[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (18 page)

Mr. Delaney had been right-the water was deep. By the
time I reached my door my shoes were ruined, my skirts were
covered with muddy water, and my spirits were as soggy as my
wet-to-the-knees hose.

But I refused to mope about for the evening. My little ritual with teacup, familiar chair, and a favorite Dickens story
went a long way toward improving my outlook.

Saturday was also cold and rainy. I hand-washed my
laundry and strung lines around my house to dry it. In the afternoon I had to haul more wood. It was a wet, muddy job, and
I didn't enjoy it.

Sunday, too, was wet and miserable. Few people turned
out for the afternoon service. Lars came over early to start the
fire in the school stove. It did not smoke. Those who gathered
were glad for its warmth and cheeriness. As previously arranged with Mr. Dickerson, I welcomed the children into the
teacherage where we had a special Bible story, so I did not
have much opportunity to visit with the other worshipers. Mr.
Delaney was there with his mother, a very sweet-looking person, and when I met her I realized from whom Mr. Delaney
had inherited his warm, friendly smile. Phillip was still homebound with his cold, so his mother had staved at home with
him.

After the service and my class was over, I escorted the children to the school, bid farewell to the worshipers, checked the
stove in the classroom and sloshed home through the puddles.
The rain had now stopped, and the sun was reappearing. Soon
the earth was steaming from the heat. Fortunately, it looked
as if our present spell of bad weather would be short-lived.

By midweek the yard and roads were dry again. On
Wednesday our other "sun" returned; Andy was back. The
whole class cheered for him as he entered the schoolvard. I was
just going out to ring the bell when he appeared, and I must admit that I, too, wished to cheer when I saw his sparkling
eyes. His joy at being back lit his whole face.

By midmorning I could tell that something was very
wrong, but Andy shook his head when I asked him if he'd like
to rest his head on his arms. By afternoon the pain dulled his
eyes, and even resting his head didn't help. I called Teresa
aside and suggested that she take him home.

"He shouldn't come," she said anxiously, "but he been so
sad, an' he coax an' coax."

We bundled him up. They didn't live far from the school,
but I was anxious as I let him go, praying that he would be
able to make it home.

Just as Andy and Teresa moved out the door, Carl Clark's
hand shot up. He didn't even wait to be recognized, something
that I usually insisted upon. "Teacher," he said quickly, "how
'bout I go along? Andy might need some carryin'."

There was real concern in Carl's eyes. and my appreciation
and relief must have shown on my face. Silently I nodded my
permission.

The entire class watched the three of them leave. The silence was broken by Else's whisper, "He's real sick, ain't he,
Teacher?"

Swallowing over the lump in my throat. I could only nod. I
even ignored the "ain't."

"His folks should've taken him to the doctor again,"
Mindy Blake commented.

"They ain't got no money." This from Lars, my star grammar student, his frustration apparent in his voice and choice
of words.

"Then we should help them," offered the shy Olga. She
rarely spoke out in class.

"I✓s? How?" replied many voices.

Olga withdrew in embarrassment. Her seat mate, Maudie
Clark. put a protective hand on her arm and then spoke boldly. "It wasn't a dumb id-a. We could, you know. We could
bring our nickels and dimes or pennies even-an' do special
things at home so our pa's might give us more money. An' then
we could put it together an'

"Nickels an' pennies don't pay a doctor none," this from
Mike Clark.

"They'd help." Maudie wasn't going to back down. I decided to get things back under control.

"I'm glad that in your concern for Andy. you're willing to
do something to help him, and I think that it's a good ideaand a workable one. I'm sure that there is some way that we
can find . . ." My words hung for a moment. It did sound possible. I just wasn't sure yet how to go about it.

"I want you to think about this tonight-all of you. What
might we be able to do? Ask your parents for ideas. And tomorrow when we come, we'll discuss our ideas and see what we
can do."

All of the faces before me brightened. We settled back to
our studies, but I often caught pensive looks and muffled
whispers; I knew that thoughts were still on Andy and a possible way that we might help in getting him the medical attention he needed.

