[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart Page 7

  Realizing I was still carrying my bags, I returned to the first room and tumbled them into one of the overstuffed chairs. In somewhat of a trance. I crossed to the stove and checked to see if it needed more wood. I had never taken care of a stove before and hadn't the slightest notion how to go about handling it, but it seemed fairly obvious as to where the wood should go.

  I looked around me. There were some things set out on the table and I crossed over to them. A note caught my eye, and I stopped to read it.

  Dear Miss

  Thot that you'd be tired and hungry after yer trip so have left some things. We will call on you tomarra to see what you be needing. We hope you like it here. We are plenty glad to have you come.

  Martha Laverlv

  On the table sat containers of tea, sugar, coffee and salt, as well as cheese, fresh bread and pound cake. I crossed to the cupboard and opened the doors. A collection of mismatched dishes and pots greeted me. I lifted out a brown teapot with a chipped lid, a blue cup with a rose on the side, placed it on a pale yellow saucer, and set about brewing myself a cup of tea.

  While the tea steeped, I opened the other cupboard door and found staple items in small containers. Never having spent much time in a kitchen, I was thankful to see that they were carefully labeled.

  On the cupboard sat a pan filled with water and in the water stood three jars. One contained cream, another milk. and a third, butter. So this is how one keeps things sweet when there is no icebox. I poked a finger into the water and was surprised at how cool it felt.

  The chest standing near the door held a pail of water with a small dipper, a basin, and a tin container with a bar of soap. I poured a little of the water into the basin and washed my hands. Realizing that I had no towel on which to dry them until my trunks arrived, I went outside and shook the water from my hands and then walked back and forth, rubbing them lightly together until all the water had evaporated.

  My tea was ready when I returned. I sliced a piece of the fresh bread and spread on the butter, then cut myself a generous portion of cheese. Crossing to the stuffed chair that wasn't holding my belongings, I sat down with my repast. How good the hot tea and the fresh bread tasted! I couldn't remember ever having a more enjoyable meal.

  My mind was beginning to clear of its fog, and I studied my new quarters more critically. The windows had white, rather stiff-looking curtains. The table was covered with a white cloth of the same material, but it was decorated with crossstitching. The walls were bare except for a calendar. The rugs on the floor were small, bright rounds against the plainness of the bare wood. The furniture was definitely all secondhand. As I looked at it, I wondered about those folks who had given it up in order that the new teacherage might be furnished. Had it been a sacrifice for them? I set down my empty cup and again went to the bedroom.

  The curtains that hung there were of the same coarse material. Two more quilts were neatly folded and stacked on a wall shelf. They were all homemade, obviously pieced together from the better parts of worn-out garments. Skillfully and artistically done, they were very attractive to look at. I admired the handiwork and appreciated the time which had gone into them. Three rugs were scattered on the floor, one in front of the bed, one in front of the dresser, and the third at the door. A mirror hung on the wall, a crack running jaggedly across one bottom corner.

  So I won't be boarding, I again told myself. I'll be lining completely on m1v own, in this little pioneer log house.

  I returned to the lumpy chair and poured a fresh cup of tea. I looked around at my small, secondhand nest, feeling deep respect for the people who had worked so hard and sacrificed so much to bring me here. The sense of near-panic left me and a warm kinship with these pioneers began to seep into my mind and emotions. I felt almost happy as I thought about my still-unknown neighbors. I will lone your children, and I will teach them to the eery best of my ability, I decided then and there.

  I smiled to myself and sipped the hot tea. I said aloud, "Thank you, Mr. Higgins. You couldn't have given me a more pleasant situation."

  It wasn't until I went to find a basin and more hot water to wash up my few dishes that I discovered the covered pot of stew simmering on the back of the stove. It smelled delicious as I lifted the cover and stirred it, and even though my hunger had been completely satisfied with bread and cheese, I couldn't refrain from dishing myself a small serving. It was delicious. The rest would be my dinner for tomorrow.

  Chapter Nine

  The Wilderness

  I spent the remainder of the daylight in further exploration of my new domain. Besides the school (the door of which was firmly nailed shut) and the house, there was also a shed for the wood supply, a small barn and two outhouses, marked "Boys" and "Girls." A pump stood in the yard, and I realized that this was my water supply. Not being able to resist that handle, I tried it. It was a long time before the water made an appearance. When it finally did come and I pushed my hand under the stream of water, it was so cold that I shivered. I sat down on the small platform to catch my breath, touching my stillcold hand to my hot cheeks and forehead.

  The yard that I surveyed certainly needed care, but then, of course, it had been unattended. The tall grass had recently been cut but had been left to lie, browning where it fell. It smelled musty and insects buzzed busily about it.

  I peeked in one of the windows in the small school building and glimpsed some desks in various sizes and condition, a large, potbellied stove near the door, and a teacher's desk in front of a homemade blackboard.

  I did not go back to the teacherage until the sun had retired for the night. The sunset was a splendid display. I wondered if it was showing off for my benefit or if it was often that spectacular. Rarely had I seen such a gorgeous scene; the riotous colors flamed out over the sky in shades that I had no words to describe. Birds sang their last songs of the day before tucking in for the night, and still the darkness hung hack. Now, I thought, I understand the word "twilight. " It was created for just this time-in this land.

