by Janette Oke
Just then the young boy came down the steps and informed Molly shyly, “Room’s ready, Miss Molly.”
Beth smiled in his direction and watched him turn to leave. Molly sighed after him, “That’s when Teddy Boy and Marnie lost their daddy—their momma’d already been gone awhile. They come to live with me instead. Were hardly a family in these parts didn’t lose a man. And some of ’em lost sons as well.”
“You mean, all these women—they’re widows?” Beth felt a shudder go through her body. She could not conceive of such a dreadful situation. She saw again the faces gathered round her in the pool hall. Somehow knowing their plight transformed the image of them in her mind.
“Almost all—only a handful of their men still livin’. And then there’s Helen’s man—still claims he runs their place even though we don’t see much of him. Keeps hisself to the woods mostly. Doin’ what—who knows. Plus there’s still the mayor an’ his wife, and Toby Coulter runs the store with his wife, and all the big company men—though they’re always comin’ and goin’ every few days—keepin’ their own families in the city and well away from here. Was jes’ the minin’ folk bore the brunt of it all.”
Beth watched as Molly stuffed small cucumbers into the scalded jars. “They brung in more men, soon enough—though it took ’em a while to dig out the mine from under. Single fellas this time—and foreigns. Didn’t wanna bother with no more families. Got more’n enough of them to worry about already.”
“How do these women, the widows, provide for themselves?”
“Pensions—small ones. And livin’ in the company houses. That’ll keep ’em for a while. Most of ’em don’t know what to do when that runs out.”
“And the children?”
Molly paused, jar and spoon hovering over the pot, to contemplate her answer. “Don’t none of us want ’em minin’—that’s for certain. So I guess this is where you come in.” She put down her utensils and lumbered over to lower herself onto a chair. She reached across the table to take Beth’s hands. “Me an’ Frances been talkin’ about this. A lot. Them mines took her man, Lachlan, and her grown son, Peter, too. Nigh broke her heart in two. Had he been schooled, who knows what else might’a been. So we can’t let the mines get the rest, Miss Beth. We gotta find a way to give ’em more. Can you help us do that, ya think?”
Beth squeezed the damp, calloused hands. “Education can open many doors. I do believe that, Miss Molly. I assure you that I shall do my very best in my year here.”
“I know you will.” The matter was decided, and Molly returned to her pickles, waving off Beth’s offer to help. She saw the woman hastily wiping away a tear on the corner of her apron.
Once Marnie returned with a box of clothing items she had managed to gather, Molly sent Beth upstairs to find her room and to see if any of the clothes would fit. Cautiously opening the door, she peered around it. The room was simple—a bed with a pink quilt, a bedside table, a dresser, a washstand, and a row of hooks in place of a closet. Beth reached for the switch to turn on the light and found there was none. Her eyes rose to the empty ceiling and saw with new shock that there was no light other than three oil lamps placed in strategic positions around the room. She placed the box of clothing on the bed and began somewhat apprehensively to rummage through it.
She found simple homemade garments, but Beth quickly understood they represented both sacrifice and skill from women who had little. She slipped out of her traveling clothes and into a plain brown skirt and floral blouse. The fabric was rough and well worn, by far the simplest outfit she had ever donned. The skirt hem did not even cover her calves. Though comparable to the dress lengths that the latest fashion dictated, Beth felt terribly exposed. For the first time, she was grateful that she was shorter than most other women and tried not to think about how much of her legs were showing.
She hung the other garments from the hooks behind the door and tucked the borrowed underclothes away in an empty dresser drawer, happy that a simple shift would serve as nightwear. She steeled her resolve against the mortification she was feeling. As soon as Mother’s shipment arrived, she would return the items to their owners. Until that time, she would care for them well, wear them with gratitude.
Her next thought was to look for the privy, and she winced as she realized it would likely be found in the backyard. Slipping down the stairs, out the front door, and around the side of the house so she wouldn’t draw undue attention, Beth found the small structure. “One year,” she whispered to herself, “just one year.” Even as she spoke, she wondered if she would have consented to come had she realized the extent of the primitive living conditions.
