beside ’em.”

  I did as I was told. The station master was summoned with a wave and given instructions regarding my trunks. They were soon riding a cart into the small wooden building.

  Pearlie took her place behind the steering wheel and expertly pulled and twisted knobs while her father began his cranking chore. It took a good deal of hard work before the automobile coughed into action. He came dashing from the front, through the door, and bumped Pearlie out of his way, his face red and sweaty from his exertion.

  We began to chug our way carefully through the little town, avoiding potholes, pedestrians and teams. Dogs took pleasure in chasing this unusual conveyance, teasing and barking and snapping at the tires as they escorted us out of town. I held my breath lest we hit one of them, but Pearlie’s pa drove as though they were not even there.

  It was a long, dusty, bumpy ride. The road certainly wasn’t built for speeding, and Pearlie’s father couldn’t have been accused of doing so. But lest I sound ungrateful, I was glad that I didn’t have to make this trip by wagon.

  I looked for my beloved mountains, but from this vantage-point saw only tree-covered hills.

  We passed several fields that had been cleared from the timbered countryside, many of them holding a grain crop in various stages of ripening. Some fields grazed cattle or horses, and I even saw a few sheep. Most of the homes and outbuildings were of log construction; I found them fascinating.

  I was about to tap Pearlie on the shoulder and ask how much farther when I remembered that she wouldn’t know either, having never been to Pine Springs before. About ten minutes later, we turned into a driveway and there stood a log building that I realized must be my school.

  We drove on past it, across the browning grass, and pulled up before a smaller building to the left and rear of the school itself.

  “Here we are,” Pearlie’s father called above the roar of the motor. It came to me that he did not plan to turn it off—he did not wish the unpleasant exertion of starting it again. I didn’t blame him.

  I must have shown my bewilderment, for he boomed at me, “The teacherage—where you’ll be stayin’.”

  Teacherage? I got my thoughts and my baggage gathered together and crawled from the car. My companions did not leave their positions in the auto.

  “I don’t have a key!” I wailed through the auto’s window.

  “A key?”

  He acted as if he had never
heard of such an object.

  “Yes, a key—to let myself in the house.”

  “Won’t need no key. Doesn’t have a lock. Good-day, ma’am.” And he tipped his hat, pushed the shift lever into gear, and the auto clattered and chugged its way out of the yard.

  I watched them go. Pearlie waved wildly, and I lifted my hand in a limp salute. When they had disappeared from sight, I gathered up my parcels and tried the door. Pearlie’s pa had been right; it opened readily to my touch, and I entered what was now my new home.

  I had fully expected that I would be a boarder in some neighborhood home. A funny little fear rippled through me. But I told myself not to be silly, that living alone would be much more to my liking and that I would be so close to my classroom.

  I learned later that the teacherage had been constructed over the last winter as an added incentive to Mr. Higgins to provide the community with a teacher. I was its first occupant.

  I passed through an entry into a small room which was a combined kitchen and living room. A bit of a cupboard stood in one corner and next to it was a very used stove. A fire was burning in it, so someone must have recently been in the teacherage. A teakettle sat on the stove and sent forth a merry, soft purr with its column of wavering steam. Something about that kettle suddenly made me feel much more at home. I felt myself relax. My eyes quickly glanced around the room. It also contained a table and two chairs, mended and freshly painted a pale green. Two stuffed chairs, with home-made crazy-quilt throws carefully covering them and a small table sitting between them, made my living room. A chest of sorts stood against one wall.

  I could see into a second room, and after making a hurried survey of the first, I quickly passed through the adjoining door to get a better look. This room contained a bed and a dresser. The furniture looked worn, but clean. The bed’s mattress looked lumpy, but a new cover had been sewn for it of freshly laundered floursacking. A brand-new pillow graced the spot where my head would rest; I wondered if its soft downiness came from a neighbor’s fowls. A colorful crazy quilt was folded neatly at the end.