by Janette Oke
“I need a police escort for breakfast?” she shot back, further incensed at his callous presumption.
He didn’t budge. “So should I come at eight?” Then Beth could see his eyes actually crinkle ever so slightly at the corners. “Of course,” he said, “I would be more than happy to come at six—or at five. As you wish, Elizabeth.”
Beth knew the impudent expression well enough to know he would be very pleased to awaken her far earlier than she was ready to rise. She had been bested—and by him, of all people. She could feel her face burning with anger. “Fine. Fine. But not before eight. Or I shall call the porter and . . .” She let the threat hang. What could she do? How could she complain to a porter about the conduct of a police officer? One who had been sent by her father? Edward had won.
Bowing once more, he retreated and closed the door behind him. Beth stood in the center of the room, trembling. Aloud she muttered, “Only the devil at the door would be worse than Edward Montclair!” Immediately she rebuked herself for such a dreadful pronouncement. But the truth was, she wanted to hide from him—to lock herself away or . . . or jump from the train. And even as she knew she was being childish and nonsensical, she could only pace out her frustrations during the short steps between door and window. This is absolutely unacceptable—that he has found a way to intrude on my plans even here. I thought . . . I thought I was well rid of him!
Edward had been a nuisance back as long as Beth could remember. And because his family was intrinsically connected with Father’s shipping business, there had been far more obligations requiring her to cross paths with him than she would have preferred.
The Montclairs had their roots in old England, and Beth had often heard that nobility was included in Mrs. Montclair’s family line, though specifics were left conspicuous by their absence. Edward frequently found a way to work his “stately lineage” into conversation. But his obvious pride was the least of Beth’s issues against him.
She had concluded even as a little girl that he was a troublemaker and a good-for-nothing. Just because the Montclairs had considerable wealth and resources, she didn’t believe it gave Edward the social advantages that he seemed to so boldly claim. And wield about.
Edward’s father must have similar impressions about his son, she concluded a bit smugly. No doubt this is the reason Edward is now with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, with the hope that discipline and order will knock some sense of a worthwhile, productive gentleman into him!
Rather more vigorously than necessary, Beth pulled the pins from her hair, shaking it loose and brushing it out, all the while casting further criticisms of her unwanted chaperone at her reflection in the mirror. “He thinks he’s superior to everyone else!” she muttered.
She couldn’t help remembering her first encounter with Edward Montclair, sitting in church with his parents. Beth had watched him from across the aisle trying to provoke an answering smile from Margret, who had not responded to his attempts at flirting. After service the sisters had turned their backs on him when he approached, giggling together about how foolish he was to try to elicit a smile from an older girl. “He should know better,” they’d agreed with the great assurance of the young.
Beth banged the brush down on the washstand and shook herself in an effort to regain some composure. But she went back to her list of accusations. He’d also chased her—just her—with a dead lizard he found behind the church. Her Sunday school classmates had insisted that he was sweet on her, of all things. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons of her shirtwaist as she prepared for bed.
Oh, how Beth had spurned him back in those days. She had abandoned conversations with others if Edward joined the group. Had refused to even acknowledge him when he called out her name. And on one occasion at a church social when she was quite young, she had dared stamp her foot at her mother’s instructions to sit next to the infuriating youngster. Inexplicably, Mother had acquiesced, and a triumphant Beth was allowed to scoot into a chair safely away from her tormenter.
Beth paused as she hung the shirtwaist in the tiny closet and studied the memory further. For the first time, it struck her as odd that Mother had given in. She certainly could not recall other times when a flash of willfulness had caused Mother to concede. Had Mother known? Could she possibly have understood a young girl’s feelings about the matter? Yet Edward was here, thrust back into Beth’s life at a most inopportune time.
Surely this can’t be Mother’s doing, can it? Beth had sometimes suspected that her mother and Mrs. Montclair secretly played matchmaker between Edward and her—hoping to tie their families together even further through matrimony. And no doubt Mother is intrigued by the “nobility” of the family, Beth acknowledged ruefully. It certainly didn’t matter to her.
But Edward had said Father was the instigator of these unfortunate circumstances. Perhaps blaming Mother is unfair. Beth determined to push the conflicted feelings out of her mind for the time being. She pulled her nightgown over her head and . . . Oh my! It was far too early to retire for the night. The sun was still rather high in the sky, and the porter had not yet arrived. And here she stood, mindlessly ready for bed. In utter frustration, Beth reached for her clothing and hurried to replace her attire before a second knock at the door.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” she mumbled to no one, “if he calls me Elizabeth the Great just once more, I shall not speak to him again—even if it means I don’t speak to him for the entire remainder of the trip!”
When the porter arrived to make up Beth’s bed, she was seated comfortably in her cabin, the picture of serenity. She was even able to pose a question about laundry service in a dignified manner and was pleased that the porter seemed perfectly able to be of assistance. To her relief, the evidence of her rain mishap was whisked away. And for the second time in one evening, Beth prepared herself for bed.
