Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel (17 page)

Thinking of Edward, she remembered a recital in which she had performed at the age of twelve. He had been seated in the center of the second row. When Beth had taken her position on the stage with her violin, she had been annoyed to see him there, expecting that he would make faces or cause her to lose her concentration just for the sheer enjoyment of embarrassing her. Instead, more than anyone else in the audience, he had watched with admiration and amazement as she had played. Beth could still picture his young face, the green eyes fixed on her, not a hint of movement until she had finished. And then he had stood first, applauding with vigor.

“Elizabeth,” he had said afterward with boyish enthusiasm, “I never heard anybody play like that. Bet you even made God smile.” Strange that having forgotten them for so long, the words would come back to her now.

At first all went well. Luela recited a poem almost flawlessly, followed by a song from the five youngest in their school. Then little Jonah, standing with the other shepherds, managed to recite his lines with only a little stuttering and
received an encouraging round of applause. All was progressing smoothly, and even a little cry from the manger brought only smiles as the baby’s sister hurried to the stage to tend to her little brother.

But then Georgie Sanders faltered while trying to recite his piece, and it looked like he played up to the audience to cover his embarrassment. The laughter he received brought Anna Noonan to tears as she attempted to say her lines after him, and she promptly left the stage to seek shelter in her mother’s arms. By far the biggest blunder, however, came just as Beth finished playing the last strains of “Silent Night.” Marnie accidentally stumbled on her way across the stage, knocking the little Christmas tree to the floor. Colored balls rolled in all directions, and laughter again filled the room. Beth felt herself shrinking back in embarrassment . . . until she saw the look on Marnie’s face and quickly rushed to her aid, assuring her that they would pick everything up later.

With one final hymn, the whole evening came to a close. Beth shut her eyes in resignation. She had so badly wanted it to be special for everyone. It was such a disappointment to have failed.

To her surprise, applause erupted, loud and long and sincere, as the audience stood to their feet. All through the room smiling faces affirmed that they had in fact enjoyed the performance. Beth was astonished, yet grateful. She began to recognize through their eyes what had been accomplished. They were appreciative—not critical. It was the children themselves, rather than the quality of their performance, that had won them over—missteps and all.

Pleasant relief swept through her as she made a little speech of dismissal, wishing the audience a most blessed Christmas. Then she saw Frank slowly raise his hand. Beth was quick to publicly recognize her
dear friend
. “Yes—Mr. Russo, do you
have something you’d like to say?” Those around him hushed, and the crowd followed suit.

He stood slowly to his feet. “I . . . I was’a wondering, Miss Beth. Do you know the song ‘O Holy Night’?”

Beth nodded.

“Could’a you—would’a you bless us with the playing, miss?”

There was a murmur of agreement, and those who had already stood to depart sank back down. Beth could feel each expectant gaze turning toward her. She felt a bit disconcerted as she again picked up the violin, checked the strings, and tucked the instrument into position.

As the first rich notes rose above the spellbound crowd, something happened deep within Beth’s soul. It was no longer simply a beautiful song—it was a message. A message straight from her heart to these villagers. But it was even more personal than that. It was a message straight from her God to her own weary soul. She closed her eyes and pictured the night of long ago, the night of “stars brightly shining,” the “night of our dear Savior’s birth.”

As Beth played, the words resounded through her mind.
“Truly He taught us to love one another: His
law is love and His gospel is peace.”
Never had she felt so at one with a piece of music as she did at this moment. By the time she reached the swelling chorus, she played with tears running down her cheeks.
“Christ is the Lord. O praise His
name forever! His pow’r and glory evermore proclaim.”
The music floated upward in rising, joyous thanksgiving.
“His pow’
r and glory evermore proclaim.”

As the last strains of the instrument echoed through the hall, there was complete silence. Even the children did not stir. Beth lowered the violin rather quickly to bend her face and conceal the raw emotion written upon it.

