[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (20 page)

"Miss Thatcher, my mom wants to meet you." It was Phillip.

For a moment near panic seized me, but I knew that I was
being foolish. It was inevitable that I meet this woman, and it
may as well be now. I prepared my nicest smile and let Phillip
lead me toward her.

As we approached, her eyes lit up, and she stood to her
feet.

"Miss Thatcher," she said warmly, extending her hand, "I'm so happy to meet you at last. I'm Lydia Delaney. I've
heard so many nice things about you."

She was so sincere, so open and friendly that I responded
to her immediately.

"Thank you," I said; "it's nice to meet Phillip's mother." I
meant those words.

She looked me over appreciatively. "No wonder Phillip
was happy to stay after school."

I smiled. Phillip still held my hand, and he beamed up at
me. I put my arm around his shoulders and gave him a
squeeze. I'm sure that she could see how I felt about Phillip. I
spoke then to the elder Mrs. Delaney; she took my hand in
both of hers and greeted me.

"I'm so sorry," said Lydia, "that we haven't yet had you
over, but things have been so unsettled at our house. We have
been off to Calgary most weekends and, well, we hope that
things will soon change so we can return to normal living."

Called away by one of my students, I had to excuse myself.
I walked away with the feeling of Lydia Delaney's warm,
brown eyes upon me.

The evening progressed well. I was kept busy circulating
among the students and helping them in any way that I could
with their booths. Every now and then a whispered report was
given to me of how many pennies had been collected at a certain station. The students were excited about their achievements.

Activity at the booths began slowing down as the people
started to think of the lunch boxes. We cleared some more
room for chairs and benches by putting aside the games from
the booths and taking down some of the dividers strung on the
wires. Then Mr. Dickerson took his place at the front.

Anna Peterson and Mrs. Blake were not the only women
who had packed for extra mouths. Many of the boxes were
enormous. As the bidding began, it became apparent that
Mrs. Blake was not the only woman who had informed her
spouse what to look for. Without exception, husband and wife
got together and spread out their goodies for themselves and
their offspring.

I watched with interest and amusement as Mr. Delaney
prompted Phillip in the bidding for his mother's basket. Phillip felt very grown-up as he shouted his bid, and when he had
finally been successful in his purchase, Mr. Delaney counted
out the money for him to pay the auctioneer's clerk himself.

The older girls had their own baskets, and the older boys,
with dimes, quarters, red faces and much teasing, lined up to
make their bids.

My basket was the last one to be held up. I scolded myself
for my flushed cheeks and wished with all of my heart that I
had begged off from participating. It was apparently common
knowledge about whose basket was being offered, for the
young men moved in from beside the door, and the bidding
opened vigorously. The color in my cheeks deepened with each
bid; I kept my eyes averted and pretended to be very busy
serving coffee. The teasing and joking did not escape me; but
it was a few moments before I realized that Mr. Delaney was
among the bidders. This knowledge upset me so that I could
not stop my hand from shaking as I poured coffee.

Why would he do that? Why? There sat his wife and his
mother-right before his eyes, and here he was ... I choked on
the humiliation for us all. A new thought struck me. Perhaps
his mother had fixed a box, and he supposed this to be it. I
glanced around the room and could see that such wasn't the
case, for there sat the two Mrs. Delaneys and Phillip sharing a
chat with the Blakes as they ate their respective lunches. Lydia Delaney chatted gaily with Mrs. Blake, stopping occasionally to smile at the antics of the bidders.

How can she? I thought. How can she? She must be humiliated nearly to death. How can she endure it so calmly? Is she
used to such behaL,ior? Doesn't it bother her when her husband publicly deserts her?

She certainly appeared unperturbed by it all. In fact, one
could even have accused her of enjoying it. Was it just a coverup? My anger boiled hotter with each bid placed by Mr.
Delaney.