Upon returning to her room, Beth poured water from the washstand pitcher into the waiting bowl and dipped her hands. The water was cold, the soap bar heavy and smelling of lye. She grimaced as she braced herself for a further adjustment. After drying her hands on the rough towel hanging on the nearby peg, she found paper and pencil in her handbag, seated herself on the bed, rested her back against the headboard, and dutifully began the first of her promised letters home.
It was impossible to claim that things had been going well. She did omit mentioning the incident while changing trains in which she had gotten rain-soaked and nearly missed her connection. It seemed unnecessary to burden Mother with those details—even though the omission made her feel uncomfortable. She tried to convince herself that her intention was to retain Mother’s peace of mind. There were so many obvious difficulties which would have to be addressed. Beth struggled through an explanation of the lost trunks, though she knew her father would have provided a brief version of the whole sorry incident.
A soft knock roused her. At Beth’s invitation, Marnie peeked around the door. “Miss Thatcher, Miss Molly says supper’s on.”
The meal at Molly’s turned out to be a lively affair. Two company men were also boarding there, and two more joined them only for meals. Molly had explained that she never knew from one week to the next how many boarders she might have. Molly and young Marnie did not sit with the men at the table but kept busy filling and refilling serving dishes, pouring coffee, and gathering empty plates. Their hostess would not allow Beth to help. “No, dearie, yer a paying guest—same’s the men,” she insisted.
Beth had taken the seat to which one of the visiting gentlemen had gestured, and she pulled the too-short skirt over her legs and tucked her feet beneath the chair, hoping she was the only one in the room aware of her exposed calves.
Teddy spoke very little, which meant Beth became the focus of attention. Where was she from? asked the first man, the one with the glasses. How long would she stay? he wondered. How much experience did she have teaching? came from one of those who joined the group only for meals. And what was happening back east? was voiced by several, almost at the same time.
“Oh, how I’d like to see a ballgame again. I miss everything about it!” declared the small man with glasses and a long nose.
“They have a league near Calgary, north of here, Walter. I’ve seen some games there.”
“Yeah, but they don’t have those grand stadiums out here in the West. I want the thrill of the crowds. The sound of thousands of people cheering so loud you can scarce hear the crack of the bat.” Walter gestured broadly as if tracing the path of the ball as it sailed across the fence.
“I saw Babe Ruth play once,” announced a third man, barrel-chested and loud.
“G’wan wit’ ya, Henry!”
“I did! He hit a homer—first one ever as a pro ball player. Right here in Canada.”
“You’re a liar. His first homer was in New York,” the last of the men interjected.
“No, sir! ’Twas on Toronto Island.”
“Aw, not a chance!” The interchange was becoming heated.
The small man pushed his glasses farther up on his nose and turned to Beth. “You seen any ballgames, miss?”
Beth blushed and the room grew quiet. “My father felt it was not a suitable place for a young lady.�
��
“What’d you do for pleasure, then?” he rejoined, looking startled.
“Well, we enjoyed the symphony, museums, and sometimes theater. We periodically attended lectures as well—but mostly I enjoy reading.” As she spoke of the fine things she had left behind, the reminder brought a cloud of nostalgia.
“Reading? Well, that’s not very friendly.” Walter grinned toward the others. Beth smiled weakly and let the conversation proceed without her.
As soon as the meal had ended and she could move unnoticed, she slipped out the door and fled into the kitchen. “Please, Miss Molly, I’d really rather help in here.”
“Then help you may,” said the woman and tossed a dish towel toward Beth, pointing at the stack of dishes already washed and waiting to be dried and put away. Beth sighed in relief.
