The Calling of Emily Evans (11 page)

It was early when Emily crawled from her bed the next morning and lit the fire so she could heat water for the scrubbing. During her work of the day before, Emily realized that some of the scattered chairs appeared to be fixable. There were also five or six crates scattered about the floor of the building. She was sure she would find a use for them. She had even found a back closet with shelves, which probably had been used as some type of billiard equipment room. It too was dirty, but Emily was thrilled at the discovery. It would be perfect for Sunday school supplies and hymnbooks.

As Emily entered the meeting room with her first pail of hot, soapy water, three sparrows made their exit through a broken window.

Emily set her pail on the stained floor and looked about her.

“I’d better fix the windows—somehow,” she spoke quietly.“There’s no use scrubbing if the birds are still living here.”

Emily searched around until she found some scraps of board that she thought would do. She had discovered a few rusty nails on the shelf in the closet the previous day, and she went for them now. She was too short to reach the windows that needed repair, so she chose what she considered to be the safest chair to stand on. But she had no hammer.

Emily thought of crossing the street and asking the blacksmith to loan her one; instead, she went outside and searched her backyard until she found a rock large enough to use as a hammer. With that firmly in her hand, she began her repairs. It wasn’t a good job, but as Emily studied the boarded-up window, she decided it should keep the birds out until a proper job could be done. Then she set to work with her water and scrub brush.

It was another long day for Emily. Twice she had to take rest breaks for her aching back and arms. At those times she found something lighter to do in the parsonage. She organized her books on the newly scrubbed small shelf and swept the rickety steps that led down into the cellar hole beneath the kitchen.

“I’m going to have to start cooking properly,” she told herself as she sat down to another meal of tea and sliced bread.“If Father were here, he would say that I’ll be making myself sick.”

Emily quickly put the few dirty dishes in the pan on the cupboard and hurried back to her scrubbing.

She didn’t finish the task that day either. She groaned as she surveyed the small area she had managed to clean, wondering if she could possibly be ready by next Wednesday. Tomorrow was Sunday. There would be no scrubbing then. Emily felt a bit impatient that she could do nothing further till Monday, yet she was appreciative of a day of rest. She allowed herself the luxury of sleeping later and then arose to a leisurely breakfast and a long time of Bible study. She let the words from the Psalms and the Gospels rejuvenate her soul.

Then Emily prepared a nutritious dinner with vegetables from her father’s garden and some of Ina’s canned chicken, washed up the dishes that had been stacking higher and higher in the dishpan, and lay back down on her bed to read one of her favorite books. But the warm day outside beckoned to her.“I need to get out,” she told herself.“A walk might help me settle down.”

She debated about wearing her black bonnet and decided against it.
I’m not on church business,
she reasoned.
I’ll just slip out down the
alley and into the country.

Walking felt good and Emily followed the road until she came to a little creek, crawled the fence, and followed the creek bank.

She loved the little stream, even though it seemed lazy and joyless, sometimes seeming to sit in disjointed, stagnant little pools.

She continued walking along the creek until she came to a spot where it truly did gurgle along. She sat down, her back against a tall poplar, and let the song of the stream ease some of the weariness from her mind and body.

“I must remember this spot,” she murmured to herself.“It is restful here.” She closed her eyes and listened to the song of the birds and the faraway bawl of a milk cow in the pasture beyond.

Just as she was close to dropping off to sleep there was a crashing through the undergrowth and Emily’s eyes flew open.

Surely there aren’t bears here!
was her first frantic thought. But it was a man with a fishing pole who broke through the bushes.

Emily wasn’t sure which one of them was the most surprised at seeing the other. He stared while she scrambled quickly to her feet, her eyes mirroring his surprise.

“I—I—was just resting,” she stammered, and he seemed to gain some composure.

His smile was slow in coming, but when it did, Emily noticed that it was delightful. He nodded his head, let the smile come in full and then spoke slowly.“I’m not too used to finding a girl in my woods,” he said with a chuckle.“Hello.”

“But I’m not—not a girl,” Emily quickly pointed out, making his eyes crinkle even more deeply at the corners.

“I—I mean, I’m Miss Emily Evans,” Emily finished, as though that should be explanation enough.

“Miss Evans,” returned the man with a nod.

Emily’s face began to redden. She knew he still assumed her to be a young girl.

“I—I mean I’m the new deaconess. The mission worker sent here to start a new church.”

For a moment the man’s face showed surprise; then he smiled again.“Well, I should expect you won’t have much trouble finding a willing congregation,” he teased.“A pretty young girl—I mean, woman—” Then surprisingly his voice turned serious.“I guess your church knew well what it was doing.”

Emily was at a loss to understand his words.

“What do you mean?” she asked softly, reading the irony in his voice.

He cast a quizzical glance her way. Emily’s puzzled frown assured him that she truly didn’t understand.

“People are always a bit more tolerant of girls,” he replied. Then he cast a meaningful look her way and added, “Children—or defenseless young women.”

By then Emily’s face was flushed and her eyes flashing as she straightened to her fullest height and lifted her chin.

“I am not a girl,” she repeated stubbornly.“Nor—nor am I a—a ‘defenseless young woman.’ I have been sent here to start a mission, not to—not to lure people to the church through pity. I—”

At the sound of his chuckle, she stopped and lifted her chin even higher.
He is insufferable!
she fumed. She would not stay and have him mock her further. With a defiant toss of her head she started back down the trail, but was quickly jerked up short. Her pinned hair had somehow become entangled in a branch.

