[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (6 page)

"I see," he said slowly. "that we shouldn't tease you so.
Here we often forget the manners that our mothers tried so
hard to instill in us. We tease and jest all the time. It helps the
road to smooth out when it might otherwise be rough.

"Of course we have no intention of marrying you off." He
then added with great sincerity, "But I could this night, personally, introduce you to a dozen good, clean, mannerly, wellbred gentlemen who would make your Eastern dandies look
pale in comparison. But I won't do it," he hurried on, "lest my
intentions be misconstrued."

I knew exactly what he was implying and realized with embarrassment that I deserved this mild rebuke for my tactlessness and bad manners. My face was suddenly drained of all
color. I knew that I should apologize for my outburst, but
somehow I couldn't get the words through my tight throat.

Jonathan chuckled, and the sound of his soft laugh eased
the tension around the table. "I promise, little sister," he said
with feigned seriousness, "to make no effort to see you married if you have no desire to be so. But, looking at you, I'd say you
will have to get that message across yourself to more than one
young man.

Mary seemed to agree. She didn't say anything-only
smiled-but the warmth of that smile carried with it approval
of her sister-in-law's appearance.

My cheeks flushed again, for a different reason this time. I
was willing to assume the responsibility of getting that message across, if need be.

"I've had to do it before," I said calmly, "and I'm quite
confident that I can again."

A small voice broke in. "When I grow up, I'm gonna marry
Dee."

Everyone shared in the laughter; even I, who did not have
the slightest notion who Dee was.

As Mary wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes she attempted to enlighten me. "Dee is a very dear friend. He's already close to thirty and as determined as you, my dear, to
stay single."

"He's my friend," Kathleen insisted.

"Of course he is, sweetie. Now finish your dinner."

When we rose from the table, a wave of tiredness flooded
over me. I wondered if I'd be able to hold out while Mary went
to tuck in the children.

It was early yet, and I knew that it was unthinkable to ask
to be shown to my room, and yet that was the very thing that I
longed to do. Jonathan noticed it.

"You must be dead on your feet. Why don't you go and
have a warm bath and get to bed early tonight? I never could
get a proper night's sleep on one of those rumbling trains. The
time change makes a difference too. According to Eastern
time, it's now your bedtime."

I admitted that I was terribly weary.

"Go on, then," he insisted. "Your door is the first one on
the right at the top of the stairs. The bath is in the room next
to yours. After your long trip I'm sure you will enjoy relaxing
in a tub again. I've already put your things in your room. I'm
off to hear the children's prayers now, so I'll tell Mary. She will understand. There's plenty of time ahead for us to catch
up on everything."

I thanked him and climbed the stairs. I could hardly wait
to crawl into that tub. I sincerely hoped I would still have the
energy to make it from the tub to the bed.

Soon I would need to write Mother and tell her all about
Jonathan's lovely home and beautiful family. It was evident
that the West had dealt very kindly with him. Mother would
be proud. Jonathan himself had been very modest in his letters home, but I had no inhibitions about painting for Mother
the complete picture.

Jonathan's home, a. large three-story dwelling with many
gables and bay windows, was a lovely structure of red brick;
the elaborate wooden trim around the whole house was painted white.

The interior was spacious and cool, furnished with pieces
shipped from the East. Colorful carpets covered the floors,
and rich draperies softened the windows. Only Jonathan's
study showed the unique influence of the West. Here was locally built furniture, massive and impressive. The wall bore
mounted animal heads. A bear rug sprawled in front of the
fireplace, while a buffalo robe covered the couch.

But the letter would have to wait. Tonight I was too tired
to even consider writing. Tonight I wanted only a bed. Tomorrow-well, tomorrow I hoped to somehow have another look at
those gorgeous mountains. I would attempt to tell my family
back East about them as well, but already I knew that whatever I could say would never do the mountains justice.

It did appear indeed that Jonathan and Mary were anxious
to show me around, and to show me off. Never had I spent
such a busy ten days as those that followed my arrival in Calgary. It seemed as though I was constantly changing my dress
for the next occasion. But I will admit that it was all exciting,
and I'm afraid it threatened to go to my head.