I still had not solved my mice problem; my declaration of
war daily seemed more impossible. The mice were not content
with peaceful co-existence or with taking over my entire cupboard, having driven me to my trunks; but they wanted the
rest of my house as well. Every time I cleaned up after them,
my anger increased.

On Friday morning it was apparent that they had enjoyed
a good night's romp. For the first time I found evidence that
they had joined me in my bedroom. This was too much. Already in a foul mood after seeing where they had been, I went
to the top drawer of my chest to get a fresh handkerchief. I
hadn't noticed it before, but the drawer had been open slightly
because of a glove that had caught. Meticulous about closing
drawers, I wondered how this one had missed my attention.

I laid the glove properly in its section of the drawer and
reached in the handkerchief box. Before my hand touched one
of them, my eyes flashed me a message. Something was
wrong-seriously wrong, and then I realized what had happened. The mice had been at my handkerchiefs! With a cry I pulled them out and stared at them. Pretty lace and embroidery had been reduced to chewed fragments. My favorite
handkerchief, with the daintiest lace that I had ever seen, had
suffered the worst. It was beyond repair, and frustrated tears
gathered in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks as I looked at
it. Angrily I returned the box to the drawer, slammed the
drawer shut and marched off to the classroom. This time the
mice had gone too far!

After class I planned to call on the school-board chairman,
Mr. Laverly, and insist that someone, somehow, dispose of
those despicable rodents. I would refuse to live in the teacherage until something was done.

By the time the students had arrived, I had managed to
quiet my anger. We began our day by saluting our flag and
reading some verses of scripture. I realized as the class took
their seats that it would not do to go directly to our lessons.
Their excited faces told me that first we must discuss what we
as a school could do to help Andy.

Many suggestions were presented, some to cheers and
others to groans. I listed them all carefully on the board. I
wrote in large letters, realizing that Tim Mattoch had an eye
problem and could hardly see the board. His parents could not
afford to get him glasses, so Tim struggled on, squinting and
squirming, often having to approach the board so that he
might make out a letter or a number.

There were many good suggestions. I decided to let the students discuss them for a few minutes before we commenced
our lessons. After a fair amount of discussion, Mindy suggested that we take a vote. It seemed reasonable. The voters decided that we would have a penny circus and a box social on
October 25 at the school; all money raised through the event
would go to help Andy Pastachuck. Everyone was happy and
excited, but once the matter was decided, they were better
able to settle down to their lessons. I was proud of them for
their concern, and I was also eager to help Andy in any way
that we could.

At the end of the day I asked for the directions to the Laverlys' farm. The place would not he hard to find but required a three-mile walk. Undaunted. I put on my hat, buttoned my coat, and set off. For the first two miles I walked
with the Clark girls. The boys had hurried on ahead, for they
had chores awaiting them. Also, they didn't care to be seen
with a bunch of girls. The Blake girls had also walked with us
for the first mile.

It was a pleasant day, and I found the little expedition enjoyable. Only a few mudholes remained in the road from the
recent heavy rain, and those we were easily able to skirt.

After I left my students, I walked more briskly. I missed
their chatter, but on the other hand I was glad for the solitude
after a busy school day. At last the Laverly farm came into
view.

The Laverly sons were no longer of school age, and I
thought that it was very commendable of Mr. Laverly to have
worked so hard to get a school when none of his family would
directly benefit from it.

Mrs. Laverly was a bustling, energetic woman with a great
deal of curiosity. She pumped me with questions, not only
about my work in the classroom but about my family and
background as well. She insisted that I have coffee and sandwiches. After she had set the pot on to boil, she went to the
back porch and pounded with a metal rod on a large iron plate.
I jumped at the first loud, harsh sound.

"Thet'll call in the menfolk," she explained. "They're in
the field out back."

I apologized for interrupting Mr. Laverly from his work. I
hadn't even considered that he might be busy, so anxious was
I to be rid of my freeloading tenants.

