[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (9 page)

I thought that the train would never reach Lacombe. We
limped along, stopping at any place with more than one building. The train hissed and coughed and shuttled and groaned,
seemingly forever, at these tiny train stations before finally
rolling on.

We spent an especially long time at a town called Red
Deer. I watched with interest as dray wagon after dray wagon
drove away with loads of freight-sacks of flour, unmarked
crates, even a stove. At last, when I was sure that they must
have removed even my luggage, we resumed our forward
crawl.

The landscape had changed over the miles. We had left the
prairies behind and now rolled through timbered land. Here and there were fields where settlers had cleared the land for
the plow. Large piles of logs and stumps were scattered about,
some of them surrounded by planted grain.

The crops that had been sown were now nearly ready for
harvest, and much of the talk of my fellow passengers was centered on yield, quality and the weather. It was conversation
unfamiliar tome, and I found myself listening intently.

It was well into the afternoon before the conductor came
through calling, "Lacombe! Next stop, Lacombe."

I began to bundle together the items that I had brought
with me. I carefully tucked away the wrappings of the lunch
that Mary had insisted upon sending. I had been most reluctant to comply at the time she suggested it, but I was now glad
that she hadn't allowed me to talk her out of it. I had eaten
every morsel of the lunch and been thankful for it. I brushed at
my lap for unseen crumbs and stood to my feet to smooth my
skirt.

The train squealed to a jerky halt. I clutched my belongings and went forward to meet Mr. Laverly. Stiff and bedraggled after only these few hours on the train, I had difficulty
imagining how I had endured the four days it had taken me to
journey from Toronto.

As I descended the steps, my eyes searched hastily about
for a man that looked like a Laverly. I easily spotted the one
who had been sent to meet me; he was the other nervous person on the platform. I introduced myself, and he suggested
that I might like a cup of coffee before we started out. He
would stay and load my belongings. His daughter, Pearlie,
was pushed forward with instructions to be my guide to the local hotel tearoom. I was glad to fall in step with Pearlie. The
hotel was only a short distance, and she led me at a brisk pace.

We found a table in the corner, and after we had placed our
orders and I had caught my breath, we began to chat. I was
pleased to find that Pearlie was not shy and offered information freely. I was anxious to discover any information I could
about Pine Springs.

"How do you like school?" I asked, thinking that this
would he a normal question for a teacher to ask.

"Fine, but I didn't like my last teacher good as the one before. But," she hurried on, after a quick check of my response
to that, "least he was better than the one 'fore that."

"Do you have a new teacher every year?"

"Most of the time. One I had for a year an' a half once."

She shrugged it off as of no consequence.

"How far is Pine Springs?"

"Pa says it'll take 'bout half an hour."

"What's it like?"

"Don't know. Never been there before."

My eyes must have opened wide at this reply.

"You don't live in Pine Springs?"

"Uh-uh. Live here in Lacombe."

"But I thought that it was your father who will be driving
me to Pine Springs."

" 'Tis. Nobody in Pine Springs has got an auto, so Mr. Laverty hired my pa to drive you on out. Team takes a long time
an' Mr. Laverly said that by the time you got there by horse
an' wagon, you might decide to pack right up an' head on back
East. An he sure didn't want that."

"I see." I smiled at Mr. Laverly's assessment of a lady from
the East. "Then you aren't a Laverly."

"Nope. We're Ainsworths."

"You live and go to school here in Lacombe?"

"Yup.

"Do you have any idea how many children attend the Pine
Springs school?"

"Never been any yet."

"Pardon m,~?"

"It's bran' new. They jest built it. They been tryin' to get a
teacher, an' M Higgins never had one for 'em. They built the
school two yeitrs ago-an' no teacher. An' then last fall, no
teacher. Now ,his year they get a teacher. Mr. Laverly sounded real excited. That's why he asked Pa to drive you out. My
pa's 'bout the only one 'round here with a good auto," she added proudly.

"That's very nice. What does your father do?"

"He's an undertaker, an' business has been unusual good-I heard him tell Ma. Says that she can even have that
new washing machine that she's been a'wantin'. Won't need to
use the old scrub board no more."