I had arrived on a Friday and Jon (I discovered that he favored being called Jon, so I complied, though it did seem a
shame to go from a beautiful name like Jonathan to one as
simple as Jon)--anyway, Jon and Mary decided that after my
long train journey, I needed Saturday to rest. I didn't rest
much, for I needed to unpack my clothes for my stay. I spent
most of the day washing and pressing my things.

I was able to get to know my nephew and nieces, for everywhere I went, there they were at my elbow. It was delightful.

William had already finished two years in the classroom
and was held in awe by his sisters. Sarah would shyly plead,
"Show me, William-tell me-'splain it to me, William."
William did, his self-esteem showing in those hazel eyes under
his shock of reddish hair.

Kathleen was a dear. Her expressions sparkled with mischief as she chattered and watched everything that I did. It
was apparent that Jon and Mary were parents who carefully
guided and controlled their children, for even the energetic
and outgoing Kathleen was not bold in her venturing, though her eyes showed that she found it difficult to restrain her
bursts of enthusiasm.

As I unfolded an emerald-green velvet frock from the tissues that I had carefully wrapped it in, her eyes took on a special shine, and one hand reached out to touch the softness of
the velvet. She quickly checked herself and tucked both hands
behind her back where they would be safe from temptation.
Her eyes sought mine, their message a plea for forgiveness for
what she had almost done; but soon they were filled with a
gentle question.

"Does it feel like baby chickies?" she asked in almost a
whisper.

"You know," I answered honestly, "I have never, ever had
the privilege of touching a baby chickie."

"You haven't?" Her eyes were big, and I knew that she
could scarcely believe my ill fortune. A look of sympathy followed the wonder.

"I'll tell Papa," she said, very matter-of-factly, and I knew
that she was confident Papa would care for my obvious need.

"Have you held baby chicks?" I asked her.

"Oh, yes."

"Then you touch the dress and tell me if it feels the same."

She looked at me, her big eyes wondering if I really meant
it. I moved the dress nearer to her to assure her that I did. She
slowly reached out one hand and then stopped herself, her
eyes meeting mine with a twinkle as she said, "Oh-Oh." The
hands were both turned palms up. "I'd better wash them
first."

"They look fine to me."

She shrugged. "I'd better wash them anyway. Mama says
some dirt don't see-don't look-" She struggled for the right
word.

"Doesn't show?"

"Yah."

She ran hastily from the room and was soon back. She had
splashed water on her dress in her hurry, and the hands that
she had been so concerned about were still damp where the
towel had not been given a chance to do its proper job. She finished drying them by wiping them up and down on the
sides of her dress as she approached the velvet gown. She
stood for a moment looking at its richness. Then she reached
out slowly and touched a fold. Gently the little hand stroked
the cloth, careful to brush it only in one direction.

"It does," she whispered, "and like a new kitten, too."

I reached down and pulled her to me.

"Baby chicks must feel nice; and I have stroked a new kitten, so I know that feels nice-but do you know what feels the
nicest of all?"

She tipped back her head and studied my face.

"Little people," I said softly.

"Like boys and-and girls?"

"Boys and girls."

She giggled, and then threw her arms around my neck and
hugged me. I swallowed hard. How wonderful to be able to
hold a child, to love unreservedly and have the love returned.

Sarah called, and Kathleen released her hold.

"She's probl'y gonna say, `Kathleen, wash for lunch,' and
I've already washed!" She took great pleasure in the fact that
she would be able to side-step the command. She started a
lopsided skip as she left the room, not yet old enough to do it
properly. At the door she stopped and turned back. "Thank
you, Aunt Beth," she called. She threw me a kiss, which I returned, and was gone.

