Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel (13 page)

“But
you
come sometimes—”

“Yes,” he cut in. “I had a wife. A
Canadian
wife. You see, women, they don’t live in’a the camp. So Colette and me, we make a cabin in’a the woods not far away. But it was’a long time before I
was’a
trusted. My Colette—she won’a their hearts for me.”

Frank motioned them forward. “When I lost’a my hand,” he said over his shoulder, “I could not work’a no more. But I couldn’t leave—because she and the little one’re up there on the mountain. Most people, they seem to understand. I had’a suffered enough, I suppose. I think Miss Molly, she made them change’a their minds. About me.”

“I should think so!” Beth exclaimed.

His voice was soft with resignation. “No,
miss
, I understand. We are strangers. From a land far away. We come alone. No wives or families. We do not’a speak the same. They need’a protect their own. Especially now that their men, they are gone.”

“But it doesn’t seem right,” Beth insisted.

“Right? It’sa how it is. Why should they let new men they don’t even know near their little
bambinos
?”

With one more turn of the path in the darkness, Beth saw
they had come into the town just behind the company hall. She was almost home.

“Thank you so much, Mr. Russo. I would never have found my own way in the—”

“If we was not’a talking up there on the mountain, you would’a been home long before,” he said quickly. “It’sa my fault. But, please, Miss Beth, no more walking up the mountain. Its’a better not’a to go on those paths. Please.”

“You mean the men in the camp—?”

“No, no. Not the miners. They are good men. But, please—no questions. Just . . . just take’a the advice of an old man and do not go up’a the mountain. Walk to the nearby stream, perhaps—but not alone. And never up’a the mountain.”

“I see,” said Beth, though she puzzled over his intensity.

Beth extended her left hand once more. “I’m so grateful for your help—and so glad to have met you, Mr. Russo. I hope to see you often.”

He smiled, his expression warm. “I thought I would’a like you, Miss Beth. An’ I do.
Buonanotte
. Good night.”

As Beth had expected, Molly held back nothing in rebuking her for being out so late. “We was fit to be tied, dearie! Almost ready to call in the cavalry lookin’ for ya. Jest imagine havin’ to seek out the new man—thet Jack Thornton, was it?—to come find ya. Or sendin’ so many already tired-out men inta the woods in the dark to hunt ya down. . . .” And on and on it went. Beth was relieved when Molly arrived at “An’ we couldn’t
imagine
where ya might be . . .” but rushed right on with her lecture without questioning her.

Beth pictured how embarrassed she would have been to be lost in the woods and discovered by Jarrick. She determined she would never do something so foolish again.

In church the next morning, Beth did not know how much of her imprudent escapade already had been passed around. But she was able to put it aside as the richness of the hymns filled the simple room and Philip delivered another inspiring sermon. Beth found his message lifted her spirit as few had previously—so sincere and passionate and full of eternal truth. He was speaking the same biblical concepts she had always heard, but he spoke as if heaven and earth hung in the balance. And Beth was challenged to appropriate the same zeal into her own life.

So much had happened since Philip had last shared a meal with them, and Beth found herself wishing for a conversation with him. So she was pleased to learn that Molly expected him again for Sunday dinner. With the other guests there, she wondered how they might be able to converse in a setting where they would not be interrupted.

Philip offered to help with the dishes and refused to allow Molly to dissuade him. This meant Beth might have his attention rather privately while he washed and she dried. Molly would be bustling around them, putting away the leftovers, but only periodically commenting.
Ideal
, she thought. The two chatted congenially as they worked together before he turned the conversation.

“And I heard you’ve been quite busy too—with a new Bible club.”

Beth’s response came tumbling out as she described the joys and the frustrations of working on the short dramas with the schoolchildren—all happening right before the eyes of most of the community. He listened carefully, smiling and wincing appropriately by turn.

“I’m proud of you, Beth. I’m sure what you’re doing will be used by God in ways you can’t even imagine right now. God’s Word never returns without fruit. That’s a promise.”

She smiled but admitted, “It isn’t what I pictured it would be—it’s been much more difficult and less inspiring than what I had envisioned. But I do think the children are learning. And that was always the point.”

Molly inserted a comment once more. “An’ I told her, them mommas is learnin’ too.”

“I’m sure that’s the case,” Philip agreed.

Molly retreated to the dining room, and Philip looked over at Beth with a gleam in his eyes. “I heard you had a little adventure last night,” he teased. “Or maybe we should call it a misadventure.” His expression assured her he was not scolding. But a chortle from Molly indicated she had returned as she now scooped leftover potatoes into a bowl. Philip glanced at Molly over his shoulder and handed the next plate to Beth.

She made slow circles over it with the dish towel as she tried to best phrase her answer. “Yes, I’m afraid I had a rather frightening experience. But I also met Mr. Russo—at his wife’s grave in the forest.”

Philip sent a surprised glance in her direction. “You did? Did you know about the grave?”

“No, I was just out walking and stumbled across him there. He told me a little about Colette and how she died. Such a sad story.”

“Yes, it is. But he’s a remarkable man.”

“I agree. Miss Molly has already told me about the kind things he does to help the widows and their families.”

Molly interjected, “He
is
a good man, no denyin’ that.”

Philip nodded. “Yes, Frank has a very good heart, and he knows how to love with his actions.”

The conversation moved on, and Beth was wondering how to bring up the topic that had been on her mind most of last night. Then Molly dropped her apron onto its hook and excused herself, an opportunity for which Beth had been hoping.

“May I ask you,” she began, her towel and the last cup held still before her, “I was wondering—is there anything being done for the men in the camp?”

