Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel (16 page)

R
ESOLUTELY
, B
ETH
HURRIED
through her morning routine, feeling quite improved as she readied herself for another day in the classroom. Already the mornings were turning cold and gloomy in advance of winter. She hastened up the dirt street toward the schoolhouse, hunched down deep into her wool coat and pulling the collar tight around her neck. Her throat was still a little tender, but she knew she was beyond the worst.

She spent some time airing out the room, preparing her materials, and trying to light her first fire in the potbelly stove in the far corner. Having no success, she checked her watch pin.
Surely one of the older
students will arrive soon and be able to help with
the fire. Hopefully, no one is presuming another day off
.
As she rang the hand bell with extra vigor, it echoed eerily through the misty morning air. Almost immediately her students appeared and filed in, but half-heartedly. She had the distinct feeling they were wishing she were still under the weather.

Only little Anna Noonan whispered as she shuffled past
with the others, “I’m glad God made ya better, Miss Thatcher. We been praying for ya.” Beth returned her smile and felt her spirits lift a bit.

Addison soon had a nice fire in the stove. The school day began and their routine resumed. But when she moved the older students forward for their grammar lesson, Beth could sense there was something diverting their attention. Time and again she caught them casting telling glances at one another. Finally she stopped diagramming sentences on the blackboard, faced them fully, and surveyed the group.

“Would anyone care to share with me what you all find so distracting from our classwork today?”

Sets of eyes shifted around the room, watching one another to see who might have the courage to speak up. Teddy finally found his voice. “Some of ’em don’t think it’s right—them English lessons for the miners.”

Beth answered evenly, “What do some find inappropriate about offering English lessons to people who want to learn it?”

Again, Teddy spoke for the group. “They think—leastways, their mommas think—that the new men are dangerous. An’ that they’ll jest start comin’ into town and makin’ trouble.”

Beth drew up a chair for herself so she could meet their eyes from a more conversational position. “Is that what people are saying?”

“Yes’m,” affirmed Bonnie. “My momma says they’ll take over and be the ruin of our town.”

Beth sighed, grateful at least that they trusted her enough to tell her what was going on. “What are you afraid they will do?”

Answers were tossed forward from every direction. “Steal!” “Get drunk.” “Gamble
.
” “Cuss.” “Start fires.” “Take our food.” And then one little voice stuttered, “I d-d-d-don’t want ’em to t-t-t-take me away to the w-w-w-woods.”

“Oh, my dears!” Beth scooted her chair closer to them, motioning the younger ones to come forward and stand nearby so that she could talk to all the students. Jonah, the tiny stutterer, approached her side and Beth slid an arm around him. “These are men, fathers with wives and children. They’re no different than all the people you’ve ever known. Their families cannot be with them right now, but they are working hard to send money back home to them. Most people are good and kind and helpful. I think you know that already.” She searched their faces for acknowledgment of her words, reaching to tousle hair and brush a cheek. Her voice grew solemn. “But what do we know? How many people don’t ever sin and do wrong things?”

For a moment the question seemed to puzzle them, and then Marnie whispered, “All people do wrong things sometimes.”

“That’s right, Marnie. We
all
have sinned sometimes. And so do those miners. But God loves them, and Jesus died to save them too—at the very same time He died to save all of us in this room. God knows them inside and out just like He knows you. He knew them when they were your age—at six—and ten—and thirteen—and sixteen. God even knows their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters. You know what else God knows?” Beth let the question hang a moment. “He knows how much they miss their own families. Imagine having to move far away from everyone you know and go someplace where people don’t even understand your language. Just imagine how scary that would be.”

The room had become very quiet. Looking into their faces, so young and full of innocence, she felt compelled to add carefully, “Now, please listen to me. I want you to understand that these men are just like men you’ve known—the kind of people they are has nothing to do with what language they speak. But
I also want you to remember that they are still strangers to you. I am
not
saying that your mothers are wrong when they make rules regarding people with whom you’re unfamiliar—rules such as ‘Don’t go to the camp.’ Your mothers want to keep you safe. You must obey all the things they tell you, because those things are for your own good. Do you understand the difference?”

