Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel (18 page)

The story touched Beth, and she wondered what tragedy
or circumstance had brought such a talented young man from possibilities in the music halls of Milan to the coal mines of Alberta. The thought made her even more pleased that Frank would have this opportunity to share his music with the people of the community—townspeople and miners alike.

Beth groaned and crawled out of her bed on Sunday morning.
Just one more
event
, she told herself. She straightened the covers and tucked them in neatly, all the while repeating to herself that after lunch she would be able to snuggle right back into them, sleep until she had no more need of rest. It was the one thought that helped her as she dressed, ate a quick breakfast, and went to the hall.

When she arrived, chairs had already been set neatly in rows and the front was decorated with red candles and evergreen branches, filling the room with a sweet pine aroma. Several women were arranging the dessert table, and coffee was brewing in large pots on the hall’s wood stove. With a quick cup herself for added energy, Beth tuned her violin and awaited Frank’s arrival.

It was almost heartbreaking to see how timidly the miners arrived in the hall, gathering just inside the doorway with hats in hand. Here were robust men, diffidently standing back to await an invitation before venturing forward. Molly took charge immediately, directing them toward the coat racks, where they could hang their all-too-thin jackets, and then beckoning them to come and help themselves to the food items.

As soon as Beth noticed Paolo arrive, she hurried forward to greet him.

“Miss Beth,” he called to her, “Merry Christmas—perhaps a little early, but merry just the same, eh?”

“Merry Christmas to you, Paolo. Isn’t this exciting?” She squeezed his arm and gestured around her.

In all directions were miners enjoying the warmth and welcome of the resources that the town had to offer. And scattered throughout the hall were ordinary, everyday exchanges, their significance magnified by the fact that this had not ever happened in Coal Valley before. Children carrying simple cups of coffee to men whom they had feared as thugs and thieves just a few weeks before. Mothers sharing their best baking with strangers who had been brought from afar to take the jobs of the husbands cruelly lost to the same hazardous profession.

“It could never have happened if God had not intervened,” Beth whispered. Paolo merely smiled at her and took another large bite out of a muffin on his plate. “This is a big room,” he commented, his eyes wide as he looked around inside the building he had not previously been welcome to enter.

Promptly at ten o’clock, Frank called for their attention in both Italian and English, then instructed everyone to take a seat. Beth was increasingly amazed at his confidence and poise in front of the villagers and the miners. She had never seen this side of him before, the natural but effective leader. He read from the gospel of Luke, first in English and then in Italian.

During the singing of carols, Beth’s violin led with the melody line, strong and sweet. Over the sound of her instrument she could hear voices all around, the tune shared but the words a blending of English and Italian. Truly uplifting and unique.

Standing beside her, Frank played a harmony that gradually swelled, filling the pauses with beautiful counterpoint phrasing. Beth was in awe. This was not the way it had sounded in rehearsal. Frank was feeling the music in the moment and instilling it with pure, worshipful emotion. It did not take long
for Beth to understand their varied styles. She had been skillfully tutored to play by note and by memory. Frank, on the other hand, had a naturally developed talent. She wondered if he had ever received private lessons, except perhaps what his great-grandfather had taught him at such an early age. Frank played by ear—and by heart. Just listening to him was a blessing that overwhelmed Beth to the core of her being.

Though she also was exhausted—entirely spent—the music flowed, filling the room with sincere expressions of worship. She could see faces change from weary and lonely to relaxed and joyous. But Beth could sense in every muscle in her body the sacrifice of praise she was offering up at this moment.

Her mind filled with the struggle required to achieve the gathering. The ladies too had given of their own meager resources to contribute to this worship service. And Frank, with his bow tied to his disfigured limb, had perhaps offered the greatest sacrifice of all, presenting his gift of worship through music in spite of his devastating injury. The thoughts washed over Beth in a flood of emotion, too tired and worn to hold herself in check. Not the glorious rush of ecstasy she had felt in the Christmas concert, this was altogether different—a painful, aching praise in which she was entirely aware of how emptied she had become, and still grateful that the truths of God’s love were real, even in this moment.

