[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart

by Janette Oke

  There it was again-my poor ankle. I flushed and was glad that the book hid my face. My guilt must certainly have shown.

  Jon sat down and pulled William to him.

  "Now, Son, what explanation do you have? Do you realize that what you've done is wrong?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you realize that what you've done is sin?"

  "It's not that wrong."

  "Oh, yes, it is. God has said, `Thou shalt not,' but you did. Now, doesn't that make it sin?"

  "Well, it wasn't a very big sin," William argued.

  "There are no `big' or `little' sins. Son. God hasn't divided them up that way. Sin is-sin. Do you know how God feels about sin?"

  William nodded his head in the affirmative, but the stubborn look lingered in his eyes.

  "He don't like it."

  "Right-He doesn't like it. Do you know why He hates it so much?"

  " 'Cause He's God?" William asked.

  "Yes, He's God, and He's righteous and pure and good. There is nothing false or wrong or hurtful in the character of God. But I think there is an even bigger reason why God hates sin so much."

  William's eyes were wide as they studied his father's face.

  "It's because sin cost Him the life of His Son, Jesus. God decreed that those who sin must die. Man sinned-but God still loved him. God didn't want man to die for his sin, so God provided a substitute. If man accepted the fact that another had died in his place, and was truly sorry for his sin, then he wouldn't have to die."

  "I know that," William said, his lip trembling. Jon's arm went around his son's waist.

  "Many times," Jon continued, "folks get the idea that it was only the big sins, 'like murder and idol worship, that made it necessary for Jesus to die. But it wasn't, Son. It was, and is, any and all sin. If there had been any other way, if our holy God could have ignored sin, or blinked at it, or turned His head, or pretended that it just hadn't happened or didn't matter, then He would never, never have sent Jesus to die. God loved His Son-yet the death of His Son was the only way for God to spare us from the penalty of death that we deserve. He loves us. So that's why God hates sin-all sin, because it meant death for His Son. And if we still hang on to our sin, it means that we don't value what Jesus did for us."

  "But I do," William protested. "I didn't mean to hurt Jesus-honest." A tear coursed down each cheek. Jon pulled the boy close.

  "I know you didn't, Son. We often hurt God without meaning to. Now I want you to tell God that you didn't mean it. and that you are sorry, and that with His help you will not do it again. After that, we will go and have a talk with Stacy."

  "Do I have to?" William pleaded. "Do I have to go to Stacy? I'll talk to God, Pa-but can't you tell Stacy?"

  "No, Son. Part of being forgiven is making things right. God asks that of us-always. It's called `restitution.' If Jesus was willing to pay the death penalty for us, to make things right between us and God, then it's not too much for God to ask that we make things right between ourselves and whomever we have wronged."

  They knelt together by Jon's big chair, and a tearful William asked God's forgiveness. Then hand-in-hand, they left the room to go speak with Stacy, the kitchen helper.

  I never did discover what William's wrong was. It did not seem important-for pricking at my own conscience was my dishonesty of the day before. I looked down at my ankle, feeling a hatred for the offending member; then I reminded myself that it wasn't the ankle that was at fault.

  I was called for lunch. William appeared at the table, all traces of tears gone. In fact, he looked happier than usual, and when Stacy served the dessert, I noticed that William received a larger-than-usual serving. William noticed it, and he gave Stacy a grin. She winked-ever so quickly and slyly. Repentance, confession and restitution. William knew all about the benefits, while I still sat miserable and squirming in my chair.

  After lunch I went to my room. It seemed that my battle lasted most of the afternoon. I was like William. I didn't mind telling my wrongdoing to God, but to speak to Wynn? The very thought of it made my cheeks burn. Yet, plead as I would for God's forgiveness, I had no peace of heart. Confessionconfession-kept ringing in my mind. Finally I threw myself upon my bed in desperation.

  "God, it was such a foolish little thing," I pleaded.

  "It was a wrong thing," my conscience answered.

  "Yes, it was wrong-'

  "It was sin. You chose to make someone believe an untruth."

  "But the untruth will hurt no one."

