by Janette Oke
Edward leaned forward toward the driver, his face betraying his own concerns. “How often does your company send cars in and out of this place?” he queried.
“Oh,” the man said, scratching at his whiskers, “sometimes once a week—sometimes not that often. Depends.”
“On the weather? Or is it somewhat seasonal?”
The craggy face puckered in thought. “Oh, we don’t come out here in winter,” he said. “Ain’t hardly nobody sends a car out then. Sometimes the coal company’ll push a truck through—but then, sometimes even the coal trains can’t make it.”
“Are there passenger trains available as well?” Beth dared ask.
“Naw, not out this way. Just a spur to carry out the coal, bring in supplies. The men from the company sometimes ride in the caboose—but they don’t take no passengers ever.”
Beth felt her heart drop. She wasn’t even there yet, and she already felt isolated and confined. So I’ll never get out except by car . . . and who knows when one will come. Clutching at any handhold just to keep from bumping against Edward on the back seat, she stared ahead and tried not to picture what such a trip would be like on the slippery, slushy roads of winter. Much less in deep snow . . .
Finally, the trees thinned out a little to reveal a small cluster of buildings clinging to a hillside.
“This here’s it,” the driver announced and drew up to a stop in a swirl of dust.
Edward and the driver emerged from their side of the dusty vehicle. Edward hurried around and pulled Beth’s door open. She reached for her handbag and stepped out. For a moment she stood awkwardly, stretching her tired limbs as she assessed Coal Valley.
Main Street, if it could be labeled such, was a rutted dirt road, scarcely wide enough for two cars to pass. By the looks of things, though, Beth doubted there had ever been a need. To the left were two large buildings crowding unceremoniously against a rough boardwalk. One structure was broad and square, the other low and long, boasting large dirt-encrusted front windows and the appearance of some type of store.
Opposite was a two-story building skulking behind overgrown bushes, though a well-beaten path led to its front door. Stairs outside headed upward to what must be second-floor living quarters. Next, a vacant lot that may have once been someone’s garden, and beside that a large weathered house tucked behind a rickety picket fence. With no building’s surface having been painted for many years, if ever, it could have simply been a forgotten ghost town but for the thick odor of woodsmoke and the steady chugging of machinery not far away.
From every direction, the forest crowded close, as if to swallow the town whole. Just past the storefront the road curled downward along the face of the hill. Along this straight stretch of road was a series of small homes, duplicate in structure . . . and shabbiness.
Beth roused herself and noticed Edward also surveying the surroundings. He looked genuinely concerned. The driver waited motionless nearby. Was he expecting something from them? Beth glanced toward Edward again, assuming he would make a move to pay the driver. When he did not, she began to rummage in her handbag for the travel money Father had provided.
She felt a hand on her arm, and Edward was bending to whisper—not too quietly, “He insisted on payment in advance—including his gratuity.” A slow grin played over the driver’s face. He could have been paid twice!
One wave of the driver’s hand directed them toward the only structure, with its well-traveled path, showing any evidence of inhabitants. Over the door was a sign simply announcing “Tavern.”
Beth drew in a breath. “Can—are they able to do that? Serve liquor here?”
“No, Elizabeth, they cannot. There are prohibition laws in effect.” Edward indicated she should wait, and he stepped toward the building, drawing himself up to his full height before entering. Beth waited outside for some time, clutching her handbag tightly. Edward finally reappeared and motioned her forward.
“I’ve been told it’s an old sign,” he said, but his solemn expression conveyed he was still wary.
Beth followed him into the building. The entrance hall inside was dimly lit and stuffy, with stale tobacco smoke. She could hear low voices from somewhere, and Edward turned a corner toward the sound. To Beth’s surprise, a small circle of women gathered next to the long bar.
“Oh, yer here at last! We been waitin’ so long!” a voice called out, and the group hurried toward them, all exclaiming at once. “They told us you’d arrive today, so we all come ta meet ya,” the first woman explained over the commotion.
