[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (17 page)

At the end of the day I asked Carl to remain behind. I told
him how disappointed I was that he would use his rope to tie
up a needed building and that for the next week his recesses
would be occupied in hauling wood for the school stove. I also
told him that his lariat was not to be seen at school again. He
sulked as he left the room, but I had no further problem with
the rope. Eventually Carl even joined the other boys in their
games. I did have to revise my recess punishment, however.
The weather had been too mild to use the big iron stove, and
Carl hauled enough wood in two days to completely fill the
wood storage bin in the schoolhouse and stack more by the
door.

Considering the fact that my students had never had any
formal education prior to this year: considering the fact that I
had very few educational aids to use on their behalf; considering the fact that I had all of them under one roof' and on all
grade levels; considering the fact that they came from various
ethnic backgrounds, and some of them did not even speak
English well; considering the fact that I was young with only
two previous years of teaching experience, I was rather proud
of everyone-well, almost everyone.

During the weeks that followed I had the pleasant experience of being invited to several neighborhood homes for Sunday dinner or a weekday supper. Some of the homes I visited
were even more simply furnished than my little teacherage. A few were surprisingly comfortable and charmingly decorated
and arranged. But wherever I went, the people were anxious to
share with me the best they could offer. I loved them for it.

It was difficult for me to accept their hospitality when I
was not in a position to return it. They seemed to sense how I
felt and were quick to assure me that this was their small way
of saying thanks to me for coming to teach their children. It
made me more determined than ever to do the best that I
could.

Very suddenly the warm weather turned cold and rainy.
One morning I awoke to a cloudy, dark sky, a cold wind and
rain like ice water. Even in my snug little house I shivered as I
dressed. I could hardly believe that a day could be so drastically different from the one just preceding it. I decided that
my schoolroom must have a fire-the first one yet needed. At
least we were well stocked for wood, thanks to Carl.

As I looked at the sky, I was glad that it was Friday. Maybe
by Monday we'd have our sunshine back again.

I built my own fire and put on my coffeepot. The hungry
flames began to lick at the wood quickly, and the warmth was
soon spilling out into the room. As I looked at the dismal day, I
wondered how many of my students would venture forth. I
wouldn't have blamed them if they'd stayed home.

I decided to do everything that was necessary before leaving the house so that once I had crossed to the schoolhouse in
the rain I could stay there.

With this in mind, I cared for my daily grooming, almost
gasping for breath as I washed in the cold water; I breakfasted,
had my morning Bible reading, and tidied my two small
rooms. Before I left I banked my fire the way that Lars had
shown me and then bundled myself up tightly in my coat, tied
a scarf on my head, and dashed for the school.

It was cold in the room, all right, but I still had plenty of
time to take the chill from the air before my students arrived.

I threw aside my coat and went to work on laying the firewood. My hands were already numb with the cold and dampness. I got the paper and kindling ready to light but, though I
searched everywhere that a matchbox might he, I found none.
I buttoned on my coat, donned my damp scarf, and dashed
back through the rain to the teacherage for some matches. In
my haste as I returned to the school, I stepped into a big puddle and splashed muddy water up my leg. Undaunted, I ran on
and, once inside, threw off' my coat and dripping scarf and
went to work on the fire again. I had no problem getting the
kindling to accept the flame and soon a brisk fire was begging
greedily for more fuel; also, soon the room was beginning to fill
with blue woodsmoke. I opened the door of the stove and
peered in. Smoke puffed out and stung my eyes. I slammed the
door shut. Maybe it will take just a few moments to begin to
draw, I thought, thinking of my father's words concerning our
fireplace at home.

The minutes passed by, and the stove did not draw; it only
seemed to blow-billows of choking smoke filled the classroom.

I poked and fussed with the fire, but it only increased in,,
coughing and watering eyes and got soot and ashes all over my
hands and clothing. Determining that the only way to save my
room from total disaster was to drench the fire, I picked up the
pail of water. I was about to heave it into the stove when the
school door opened and there stood Wynn Delaney. I gasped,
choked, and began another fit of coughing.

Without speaking he crossed to me, took the pail from my
hands and set it back on its shelf. Then he moved on to the
stove.

"These country school stoves can be contrary things," he
stated matter-of factly as he flipped some metal lever'on the
stove pipe and another on the stove itself. Then he walked
purposefully to the windows and began to open them one by
one. After the last one had been flung wide, he returned and
picked up my coat.

"I have a few minutes," he offered. "Why don't I stay and
tend the fire while you go on home and freshen up. It'll be a good forty minutes before any students appear."

He held my coat for me, and I shrugged into it without
speaking. I fled from the building in embarrassment at being
discovered in such a predicament. What a mess I was! I had
soot streaks up my arms and even across my cheek. My legs
and dress were splattered with mud, my shoes were soggy, and
my hair was tumbling down. I eyed the clock as I scrubbed and
changed but I did not hurry. I even had a second cup of coffee,
feeling a bit like a child stealing from the cookie jar. I then
slowly and deliberately picked my way across the yard to the
schoolhouse, skirting all of the deeper puddles. By the time I
reached the school, most of the smoke had cleared, and the
room was beginning to warm with the cheerily burning-and
smokeless-fire. My benefactor was still there.

In spite of my embarrassment, my sense of humor held me
in good stead, at least in measure.

"I want to thank you," I began, "for rescuing the schoolhouse. We nearly went up in smoke."

When he saw that I could laugh at myself, his eyes began to
twinkle, but he was too kind to tease me.

"Someone," he said, placing all the blame on an unknown
and unseen "someone," "left the damper completely closed."
He stepped over to the stove and turned the damper lever
slightly. "When the fire gets going well, you can turn it-like
this-to slow it down some; but to start with, it should always
be turned upright, like this."

