[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (27 page)

April passed into May, and May into June. The wild roses
began to appear, first as scattered blooms and then as walls of
blossoms beside the roadway. The children hunted strawberries, which they shared with me, delivering them in sticky,
dirty palms. It was a delightful time of year, and I gloried in
each sun-splashed new day, hearing, seeing and breathing the
newborn summer.

The families of the school children began another round of
have-the-teacher-in-for-supper. I loved this time. I loved the
people. I loved my visits in their homes. I loved the walks in the pleasant sunshine, to and from their farms. I loved the
family chatter around the table. It was much nicer than living
and eating alone.

It was a Friday evening and I had been invited to the
Blakes. We enjoyed a pleasant meal together. Mrs. Blake had
fixed roast chicken, and the girls had found enough strawberries to supply a somewhat skimpy shortcake. I lingered awhile
over a cup of coffee and then reluctantly started for home.

After walking down the road for about a quarter of a mile, I
came to the shortcut through the trees which the Blake children used to reach the school. I decided that nothing would be
more delightful than a stroll through the woods on a warm,
pleasant evening, so I left the road and started down the path.
I had not gone far when I heard a commotion on the trail
ahead of me. I cautiously took a few more steps; right before
my eyes was a bear, busily rolling over a dead log. I knew that
it was a bear-there was no doubting that-though what he
was doing in these woods I could not for the life of me imagine.
No bears that I had heard of had ever been seen here. I tried to
remember what Wynn's book had said about bears, and I tried
to determine what kind of a bear this one was, but my mind
would not work.

The bear spied me at about the same instant that I spied
him. We were only a short distance from one another. I wasn't
sure who had startled whom the most. The hear suddenly gave
a grunt and rose up on his hind legs. He looked mammoth. I
wanted to run but my legs had turned to jelly. I wanted to
scream but my mouth would not open, and my throat closed
up on the sound.

The bear stood there, swinging his big head back and forth,
sniffing and growling, his front paws held in readiness before
him. Then he took a step toward me. snorting as he did soand I felt my world going black. I crumpled to the earth in total darkness.

When I began to revive I sensed that I was moving, being
carried in strong arms. For one terrifying minute I thought
that it might be the bear toting me off. I fought to regain consciousness. My eyes slowly focused. It was Wynn.

"Steady, Elizabeth. It's all right." His arm tightened
about me. I turned my face against him and began to cry.

He carried me out to the roadway and then lowered me to
my feet, but he did not let me go. He pulled me close and let
me shiver and weep until I began to regain some sense. All this
time he had held me and stroked my hair or patted my shoulder, saying, "It's all right now. Elizabeth-you're fine--you're
with me-it's gone-it's gone."

Finally I had control of myself enough to stand on my own
feet and speak.

"A bear--"

"I know," he said, "I saw him."

"I was going to take the shortcut." I babbled on.

"I saw you."

"Where'd you come from""

"I was driving to your house when I saw you leave the road.
I left the automobile and ran after you, so that I could give you
a ride home. Just as I caught up with you I saw-"

"The bear."

"Yes, the hear. I was going to call out to you, but I was
afraid that you might run----running is the worst thing that one
can do."

"I couldn't run--I couldn't ..." and I started to sob again.
The world was whirling and my knees were getting weak. I
clung to Wynn, my thoughts back with that reared-up hear
slowly advancing toward me.

Wynn's arms tightened about me and then I was being
kissed--a kiss that drove all thought of the bear far from my
mind. Slowly my arm stole up and around the back of Wynn's
neck. I floated in a world where only Wvnn and I existed, a
world that I never wanted to end. But it did. Wynn stopped
kissing me and swung me into his arms and carried me to the
auto that was waiting on the roadway.

"Your mother sent a parcel to Jon and Mary," he said
matter-of-factly as he walked. "She included a number of
things for you, so, as I had a couple of days off, Jon suggested
that I borrow his vehicle, visit my brother and deliver the
packages to you."

