Where Trust Lies

by Janette Oke

  “Gosh, I am—but we have already met twice.”

  “Hmm,” Beth murmured.

  “I like reading too,” he said quickly. “But I haven’t had the guts to take on much Melville. He’s a little preachy and wordy, in my opinion. I’ve read Moby-Dick, of course—at least some of it. And that was plenty for me.”

  Another reader, even if it’s this strangely forward young man. “So whom do you prefer?”

  He laughed. “Well, I guess my tastes run pretty straight, what you’d expect from a fellow like me—Jack London, Jules Verne, H. G. Wells. Nothing surprising. I do like adventure. I don’t like much else. What’s happening in your story?”

  Beth looked down at the book in her lap. “Redburn, the main character and an American, has arrived in Liverpool. And though he has always viewed Europe as superior in every way, he discovers great poverty and suffering.”

  “And he’s surprised at that?”

  A smile. “Well, so far he’s mostly taking it all in.”

  “Now, that sounds like ol’ Herman. And of course that alone can go on for chapters—and in great detail.”

  “I don’t mind.” Beth shook her head. “I like a quieter, more thoughtful story. Some of the modern authors don’t slow down long enough for the reader to contemplate what’s happening—it’s all action. And then it’s over far too quickly for me.”

  “Then Melville’s your man.”

  There was a long, awkward pause. He stood slowly, and Beth looked up at him. “I wanted to ask you a little more about yourself, Beth,” he said, “but to be honest, I don’t feel right asking while we’re alone here. Can I share a soda with you tomorrow when we’re all in town? You and your sister maybe?”

  Beth felt a flutter inside. How should I answer this young man, Lord? “I’ll be out and about in Tadoussac tomorrow with my family. It would be fine to share tea with you—or a soda if you prefer—but . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t want to appear presumptuous, Nick. However I feel I should mention that I’m already keeping company with someone.”

  “Of course.” He smiled but with a tinge of disappointment. “I should’ve guessed.” He started to move away, then turned back. “Just the same, I’d like to get to know all of you anyway—if that’s all right. We’ll be traveling together for a while, and it would be nice to have some friends on board.”

  “Of course!” Beth offered a warm smile.

  “Good night, Beth. See you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Nick.” He seems a nice enough young man. Though a bit of a chameleon—much less bold in his approach just now than he was earlier in the day or back in the scarf shop. Perhaps he would be a good prospect for Julie. Hardly aware of it, Beth reached to uncover the day’s rose petal from the folds of her hankie. It had already begun to crumble. She lifted it up so she could smell the faint fragrance. “Jarrick,” she whispered, “I wish you were here.” It would not be the last time she so longed for his presence.

  “If she makes us late this morning, girls, we shall leave without her.” Mother was putting her foot down where Mrs. Montclair was concerned. They were standing in a long line of passengers waiting to be ferried to the mainland. A small tender had drawn up to the side of their ship and a large door through the hull allowed transfer onto it. Beth and Julie nodded in support of her announcement.

  “Monsieur Laurent has taken an earlier shuttle in order to secure a reservation for our lunch,” Mother continued. “He intends to meet us at the dock, so if we miss this tender—”

  “We’ll make it onto this one, Mother,” Margret assured her. “And the Montclairs can simply catch up to us at their leisure. All they want to do is shop anyway.”

  “Oh, not Victoria,” Julie put in. “She’s ready to hike all over those rocks. She was fairly pacing in anticipation after breakfast.”

  At the last moment, Mrs. Montclair bustled up and pushed her way in line to join the Thatchers. Victoria followed along, the new binoculars around her neck.

  Miss Bernard had chosen not to join them for the outing. Beth wondered if it might be an attempt at showing her angst at Margret’s decision to take JW along. What does the nanny expect? she thought as she took her place in the small craft. After all, it’s a vacation, and he’s no longer truly a baby. An active little boy can benefit from the outdoors with his mother and the rest of us.

  Tendering to shore was windy and rough. Beth clutched at her hat with one hand and her stomach with the other. She sighed gratefully when the boat slid up next to the dock. Monsieur Laurent, true to his word, was waiting among the crowd. As soon as JW spotted his new friend, he clapped his hands together and reached out his arms.

