by Janette Oke
“Thank you, darling.”
“Can ya bring it tomorrow? An’ play for all the other kids?”
Beth nodded. “Yes, I can do that.”
“Oh yeah,” Marnie added, “an’ Miss Molly said to ask you to come an’ play downstairs.”
Beth was happy to agree.
The next morning, the students were truly excited to see what their teacher produced from the strange-shaped carrier. Raising the instrument into position, she was soon playing one request after another of the hymns and songs that the children knew. She could tell that her fingers were clumsy and had lost some intonation accuracy—but she promised herself that she would devote herself again to practicing. I know I can fit it in between the other things I’m doing.
By the time the students arrived at Bible club that night, it seemed that everyone had been discussing the arrival of her violin. Several of the mothers approached her as a group, clearly with some request they had come up with between them.
“Miss Thatcher, we’re thinking you should do a Christmas concert—with the kids.”
“Yah, they never bin in one before—an’ now that they’re so used ta bein’ on stage an’ all, I think they’d do real good.”
“An’ be sure to play your violin too,” Emily’s mother added enthusiastically.
The idea for a school program had not come to Beth, but she smiled around at the little group and agreed that it had merit. Not only would this be beneficial for her students, but it would also be a way to reach out to those in the community who had not been attending church, including the company men. On the other hand, she knew what Molly would say—what with teaching and grading, Bible club, tea parties, and English lessons, she was hardly giving her body a chance to fully recover from her recent illness. However, Beth thought of the locket containing Father’s verse and renewed her determination not to allow physical weakness to come before an opportunity to do something good during the brief time she would be in their midst. She knew well enough by now how much her students would enjoy a chance to perform, this time in front of a broader audience. So Beth set to work immediately, gathering speaking parts and songs that could be joined together to make a simple program.
Upon introducing the idea during class the next day, she found the children wildly enthusiastic. Their own ideas flowed out unrestrained. This would be a chance to use the musical instruments she had brought. They could have costumes. They could have snacks. Who would be Mary? Who would be baby Jesus? David Noonan offered his baby brother, only one month old, for the job. Suddenly Beth was working hard just to keep things manageable. Preparations began immediately, using the last hour of each school day to practice and prepare. Only two weeks remained before their performance. It would be a whirlwind getting everything ready in time.
However, the children set to work with a will. This would be the first drama that would call for a simple set and basic costumes. With a little help from Grandpa Frank, they scoured the town for scrap wood, and the older boys framed up a primitive stable. Lacking proper boards to cover the whole frame, they attached rows of tree branches instead. The sides took on the look of a cabin, while the roof was formed from a lovely canopy of aromatic pine branches. Beth thrilled to see what they had accomplished with their own skill and imagination.
Teddy and Addison took the lead, organizing the ragtag crew and doing most of the heavy lifting. They seemed to relish the opportunity, and the work was nearing completion in no time. However, one evening just as the project was drawing to a close, Teddy was quieter than usual at dinner. With eyes diverted, he withdrew to his room immediately afterward. Beth cast a curious glance after him and then toward Molly. Little escaped the notice of the older woman.
“Do you think he had a fight with Addison?” Beth suggested later as she scraped the plates for washing.
Molly shook her head. “Thet pair don’t fuss much. I wonder if it ain’t that Teddy Boy’s gettin’ sick. I’ll check on him after I’m done here.”
“I can go check now,” offered Beth.
“Yeh, you go—an’ see where Marnie’s gone too. Tell her the water’s ready fer her to wash.”
Beth had just mounted the stairs when she heard whispering around the corner. Instinctively she paused.
“Ya need to tell Miss Molly—or someone.” It was Marnie’s voice, pleading. Her tone brought instant alarm to Beth.
“Don’t you say nothin’. It’ll just git us in trouble.”
“Yer in trouble now!”
“No I ain’t. Long as we keep our mouths shut no one’ll know we heard.”
“I don’t like it none.”
“Trust me. Let it pass. Maybe he’ll change his mind and . . .” His voice faded as the pair moved farther down the hall. Beth’s pulse sped up in alarm. She heard a door close.
“Marnie,” Beth called, and quickly she moved toward Teddy’s door. Marnie’s head poked out. “Molly’s ready for you to wash dishes.” The girl scooted past Beth and down the stairs.
Beth stood for a moment, considering whether or not to talk with Teddy about what she had overheard. After wrestling with it awhile, she felt it would be best to keep a watchful eye instead.
She did knock softly on his door, still open a bit. When he had pulled it wide, she asked gently, “Molly and I are wondering if you might be ill. Are you feeling well, Teddy?”
For a moment his eyes rose to meet hers. “I’m all right.”
She pressed again, “Are you sure? We’d like to help if we can.”
His face turned away. “Naw, I’m fine.”
One last time she urged, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “Well, if you change your mind, I’m always ready to listen. Molly too.”
Even as she included the troubled youth in her prayers before retiring, the single word that worried her most was he. If Beth had heard a name, perhaps she would better be able to keep vigilant.