Before putting out her light, she drew a long breath and picked up her Bible from the suitcase. She tucked her feet down under the covers, plumped both pillows behind her back, and opened to where she had been reading last—the book of Ephesians. Words about anger, about ministering grace to others, being kind and tenderhearted, seemed to leap off the page. She couldn’t help but compare her own childish behavior toward Edward to God’s desire for her and how she should treat others.
“I’m sorry, Father God,” she finally sighed. “I should not have behaved that way.” And then she quickly followed with, “Please help me to be respectful tomorrow. Even if I don’t desire his company, I don’t want to dishonor You.”
Just at that moment Beth remembered her father’s words as they parted. She was shocked that she could have so quickly forgotten about the verse he had written on paper and tucked inside the compass. Tossing aside the covers and scrambling to retrieve the brass instrument from where she had wrapped it carefully and packed it away, she flipped up the lid and a little slip of paper tumbled out.
Written in Father’s careful cursive was, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me. Philippians 4:13.”
Beth drew in a long, slow breath. Thoughts and emotions tumbled around inside her as she pondered the words and her father’s intentions. She wondered what might have been different if she’d had that Scripture in mind during her meeting with Edward. She wondered what her father would say if he had seen her during the appalling episode. Her cheeks flushed. Even though she knew Father would be gracious and forgiving, she felt ashamed for not better representing his family . . . better representing the Lord.
Kneeling beside her open suitcase on the shuddering floor of the passenger train, Beth whispered aloud, “I’m already failing, God—I’ve embarrassed myself and treated another person badly.” Then another verse came to her mind and she added with a trembling little smile, “But You promised that Your mercies are new every morning. Thank You for that. I need those mercies tonight. And tomorrow.”
Beth returned the compass to its place, slid the suitcase back under the bed, and
settled in again for the night. She had positioned the little slip of paper on the windowsill nearby and repeated it over and over until she had drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER
4
TRUE TO HIS WORD, Edward Montclair arrived in full uniform with Stetson in hand to escort Beth to breakfast—two minutes early. He was visibly surprised by her smile when she met him at the door, but he made no comment. Beth continued to smile as Edward stepped back and motioned for her to precede him down the narrow aisle.
“Isn’t it a lovely day today?” she offered, as if making conversation with a recent acquaintance. “I’m so glad it isn’t raining anymore. I’d like to see some of the countryside.”
“Yes,” he agreed cautiously. “Though I’ve been told it’s mostly open prairie we’ll be crossing.”
“Fine. That will be a nice contrast from city sights back home.”
He shrugged. “There will be fewer stops—so we should make better time.”
Beth smiled once more. “Fine,” she repeated with a nod as they entered the dining car.
Edward held Beth’s chair for her and ordered a pot of tea. She put in her breakfast order, then settled back and turned toward the window. She tried not to notice how his red jacket drew attention from all around the room.
“I can’t even believe that it’s already Sunday,” she said. “It’s certainly a bright day. The sky is so clear . . . as blue as—as blue as—” She paused and then said, “Well, I guess as blue as JW’s eyes.” Beth smiled to herself as she drew up the vision of her nephew’s welcome the night before she left. Edward remained silent, so Beth chatted on. “Milo Phelps traveled to Saskatchewan last summer, and he said the skies over the prairie are unrivaled anywhere.”
There was a moment of quiet and then Edward remarked, “It’s the very same sky, you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s precisely the same sky that covers everything.”
“Hmm. Well then, maybe it’s just that one can see so much more of it here.”
Edward shook his head. “Well, maybe it’s just that there’s nothing else to see.” Beth was certain by his tone that he was mocking her for her attempts at congeniality. She let the comment pass.
The maître d’ set a plate before her containing a freshly baked scone, three small dollops of jellies spread like leaves around a little rose-shaped pat of butter, and a dainty china egg holder with a hard-boiled egg still steaming from the already opened top. As beautiful and refined as any restaurant in Toronto. Beth thanked the man and reached for her knife.
But Edward noted slyly over his own heaping plate, “That’s not much of a meal, Elizabeth. What would your mother say?”
Before a terse retort could pass her lips, Beth forced herself to remain even-tempered. “Traveling is somewhat upsetting to my stomach. I think my mother would understand.”
Looking puzzled that he was unable to bait her, Edward responded awkwardly, “I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” and turned his attention to his own meal. For some time there was silence between them, and Beth was relieved to enjoy her breakfast and the scenery in peace.
Then Edward broke into her thoughts. “I was very surprised that your family allowed you to travel alone—and so far from home. I would have thought your mother would forbid it.”
Again Beth struggled to respond calmly. “She was in support of my becoming a teacher. Though, of course, she would have preferred that I found a position nearby.”
His eyes held a hint of something she couldn’t identify. “I would expect that she would have preferred you to marry and settle down—as Margret did.”
