[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (19 page)

"Moved out?" He looked alarmed, as though if I left the
teacherage, he might never see me again.

"To the Petersons. Anna has already told me that should I
ever need a room, she could spare one."

He looked relieved.

"Good idea," he said and removed his pipe. He shook the
ashes into the coal bucket and laid the pipe back on the shelf,
as though to indicate that the matter was closed.

I went back to the kitchen to thank Mrs. Laverly for the
supper. She was busy wrapping a portion of the cold meat and
a jar of her pickles for me to take home.

"The boys have gone fer the team," she said.

At my questioning look, she explained, "Too late fer ya to
start out a'walkin'. One of 'em will drive ya." She began to
chuckle. "Saw 'em a'flippin' fer it."

I wondered who would be taking me-the winner or the
loser of the toss. I found myself trying to decide which one I
hoped it would be.

The lucky-or unlucky-one was Bill. He came in grinning
from ear to ear, announcing that he was ready any time I was.
Bill-the one who was "a'lookin'." I smiled rather weakly, I'm
afraid, and followed him out. He didn't offer to help me up, so
I scrambled over the wagon wheel on my own, dragging my
skirts and clutching my food parcels. Then we were off.

The team was spirited and Bill liked speed, which didn't
enhance the comfort of the rough wagon. Bill muttered over
and over about "havin' to talk to Pa 'bout a light buggy." Jostling along, trying to cling to my precarious perch, I felt sure
that the sweating team, and all of Bill's future passengers,
would approve of a lighter vehicle for traveling at such a pace.

My main concern was staying on the wagon seat. I had to
hold onto the brown paper bag containing my cold beef and
pickles, so I clutched the edge, white-knuckled, with the other
hand. By the time we reached the teacherage, my bones felt
like I had been trampled. I clambered slowly down over the
wheel, wondering if my legs would still hold me when my feet
reached the ground.

Bill, removing neither himself from his seat nor his hat
from his head, seemed rather pleased with himself', as though
he had perhaps made the run in record time. I felt sure that he
had. He grinned at me, and I knew that he expected me to
appreciate his feat.

"Thank you for bringing me home," I said shakily. "It-it
was very kind of you."

Bill's grin widened.

"Next time, maybe I'll have me a buggy. Then we won't be
held back by this of lumber wagon."

I hoped there would be no "next time," but I said nothing.
Bill wheeled the horses around and left the yard at a near gallop. I shook my head, waved the dust away from my face, and
turned to go into my house.

Tonight I would pack for my move to the Petersons and
tuck everything else away, safe from the mice. I would go over
right after my evening meal the next day, if this worked out
for Anna.

"You'd better enjoy yourselves tonight," I warned the little
varmints. "It might be your last chance."

From the evidence I found the next morning, it appeared
they had.

My week at the Petersons went by quickly. I enjoyed the
company of Anna and the cheerful chatter of the children.
Even Olga warmed up to me somewhat when the two of us
were alone.

On Friday, Bill Laverly stopped by the schoolhouse, grinning his wide grin, and assured me that the teacherage was
now mouse-proof and mouse-free.

I decided that I would move back on Saturday morning so
that I could spend the day scrubbing and cleaning and putting
the things back into my cupboard.

Bill offered to drive me over to the Petersons for my things.
I was quick to assure him that I had taken very little with me
and would have no problem carrying it home. I thanked him
for his kindness and returned to my classroom.

Moving back home posed no difficulty. Olga and Else
came with me, insisting on helping me carry my belongings.
After they had left, I changed into an old skirt and shirtwaist
and set to work with hot, soapy water. It gave me great satisfaction to see gleaming clean cupboards restored to their proper order.

I was tired at day's end but deeply pleased with my labors.
It was good to be home and have my little house all to myself.

