Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel (12 page)

L
AZY
WHITE
CLOUDS
drifted across the sky, promising a lovely Saturday. Beth spent the morning with Marnie, gathering some last items of produce from the garden. She had offered to assist also with the process of preserving it, but Molly shooed her out of the kitchen, insisting that Beth find some way to relax. “You’ve gotten yerself some awful busy weeks, what all with teachin’ and Bible club an’ fancy teas to top it off. ’Sides, Frances and me been puttin’ up the garden together for years. Kinda got our way of doin’ things,” Molly explained with eyebrows cocked and a meaningful grin.

Beth couldn’t help but laugh. “So I’ll just be in your way,” she teased.

Frances nodded from where she sat at the table, her knife working quickly to peel and chop the last of the onions for canning. “Aye, and two in the kitchen is more than enough, Miss Beth. Even if the likes of you be no bigger’n a penny.”

After hosting her second tea party in the dining room, this time for James, Bonnie, and Peter, Molly’s suggestion about
relaxing sounded awfully good. So almost by accident Beth turned toward the forest and began a walk.

She meandered downhill toward the creek. Using the same large rocks that Teddy and Marnie had, she crossed where it was shallow and wide, coming out on the far shore. It was easy then to find the deep, overhung spot from which she and the four youths had pulled out five large trout. She paused and smiled at the memory of the day, pleased about the opportunities to get closer to her students.

The day was warm, and Beth was pursued by a constant swarm of mosquitoes, but the peaceful sounds of water gurgling and birds chirping made up for the pesky critters around her head. The mountains provided a stately backdrop for the lush forest crowding down toward the broad rocky shore. The view reminded Beth of Mother’s stereoscope, and of pressing her head together with Julie’s to see the scenes in the viewfinder at the same time. She smiled at the memory and bent to pick a stalk of pale violet asters.

Gathering a wide variety of flowers for a bouquet, she stole along the edge of a clearing, her eyes cautiously searching around her for movement of any kind. She had never wandered so far alone. Caution and daring battled within her, yet she pressed on—always a little farther—exhilarating in the sense that she was the first to enter such a pristine wood.

A pair of chattering squirrels tumbled over each other, scampering this way and that in the woods as they gathered their winter fare. Beth followed them up the hill, having to laugh at their antics. When the two disappeared over the hill, she turned around to retrace her steps. But she could neither see nor hear the creek. For a moment she felt a small twinge of uncertainty—and then she told herself that as long as she
went back downhill, it should be easy to locate the water, cross over, and be on her way home.

A patch of light indicated another clearing, and Beth made her way toward it. Pushing through the underbrush and dodging the low-hanging branches, she struggled out into the open. This meadow was long and narrow, stretching across the edge of the hillside. From her vantage point she could see the most beautiful view of the valley below and the range of mountains beyond. The trees on the far slopes were speckled with bright yellows and oranges. Cooler weather had coaxed out the fall colors, now brilliant against the dark green of the pines and spruce.

Looking closer she could see the town nestled against the opposite hillside, rooftops tucked here and there. The short stretch of the main street carved only a small gap between the trees. And far to the east was the road, long and narrow through the valley near the river. Up on the mountainside, the afternoon sun had exposed a dark area on the rock face. It appeared to be a cavern opening of some sort
. Is it nature’s doing, or
was it once another mining operation?
Then a curious occurrence as Beth watched it fade from view. It did not take her long to realize that only for a few moments did the sun’s rays highlight the opening—and then it was gone, hidden in the deep shadows cast by nearby trees.
Almost as though it had never been,
she mused. She clapped her hands joyfully as she thought,
Wouldn’t Julie and I have found that spot to
be a wonderful place to explore and hide in?
The
sound made a delightful echo around her.

Her eyes swept the valley again, and her gaze drifted just to the west of town. She puzzled for a moment over a wide, jagged opening in the trees and a jumble of structures. She quickly realized these were surely associated with the mine.
She then identified the spur of railway tracks which carried away the coal, extending along the valley. Beth marveled how close to the town all the mine work was taking place.
Small wonder that the noise of the mine
operations is so easily heard in our classroom,
she mused.

