by Janette Oke
I was furious, not just for my sake—but for hers.
I knew that I was expected to leave my coffee-pouring and go share lunch with the man who had purchased my basket, but I couldn’t—and I wouldn’t.
I turned and said in a loud, though somewhat unsteady, voice, hoping that the smile I was trying so hard to produce actually showed on my face, “Mr. Delaney has just purchased a bigger bargain than he realizes. Because my duties will be keeping me busy, he gets to eat all of the lunch himself.”
Laughter followed my announcement, along with hoots from the young men who had lost out in the bidding. I turned back to the pot of coffee, not daring to look at Mr. Delaney again. And I hope he chokes on it, I thought angrily. Three women rushed with offers to take over my job so that I could sit down and enjoy my lunch. I turned them all aside—firmly, and I hoped, courteously. I later noticed Mr. Delaney sharing his lunch with some good-natured chatter with Andy Pastachuck.
As the evening drew to a close, the money was gathered and counted. We placed it all in a big tin can and had Mr. Laverly, our school-board chairman, present it to the Pastachucks. They accepted it with broken English and tear-filled eyes. They planned to leave soon for Calgary and a doctor, and would send word back as soon as they had a report. Teresa was to stay with the Blakes during their absence, and the Thebeaus had volunteered to care for their farm chores.
It didn’t seem quite fitting to simply pass them the money and send them on their way, so I stepped forward hesitantly. First I thanked all of those who had come and participated so wholeheartedly. Our total earnings, including donations from neighbors, came to $195.64. A cheer went up when the sum was announced.
“We all have learned to love Andy,” I continued. “Our thoughts and prayers will be with him and his parents, and as a token of our prayers and concern, I would like to ask Mr. Dickerson, our auctioneer of the evening, to lead us in prayer on Andy’s behalf.”
A silence fell over the room. Eyes filled with tears, heads bowed and calloused hands reached up to sweep hats aside.
Mr. Dickerson stepped to the center of the room and cleared his throat. His simple and sincere prayer was followed by many whispered “Amens.”
Our evening together had ended. Folks crowded around me shaking my hand, saying kind words and thanking me for my efforts toward the success of the evening. I felt very much at one with these gentle, warmhearted people.
The Pastachucks were the last to go. Mr. Pastachuck offered his hand and shook mine firmly. His wife could only smile through tears, unable to speak. But Andy looked at me with shining eyes, as though to herald a personal triumph on my behalf. “It was fun,” he enthused. “You did good, Teacher, real good!”
I reached down and pulled him close, holding him for a long time; his thin little arms were wrapped tightly about my neck. When I released him, I was crying. Andy reached up and, without a word, brushed the tears from my cheek. Then he turned and walked out into the night.
Chapter Twenty-six
Andy
Midweek, word came from Calgary. As we had feared, Andy’s condition was serious. The old injury had flared up. A tumor had formed, causing pressure on the brain. The doctor suspected that bone chips were responsible, and he decided that surgery was imperative as soon as possible.
The whole class wrote notes to Andy to send with Mrs. Blake and Teresa to the hospital. The outcome of the pending surgery was sufficiently doubtful that Teresa was being taken to Calgary to see her brother before his operation.
I wrote a note, too. It was short and simply worded so that Andy would have no trouble understanding it when it was read to him. I said that we were all very busy at school; that we thought of him and prayed for him daily in our opening prayer; that we missed him and would be so glad when he would be well and able to be back with us.
But Andy did not return. He died during surgery in the Calgary hospital. We were told that even the nurses who attended him wept when the small boy lost his battle for life.
It was a Wednesday afternoon when we all gathered at the school-house for Andy’s short funeral service. Mr. Dickerson read the scripture, and a visiting priest gave the last rites. We then left for the little cemetery on the hill.
Many of my pupils were crying as we filed from the school-room. Else Peterson and Mindy Blake clung to each of my hands. My eyes were overflowing, but I was able to keep the sobs from shaking me.