Beth remembered all her own mother’s rules and understood a little more clearly the difficulty of protecting a child without causing the boy or girl to feel smothered. She wanted her students to view the men as ordinary people. At the same time she herself could not fully trust strangers without due caution, particularly where the children were concerned.

Beth was struggling to phrase these thoughts well, but she could see that the children were wrestling with what seemed to be conflicting information. She now understood that it was a lot simpler to teach prejudice. Children could grasp much more easily characterizations that were simply all good or all bad. The circle of children standing around her was growing restless.

Then she had a new idea. “Let’s talk about Mr. Russo. You all know Mr. Russo, don’t you?”

A few nodded in recognition. Finally Georgie Sanders explained, “Sure. The man that gots only one hand.” Beth winced at his blunt words, but instantly every child acknowledged which man was being discussed.

“All right, Mr. Russo is also from Italy, just like the miners—but he came long ago. He speaks English now, but he didn’t at first. You all know what a kind man he is—how he shares and helps out in our town.”

Maggie Frazier chimed in, “He give us some berries. An’ he brought meat fer the Blanes. Didn’t he, Levi?”

“He did,” Levi was quick to acknowledge. “It was some deer meat, and he shot it clean through the head so there wasn’t no buckshot in the meat parts a’tall.”

Some of the little girls turned squeamish, and Beth hurried to change the subject. “Well, suppose the other men who don’t speak English are like Mr. Russo—kind and good, but when you don’t know someone, you have to use discretion—that means good judgment, wisdom. You have to get to know people and learn which ones you can trust.”

Thomas called out, “I trust Ol’ Man Stub, that’s fer sure.”

“Yah, me too,” others agreed.

“Children, listen, please,” Beth said, her head spinning. “That’s not a nice way to refer to Mr. Russo.”

“Thet’s what Momma calls him.”

And from the back, “Thet’s what
everybody
calls him!”

Beth shooed them back to their seats and stood before them, hoping to bring things back under control. She looked around at their faces. “We want to speak about others in the same way that we would want others to speak about us. Do you remember the Golden Rule, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’? That means calling others by a name they would like. I would prefer you use my name rather than call me Old Miss School Teacher.”

“But you ain’t old!”

Beth determined to make one more attempt and then let the matter rest. “I would be unhappy if someone referred to my grandfather by the name ‘Old Man Thatcher.’ I would want them to show respect to him by using an appropriate title—saying ‘Mr.’—or I would call him ‘Grandpapa.’ That’s why we use titles that convey respect. Do you see?”

“Yes’m” came back the chorus.

And before anyone could pipe up with another comment,
Beth said, “Now, it’s time we moved on with our lessons.” She was relieved that the difficult discussion was over, but she was afraid she may not have explained it quite as well as it might have been. She whispered a prayer that God would open the little hearts to what He wanted them to hear.

After school, Beth felt depleted in body and soul. She hurried home to help with dinner and prepare what still needed to be done for the evening Bible club. The story they would dramatize was about Moses and the burning bush, and she still had narration to copy into parts. Had Molly not insisted she eat, she would not have taken the time. She had still not fully regained her appetite since her illness. Or her strength.

Beth felt the evening went fairly well. By reading the Bible stories aloud, the children were becoming familiar with Scripture, and despite the fact that they were clearly enjoying themselves, both their reading and oral skills had shown vast improvement. Additionally, most of them were much more comfortable in front of others. As Beth pushed the company hall’s chairs back into straight rows after Bible club was finished, she knew that all the hubbub was worthwhile. If only she could manage to feel rested once more.

Then she noticed that Frank had joined Molly and Frances in setting things back in order. She had not even seen him among the audience of mothers.

“Hello,” she called down the row. “Thanks so much for helping.”

He smiled his acknowledgment. They worked together until the room could be left as it had been found—perhaps even a little tidier. Then they moved toward the door.

“I’m so sorry I missed the first of the English classes, Frank.
Molly told me a little about how it went, but she doesn’t exactly—well, she doesn’t exactly gush.”