Lifting her gaze again to the mountains around her took Beth’s breath away—all this magnificent scenery surrounded her every day. And yet she had been so involved with her own responsibilities and cares she had not been able to appreciate the beauty of the setting . . . as if brushstrokes from the very hand of God were evident in the beauty surrounding her.

For the first time since she had arrived she tried to imagine the end of her time in Coal Valley.
What will it be like to leave
this place and not return?
She determined to experience it more fully, taking longer walks whenever she was able.

Checking the sky, Beth concluded it was time to return. She had noticed that the sun dropped behind the tall peaks rather quickly here. Now that the sun had already begun its descent, she pushed her way through the sweet meadow grasses and came to the perimeter before the tree line.
I hope this is where I entered the meadow. . . .

As she searched around her for anything familiar, Beth spotted a small, weathered gray cross just above the grass. Moving closer, she realized it stood upon a mound of rocks, marking what clearly was a grave. Curious, she stepped forward, almost stumbling over a crouched form. He slowly came to his feet. It was the miner called Old Man Stub.

Beth gasped her surprise and drew back, but he seemed unfazed by her presence. “Excuse me,” she stammered. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“I knew you was’a there,” he assured her. “No need
’a
to apologize.”

She drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to disturb you, sir. I’ll just—”

“That’sa all right,” he quickly said. “I been wanting to meet you anyway. Just as well it be here. I am Russo. Frank Russo.” He extended his left hand.

“I’m Beth Thatcher,” she answered, her right hand automatically reaching out, and then a quick correction, offering the left instead. “I teach at the school
.
”

“Yes,
miss
. I know. I see you with the kids.” Beth nodded. “The kids, they are’a lucky to have you.” He smiled and motioned across the valley. “You admiring the Lord’s beauty, yes?”

She nodded again in response. Then thought to ask, “Mr. Russo, I noticed a . . . a cave, or something, right up there. Is it—”

“That’sa ol’ mine shaft,” he cut in quickly. “Not for adventures,
miss
. Please don’t go exploring. It’sa not a safe place for
a
young woman. You understand? Please do not—”

“I understand,” Beth said to reassure him. She did wonder at his obvious agitation, though. But she shifted her gaze in another direction.

Beth felt a certain ease as they stood together in the stillness. At last she queried softly, “Mr. Russo, may I ask whose grave this is?”

He sighed and sank down again the way he was before, resting on a log. “My wife. My Colette.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Beth knelt down in the grass and studied his face for a moment. He seemed neither despondent nor troubled by her question, only a tender reverence written there. Beth reached over and placed on the grave the flowers she was holding, next to a bouquet she knew must have been put there by Frank. His head bobbed in thanks.

Beth rose to seat herself on a large rock nearby and asked gently, “How long ago did you lose her?”

“So many years ago,” he sighed, “and yet I miss her still—like it was’a yesterday.”

“It’s such a beautiful, peaceful resting place.”

“She loved it’a here. Like she was a part’a the mountains—I couldn’t bear to take her away somewhere else. And once she was’a here—I could not leave her alone. Never
did I
go back to Italy. Never did I want’a to.”

“Can you tell me about her?”

He smiled, but not at Beth—it was an invitation to drink deeply from his precious memories once more. “I met’a her here in this valley—when I was’a just a young man and she was’a not much more than a child. I come from Italy to find work, and she was’a with her parents already here. After a while, we fell in’a love and married as soon as her papa, he give us his permission.”

Frank sifted a handful of pebbly earth through his gnarled fingers. “She was’a so beautiful, my Colette. Her eyes big and’a brown, laughing always—so full of’a life. And we was’a so happy together. We moved away to live in the city awhile. But the mountains, they call
ed
us’a home again.

