[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (15 page)

I glanced about me. To my surprise there was activity going on all around me in the schoolroom. The fire had been
built up and a large kettle of water placed on to heat. Tables
were being pushed together, items laid out upon them, and
men were busy rearranging the desks. Seeing my puzzled look,
Anna Peterson crossed over to me.

"Da folks wanta meet da new teacher. Dis be gud vay,
vah?"

I was astounded. But as the afternoon went on I agreed
with Anna. Yes, this was a good way. All of my students and
their parents were there-except for Phillip Delaney and his
parents; they, I was informed, were very sorry to miss the
gathering but they were, of necessity, in Calgary for the weekend. Others from the community, though they did not have
children of school age, took advantage of the opportunity to
get together with the neighbors and perhaps to satisfy curiosity about the new schoolmarm. They all welcomed me heartily.

There were a few men whom I presumed to be unmarried.
Two of them were in their twenties, I would have guessed, and
the others were older. Three of them in particular made me
uncomfortable-I wasn't used to such open stares. One was
especially bold. I was afraid that he might approach me, but
he never left his companions. I hoped that I wouldn't be
thrown into his company at some future date.

Unconsciously, I found myself watching for a possible
glimpse of Wynn, but I did not see him. It was obvious that he
was not concerned about meeting the new schoolteacher. A
foolish disappointment trailed me about the room as I made
the acquaintance of my new neighbors. I forced the ridiculous
thought from my mind.

I liked my new neighbors. In comparison to my upbringing,
they lacked refinement and polish; but they were open and
friendly, and I respected their spirit of venture and their sense
of humor. They were hearty people, these pioneers. They knew
how to laugh and, obviously, they knew how to work.

When the last of the group had returned to their homes, I
walked slowly to my teacherage, my heart singing. I already
felt that I was a part of this community, and I liked the feeling.
I was completely happy here; then I thought of my stillpresent mice companions, and my song left me. What would I
do with them? Live with them, I guessed....

I was busy chalking an assignment on the blackboard the
following afternoon when I heard a firm rap. Before I could respond, the door began to open, so I continued on with my writing, thinking that it was a student who had forgotten some
item.

"Be right with you," I said without turning around, and set
out to finish the sentence that I was writing.

"That's fine, Miss Thatcher," came a very grown-up, male
voice. I swung around leaving a "g" with a very odd, long tail.
I'm sure my face must have betrayed my surprise. There was
Jon's Calgary friend, Wynn. My breath caught in a gasp and I
stood staring for what seemed like eons. My voice would not
cooperate in saying the greeting I knew I should extend.

"I'm sorry if I startled you," he began.

"Oh, no-it's fine. It's just-I thought-"

"I've frightened you." His voice held apology.

I shook my head and tried to laugh. It sounded ridiculous,
high-pitched and nervous. I decided not to laugh any further.

"I was expecting a student to be standing ..." My voice
sounded nervous also.

"I might have a lot to learn." He smiled and his eyes hinted at teasing. "But I'm afraid that I would look a little out of
place in your classroom."

I swallowed, then rubbed at the chalk dust on my hands.

"I'm afraid that I had to miss your party, Miss Thatcher. I hear that it was a success."

"Yes-yes, it was-very nice," I said lamely.

His eyes took in my white-dusted hands that were rubbing
together nervously, then lifted to meet my eyes. Afraid that he
was about to make some silly statement about my students being lucky to have such an attractive teacher, I squared my
shoulders. He didn't. His eyes shifted to the assignment on the
board and then glanced around the room. He stepped away
from me and went on a brief tour, carefully taking in all that
there was to see. I stood watching him, noticing that even in
this small room, he moved with confidence and purpose.
Keenly aware of the chalk dust on my frock and the strands of
hair that had loosened themselves and wisped about my face,
my thoughts tumbled over each other. What a sight I must be.
I probably even have a shiny nose.

He finished his tour, seeming to approve of what he found.

"I'm so glad that we finally have a school," he said with
sincerity, his voice deep and convincing.