  "How can you speak of hurt? It cost Jesus His life."

  "But-please don't make me talk to Wynn-not Wynn. Do you know what he'll think of me?"

  "Do you care what God thinks of you?"

  "Of course, but ..."

  I wept, I pleaded, I argued, but at length I gave in.

  "Okay, if that's what must be, I will confess to Wynn at my first opportunity."

  Peace came. but my dread of the encounter with Wynn did not go away.

  I did not need to be in misery for long, for Wynn dropped by that evening to check on my "injured" ankle. He was only passing by, he said, so couldn't stay. After exchanging a few words with .Jon and Mary, he"picked up his fur winter hat and prepared to leave. I swallowed hard and stood up. My face felt hot and my throat dry.

  "I must see you for a moment- please."

  There was just a flicker of surprise-or concern-on his face.

  "Of course."

  I led the way to Jon's library, making sure that I. in no way, favored my "injured" ankle. Once inside. I closed the door and faced him. I wanted to run away, to hide my face, to lie again-anything but to face this man with the truth. Before I could change my mind and do any one of those things. I plunged in.

  "I have a confession--about my ankle. I didn't injure it. I pretended. It's fine--I--" I dropped my gaze. No longer could I look into those honest, blue eyes. I turned slightly from him.

  "I didn't think you would carry one. I just wanted--a little-a little more time ..." I knew that I had to he honest, as much as it humbled me. "I acted like a silly child." I said. making myself' look straight into his eyes. "I guess--I guess-1-1 wanted your attention- -and I--I didn't know how else to get it. I know it was foolish-and I'm-I'm sorry."

  Wynn was looking directly at me. His eyes did not scorn or mock me, nor did he look shocked or disgusted. There was an understanding---and. yes, a softness that I had not expected to see. I turned from him lest I would do something very foolish -such as cry, or throw myself into his arms.

  "I have confessed my dishonesty to God-and asked for His forgiveness. He has graciously granted it. Now-" My voice was almost a whisper, "now I would like to ask Your forgiveness, also."

  I felt Wynn's hands on my shoulders and he turned me gently to face him.

  "Elizabeth," he said softly, "I can't tell you how much I respect you for what you've just done. Few people-" he hesitated a moment. "You've asked for my forgiveness. I give itwillingly, and now I, in turn, must ask yours."

  I know that surprise must have shown on my face.

  "Elizabeth, I examined your ankle-remember?"

  I nodded.

  "It was my choice to carry you-right?"

  I just looked at him, not able to follow his thinking.

  "Elizabeth, I am trained in first aid-to recognize breaks, and injuries, and sprains-"

  I understood then.

  "You knew... ?"

  He nodded, his eyes not leaving mine. I turned from him. confused. What was he saying? He knew that my ankle was not injured when he examined it, vet he had carried me and held me close against his chest. Was it to shame me? To see how far I would let the charade go?

  "Why?"

  As I spoke. my back was still toward him. He paced to the window where he stood looking out on the darkness.

  "Why?" he echoed. "I should think it rather obvious."

  He stood for a moment, and then, his somber mood changed. He crossed back to me, his Mounties' hat in his hand ready
to be placed on his head. I knew that he was leaving. The twinkle of humor had returned to his eves and made the corner of his lips twitch slightly.

  "And frankly, Elizabeth." he said through that controlled smile, "I've never enjoyed anything more." And with a slight nod he departed, and the door closed softly behind him.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Return to Pine Springs

  I saw Wvnn a number of times that week. Neither of us ever mentioned my ankle. Nor were we ever alone. All of our time together was shared with Jon or Mary or one of the children.

  But I learned much about him; that he loved people, young and old alike; that he was respected-by White and Indian; that he was knowledgeable, seeming to know something about almost everything; that he read widely and was able to converse about science as easily as he could recite poetry; that he had a deep and solid faith in God; and that he sensed a mission to help those whom many believed to be second-rate citizens. The more I knew of him the more I admired him, and what had previously been an infatuation was daily turning into a feeling much more deep and permanent.

  He was kind to me, even solicitous. He even seemed to enjoy my company, but never once did he give me reason to believe that he had changed his mind concerning his conviction that marriage was unwise for a Mountie.

