[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (16 page)

The dreadful sound reverberated through my brain long
after the cat had decided to call it a night. What an awful
thing to be a small mouse caught by a mammoth cat!

In the morning my revulsion toward the incident hung over
me like a cloud. I delayed getting up for as long as I dared. I
was sure that I would find my kitchen strewn with dead mice.
I didn't. Puss was still there, looking hungry and lean. There
was no evidence of her nocturnal hunting.

I was nearing the conclusion that I must have imagined the
sounds in the night when my tidying brought me to my favorite chair. At first I supposed that a small twig had somehow
found its way onto the seat. I reached down and picked it up.
It was in my hand before I recognized it-the tail of a mouse!
The cat had dared to have her dinner right where I did my
evening relaxing!

That did it. I went to my door, and feeling a little foolish,
opened it slightly and called the cat. As she slinked out and
started running for home, I asked forgiveness of the mice.
Surely there was a more civilized way of getting rid of them.
One thing I knew for sure: there must be a quieter way.

Before long, I was reminded again that I was still not rid of
mice. I had no idea how many remained, but I judged it to be
more than enough.

My cupboard stood empty while my trunks fairly bulged
with what should have been on the shelves. Just making a cup
of tea required extra effort. Those things that I couldn't fit
into my trunks I covered. I covered my water pail. I even covered the spout of my teakettle. No matter what job I did, I
checked first for the evidence of a mouse having been there before me. It was an awkward way to live, but I forced myself to
adjust to it.

My pupils were progressing favorably. I had been assured
that after the field work was finished, I would have three or
four more students.

I was having a problem with Phillip Delaney. He tended to
occupy himself with things other than what he was assigned to
do. When, for three days running, his copy work was not completed by dismissal time, I asked him to stay for a chat after
the pupils had been dismissed. I explained very carefully that
should it happen again, I would require him to remain behind
to finish his work.

The next day, to my dismay, his work was not completed.

"Phillip, I am disappointed," I said. "You had plenty of
time to do your work."

He didn't seem concerned. "Shall I stay and do it like
Tommy does?"

"Thomas needs special help with his lessons. He doesn't
understand them on his own. That's why he stays, so that I
can help him."

"But you said if I didn't finish, I'd have to stay."

"That's right."

He made no comment but reached for his pencil and began
to work.

He finished his work quickly and then lingered until I insisted that he run home.

The next day his work went unfinished again.

"You'll have to stay until it's done," I declared. "Maybe
this will help you to learn to work more quickly." I knew that
Phillip's problem was not difficulty in understanding, for
Phillip, unlike Thomas, was a bright child.

He did not protest. Again the work was done in good time,
and again Phillip hung around chatting. I finally sent him
home.

A short while later, I had an unexpected visitor. I was just
putting away the last of the books that had been used in the
day's lessons and was tidying up, when there was a rap on the
door. Wynn Delaney walked in.

As usual, his presence unnerved me, and I expect that I
flushed slightly.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked.

"Not at all. I was just leaving. Please come in."

He stepped to the front and took a seat near my desk. It
looked odd to see such a tall man curled up in the small desk.
He had to stretch his long legs out before him to make room
for them. Somehow his relaxed attitude put me more at ease.

"More letters?" I asked mischievously.

He smiled and shook his head.

"No, this time it's school business. I came to see you about
Phillip. He's had to stay after school a couple of times."

I thought, What do you have to do with Phillip? But I
pushed it aside as the issue of my discipline being questioned
seemed more important.

"You object to my method of discipline?"

"Not at all," he responded, almost as quickly. "I merely wonder if it's the best way to handle Phillip."

"Meaning?"

"Tell me, Miss Thatcher, how did Phillip respond to staying late? Did it upset him-annoy him?"

"Not at all." I was becoming defensive.

He smiled-a slow, deliberate smile, and in spite of myself
I noticed what a pleasant smile he had. Yet his smile also told
me that he had somehow just proved a point. He didn't even
say anything; he just waited for me to understand what he had
just said.