It was a short distance to the cemetery so we walked to it, the little procession, with the small pine casket at its head, stirring up little pillowy swirls of dust. The day was bright, the autumn sun glistening in a tranquil sky. A few clouds skittered across the blueness. The leaves still clinging to the trees were in full dress, but many others lay scattered on the ground, rustling at each stirring of the breeze.
Else broke our silence.
“Andy would have liked this day,,” she whispered, looking up at its brightness; and I knew that she was right. I could imagine the gentle little boy with his shining eyes cheering this day on.
“You did good,” he would exclaim to the beautiful morning. “You did good.”
I cried then, the great sobs shaking my whole body. I remembered the last time that I had wept, and how the little boy in my embrace had reached up awkwardly, and yet tenderly, to brush away my tears. “You did good, Teacher,” he had whispered. And now that small boy had passed beyond—so young to journey on alone. But then I remembered that he hadn’t traveled alone—not one step of the way, for as soon as the loving hands had released him here, another Hand had reached out to gently take him. I tried to visualize him entering that new Land, the excitement and eagerness shining forth on his face, the cheers raising from the shrill little voice. There would be no pain twisting his face now, no need to hold his head and rock back and forth. Joy and happiness would surround him. I could almost hear his words as he looked at the glories of heaven and gave the Father his jubilant ovation—“You did good, God; You did real good!”
Chapter Twenty-seven
School Break
We decided to close school for the rest of that week. All of the students were deeply affected by the loss of Andy, and Mr. Laverly thought that it would do us all good to have a few days of rest. I agreed. I suddenly felt very tired. I would go to visit Jon and his family.
That afternoon, I packed a few things in a small suitcase and asked for a ride to town. Mr. Mattoch, who had a light buggy with spring seats, was my driver. The trip was much more comfortable and took considerably less time than had the previous wagon transportation.
The train did not leave for Calgary until the next morning, so I took a room in the hotel and spent a miserable, lonely night there. The next morning I spent some time shopping until the train came. I didn’t see anything which attracted me, but perhaps it was my mood rather than the lack of merchandise.
Finally I was Calgary bound; but the train did not seem to be nearly as eager to reach Calgary as I was. The first thing I did upon my arrival was to telephone Jon’s home. Mary answered, and her excitement at hearing my voice went a long way toward cheering me. Jon arrived to pick me up at the station before I had time to properly get myself in order. He had just purchased a new Buick and was anxious to show it off. Not many autos had as yet made their way onto the Calgary streets, and those who did use the new means of conveyance seemed to consider it a daily challenge to try and outdo one another both in model and speed.
When we pulled up in front of Jon’s house, the entire family was waiting to welcome me. Even little William gave his aunt a big hug. I’m afraid that I clung to the children longer than I should have, my sorrow still very fresh in my mind and heart.
One could not nurse sadness for long in Jonathan’s home. The children’s shouts of excitement gave me little time to think about the loss of Andy. They promptly showed me everything that they had attained or obtained since I had left them. William presented a new bow and arrow, and Sarah read to me from her first primer; but Kathleen w
ouldn’t even leave my side long enough to produce her new dress or her doll.
They all shared in presenting to me the much-grown Elizabeth and her latest accomplishments. She could smile, she could coo, and once she even giggled. The little sweetheart warmed up to me immediately and allowed me to hold and cuddle her.
I did not need to return to Pine Springs until the following Monday. The train ran north on Monday, Wednesday and Friday; and south on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday; so the days that Mr. Laverly had set aside for this school break were planned accordingly. The long weekend that stretched before me seemed nicely adequate for my visit, but I knew that the days would go all too quickly.
On Saturday, Kathleen danced into my room before my eyes were even properly open. “Dee is coming! Dee is coming!” she cried with glee.