A few minutes later we were indeed gathered for lunch.
William held us up because he was off climbing trees with a
neighbor; it took Sarah several minutes to locate him. He was
scolded gently and sent to wash and change his shirt, which
had a ragged tear on one sleeve. He reappeared a few minutes
later, fresh shirt properly buttoned but not so properly tucked
in, and his face and hands scrubbed, though one could easily
see the water line at his chin. Mary's rueful smile accepted
him as he was, and the meal was served.

"After lunch I want you children to play outside-in the
yard," said Mary, looking pointedly at William. "Aunt Beth
may want to nap."

"Oh, no," I hurried to explain, "I still haven't finished caring for my clothes."

Even as I said the words I realized just how much I would
love to take time for a little rest.

"Baby Lis'beth still naps," Kathleen said seriously, and I
could tell that she felt very proud about being allowed to go
without an afternoon sleep.

"Baby Elizabeth is lucky," declared Mary. I guessed that
there were many days when she gladly would have curled up
for a nap herself if she had been given the opportunity.

Kathleen did not argue, though it was evident from the
look in her eyes that she did not agree with her mother.

The next. morning, Sunday, the house was filled with
activity as we prepared to attend the church service. Kathleen
tapped timidly on my door while I was fixing my hair. She
came in to show me her dress and ribbons. She looked like she
should have been on a calendar. Her pretty clothes and careful
grooming accented her pixie-like quality. Her eyes sparkled as
she caressed the lace on her pinafore.

"Do you like it?"

"It's lovely."

"Mama made it."

"She did?"

"She did," she nodded.

"It's beautiful. Your mama is a very fine seamstress."

"That's what Papa says."

She then studied me. "You look nice, too. Did you make
your dress?" I shook my head, thinking of the shop in Toronto
where the dress had been purchased.

"No," I said slowly, "Madame Tamer made it."

"She's good, too," Kathleen said solemnly.

I smiled, thinking of the madame and her prices. Yes, she
was good, too.

The church building was new, though not as large as the
one I had been used to attending. The people were friendly,
and it was easy to feel at home, especially because I came as
Jon's sister. It was plain to see that they regarded Jon and
Mary with a great deal of respect.

I sat between William and Sarah. It was difficult for William not to squirm. He shifted this way, then that, swung this
foot, then the other, made fists, then relaxed them. I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Kathleen did not fare much better
than William. Sarah, on the other hand, sat quietly. At one
point, when we stood to sing a hymn, she slipped a little hand
into mine. I gave it a squeeze and smiled at her. She cuddled
up to me like a little puppy.

After the service was over I was introduced to a number of
the people. The congregation was made up mostly of young
couples, though I did see several men who seemed to be unattached. I appreciated the fact that Jon did not steer me in
their direction. He left me with Marv and a few of her friends
and went over to greet the men by himself.

The minister, his wife and four children were invited to
join us at Jon and Mary's for Sunday dinner. The Reverend
Dickson had come west three years ago. He wanted to talk of
nothing but the West and was full of glowing accounts of the
great things that were happening all around him. Mrs. Dickson was eager to discuss anything and everything about "back
home." I felt much like a tennis ball during the conversation.

The next day Jon and Mary invited Mr. Higgins, the district's school superintendent, for dinner.

I was anxious to meet Mr. Higgins and to find out about
my new school, but I was nervous about it too. What if he
didn't feel that I could do a proper job? A man with his great
responsibility, who was conscientiously searching for just the
right teachers for his needy schools, could be extremely fussy
about whom he chose to fill those needs.

I pictured Mr. Higgins as a rather reserved and learned
man, balding, maybe a bit overweight. carefully clothed and
austere. His bearing, his manner, his very look would speak
the seriousness with which he regarded his responsibilities.

When Sarah announced that Mr. Higgins had arrived, I
hastened to the parlor, pausing at the doorway to compose
myself for this important meeting. I was not prepared for what
I saw.

At first, I must confess, my eyes searched the room for a
third party; I was certain that the gentleman laughing and
joking with Jon was not, nor could possibly be, School Superintendent Higgins. But while my gaze traveled round the room, Jon turned and introduced his guest as Mr. Higgins.