[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (2 page)

It was the Yukon Gold Rush of 1895 that first brought the
Mounties into the Far North. By 1898 there were twelve officers and 254 sergeants and constables in the Yukon. The
Mounted Police by then were using a new form of transportation-the dog team. With the use of their huskies, they policed hundreds of square miles of snow-covered territory. Trappers,
traders and Indian villages were scattered throughout their
areas of patrol.

Although I try not to be too sentimental when I think of the
Mounties and their part in the development of the Canadian
West, to me, they are a living symbol of my Canadian homeland. To the people of the Lacombe area, may I assure you
that among the names of Spruceville, Blackfalds, Brookfield,
Turville and Iowalta; Woody Nook, Jones Valley, Canyon and
Eclipse; Eureka, Spring Valley, Arbor Dale and Blindman;
Central, West Branch, Birch Lake and Lincoln; Milton, Mt.
Grove, Sunny Crest and Morningside: Gull Lake, Lakeside
and Fairview; you will find no Pine Springs. Nor will you find
a historic character that matches Pearlie's pa in the town of
Lacombe itself. All of the characters in the story are fictional.
with no intended likenesses to anyone either living or dead.

May I also assure you that having grown up in the Hoadley
area and having spent my early school years in the little oneroom school at Harmonien, I have a great deal of love for and
many fond memories of rural Alberta community life.

1 Elizabeth
....................................... 13

2 The First Step
................................... 25

3 On the Wav
..................................... 29

4 Calgary
........................................ 33

5 Family
......................................... 39

6 Introductions
.................................... 44

7 Mr. Higgins' Plan
................................ 55

8 The New School
................................. 63

9 The Wilderness
.................................. 73

10 Lars
............................................ 79

11 The Petersons
................................... 84

12 Trip to Town
.................................... 89

13 Saturday
....................................... 94

14 Sunday
......................................... 97

15 School Begins
................................... 102

16 Joint Tenants
................................... 107

17 Sunday Service
.................................. 113

18 Letters
......................................... 115

19 The Living Mouse Trap
........................... 120

20 A Visitor
........................................ 123

21 Pupils ..........................................1'27

22 The School Stove
................................ 132

23 Plans
........................................... 139

24 Napoleon .......................................148

25 The Box Social ..................................152

26 Andy ...........................................159

27 School Break ....................................161

28 Dee
............................................ 169

29 Return to School
................................. 175

30 Christmas Concert
............................... 183

31 Christmas Eve
.................................. 188

32 Christmas Day
.................................. 196

33 The Confession ..................................201

34 Return to Pine Springs ...........................206

35 Spring ..........................................209

36 School Ends ....................................216

It came as a great surprise to me. Oh, not the letter itself'.
We were all used to the arrival of letters from brother Jonathan. They came quite regularly and always caused a small
stir in our household. No, it wasn't the letter. but rather what
it contained that caught me completely off' guard. And
Mother's response to it was even more astounding.

The day, April 12, 1910, had started out like every other
day. I arose early, had a quiet prayer time in my room, cared
for my grooming, breakfasted with the family. and left at 8:00
to walk the eleven blocks to the school where I taught. I had
made it a habit to be there early so that I would have plenty of
time to make my morning preparations before the students arrived. I was usually the first teacher to make an appearance,
but I rather enjoyed the early morning quietness of the otherwise noisy building.

As I walked along on that delightful spring morning. the
world appeared especially beautiful and alive. For some reason, the flower-scented air and the song of'the birds caused me
to take a rare look at my inner self.

And how are you this delightful spring morning? I asked
myself.

Why, I am just fine, thank you, I silently answered, and
then almost blushed as I quickly looked around for fear that
someone might be able to read my thoughts. It wasn't like me
to talk to myself-even inwardly, especially when walking along this public, maple-sheltered street. But no one shared
the sidewalk with me at the moment so the self-dialogue continued.

Are you now? And what is it that makes your day so glorious-your step so feather-light?

The morning; life itself; the very fragrance of the air I
breathe.

'Tis nice-but, then, you have always been a soul who took
pleasure in just being aline. I do declare that you would be
happy and contented anywhere on God's green earth.

No-not really. Not really.

The sudden turn of the conversation and the switch of my
emotion surprised me. There was a strange and unfamiliar
stirring deep within me. A restlessness was there, begging me
to give it proper notice. I tried to push it back into a recessed
corner of my being, but it elbowed its way forward.

You're always doing that' it hotly declared. Wheneverl try
to raise my head, you push me down, shove me back. Why are
you so afraid to confront me?

Afraid?

Yes, afraid.

I'm not afraid. It's just that I believe-I've been taughtthat one ought to be content with what one has, especially if
one has been as blessed as I. It is a shame-no, a sin-to feel
discontented while enjoying all of the good things that lifeand Papa-have showered upon me.

Aye, t'would be a sin to disregard one's blessings. I should
never wish you to do so. But perhaps, just perhaps, it would
quiet your soul if you'd look fairly and squarely at what makes
the empty little longing tug at you now and then.

It was a challenge; and though I still felt fearful, and perhaps not a little guilty, I decided that I must take a look at this
inner longing if the voice was ever to be stilled.