  The air began to cool, and the darkness did start its descent at last. I slowly began picking my way toward my small haven, wanting to sing aloud the song that reverberated in my heart, yet holding myself in check. This new world was so peaceful, so harmonious.

  I was lingering by a window of the school building, taking one last fruitless peek into the dark interior, when a bloodcurdling, spine-chilling howl rent the stillness of the evening hour. It seemed to tear through my veins, leaving me terrified and shaking. The scream had hardly died away when another followed, to be joined by another.

  I came to life then. A wolf pack! And right in my very yard! They had smelled new blood and were moving in for the kill.

  I sprang forward and ran for the door of my cabin, praying that somehow God would hold them back until I was able to gain entrance. My feet tangled in the new-mown grass and I fell to my hands and knees. With a cry I scurried madly on, not even bothering to regain my feet. The sharp stubble of the grass and weeds bit into the palms of my hands, but I crawled on. Another howl pierced the night.

  "Oh, dear God!" I cried, and tears ran down my cheeks.

  Howls seemed to be all around me now. Starting as a solo, they would end up in a whole chorus. What were they saying to one another? I was certain that they were discussing my coming end.

  Somehow I reached the door and scrambled inside. I struggled to my feet and stood with my back braced against the flimsy wooden barrier. I expected an attack to come at any moment. I heard no sound of rushing padded feet, only sporadic howling. But Julie had said that western wolves were like that-catlike and noiseless, silently stealing up on their victims.

  My eyes lifted to the windows. The windows! Would they challenge the glass?

  I forced myself to leave the door, checking first for some kind of lock. There was one, of sorts, but it was only a hook and eye. Totally inadequate against a half'-ton wolf.

  Julie had said that they were huge animals, with eyes that glared an
angry red, jaws that were set in a grin of malice, and hackles that bulged a foot around their neck, making them look much like sinister men in heavy, broad-collared beaver coats.

  With trembling fingers I fastened the hook on the door and rushed into the kitchen. What would deter them? Perhaps if I hung quilts over the windows, the smell of my warm blood would not reach them so readily. What had Julie said? Fire. That was it-fire. Fire was about the only thing that would hold them back.

  I rushed to the stove. It was cold and flameless.

  "I must get a fire started-I must!" I sobbed, and began to throw paper and kindling into the firebox. I knew that these supplies had been left for my use the next morning, but I needed them now.

  My fingers fumbled with the match as a new burst of howls split the air. They didn't sound any closer, but perhaps that was their strategy, just to throw their victims off' guard. Maybe some of them were sitting back and howling while others stole in quietly to make the kill.

  The paper finally began to flame, and I thrust the kindling carelessly on top of it. The hungry. newborn flames consumed it greedily. I placed the lid on the stove. To my dismay there was then no evidence of fire except for the small amount of warmth that was beginning to radiate from the black metal of the stove top.

  "I can't cover it-I can't, or it will be no protection at all," I told myself'.

  I removed the lid again. The flames were robust now, and I fed them more wood.

  Smoke began to seep into the room, and as I huddled over the stove, as close to the flames as I dared, I began to cough. I pulled the handkerchief from my skirt pocket and covered my mouth. It was then I realized that my dress was ripped and hanging limply about my waist. I had nearly severed the skirt from the bodice. It must have happened during my frantic crawling.

  I continued to feed the fire and huddle over it, coughing and crying into the woodsmoke. Suddenly I realized that it had been several minutes since I had heard a wolf howl. Was it a trick? Had they moved on, or were they just coaxing me away from the flames? I now wished that I had studied more about the habits of the wilderness creatures, like Julie had insisted. It had been foolish of me to venture into the wilds unprepared. Why, I didn't even have a gun or know how to use one.

  My pounding heart sounded loud in the new stillness. I heard an owl hoot a few times. then it too seemed to move on. Still, I remained by the fire, not even daring to move to the window to look outside.

  A harvest moon soon hung in the sky. I could tell by the brightness that it was full and orange like an autumn pumpkin. I stayed where I was and, between fits of coughing, stared at the shadows surrounding the trees at the far side of the yard. I could see plainly through the window as the moon rose higher and higher in the sky, but though I watched until my eyes ached with the strain, I saw nothing move. And then, to my amazement, two deer moved fearlessly out of the shadows and into the open yard. They began to feed, unconcerned, upon the scattered, mown grass. This was my first encouragement. Surely the deer wouldn't walk out boldly if the wolf pack was still around. But could the wolves so conceal themselves that even the deer couldn't detect them? Downwindwasn't that it? The killer stalked his prey from downwind. Was there a wind blowing? Again I strained my eyes and my ears, but not a leaf shivered: I could not even hear a flutter in the stillness of the night.

  I continued to feed my fire. The smoke in the room was almost unbearable now. I could not afford to leave the lid off the stove a minute longer or I would surely suffocate. Even with my handkerchief and the hem of my dress over my nose and mouth, I could scarcely stand to breathe the air of the room. My eyes watered until my handkerchief was soaked.