“Then she wanted a baby. I said, ‘Colette, we don’t need’a nobody else. We got’a each other.’” He sighed. “But a woman, she needs a baby. And so for a long time we hoped and’a prayed together. But still, no bambino. I said to her, ‘Come with me back’a to Italy. We
visit
my family. They will love you like’a I love you.’” He smiled in recollection. “We made our plans. Saved up our’a money. And then, it happened.” A tear sliding down his cheek went unheeded. “She was’a so happy. The baby, it was’a coming at last.”

Several moments of silence hung around them. Beth kept
her eyes averted, not wanting to interrupt his emotion-filled memories. When his voice came again, it was controlled and resigned. “I lost my Colette in the spring when the baby, she was’a born. I lost’a them both. All the little spring flowers was a’blooming around her when we laid’a her here. And so I stay. How can I leave her alone?”

Suddenly he rose to his feet. “Miss Beth, it’sa already growing dark. You need’a to get home.”

“Oh my, I didn’t realize—”

“Please, miss, come with me. I will take’a you a much faster way.”

“Thank you, Mr. Russo.” She quickly rose and followed him along a narrow path leading almost straight down the hillside. They said very little to each other as he hurried her along. Ever so quickly the light had failed and it had become difficult to see. Beth stumbled after Frank as quickly as she was able, her arms raised in front of her to guard her face from tree branches. Then she noticed lights ahead. It was not the town—but there were voices.

“Where are we?” she called after Frank.

He motioned her to hurry. “We cross’a the footbridge here to the camp. And then only
a
short walk back’a to town.” All around them forms began to take shape in the dusk. Beth hesitated at the first step onto the makeshift bridge. “It’sa okay. I’ma wit
h
you. Come along,
miss
. Please.”

She turned her eyes to his and cautiously crossed the narrow structure. Several men began to move toward them.

“Eh, Francesco!” A deep voice drew attention from every direction. Beth understood none of the words that followed, filling the air around her with strange, animated voices.

“My friends,” Frank called to them in English, “Meet’a the new schoolteacher, eh? Please, make a path for M
is
s Beth.”
More words followed, but Beth understood nothing. She thought that perhaps he repeated her name along with a string of Italian. As he spoke, they worked their way into the center of the camp. Beth tried to shrink herself as much as she was able, feeling very uncomfortable and out of place.
What would Mother say if she could
see . . . ?
But she put the thought out of her mind and, not a little afraid, followed behind her rescuer.

Frank called out to someone nearby, and two of the men moved closer. Beth could see that one was the driver who had taken her to Lethbridge. “Alberto, you meet’a
Miss
Beth before, eh? Come, say allo.”

Stepping out from behind his father’s form, Paolo greeted her with some astonishment. “Ah yes, so good to see you again, miss.” And then added, “How is it you are here? And in the dark?”

“I went for a walk,” she answered somewhat breathlessly. “I met Frank by the—in the forest, and he is showing me a quicker way home. I . . . I lost track of the time—”

“I did that once,” Paulo said, smiling with boyish charm. “It will be the only time—I assure you.”

Beth saw that Frank was moving away. “I wish we had time to chat, Paolo, but I must get home. If you ever have a chance, please drop by the schoolroom or the boarding house. It would be so nice to talk with you again,” Beth said, turning toward Frank’s figure in the darkness.

“I would like that, Miss Thatcher,” Paulo called after her.

“Make’a way,
amici
,” Frank directed the men standing around them. “We get the teacher back home pronto.”

As they moved between the small structures of the little camp, Frank called out friendly introductions of Miss Thatcher. Although she could see no faces in the darkness, there was something reassuring in hearing Frank’s confident greetings.

But as soon as they had left the camp behind, Frank turned to her and said in a low voice, “Paolo, he will not’a be able to come to town—you know that, yes?”

Beth stopped and stared at the elderly man. “He can’t?”

“No, miss.”

“Won’t the mine boss allow him even a bit of time off?”

“It’sa not the mine boss. The foreign men, they’re not welcome in’a town.”

“But why?” Beth was startled at the revelation. “What—?”

“They think we can not’a be trusted,” he explained simply.