"Thet's a'right. Thet's a'right," she assured me. "They'll
be wantin' somethin' to eat anyway. An' b'sides, it's time for
one of 'em to start chorin'."

Mrs. Laverly set to work on a huge plate of man-sized
sandwiches. Thick slices of homemade bread, generouslythough not particularly carefully-spread with fresh butter
and covered with large portions of cheese or cold roast beef'
were quickly assembled. while her tongue moved as fast as her
hands. I wondered if I'd be able to get such thick sandwiches into my mouth. I offered to help her, but she waved me off
with the butcher knife which she was using on the beef'.

"No need to be a helpin'. Me, I'm not used to another
woman underfoot. Had to do it alone all my life. Jest raised
boys, ya know-five of 'em. Lost one, but still got four. One of
'em's married an' lives near Edmonton. Other three lives right
here an' helps with the farm. Don't know what their pa would
do without 'em. Middle one's kinda got 'im a girl, an' the
youngest one's been a'lookin'. Oldest one don't seem much interested. S'pose I'll end up havin' to find someone for 'im an'
draggin' 'im off to the preacher myself."

She rambled on as if it were one continuous sentence with
hardly a pause for breath.

The sandwiches were placed on the table, and tin cups for
coffee were set out. We could hear the menfolk tramping toward the house. They stopped on the back porch to slosh water
over their faces and arms, squabbled some over the rights to
the coarse towel, brushed the worst of the straw from themselves, and came in.

It was apparent from their faces that they hadn't expected
to see me. Three grown men suddenly turned shy. One of them
flushed beet red, while another fiddled nervously with his
hair, his collar, his suspenders. The third one seemed to regain
his composure almost immediately and decided to make the
most of the situation, appearing to take pleasure in the discomfort of his brothers. He turned out to be George, the middle one, the one with a girl. The red-faced one was Bill, the
youngest; the nervous one was the eldest son, Henry. I recognized them as three of the men who had huddled near the door
during my welcoming party.

We sat up to the table together, and the men reached for
the sandwiches, the enormous size giving them no pause. I
managed, too, in spite of the fact that the portions were anything but dainty; they were delicious, especially after my nice,
long walk.

Mr. Laverly was cordial and warm. He was even allowed to
ask me a question or two in between the ones peppered at me
by Mrs. Laverly. The three sons were at first too busy with eating to pay any attention to the conversation-or so I
thought. By the time the supper was over, George was joking
and teasing, and Bill was openly staring. But Henry kept his
eye on his plate and cup, unwilling-or unable-to participate
in the talk around the table.

I waited until after the meal-for it was a complete meal
by my standards-before I asked to talk to Mr. Laverly concerning my mice problem. He was such a nice man that I approached the subject very calmly, making sure I didn't insinuate that the mice were inhabiting the teacherage with his
permission. I hurriedly poured out my whole tale. He stuffed
his pipe and lit it, inhaled a few times, but all of the time that
I talked, he offered no comment. I told him of the mice dwelling in my cupboards, entering into my bedroom, and taking
over my dresser drawers. However, I did not tell him about my
lace handkerchiefs. I was afraid that if I went into those details
I would lose my temper, or cry-or maybe both.

He listened patiently, but eventually I gathered that he felt
that a few mice in the house were really nothing to get so
worked up about. When 1 finally stopped for breath, he removed the pipe from his mouth.

"We'll git ya some traps."

"I tried that."

He looked surprised.

"Well, a cat might-"

"I tried that, too," I said in frustration. I avoided explaining why they hadn't worked.

"Me an' the boys'll go over an' see what we can find. Must
be comin' in somewhere. We'll take some tin an' nail up the
holes."

This sounded good, but I was not completely satisfied.

"What about those that are already in?" I asked.

"We'll care fer 'em."

I was more content then.

"Hope ya don't mind us stirrin' round in yer quarters none.
We'll git at it this next week."

I thought of the silent Henry, the teasing George and the
flirting Bill.

"Perhaps it would be best if I moved out for the week."