The area harvest was nearing completion. Some of the
farmers were already finished. The older boys had now come
back to the classroom, making my days more difficult. They longed to be adults and yet they did not have the skills of even
the youngest children in the room. My heart ached for them,
but they did try my patience to the limit. Their attempts to
flirt annoyed me, and at times I had to suppress a strong desire to express my displeasure. I knew that they were immature and unsure of themselves, so I tried very hard never to
embarrass or humiliate them. But I did wish that they
wouldn't act so silly.

We were all busily involved in planning for the coming box
social and penny circus. Assignments had been given to the
students, and they were working hard to prepare for the big
event. The parents were wonderful in their support. Almost
daily, some note of encouragement or offer of help was brought
to school by a student. I was pleased and thankful for the community backing.

On the home front. I felt rather smug: There had been no
evidence whatever of mice in my kitchen. The tin patches in
my cupboard and around the walls seemed to have done the
trick. I did not know-nor ask-how the men had taken care
of the unwelcome inhabitants. I was simply glad that they had
been removed.

I was weary by Friday night. The older boys had been particularly trying, and the week had been filled with many extra
duties for the upcoming fund-raiser. After I had cleared away
my supper dishes, I retired to my large chair (the lumps were
now fitting nicely around me) with a cup of tea and a book. I
slipped off my shoes and put my feet up on my footstool. How
my mother would have gasped to see her daughter sitting in
such an unladylike position, but it felt so good. I sighed contentedly, sipped hot tea and opened my book.

A tiny movement near the stove caught my eye. The bit of
shadow turned into a live thing-a tiny mouse poked out his
head. His black, shiny eyes sought out any danger and his
nose twitched sensitively. My first angry impulse was to pick
up my shoe and throw it at him, but I froze where I was. Venturing out a little farther, he sat up and began to clean himself, rubbing his tiny moistened paws over his head, his back and his chest. He did look comical. He also looked small and
helpless and hungry. I had never actually seen one of my
house guests before-alive, that is. He IS rather cute, I reasoned, though there had been nothing much to commend
them when they were dead.

I must have stirred slightly, for he darted back under the
stove and was lost in the shadows.

He appeared a few more times that evening, each time
carefully grooming himself. I wondered if this were just an attempt to keep himself busy and his thoughts off his empty
tummy.

Before I went to bed, I scattered a few crumbs by the leg of
the stove. I told myself that I was doing it to provide what he
needed so he wouldn't have to climb into my cupboard looking
for it. In the morning the crumbs were gone.

In the next few days, very busy days. I saw the small
mouse on several occasions. I named him Napoleon because
he was so tiny, yet so bold. Each night I put a small amount of
food out for him, each time reasoning that if he had food easily
accessible he wouldn't snoop in my cupboards for it.

I found myself actually watching for him. He was entertaining, and I even had the ridiculous thought that I no longer
bore the loneliness of living by myself.

During school on Friday, a knock on the classroom door
drew my attention. I excused myself and went to answer it.
Bill Laverly had been to town and picked up some articles
that I had requested for the penny circus. I told him to set
them inside the door of the teacherage. then went hack to my
class, anxious for the school hours to end so that I could get
busy on my projects.

Bill was soon back at the classroom door.

"Ma'am," he said, "there was another mouse in yer place
there. Don't know how we ever missed 'im."

At the sight of my chalk-white face he hurried on, "It's
okay, ma'am-I killed 'im."

My gratitude expected, I mumbled something that I hoped
made sense, and Bill left, his eternal grin firmly in place.

It was a few moments before I could go back to my class. I
knew that it was right-that it was better-that it was what I
should have wanted. But I'd miss Napoleon. He had been so
little, and so clever-and so cute.

When the day of the Box Social arrived, my students were
all so excited that they could scarcely think of another thing.
They spent the morning attempting to finish their lessons, and
devoted the entire afternoon to getting ready for the big event.

The older boys strung wire across the room, and the girls
pinned old blankets and sheets on the wires, thus forming
small booths. Within each booth a game, contest or entertainment was set up by each of the students who had been put in
charge. Excitement ran high, and it was hard for me to hold
them all in check. At last we had done all that we could do in
preparation, and they were dismissed to go home.