"You mean... ?" I began slowly.

"Exactly. Phillip likes nothing better than the extra time
and attention, Miss Thatcher."

"I see," I said, looking away from him, realizing as I reviewed the past few days that he was quite right. I turned
slowly back to him.

"So-" I began, reaching out for advice, "What do you
suggest?"

"Well, his mother and I-"

His mother and I. The words hit me like a pail of cold
water and I could feel the air leaving my lungs and the blood
draining out of my head. For a moment I felt dizzy, and I lowered myself into my chair, not even checking first to make
sure that it was really where it was supposed to be. His mother
and 1-Delaney ... of course, Phillip Delaney-Wynn Delaney. This was Phillip's father. What a fool ice been, I upbraided myself, to be nursing illusions about a married man.

I recovered quickly as I realized that Mr. Delaney was
waiting for my response to his suggestion. which I had missed
in my dismay.

"I'm sorry-" I stumbled along awkwardly, "I'm afraid my
thoughts ... I-I was off somewhere and I didn't-"

I left it dangling and he repeated, "His mother and I
thought that if you could send uncompleted work home with
him, we would see that it was finished and returned."

"Of course." I felt embarrassed that he had to explain
again.

It seemed like a good enough plan. And right now I was willing to agree with almost anything that would speed this
man's departure from my schoolroom.

I stood up and hurried on, "That sounds like a good approach. I will tell Phillip of the new arrangement. And now
if-if you'll excuse me, Mr. Delaney, I do have things-a lot of
things to attend to."

He arose with a questioning look in his eyes; I then remembered I had told him when he entered that I was finished and
ready to leave. He did not mention the fact, however, and excused himself in a gentlemanly fashion.

Odd feelings were quivering within me as I watched him
go. What a silly goose I had been to blithely assume that he
was unmarried. The fact that he was the most attractive man I
had ever met I could not deny-but had I known he was married, I never would have allowed him another thought. Well, 1
know now-so that is that, I thought mentally, giving myself a
shake. I firmly pushed all thoughts of the man from me and
walked briskly from the classroom. I decided to run over to
Anna's for a cup of her good, strong coffee. She was always
coaxing me to come, and I too often pleaded busyness. Well,
tonight I would take time. I was in no mood to sit by myself
and calmly sip tea. I might even stay for supper if she insists, I
told myself, knowing full well that she would. It will save me
standing on my head to dig something from my trunks, and
thus keeping my thoughts in control, I resolutely shut the door
behind me.

Only once did Phillip need to have work sent home with
him. He gave it to me the next morning, carefully completed.
From then on, Phillip finished his work easily in the allotted
time.

He was a little charmer. I suppose that, try as I might not
to, I must have shown a slight amount of favoritism. He found
little ways to spend time with me, and I'm sure that I enjoyed
it every bit as much as he did.

Else Peterson was also one of my "special" students. She
was quick to learn and eager to please. I did have opportunity
to have her for Saturday "tea." That day she had run across
the field between us with some warm coffeecake, fresh from
her mother's oven. It was delicious, and we called it "tea"
cake instead, eating it right away with our tea served in my
china cups. Else's tea, diluted with milk, was a marvelous
treat for her, and her eyes sparkled through her shyness as she
looked at the cups and the dainty teapot.

"Miss T'atcher," she told me solemnly, "it is like having a
fairy picnic."

I loved little Else. She was a precious, gentle child.