I smiled at her sleepily, thinking, Who is Dee? Then I recalled her long-ago declaration of, “When I grow up, I’m gonna marry Dee.” I yawned and rolled over to look at her. My thoughts changed to, So, I am to meet Kathleen’s marvelous Dee, the thirtyish bachelor who is a dear—and determined to stay single.
He sounded harmless enough to me.
“When is Dee coming?” I asked as Kathleen twirled about my room.
“Tonight—for dinner. Did you meet him yet?”
“No, not yet,” I answered rather casually.
“Did you know that I’m gonna marry him when I grow up?” she asked, not a bit put off by my nonchalance.
“I remember that you told me,” I answered her.
She was soon gone again, off to share her good news with her baby sister—who would be even less impressed than I had been.
As the day wore on, the anticipation for the evening dinner party grew. It was obvious that the whole family regarded Dee highly and were pleased that he was coming.
I dressed carefully for dinner that night, not because of the unknown Dee but simply because it felt good to soak in a warm bath and then spend a little more time and effort than usual on how I looked. It seemed to be such a long time since our box social and I had reason to dress up. Kathleen came in to offer suggestions and coaxed me to wear the green velvet. It was still hanging in the guest room closet, a last-minute decision when I had left for Pine Springs. “I will never need a fussy thing like that in a country school,” I had impulsively declared. “Mary, do you mind if I just leave it hanging here?” Mary agreed, so I had unwrapped it from its tissues and left it hanging in the spare bedroom. Now it shimmered in the light and caught Kathleen’s eye. I gave in to her pleading. She helped me with my buttons, and I retied her hair ribbon so that we could state that we had helped one another to prepare for dinner.
She skipped out as I put the finishing touches on my hair, but she was soon back.
“Dee is here!” she exclaimed excitedly. “Hurry—hurry!”
“I’m coming, dear,” I laughed. She grabbed my hand, eager to drag me off to meet her Dee. I did hope that he wasn’t another Mr. Higgins, but I quickly discarded that idea. I gave Kathleen credit for better judgment than that.
“Nanna is here, too,” she informed me as she led me through the hallway and down the stairs.
“Nanna?”
“Yes, Nanna. Mamma’s grannie. Nanna Smith.”
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “I didn’t know that Nanna was coming.”
“Mamma didn’t know, either,” Kathleen laughed. “Mamma never knows. Nanna just comes—she likes surprises.”
“Oh, I see—like your Aunt Beth did, I guess. She just popped in.”
Kathleen laughed merrily at that.
“You couldn’t tell us,” she said, having heard the explanation I gave to Mary, “but Nanna could. She lives just over by the river. She could have telephoned or anything—but she doesn’t. She just comes. She likes surprises. We like it, too. It’s fun.”
A few minutes later I was meeting Nanna, an older woman with a sparkle in her eyes. I could easily imagine that she indeed liked surprises. I had always felt that I liked surprises myself—until the one I received in the next few minutes.
Kathleen had left me with Nanna and had run to find her Dee so that I might have the pleasure of making his acquaintance. I stood chatting, my back to the door, until Kathleen called out merrily, “Here’s Dee, Aunt Beth.”
I turned slowly around and found myself looking into the face of Mr. Wynn Delaney.
My face must have blanched.
I could not find my voice; I could only stare. My mind groped for an answer; how could this dreadful mix-up ever have taken place? For a moment I thought that I read concern in his eyes, and I wondered if he feared that I might divulge something he would rather have left secret.
The color seemed to be returning to my face—in overabundance, I feared; but I felt that perhaps I could move again.
I saw Mr. Delaney advance a step and place an arm around Kathleen’s shoulder. The flash of concern had left his eyes, and a teasing smile replaced it.
“Your Aunt Beth and I have already met, Moppet.”
I remained dumb. “You’re—?
“Dee—” he finished for me. “William’s two-year-old version of ‘Delaney’! All of these children have called me that.”
“I see . . .”