Beth struggled to finish the song. Instead of returning to her seat, she slipped out a side door into the frigid air without stopping to grab up her coat, while the Bible readings continued without her. She dropped her face into her hands and wept alone, overcome by the churn of emotions filling her soul.

It was with Herculean effort that she was able to force herself back into the building to finish the last of the Christmas songs. She knew her puffy red eyes betrayed her state,
but she refused to let herself fail her responsibilities. Once the service was completed, she even managed to speak with several members of the miners from the English classes before Molly noticed her condition and sent her home immediately, no questions asked.

Beth crumpled onto her bed, pulled the quilt up around her, and fell into a deep, fitful sleep. When she finally awoke, it was morning. There was a plate of food sitting nearby on the side table, but she was completely unaware of who’d brought it or when.

A sudden cough reminded her of how much her throat hurt. Then the physical inventory began. She could tell she had a fever, her nose was congested, and her stomach felt queasy. Her next thought was a rush of relief that there was no school all week. If sickness was going to take her down once again, she was grateful that at least it had waited until now.

A soft knock sounded on the door. In answer to Beth’s call, Marnie entered. “I heard ya stirrin’. Can ya eat?”

“I’ll come down.” Beth slid her feet from under the covers.

“Oh no,” Marnie said with a firm shake of her head. “Miss Molly said you was to stay right there in bed. We’re bringin’ what you need up here.”

It was rather easy to acquiesce. Beth doubted she would have been able to stand up anyway.

M
OLLY
SUITABLY
FUSSED
OVER
B
ETH
in the days that followed, mumbling about taking more seriously the illness that had stolen away so many in the flu epidemic of 1918—still vivid in Molly’s memory—and chastising Beth for having gone out into the wintry air without even having the sense to put on a coat. Apparently David Noonan had noticed his teacher rushing outside during the service and had reported such to Molly.

Once she was finally allowed to leave her bedroom, Beth spent much of the remaining week bundled up in the kitchen, and reading where she could be close to the best light and the warmth of the stove. Molly and Marnie quietly mended and knitted and put final touches on small gifts for friends. With all the company men away—all, that is, except the one most recently arrived—the house was calm and rather quiet.

This new gentleman would be residing at Molly’s for only a short time, he said. His name was Nick Costa and he spoke Italian, though not as his native tongue. Beth learned during pleasant conversations with him over the dinner table that his
British mother insisted he learn the language of his father’s family along with the English spoken in their Canadian home. He was well educated, well read, and professional. Beth liked him immediately and wondered how he would fit in with the other company men. He seemed the obvious odd man out. She wanted to ask what he was doing there while the mine was closed, but she held her tongue.

Nick was married, and his wife had borne him a son of whom he was very proud. The baby was just a little older than JW, Beth discovered. It was a delightful diversion in the evenings to hear him tell of his son’s amazing feats. Beth hung on every word, picturing little JW during the discourse. Unfortunately, Nick was rarely present except at suppertime. So the rest of her recovery was rather quiet.

Frank dropped in to see Beth several times, bringing some little token he had whittled or a puzzle he had crafted using only wire. He joined them in the kitchen, drawing a chair up to the small table to play chess with Beth or Teddy, lingering over each move contentedly because there were no other demands upon their time. On December the twenty-third, Jarrick surprised them with a visit, chatting amiably during the short break he was able to spare from his responsibilities. Beth brushed aside his concerned glances, assuring him that her health would soon be fully restored.

“Surprised to see you out in this weather,” Molly said to him as she came over with coffee and a plate of gingerbread cookies Marnie had made. “How are the roads?” she asked.

“I’ve got chains on the tires. If it doesn’t snow any more I may even make it home again,” joked Jarrick.

“You’re brave to give it a try. It ain’t often folks come out here over the winter roads.”

“Police work doesn’t pay much mind to seasons, I’m afraid.”