  The man scooped him up, tossing him in the air. “Bonjour, mon petit ami. Can you say ‘monsieur’ this morning, eh? Monsieur?”

  “Mis-yur,” JW giggled. “Mis-yur.”

  “Good boy!” He drew his straw skimmer hat from his head and swung the boy onto his shoulders. Far above the crowd, JW held on with large handfuls of gray hair, seeming thrilled to be up so high and with another grandfatherly figure. They set out toward the little town.

  The gravel road held deep, muddy ruts. Beth chose her steps carefully, hanging tightly to Emma’s arm. They laughed together at their awkward attempts to climb a small, slippery rise. Fortunately they soon had reached the wooden walkways of town.

  Falling back into stride beside Beth, Monsieur Laurent eyed her mysteriously. “Miss Thatcher,” he said in a low voice, “I have something for you. Something I believe you are waiting for. You see, your father instructed me to check for mail whenever we stop, and this was waiting for us this morning, addressed to you.” He withdrew from his shirt pocket a white envelope with Beth’s name and address carefully written across it, in a man’s hand.

  Beth’s heart was already racing as she reached for it. She cast a wistful look around, then down at the letter—the very first. What she wanted most was to get away to enjoy whatever Jarrick might be saying.

  “Miss Beth,” the man continued softly, “we have planned to do some exploring this morning. There is a lovely promontory not far from here. We’ll go there first and take some time to look around. I believe it would be the ideal location for you to slip away . . .”

  “Thank you, monsieur! Thank you.” She tucked the letter safely away in her handbag.

  He strode to the front of their group, announcing, “If you please, ladies, we will let the others see the hotel and shops first. We can avoid most of the crowds if we begin with our walk. This way, everyone. Please.”

  He led them across the crowd of tourists, up a small rise, and toward a trail into the woods. Beth’s thoughts were held captive by the envelope in her bag. She patiently endured the obligatory photographs taken at the rock outcropping. At last she saw her chance, with a nod from Monsieur Laurent confirming it. Beth slipped farther up the path and found a large rock on which to sit. Then she tore open the letter, her heart already full as she read the first line. In his handwriting, it seemed far more than a simple salutation.

  My dear Beth,

  Hearing your voice tonight on the telephone was like music to my ears.

  She couldn’t help but smile, pleased that he had written immediately after they had spoken together on the telephone.

  Although it’s been just over a week since you left, I feel your absence every day in so many ways. I’m staying tonight with friends in Lethbridge. The same couple with whom you stayed when we brought little Willie into town. They didn’t seem surprised when I told them that over the summer I’d be pursuing a relationship with you. In fact, various people here have mentioned to me what a fool I’d be if I lost touch with you. Most notably, Miss Molly. I find myself agreeing with them!

  At any rate, I passed by our restaurant earlier today, and, well, I’ll go ahead and admit to you that I will stop there as soon as it opens tomorrow to make a reservation for the fall. I don’t really mind if they tell me I’m being ridiculous
. I liked the sound of already planning our first true date when you mentioned it during our telephone call tonight.

  Beth pressed a cool hand against her cheek. Such a romantic gesture! She tried to picture Jarrick, serious and a bit daunting in his uniform, insisting that the receptionist at least make a note of his intentions. Her eyes closed as she enjoyed the scene.

  And then the nagging question, What if a life with Jarrick isn’t truly God’s will? Beth pushed the question away.

  I saw Phillip, who sends his blessings . . . been very busy with a new congregation . . . planning a dinner soon with Edward . . . will pass along news of Kate . . . sad news from Coal Valley—Mrs. Grant attempted suicide . . . all are grieving for her situation . . . recovering in hospital but unlikely to return.

  Beth was horrified at the words. Poor, crotchety, old Mrs. Grant—wounded by the scandal her husband had created, surrounded by those who would befriend her, and yet living so utterly alone.

  Beth turned the letter over, where Jarrick continued on the back.