Sally Clark also found a warm place in my heart. She was
rather pathetic, this girl-turning-woman. She wanted so much
to enter into the adult world, yet she clung to her childish
world as well. I noticed, as the days went by, her shy watching
of me and her awkward attempts to copy me. I took it as a sincere compliment, and I often wished that I could take her
home with me and put her in one of my pretty dresses, arrange
her hair, and then let her see the attractive girl in the mirror.
She was a pretty girl in her own way, and I often had the impression that someday we might waken and find this shy little
butterfly free of her cocoon. I realized that I would be unwise
to try and rush nature's own slow, yet certain, process. To
show Sally through my wardrobe and tempt her with pretty
things that I had always taken for granted would only make
her worn and simple clothing look all the more drab in her
eyes. So, rather, I made simple suggestions and spoke words of
encouragement when I could: "Blue is one of your best colors";
"That type of collar suits you well"; "Your hair looks very
pretty that way-you have such pretty hair." I tried to build
up each one of my pupils with sincere praise, but with Sally
my smiles and words had extra meaning. She flushed slightly
when I did this, but I knew that my approval was important to
her.

Then there was Andy. Even to look at him made my heart
ache. He seemed to grow worse as the days went by. At times I
saw him reach up and grasp his head with both hands as
though he were in pain, a look of confusion and misery filling
his eyes. I tried not to draw attention to him, but as soon as I
was able I'd come to his side and kneel beside him.

"Andy, why don't you just put your head down on your
arms for a few minutes," I would whisper.

What I truly longed to do was gather him into my own
arms and shelter him there, though I seldom had the appropriate opportunity. Usually he would look at me with thankfulness in his eves, and then he would do as I suggested, sometimes rocking himself gently back and forth. I was concerned
that his inability to cope with the schoolwork might be causing
him physical problems. I did not push him, but I did so want
to offer him all that he was capable of retaining. I was on the
verge of trying to find out where he lived so that I could call on
his folks when, one school morning, Andy did not arrive with
his sister Teresa.

"Mamma think he need rest," she said, and I nodded my head in sympathetic agreement.

All the students missed Andy. He was a favorite with
everyone, for even though he could not fully participate in
classroom learning or outside games, he vigorously cheered on
all who could. In the classroom his eyes would shine whenever
anyone read or recited well, and occasionally he spontaneously clapped his hands in jolly appreciation. I never reproached
him for his exuberance, and the students watched Andy as
they recited, hoping to win his favor. On the playground he
watched the games with intent, and shouted and jumped wildly for any accomplishment. Andy did not pick favorites. He
cheered everyone on with the same enthusiasm. His clapping
hands and fervent exclamation of, "You did good! You did
good!" was something that each student worked for.

Carl Clark, just entering his teens, was a problem for me.
He was Sally's cousin and made it known that he didn't need
this "dumb of school"-he was going to be a cowboy and work
on a ranch in southern Alberta. He spent far more time practicing with his lariat than poring over his reader. He spent
every recess roping fence posts.

He had started out roping fellow students until I had firmly put a stop to it.

One day I gave Harvey Mattoch, one of my younger children, permission to leave the room; and, as I did with all of my
children, I kept an eye out for his return. The minutes ticked
by, and still no Harvey. I went on with the spelling lesson, but
my mind kept wondering about Harvey. When I dismissed the
class for recess, I immediately went to look for him. I found
him cowering behind the woodpile in tears.

"Harvey," I coaxed, "come on out and let's talk about it."

He shook his head, and a fresh torrent of tears began to
fall.

"What happened?"

He cried harder.

I sat down on a block of wood and waited for his outburst to
subside. As soon as he seemed to have control, I passed him
my handkerchief, let him mop up and blow his nose, then
asked him again.

"The-the door to-to the boys' place is all tied up," he
managed between sobs.

Sure enough, it was-with Carl Clark's lariat. Harvey had
tried to get the rope untied and the door free, but not in time
to avert an "accident." I gave him permission to run home for
dry clothes.

"You stay right here out of sight," I told him, "until I call
the children in from recess. No one else has missed you vet."

I wrote a quick note to his mother in the hope that the boy
wouldn't be scolded or shamed at home, smuggled it to him,
and then rang the bell. A few minutes later I saw the bobbing
of his head as he ran down the road in his hurry to get home
unnoticed.