  What could I do? To close the lid meant that my fire could not be seen, but to open the lid meant that I would soon be driven from the cabin. Perhaps that was what the wolves were waiting for. Maybe they knew that I could not endure the smoke-filled room much longer. Maybe they were gathered around my door at this very instant, waiting for me to stagger from the house and into their waiting jaws. I replenished the fire and closed the lid.

  The minutes ticked slowly by. It was a long time until I was brave enough to step away from the stove. I was still struggling with some way to insure survival. The lamp, I thought suddenly. The lamp might do as a fire substitute.

  I fumbled in the darkened room until I found the lamp and the matches. When the small flame flickered up, I beheld a room blue with smoke. No wonder I was having trouble breathing.

  I looked around the room in dismay. There was nothing available for my defense, and it was very late. No one at this hour would be going by on the road that ran by my door. I guessed that, according to where the moon now hung, the night was half over. I ached with tiredness and fear, and my hands and knees stung from their scratches and bruises. What could I do?

  It suddenly dawned on me that there was nothing that I could do, and that it was foolish to pretend to defend myself.

  I placed more wood in the stove, set my lighted lamp on the table by the window, and went to my bedroom. Somewhere in my few belongings I had a nightgown, but I didn't bother searching for it. I closed the curtain and slipped my torn and soiled dress over my head. I left it lying where it fell and dropped on top of it one of my petticoats. Still wearing the other, I moved to the bed and spread the quilt over it. I had never slept without sheets before, and under different circumstances it might have bothered me to do so. It did not bother me now. I was about to lower myself onto the bed when I remembered the clean floursacking over the mattress. I stopped only long enough to gather up the skirt of my crumbled dress and carefully wipe my hands and feet on it. Then I lay down and pulled the quilt right over my head.

  "Lord," I prayed, "I've done all that I know to do. You'll have to take over now."

  The stuffiness under the quilt was no better than the smoke of the room. I was soon forced to uncover my nose so that 1 might get some air. Somehow I managed to cough myself to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Lars

  When I awakened the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky. I woke up coughing, and it took me a few minutes to regain my bearings and realize what had happened. One glimpse of my garments lying in a heap on the floor, and it all came back to me.

  The panic-stricken fear was gone. Julie had informed me also that wolves do not prowl around in broad daylight. I pushed back the quilt and moved my feet to leave my bed; stiffness and pain stopped me. I was instantly reminded of my bruised knees and realized that I should have properly cared for them before retiring. I slowly sat up and pulled up my petticoat to examine my wounds. The scratches were red and swollen but none appeared to be deep. A few days of healing would be all that was needed. I turned over my hands and looked at them, and found the same to be true. But I was shocked at their filthiness. Dirt-streaked and soot-smudged, I shuddered to think that I had actually gone to bed in such condition.

  Crawling slowly and painfully out of bed, I limped around to open all of my windows in an effort to clear out the stubbornly clinging smoke. Then I washed myself as thoroughly as I could in cold water and dried myself on the cleanest portion of my soiled dress.

  My scratches stung as I soaked the dirt out of them with the bar of soap and patted them dry. I wished that I had been sensible enough to bring some kind of ointment with me. Having none, I decided to try a small amount of cream from that jar that had been provided for my table. It did soothe the cuts some. I dressed rather stiffly and did the best I could with my hair. It was badly in need of a good washing after my dusty trip in the Ainsworths' automobile and the smoke of the previous night.

  I had barely put things in order, built my fire and put on the coffeepot when there came a knock on my door. I had just prepared myself for a trip to the woodshed to replenish my wood supply. I had burned almost all of it from the big wooden box by my kitchen stove in my efforts to keep the wolves from my door. Mv, it must take a lot of wood to get the folks around here through the winter-with the wolves and the
constant blizzards and all, I was thinking when the knock came.

  I opened the door, and there stood a young boy whom I judged to be eight or nine. He was dressed in patched denim trousers and a freshly pressed cotton shirt. His blond hair was rather unruly, but his freckled face shone from its early morning washing.

  "Hello," he said, a shy grin trying to get past his wary eyes.

  "Hello," I answered, so glad to see him that I could have hugged him. He must have read the pleasure in my face, for his grin broke forth.

  "Come in," I welcomed him with a smile of my own. "I'm Miss Thatcher."

  He stepped forward awkwardly, timidly looked around for a moment, and then decided that he'd better get down to business.

  "Ma sent me over to see if I could help ya none." His words were thick with a Scandinavian accent.

  Some, my teacher's mind corrected, but I let it pass.

  "That's very kind," I said.

  "I can carry yer vood an' vater an' t'ings," the boy continued. Then he stopped and sniffed. "Smoky," he stated simply. "Havin' trouble vid ver fire?"

  "It'll clear soon," I assured him, not wanting to blame the dependable old stove, but not knowing just how to bring up the matter of the wolves, either.

  The aroma of the coffee made my stomach gurgle.

  "Before you start on the wood and water, would you like to join me for breakfast?"

  "T'ank ya, but I already haf my breakfast."

  "Then make this a lunch," I suggested, and the boy laughed.