“Yer policin’
during Christmas
? Investigatin’ something—”

“Saw a big moose just down the road a bit,” Jarrick broke in without letting her finish the question. “Biggest fella I’ve ever seen. It’s a wonder he’s managed to outdo the hunters for as many years as he has. Makes one rather admire him.”

“Might admire him more as an oven roast,” Molly said with a laugh.

The conversation turned easily to other things, and it seemed no time until Jarrick was gathering his hat and gloves and bidding farewell to them all.

Beth said a little prayer that he would make it back safely over the snowy roads.

Even with such visits and the family’s companionship, a heavier melancholy settled over Beth as they moved another day closer to Christmas. She couldn’t help but imagine her own home and the whirlwind of activities, the bountiful table, the cheerful décor, and heaps of presents—even Mother’s parties. Christmas was always festive and eventful back home, nothing like the quiet days she faced now.

What Beth perhaps missed the most was Christmas Eve, when they gathered before the blazing hearth and Father read the story of that first Christmas. Just closing her eyes and thinking of it brought back the sound of his voice, the scent of his aftershave . . . Beth missed him dreadfully.

Even recalling Julie’s unrestrained merriment and Margret’s composed conversation brought a lump to her throat. Baby JW would no doubt be taking tentative steps, getting into the wrapped presents if someone didn’t turn him in another direction . . .
and
enjoying his first Christmas without me
.

For some reason she didn’t explain, Molly just at that mo
ment decided to teach Beth to knit. She carried a basket of yarn scraps to the kitchen and set Beth to work on a scarf. Even in her current physical condition, Beth had to admit it helped to fill the time. But the variety of colors which Beth drew from the basket created quite a medley as the scarf began to take shape, and Beth wondered when she might ever wear such a thing. Then she thought with a little smile that perhaps the children would enjoy seeing her in it.
And I
made it myself
, she would announce, no doubt to some giggles.

Carefully making her way down the stairs with the quilt bunched around her on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Beth looked through the windows at the snow falling.
A white Christmas,
she exulted. Then she heard muffled steps over the snow on the porch. She’d already heard Frank arrive, and he would be waiting in the kitchen with Molly and the children. Through the glass in the door she could see a bright red tunic. Whisking open the door, she expected to greet Jarrick and tease him for crashing the party. But Beth drew back in surprise when dark green eyes peered down at her from beneath a Stetson. She stood motionless.

“May I come in?” He grinned.

Beth blinked away her bewilderment. “Yes, of course—but, Edward, how did you get here?”

He stepped through the doorway, stamping new snow from his boots, removing his hat, and putting down a bag. The lock of hair over his forehead was conspicuously absent—a short, professional cut now gave him a more mature and rather handsome appearance.

“I was given Christmas Day off and decided that what I’d like most would be to finally pay you a visit.”

“You came for Christmas—all the way from up north?” Beth sounded as incredulous as she felt.

“Well, no.” He hesitated and shifted his gaze away. “I was not so far away as that. I’ve been working farther south for a period of time.” He lifted his gaze again to her quilt-wrapped figure and pale face. “Are you ill, Elizabeth?”

“No—that is, I have been. But I’m much better now.”

Molly and Frank appeared, moving toward the stranger at the front door. “Welcome,” Molly said, her hand stretched toward him. “Thought ya’d never git here. Glad the weather ain’t too bad for ya.”

“You
knew
he was coming?”

“Sure.” Molly was shaking hands with Edward. “Jack told us last Sunday. Jest seemed more fun ta let it be a Christmas su’prise. Put yer bag in the third door on the right upstairs,” she instructed him, “an’ join us in the kitchen.”

Beth watched in amazement as Edward disappeared up the stairs. She cast a glance down at her clothing—nightgown and house robe with a quilt over all. She wondered what her hair must look like . . . but she pushed the thought aside. There was no way of fixing anything now. She wilted onto a chair.

“Jack told me this Edward was practically kin.” Molly was looking carefully at Beth, clearly trying to make her own determination about this new man and what his presence meant.