Frank chuckled. “Miss Molly, she dont’a waste no words.” Then he quickly added, “How you feeling, Miss Beth?”

“I’m much better now, thank you.”

“Good. That’sa good.”

“So . . . how do
you
think class went on Saturday?”

“It was’a good beginning. Paolo, he did a fine job teaching the men. I think’a the men, they will all come
back
.” Then he broke into a wider grin. “An’ Paolo’s papa, he was’a so proud.”

Just then little Emily Stanton rushed back into the room, obviously in search of something she had left behind.

“Little one,” called Frank. “Is that what’a you need?” He pointed toward a small jacket that he had laid on a table beside the door.

Emily nodded her relief. Then she smiled warmly and said, “Thank you, Grandpa Stub.”

Beth felt a shiver run all through her. She dared not even move
. Is that what
little Emily gleaned from the conversation today?
How had things gone so awry? Beth slowly lifted her face toward Frank’s. His wrinkled countenance was still frozen in a smile, but there were tears forming in his eyes. Beth reached for his arm, not able to speak.

Emily snatched up the jacket and rushed out of the room. At last Beth found words. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Russo. I don’t think—I’m
sure
she didn’t mean to be cruel.”

He waved away her apology and brushed at his eyes self-consciously. “No, no, Miss Beth. It’sa not what you think.” She could tell he was also struggling for words, and she forced herself to wait while he gained his composure. “It’sa—” He smiled again and cleared his throat. “It’sa the first time I been called grandpa.” Then he turned toward her. “I like’a the sound.”

For one moment Beth stood silent—rethinking and sorting his statement. She realized how tenderly the simple, childish address to the elderly man had been received, and her breath caught in her throat. When she felt controlled enough again to speak she patted his arm. “It suits you well.”

From that moment on, it seemed all of the children caught on to the new nickname, referring to Frank as Grandpa. Beth was pleased with any reference to Grandpa Frank or Grandpa Russo, but she insisted they choose one or the other rather than allowing any reference to Stub—no matter how graciously it had been accepted from the little girl by the dear man.

O
NE
AFTERNOON
the students returned from lunch pushing and shoving more than the usual rough-housing before yielding to the next lessons. Beth rose and called for order, and they calmed down. But as their faces turned toward her, Daniel Murphy called out, “Hey, Miss Thatcher, I seen a man goin’ inta Miss Molly’s. He was carryin’ a big box. Bonnie and me asked him who it was for, an’ the man said you.”

“That’s right, Miss Thatcher,” his older sister, Bonnie, chimed in. “It was kinda long and a funny shape.”

“Thank you, Daniel and Bonnie. But we have work to do. Let’s all turn our attention back to our assignments.”

However, as much as Beth wanted to pretend she wasn’t excited about the idea of a package at Molly’s house, she found she could think of little else.
Probably from Mother—or maybe
Father
. But in their most recent letters, there had been no questions regarding what Beth might lack. On the other hand, Christmas was not far off. Perhaps it was an early present. And would she be able to wait till then? Probably not, she decided, unless it was so specified on the package.

The afternoon dragged, and she felt as impatient as the children to get their work completed for the day. When at last she was able to walk home and into the front hall, Molly met her with eyes dancing. “You got yerself a package.”

Beth returned playfully, “Yes, I know. Daniel and Bonnie informed me.” She looked around. “Where is it?”

Molly pointed to the dining room and trailed through the doorway behind Beth. The mysterious parcel lay on the table, still wrapped loosely in plain brown paper. Beth recognized the long, oddly shaped outline immediately and rushed forward in disbelief, stripping away the paper unceremoniously. “Where did it come from? Who brought it? What did they say?”

Molly had not expected such a robust reaction. “Well, dearie, he didn’t say nothin’. Just dropped it off and was gone. What is it?”

But Beth could not speak right then. She was opening the snaps on the lid and carefully lifting an instrument from its case. She knew it immediately, but she turned it over regardless to trace the engraved initials. Her eyes were already dripping tears.

“Bless me! It’s a violin,” Molly exclaimed.

