[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (10 page)

So I won't be boarding, I again told myself. I'll be lining
completely on m1v own, in this little pioneer log house.

I returned to the lumpy chair and poured a fresh cup of
tea. I looked around at my small, secondhand nest, feeling
deep respect for the people who had worked so hard and sacrificed so much to bring me here. The sense of near-panic left
me and a warm kinship with these pioneers began to seep into
my mind and emotions. I felt almost happy as I thought about my still-unknown neighbors. I will lone your children, and I
will teach them to the eery best of my ability, I decided then
and there.

I smiled to myself and sipped the hot tea. I said aloud,
"Thank you, Mr. Higgins. You couldn't have given me a more
pleasant situation."

It wasn't until I went to find a basin and more hot water to
wash up my few dishes that I discovered the covered pot of
stew simmering on the back of the stove. It smelled delicious
as I lifted the cover and stirred it, and even though my hunger
had been completely satisfied with bread and cheese, I
couldn't refrain from dishing myself a small serving. It was
delicious. The rest would be my dinner for tomorrow.

I spent the remainder of the daylight in further exploration
of my new domain. Besides the school (the door of which was
firmly nailed shut) and the house, there was also a shed for the
wood supply, a small barn and two outhouses, marked "Boys"
and "Girls." A pump stood in the yard, and I realized that this
was my water supply. Not being able to resist that handle, I
tried it. It was a long time before the water made an appearance. When it finally did come and I pushed my hand under
the stream of water, it was so cold that I shivered. I sat down
on the small platform to catch my breath, touching my stillcold hand to my hot cheeks and forehead.

The yard that I surveyed certainly needed care, but then,
of course, it had been unattended. The tall grass had recently
been cut but had been left to lie, browning where it fell. It
smelled musty and insects buzzed busily about it.

I peeked in one of the windows in the small school building
and glimpsed some desks in various sizes and condition, a
large, potbellied stove near the door, and a teacher's desk in
front of a homemade blackboard.

I did not go back to the teacherage until the sun had retired for the night. The sunset was a splendid display. I wondered if it was showing off for my benefit or if it was often that
spectacular. Rarely had I seen such a gorgeous scene; the riotous colors flamed out over the sky in shades that I had no
words to describe. Birds sang their last songs of the day before tucking in for the night, and still the darkness hung hack.
Now, I thought, I understand the word "twilight. " It was
created for just this time-in this land.

The air began to cool, and the darkness did start its descent at last. I slowly began picking my way toward my small
haven, wanting to sing aloud the song that reverberated in my
heart, yet holding myself in check. This new world was so
peaceful, so harmonious.

I was lingering by a window of the school building, taking
one last fruitless peek into the dark interior, when a bloodcurdling, spine-chilling howl rent the stillness of the evening
hour. It seemed to tear through my veins, leaving me terrified
and shaking. The scream had hardly died away when another
followed, to be joined by another.

I came to life then. A wolf pack! And right in my very yard!
They had smelled new blood and were moving in for the kill.

I sprang forward and ran for the door of my cabin, praying
that somehow God would hold them back until I was able to
gain entrance. My feet tangled in the new-mown grass and I
fell to my hands and knees. With a cry I scurried madly on,
not even bothering to regain my feet. The sharp stubble of the
grass and weeds bit into the palms of my hands, but I crawled
on. Another howl pierced the night.

"Oh, dear God!" I cried, and tears ran down my cheeks.

Howls seemed to be all around me now. Starting as a solo,
they would end up in a whole chorus. What were they saying
to one another? I was certain that they were discussing my
coming end.

Somehow I reached the door and scrambled inside. I struggled to my feet and stood with my back braced against the
flimsy wooden barrier. I expected an attack to come at any
moment. I heard no sound of rushing padded feet, only sporadic howling. But Julie had said that western wolves were like
that-catlike and noiseless, silently stealing up on their
victims.

My eyes lifted to the windows. The windows! Would they
challenge the glass?

