Where Hope Prevails Page 8

  Beth drew a slow breath. “I think God is always good no matter what we do or don’t do. And He loves each one of us very much too.” She sat down on one of those hated stumps in order to be at eye level. “Do your mothers love you more if you behave but less if you don’t?”

  A momentary silence as the children grappled with the question.

  “I don’t th-th-think so,” Jonah answered slowly. “Momma always s-says she loves me no m-matter what.” He thought some more, screwed up his face. “But m-maybe she’s happier when I’m g-good.”

  Beth smiled and nodded. “And that’s the way God loves, even more so, no matter what. But like your mother, Jonah, we can please Him by doing things that are kind and good, by obeying what He tells us in the Bible, and by making a fine place for the people of our church to meet. This is a place where we can learn more about Him, pray, and sing hymns of praise. Doing it together is good for us, and it’s something God likes a lot.”

  Their response was less than Beth had hoped. The children seemed to have lost interest. She prayed that the truth of this conversation over time would find its way into their hearts.

  “Wanna go in?” Ida suggested.

  “Yes, let’s.”

  The interior of the building seemed even larger, particularly so because it was still empty. Beth hoped for the sake of Bardo and Esther’s wedding that finishing it up would be done in time. It seemed impossible that the room would be ready for a wedding in a week.

  Beth was struck with the simplicity of the sanctuary’s platform—a wood podium on a small riser with no ornamentation or pageantry at all. No banners, no piano, not even a cross. I hadn’t expected much, she thought, but it seems so humble, plain. Will it convey a proper sense of respect? Almost instantly she heard a silent rebuke from deep within. It’s not the building, it’s what God sees in the hearts of His people. I know that. I do.

  Still, she couldn’t help but wish Esther would have a finer chamber in which to be married. And then she stopped abruptly as a mental image of her own wedding filled her mind, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes swept the room again. It’s so much homier than anything I had ever imagined. Homey is nice, but what will Mother think? What can be done to decorate it? Is there any amount of creativity that will be enough to soften this empty space?

  The only way for Beth to still her consternation was to begin immediately to plan how she might help Esther turn it into a wedding chapel.

  Esther and Bardo’s upcoming wedding brought a frenzy of activity. Extra men joined the builders to work long into the night to finish the church, and then the women took over. Beth turned a school art class into fashioning autumn finery out of leaves, dried grasses, and berries to attach on the ends of rows up the aisle, and the girls and some boys helped get them all in place. Beth also created a wreath for the front of the podium, and Frank made a small wooden cross to insert in the middle. Maybe it can stay here for a while, Beth thought as she surveyed the finished piece.

  Even as she continued with dusting and polishing to put the new sanctuary in order, she mentally worked through options for her own ceremony. The floor was stained a dark walnut with the window and door moldings painted white, contrasting against the pale green of the walls. The wooden pews were dark, and the platform was covered with a thin brown carpet. Beth clung to the hope that with enough flourishes, the interior would be considered quaint rather than rustic, and charming rather than plain. She felt a bit guilty at her relief that only family would be coming, considering the two thousand–plus miles on a dusty train. Particularly not Mrs. Montclair, who would never understand my decision to wed here . . . and, worst of all in her eyes, not to marry her Edward! she thought with a small grin. But looking out the sparkling new window at the splendid mountain views, Beth sighed blissfully. I don’t care. I’d rather be here.

  She wrote to Mother that evening, explaining some of the ideas she was developing, and requested that she might wear the special wedding dress still carefully wrapped and preserved in the carved cedar chest upstairs—the dress from Europe that had been passed down from Grandmama. Margret had looked breathtaking when she was married in the gown. And even though Beth was fully aware of how much it would need to be altered for her much smaller form, she had always dreamed she might also be given the honor.

  Margret, Beth sighed to herself as she finished up the missive, I wish we weren’t so far apart. I wish I could visit with you just now. You must be so anxious for this baby due in January. That’s not so far away. Oh, and what I’d trade to spend another day playing with your sweet little boy. She was more than certain Margret and family would not make such a daunting journey with a new baby.

  Beginning a second letter, Beth asked Julie to be her maid of honor and requested that she and Mother shop for two matching dresses in Toronto—one for Julie and the other for Marnie, whom Beth wanted for her second attendant. She had no doubt that the girl would readily accept. “Something tea-length in cornflower blue—but not too extravagant, nothing that would need to be fitted,” Beth urged in her letter. “And I would very much like it to be something Marnie might be able to wear again on special occasions.”

  April seemed too far away to bear. Beth felt for the ring on her finger. If only I knew when Jarrick might visit—if I could have a chance to talk with him about all the details, to tour the church with him and make plans. She hoped she hadn’t overstepped propriety in what she had arranged without him. And yet there seemed a thousand decisions still to be made.

  Who’s going to marry us? Surely Jarrick will choose Philip to be his best man, but then who would serve as minister? How many other groomsmen will he want? Will my own two attendants be enough? And if not, then who would I ask? Molly? Beth smiled affectionately at the thought.