"I see," I murmured against Wynn's shirt front as he lifted
me to the seat of the car, then went around to climb in beside
me-but I didn't see. I was still far too busy remembering
Wynn's kiss. I expected him to start the automobile, but he
didn't. Instead, he hesitated, and I dared to hope that he
might kiss me again. Instead, he cleared his throat to speak,
reaching for my hand and holding it.

"Elizabeth, I owe you an apology."

Startled, I came back to full consciousness.

"I had no right to kiss you like that-I know that. And I
didn't mean by it-" He stopped and gazed at me. "I could see
that you were thinking again of that bear-your face was going
white and your eyes looked terrified, and I thought that you
might faint again. I had to make you think of something else,
to get your mind off the bear; and the only thing that I could
think to do-well-I-I kissed you."

Slowly the words sank in. At first they had made no sense,
but the sting of them began to reach through my numbed
senses. Wynn had kissed me just for the medical benefit of
snapping me out of shock. But that wasn't how I had kissed
him. Surely he had been aware of my response, my eagerness.
Oh, yes, he would have been aware all right, and now he was
apologizing for having kissed me at all! He wanted to be sure
that I knew that he meant nothing personal by the kiss and to
point out that the response on my part had been ridiculous
and unfounded. He was still Mr. Mountie, married to his profession, and a mere, hapless schoolteacher was not about to
turn his head.

With one quick motion I jerked back my hand.

"No man ever has to kiss me-not for any reason," I threw
at him. "I would rather have been mauled by that bear than to
be so-so indebted to you, Mr. Delaney!" I jumped from the
auto and ran blindly across the ditch and down the pathway
from which I had just been rescued.

I did remember the bear, but in my anger I was convinced
that he would be no match for me. I heard Wynn call my
name, but the sound only made me more angry and my tears
fall more freely. The nerve of the man to get me to throw my love at his feet and then turn his back upon me with a trite
apology! I would never, never, never look at him again.

Phillip, Jr. brought the gifts from my mother to school the
next day. The package only helped to heighten my new resolve
to return home. The East was where I belonged.

My determination to put Wynn from my mind did not
make it any easier to accomplish the fact. I thought of him
constantly. I loved him, hated him, forgave him, scorned him,
and pined for him by turn.

By the time the last week of school had arrived, I had thoroughly made up my mind. I was going home-back to Toronto. Maybe there my broken heart would have a chance to
mend. In the evenings I packed my trunks; in went my books,
my clothing, the china teapot, the knick-knacks, and the simple masterpieces presented to me by the children--"to teacher
with love." I even packed my footstool, though why I kept it I
couldn't be sure. I was certain that Mother wouldn't welcome
the thing in the house.

Each item that I packed brought back memories, and when
I came to the fur mittens, my gift from Wynn, I could endure
no more. I threw myself on my lumpy bed and gave way to the
luxury of tears. I loved this country-its bright, cloudless,
blue, blue sky; the scent of roses in the air; the long, lingering
twilight; even the wail of the cowardly coyotes. I loved the
people-Anna with her hands that always held out some gift;
Else with her shy eagerness; Mr. Dickerson with his desire
that the community people be led in worship; Mr. Laverly who
fought for a school even though his own sons were past school
age; the Clarks, the Mattochs, Delaneys, Pastachucks,
Thebeaus and Blakes. They had become my neighbors, my people. Then I thought of dear, loving Andy and his honest
praise for the efforts of his fellowman--"You did real good."
The sobs shook my whole body.

I could have been so happy here, I mourned inwardly.

Then why run away? asked the other me.

I must-I must, was my only answer.

I went through the motions of teaching that last week.
Each accomplishment of a student, each act of kindness raised
a lump in my throat.

On the final day we had a picnic. Everyone from the community was there. I was flooded by kind and sincere compliments. It could have gone to my head had I been able to think
clearly. Over and over again I heard the question, "Will you be
back next fall, Miss Thatcher? Will you be our teacher
again?" I could only reply in my dazed condition, "I don't
know-I'm not sure."

