Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel (22 page)

He tipped his weathered hat, then hooked his thumbs through his overall straps as if still considering her request. Looking down at his worn boots, he kicked at a clump of dead grass, then slowly let his eyes sweep back up to Beth’s face. “Funny I’m still a no-name to ya since I bin supportin’ ya so long.”

Beth was certain she had never met the man before. “Please, I’m at a loss—”

“Yup. I s’pose ya are. But ya spent plenty a’ time in my building.” He snapped a twig he had been holding. “I’m Davie Grant. Use’ta have a profitable tavern—now all I got is a school
squatting in my place, usin’ up my wood an’ drinkin’ up my water. Strange—as I ain’t got no son no more, so that there school don’t do me a lick a’ good. An’ now I find ya here in
my
woods. Ain’t ya got no respect a’tall fer what ain’t yers?”

Beth tried again to step around the man. In a flash, Davie had snatched the violin and held it away, high in the air, a slow grin spreading across his face as he loomed over her. “Thet’s real fancy, missie. An’ you was playin’ it jest so well.”

She could hear Father’s voice commanding that she run—that she escape before danger could befall her. But she hesitated, casting a pleading look at her precious instrument. “Mr. Grant, please,” she whispered, “I just want to go in peace.”

He took a menacing step forward. “An’ thet’s what I want too—ta be left in peace. But you had to come in here—all high an’ mighty, changin’ our town with all yer learnin’ and all yer religion and all yer fancy ways. An’ then bringing in all them vagrant foreigners—right here among us. Who the blazes ya think you are, anyhow?” He lowered the violin from the air and clutched his other hand around its neck. The strings made a sickening sound.

“Leastwise, the school year being most over, it’s ’bout time fer ya to leave. An’ I say ya best git to it
,
then. I say let them widders take their kids an’ git too. What this here town needs is
men
—real men—not none of them there Eetalyuns either. Real red-blooded men. And the sooner them houses is rid of non-payin’ folks, the sooner new folk’ll come. Pro’bition won’t last—an’ it’ll all go right back to how it was. Ya hear me? All ya gotta do is git. Outta town. Outta the country, far as I’m concerned—jest git.”

For a moment he raised the violin as if offering it back to Beth, then snatched it away before her hands could receive it. “See this perty thing? Bet it’d be easy jes’ to snap its skinny
neck. Now, I ain’t a bad fella, so I’ll let it go—fer now. But ya best be careful, missie. ’Cause I don’t think it’d take much ta break a thin little neck like this. Best ya keep it in mind.”

Slowly he passed the beloved instrument back to Beth, glowering into her eyes. With one last sneer, he turned on his heel to head toward the woods. Only then did Beth notice the gun he had left at the edge of the clearing. He hoisted it conspicuously to his shoulder and walked away, whistling.

Beth’s heart was pounding as she stood alone once again. She frantically thrust the violin back into its case, snapped it shut, and struck out quickly toward town. It wasn’t until then that she recalled Frank’s warning about not venturing into the woods. Was Davie Grant a dangerous man? He had referred to the woods as his. She had not realized they were privately owned—if that indeed was Davie’s meaning.

Beth almost ran past the pool hall and on toward Molly’s home, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. She struggled to catch her breath.

It appeared that her absence had not been noticed—nor her agitated return. Beth hurried quietly up the stairs and stowed the case safely back under her bed. Then she dropped onto the covers and wept silently, realizing the danger in which she had found herself. And now she was terrified to return to school.
Will Mr.
Grant make good on his threat?
Who can help?

Surely Molly would react too strongly—maybe even confronting the Grants and risking their classroom—to be considered a confidante. Beth shook her head. Frank too. And Jarrick—Jarrick, who could best protect her—might also react with the most negative results. She still needed the Grants’ pool hall to finish out the school year. If she were to disclose the conversation now, all her hard work and that of the students would be in jeopardy. Beth wiped her eyes, determining
that she would tell no one for the time being. It was clear that she had been threatened if she did not leave—but he had not stipulated that she do so before the end of the school year.