  Each night found Beth wishing into the darkness that Jarrick would make a surprise visit soon. She forced her mind not to worry about where they would live after the school year was over. And she often asked God if He would please, please move Jarrick’s heart to stay in the West. But as she passed the tree stumps nearest to her stairs, she fought against troublesome worries that her persistent dream might be cut down like one of these evergreens.

  Beth told Marnie about her discovery of Penelope, and the girl seemed impressed with Beth’s fortitude. “Maybe we can make friends with her,” Marnie suggested. “I bet Miss Molly’d be glad to let us take some scraps from the chicken bin,” she said. So they began to leave bits of food at the foot of the stairs for Penelope. It took surprisingly few repetitions for the cat to regularly make her appearance just as Beth and Marnie were heading out the door in the morning.

  “Here, kitty-kitty,” they’d call. But Penelope would hunch in the bushes, waiting for them to leave. Each time one of them took a step toward her, the tabby would edge away with a low warning rumble in her chest. Another step, and with a whip of her tail she’d be gone altogether. Beth worried aloud that their offering might be rejected and that anything left would attract rodents from the nearby woods. But Marnie was certain the scraggly creature would always clean her plate, and she seemed to be correct.

  One morning Beth spoke toward the bushes, “I’m going to win you over, you silly thing. We’re going to be friends yet.” At the very least, Beth was grateful that she was no longer overcome by fear whenever something would go bump in the night—and that Frank had fixed the loose window screen.

  The fire in her wood stove was still a constant burden. Beth found the whole process easier now, but it was also easy to simply forget and neglect it. What a nuisance! How do mothers manage with so much other work to do? With Marnie’s help, Beth had become rather proficient at making biscuits and pancakes, eggs and oatmeal, but she had yet to master anything more substantial. October was passing, and Beth had prepared only three or four evening meals on her own.

  Marnie offered frequently to help with grading some of the papers after supper and to prepare materials Beth needed for the next day. A secret hope be
gan to stir as Beth watched the girl throw herself into each of these activities. Wouldn’t Marnie make a wonderful teacher? Oh, how I’d love to see her get a teaching certificate. That would change everything for her future.

  CHAPTER

  8

  MISS THATCHER, excuse me if you please. I have here a letter for you.” A tall, dark-haired young man stood in the classroom doorway, the stream of students exiting around him.

  “Why, Paolo,” Beth exclaimed, “it’s so good to see you! It’s been far too long. What brings you to our valley?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered with a wide grin and strode across the floor. “I have wanted to come here to greet you. But I have not found a right time. And then my papa, he let me come visit—and also to deliver this letter from the city to you.” His explanation tumbled out quickly, as if he felt the need to apologize for his absence. “I am working still at my job in Lethbridge, but very soon it comes to the end. And with the rest of our family, I will join Papa here soon. He is hurrying to make ready the house and I will help him for a few days.” His English had improved considerably since Beth had last spoken with him.

  Beth accepted the letter with a quick look at the sender. Jarrick! Her heart soared, and she tucked it in with her papers to take home. She motioned for Paolo to take a seat in the front row. The desk chair was too small, of course, and his legs stretched out far into the aisle. “I’m sorry to hear about your job in Lethbridge ending, but I’m glad your family will be coming soon. You certainly are looking well.”

  He laughed. “Mama says I’m more giraffe than boy.”

  Beth smiled at his little joke. “I have to say, Paolo, I was hoping to hear you had registered for school. Have you at least had a chance to continue your English studies on your own?”

  “A little,” he answered hesitantly. “I read at night as late as I can. But I am so tired, having worked all day. I often fall asleep. In any way, I am too old to attend school.”

  “Aren’t you still sixteen? Teddy and Addison are both older than you—they’re seventeen.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, “but I must help to provide for my family.”

  Beth knew that Heidi Coolidge, who was a widow, was certainly sacrificing to see that Addison was able to finish his education. “Maybe you could still write the exams by studying on your own. I could help you—”

  “Thank you, Miss Thatcher,” he put in quickly. “You are very kind.”

  By the way he shook his head Beth knew he had already dismissed the possibility. She would not pursue it, at least not now. “When does your family arrive?”

  “We don’t know yet. The plans keep changing. But my papa, he insists he will be ready for us as soon as we can come.”

  “I’m sure he just wants his family back together again. It’s been too long—over a year for him, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it will soon be two years. But my papa, he’s glad to drive for the company. He’s glad he can be visiting my mama whenever he is in the city.”

  They chatted for several minutes more until Paolo stood suddenly and excused himself. “I am to return now. My papa, he not allow I should stay too long.”

  Beth walked the young man to the door. “Please come again whenever you’re able, Paolo. It’s so good to see you. And greet your father for me.” She patted his arm. “I can’t wait to meet your mother, your family. I’m so happy you can all be together again. I hope they come soon.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  A new thought occurred and she said quickly, “You have younger siblings, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. A sister and two brothers.”

  “Then they’ll be able to come to school here. I’ll be happy to help them with English.”

  Paolo hesitated. “It could be so, Miss Thatcher. But as I have said, I don’t know when . . .”

  “Well, we’ll have to wait and see, I suppose.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, “we will wait and we will see.”