Beth tried to smile at each in turn, overwhelmed by the hubbub. Edward remained between the door and a heavy wooden coat rack. A large pool table filled the farthest corner of the room, with other round tables in between. Beth felt her knees going weak and grasped the back of a nearby chair, trying to conceal her turbulent thoughts.
Quickly a middle-aged woman with an Irish accent took charge. “Now, ladies, we don’t want to be scaring her off soon as she gets here, do we? Make way. Give a body room to breathe. Katie, fetch the coffee. Abbie dear, the cups. Let’s have a bit o’ order now.”
She motioned Beth toward one of the tables while others hurried to set out various baked goods, obviously contributed by each woman of the welcoming committee. Without pausing for usual civilities, the Irish woman seated herself next to Beth and began explaining the situation while another put a cup of coffee in front of her. “We’ve had ourselves some terrible days, Miss Thatcher.” At Beth’s nod, she continued, “It’s been powerful hard keeping body and soul together since the trouble at the mine. But we be hoping and praying having a teacher be a step toward something better.”
Beth answered weakly, “Thank you.”
“Tell her ’bout the company, Frances. Tell her what they done.”
The Irish woman waved away the suggestion. “There’s what she needs to know and there’s what shouldn’t be her burden, not today.” With confident eyes and soft features, she turned back to face Beth, continuing in her thick brogue, “What you need to know, miss, is that we mothers decided to bring you here. And though that comes dear, the school that we had afore wasn’t fit for our young, and that’s the truth of it, plain as day.”
Beth was working hard to clearly comprehend what had not been said. “I see. The mining company provided a teacher?”
“No, dear, not a teacher. Just a man to make a poor show of it. He were no more a teacher than I be a queen. And what with all his yelling and cursing, we all up and stopped sending our kids.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“But now that yer here, and we can see yer a woman o’ breeding, we can start over, miss.”
“I shall do my best, I assure you.” Beth thought about the loss of her teaching materials and decided against mentioning her own troubles. She cleared her throat. “Perhaps if I could see the school, I could—”
A titter of laughter swept the room, and the woman next to Frances announced, “Yer sittin’ in it, miss.”
“Excuse me?”
“This is our school. It’s all we got that ain’t mine-company owned.”
Beth cast a glance toward Edward, whose face looked pale. She hoped her own expression betrayed less alarm. “This tavern . . . is to be our schoolroom?”
A voice sounding defensive called from across the room, “It ain’t no tavern no more! We already told the brass standin’ over there. It’s a respectable pool hall now. We don’t serve nothin’ more than coffee and food.” She added, “An’ you can only use it in the day. I need it back by supper. An’ ya gotta have all the school stuff put aside in the back by then too. Them company men don’t want no books in their way when they’re playin’ pool.”
Frances clarified, “You see, Helen’s man runs the pool hall. But they’re willin’ to let us meet here for lessons.” She gestured around enthusiastically. “It’s plenty big. Room for all. And we already got a chalkboard painted on the back o’ that board. James and Gabe, they’ll hang it up for you e
very day. It’ll be all ready tomorrow—if you are.” All eyes fixed on Beth’s face.
Purposefully, Beth placed her cup back on its saucer and met Frances’s gaze, the words of Father’s verse playing over in her mind. She swallowed nervously. “I’m not certain I can be ready by tomorrow.” She offered a feeble smile around the room and hurried on, “But I shall be pleased to begin lessons on the day after that. At any rate, I shall do the best I can.”
There was a collective sigh of relief and then a flurry of voices and activity. It sounded like the women had not been certain that the new teacher would be willing to remain when she saw what they could offer. Beth’s heart was already warming toward them, seeing their delight that those fears had been allayed. Only Edward stood aloof before their happy exclamations.
When the coffee and sweets were gone and the ladies were dispersing, Edward drew Beth aside. His voice was strained as he said, “The driver is ready to leave, Elizabeth. And you should come too. This is unacceptable. Your father would not approve of this situation.”