I was born Elizabeth Marie Thatcher on June 3, 1891, the
third daughter to Ephraim and Elizabeth Thatcher. My father
was a merchantman in the city of Toronto and had done very
well for himself and his family. In fact, we were considered
part of the upper class, and I was used to all of the material
benefits that came with such a station. My father's marriage to my mother was the second one for her. She had first been
married to a captain in the King's service. To this union had
been born a son, my half brother, Jonathan. Mother's first
husband had been killed when Jonathan was but three years
old; Mother therefore had returned to her own father's house,
bringing her small son with her.

My father met my mother at a Christmas dinner given by
mutual friends. She had just officially come out of mourning,
though she found it difficult to wrap up her grief and lay it
aside with her mourning garments. I often wondered just what
appealed most to my father, the beauty of the young widow or
her obvious need for someone to love and care for her. At any
rate, he wooed and won her, and they were married the following November.

The next year my oldest sister, Margaret, was born. Ruthie
then followed two years later. Mother lost a baby boy between
Ruthie and me, and it nearly broke her heart. I think now that
she was disappointed that I wasn't a son, but for some reason I
was the one whom she chose to bear her name. Julie arrived
two years after me. Then, two and a half years later, much to
Mother's delight, another son was born, our baby brother,
Matthew. I can't blame Mother for spoiling Matthew, for I
know full well that we shared in it equally. From the time that
he arrived, we all pampered and fussed over him.

Our home lacked nothing. Papa provided well for us, and
Mother spent hours making sure that her girls would grow into
ladies. Together my parents assumed the responsibility for
our spiritual nurturing and, within the proper boundaries, we
were encouraged to be ourselves.

Margaret was the nesting one of the family. She married at
eighteen and was perfectly content to give herself completely
to making a happy home for her solicitor husband and their
little family. Ruth was the musical one, and she was encouraged to develop her talent as a pianist under the tutorship of
the finest teachers available. When she met a young and
promising violinist in New York and decided that she would
rather be his accompanist than a soloist, my parents gave her
their blessing.

I was known as the practical one, the one who could always be counted on. It was I whom Mother called if ever there was a
calamity or problem when Papa wasn't home, relying on what
she referred to as my "cool head" and "quick thinking." Even
at an early age I knew that she often depended upon me.

I guess it was my practical side that made me prepare for
independence, and with that in mind I took my training to be
a teacher. I knew Mother thought that a lady, attractive and
pleasant as she had raised me to be, had no need for a career;
after all, a suitable marriage was available by just nodding my
pretty head at some suitor. But she held her tongue and even
encouraged me in my pursuit.

I loved children and entered the classroom with confidence
and pleasure. I enjoyed my third-graders immensely.

My sister Julie was our flighty one, the adventure-seeker,
the romantic. I loved her dearly, but I often despaired of her
silliness. She was dainty and pretty, so she had no trouble getting plenty of male attention; but somehow it never seemed to
be enough for her. I prayed daily for Julie.

Matthew! I suppose that I was the only one in the family to
feel, at least very often, concern for Matthew. I could see what
we all had done to him with our spoiling, and I wondered if we
had gone too far. Now a teenager, he was too dear to be made
to suffer because of the over-attention of a careless family. He
and I often had little private times together when I tried to
explain to him the responsibilities of the adult world. At first I
felt that my subtle approach was beyond his understanding,
but then I began to see a consciousness of the meaning of my
words breaking through. He became less demanding, and began to assert himself in the proper sense, to stand independently. I nurtured hope that we hadn't ruined him after all.
He was showing a strength of character that manifested itself
in love and concern for others. Our Matt was going to make
something of himself in spite of us.

My morning reverie was interrupted by the particularly
sweet song of a robin. He seemed so happy as he perched on a
limb high over my head, and my heart broke away from its review of my family to sing its own little song to accompany
him.

Well, I thought when our song had ended, the restlessness
does not come because I do not appreciate the benefits that
God has given me, nor does it come because I do not love my
family. Some of the feeling of guilt began to drain away from
me. I felt much better having honestly discovered these facts.

So ... I went on, Why am I feeling restless? What is wrong
with me?

Nothing is wrong, the inner me replied. As you said, you
are not unappreciative nor uncaring. Yet it is true that you are
restless. That does not prove that you are lacking. It is just
time to move on, that's all.

To moue on? I was as incredulous as if the answer had
come from a total stranger.

Certainly. What do you think brings the robin back each
spring? It is not that he no longer has his nest nor his food supply. He just knows that it is time to move on.

But to move on WHERE? How?

You'll know when the time comes.

But I'm not sure that I want-

Hush.

I had never even considered "moving on" before. I was very
much a "home person." I wasn't even especially taken with
the idea of marriage. Oh, I supposed that somewhere, someday, there would be someone, but I certainly had no intention
of going out looking for him, nor had I been very impressed
with any of the young men who had come looking for me. On
more than one occasion I had excused myself and happily
turned them over to Julie. She also seemed pleased with the
arrangement; but the feelings of the young men involved, I
must shamefully confess, concerned me very little.

And now I was to "move on"?

The uneasiness within me changed to a new feeling-fear.
Being a practical person and knowing full well that I wasn't
prepared to deal with these new attitudes at the present, I
pushed them out of my mind, entered the sedate brick school
building and my third-grade classroom, and deliberately set
myself to concentrating on the spelling exercise for the first
class of the morning. Robert Ackley was still having problems. I had tried everything that I knew to help him. What could I
possibly try next?