There was much laughter, shouted comments and jockeying for position as the bids climbed. Finally only Bill Laverty and Mr. Delaney remained as bidders. I had never expected to
find myself championing the grinning Bill Laverly, but I did
so now, hoping with all my heart that he would outbid the
other man. At a bid from Mr. Delaney, Bill went down on both
knees and began to empty all of his pockets, spreading out all
of his bills and change, even offering the auctioneer chewing
tobacco and a pocket knife. There was much knee-slapping,
joking and clapping by the appreciative crowd. It was obvious
that Bill could go no higher. He implored some of his buddies
for a loan, and the bidding continued. But it was Mr. Delaney
who was finally handed the basket as he paid the clerk.

I was furious, not just for my sake-but for hers.

I knew that I was expected to leave my coffee-pouring and
go share lunch with the man who had purchased my basket,
but I couldn't-and I wouldn't.

I turned and said in a loud, though somewhat unsteady,
voice, hoping that the smile I was trying so hard to produce actually showed on my face, "Mr. Delaney has just purchased a
bigger bargain than he realizes. Because my duties will be
keeping me busy, he gets to eat all of the lunch himself."

Laughter followed my announcement, along with hoots
from the young men who had lost out in the bidding. I turned
back to the pot of coffee, not daring to look at Mr. Delaney
again. And I hope he chokes on it, I thought angrily. Three
women rushed with offers to take over my job so that I could
sit down and enjoy my lunch. I turned them all aside-firmly,
and I hoped, courteously. I later noticed Mr. Delaney sharing
his lunch with some good-natured chatter with Andy Pastachuck.

As the evening drew to a close, the money was gathered
and counted. We placed it all in a big tin can and had Mr. Laverly, our school-board chairman, present it to the Pastachucks. They accepted it with broken English and tear-filled
eyes. They planned to leave soon for Calgary and a doctor, and
would send word back as soon as they had a report. Teresa was
to stay with the Blakes during their absence, and the Thebeaus had volunteered to care for their farm chores.

It didn't seem quite fitting to simply pass them the money and send them on their way, so I stepped forward hesitantly.
First I thanked all of those who had come and participated so
wholeheartedly. Our total earnings, including donations from
neighbors, came to $195.64. A cheer went up when the sum
was announced.

"We all have learned to love Andy," I continued. "Our
thoughts and prayers will be with him and his parents, and as
a token of our prayers and concern, I would like to ask Mr.
Dickerson, our auctioneer of the evening, to lead us in prayer
on Andy's behalf."

A silence fell over the room. Eyes filled with tears, heads
bowed and calloused hands reached up to sweep hats aside.

Mr. Dickerson stepped to the center of the room and
cleared his throat. His simple and sincere prayer was followed
by many whispered "Amens."

Our evening together had ended. Folks crowded around me
shaking my hand, saying kind words and thanking me for my
efforts toward the success of the evening. I felt very much at
one with these gentle, warmhearted people.

The Pastachucks were the last to go. Mr. Pastachuck offered his hand and shook mine firmly. His wife could only
smile through tears, unable to speak. But Andy looked at me
with shining eyes, as though to herald a personal triumph on
my behalf. "It was fun," he enthused. "You did good, Teacher,
real good!"

I reached down and pulled him close, holding him for a
long time; his thin little arms were wrapped tightly about my
neck. When I released him, I was crying. Andy reached up
and, without a word, brushed the tears from my cheek. Then
he turned and walked out into the night.

Midweek, word came from Calgary. As we had feared,
Andy's condition was serious. The old injury had flared up. A
tumor had formed, causing pressure on the brain. The doctor
suspected that bone chips were responsible, and he decided
that surgery was imperative as soon as possible.

The whole class wrote notes to Andy to send with Mrs.
Blake and Teresa to the hospital. The outcome of the pending
surgery was sufficiently doubtful that Teresa was being taken
to Calgary to see her brother before his operation.

I wrote a note, too. It was short and simply worded so that
Andy would have no trouble understanding it when it was
read to him. I said that we were all very busy at school; that
we thought of him and prayed for him daily in our opening
prayer; that we missed him and would be so glad when he
would be well and able to be back with us.

But Andy did not return. He died during surgery in the
Calgary hospital. We were told that even the nurses who attended him wept when the small boy lost his battle for life.