Beth choked out, “It’s mine. The one that was stolen.” Her knees went weak and she sank into a nearby chair, violin cradled on her lap, trying to recover from the surprise of it.

“There a note or somethin’?” Molly’s hands searched the discarded paper, finally finding a small envelope. “Here.” She thrust it toward Beth, but her hand was waved away.

Beth’s eyes were still clouded with tears. “You read it. I can’t even see right now, Molly.”

Molly pulled the card from its envelope and read slowly, “Dearest Elizabeth . . .”

Beth knew immediately whom it was from and dropped her
face into her hands, a sob catching in her throat.
Edward—he’s still trying to set
right what happened.
After a moment she composed herself and Molly read on. “I hope this letter finds you well. I have searched for some time to recover your violin. Many of my fellow officers throughout the province have aided in my search, and with God’s help, I know, I was able to locate it in a pawn shop. It is with a grateful and contrite heart that I return it to you at last. With fondest affection, Edward.”

Molly pulled out a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and passed it to Beth. “It’s clean—wipe up,” she instructed, but then seemed to decide against prodding Beth for any further explanation. She passed her rough hand tenderly over Beth’s hair and turned toward the kitchen, leaving the hankie in Beth’s trembling hands.

At last Beth placed the violin back in its case, gathered up all the scraps of wrapping paper, and carried it all upstairs to her room. Her mind was spinning with questions no one would be able to answer. She would write to Edward. She would tell him how much it meant to have the violin returned. And she would try to express how grateful she was that he had worked so diligently to set things right again.
If only I could find
an address for him
, she thought. With the compass safely tucked away in a drawer, and the violin recovered, he had accomplished the impossible. She could only imagine the effort it had cost him.

After dinner, Beth hurried back to her room and reverently opened the case again. A few trial tones and she soon had the strings tightened and tuned. Then she cradled the end in its familiar position beneath her chin, closed her eyes, and drew several long, sweet notes. Holding it again felt completely natural. Playing it was like a conversation with an old friend. Beth lost herself in the rise and fall of her favorite melody.

She did not even notice when Marnie slipped into the room, slid down to the floor, and curled against the wall beside the open door to listen. As the notes of a sonata by Mozart faded away Beth was startled to hear Marnie whisper, “That’s real pretty.”

“I . . . I didn’t hear you come in,” Beth said, voicing the obvious.

“You’re real good at that, Miss Thatcher.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“Can ya bring it tomorrow? An’ play for all the other kids?”

Beth nodded. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Oh yeah,” Marnie added, “an’ Miss Molly said to ask you to come an’ play downstairs.”

Beth was happy to agree.

The next morning, the students were truly excited to see what their teacher produced from the strange-shaped carrier. Raising the instrument into position, she was soon playing one request after another of the hymns and songs that the children knew. She could tell that her fingers were clumsy and had lost some intonation accuracy—but she promised herself that she would devote herself again to practicing.
I
know I can fit it in between the other things
I’m doing.

By the time the students arrived at Bible club that night, it seemed that everyone had been discussing the arrival of her violin. Several of the mothers approached her as a group, clearly with some request they had come up with between them.

“Miss Thatcher, we’re thinking you should do a Christmas concert—with the kids.”

“Yah, they never bin in one before—an’ now that they’re so used ta bein’ on stage an’ all, I think they’d do real good.”

“An’ be sure to play your violin too,” Emily’s mother added enthusiastically.

The idea for a school program had not come to Beth, but she smiled around at the little group and agreed that it had merit. Not only would this be beneficial for her students, but it would also be a way to reach out to those in the community who had not been attending church, including the company men. On the other hand, she knew what Molly would say—what with teaching and grading, Bible club, tea parties, and English lessons, she was hardly giving her body a chance to fully recover from her recent illness. However, Beth thought of the locket containing Father’s verse and renewed her determination not to allow physical weakness to come before an opportunity to do something good during the brief time she would be in their midst. She knew well enough by now how much her students would enjoy a chance to perform, this time in front of a broader audience. So Beth set to work immediately, gathering speaking parts and songs that could be joined together to make a simple program.