It was Frank who broke the spell of silence. With un
ashamed tears rolling down his own cheeks, he stood to his feet. “Bravo! Bravo!” he cried, clapping his good hand against the other wrist. Others quickly joined in the applause. But as she watched him, Beth saw Frank lift his eyes upward and raise his hand toward the heavens. It was God to whom he was giving praise—not to Beth and her violin. She took a deep breath and a few steps backward, thanking God for the gift of music that was able to convey the wonder of His greatest Gift to these villagers of Coal Valley.

Beth was engulfed in compliments from those who crowded around her after the performance, thanking her for the evening. But what she realized they were actually grateful for was
hope
. She knew that things had not really changed. Their Christmases still would be skimpy if one imagined heavily laden tables or shimmering gifts with fancy bows. But they had just proclaimed with her something far more significant. “Christ is the Lord.” What a wondrous difference that made in the lives of those who believed it. Beth silently prayed it would be so.

Gradually the families gathered into smaller groups and departed together, seeming reluctant to leave the warmth of community that hung about the room. The children in particular, who called a last good-bye to Grandpa Frank and received warm wishes or a pat on the head in return, left with smiles and reluctant steps.

As the last ones closed the door behind them, Beth took a deep breath and looked about. Everyone had pitched in to straighten the room and put things back in order, and the stage was cleared of everything but the Christmas tree and the manger. Philip had requested those items remain for the
church service the next morning. There were only her own belongings to gather and carry home. Suddenly Beth felt extremely weary, and she sank into a chair.

She was startled by a movement out of the corner of her eye and quickly turned her head to see Jarrick standing in the shadows. He seemed almost shy as he approached. “That was a most enjoyable evening,” he complimented quietly.

Beth let out a deep sigh and motioned him toward a nearby chair. “Thank you. I would say at times it teetered on the brink of disaster, but I suppose it did not actually fall apart.”

He chuckled as he sat down, and Beth appreciated the warmth of his good humor. “I’ve seen worse kids’ presentations.
Shucks
, I’ve been
the cause
of much, much worse. You’ve only to ask my mother.”
Beth
joined in his laughter.

“But seriously,” he continued, “if it were my child who participated in the program tonight, I would be convinced that they have a wonderful teacher deeply devoted to them.”

“To him,” Beth corrected. “Or to her.”

“I . . . I’m not sure . . .”

“If your child were in the program, the teacher would be devoted to that parent’s child—singular.”

Understanding dawned on his face, and she added with a smile, “Sometimes it’s difficult to stop teaching and correcting, I suppose.”

Jarrick eyed her solemnly. “That . . . that final piece you played . . . Beth, it was—it was magnificent. It will resound through my mind over and over as I wait for Christmas, that holy night. I know it will. Thank you, Beth. I admit, I was rather dreading Christmas this year. Being so far from family and friends, I was already feeling . . . alone. I guess
I was forgetting that the most important Person is always present.”

Beth nodded. “I’ve had some of the same feelings” was all she could manage in response. “I’ve been missing my family dreadfully.”

“I understand. My own family is back in Manitoba—not really the East—but still pretty far from here. I haven’t seen them for almost a year—well, last Christmas to be exact. My sister writes often, and I think the family counts on her to maintain contact.”

Beth shifted in her chair, hoping to learn more about him but wanting to be discreet. “Does your family farm there?”

“Actually, no. My granddad worked for the Hudson’s Bay Company, but my father became a preacher instead. I think my younger brothers will probably farm
,
though. They were hiring themselves out to neighbors when I left. I spent some time trying to convince them to come west and work for one of the big ranches out on the prairie—until I noticed the look in my mother’s eye. Then I thought I’d better leave well enough alone. Besides, Laura’s last letter said that my brother Will has quite a special ‘friend’ now—so I don’t suppose one could coax him anywhere.”

“Your mother must miss you terribly.” Beth was imagining what a void his absence would create. “Couldn’t you make the trip home this year?”