  . . . talk of what to do with the Grants’ building . . . Miss Molly immediately suggested a school . . . no plans set . . . children well . . . happy news! . . . pensions extended . . . no families moving yet . . . empty lot has been plowed up and is ready to plant for a community garden . . . miners included in project . . . the men are commonly seen and accepted now in town.

  Beth was thrilled at such a wonderful account of the good changes in her beloved little village and the many faces it called to mind.

  Since I’m nearing the end of the page, I should probably close. I don’t know where you’ll be when you receive this letter. I suppose somewhere on the St. Lawrence still. I’m praying that you’ll have a wonderful and very memorable time with your mother and sisters. I wish I could be there to meet them all. I can only imagine that they’re all beautiful and lovely women, just like you, Beth. Well, maybe almost as lovely.

  With warmest affection,

  Jarrick

  Beth laid the letter on her lap and tilted her head so she could see through the cluster of tall evergreens to the clear sky far above. She took a slow breath and closed her eyes once more. She would prefer to remain alone here with Jarrick’s letter. Or, better still, travel back to when he wrote the letter, sit beside him, and watch his face as he so carefully penned the words. Beth finally drew her handkerchief with its rose petal from her waistband, tipped the crumbled petal into the envelope, and raised the letter to read through slowly once more.

  Chapter

  9

  I’D LIKE TO TAKE THE NEXT SHUTTLE back to the ship,” Mrs. Montclair announced as they finished their lunch. Monsieur had found a lovely spot with a round table shaded by a large umbrella. “I’ve seen as much as I’d like here in town, and the views of the countryside are just as nice from on board.”

  “I want to stay,” countered Victoria.

  Her mother peered over the rim of her glasses. “Then it would fall on you to ask the Thatchers if they’re willing to let you remain with them.”

  Victoria stole a glance at Beth and then Margret.

  “Is there anything left to be seen, monsieur?” Mother seemed ready to follow Mrs. Montclair back to the ship.

  He was counting out the money for their meal. “Mais oui—there are several other trails and a very nice tea house,” he responded. “The beach is also quite a comfortable location for watching the wildlife in the water.”

  Beth wasn’t anxious to return to the ship just yet, and perhaps it would be a chance to build a relationship with the girl. “I’ll stay with you, Victoria. I’m more than happy to walk the trails—wherever you’d like to go.”

  Margret sighed. “I must take JW back for his nap. No doubt Miss Bernard is waiting for him, and I feel a nap would suit me as well. JW, let’s go back to the big boat—”

  “Uh-uh. No, no!” He shook his head for emphasis and reached for their guide. “Mis-yur,” he pleaded. “Mis-yur.”

  The man shot to his feet. “I shall be pleased to carry him to the shuttle for you, Mrs. Bryce, as I have no other pressing tasks.”

  “Why, thank you. That would be a great help.”

  “I will accompany you also, Margret. A nap sounds rather inviting,” Mother said. “Emma, I believe we shall need your assistance. Please carry some of these extra bags. Julie, we’ll bring what you’ve purchased back to the room, and you may stay with Beth and Victoria. Monsieur Laurent, would you provide the girls with a little money for a treat later?”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Julie pressed a kiss on Mother’s cheek, and Beth was pleased they seemed to have made up after their difficulties the previous day. Their guide drew some coins from his pocket and placed them in Julie’s hand.

  Mrs. Montclair caught her young daughter’s arm. “Now, Victoria, look at me, please. I want you to cooperate with Elizabeth and Julie. And I insist you wear your hat. We don’t want your skin all dried out and brown by the time we return home.” She shook the arm a little for emphasis. “I’m quite serious, my dear. You’ll be grateful later that I’ve insisted you listen to me. You’ll never find a husband if you look old before your time.”

  Victoria was already pointing along the shoreline. “I want to go back to where we saw the shorebirds. I think I could identify additional species if I had more time. I’m beginning to know their calls.” Without waiting for a reply, she began marching away.