I forced myself to leave the door, checking first for some kind of lock. There was one, of sorts, but it was only a hook
and eye. Totally inadequate against a half'-ton wolf.

Julie had said that they were huge animals, with eyes that
glared an angry red, jaws that were set in a grin of malice, and
hackles that bulged a foot around their neck, making them
look much like sinister men in heavy, broad-collared beaver
coats.

With trembling fingers I fastened the hook on the door and
rushed into the kitchen. What would deter them? Perhaps if I
hung quilts over the windows, the smell of my warm blood
would not reach them so readily. What had Julie said? Fire.
That was it-fire. Fire was about the only thing that would
hold them back.

I rushed to the stove. It was cold and flameless.

"I must get a fire started-I must!" I sobbed, and began to
throw paper and kindling into the firebox. I knew that these
supplies had been left for my use the next morning, but I needed them now.

My fingers fumbled with the match as a new burst of howls
split the air. They didn't sound any closer, but perhaps that
was their strategy, just to throw their victims off' guard.
Maybe some of them were sitting back and howling while
others stole in quietly to make the kill.

The paper finally began to flame, and I thrust the kindling
carelessly on top of it. The hungry. newborn flames consumed
it greedily. I placed the lid on the stove. To my dismay there
was then no evidence of fire except for the small amount of
warmth that was beginning to radiate from the black metal of
the stove top.

"I can't cover it-I can't, or it will be no protection at all,"
I told myself'.

I removed the lid again. The flames were robust now, and I
fed them more wood.

Smoke began to seep into the room, and as I huddled over
the stove, as close to the flames as I dared, I began to cough. I
pulled the handkerchief from my skirt pocket and covered my
mouth. It was then I realized that my dress was ripped and
hanging limply about my waist. I had nearly severed the skirt from the bodice. It must have happened during my frantic
crawling.

I continued to feed the fire and huddle over it, coughing
and crying into the woodsmoke. Suddenly I realized that it
had been several minutes since I had heard a wolf howl. Was it
a trick? Had they moved on, or were they just coaxing me
away from the flames? I now wished that I had studied more
about the habits of the wilderness creatures, like Julie had insisted. It had been foolish of me to venture into the wilds
unprepared. Why, I didn't even have a gun or know how to use
one.

My pounding heart sounded loud in the new stillness. I
heard an owl hoot a few times. then it too seemed to move on.
Still, I remained by the fire, not even daring to move to the
window to look outside.

A harvest moon soon hung in the sky. I could tell by the
brightness that it was full and orange like an autumn pumpkin. I stayed where I was and, between fits of coughing, stared
at the shadows surrounding the trees at the far side of the
yard. I could see plainly through the window as the moon rose
higher and higher in the sky, but though I watched until my
eyes ached with the strain, I saw nothing move. And then, to
my amazement, two deer moved fearlessly out of the shadows
and into the open yard. They began to feed, unconcerned,
upon the scattered, mown grass. This was my first encouragement. Surely the deer wouldn't walk out boldly if the wolf
pack was still around. But could the wolves so conceal themselves that even the deer couldn't detect them? Downwindwasn't that it? The killer stalked his prey from downwind.
Was there a wind blowing? Again I strained my eyes and my
ears, but not a leaf shivered: I could not even hear a flutter in
the stillness of the night.

I continued to feed my fire. The smoke in the room was almost unbearable now. I could not afford to leave the lid off the
stove a minute longer or I would surely suffocate. Even with
my handkerchief and the hem of my dress over my nose and
mouth, I could scarcely stand to breathe the air of the room.
My eyes watered until my handkerchief was soaked.

What could I do? To close the lid meant that my fire could
not be seen, but to open the lid meant that I would soon be
driven from the cabin. Perhaps that was what the wolves were
waiting for. Maybe they knew that I could not endure the
smoke-filled room much longer. Maybe they were gathered
around my door at this very instant, waiting for me to stagger
from the house and into their waiting jaws. I replenished the
fire and closed the lid.