She raised her eyes and searched his face. “I think he would, Edward. I truly think he would. It’s just—well, it’s that I hope I am up for the challenge. I wish I had been better prepared.”
He shook his head and stooped closer to whisper, “It’s too much to ask of anyone, Elizabeth. No one could properly teach under such conditions.”
Beth’s mind was already whirling with preparations to be made. She turned for another glance around the room. Edward grasped her elbow and pulled her nearer. His voice softened to plead, “No, Elizabeth. Let them send someone else. Let them send a man—”
“They already sent a man, Edward.” Beth drew in a deep breath. “It’s my turn now.”
He released her and turned to leave, frustration evident in his whole demeanor. Beth hurried after him, bursting into the bright sunshine. She squinted against the sudden light and trailed Edward to the car. Instantly she realized what a fearful thing it would be to watch the car take him out of sight.
“You’re not angry, are you?” she said to his back. He paused and turned, and she approached cautiously. “Edward, are you angry with me?”
“No, Elizabeth. I have no reason to be angry.” But his tone was severe.
“Then why . . . ?”
His hand reached up to push the lock of hair from his eyes. “It’s too much. All of this. It’s just too much. And it’s my fault—at least some of it is. You should have your things—your clothes—your books. I wish . . . I wish I could . . .” He faltered. “I’m so sorry.”
Words failed Beth too. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t angry about what had been stolen—Father had reminded her that such travel hazards were commonplace. And also that she realized now how very important his job as a Mountie would be. She wanted to thank him for traveling with her and seeing her safely to her destination—to know that his presence had been a comfort after all. She wanted to tell him that he was indeed her friend and that she hoped he could understand her decision to stay—even perhaps to gain his approval. But Edward was re-entering the car, and the driver had already started the engine.
“So soon?” she gasped out, taking a step forward before the door closed.
“Good-bye, Elizabeth. I shall do what I can on your behalf. I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more.” He pulled the door shut and the car pulled away, circling back awkwardly in the narrow street and moving again toward her. Beth caught one last glimpse of Edward’s stern face. She turned her back against the dust that the automobile raised. He was gone.
CHAPTER
7
WHERE YER BAGS AT, MISS?” A man standing far too near startled Beth with his question.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Yer luggage? I come to help carry. They forget to leave yer things?”
She drew in a long breath. “I’m afraid I have nothing. My trunks were stolen from the platform at the Lethbridge train station.”
His head tipped to one side. “Ya don’t say!” There was a pause as he digested the fact. “Then what’ll ya do?”
“I don’t know. . . .”
A group of women had followed Beth from the hall, and the man waved them over. “She ain’t got bags,” he announced. “They was stole.”
Quickly the women once more surrounded Beth, their faces showing the dismay they felt at this disclosure. “Poor dear,” they clucked over her. “Oh my!” “Well, let’s get you to Molly’s guest house and see what she says.”
Beth followed obediently, asking no further explanation. She had been promised room and board as a portion of her salary. Certainly this would have been known, and the women would direct her to her proper residence. She was led past the empty lot to the large weathered house facing the street. The ladies pushed back the wobbly gate, crossed the tidy yard, and mounted the porch, calling out, “Molly! Molly, she’s here.”
A plump woman in a dull dress of indeterminate color pushed open the screen door and smiled a warm, gap-toothed grin. “Bless us. She is at that.” She wiped her hands on her apron and reached out to take Beth’s hand. “Welcome, dearie. We’re so glad ya come.”
“She ain’t got no bags” was bluntly repeated for Molly’s benefit. “Somebody musta took off wit’ ’em.”
Molly looked from one to another, then shook her head. “No bags, eh? Well, that’s a shame.” And immediately she added sagely, “No sense cryin’ over spilled milk. We’ll jest have to make do.”