“Perhaps.” Beth was finding it a little easier to continue to answer calmly but honestly. “Teaching is what I chose to pursue.” She thought about Mother’s first attempts to advise her away from college and teaching, but preferred to remember the pride in Mother’s eyes on graduation day. “It’s true that Mother would not have selected this path for me. But neither did she forbid it. And I do believe she’s supportive now.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Pardon me? I don’t—”
“I said it’s ridiculous.” Edward leaned forward, elbows on the table, and lowered his voice. “I would have thought at least your father could control you.”
Beth couldn’t help but press herself into her seat. “This is not about being controlled, Edward. It’s about—”
“It’s about you acting like a stubborn, headstrong woman—like so many others in our generation,” he shot back, “those females who feel it necessary to try to act like men, all in an effort to avoid leading boring lives at home.”
Beth forced herself to return his steely expression. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Yes. You, and Sigrid Freeman . . . and Ruth Shields. You have your fancy debutante parties and lead everyone to believe you’re prepared to marry—and then you go off to college instead, thinking you can get jobs and take care of yourselves. Well, it won’t work, Elizabeth. You’ll see. You’ll spend a month or two—maybe even a year—in some godforsaken wasteland, and then you’ll come running back home, ready to be rescued.”
Beth watched her hands slowly smooth the napkin across her lap as she edited her thoughts. “But Sigrid is in Ottawa playing with the philharmonic. And Ruth is a nurse.”
“For now,” he nodded grimly, leaning back again, his voice still muted but full of tension. “For now—but I’ll give them less than a year and they’ll both be engaged. Because that’s the way the world works. When women get enough of pretending they can earn a living, they fall back on men to take care of them. We don’t have the luxury of playing at an occupation for a while and then having someone else support us as soon as we’re tired of it all. Men work hard their whole lives.”
Beth waited in hard-won silence while each angry, quarrelsome response paraded through her mind. She considered commenting on the fact that he would inherit much of what he needed to support himself, that men benefit as much by marriage as women, that married women are not women of leisure but hardworking helpmates to their husbands, or that choosing a career did not even imply she was not interested in becoming a wife also. Instead, she dismissed each of these as argumentative and renewed her determination not to allow him to ruffle her feathers with declarations she doubted even he actually believed. What puzzled her most, however, was that he of all people would become so agitated by her life decisions. Such things had nothing to do with him. Perhaps after leaving this train I indeed will never see him again, she reminded herself.
She paused a moment longer and took a slow sip of tea, replaced the cup gently on its saucer, and lifted her napkin to the corners of her mouth. “I’m sorry you feel this way, Edward. I can see you don’t understand my decision, but it is one I have reached under the counsel and protection of my parents. I’m afraid it does not require your approval.” As calmly as she could, Beth excused herself and walked away. Her pace did not slow until she had returned to her cabin and lowered herself onto the seat. Only then did she notice she was trembling.
“I don’t know if my response was proper, God. I hope I wasn’t wrong in what I said to him. I truly do not understand how it would have been possible at that moment to say anything that would have been edifying to him.” But Beth was rather satisfied that she had not spoken the words she really wanted to say. She felt it was a small victory, a great improvement from their previous interchange.
There was nothing she could do further to change Edward’s opinion on the matter. He had again proven himself to be just as she had always seen him—a bully of a boy who had turned into a brute of a man. She wondered for a moment if he were the only one of their circle of friends to interpret her actions as he did, yet doubted that anyone else could be so narrow-minded and belligerent as Edward.
He had called her a “stubborn, headstrong woman.” Even now, as she replayed the words spoken so pointedly against her, Beth could feel their sting. After all, she to
ld herself, this teaching position is perhaps the first truly assertive step I have ever taken. The problem is not that I have been stubborn—the problem is that my own hopes and wishes have been suffocated far too long by what has been expected of me. Yes, Beth was more than aware that Mother would have chosen marriage and conformity to the norm—particularly when considering Beth’s physical limitations.
She turned her back to recline against the end of the settee, kicking off her shoes and drawing her knees up to her chin. Still brooding over the conversation, more of her responses to Edward flooded into her mind. It’s true Mother would not have chosen this path for me. But neither did she forbid it. And I do think she’s supportive now. That is what she had told him, but she knew it was a pale reflection of the full truth. Mother had actually been quite set against Beth’s even leaving for college, must less the “wild west.”
Truth be told, Mother eventually had been very proud, standing in the college reception hall after Beth had graduated. But Mother also had hustled her home again as quickly as her bags could be packed and hasty good-byes said. It was clear that in her maternal way of viewing things, an unmarried daughter was to be kept close by and safe from the world—especially this daughter with a “weak constitution.”
Beth felt old feelings rising up and turned once again to prayer. “Father God, I’m so tired of being told what I can’t do. And maybe that does mean I’m being stubborn and headstrong. I don’t want to seem rebellious—I just want to be what I feel You made me to be. And I believe You called me to this job and this place. If my attitudes are wrong, please help me understand so I can change them. But please, please, Father, give me the strength I need to do whatever it is that You’re asking me to do. That’s what I want. To please You—not to displease my mother.”