Emily refused to cry out in spite of the sharp wrench. She lifted a trembling hand to disentangle herself. She could hear further laughter, and her anger increased.

In spite of her efforts, all she managed to do was dislodge the pins until her hair was tumbling about her shoulders. Still the small branch held her prisoner. She tugged and fumbled but could not free herself.

“If you don’t spook, I’ll help you,” said a quiet voice from behind her.

Emily wanted to cry, but she choked back her anger, took a deep breath and willed herself to respond in a reasonable fashion.“If you would, please.”

Never had she felt so humiliated. Never so at the mercy of another, particularly one so arrogant and irritating.

She heard him put down the rod he carried and step closer. Then she felt his hands on her hair. She sensed now that he was much taller than she and thus had an advantage—he could see what he was doing.

“Here’s a—a peg,” he said, thrusting a pin into her hand.

Emily almost corrected him, but she bit her tongue.

“Here’s another,” he said, and again passed her a hairpin.

“You
are
stuck!” he said as he began to untwine the locks of Emily’s hair. In trying to free herself, she had managed to make things much worse.

At last he had untangled her hair and stepped back while she ran shaky hands over her hair to get it under some measure of control. She could hardly walk back to town with her hair flowing wildly about her shoulders.

“It’s a shame you can’t always leave it down,” he surprised her by saying, and Emily looked at him evenly, making no comment in return.

His broad shoulders shrugged indifferently.“But I guess a mission worker couldn’t do that.”

Still Emily didn’t answer. She feared he was taunting her again.

“Is this … your land?” Emily asked hesitantly, hoping to change the subject.

He shook his head. Emily was relieved that she hadn’t trespassed a second time since coming to this community.

“It belongs to my uncle,” he went on, and Emily’s eyes expressed dismay.

He noticed, and another smile played at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s okay,” he assured her.“My uncle is a generous man. He’ll share his creek with you. He even lets me call it mine.”

It was Emily’s turn to smile. He had understood her concerns so accurately.

“I don’t even live here,” the young man went on.“I’ve come to my uncle’s farm every summer since I was a kid. I grew up in Edmonton. Live in Calgary now.”

Emily hoped her face gave no hint of her confusion—he seemed so rude one minute and rather gentlemanly the next.

Her hair was secured as well as she could manage without brush or comb. Emily took a deep breath and made sure that no low overhanging branches obscured her path.

“Well, I must be going,” she explained.“It’ll be dark before I get back to town if I don’t hurry.”

“I have a car. I could drive you,” he offered simply.

Emily blushed. What on earth would the town’s folk say if she came driving into town with a complete stranger? She shook her head quickly.“No—no, thanks,” she hastened to say.“But—I …thank you.” She began to stumble down the path, anxious to get going.

“Good fishing,” she called back over her shoulder in an effort to be neighborly. He waved a hand, and she heard another chuckle.

She dared not look back. He might still be standing there, watching her go. She really did need to hurry. It would be dark before she could cover the distance back to town. Then a new thought came,
I
don’t even know his name!

Chapter Twelve

A Busy Week

On Monday morning Emily was anxious to get back to her scrubbing in the church, but she did take the time to wash three of the orange crates thoroughly and give them a coat of calcimine. They could be stacked as shelves in the corner of the bedroom, giving her some storage place. Emily could hardly wait for them to dry so she might place her clothing on the little shelves and hang one of her towels over the front.

Back in the church, Emily scrubbed all day Monday, all day Tuesday and Wednesday morning before she completed her task. Even so, she had been able to wash the walls only as high as her rickety chair would allow her to reach. The higher portion of the walls was not as dirty as the lower, except where the sparrows had been, but still the dust hung heavily on them. She had tried tying her cloth to the broom and scrubbing above her head with that. But it did a poor job at best, and finally Emily decided to leave them just as they were.

She was just throwing out her last pail of dirty water when the truck with the furnishings pulled in. Excitement filled her whole being, but as she watched the two gentlemen unload the benches, Emily’s heart sank. The pews were very old and very used. Some church had replaced them and they obviously had been stored where the weather was able to get at them.

“They’ll need a good scrubbing, too,” Emily said to herself and looked down at her already rough, red hands.

The men were no more impressed with the little building than Emily had been.

“The windows need to be fixed,” said the man named Herb Collins.

“The whole thing needs some paint,” added Dick Lowe.

“I—I didn’t have a ladder,” Emily explained, pointing at the line on the walls.

Mr. Lowe nodded.“Must have been a dirty job,” he said sympathetically.

“Is there a phone around?” asked Herb, and when Emily informed him there was one at the mercantile, he left the two of them and was gone for several minutes. When he came back he was carrying a ladder, which he put in the meeting room. Then he left again. Emily knew the men were no doubt hungry, so she excused herself to prepare a meal and went back to her little kitchen.

She was surprised when she returned to the church to call the men to dinner. Not only had the ladder been set up, but window glass, paint cans, brushes and various tools were all laid out. And the men had already set to work. Their first task was repairing the broken windows. Now Emily really felt excited. She would have some help in getting her church building in order.

The men decided to stay overnight to finish the repairs. Emily had no parishioners yet with whom to board them. She knew it would be senseless to offer her one small cot. The two ended up sleeping in the truck cab, assuming that the padded seat was somewhat softer than the church benches. Emily could only imagine how uncomfortable it must have been for them. She gave them her one spare blanket, then pulled the other one from her bed for them, too. She could do without the blanket far better than they.

The next day the men went from replacing the window glass to cleaning away the sign of birds, and then to the painting. Emily knew there was nothing much they could do about the splotches on the floor.