I didn’t really. The pieces of this strange puzzle didn’t fit together at all. Something was all wrong here.
“Mr.—De—Delaney,” I stammered, knowing even as I spoke that what I was asking was foolish indeed, “do you happen to have a twin?”
He seemed about to laugh at that, and then realized that my question had been an honest one. He shook his head, then looked at me with renewed concern. My bewildered eyes and flushed face must have made him think that something was wrong with me, for he gently took my arm and led me to a nearby chair.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a low voice.
I assured him shakily that I was just fine.
His inbred courtesy prompted him to turn then to speak with Nanna, whom he seemed to know very well.
I sat numbly, listening to the hum of voices about me. Mr. Delaney and Nanna chatted like old friends. Suddenly Kathleen, who had been left out of the conversation for what she felt was too long, announced, “Did you know I’m gonna marry Dee, Nanna?”
The conversation stopped. Dee reached for Kathleen and seated her beside him on the lounge where he sat.
“What’s this, Moppet?”
“I’m gonna marry you,” she said, pointing a finger at his broad chest. “I’m gonna marry you when I grow up. Right?”
“I don’t suppose so.” He spoke very slowly, carefully. “You see, just because one likes someone very much doesn’t always mean that they will get married. People can still be very special to one another—the best friends in the whole world—and not marry.”
Kathleen’s face began to cloud.
“Take you now,” Mr. Delaney hurried on, “you love your daddy—very much—but you don’t need to marry him to share that love, do you?”
Kathleen slowly shook her head.
“And you love your mamma, and Nanna, and Baby Elizabeth, and your Aunt Beth and your Teddy—but you aren’t going to marry them either, are you?”
Kathleen brightened at the twinkle in his eyes, seeing the fun that he was having.
He continued, “Well, that’s like us. We are very special to one another, but we don’t need to marry each other to stay special.”
Kathleen nodded. Dee had been quite convincing.
Mary called, and Kathleen bounced down from the lounge, her recently troubled eyes again shining, and ran from the room.
“You could have humored her a bit,” scolded Nanna.
“How?”
“Well, you could have said, ‘Someday—sure, someday.’ ”
“But it won’t be ‘someday.’ ”
“Yes, we know that—and Kathleen would know it too, as she grew older.”
“But if she didn’t?”
“She’s only a child.”
&nb
sp; “A child who will grow up. Yet she will still be a child for many years to come. What would happen, Nanna, if I found someone else to marry before she discovered the truth on her own?”
“You—marry?” Nanna laughed.
Mr. Delaney smiled slowly as though enjoying his own joke.
“Or, what if she didn’t discover the truth on her own and went into womanhood expecting this old man to marry her?”
Nanna shrugged and said teasingly, “Maybe the day will come when you’ll be glad to accept her proposal.”
Mr. Delaney became serious then. “If ever anyone deserves the truth, Nanna,” he said, “a child does. They can accept things, even hurtful things, if they are dealt with honestly, in love. I hope that I’m never guilty of telling a falsehood to a trusting child.”
His words hung about my head, making me angry. How could he say these things—he who was living a horrible lie. I excused myself from the room and headed for my bedroom. I feared that I was going to be sick.
Mary found me a few minutes later.
“Dee was worried about you, Beth. Is something wrong?”
Everything is wrong, I wanted to scream—Everything. Instead I said, “Mary, didn’t you tell me that Wynn Delaney—Dee—whoever, is unmarried?”
“Yes.”
“And didn’t you say that he—he wanted to stay that way?”
She nodded.
“Well, maybe—” I said, blanching white again, “maybe, the reason that he hasn’t taken a Calgary wife is that he already has one.”
“Wynn?” Mary used his given name.
“Yes, Wynn.”
“That’s impossible. We’ve know Wynn—”
“Well, apparently you don’t know him very well.”
“Elizabeth, we know—”
“He has a wife—and a son. I’ve met them.”