"Yes," I almost whispered, "I'm glad too. They are so
eager . . .

Love for my pupils and his unsettling presence made my
voice waver, and I was forced to turn from my visitor. I slowly
erased the last "g" I had put on the board and rewrote it properly. Finishing the sentence carefully, I put away the chalk I
was holding and wiped my hands on a cloth that I kept for the
purpose.

"Now, Mr.--Mr.-?" I faltered.

"Forgive me," he said. "I was so fascinated with your room
I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Wynn Delaney-long-time
friend of your brother Jonathan."

I did not bother to explain that I was quite aware of that
last fact.

"How do you do, Mr. Delaney?" I even managed to smile
slightly. I admired myself for my control-now that I felt it
slowly returning.

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Delaney?"

"Thank you, but no. I must go. I apologize for bursting in
on you unannounced and unknown, but I admit to having a feeling of already knowing you. As I said, I've known Jon and
Mary for a number of years, and I have seen you-though I
was not granted an introduction."

And, I mentally supplied for him, `I never forget a pretty
face"-right, Mr. Delaney?

He did not say that, nor anything like it, however. He continued, "I spent the weekend in Calgary and was asked to deliver to you this packet of letters. Mary seemed to feel that it
was quite urgent that you receive them to stave off your great
loneliness." His eyes twinkled again. "They asked how you
were, but I had to confess that I knew nothing, except that
school was in session."

He smiled and handed me a bulging envelope.

"Thank you. It was kind of you to act as messenger-boy." I
hoped that he recognized and appreciated my attempt at
humor.

"No problem-since I was going right by. Should I see your
family again soon, may I relay that you look to be in good
health and spirits?"

"By all means, Mr. Delaney. I am quite enjoying the community and my school."

He nodded his own dismissal with a slight smile, replaced
the hat he carried in his hand, and left the schoolroom.

I stood and gazed toward the closed door. I could hear the
jingle of harness and the creaking of wheels in the yard, but I
did not allow myself the privilege of running to a window.

He had not said that he hoped to see me again. He had not
made any mention of finding another excuse to call. He had
not even offered any of the light flattery that I was rather acus-
tomed to expect.

A long sigh escaped me, and I turned back to my chalkboard. It was no use. I couldn't concentrate on what I had been
doing. I looked down at my hand that held the packet of letters. The letters! Of course, it was the letters from Jon and the
family that had disrupted my thoughts. I would hurry home,
have my tea and read my letters. After that I would be myself
again and able to gather my thoughts back to my lesson preparation.

I hurried home, built my fire and put on the kettle. I immediately began digging into my parcel of mail. There was a
short note from William telling me about his new schoolteacher, and a copied, carefully penned note from Sarah-my
name filled most of one sheet. She also wrote I MISS YOU in
big block letters, and squeezed her name in at the bottom.
There was a sheet with hugs and kisses from Kathleen, and in
one corner was a little hug and kiss marked from Elizabeth;
Mary had written an explanation that Kathleen insisted Baby
Elizabeth have opportunity to send her love as well.

Jon's letter was brief and brotherly, expressing concern for
my well-being and happiness, and imploring me to come to
Calgary whenever I had opportunity. Mary's letter, a lengthy
epistle, included a recitation of everything that had happened
in the brief' time I had been gone. She added anecdotes and
cute sayings from the children. I devoured it all hungrily. I
was so glad to hear from them. I wished they were nearer so
that I might more readily share my happiness with them.

My tea water had boiled and then cooled because I had neglected to fuel the fire beneath it. I coaxed a flame back to life
and nourished it with more kindling and then larger pieces.
While the fire took hold again and began to reheat the kettle, I
prepared some bread and cheese.

As I sipped in,,, tea and nibbled the bread, my feet resting
on my new footstool (which wasn't very ladylike, according to
Mother), I again scanned through my letters. I laughed at
Mary's comments concerning Mr. Higgins. She had met him
at a downtown store, and he had awkwardly asked about me.
Mary had replied that she assumed I was just fine, although
she had not heard from me since just after I had arrived. He
had replied with astonishment, "You mean she stayed?" "Of
course she stayed;" Mary said. "Isn't that what she was supposed to do?" "Oh, yes-yes, of course," Higgins mumbled
and walked off with a red face.