Setting the table for supper and assisting Molly in the kitchen, Beth kept her eyes averted as much as possible. She was certain if Molly paused to look deeply into them, her maternal affection would read the fear Beth was struggling to conceal. Her mind churned with wild and garbled thoughts. Memories that had once seemed disjointed and unimportant flashed before her. Was there more than she knew about Philip’s suggesting she not serve breakfast in the Grants’ tavern?

What exactly is this man capable of doing? How worried
should I be?

On Sunday morning, Beth had not shaken the nagging sense of fear from yesterday’s frightening encounter. She picked her way across the rutted road, placing each step into Teddy’s footprint as she followed him toward the company hall for church.

Upon entering the building and feeling engulfed in its sense of safety, she smiled toward the circle of children and adults gathered inside the door and joined them in exchanging boots for indoor shoes. The floors would have been impossible to keep clean if it weren’t for this practice. Beth tucked her boots under the bench. Soon there was a large jumble of boots spilling over near the door. Something about the sight warmed Beth’s heart. It spoke of community and closeness—of sharing and consideration. With a little smile she wondered if it would make the same impression on Mother.

She moved forward to chat with a group of ladies. Philip was speaking with three of the mining men. With increas
ing frequency the miners had been attending services since the Christmas concert—first Paolo, Alberto, and his cousin Lucio. And then young brothers named Saverio and Roberto, each in their early twenties. Now there were others whose names Beth did not yet know. Thrilled to see them making an appearance, she was growing hopeful they would be fully accepted into the community in time. Then Davie Grant’s comments filled her mind and her heart clenched in fear.
If he has
his way, they will be banished from Coal Valley
—
from
the mine too
. Did anyone else resent their inclusion? Were there others who felt the same way as Mr. Grant?

Philip spoke from the book of Psalms, introducing it as a whole collection of praise and prayers, and mentioning some of his favorite passages. He challenged the townsfolk to read through one psalm a day and to share the reading with a neighboring family if Bibles were not available.

At the end of the service, Beth watched Philip from across the room and edged over in case she might be able to converse with him. She wondered if perhaps she should confide in him about Davie Grant. But she hesitated, uncertain.

Philip had motioned toward Alberto and another man, drawing them aside, directing them toward a small box at the front of the room. They seemed to be surprised and pleased by its contents. Curiosity got the better of Beth, and she inched closer.

She overheard, “Bardo and Giacobbe, they can’a surely read. Others also. I take and give out.
Grazie, Pastore!
Thank you.” They scooped up the box and carried it away, leaving Philip to finish packing away the other church items.

Beth felt like a schoolgirl, shy and sheepish that she had listened in but too intrigued to draw away. “I’m sorry, Philip, I couldn’t help but notice. Were they Bibles? In Italian?”

He placed the last hymnals in the box and turned to smile knowingly at Beth. “I thought you might like that. It wasn’t even my idea. Two older ladies from a church in Lethbridge heard me talking about what was happening with the men up here and immediately began asking if they had the Word in their own language. Imagine my delight when they tracked down several copies in Italian and brought them to me.”

“That’s wonderful! Such a gift.”

She lifted the cross from where it had been set aside, wrapped it back in its cover, and placed it on top of the crate of hymnals. “I knew Frank had a Bible, and I suspected Alberto might too. But it never occurred to me to find more. How lovely.”

Philip pulled the purple cloth from the table and began folding it. “Sometimes God answers before we even know what to ask.” His comment stirred Beth’s heart. She had not prayed more than a few desperate words about her current difficulties. Ashamed of herself, she determined to spend some time in prayer that afternoon.