“No,” he sighed. “There’s just too much happening around this region right now.”

“Oh?” Beth wanted more details, but chose to rein in her curiosity.

It was Jarrick’s turn to shift in his seat.
He changed
the subject. “It must be a relief to get the play behind you.” His brow furrowed and he added, “You do look quite fatigued,
though, Beth. Is it all right if I mention that?” He studied her. “All the responsibility you have seems to be draining you somewhat. Will you get a chance to rest now?”

Beth was usually ready with an offhand answer to evade such questions, but she found it difficult to adopt a casual demeanor in the face of his sincere, attentive expression. She sighed. “The truth is, I do need a rest. In just one more week we’ll begin Christmas break, and I’ll be able to sleep as much as I like then.”

His eyebrows lifted, but he scooped up most of her items on the chair between them and rose to his feet. “Come on,” he said. “Let me walk you home. It might be the only way I can help lighten your load.”

M
ORNING
CAME
FAR
TOO
EARLY
for Beth. The persistent tensions and activities of the night before and the weeks leading up to the program had managed to knot the muscles in her neck and shoulders. She found herself wishing for a hot bath, but not enough to go to the trouble of hauling water to the tiny bathing room and its galvanized tub. She managed only to lug a scant bucket of hot water up to her room. So instead of a good soak, she repeatedly dipped her washcloth in the basin, wrung it out, and draped it around her aching neck. It would have to do for now. She refused to request an aspirin of Molly, ashamed at how many tablets her ailments had already consumed. Perhaps soon the store would have some in stock, as she intended to replace them.

Philip would be conducting their service—the last before Christmas actually arrived in just under two weeks, when he was scheduled to preach at one of his other locations. Beth felt a twinge of disappointment at having to share his services on Christmas. But Molly, instead of complaining, suggested
that the ladies from town meet over the holidays to pray for their sister churches.

So Beth was determined to make the best of the early celebration at their service today. She pushed aside her aches and prepared to worship with a surrendered heart, still so grateful for the way God had been with them during last night’s performance.

She filed into their familiar row of seats, following Molly, Marnie, and Teddy. Someone had already redecorated the Christmas tree, so its ornaments hung neatly again. The manger, too, had been given a fresh armful of hay, a swaddled dolly tucked neatly into it—not nearly as precious a sight as Charlotte Noonan’s baby. Beth looked around at all the familiar faces and, encouraged, realized how many more were in attendance now than were at her first service in Coal Valley.

Jarrick appeared at the end of the row, questioning with his eyes if he would be able to join her. Beth nodded and smiled an invitation, and he slid in beside her.

She soon lost herself in the words of the carols and the Scripture readings. She prayed with a heart overflowing in gratitude for the gift of a Savior and the hope He had purchased with His own life. She prayed also for the community, which had come to mean so much to her and with whom she could share in this Christmas celebration. She added a prayer for the young man seated next to her, for his family and the Christmas celebrations that would occur so far from him this year.

Philip’s message was particularly moving and somewhat unexpected—more of a testimony than a sermon. He spoke of his childhood and the difficulties he had faced because of his broken home. Beth’s heart immediately went out to the man. She had not heard any of his personal story before this.
As a youth, he told them, he had made some poor choices, involving himself with those who drew him further away from the church and his family. And then, finding himself at his darkest moment hiding from trouble and frightened that he might have sunk so low he could not recover, he had turned back to the faith of his childhood—a faith that his grandmother had modeled despite the failings of his own parents.

And God restored him, he said, looking around at the congregation. He admitted solemnly that it had not been an easy road—that he’d had debts to pay from items he had stolen and repairs on property he had damaged. But he testified that, looking back, he would not have changed even the most difficult aspects of the restitution process—through it all, Christ had been glorified in his life. The pain he had experienced had led to a surrender he doubted could have been so complete if he had not been through so much beforehand. Philip professed clearly that the most cherished gifts he had ever received were forgiveness and redemption because of Jesus.