All too quickly, the night of the performance arrived. It had been set for two weeks before Christmas, on the Saturday before their last week of school. Most of the mothers had helped with the preparations and were now buzzing around the stage, setting out props in their appropriate places and making last-minute fixes to angel costumes. The students themselves were a mass of nerves, chattering and shoving at one another. Beth managed to herd them to their places on the first two rows of chairs and then stepped forward to introduce the event.
As she glanced around the room, she was very pleased with the turnout. All of the school families were in attendance, as well as Helen Grant from the pool hall and the Coulters from the company store. In the middle of the room several of the mine company officers were seated together. Beth spotted Frank and Philip, and just as she finished speaking, she noticed Jarrick enter quietly from the back and take a seat beside Philip. There were even more people than she had dared to hope, though she forced away her disappointment that Edward had not made a surprise appearance.
Thinking of Edward, she remembered a recital in which she had performed at the age of twelve. He had been seated in the center of the second row. When Beth had taken her position on the stage with her violin, she had been annoyed to see him there, expecting that he would make faces or cause her to lose her concentration just for the sheer enjoyment of embarrassing her. Instead, more than anyone else in the audience, he had watched with admiration and amazement as she had played. Beth could still picture his young face, the green eyes fixed on her, not a hint of movement until she had finished. And then he had stood first, applauding with vigor.
“Elizabeth,” he had said afterward with boyish enthusiasm, “I never heard anybody play like that. Bet you even made God smile.” Strange that having forgotten them for so long, the words would come back to her now.
At first all went well. Luela recited a poem almost flawlessly, followed by a song from the five youngest in their school. Then little Jonah, standing with the other shepherds, managed to recite his lines with only a little stuttering and received an encoura
ging round of applause. All was progressing smoothly, and even a little cry from the manger brought only smiles as the baby’s sister hurried to the stage to tend to her little brother.
But then Georgie Sanders faltered while trying to recite his piece, and it looked like he played up to the audience to cover his embarrassment. The laughter he received brought Anna Noonan to tears as she attempted to say her lines after him, and she promptly left the stage to seek shelter in her mother’s arms. By far the biggest blunder, however, came just as Beth finished playing the last strains of “Silent Night.” Marnie accidentally stumbled on her way across the stage, knocking the little Christmas tree to the floor. Colored balls rolled in all directions, and laughter again filled the room. Beth felt herself shrinking back in embarrassment . . . until she saw the look on Marnie’s face and quickly rushed to her aid, assuring her that they would pick everything up later.
With one final hymn, the whole evening came to a close. Beth shut her eyes in resignation. She had so badly wanted it to be special for everyone. It was such a disappointment to have failed.
To her surprise, applause erupted, loud and long and sincere, as the audience stood to their feet. All through the room smiling faces affirmed that they had in fact enjoyed the performance. Beth was astonished, yet grateful. She began to recognize through their eyes what had been accomplished. They were appreciative—not critical. It was the children themselves, rather than the quality of their performance, that had won them over—missteps and all.
Pleasant relief swept through her as she made a little speech of dismissal, wishing the audience a most blessed Christmas. Then she saw Frank slowly raise his hand. Beth was quick to publicly recognize her dear friend. “Yes—Mr. Russo, do you have something you’d like to say?” Those around him hushed, and the crowd followed suit.
He stood slowly to his feet. “I . . . I was’a wondering, Miss Beth. Do you know the song ‘O Holy Night’?”
Beth nodded.
“Could’a you—would’a you bless us with the playing, miss?”
There was a murmur of agreement, and those who had already stood to depart sank back down. Beth could feel each expectant gaze turning toward her. She felt a bit disconcerted as she again picked up the violin, checked the strings, and tucked the instrument into position.
As the first rich notes rose above the spellbound crowd, something happened deep within Beth’s soul. It was no longer simply a beautiful song—it was a message. A message straight from her heart to these villagers. But it was even more personal than that. It was a message straight from her God to her own weary soul. She closed her eyes and pictured the night of long ago, the night of “stars brightly shining,” the “night of our dear Savior’s birth.”
As Beth played, the words resounded through her mind. “Truly He taught us to love one another: His law is love and His gospel is peace.” Never had she felt so at one with a piece of music as she did at this moment. By the time she reached the swelling chorus, she played with tears running down her cheeks. “Christ is the Lord. O praise His name forever! His pow’r and glory evermore proclaim.” The music floated upward in rising, joyous thanksgiving. “His pow’r and glory evermore proclaim.”
As the last strains of the instrument echoed through the hall, there was complete silence. Even the children did not stir. Beth lowered the violin rather quickly to bend her face and conceal the raw emotion written upon it.
It was Frank who broke the spell of silence. With unashamed tears rolling down his own cheeks, he stood to his feet. “Bravo! Bravo!” he cried, clapping his good hand against the other wrist. Others quickly joined in the applause. But as she watched him, Beth saw Frank lift his eyes upward and raise his hand toward the heavens. It was God to whom he was giving praise—not to Beth and her violin. She took a deep breath and a few steps backward, thanking God for the gift of music that was able to convey the wonder of His greatest Gift to these villagers of Coal Valley.
