[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm

by Janette Oke

  He took his usual place at the table. “Is that what upset you?” he asked quietly.

  “I didn’t say I was upset.”

  He smiled. “No ... and if you’re honest, I don’t think you’ll say that you’re not.”

  “Well, maybe I’m upset—a little,” she admitted, “but I don’t think it was that. At least ... at least not only that.”

  She looked at her husband waiting patiently for her to continue. “I don’t know. I can’t really put my finger on it. She just seems ... different. Distant. She’s rather evasive and sometimes almost testy. It’s ... it’s just not like Christine,” she finished lamely.

  “Wish we could get that fella up here and take a look at him,” muttered Wynn as Elizabeth joined him at the table. “I’ve a feeling that would answer a lot of our questions.”

  “Well, having her home for Christmas will help. At least we’ll be better able to figure out where she is—what’s going on with her. Thankfully it’s only a few weeks away.”

  “What about Henry? Has he worked out his duty roster?”

  “I still haven’t heard. He was having a hard time trying to schedule each of the officers a bit of time off. It’s difficult when you have so few men. But of course you know all about that. I remember some Christmases when you had to go out ...” Elizabeth shook her head and didn’t finish.

  “I expect he’ll end up staying there,” Wynn said slowly. “One of his men is married. He’ll need time with his family. The other young officer won’t be able to take all the shifts alone. Unfortunately, Christmas can be a tense time. Lots of people celebrate too much.”

  “Not too much—just in the wrong way,” corrected Elizabeth soberly.

  They now joined hands, and Wynn led them in the evening table grace. Elizabeth passed the meat platter, a sigh escaping her lips. “You know ... it used to be so easy when they were little and all we had to worry about was keeping them fed and clothed and happy.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “I’ve told myself that dozens of times.”

  The dog yawned and stretched out beside Wynn’s chair.

  “It’s ... it’s just that they are so far away. I feel like I’ve lost contact. ”

  “Do you think it would be easier if they were close and you were more involved?”

  “I honestly don’t know. All I know is that I feel ... disconnected, and it’s frightening.”

  His smile was sympathetic. “You’ve raised them well, Elizabeth. You have a God you can trust.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t worry.”

  “What exactly did Christine say?” Wynn asked when he pushed back his empty plate.

  Elizabeth moved to get the tea. “Not too much. It was more what she didn’t say. Mr. Kingsley and his son have both put pressure on her to move into the Kingsley house—”

  “She’s not considering that, is she?” She heard genuine concern in his voice.

  “She told them no—again. But I’m afraid if they keep at her about it, she might give in. I’d hate to see her do that. I think it would be a dreadful mistake.”

  He nodded in agreement. “Maybe I should give her a call.”

  “Maybe you should call that Kingsley fellow.”

  “I’d rather not,” his answer came quickly. “Christine might see it as interference. Like we don’t trust her.”

  “Do we?” She studied his face as she continued. “Oh, I know we trust Christine. She’s stood firmly for what she knows is right. But if they keep on badgering her—pushing her—what young girl on her own can stand against that? Particularly when one of them is her boss and the other seems to be capturing her heart. She said that Mr. Kingsley thinks she’s a good influence on his son. Now, I ask you—why does his son need a good influence? What kind of young man is he? Christine won’t say much. Just that she’s sure we’d like him. Then she goes on about the beautiful roses he sent or the dinner at the fancy restaurant. As though that makes a man. I just don’t like the sound of the whole thing.”

  “He’s going to be home for Christmas?”

  Elizabeth nodded. She could feel the worried frown on her forehead, and she consciously made an effort to relax her expression.

  “I’ll talk to her.” Wynn’s confident tone was comforting.

  “She told me she was cooking a supper for the boss tonight. She does that now and then. I think she might be trying to appease him for refusing his invitation to move to his house. She said he’s having another couple in tonight as guests. His brother and his wife—I think. They are visiting the city.”

  “That shouldn’t make her too late. I’ll phone and leave a message for her to call when she gets back.”

  “She’s already had her one call for today. From me. The landlady allows each boarder only one call a day.”

  “Even if we call her?”

  “Well, if she talks to someone who calls in, then she can’t make a call out, is the way I understand it.”

  “Boy, that’s pretty rigid. I suppose they need rules. Some boarders would be on the phone all the time. Well, I’m going to give it a try anyway. Mrs. Green, is it?”

  Elizabeth nodded, but she felt so frustrated with this feeling of being cut off from her children.

  It was well after nine when the return call came from Christine. She sounded nervous. “Is something wrong?” was her first question to Wynn.

  “Wrong? No, I just wanted—”

  “Oh, thank the Lord,” she exclaimed. “I was afraid something had happened. Especially since I already talked with Mother earlier.”

  “I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t mean to frighten you. And I really didn’t expect you to call back tonight. Your mother said you’d already had your call for today.”

  “I thought it might be an emergency, so Mrs. Green—”

  “I’m sorry,” Wynn said again.