  I couldn't understand how a man could be so stubborn, and if I hadn't already learned to love him so much, I would angrily and painfully have dismissed him from my thoughts.

  Reluctantly I packed my bags and prepared for my trip back to Pine Springs. Mr. Laverly had promised to have someone meet my train at Lacombe.

  I spent the entire long journey trying to make some sense out of my feelings for Wynn. It was not the least bit difficult for me to understand why a woman would fall for such a man-but why she should persist against such an obvious stone wall of stubborn determination to remain single was beyond me. Perhaps, I reasoned, I preferred his polite, enjoyable company to the alternative of not being with him at all.

  Bill Laverly stood on the platform, his smile stretched from ear to ear, when I descended from the train. He was the last person I wanted to see, but what could I do? He loaded my suitcases and tucked me in with a bearskin rug, taking far too much time in the process, I thought.

  He had talked his father into buying a light cutter and I knew, before we even moved out of the town, that I was in for the ride of my life. Bill cracked a whip over the team, and we jerked away in a swirl of snow, bells jingling and horses snorting. My only consolation was that the faster we went, the sooner I would be home and away from the company of this grinning, speed-mad man.

  He seemed to be continually looking at me and adjusting the bearskins, but when he dared to put his arm across the back of the seat behind me, I drew the line. Drawing myself away from him, I informed him that I would be much more comfortable if he used both hands to guide the racing team.

  As we entered the lane to the teacherage, I noticed smoke coming from the chimney. Surely Bill hadn't lit the fire before he left, was my first thought. Bill might like a pretty face, but thoughtful he was not.

  After he had pulled the team to a snow-swirling stop, he drew out my suitcases, handed them to me and then with a scraping swish, he spun the cutter around and headed his galloping team for home. "See ya!" he yelled over his shoulder, his wide grin still spread across his face.

  When I entered the little house it was easy to tell who had been there. The fire was burning cheerily, foodstuffs were arranged neatly on the cupboard, and my table was adorned with fresh coffeecake--Anna's specialty. A small pot of stew simmered near the back of the stove and the teakettle hummed merrily. How nice to be welcomed home, and how cold and miserable it would have been to enter the house that had seen no occupant or fire for two weeks.

  While I ate the hot stew and fresh bread, my mind did a complete shift. I was anxious to get back to my students and the classroom. Faces flashed before me, and I thought of the achievements and the needs of each one. I was proud of my students. They had already accomplished so much in the short time that we had been together. I promised that I would do my very best for them in the months that lay ahead.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Spring

  The pupils seemed to share my enthusiasm. The next few months went very quickly, with our total concentration being given to our teaching and learning.

  In March we had a visit from the district inspector. I don't know who was more nervous-my students or I.

  Mr. Matthews, a tall, thin man with a pinched face, quick, dark eyes, and a high-pitched voice, spoke loudly, as though that would give him added authority. All the while that I taught that day, I could feel those sharp eyes on me, boring, probing, and even daring me. By lunch hour I was already exhausted, but he pulled a bench up close to my desk and began questioning me.

  In the afternoon he shifted his attention to my pupils, quizzing them and calling on them to work sums or read a passage. I watched the poor, frightened children squirm and sweat, and I wished, for their sakes as well as my own, that the man would go away. Eventually he did, and all of us sighed and then laughed together in an effort to shake off our tension. I dismissed the class early for home.

  The next day I had another visitor. Wynn had come to see Phil and Lydia, so he stopped by the school to deliver a note from Mary. I wished that I could invite him to the teacherage for supper, or at least tea, but I knew that such was forbidden and perhaps unwise, as well. We chatted of general things, and he waited while I wrote a quick note for him to take back to Mary. He had not yet received another posting. Just as my heart sang at the news, he stilled the song by informing me that it was bound to come, though he knew not when. One of the other fellows had just left for Lac La Biche, he said, and another Mountie who had been in Calgary for three years had just received a posting to Grouard, on Lesser Slave Lake.