CHAPTER
8
BETH WOKE AT THE SOUND of a thump in the hallway, followed by footsteps moving away from her door. She crept from her bed and quietly drew the door open. There before her was a pail of fresh water, presumably so she could wash before dressing. She peered into the hallway in time to see Teddy setting another bucket outside one of the doors farther down the hall. She lifted the bucket inside and closed the door again softly.
There was a room for bathing off the kitchen, with an oversized galvanized tub, but Beth was doubtful she would often have the courage to request that it be filled for her benefit, considering how many buckets it would take. Instead, she washed up as thoroughly as she could, already hearing the sounds of machinery in the distance. She wondered how soon she would be able to tune out the incessant mine noise. Dressing again in the borrowed clothing, she sat on the bedside and silently recited a favorite Psalm and prayed. Another item I’m going to miss is my Bible. How many further items would come to mind during the next days . . . weeks? She shook her head and hurried down to the kitchen.
Molly was just beginning to fix breakfast, and Beth alternated between trying to help with preparations and avoiding getting in the heavyset woman’s path. After hearing Molly huff more than once as they attempted to work around each other, Beth determined she would be less of an obstacle when setting the table in the dining room. It seemed a happy compromise until Molly entered with a heaping dish and placed it in the center.
She looked around the table. “How come you got so many forks?”
Beth blinked. “It’s only two for each. I thought we needed one for the fruit and one for the eggs and bacon—”
“Only got one mouth,” Molly tossed over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen. “Take them extras off. Saves washin’ up.”
As Beth picked up the superfluous tableware and replaced it in its drawer in the sideboard, Molly brought in the plate of fruit. “And why’s there jes’ five plates?” she asked, hands on hips as she surveyed the settings. “Where’s yours?”
“I thought I’d help in there.” Beth gestured toward the kitchen.
“You gotta eat.”
Beth lifted pleading eyes to Molly. “I’d rather not have to be the only . . . only female eating with the men.”
The older woman paused, cast a thoughtful look toward Beth, and reached over to cup her face in work-hardened hands. The intensity held Beth fast as Molly said, “Those men are your kinda folk, dearie. Now, I’m not sayin’ you rich folk’re all the same—any more than all us poor. And maybe I’m selfish to ask—but if you could jes’ make friends with them, jes’ maybe you could help them understand our needs. Maybe you could speak to them sometimes on our behalf. Lord knows, they be too high-an’-mighty to hear what the likes of us has got to say.”
Beth wanted to please her hostess. She wished it were not so difficult—If only Julie could be here . . . But Julie was not, and making conversation did not come naturally to her.
In the end she submitted to Molly’s bidding and joined the company men in the dining room, doing her best to present a charming and clever façade. Molly smiled encouragingly toward Beth each time the woman crossed through the room.
Once breakfast had ended and dishes were done, Marnie walked with Beth over to the pool hall. She wanted to assess what preparations could be made for school. Her first task was to throw open the windows to let in fresh air. Marnie quickly caught on and helped open up the room. Beth feared the mustiness and stale smell from years of tobacco smoke would give her a headache.
With sunlight and a breeze filtering through the room, she turned and studied her surroundings. She quickly noted, however, that the open windows also increased the sound of the mine equipment grinding away in the distance, along with the periodic screech of engine brakes and sundry other sounds of the community. Beth hoped the students had grown so accustomed to it all that the noise would not be a distraction, for she was altogether unwilling to close it all up again. She found herself whispering once more, “It’s only for one year.” Yet Beth worried that it would prove to be a very long year.
True to her promise, Frances had made sure the blackboard was hung from hooks in front of the now-empty liquor cabinet. Beth wondered if she should laugh or despair at the thought of teaching before such a testimonial to intemperance. What would Mother’s ladies group have to say about this? Beth determined she would include this interesting tidbit in her next letter. After all, she had no way to change the situation and there must be something she was willing to share honestly.
Beth decided it was best to pretend the cabinet was simply an ordinary cupboard. There was nothing to be gained by making an issue of it. She only hoped the tavern did not store liquor elsewhere. She had heard that some of the company men frequented the establishment in the evenings. Surely there will be no temperance laws broken in the very room in which we hold school! But maybe that was naïve.