  “It’s just ... you never call twice ... in one day.”

  “I didn’t get to talk with you earlier when your mother did. I thought it was my turn.” Wynn decided to change the subject. “Your mother said you were playing chef again. How did it go?”

  “Fine,” answered Christine, but her voice still sounded shaky.

  He was truly sorry for giving her such a start. He quickly realized this call probably would do little to alleviate their concerns. She was far too emotionally wrought to express her other feelings.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I only have five minutes.”

  “You’re right. Don’t bother telling me about the meal. Tell me about you. How’s everything going?”

  “Fine.”

  “You still like your job?”

  “Most days.”

  “And other days?”

  “It gets a little hectic at times. Especially at month’s end when everyone wants everything—right now. Then we get behind in the filing, and some get a little testy as we try to catch up.

  “I wish I had someone to do my filing,” he chuckled.

  “Dad, you have no idea what filing is,” she exclaimed. “With eight typists constantly spewing out sheaves of paper, it can bury a desk in a day.”

  He laughed outright. She was sounding much more like herself.

  “Do you have to do it all?”

  “No, we each do our own.”

  “Then why the fuss?”

  “Everybody wants the file drawers at the same time. We practically push for them. It’s like ... it’s like a bunch of moose at a wallow.”

  He laughed again.

  She doesn’t sound so bad, he was mentally assessing. I think her mother is overly concerned.

  “So how’s the young man?”

  “You mean Boyd?”

  “Yes ... Boyd.”

  “Fine.”

  Now her voice had taken a different tone.

  “Mother said you were waiting to hear from him. Did he call?”

  “We called him from Mr. Kingsley’s.”

  “And everything is going well at uni
versity?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  “My time is almost up.”

  “I know. It passes too quickly. At least we’ll be able to catch up on everything when you come home for Christmas.”

  There was a pause. For a minute Wynn thought Mrs. Green had cut them off.

  “Yes ... well ... we need to talk about that,” her voice finally came back across the wires. “I may not make it home after all. Boyd has asked that I stay, and I’ve been thinking ... I’d kind of like to give them Christmas this year. I mean a real one. They haven’t had one, you know, since his mother died, and he can’t even remember that. It’s sad.

  “But I have to go—we’ll talk about it later. Love you, Dad. Bye.”

  He managed a “Love you, too,” before the phone clicked, then hummed. Mutely he stood with the receiver in his hand. He wished he hadn’t called. How could he tell Elizabeth that their daughter might not be coming home for Christmas either?

  The next day the post brought a letter from Henry. As difficult as it was to wait, Elizabeth put it up on the small shelf by the radio until Wynn returned home for the noon meal. He was hardly in the door before she told him of it.

  “What did he say? Will he be home?”

  “I waited for you.”

  “You should have gone ahead—”

  “We don’t get many letters from the children. I thought we should share it.”

  Wynn nodded, smiled, and gave her a hug. “Should we wait until after we’ve eaten?” he asked, his voice teasing. But she was already on her way to get the envelope.

  Elizabeth slit it open carefully and read aloud.

  Dear Dad and Mom,

  I’ve been putting off getting in touch until I had things worked out here. Regretfully I will be unable to get home for Christmas. It’s too far to travel for such a short time. There are just the three of us, and Rogers needs some family time, and Laray hasn’t had much experience, so I figure I’d better stay in place. I sure will miss you.

  Otherwise things are going quite well here. I’m beginning to feel at home in the church. I wish it were possible for me to attend every Sunday. It’s hard to get involved when one is there only now and then.

  I did start sort of a Boys’ Club, though, for eight- to twelve-year-olds. We don’t do anything too exciting. Just go on hikes and fish a bit, etc. They seem to think it great, though. It reminds me of your Sunday school group, Dad. The boys want an honest-to-goodness camping trip in the spring. I promised them I’d think about it.

  Rogers did put me in touch with a real estate agent who finally managed to find a little place for me. It’s not much. Only a couple of rather shabby little rooms, but it does have a stove and I can make my own meals. I still go down to Jessie’s with the fellows now and then, but at least my poor stomach is getting a break.

  I’ve had some more Sunday dinner invitations, and believe me they are greatly appreciated. At least most of the time. I’ve been in a few houses where the woman couldn’t cook worth a nickel and a few others where the daughter was a bit too forward. But all in all I’ve welcomed the change from what Jessie or I can scrape up.

  I was wondering, Dad, if you have been able to get any of that root for arthritis that we talked about. Poor Mr. Martin seems a little worse each time I see him. It’s sad because he’s really not that old.

  Trust you are both keeping well. You are in my daily prayers.

  With my love,

  Henry

  Elizabeth folded the letter slowly. She thought she had prepared herself for the possibility that Henry would not be able to make it home. But it did not seem to have lessened the keen disappointment she was feeling.

  “No word about the young woman,” Wynn commented.

  “What young woman?” Elizabeth’s attention returned to the present.

  “The young widow and her son.”