I circled the room, checking and rearranging. The students
had done a fine job on their projects. It looked as if the night
would be great fun as well as a help to the Pastachucks. There
was a ring-toss, a fish pond, pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey, a
mock camera, some pins to knock over, a pail-and-candy-toss
game, and a bean-sack toss. Each game would cost the player
a penny.

Our main source of income was to be our box social. I had
spent two evenings decorating my box and had sent to town for
special food items to prepare for the lunch to fill it. Each woman and older girl would have a decorated box filled with
enough lunch for two people-although the lunch stuffed into
some boxes would feed many more.

Mr. Dickerson had agreed to be our auctioneer. The men would bid on the boxes, and the highest bidder would share
the food with the lady whose box he had purchased. I wondered who would end up being my partner for the evening's
lunch. It was harmless enough to sit in a roomful of people,
eating together. I was not concerned about the evening-only
curious.

"Mama showed Pa her box," Mindy Blake had declared.

"She shouldn't've," said Maudie Clark.

"Well, she did," said :Mindy in a huff. "She had to make
'nough for all us kids, ya know, an' she wouldn't want any of
man gettin' all that."

"All you're worried 'bout, Mindy, is the food," Carl Clark
accused.

"Boy, I should git me thet box." cut in Tim Mattoch, and
everyone laughed. Tim was more than a little on the heavy
side, and all of the students knew that he dearly loved to eat.

"He'll buy the biggest box there," said Mike Clark.

"He better not," Else interrupted, " 'cause it'll be my
ma's. She had to pack for all of us kids, too, and she put it all
togeder in a great big box, dis big." She indicated how big the
box was and then immediately clamped her hand over her
mouth, realizing that she had divulged a secret.

As I prepared my lunch, I was glad I didn't need to fix one
for a whole family; but I also knew that some of those hardworking single males of our community were hearty eaters. It
would not do to short-change them.

The wagons, buggies and saddle horses began to arrive
shortly before eight o'clock. I was already in the classroom and
had a big pot of water heating for making the coffee. Coffee
tonight would be free, as was the milk for the children. All else
would be paid for and the money would go into the Pastachuck
fund.

The schoolroom began to fill with excited children and
chattering grown-ups. The attendance was going to be good
and the little schoolroom was going to be crowded. Already
some of the men were opening windows. Hou, good of these
people to care and do something about the need of a family in
their community. Bless our efforts, Lord, I prayed silently.

I had prepared carefully for the evening, putting on one of
my favorite gowns. I knew that I was a bit overdressed for this
informal occasion, but somehow I thought that folks would expect it of me. I had arranged my hair with fastidious curls,
which I heaped mostly on the top of my head, carefully letting
one or two hang down on one side. My appearance was not unnoticed by the cluster of single fellows near the door, who were
ogling, guffawing and slapping one another on the back.

The Delaneys arrived. Mr. Delaney found his mother a
chair and took the coats of his womenfolk to pile on a corner
table with those of their neighbors; we had long ago run out of
coat hooks. The younger Mrs. Delaney reached a hand up to
her hair, then smoothed her already smooth skirt. Her back
was to me, so I couldn't see her face. I wanted to look at herand I didn't, both at the same time. She stood chatting with
neighbors, a slim, dark-haired young woman, attractively attired. I found myself noting that her dress was not nearly as
pretty as mine and immediately rebuked myself for my cattiness.

When Mr. Delaney had gotten the womenfolk settled, he
moved off to chat with some of the neighborhood men. The
crowd around Mrs. Delaney thinned somewhat and she took a
chair. I saw her clearly then. Dark eyes sparkled under long,
dark lashes. She had a straight, rather small nose. Her cheeks
were flushed with excitement and full rosy lips parted slightly
as she smiled easily at those she greeted. She was more than
just attractive.

I turned back to my duties but had hardly organized my
thoughts before I felt a tug on my hand.