Philip looked a bit startled. He paused, then asked, “Do you mean their personal needs or their spiritual needs?”

Beth found she couldn’t answer his question as concisely as it was asked, so she tried another approach. “I met a young man who just joined his father in the mine. He speaks English well, but his father does not. The family is from Italy.”

“You’re referring to Alberto Giordano. I had heard his son would be joining him soon, but I didn’t know he’d already arrived. You met the young man? Paolo, I believe?”

“Yes, Paolo. He’s a very nice young man—but he’s only fifteen. He has received some education, and he’s clearly intelligent, with a gift for languages. It grieves me that the only life before him is likely one of toiling in the mine. It looks to me like there’s little hope of achieving more.”

Philip nodded.

Beth found it hard to explain all that was in her heart. “Isn’t there something that can be done for him?”

There was another long pause. “It’s a complicated issue, Beth,” Philip said slowly. “I do understand your feelings, and I admire your tender heart. I also share your concern and, believe me, so does the district church board.

“When we first decided to begin this work, our district leaders approached the mining company. They own all the land where the camp sits, so we needed their permission to engage with them, invite them to a service. We were told that
the men—the newcomers—had their own ‘religion,’ and we were not to confuse them by intruding with our ‘Canadian brand of Christianity.’ Simply put, their answer was a flat no. We could use their hall for others in the community, but not for the camp workers. Our hands have been tied.” He paused a moment, staring at the plate he was working on.

“I’ll admit we had hoped to reach out to them by discipling the other men of the community who worked alongside the Italians—encouraging them to share Christ’s love with their peers at work. Now most of those men are gone.” He stopped and shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it isn’t really that complicated. Maybe it’s harder to ignore a problem that already existed, now that the majority of the miners are from across the ocean.”

He handed the last plate to Beth, dried his hands on a nearby towel, and turned to lean against the work table. “I wish I knew what the answer was, Beth. I can’t imagine what life is like for them. There isn’t even enough space to adequately house them all anymore. When I was last there, I saw that some of them were still in tents. I think by this time they’ve finished building some additional housing, but it must be miserable—and now with the approach of winter . . .”

Beth had not even considered the very real concerns about housing and weather and the restrictions the mine company had put on them. “Paolo suggested to me once that he would like to teach English,” she said. “If I worked with him, maybe that would help a little.”

Philip’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. “It might. At least it would begin to remove the language barrier that exists between them and the townspeople.” He shook his head. “To be honest, though, I can’t fathom a situation where it would be acceptable. The folks around here are duly con
cerned about safety and are not interested in inviting strange men into their midst—especially now that they’ve lost their husbands, their protectors. I think that would present your biggest obstacle—not the
if
, but
where
?” He looked into her eyes. “I can only tell you that if God is calling you to become involved in some way, then He’ll provide the means for it to happen. And if there’s any way I can help, I promise I’ll do what I can.”

“Has the mining company forbidden the men to come into town?”

“Frank Russo would know more about that than I do. I suspect that it’s not so much a case of forbidding as a very strong suggestion. They no doubt are told it’s better if they don’t interfere with the life of the town—probably veiled behind some statement such as not ‘making trouble.’ Any miner who might do something offensive would be sent back to Italy. To be fired and sent back is a real threat. They came because they need the money for their families.”

“So now the knife cuts both ways,” observed Beth. “The company discourages the miners from mixing, and the town women are afraid of these men they don’t know or understand.”

Philip nodded. “It’s really quite complicated and so sad. Here we have men on our doorstep whom we want to introduce to faith in Christ—and we can’t converse with them, can’t even invite them for coffee.”

“But you’ve been to the camp?”

“I went in with Frank on a couple of occasions. Well—not really
in
. Frank had a few of the miners meet me on the opposite side of the road just across from their shacks. Not company land. Frank is gravely concerned about the men—and though he still draws a pension from the company and periodically
is brought in as an experienced specialist, they don’t seem to want him spending a great deal of time with the younger miners. Perhaps they feel his presence could make the men restless—more demanding of better treatment. There have been strikes at other mines. Still, Frank has a certain influence, I’m sure.”

“So you don’t think I will ever be able to help Paolo with an English class.”

Philip hesitated and then answered, “Not as things stand currently. I’ve been as frustrated as you are. It seems we’ve come to an impasse.”

“But what . . . what if something happens? Another collapse? Another accident—and they haven’t heard the good news of the gospel? I’m . . . I’m afraid I’ll have trouble sleeping just imagining such a disaster—both the physical one and the eternal one.”

Philip shook his head, and Beth could see that he too was deeply troubled. Though she felt disheartened, she thanked Philip for being honest. There seemed to be no way for her to reach out. Even so, she determined that she would not yet give up. She would continue to pray for God to move someone—someway.

She wrote a long letter home describing the predicament of the miners, so isolated from the rest of society. But she once again found herself editing the truth. How would Mother respond to hearing about such a camp? How could she adequately describe Frank Russo? And what would Mother think about the possibility of her interaction with these men in the future? Beth wondered if her mother might not take the next train west to rescue her daughter.

She laid the letter down and pressed her hands against her face. It was a conundrum, one that was growing increasingly
uncomfortable. Through her letters she wanted Mother to be reassured that Coal Valley was a safe place, one where her daughter’s influence could be worthwhile and productive. Beth was convinced in her own heart that these things were true, but if the descriptions she presented were not the complete picture, was she actually being deceitful? Was she essentially conceding all independence and self-sufficiency through her feeble attempts to save Mother from worry? The guilty feelings clung stubbornly—even while she was trying so hard to work for good. . . .