  “I suppose there was nothing to say,” said Elizabeth with a sigh. She had no idea why Wynn should mention her. What did she have to do with Henry? The long-ago accident in the North had no bearing on him now. Did it?

  Suddenly she turned to her husband. “What exactly did Henry tell you about that widow?”

  “Not a lot.”

  “Then why did you ask about her?”

  “I told you at the time. Henry was deeply affected by it all. It had bothered him for months. Years.”

  “A death such as that would.”

  “It wasn’t only the death. It was the ... circumstances. The young woman. The baby. It’s tough to explain, Beth, but when you are the one who has to take the news, you somehow ... share the pain. Yet you are ... cut off. Not allowed to grieve with the family. It ... it sort of ties you together in some unexplained way ... yet holds you apart. It’s an odd mixture of responsibility and desire to help. Finding her again—”

  “He found her again?” Elizabeth interrupted. “You mean she is living in the same town as Henry?”

  “Well, yes, I thought I’d told you....” Wynn’s voice sounded uncertain as he paused in thought. “Henry told me about it in a phone call.” He paused again. “Well, anyway, it’s not often that lives crisscross like that, but I get the feeling Henry still feels he owes her and the boy something. Still wants to help.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “It must put one in an awful position,” she nodded. “I hadn’t realized how personal it could become.”

  “Maybe it will make it easier knowing that she has family. At least she’s not all on her own.”

  Elizabeth agreed, but she was still troubled as she went to serve the soup. When she returned, she was feeling a little better and said, “I’ll thank you, Wynn Delaney, to not forget to tell me important pieces of information about our children.” He ducked in mock fright, and they both laughed.

  The herbal medication finally arrived by a carrier who came from the North. The Indian chief to whom Wynn had appealed seemed most proud that someone of Wynn’s stature and experience would ask for medicine from his tribe. He sent out a good supply. Wynn packaged it up immediately and mailed it off to Henry.

  “There really aren’t any directions with this,” Wynn wrote, “but if I remember correctly, they made their tea with boiling water, which they drank morning and evening. They used a good-sized pinch in each cupful. Sometimes I saw them drink more than one cup at a time, but usually it was just the one. Sure hope this helps your friend. Joe Beaver Tail says it will take three full moons (and you know how long that is) before the man will know if it helps. But he’s not to quit taking it then. It doesn’t mean the arthritis has been cured. It just means the medicine has it under control. If he thinks it helps, they are willing to send him more. We’ll pray that it helps. Love, Dad.”

  CHAPTER Thirtenn

  A winter blizzard was sweeping across the prairies when the call came in to the RCMP office. Due to poor visibility, there had been a motor accident on one of the local roads. The caller had little further information to provide. “He just banged on my door and asked me to phone the police,” she said, her voice trembling. Pencil in hand, Henry took all the information he could gather. When he hung up, he turned to his two junior officers, who had heard only his half of the conversation. “An accident. Out near the Double Bar Ranch.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “The caller didn’t know.”

  Both men were already on their feet. “That’s open country. Be a miracle if we can find our way there in this storm.”

  “We’ve got to try.”

  All three reached for winter jackets and fur hats. Henry appreciated the fact that both his men responded immediately in spite of the risks.

  “Someone needs to stay here in case we’re needed,” he now said. “Laray—that’s been your patrol area. You come with me.”

  It was pitch black, and the snow was driving hard. As they left the town, they found themselves guessing as to where the road was. It was even worse when they reached open country.

  “This is when I thin
k the Force should’ve never given up their horses,” noted Laray.

  Henry had to agree. “What we really need is my dog team,” he responded.

  “Dog team? Yeah. What did you do with yours?” .

  “No one told me I’d need one here on the prairie. I left the team with the Hudson Bay trader at my last posting.”

  They were talking to try to cover some of the tension they felt. Someone was out there in that storm who needed their assistance. Would they make it? It was a sobering thought.

  “This isn’t going to work,” said Laray, staring out into the whirling whiteness. “I can’t even see the trees on the side of the road.”

  Henry fought grimly to keep the slow-moving vehicle on the track. He felt blinded and disoriented. The swirling snow swept across the windscreen in mesmerizing fury.

  “What do you remember from this road, Laray? Anything?”

  “It’s about eleven miles to the ranch. You need to swing off to the left about a mile and a quarter from town. There’s a coulee about half a mile further. And a bridge. Wooden. Over the creek. There are some scrub willows along the road for about half a mile, then it’s wide open. Wind sweeps through there like there wasn’t even a cactus to slow it down.”

  “Any fences?”

  “A few. Yeah. Lazy-Eight has some fence lines. So does that little farm that sits up against the butte. Then the Double Bar has fences around part of their property—not all of it. All together they ranch about three sections, I think. Never really figured it out.”

  “Any steep hills or ditches?”

  “There’s a couple of good dips. Straight edge on one of them. You don’t want to mess with it.”

  “How far?”

  “It’s a few miles from the farm site.”

  “Any buildings where we might catch a light? Windows? Anything?”