Upon introducing the idea during class the next day, she found the children wildly enthusiastic. Their own ideas flowed out unrestrained. This would be a chance to use the musical instruments she had brought. They could have costumes. They could have snacks. Who would be Mary? Who would be baby Jesus? David Noonan offered his baby brother, only one month old, for the job. Suddenly Beth was working hard just to keep things manageable. Preparations began immediately, using the last hour of each school day to practice and prepare. Only two weeks remained before their performance. It would be a whirlwind getting everything ready in time.

However, the children set to work with a will. This would be the first drama that would call for a simple set and basic
costumes. With a little help from Grandpa Frank, they scoured the town for scrap wood, and the older boys framed up a primitive stable. Lacking proper boards to cover the whole frame, they attached rows of tree branches instead. The sides took on the look of a cabin, while the roof was formed from a lovely canopy of aromatic pine branches. Beth thrilled to see what they had accomplished with their own skill and imagination.

Teddy and Addison took the lead, organizing the ragtag crew and doing most of the heavy lifting. They seemed to relish the opportunity, and the work was nearing completion in no time. However, one evening just as the project was drawing to a close, Teddy was quieter than usual at dinner. With eyes diverted, he withdrew to his room immediately afterward. Beth cast a curious glance after him and then toward Molly. Little escaped the notice of the older woman.

“Do you think he had a fight with Addison?” Beth suggested later as she scraped the plates for washing.

Molly shook her head. “Thet pair don’t fuss much. I wonder if it ain’t that Teddy Boy’s gettin’ sick. I’ll check on him after I’m done here.”

“I can go check now,” offered Beth.

“Yeh, you go—an’ see where Marnie’s gone too. Tell her the water’s ready fer her to wash.”

Beth had just mounted the stairs when she heard whispering around the corner. Instinctively she paused.

“Ya need to tell Miss Molly—or someone.” It was Marnie’s voice, pleading. Her tone brought instant alarm to Beth.

“Don’t you say nothin’. It’ll just git us in trouble.”

“Yer in trouble now!”

“No I ain’t. Long as we keep our mouths shut no one’ll know we heard.”

“I don’t like it none.”

“Trust me. Let it pass. Maybe he’ll change his mind and . . .” His voice faded as the pair moved farther down the hall. Beth’s pulse
sped up
in alarm. She heard a door close.

“Marnie,” Beth called, and quickly she moved toward Teddy’s door. Marnie’s head poked out. “Molly’s ready for you to wash dishes.” The girl scooted past Beth and down the stairs.

Beth stood for a moment, considering whether or not to talk with Teddy about what she had overheard. After wrestling with it awhile, she felt it would be best to keep a watchful eye instead.

She did knock softly on his door, still open a bit. When he had pulled it wide, she asked gently, “Molly and I are wondering if you might be ill. Are you feeling well, Teddy?”

For a moment his eyes rose to meet hers. “I’m all right.”

She pressed again, “Are you sure? We’d like to help if we can.”

His face turned away. “Naw, I’m fine.”

One last time she urged, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m always ready to listen. Molly too.”

Even as she included the troubled youth in her prayers before retiring, the single word that worried her most was
he
. If Beth had heard a name, perhaps she would better be able to keep vigilant.

All too quickly, the night of the performance arrived. It had been set for two weeks before Christmas, on the Saturday before their last week of school. Most of the mothers had helped with the preparations and were now buzzing around the stage, setting out props in their appropriate places and making last-minute fixes to angel costumes. The students themselves were
a mass of nerves, chattering and shoving at one another. Beth managed to herd them to their places on the first two rows of chairs and then stepped forward to introduce the event.

As she glanced around the room, she was very pleased with the turnout. All of the school families were in attendance, as well as Helen Grant from the pool hall and the Coulters from the company store. In the middle of the room several of the mine company officers were seated together. Beth spotted Frank and Philip, and just as she finished speaking, she noticed Jarrick enter quietly from the back and take a seat beside Philip. There were even more people than she had dared to hope, though she forced away her disappointment that Edward had not made a surprise appearance.