Beth timidly stepped into the foyer and was passed on to Molly’s care. The other women turned and walked away in singles and pairs. Molly, like a practiced sergeant commanding the troops, motioned toward two teenagers hovering in a doorway nearby.
“Teddy Boy, go see that the pink room is unlocked, and open a window so it airs.” The boy rushed past and up the stairs. Molly cast a quick glance over Beth and then to the girl. “Marnie, go see Sarah and Miss Kate. Ask if they’ve some duds to borrow to the new schoolmarm. Tell ’em she ain’t got nothin’ ’cept the clothes on her back.” Then she called after the girl as she whisked out, the screen door banging behind her, “And see Miss Charlotte too. Now she’s in the family way she’s laid aside most’a what she’s got.”
Without waiting further, Molly started down the hall toward the back of her house. “Come with me, dearie. I’m fixin’ pickles that need tendin’, but we can jaw awhile till the kids get back.”
Beth trailed behind and seated herself on a chair at a small table not far from where Molly was working. The room was scantily outfitted but neatly kept. A wood-burning stove stood against the back wall. Next was a small box half filled with wood, along with an oddly shaped bin of black coal beside an exterior door. There were two large pots and a kettle on the stove at which Molly stood. Along the far wall was a long, roughly built table with several crowded shelves fixed to the wall above and wooden bins tucked carefully beneath. A small doorway beside the table was half covered by a curtain, shielding an unlit pantry. On the third wall to Beth’s right were a dry sink with a large metal basin and two pails of water waiting beside it, and finally the icebox. Though a remote location, Beth had not considered that homes here might not have plumbing or electricity. How difficult life must be here in this place, she marveled.
As Beth watched, the practiced hands scrubbed and measured, salted and stirred, her conversation never slacking. “We ain’t got much here, dearie, but we know how to care for our own. And now yer among us, yer ours. I hear yer from the East, Miss Thatcher.”
“Oh please, I’m Beth. I hope you will call me Beth.” The room was warm and steamy, and she wiped at the sweat already rising on her brow. “Yes, my family lives in Toronto, but I do have family out here too. I have a relative who teaches in the North.”
Molly set a glass of water on the table in front of Beth, and she reached for it eagerly. How nice a cold drink will be.
“My Bertram—God rest his soul—worked in Ottawa a short while,” Molly explained as she re
turned to the stove. “He drove a taxicab—not a fancy new one, though, a good ol’ horse-drawn number. But he weren’t cut out for all that city nonsense. He come from country folk, and so he left to find a more suitable place. Went west to the prairie and tried his hand at farming. But we ended here.” She gestured to the house around them. “Bought it from ones who’d planned it for a fancy hotel. Got it real cheap ’cause the rails they thought would carry in rich folks came only for coal instead.” She chuckled at her good fortune and then added matter-of-factly, “But Bertram died and left me here alone.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Using tongs, Molly pulled the last of the sterilized jars from the large pot, turning the steaming glass out onto a towel to let the water drain. “Don’t help none bein’ sorry. It’s jes’ the way life is sometimes.” She hoisted the bubbling pot from the stove and kicked open the back door before Beth could rise to help, still chatting as she moved. “Bertram, he says to me, ‘Molly dear, I ain’t got much in life, but this old house will keep you when I’m gone.’ I laughed and tol’ him, ‘No, sir, it’s me who keeps this house.’” She tossed the contents of the pot into the yard. The door slammed shut again before the water hit the ground. “But he was right, my Bertram was. Somehow we do get by.”
“Do you have family?”
“Ah, well, yes and no. We ain’t got kids. But that’s not to say I ain’t got kin. Got good folk here, hardworkin’ solid souls that suit me just as much as blood family.” Then she sighed. “Leastwise, we still got some.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“Oh, that ol’ mine—it’s stole ’em away from us. Weren’t enough to only work ’em nigh to death—the whole thing fell in one day and buried most all our menfolk.”
Beth’s eyes widened at the horror of the story, and she held her breath as she grappled with the truth of their tragic loss.