After the service, Beth was pleased to find out once more they would share a meal with Philip and Jarrick. Molly had prepared a lovely pre-Christmas dinner—a ham roast steaming with a smoky maple glaze and scalloped potatoes. There was fresh-baked bread, her own dill pickles, and baked green beans in creamy mushroom sauce.

The company-men boarders had already ridden the coal train out of the mountains to join their families for Christmas. Philip and Jarrick chatted with two supervisors who remained, the ones responsible for shutting down the mine during the next week.

Jarrick asked them, “How close are you to heading out yourselves? I’m sure your families will be anxious to have you home again.”

Pat reached for another thick slice of bread. “It’ll take a few days for us to be sure things here are locked up proper,” he said, spreading butter liberally. “But if it goes well, we’ll be driving out on Thursday—’course, that’s only if the road stays clear.”

“That’s a week before Christmas. I’m sure you’re ready for a break.”

The men exchanged nods. “You bet we are.”

Beth interjected quietly, “What do the miners do for Christmas?”

“Huh?” Sid’s face revealed his surprise; clearly he had given no thought to them.

Undaunted, Beth repeated, “What do the miners do—the men who stay here, whose families are far away?”

An awkward silence hung over the room. Molly eventually said in her direct way, “They stay here. Got no other choice.”

“Hmm,” Beth answered, and let the matter drop.

After dinner while the dishes were being removed to the kitchen, Philip stopped Beth, a quizzical expression on his face. “You seem pensive. I have a feeling you had more to say on the topic of the miners. What is it you might be cooking up now?” But his tone was friendly.

Beth sighed. “Nothing, really. I was just thinking that it’s a shame not to share some kind of Christmas with them.”

Philip had an eager look in his eye. “Then how about a service for the miners? Is that what you were thinking?” His own questions seemed to prompt a flood of ideas. “I wonder if the villagers are comfortable enough by now to allow such an event to take place. The company has already given permission for the church to meet in the hall on Sundays—even with the bosses away. Since there’s nothing planned here during my absence, perhaps some of you could put together a special Christmas morning service for them.”

Beth was torn—wanting badly to be able to accomplish such a feat, but not certain her strength would hold out through another busy week. In fact, the very idea made her want to sit down and cry. She was
dreadfully
tired.

Philip looked intently at her. “I’m sure there would be many who would help out,” he suggested. “And it wouldn’t be as complicated as the children’s program—just music and reading the Christmas story. I’m sure Frank would lead the readings—he could share them in Italian.” Philip was growing increasingly enthusiastic. “He can even help with the music. Frank plays violin too. Did he tell you that?”

“What?” Beth stared at him in shock. Not only was it hard to comprehend that a miner would be in possession of a violin, but to be able to play it with only one hand . . . “Now you’re just teasing me,” she said.

Philip shook his head. “I’m very serious, Beth. He played for years—long before he lost his hand. And the fact that his right hand was the one to be crushed was a particularly difficult blow. But he’s able to strap the bow to his wrist and his left still works the strings. Frank rigged the contraption himself. As I mentioned before, he’s a most remarkable man.”

“Why didn’t he say something to me?” she asked, feeling just a bit hurt.

“Well, I think he would have felt he was stepping on your toes—to mention he played just as you were taking on the role of accompanist for the children.”

Could this be something Frank and I share? Is
there a chance to play together?
The possibility was delightful.

“I’ll speak with him tomorrow,” she whispered.

Jarrick crossed the room to join them. “What secrets are you two guarding?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. Noticing Beth’s expression, he sobered and said, “You look rather
shaken, Beth. I hope there’s nothing wrong.” He reached out to grasp her arm. “Would you like to sit down?” But she shook her head.

Philip chuckled. “Well, Jack, I’ve just been telling Beth that Frank Russo still plays violin, and she’s having a very difficult time believing me.”

“Well, that
is
a surprising bit of news.”