  "Did they have families?" I asked-not "wives," but "families"--hoping that Wynn would not guess my thoughts.

  "McKenzie did-a wife and a young son."

  "Did they mind going?"

  "She didn't seem to, hut she's been north before."

  One point for me, I thought. He had had to admit that there was at least one woman who didn't mind going north with her husband. But Wvnn went on.

  "Aitcheson had a girl. When his posting came in, she called off the wedding."

  My heart sank.

  I wanted to say, "Well, some women can handle it-others can't." But I said nothing.

  When Wynn left, he surprised me by giving me a compliment, at least it seemed like one to me.

  "I think that this country life must agree with you, Elizabeth. You look more healthy and pretty every time I see you."

  Healthy and pretty! It wasn't exactly as if he had declared me beautiful, but it was close-and coming from Wynn, who wasn't given to flattery, I decided to regard it as special.

  I hummed happily after he had left.

  Easter's arrival nearly caught me unawares, in the midst of my busyness. I packed for a trip to Jon and Mary's, anticipating a wonderful time in the city. I did enjoy the change and being with my family, but the fact that Wynn was spending time at Regina took much of the pleasure out of my holiday.

  Mary delighted in letting slip frequent references to Wynn and his obvious high regard for me. I couldn't see how Mary could come to such conclusions, and I did wish that she would stop her nonsense. She seemed to be of the opinion that if I'd just show Wynn that I truly cared for him, he would shelve all his previous opinions regarding marriage and declare his undying love. I wasn't about to throw myself at any man, Wynn Delaney included; and besides, I was convinced that to do so would accomplish nothing, other than making a complete fool of myself.

  I spent the week shopping, reading, loafing, playing with the children and snuggling Baby Elizabeth. At the end of the week I was eager to return to the classroom. I had not asked Mr. Laverly for a ride from the Lacombe station, nor even informed him of the train on which I would a
rrive. My plan was to hire Pearlie's father to drive me out in his automobile. When I alighted from the train I discovered that the Clarks were in town. They kindly offered me a ride, which I gladly accepted.

  Upon arriving at my teacherage, I built my own fire, fixed a simple supper and then went to the schoolhouse. I wanted to get an early start on lesson preparations for the last few weeks of the school term.

  Wynn mailed me a book-or rather, a manual, which I imagined was used by the North West Mounted Police. It contained many facts about Alberta, including its vegetation, animals and their behavior, the peoples and their way of life and industry. I found it fascinating-especially since it had come from Wynn. His short note had stated that he thought I might find the information interesting and helpful. I did. I used much of the book in my classes. The students and I took advantage of the early spring weather to go on a nature hike and identify the growth according to the manual.

  April passed into May, and May into June. The wild roses began to appear, first as scattered blooms and then as walls of blossoms beside the roadway. The children hunted strawberries, which they shared with me, delivering them in sticky, dirty palms. It was a delightful time of year, and I gloried in each sun-splashed new day, hearing, seeing and breathing the newborn summer.

  The families of the school children began another round of have-the-teacher-in-for-supper. I loved this time. I loved the people. I loved my visits in their homes. I loved the walks in the pleasant sunshine, to and from their farms. I loved the family chatter around the table. It was much nicer than living and eating alone.

  It was a Friday evening and I had been invited to the Blakes. We enjoyed a pleasant meal together. Mrs. Blake had fixed roast chicken, and the girls had found enough strawberries to supply a somewhat skimpy shortcake. I lingered awhile over a cup of coffee and then reluctantly started for home.

  After walking down the road for about a quarter of a mile, I came to the shortcut through the trees which the Blake children used to reach the school. I decided that nothing would be more delightful than a stroll through the woods on a warm, pleasant evening, so I left the road and started down the path. I had not gone far when I heard a commotion on the trail ahead of me. I cautiously took a few more steps; right before my eyes was a bear, busily rolling over a dead log. I knew that it was a bear-there was no doubting that-though what he was doing in these woods I could not for the life of me imagine. No bears that I had heard of had ever been seen here. I tried to remember what Wynn's book had said about bears, and I tried to determine what kind of a bear this one was, but my mind would not work.