Everyone seemed to enjoy the picnic, and as long as I kept
busy I enjoyed it too. In the back of my mind the words kept
hammering, My last day-my last day. I had to force my mind
to other things so that I wouldn't succumb to the temptation
to cry, right in front of them all.

It was time for them all to leave. My hand was shaken so
often and so vigorously that it went numb-as numb as my
heart, I thought, and then realized that my heart wasn't numb
after all, for a sharp pain was twisting it.

I hugged my younger students and the older girls. Many of
them cried, and I longed to cry with them. The boys stiffly
shook hands in an embarrassed wav, and even that touched
me. At last the final wagon pulled away from the schoolyard,
its occupants still waving and calling good-bye, and I turned
back to the schoolroom. There really wasn't much that needed
to be done, but I wanted to leave everything in good order. I
swept, dusted, arranged, cleaned the blackboards, and
scrubbed the floor. When everything was as clean as I could
possibly make it, I took one last look around and, with tears in
my eyes, went out and closed the door tightly behind me.

I spent the evening gathering and packing the last of my
belongings and giving the teacherage a thorough cleaning as
well. I was glad for every job that I found to do, for it kept my hands busy, if not my thoughts.

Just before retiring I went to my trunk and unpacked the
china teapot and the two cups and saucers, wrapped them
carefully and placed them in a small box. Then I also pulled
out the footstool. I looked at it long and lovingly, and then set
it beside the door with the box.

The coyotes began their evening chorus. Their cries no
longer frightened me; instead, they filled me with such a loneliness that I cried with them. I may never hear them again, I
thought, and I knew that I would miss even them.

The next morning the whole Peterson family drove me to
the station. I was so busy taking a good look at everything for
the last time that I wasn't very good company. In fact, we were
all rather quiet on that trip to Lacombe.

When we arrived at the station, Lars and Mr. Peterson
checked my trunks while I purchased my ticket. We chatted in
a rather empty fashion for a few minutes. and then it was time
for me to go.

I hugged Anna warmly.

"I can never tell you how much your friendship and
thoughtfulness have meant to me, and I have left something in
the teacherage that I want you to have. You have given me so
much and I've never given much in return." Anna protested,
but I went on. "I want you to have my teapot, and I'd like Else
and Olga to each have one of the cups and saucers to remember me by. And for Lars, for hauling wood and water and being
such a good help to a green city girl, I have left my footstooland for each of the children, one of my books. Lars always sat
on the footstool when he read my books, so when he reads
again, perhaps he can use the footstool and remember just
how much this schoolteacher thought of him."

Then we all hugged some more and the whistle of the train
announced that it would soon be leaving. I had to go. The
train pulled away from the station with all of us still waving to
one another.

I didn't cry all the way to Calgary. It was much too long a
trip for that, but I did soak several lace handkerchiefs with my
tears.

My day spent at Jon and Mary's was no better. They tried
to convince me to stay, but I reminded them that my trunks
were likely already on the way to Toronto. I was half-afraid
that had I not taken the action of booking them to Toronto
from Lacombe, I might have decided to stay. I couldn't do
that. I just couldn't.

As Jon, Mary and the children took me to the station the
next day, we were all red-eyed. Kathleen clung to my hand.

"I wanted you to be my Aunt Beth for always," she declared sadly.

"But I am your Aunt Beth for always."

"But I wanted you to be my Aunt Beth here."

I looked back at the hill where we had gone sledding. From
the high rise above the hillside, one could look out over the
Rockie Mountains. I had not made my promised trip to the
mountain streams or steep slopes.

I'm coming back-someday, I silently promised. I'm going
to keep that promise if it's at all possible.

Again there were tearful good-byes. I held each one of the
family: the big brother that I had come to love and respect;
Mary, my bright-haired new sister; William, the boy who
would soon be a man; Sarah, with her shy, winning ways:
Kathleen, the chattery, lovable bundle of energy; and Baby
Elizabeth, a small bit of warmth and love who bore my name.