  Beth and Julie spent the next few hours keeping up with Victoria. In this natural setting she seemed to have come alive—absorbing the splendor, sketching from time to time in a pocket notebook tucked into her waistband. Her shoes and stockings took the brunt of her explorations, growing damp and stained. Yet here was another passion besides the violin that Beth shared with this girl. She was, in fact, rather pleased to wander along behind the teenager, though Julie complained a little.

  “My goodness, can’t we stay a little longer at each site! I wish I could stop and sketch a while. Say, Bethie, why didn’t you bring a canvas?”

  “Would you have wanted that? Here?”

  “Naturally it would be easier. But never mind, I’ll just sketch instead. I have a notebook in my handbag.”

  “You should have told me. You know that I’d like to see you working on them.”

  “Well, how did I know we’d be toddling after Victoria all afternoon?” Julie’s voice was rising. “I expected to be back on ship with my supplies. Didn’t I?”

  “It’s fine, Julie. There’s plenty of time. But we should try to keep current as we go in order to get the paintings done.”

  “That’s fine for you to say, Bethie.” A frustrated roll of her eyes, then, “Are you going to be pestering me about this the whole trip? I’ve other things I’d like to do as well, you know. If you want the paintings done, you’ll have to take responsibility. And keep in mind that once we turn south to the East Coast, I may not even have time.”

  “You won’t? But you promised. What would you be doing instead?”

  “Sightseeing, shopping—enjoying myself.”

  Beth paused, shocked at first by Julie’s terse words. It is a big favor I’m asking, after all. I didn’t consult with Julie about painting for me before I bought the canvases. Beth softened. “I should have talked with you before assuming you’d do the work, Julie, and I’m very sorry. Would you forgive me?” At Julie’s nod, smile, and a little shrug, Beth continued, “What if we agree to this—that you paint only the Canadian parts of our trip. I don’t really need the American ports to accomplish my teaching goals. Would you be willing to work on those few? It’s such a gift to me, and I would be very grateful.”

  Julie laughed and shook her head. “I suppose I could commit to that much. But if I ever get famous, you’ll have to promise not to sell them. Landscapes are not what I want to be known for—not my vision for a career at all.”

  They smiled at each other, relieved that things were back to normal between them. Beth said, “Of course. Anyway, I promise not to sel
l them while you’re still alive.”

  “What? What did you say?” Julie’s eyes had grown large, and Beth just grinned. At last she had managed to startle her sister, instead of the other way around.

  By midafternoon, all three were ready for something to drink and a shady place to rest. Julie led them back down near the shore to find a vendor and some chairs.

  “Hi, ya!” a voice called from across the crowded beach.

  “It’s Jannis!” Julie’s sheer delight rang through her voice as she skipped away from Beth and Victoria. “Ahoy, Jannis! What’re you doing, girls?”

  “Ahoy-dee-hoo to you too!” The two giggled at their shared joke. “Well, we came down here where all these people are watching for whales, but instead we’re watching people. Let me tell you, it’s been loads of fun!”

  Leaning against each other in order to whisper together, Julie and Jannis maneuvered through the crowd toward a table, where Penny waited under a wide umbrella. Victoria and Beth followed.

  “Where’ve you been, doll? You look like something the cat dragged in.” Penny looked Julie up and down. “Your hair’s a mess. And, oh, Julie, your shoes!”

  “I know, I know.” She pushed a hand under her hat, attempting to straighten the windblown strands. “We’ve been tracking through the woods.” Julie nodded toward Victoria, and Jannis and Penny nodded knowingly.

  “Well, you’re here now. So take a load off.”

  Ordering sodas and a plate of chouquettes, they settled in at the table. Victoria was more than willing to enjoy the snack. She took the binoculars from around her neck and set them carefully on the table, drew her feet up under her, and tucked her face into the notebook, periodically making new notations.

  “Nice spyglasses,” Jannis interrupted her brooding. “May I?”

  “If you like,” answered Victoria. “But the best birds are near the cliffs.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m not watching birds—just a flock of pigeons.” This was met with laughter from Penny and Julie. Jannis lifted the lenses to her eyes and scanned across the crowd. “Golly, I can see everything with these. I can even read that man’s book all the way from here. I gotta get me a pair of these.”