The round oak dining tables would make for awkward desks, but there appeared to be no alternative. And having no idea how many students would be enrolled or the span of ages, Beth tried to prepare herself for all possibilities. Then it occurred to her that the quiet young girl sitting on the bench near the door might be a source of some information.
“Marnie, how many students attended your last school?” she asked in her most pleasant teacher’s voice.
“Don’t know, Miss Thatcher.”
“You don’t remember?” Beth drew closer in order to better see the girl’s face.
“No, miss. Don’t know. Me and Teddy Boy, we didn’t go to school.”
“You didn’t attend? Why not, Marnie?”
She shrugged self-consciously, turning her face away. “Our daddy, well, he didn’t make us. Said it wasn’t gonna help us none.”
Beth sank down next to Marnie on the bench where the girl sat picking at her fingernails.
“Your father didn’t believe in education?”
“Guess not. Not for us, anyhow.” She hurried to explain, “’Cause we’re a minin’ town. Don’t need to spell to work the mines.”
Beth held her breath. She would not say anything against the father that Marnie so recently lost, and yet she must elevate Marnie’s view of herself and her right to schooling. Beth leaned a little closer. “Will you come to my school, Marnie?”
A slow smile broke out across the girl’s face. “Can I? You mean I ain’t too old? I’m thirteen, ya know.”
“It would be awfully nice to already have a friend among my students. And since you’re an older one, you can help me a lot, I know.”
“Yes,” she whispered guardedly. “Yes, I’ll come. That is, if Miss Molly lets me, I will.”
“Oh,” Beth said with a grin, “I suspect she’ll allow it.”
Though Beth had spent much of the previous day preparing plans for how she would begin and what she would teach, the school day opened in some commotion. Several of the mothers had arrived on time with their children in tow, but it was immediately clear that the youngsters had been brought against their will. The building itself, even in so tiny a village, was unfamiliar—had been strictly off-limits before today. Some of t
he smaller children were crying and clinging, and their mothers lingered with them near the back of the room.
Beth stood at the front of the classroom, looking helplessly around, and then saw Molly appear in the doorway along with Frances. Beth had never been so relieved to see someone. If ever she’d felt the need for assistance and counsel, now was the time.
The two nodded greetings to the women gathered at the back, then crossed the room to Beth. “Havin’ a bit of trouble gettin’ things settled down?” Molly whispered.
“Can I talk with you a minute?” Beth whispered back.
Molly merely nodded and placed a hand behind Beth’s arm to lead her aside. “What’s the matter, dearie?”
“Well, I’m not sure how to begin the school day. Back home, we—they always begin the morning lessons with a salute to the flag and the Lord’s Prayer.”
“Yes?”
“Well, for one thing—we don’t have a flag.”
Molly winked. “We can work on that. For now, just have ’em practice.”
Beth cleared her throat. “And then—I was wondering, is the prayer—well, is it appropriate here?”
Beth couldn’t read all the emotions that flashed through Molly’s eyes. When the woman found words they were firm. “We ain’t aimin’ to raise us up any heathens, dearie.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know ya ain’t familiar with our ways,” Molly said gently. “You get out there an’ get ’em started. Some of them kids will already know the Lord’s Prayer, and they may as well learn yer pledge too. That’s jest part of bein’ civilized. Go on now.” Beth felt a pat of encouragement on her shoulder as she returned to her place at the front of the improvised classroom.
Molly and Frances stood on one side, looking over the group, and their presence seemed to signal quiet and respect.
“I am Miss Thatcher,” Beth began, turning to print her name on the blackboard. “Please stand beside a seat at the tables here,” she said, gesturing along with her instruction. “We’ll begin our day with the Lord’s Prayer. If you don’t already know it, you’ll soon learn the words,” she told them. It looked like the children had grouped themselves rather naturally by age.