The minutes ticked slowly by. It was a long time until I
was brave enough to step away from the stove. I was still
struggling with some way to insure survival. The lamp, I
thought suddenly. The lamp might do as a fire substitute.

I fumbled in the darkened room until I found the lamp and
the matches. When the small flame flickered up, I beheld a
room blue with smoke. No wonder I was having trouble
breathing.

I looked around the room in dismay. There was nothing
available for my defense, and it was very late. No one at this
hour would be going by on the road that ran by my door. I
guessed that, according to where the moon now hung, the
night was half over. I ached with tiredness and fear, and my
hands and knees stung from their scratches and bruises. What
could I do?

It suddenly dawned on me that there was nothing that I
could do, and that it was foolish to pretend to defend myself.

I placed more wood in the stove, set my lighted lamp on the
table by the window, and went to my bedroom. Somewhere in
my few belongings I had a nightgown, but I didn't bother
searching for it. I closed the curtain and slipped my torn and
soiled dress over my head. I left it lying where it fell and
dropped on top of it one of my petticoats. Still wearing the
other, I moved to the bed and spread the quilt over it. I had
never slept without sheets before, and under different circumstances it might have bothered me to do so. It did not bother
me now. I was about to lower myself onto the bed when I remembered the clean floursacking over the mattress. I stopped
only long enough to gather up the skirt of my crumbled dress
and carefully wipe my hands and feet on it. Then I lay down and pulled the quilt right over my head.

"Lord," I prayed, "I've done all that I know to do. You'll
have to take over now."

The stuffiness under the quilt was no better than the
smoke of the room. I was soon forced to uncover my nose so
that 1 might get some air. Somehow I managed to cough myself to sleep.

When I awakened the next morning, the sun was already
high in the sky. I woke up coughing, and it took me a few minutes to regain my bearings and realize what had happened.
One glimpse of my garments lying in a heap on the floor, and
it all came back to me.

The panic-stricken fear was gone. Julie had informed me
also that wolves do not prowl around in broad daylight. I
pushed back the quilt and moved my feet to leave my bed;
stiffness and pain stopped me. I was instantly reminded of my
bruised knees and realized that I should have properly cared
for them before retiring. I slowly sat up and pulled up my petticoat to examine my wounds. The scratches were red and
swollen but none appeared to be deep. A few days of healing
would be all that was needed. I turned over my hands and
looked at them, and found the same to be true. But I was
shocked at their filthiness. Dirt-streaked and soot-smudged, I
shuddered to think that I had actually gone to bed in such
condition.

Crawling slowly and painfully out of bed, I limped around
to open all of my windows in an effort to clear out the stubbornly clinging smoke. Then I washed myself as thoroughly as
I could in cold water and dried myself on the cleanest portion
of my soiled dress.

My scratches stung as I soaked the dirt out of them with
the bar of soap and patted them dry. I wished that I had been sensible enough to bring some kind of ointment with me. Having none, I decided to try a small amount of cream from that
jar that had been provided for my table. It did soothe the cuts
some. I dressed rather stiffly and did the best I could with my
hair. It was badly in need of a good washing after my dusty
trip in the Ainsworths' automobile and the smoke of the previous night.

I had barely put things in order, built my fire and put on
the coffeepot when there came a knock on my door. I had just
prepared myself for a trip to the woodshed to replenish my
wood supply. I had burned almost all of it from the big wooden
box by my kitchen stove in my efforts to keep the wolves from
my door. Mv, it must take a lot of wood to get the folks around
here through the winter-with the wolves and the constant
blizzards and all, I was thinking when the knock came.

I opened the door, and there stood a young boy whom I
judged to be eight or nine. He was dressed in patched denim
trousers and a freshly pressed cotton shirt. His blond hair was
rather unruly, but his freckled face shone from its early morning washing.

"Hello," he said, a shy grin trying to get past his wary
eyes.