I smiled and nodded. "That will be nice for your mother."

Pearlie watched me carefully. As soon as I had finished my
tea, she rose from her chair.

"We best get back. Pa will be done loadin' your stuff."

"Are you going with us to Pine Springs?" I asked, hoping
that she was.

"I gotta," she stated. "I gotta help Pa start the car."

"You help? What do you do?"

"I choke it an' things, whilst he cranks."

We walked back to the station and found Pearlie's pa pacing back and forth in an agitated fashion. Before him on the
platform sat my trunks. I guessed by the look that the station
master sent my way that he and Pearlie's pa had already had
words. Without any preliminaries, Pearlie's father stated,
"These'll have to stay. Got no place in my automobile for
freight like thet."

"But I need them!" I protested. "They contain my clothing, my-"

"Can't do a thing 'bout thet. I can take the luggage thet
you're a'carryin', but the trunks will have to stay here. Someone will jest have to come on in with a wagon an' pick 'em up."

I could see that his mind was made up. Besides, he appeared to be right. There was no room in the automobile for
my trunks.

"I put yer other things on the backseat there. You can seat
yerself there beside 'em."

I did as I was told. The station master was summoned with
a wave and given instructions regarding my trunks. They were
soon riding a cart into the small wooden building.

Pearlie took her place behind the steering wheel and expertly pulled and twisted knobs while her father began his
cranking chore. It took a good deal of hard work before the automobile coughed into action. He came dashing from the
front, through the door, and bumped Pearlie out of his way.
his face red and sweaty from his exertion.

We began to chug our way carefully through the little
town, avoiding potholes, pedestrians and teams. Dogs took
pleasure in chasing this unusual conveyance, teasing and
barking and snapping at the tires as they escorted us out of
town. I held my breath lest we hit one of them, but Pearlie's pa
drove as though they were not even there.

It was a long, dusty, bumpy ride. The road certainly wasn't
built for speeding, and Pearlie's father couldn't have been accused of doing so. But lest I sound ungrateful, I was glad that I
didn't have to make this trip by wagon.

I looked for my beloved mountains, but from this vantagepoint saw only tree-covered hills.

We passed several fields that had been cleared from the
timbered countryside, many of them holding a grain crop in
various stages of ripening. Some fields grazed cattle or horses,
and I even saw a few sheep. Most of the homes and outbuildings were of log construction; I found them fascinating.

I was about to tap Pearlie on the shoulder and ask how
much farther when I remembered that she wouldn't know
either, having never been to Pine Springs before. About ten
minutes later, we turned into a driveway and there stood a log
building that I realized must be my school.

We drove on past it, across the browning grass, and pulled
up before a smaller building to the left and rear of the school
itself.

"Here we are," Pearlie's father called above the roar of the
motor. It came to me that he did not plan to turn it off-he did
not wish the unpleasant exertion of starting it again. I didn't
blame him.

I must have shown my bewilderment, for he boomed at me,
"The teacherage-where you'll be stayin'."

Teacherage? I got my thoughts and my baggage gathered
together and crawled from the car. My companions did not
leave their positions in the auto.

"I don't have a key!" I wailed through the auto's window.

?
"A key?"

He acted as if he had never heard of such an object.

"Yes, a key-to let myself in the house."

"Won't need no key. Doesn't have a lock. Good-day,
ma'am." And he tipped his hat, pushed the shift lever into
gear, and the auto clattered and chugged its way out of the
yard.

I watched them go. Pearlie waved wildly, and I lifted my
hand in a limp salute. When they had disappeared from sight,
I gathered up my parcels and tried the door. Pearlie's pa had
been right; it opened readily to my touch, and I entered what
was now my new home.

I had fully expected that I would be a boarder in some
neighborhood home. A funny little fear rippled through me.
But I told myself not to be silly, that living alone would be
much more to my liking and that I would be so close to my
classroom.

I learned later that the teacherage had been constructed
over the last winter as an added incentive to Mr. Higgins to
provide the community with a teacher. I was its first occupant.