  With a tip of his hat he departed, and Beth hurried back to her desk—and the letter.

  My darling Beth, it began, I’ve just returned to Lethbridge, and I wanted to let you know I’m approved to pay a visit to you this weekend. I’ll arrive on Friday afternoon with Edward. He’s bringing his fiancée, Kate, who wanted to see the area. I also know that she wants to meet you. They’ll drive straight back after dinner, but I can stay until Philip drives out Sunday. I can’t wait to see you. It’s been far too long. . . .

  Warm tears filled her eyes so she couldn’t read more. Oh yes, it’s been far, far too long—almost a full month. She blinked away the tears and tucked the letter back with her stack of papers to wait until she was alone. She was determined not to risk being caught crying by Mr. Robert Harris Hughes.

  “Marnie,” Beth began as they worked together cutting out paper shapes for geometry class. “I want to host a meal on Friday evening. Can you help me?”

  The girl looked up. “Fer who?”

  “Well, for Jarrick and—”

  “Ya mean Jack Thornton?”

  “Yes, and Constable Edward Montclair and his fiancée. And Pastor Philip, I suppose. He’ll be here for the weekend too.”

  Marnie stared at Beth. “Ya only got two chairs.”

  Beth’s musings hadn’t solved that particular problem. “Perhaps I could borrow some.”

  “Where would ya put ’em all? Yer table ain’t big enough, yer room neither.” She gestured around the small quarters.

  “Well, I don’t know.”

  They went back to work again in silence. Finally Beth looked up once more. “We could have a picnic. It’s still warm enough.”

  “Well . . .” Marnie, with her practical mind, seemed to be evaluating the idea. “The sun sets pretty early. Can ya get ’em fed so soon if ya eat outdoors?”

  “You’re right, it’s dark early already. But they arrive in the afternoon. I think I can make that work. We’ll have to eat at five.” She hesitated. “It’s just that, well, you know I haven’t had a chance to cook very much.”

  Marnie kept her head tucked low over her work, but Beth could tell she was smiling as she continued to slice through the paper with the scissors. Without raising her eyes Marnie said, “I could help ya. It ain’t hard.”

  “Would you? I’d appreciate that so much.”

  “Sure.” She nodded. “I can teach ya.” She let the word hang in the air between them.

  Reaching out a hand, Beth gave the slender shoulder a playful squeeze. “Yes, darling, you can be my teacher for a change.”

  Plans fell into place rather quickly. Beth would serve a pot roast, which Marnie promised was simple to prepare—particularly important since Beth would be teaching during the day on Friday. She’d have as much as possible ready and waiting before that morning. However, her plan required that she rise even earlier Friday in order to peel vegetables, and it would mean dealing with the very temperamental fire. So much would depend on it not going out during the day. Beth hoped that there’d be opportunities during school to run across the street and check that all was well. How on earth does Molly know for certain her meat will be cooked properly after church every week, and with so many extra mouths to feed? I had no idea how hard this is!

  By Wednesday Beth alternated between periods of great confidence and terrible doubt. Marnie had helped make two pies—one apple and one custard. These had turned out beautifully, though they’d left a terrible mess in the oven which required much scraping to clean and smelled awful as the residue burned away. On Thursday they worked together to make a pan of rolls. This time the cleanup was manageable.

  Before school Friday morning, Marnie was exclaiming about the meal plans as she set a reading book on each desk. “Yer almost ready now. All the hard parts is done. Won’t Constable Thornton be surprised—and proud! Ya got a great big pot roast, vegetables a’plenty, rolls and pies and lemonade. That’s a meal fit fer a king. Leastways, it’s fit for two officers and a pasto
r.” She turned to smile, but then her gaze swept past Beth and her expression changed.

  “Miss Thatcher.” The authoritative voice came from the doorway between the classrooms. “May I speak with you please?” Robert Harris Hughes was standing in the opening, a large atlas in his hands. How long has he been there? And why?

  “Of course.” Beth laid down the chalk she’d been writing assignments with, dusted her hands together, and crossed the room, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. “How can I help you?”

  The familiar smile came in answer. “As you can see, I was returning your book. Here it is. Thank you for allowing me to borrow it. I found it very helpful for my class.”

  “You’re certainly welcome to it anytime.” Beth received the atlas from his hands.

  He cleared his throat. “I also wanted to give you a copy of the schedule for cleaning chalkboards that I’ve worked out for the girls. Since the young men are helping with the fire, I find it fitting that the young ladies also be given an assignment.”

  “Sir, I’m not sure that all of the girls will be able to do so. Most have chores at home—”

  “Well, I don’t believe there’s any harm in setting the schedule to include them. If their parents feel it’s unsatisfactory, I’m certain they’ll be in touch.”

  Beth took a breath and struggled for a suitable response. “Well, I suppose I don’t mind doing both the boards myself. It doesn’t take long to wipe them—there are only two.”

  “You see,” he insisted, “you’re making my own point. It won’t take the girls long either, and they’ll have a truly important sense of sharing the maintenance of our building together.”

  Beth rubbed at the binding of the large book, trying not to let her frustration show. “I’m sure you’ll hear back from some of their mothers.”