“I suggested she might do a special Christmas service for the miners. As you recall, Beth is concerned about their being on their own for the holiday.”

Jarrick’s gaze swept over her face. “Actually, I think that’s too much to ask of someone who’s expended much of her energy in preparing for the last event.” He turned back to Philip. “I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, but I’m afraid adding another Christmas will tax her beyond what is prudent. Don’t you think that would be too much, Beth?”

Philip was quick to agree, “Of course, if it’s too overwhelming for you, Beth, it was only an idea. Perhaps another time—when you’re feeling more rested.”

Beth glanced back and forth between them, dismayed that these two men were making their own pronouncements on her ability to recover from ordinary fatigue and forge ahead.
Having a simple church service would not be
much additional work,
she told herself in some indignation.
If
something can be accomplished for these miners who have no
one else with whom to share Christmas, it is more
than worthy of pursuing.

“I think it’s a very good idea,” she answered evenly, drawing her arm away from Jarrick. “I’ll speak with Molly about it later tonight.” Both pairs of eyes watched her closely as Beth excused herself and retreated to the kitchen.

Later in the afternoon Beth drafted another letter to Mother. With steely conviction, she admitted to her lingering illness
and the hardships of preparing for the Christmas program. She also enthused about how much God had blessed it for so many in attendance. And then she asked for prayer that she would be strong enough to accomplish one more event before Christmas.

“There,” she whispered as she sealed the envelope. “It’s honest. She knows I’m not quite back to full health, and she knows I’m working too hard. That’s the worst one yet. I can only imagine how she’ll respond to that.”

It took surprisingly little convincing to obtain permission for the miners to have a Christmas service in the company hall. The English lessons had begun to have their effect, bridging the gap between town and the camp. It gave the residents a reason to be concerned about the welfare of the miners who lived so near to them. Soon Frances had enlisted the aid of some of the women to bake and decorate. Beth was more than surprised when they agreed to allow the children to help serve refreshments. This was far more than she had hoped.

Deciding on an approach to Frank, however, had seemed more difficult than Beth had expected. Suddenly she felt reticent asking about his musical abilities, still wondering why he had chosen not to disclose the talent to her. But he agreed immediately to participate, very pleased along with Beth about the positive response from the families in town. She learned it would be no surprise to any of the miners that he played the violin. They had listened to him often as he lifted their spirits with his gift of music.

Beth awoke to another busy week of teaching. Besides the usual classroom work with her students, her Monday evening was spent in English lessons, Tuesday and Thursday
were club nights—the last before their Christmas break—and Wednesday evening had been the only time for rest, such as it was. Beth had spent it with Molly, organizing tableware for Sunday morning’s refreshments. Friday involved another English lesson in the evening, and it was also the last day of teaching before Christmas break.

Saturday morning Beth insisted on hosting the last group of students—the youngest of them all—for tea. Although tempted, she could not possibly see her way to postpone the event. They all looked forward to their turn at tea. She smiled when she overheard the children reminding one another about simple things—like boys needing to hold chairs for girls to be seated, or asking for the cookies to please be passed instead of reaching across the table. They were learning. And the best part, it seemed to elevate their opinion of others and give them confidence.

Saturday night was devoted to setting up the hall and practicing the songs Beth and Frank would accompany. He was in charge of all of the readings and had chosen hymns familiar to both cultures.

As they stood at the front of the room for their initial rehearsal, Beth watched in awe at how well Frank had adapted to the violin’s makeshift apparatus. “How beautiful!” she gasped.

“It was’a my great-grandpapa’s,” he informed her proudly, assuming she had been speaking of the instrument. “He played wit
h
the symphony in Milan. When I was’a just a small boy in Italy, he saw my love for the music. He let’a me hold it—such a precious thing. He showed’a me how to search for the notes, trying this and that till I found what I wanted them to say. He gave’a to me this violin before he passed on’a to glory. I was’a five years old.”