Beth was engulfed in compliments from those who crowded around her after the performance, thanking her for the evening. But what she realized they were actually grateful for was hope. She knew that things had not really changed. Their Christmases still would be skimpy if one imagined heavily laden tables or shimmering gifts with fancy bows. But they had just proclaimed with her something far more significant. “Christ is the Lord.” What a wondrous difference that made in the lives of those who believed it. Beth silently prayed it would be so.
Gradually the families gathered into smaller groups and departed together, seeming reluctant to leave the warmth of community that hung about the room. The children in particular, who called a last good-bye to Grandpa Frank and received warm wishes or a pat on the head in return, left with smiles and reluctant steps.
As the last ones closed the door behind them, Beth took a deep breath and looked about. Everyone had pitched in to straighten the room and put things back in order, and the stage was cleared of everything but the Christmas tree and the manger. Philip had requested those items remain for the church service the next morning. There were only her own belongings to gather and carry home. Suddenly Beth felt extremely weary, and she sank into a chair.
She was startled by a movement out of the corner of her eye and quickly turned her head to see Jarrick standing in the shadows. He seemed almost shy as he approached. “That was a most enjoyable evening,” he complimented quietly.
Beth let out a deep sigh and motioned him toward a nearby chair. “Thank you. I would say at times it teetered on the brink of disaster, but I suppose it did not actually fall apart.”
He chuckled as he sat down, and Beth appreciated the warmth of his good humor. “I’ve seen worse kids’ presentations. Shucks, I’ve been the cause of much, much worse. You’ve only to ask my mother.” Beth joined in his laughter.
“But seriously,” he continued, “if it were my child who participated in the program tonight, I would be convinced that they have a wonderful teacher deeply devoted to them.”
“To him,” Beth corrected. “Or to her.”
“I . . . I’m not sure . . .”
“If your child were in the program, the teacher would be devoted to that parent’s child—singular.”
Understanding dawned on his face, and she added with a smile, “Sometimes it’s difficult to stop teaching and correcting, I suppose.”
Jarrick eyed her solemnly. “That . . . that final piece you played . . . Beth, it was—it was magnificent. It will resound through my mind over and over as I wait for Christmas, that holy night. I know it will. Thank you, Beth. I admit, I was rather dreading Christmas this year. Being so far from family and friends, I was already feeling . . . alone. I guess I was forgetting that the most important Person is always present.”
Beth nodded. “I’ve had some of the same feelings” was all she could manage in response. “I’ve been missing my family dreadfully.”
“I understand. My own family is back in Manitoba—not really the East—but still pretty far from here. I haven’t seen them for almost a year—well, last Christmas to be exact. My sister writes often, and I think the family counts on her to maintain contact.”
Beth shifted in her chair, hoping to learn more about him but wanting to be discreet. “Does your family farm there?”
“Actually, no. My granddad worked for the Hudson’s Bay Company, but my father became a preacher instead. I think my younger brothers will probably farm, though. They were hiring themselves out to neighbors when I left. I spent some time trying to convince them to come west and work for one of the big ranches out on the prairie—until I noticed the look in my mother’s eye. Then I thought I’d better leave well enough alone. Besides, Laura’s last letter said that my brother Will has quite a special ‘friend’ now—so I don’t suppose one could coax him anywhere.”
“Your mother must miss you terribly.” Beth was imagining what a void his absence would create. “Couldn’t you make the trip home this year?”
“No,” he sighed. “There�
��s just too much happening around this region right now.”
“Oh?” Beth wanted more details, but chose to rein in her curiosity.
It was Jarrick’s turn to shift in his seat. He changed the subject. “It must be a relief to get the play behind you.” His brow furrowed and he added, “You do look quite fatigued, though, Beth. Is it all right if I mention that?” He studied her. “All the responsibility you have seems to be draining you somewhat. Will you get a chance to rest now?”
Beth was usually ready with an offhand answer to evade such questions, but she found it difficult to adopt a casual demeanor in the face of his sincere, attentive expression. She sighed. “The truth is, I do need a rest. In just one more week we’ll begin Christmas break, and I’ll be able to sleep as much as I like then.”
His eyebrows lifted, but he scooped up most of her items on the chair between them and rose to his feet. “Come on,” he said. “Let me walk you home. It might be the only way I can help lighten your load.”
CHAPTER
17
MORNING CAME FAR TOO EARLY for Beth. The persistent tensions and activities of the night before and the weeks leading up to the program had managed to knot the muscles in her neck and shoulders. She found herself wishing for a hot bath, but not enough to go to the trouble of hauling water to the tiny bathing room and its galvanized tub. She managed only to lug a scant bucket of hot water up to her room. So instead of a good soak, she repeatedly dipped her washcloth in the basin, wrung it out, and draped it around her aching neck. It would have to do for now. She refused to request an aspirin of Molly, ashamed at how many tablets her ailments had already consumed. Perhaps soon the store would have some in stock, as she intended to replace them.
Philip would be conducting their service—the last before Christmas actually arrived in just under two weeks, when he was scheduled to preach at one of his other locations. Beth felt a twinge of disappointment at having to share his services on Christmas. But Molly, instead of complaining, suggested that the ladies from town meet over the holidays to pray for their sister churches.