I passed through an entry into a small room which was a
combined kitchen and living room. A bit of a cupboard stood
in one corner and next to it was a very used stove. A fire was
burning in it, so someone must have recently been in the
teacherage. A teakettle sat on the stove and sent forth a
merry, soft purr with its column of wavering steam. Something about that kettle suddenly made me feel much more at
home. I felt myself relax.My eyes quickly glanced around the
room. It also contained a table and two chairs, mended and
freshly painted a pale green. Two stuffed chairs, with homemade crazy-quilt throws carefully covering them and a small
table sitting between them, made my living room. A chest of
sorts stood against one wall.

I could see into a second room, and after making a hurried
survey of the first, I quickly passed through the adjoining door
to get a better look. This room contained a bed and a dresser.
The furniture looked worn, but clean. The bed's mattress
looked lumpy, but a new cover had been sewn for it of freshly
laundered floursacking. A brand-new pillow graced the spot
where my head would rest; I wondered if its soft downiness came from a neighbor's fowls. A colorful crazy quilt was folded
neatly at the end.

Realizing I was still carrying my bags, I returned to the
first room and tumbled them into one of the overstuffed
chairs. In somewhat of a trance. I crossed to the stove and
checked to see if it needed more wood. I had never taken care
of a stove before and hadn't the slightest notion how to go
about handling it, but it seemed fairly obvious as to where the
wood should go.

I looked around me. There were some things set out on the
table and I crossed over to them. A note caught my eye, and I
stopped to read it.

Dear Miss

Thot that you'd be tired and hungry after yer trip so
have left some things. We will call on you tomarra to
see what you be needing. We hope you like it here. We
are plenty glad to have you come.

Martha Laverlv

On the table sat containers of tea, sugar, coffee and salt, as
well as cheese, fresh bread and pound cake. I crossed to the
cupboard and opened the doors. A collection of mismatched
dishes and pots greeted me. I lifted out a brown teapot with a
chipped lid, a blue cup with a rose on the side, placed it on a
pale yellow saucer, and set about brewing myself a cup of tea.

While the tea steeped, I opened the other cupboard door
and found staple items in small containers. Never having
spent much time in a kitchen, I was thankful to see that they
were carefully labeled.

On the cupboard sat a pan filled with water and in the
water stood three jars. One contained cream, another milk.
and a third, butter. So this is how one keeps things sweet
when there is no icebox. I poked a finger into the water and
was surprised at how cool it felt.

The chest standing near the door held a pail of water with a
small dipper, a basin, and a tin container with a bar of soap. I
poured a little of the water into the basin and washed my
hands. Realizing that I had no towel on which to dry them until my trunks arrived, I went outside and shook the water
from my hands and then walked back and forth, rubbing them
lightly together until all the water had evaporated.

My tea was ready when I returned. I sliced a piece of the
fresh bread and spread on the butter, then cut myself a generous portion of cheese. Crossing to the stuffed chair that wasn't
holding my belongings, I sat down with my repast. How good
the hot tea and the fresh bread tasted! I couldn't remember
ever having a more enjoyable meal.

My mind was beginning to clear of its fog, and I studied my
new quarters more critically. The windows had white, rather
stiff-looking curtains. The table was covered with a white
cloth of the same material, but it was decorated with crossstitching. The walls were bare except for a calendar. The rugs
on the floor were small, bright rounds against the plainness of
the bare wood. The furniture was definitely all secondhand.
As I looked at it, I wondered about those folks who had given it
up in order that the new teacherage might be furnished. Had
it been a sacrifice for them? I set down my empty cup and
again went to the bedroom.

The curtains that hung there were of the same coarse material. Two more quilts were neatly folded and stacked on a
wall shelf. They were all homemade, obviously pieced together
from the better parts of worn-out garments. Skillfully and artistically done, they were very attractive to look at. I admired
the handiwork and appreciated the time which had gone into
them. Three rugs were scattered on the floor, one in front of
the bed, one in front of the dresser, and the third at the door. A
mirror hung on the wall, a crack running jaggedly across one
bottom corner.