“Well, I suppose that’s one way to describe it.” Then Beth lowered her voice and said, “Miss Molly, please, in the future if someone’s coming to visit me—particularly a man, would you—could you
please
let me know?”

Molly reached to push a strand of Beth’s hair into place. “You look jest fine, dearie.”

Beth frowned.
Is Molly, like Mother, doing her own matchmaking?

Edward on a chair in Molly’s kitchen was like a swan trying to seem at home in a peat bog. His polite manners were a little too stiff, particularly across from Beth’s pale face and quilt-wrapped form. He managed, however, to convey deep sympathy for her.

“There is nothing trifling about the flu,” he was saying. “I’ve seen it put vigorous men on their backs for weeks. But I’m glad to hear you’ve been well cared for. Have you heard from your mother? No doubt she’d be quite worried about you.”

“I’ve already written to her about it, but, please—I’d rather you didn’t mention it to anyone who might tell her. That just makes it seem all the more serious. It’s just the flu. I’m nearly back to normal.”

Edward’s eyes crinkled in the teasing way Beth knew so well. “So you’re emancipated from your mother’s watchful eye. You certainly had to travel far from home to achieve that.”

Frank mercifully changed the subject. “Where is’a your posting, Mr. Montclair?”

“North in Athabasca. Though I’ll be in Lethbridge for the foreseeable future. Some of us were brought back for an additional assignment.”

It wasn’t so much the vagueness of his answer but the subtle change in his expression that drew Beth’s attention.
Is there something Edward is omitting?
But Beth chided herself,
Of course, there is much he would not
be able to tell us.

“And you enjoy the work?”

“Very much. It’s been taxing, to be sure, but there are frequent-enough moments when order has been brought to a community—it makes the rest of it worthwhile. But if I’ve learned anything in my job, it’s that the threats are closer than one would expect.”

“I’m sure that’sa true. I have seen crime and disorder drop as’a the law it moves closer.”

Just then Beth remembered the recovered compass and violin. She broke in, “Oh, Edward, I have wanted to thank you so much for finding my things—for sending them along. You can’t imagine what a relief—what a thrill—it was to see them again!” she rushed on.

He leaned closer, speaking in a quiet tone. “I wanted so much to set things right again, Elizabeth. It was vitally important for me to do so. I wanted to repair the damage I had caused. For things to be the same between us.”

Beth frowned. “It wasn’t your fault—not really. I already explained that.” She drew back a little. “But I know it took a great deal of effort to recover them, and I
am
very grateful.”

“It was my pleasure, I assure you.” There was an awkward silence.

Molly filled it with, “Frank, why don’t ya ask Beth’s friend here if he plays chess? I’ll bet the farm he does.”

Christmas Eve passed quietly, Beth observing Edward and wondering what might be behind his earnest words. She suspected now that there was more to his attempt to set things right than simply concern for an old friendship.
What do I
feel where Edward is
concerned
?
Beth couldn’t sort out her emotions—at least not right then.

That evening Molly suggested that Edward read the Christmas story, and then they shared some fruit punch and special pastries. Molly eventually shooed Beth off to bed, leaving Edward in the kitchen with Frank and her.

Beth had no way of knowing their perceptions of Edward, but they would be viewing him without prior prejudices of station or reputation. And as she contemplated this, another thought rose
. There is something different about Edward now—
he has matured
.
Perhaps she should reconsider her long-held opinions.

Christmas morning dawned with Beth feeling better than she had for some time. She washed up and brushed her hair, hoping to present a much better appearance than she’d had the energy for over the past week. It was difficult to choose which dress to wear. The ones Mother had sent seemed overreaching for a day spent at home, while the working dresses seemed too plain. She chose the one she had restyled, hoping that it was somewhere in the middle of the spectrum.

“Merry Christmas, dearie,” Molly called as soon as Beth’s footsteps sounded in the kitchen, throwing a quick hug around her shoulders. “So glad yer here ta share the day with us this year.” Then she added, “You look real nice.”