She began by confessing her foolish decision to go into the woods alone. She prayed for Davie Grant. She asked the Lord for safety, for peace. But peace did not come. For the first time, Beth talked to God about her fears that perhaps He did not want her to return to Coal Valley—and that if true, it might have nothing to do with whether she had failed to stand in His strength. She wondered if there might no longer
be
a school in which she could teach—or enough children remaining in town.
Will Davie Grant be able to accomplish his wish to
send all us “outsiders” back to where we came from
—get rid of the widows too?

Feeling dejected, Beth could not bring herself to do the one thing she had promised herself she would not neglect—the
letter home to Mother on Sunday afternoons. She knew she would never be able to present an honest assessment of the week without mentioning Davie Grant. And that was something Mother should never know.

Fewer children came for breakfast and yarn rolling on Monday, which Molly insisted was good news—at least some of the mothers were feeling it was no longer necessary. But Beth could not shake the dismal thought, more frequent with each passing day, that they might have just a couple more months together.

As she prepared to teach each morning, Beth grappled with her concerns about Davie Grant. She paid close attention now to any sound she heard from the residence above their classroom. Any thump might cause Beth to freeze in place, any squeak of the floorboards put her on alert.

She found reasons—any reason—to never be alone in the pool hall, asking the bigger boys to help rearrange the furniture after school each day, inviting Marnie to help her with study materials in the morning. She of course did not expect the children to protect her should there be another altercation, but she was certain if anyone else was present there would be none.

M
ISS
T
HATCHER
, Miss Thatcher! You gotta come quick. An accident!”

The loud rapping on her bedroom door startled her, but the frightened look on Teddy’s pale face when she answered brought fear to Beth’s heart. She couldn’t even voice her questions—
Who? What?

“It’s Grandpa Frank,” Teddy said, reaching for her arm and pulling her into the hallway. “He cut hisself. Bad.”

Frank
is hurt!
Clutching Teddy’s arm tightly, she headed down the stairs—now pulling him along with her. “Where is he?”

“Out back—at the woodshed.” The boy’s voice was unnaturally shrill.

“What happened?”

“He was—he was cuttin’ wood. Guess the ax musta slipped.”

Oh, dear God, please
—
Beth’s silent prayer was cut short with her question, “How badly . . . ?”

“His leg—it’s bleedin’ buckets.”

The back porch door banged shut behind them, and they
were running across the yard toward the woodshed.
I should have brought
supplies
, she thought frantically
.
But what did she have at hand to deal with an open wound?

“Get Molly—”

“Already there.”

Beth felt the air return to her gasping lungs. Molly would know what to do. But she tried to imagine their strong, dependable Frank in jeopardy.
What will
we ever do if . . . 
? But Beth would not allow her mind to finish the thought.

At the open door of the small shed, Beth saw Molly on her knees beside Frank, who was sitting on a stump and leaning against the wall for support. Quiet and pale, he looked woozy and uncomfortable with Molly’s ministrations, and blood was still flowing down his leg. Molly looked flushed yet determined.

“How’d ya ever manage . . . ?” Molly was gently scolding as she worked. “Ya gotta slow down, Frank. Teddy here can chop wood now. Ya need . . .” She shook her head and ripped another strip from a bed sheet nearby.

Beth moved forward. “How bad—?”

“Yer here.” Molly did not even turn her head. “Good. I need ya to help me get this bleedin’ stopped. Teddy, run git the kettle from the stove—and mind ya, don’t slosh hot water on yerself. An’ bring the basin too. We gotta clean this wound.” He rushed to obey, and Molly called after him, “An’ git the disinfectant from the shelf by the basin.” She glanced at Beth. “Tear off some more strips while I try to stem the bleedin’.”

Beth sank to her knees, following Molly’s instructions with shaking hands. The sight of so much of Frank’s blood made her feel sick, and she took little panting breaths to keep nausea at bay. Molly had already torn away his pant leg, and blood
washed over his bare lower leg and covered Molly’s hands. Beth had to look away as she handed over the next strip.