My thoughts kept turning from the letters to their courier,
but I refused to let my mind dwell on him. Even though I
deliberately tried to keep my mind from straying to Wynn
Delaney, I found that the name and the face kept taunting my fancies. Finally I laid aside my teacup, changed my dress and
went out to split wood for my fire. Perhaps some vigorous
activity would settle my imagination, I reasoned, and I attacked my woodpile with a vengeance.

The following morning I got up to find that the furry squatters had been prancing around on my cupboard top. I had to
do something! There simply was no living with them. I could
not bear sharing my cozy home with the mice.

I again washed and boiled all of my dishes and scrubbed
and rubbed everything that I imagined they might have
touched. With a great deal of difficulty, I moved two empty
metal trunks from my bedroom and placed all of the dishes
from the cupboard in one and all of the foodstuffs that I could
fit into the other. Surely the mice will not be able to get in
there, I determined as I closed the lids with a bang and
marched over to my school, too upset to bother about breakfast.

By the time the students began to arrive, I had calmed
down a bit and was able to welcome them with a smile.

The next two days went well, though it was a nuisance to
be digging around in the trunks every time I fixed a meal.

On Wednesday, Lars brought me a fresh supply of produce
and stared in amazement as I placed bread, cheese and eggs in
my large trunk.

"I have mice," I informed him as I went to place the milk,
cream and butter in the metal pail with a lid in the dugout on
the north end of the house.

"Ya need a cat?" he asked, and I wondered why I hadn't
thought of that.

"Do you have one that I could borrow?"

"Ve have lots. More all da time."

"I'll think about it."

We went to the classroom together.

On Thursday morning I awoke to find a drowned mouse in
my slop bucket. I was horrified as I stared at the soggy lump of
lifeless fur.

Well, at least it wasn't my water pail, I thought as I carried
my slop bucket to the farthest corner of the school grounds
and dumped it. I half expected the dead mouse to jump up
and dash for my house but, fortunately, it stayed put. I turned
and ran for the house myself.

I wanted to scrub out the slop bucket with soapy water, but
that seemed foolish, so I just rinsed it a bit and set it a little
farther away from my eating area. Again I skipped breakfast
and went right to school.

That night I laid aside all of my reserve and headed over to
the Petersons to beg, borrow, or steal a cat.

The one that Lars offered me was rather mangy looking, a
big, yellow thing.

"She be a good mouser," he maintained, and I didn't doubt
him for a moment.

He carried her home for me-an act that I appreciated
very much. I would rather have had one of the many cute little
kittens, but Lars talked me out of that. "No good fer mice," he
said. I took his word for it.

Lars deposited the large, hungry-looking cat in my kitchen
and turned to go. "Vatch da door," he cautioned. "If she get
out, she run home."

I watched the door. Lars left and the cat stayed.

Later I almost wished that she had gone. She prowled and
yowled until I thought I. wouldn't be able to stand another
minute of it. Still, if she cleared my house of mice, the noise
and commotion would be worth it.

At bedtime I shut my door against her nervous activity. I
could hear her prowling and climbing, jumping and mewing.
and I mentally followed her about the room-my chair, my table, my cupboard, my trunk. That cat didn't respect a single
piece of furniture.

And then I heard a dreadful crash. If that was my teapot!
was my first thought as I reached for a match to light the
lamp. Fortunately, it was only a chipped cup that I had
neglected to remove from the table. I swept up the broken
pieces and dumped them into the stove. I took my teapot into
the bedroom and carefully placed it in the trunk with my
books. Then I blew out the lamp and crawled back into bed. I
tried to force my thoughts away from the restless cat as it
prowled about my house. No mice will show tonight, I
thought, with all of that racket going on. I was wrong. About
four in the morning I was awakened by a commotion in my
kitchen, and then a sharp, sickening squeak of fright or pain.
The cat had pounced.