It was a Wednesday afternoon when we all gathered at the
schoolhouse for Andy's short funeral service. Mr. Dickerson
read the scripture, and a visiting priest gave the last rites. We
then left for the little cemetery on the hill.

Many of my pupils were crying as we filed from the schoolroom. Else Peterson and Mindy Blake clung to each of my
hands. My eyes were overflowing, but I was able to keep the
sobs from shaking me.

It was a short distance to the cemetery so we walked to it,
the little procession, with the small pine casket at its head,
stirring up little pillowy swirls of dust. The day was bright, the
autumn sun glistening in a tranquil sky. A few clouds skittered across the blueness. The leaves still clinging to the trees
were in full dress, but many others lay scattered on the
ground, rustling at each stirring of the breeze.

Else broke our silence.

"Andy would have liked this day," she whispered, looking
up at its brightness; and I knew that she was right. I could
imagine the gentle little boy with his shining eyes cheering
this day on.

"You did good," he would exclaim to the beautiful morning. "You did good."

I cried then, the great sobs shaking my whole body. I remembered the last time that I had wept, and how the little boy
in my embrace had reached up awkwardly, and yet tenderly,
to brush away my tears. "You did good, Teacher," he had
whispered. And now that small boy had passed beyond-so
young to journey on alone. But then I remembered that he
hadn't traveled alone-not one step of the way, for as soon as
the loving hands had released him here, another Hand had
reached out to gently take him. I tried to visualize him entering that new Land, the excitement and eagerness shining forth
on his face, the cheers raising from the shrill little voice. There
would be no pain twisting his face now, no need to hold his
head and rock back and forth. Joy and happiness would surround him. I could almost hear his words as he looked at the
glories of heaven and gave the Father his jubilant ovation"You did good, God; You did real good!"

We decided to close school for the rest of that week. All of
the students were deeply affected by the loss of Andy, and Mr.
Laverly thought that it would do us all good to have a few days
of rest. I agreed. I suddenly felt very tired. I would go to visit
Jon and his family.

That afternoon, I packed a few things in a small suitcase
and asked for a ride to town. Mr. Mattoch, who had a light
buggy with spring seats, was my driver. The trip was much
more comfortable and took considerably less time than had
the previous wagon transportation.

The train did not leave for Calgary until the next morning,
so I took a room in the hotel and spent a miserable, lonely
night there. The next morning I spent some time shopping until the train came. I didn't see anything which attracted me,
but perhaps it was my mood rather than the lack of merchandise.

Finally I was Calgary bound; but the train did not seem to
be nearly as eager to reach Calgary as I was. The first thing I
did upon my arrival was to telephone Jon's home. Mary answered, and her excitement at hearing my voice went a long
way toward cheering me. Jon arrived to pick me up at the station before I had time to properly get myself in order. He had
just purchased a new Buick and was anxious to show it off.
Not many autos had as yet made their way onto the Calgary
streets, and those who did use the new means of conveyance seemed to consider it a daily challenge to try and outdo one
another both in model and speed.

When we pulled up in front of Jon's house, the entire family was waiting to welcome me. Even little William gave his
aunt a big hug. I'm afraid that I clung to the children longer
than I should have, my sorrow still very fresh in my mind and
heart.

One could not nurse sadness for long in Jonathan's home.
The children's shouts of excitement gave me little time to
think about the loss of Andy. They promptly showed me everything that they had attained or obtained since I had left
them. William presented a new bow and arrow, and Sarah
read to me from her first primer; but Kathleen wouldn't even
leave my side long enough to produce her new dress or her doll.

They all shared in presenting to me the much-grown Elizabeth and her latest accomplishments. She could smile, she
could coo, and once she even giggled. The little sweetheart
warmed up to me immediately and allowed me to hold and
cuddle her.

I did not need to return to Pine Springs until the following
Monday. The train ran north on Monday, Wednesday and Friday; and south on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday; so the
days that Mr. Laverly had set aside for this school break were
planned accordingly. The long weekend that stretched before
me seemed nicely adequate for my visit, but I knew that the
days would go all too quickly.