I nodded, berating myself for not thinking of dampers. He
didn't remark about my folly, though, but went on, "I must
warn you, though, don't et,er use a full pail of water to douse a
fire in a stove like this. It can be very dangerous-and at best,
very messy. The water forces the ashes, some of them carrying
live sparks, to blow out through the stove door."

A mental image of the forcefully splashing water, the flying
ashes and soot made me thankful that he had come in when he
did.

"If you must quench a fire," he continued, "gently pour on
water, a dipperful at a time, working your way over the
flames. Remember, too, it doesn't take long for an iron stove to heat; a sudden change in temperature might even split the
metal."

I nodded meekly, feeling that I had just been given a fatherly lecture on fires.

"Never did hold to this business of a young woman teacher
having to care for her own fire," he remarked, as though to
himself. I cringed inwardly as I imagined him at some future
meeting of the parents in the community, taking his stand to
argue that young women teachers had no business caring for
the fire in the classroom.

I quickly assured him, "It'll be fine, now that I know how it
operates."

He threw two more good-sized chunks of wood on the
flames, closed the door of the stove and straightened to his full
height. I saw his eyes fall to my hands, and I became more
self-conscious and nervous. Was he noticing that my hands
showed I was not used to manual work of any kind? Was he
checking to see if they were losing their cared-for look under
the rigors of work in a country school?

I moved to a window.

"Do you suppose we can close them now?" I asked in an effort to direct his attention elsewhere.

"Certainly," and he moved to the nearest one.

I looked around my room and as soon as the last window
had been closed, I turned to him.

"I do want to thank you-and I will remember to check the
damper. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have lessons to prepare."

He smiled slightly and reached for his hat. It was strange,
this feeling I had. I knew instinctively that he was the kind of
man who would be worthy of anyone's friendship, especially
since he was a long-time friend of Jonathan's; yet I felt that I
dared not encourage a friendship of any kind. I had never felt
such a barrier, or rather the need for such a barrier, with a
man before. Perhaps I feared lest he somehow was aware of my
attraction to him before I had realized that he was a married
man. Perhaps if I met his wife I would be able to feel differently. But for now I held myself stiffly at a distance.

"I stopped to let you know that Phillip won't be attending class today. He has a cold, and his mother has decided not to
send him out in the rain."

At the words "his mother," I backed away a step farther
from the man who spoke to me.

"I'm-I'm sorry," I managed. "I do hope that it will not be
serious."

"I'm sure that it won't. You know children. They can be
back racing about in an hour's time. Mothers take a little
longer to recuperate from a child's illness." He grinned.

"Yes," I answered. "I guess so."

"I'll be coming back this way sometime between three and
four. Lydia would like me to pick up Phillip's work so that he
won't fall behind his classmates. She'll go over the lesson with
him at home-if that's not too much trouble for you."

"No-no, of course not. I'll have it ready for you when you
come by."

He smiled again, nodded slightly and left, his hat still in
his hand. I turned to my blackboard, trying hard to concentrate on the lessons that I had to prepare. I dreaded the day
ahead, for I knew that at its end I must see him again. I wished
that I could keep Lars with me, to send him out to meet this
man and hand him the required lessons. Of course I knew that
I couldn't do that. Lars was needed at home and, anyway, I
would not hold any student for such a foolish and personal
reason. With time and effort I would get over my silly feelings
and accept the man as Jon's married male friend-nothing
more. He had never behaved as other than a perfect gentleman
in my presence.

To my amazement, all of my students except Phillip and
Andy appeared for class. In fact, the total number that day
was swelled, for the three older boys who had been working in
the harvest fields were released because of the rain and attended classes for the first time.

It soon became apparent, much to my consternation and
embarrassment, that it was the young schoolmarm, rather
than the lessons, who had brought them; they were not much
younger than I and took every opportunity to tease and flirt a
bit. I felt my cheeks flush several times during the day and was thankful when this awkward school day was finally over.

Immediately, I set to work in preparing the material for
Phillip's home lessons. I did not want Mr. Delaney to be required to stand around waiting for them.

The students had not been gone long and I had just finished my hurried preparations when his knock sounded on the
schoolroom door.

I gave him the packet, which he tucked inside his jacket to
protect it from the rain, and then I dismissed him-rather
curtly, I'm afraid.

"I must get home and tend to my fire," I told him, and
hurried into my coat as I said the words. I made sure that I
stood far enough away from him that he couldn't offer assistance.

He looked at me, then out the window, then at my flimsy
shoes.

"I could take you across on my horse," he offered as I
moved toward the door.

I stopped in mid-stride. What a perfectly ridiculous idea!
And how does he propose to do that? He must have read my
shock.

"It's knee-deep out there in places."

Anger took hold of me now. I forgot to think of him as Jon's
friend and thought of him only as some woman's husband.

I inwardly fumed. Here he is, wanting to transport me
home on his horse. How would he do that-fling me across its
back, or carry me in his arms?

"I'll manage," I declared, and he didn't argue further. He
left with Phillip's homework, and in frustration I stamped
about the classroom, putting away books, erasing the blackboard and shoving desks into line.

At length I calmed down and went out to face the storm,
careful to close the classroom door tightly behind me.

As the cold rain whipped into my face, I became more
clear-headed. I reminded myself that Mr. Delaney was a longtime friend of my brother Jonathan. His offer to deliver me
home on his horse was a simple courtesy-out of a desire to
care for the helpless young sister of a man whom he considered almost a brother; his thoughtful offer was nothing more than
that. I felt better having sorted it out in my thinking. Perhaps
Lydia Delaney's husband merely was overly helpful, and she
need have no worries after all. I put the whole thing from mind
and began to plan a comfortable and restful evening.