“Not too deep—an’ that’s a blessin’,” Molly was saying. “Once we git the bleedin’ stopped.” She took the new strip and wound it tightly above the wound.

Frank seemed to rouse himself, forcing some strength back to his voice as he stared at his leg. “It’sa gonna need stitches.”

Molly’s head came up. “Stitches? I ain’t no doctor, Frank.”

He managed a weak smile. “Doctor, no. But stitcher, yes.”

“Humph,” puffed Molly. Teddy returned from the house with the additional supplies, then was sent back for the sewing kit.

Beth was tearing more strips of cloth but had to keep her face turned away. She shuddered, finding it impossible to imagine such a task, but Molly set to work. She steadily stitched the wound, with only an occasional groan from her patient. She got the blood flow stopped and bandaged the leg with more of her sheet strips after pouring on generous amounts of her precious antiseptic. Finally she rinsed her own hands clean with a deep sigh. Then the two women and Teddy half carried, half led Frank inside to a chair at the kitchen table.

“Make a list an’ we’ll send Teddy to yer place fer what ya need,” Molly instructed.

Frank stared at her.

“Well, ya can’t go back there, even if you was able to git there. Which ya ain’t. This is gonna take some tendin’ to, and I ain’t got the time to be hikin’ out to yer cabin two or three times a day. You can have the long sofa in the parlor fer a bed, since you can’t climb them stairs. We’ll jest watch over ya here for a while.” Her tone invited no discussion, and Molly placed a cup of strong coffee near Frank’s elbow, placed a piece of paper and a pencil on the table, and went to wash
the blood from her apron. Beth guessed she probably washed additional tears from her eyes at the same time.

Frank’s wound healed well over the days that followed. Molly took her nursing seriously and fussed or scolded by turn. They shared coffee in the kitchen, where Frank was allowed to do small tasks to help with meal preparation. Beth observed a few games of dominoes or shared work on a jigsaw puzzle. Once he could put weight back on the injured leg, Molly even escorted him to the dining room table at mealtime. In all of Frank’s previous visits, he had never taken a meal with the company men in the dining room.

“Truth be told,” Molly muttered to Beth, “he got far more right to be settin’ there than those stuffed shirts I feed every meal.” Beth only smiled. Molly was doing far more than inviting a man to the dinner table—and well she knew it. Molly was making a statement to the entire town—company men included—that they were all on level ground. Well—almost. Beth was certain that in Molly’s eyes, Frank was one step above them.

Almost as soon as Frank joined them at the dinner table, Nick Costa returned unexpectedly. It caused some consternation for Molly—who was faced with the task of finding room for him when all her guest rooms were in use. With Frank sleeping in the parlor and four other men already settled in the rooms upstairs, Beth quickly volunteered to have Marnie move in and share her room so Nick might board in Marnie’s for the time being. Marnie’s eyes shone at the prospect.

Even at this arrangement, Nick was such a gentleman that he did not complain—not even a flicker of annoyance. Beth
was certain none of the other company men would have stood for such a small room—with a view of the shed to boot.

Frank was getting restless and antsy, impatient to get back to his usual activities even while he obviously appreciated the care Molly was lavishing upon him. In his typical manner, he had taken upon himself some useful tasks. Virtually behind Molly’s back, he would slip away to fix the hinge on the front gate, drive the fence posts deeper so the pickets stood straight again, and pound more nails into some loose boards on the front porch. Molly clucked at him disapprovingly whenever she caught him, but no one doubted how pleased she was to have Frank getting well and near at hand.

At last Molly was convinced Frank could manage well enough for himself at home. She wrapped an extra loaf of nut bread, his favorite, and ladled a jar of some leftover stew for him to take home. Beth watched in amazement as he expressed his thanks, smiling warmly into Molly’s eyes just a little longer than necessary, and Molly blushing ever so slightly when he praised her. “You make’a the best I’ve ever had!”