Unyielding Hope

by Janette Oke

  The car sputtered out through the front gate and chugged up to speed along the dirt road toward Main Street. She wanted to thank him, and yet she hated to encourage his more-than-generous offers. “Walter, I don’t know what we’d do without your help. We truly appreciate it. I was surprised, but . . . That is, I don’t expect . . .”

  “It’s fine, Lillian. I’m sure someone else would’a stepped up to help two lovely sisters and their crew of cute little kids. But I’m sure glad it could be me.”

  Lillian didn’t laugh. He set aside his teasing tone and changed the subject. “Can I ask you who put the cast on Lemuel? Was it a doctor?”

  “Yes, in Lethbridge.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What are you worried about? What do you think . . . ?”

  “I don’t know.” Walter seemed to hesitate. “Sometimes a bone isn’t set properly—the two sides of the break don’t fit quite tight together—and then it can’t heal right.”

  Outside the window, the trees flashed by. The first of the fall leaves littered their path. Lillian could see them scuttling along the street as the car passed over. She closed her eyes to shut out the fear that was growing. “What will they do if it was set incorrectly? Will they have to rebreak it?”

  “It doesn’t happen often. It might just be an infection or some swelling that’s causing his pain.”

  “Walter,” she said, “I’d like to pray. But would you pray with me?”

  “Of course.” As his car slowed in the narrower streets, Walter removed his hat before asking aloud for God’s mercy and protection for Lemuel. He asked for wisdom and favor in providing the help the boy needed. Lillian found she could breathe a little easier just knowing someone else had prayed. Though doubts had made prayer difficult, still her mind reached out hopefully to God once again.

  They arrived at the post office and stepped inside the reception area. Even on Sunday, the small entry area wasn’t locked. Lillian found a slip of paper and wrote out the necessary information: Dr. Shepherd’s location, her own name, the symptoms of Lemuel’s misery, and a short description of him, as concisely as possible. Is it enough? She held the page out for Walter to read.

  “I think that’s good. Do you know if his fingers were tinglin’ at all?”

  “Grace asked him that. He said no.”

  “Did you notice any swelling?”

  “It’s so hard to tell. So much of his arm is covered by that cast.”

  “True. Well, I think you’ve included everythin’ he’ll ask.”

  Walter brought Lillian home again and hurried to open her car door, then walked beside her toward the house. His assurance had a calming effect on her. “Doc Shepherd’ll be here soon, and he’s always very prompt about answerin’ notes. But I’ve been thinkin’ that it would be wise if Lemuel rested the arm as much as possible till Doc comes. And watch him for tinglin’ fingers or fever. But if there’s no fever, it should be enough just to take it slow and wait for the doc.”

  “I’ll be sure to take your advice.” She slowed her step and admitted, “It wasn’t the Sunday I had hoped to spend, quiet and restful.”

  “Kids’ll do that—bring surprises.”

  Lillian understood that concept more now than ever before. “I can’t argue. It’s certainly how things are happening these days.”

  Walter followed her up the steps. She lingered at the door.

  Taking the opportunity, he added, “They sure enjoyed the horse yesterday. Particularly that boy—Harrison, I think.”

  “Yes, I was so pleased to see his interest.” She felt her disposition brighten at the memory. Maybe horses will matter to Harrison. Maybe his interest can be a way to harness his cleverness and energy.

  Leaning back against the porch rail, Walter sighed. “Do you think you’ll find homes for them all? Has anyone approached you?”

  Lillian looked up to meet his eyes, deep and sincere. She looked for the gold flecks, but they were hardly showing in the shade of the porch roof. “We might have a family for Bryony—oh, but please don’t tell anyone. It’s far from certain.”

  His words lingered. “I wouldn’t break a confidence, Lillian. Your friendship is too important to me.”

  Something about the way he said the words made Lillian skip a breath. “You’ve been so kind. I’m afraid we’re starting to rely on you a little too much, Walter.”

  The corners of his eyes wrinkled into a smile. “I don’t mind that at all.”

  Lillian answered with a pleased expression of her own. “I’ve been wondering. How far out of town is the Gardners’ ranch? I hate to think of you driving a long way to help us—to visit.”

  “It’s seven miles due east. A long way to walk or ride a horse. But since I bought my car, I have much more freedom.”

  It’s a very long way. “What do you do at the ranch?”

  “I help Tommy work the cattle. He really is a good businessman. He’s done very well, and I’m glad to work at his place. I’m not as excited about sleepin’ in the bunkhouse, but it does make it easier to keep good relations with the other hands. I head up the crew. Someday I hope to have my own spread.” He shrugged a little. “Don’t know how long it might take me. Tommy has some American investors. I suppose I could try to go that route, but I’m not very comfortable bein’ responsible for someone else’s money.”

  “I’m not surprised to hear you’re interested in ranching. You always did enjoy the outdoors more than most. I can’t picture you working behind a desk or in a store.”

  “Not me.” He laughed. “For a while I thought about headin’ west to the Pacific Coast and tryin’ my hand at fishing. I think I’d like to see the ocean.” His hands slid into his pockets and his head dipped down. When his eyes came up again, he was looking at her sideways, a pursed smile on his face. “But I liked the company here in town enough to stay.”

  Lillian looked away, down the length of the porch and out toward the front yard. What is he implying?

  “You always struck me as an exceptional person, Lillian. It’s just . . .”

  Just what?

  “There just never seemed to be a good time to ask you if I could come callin’.”

  She froze in place, dared not look at him. “You would have asked me? That?”

  Walter’s voice lowered. “I would have liked to ask your father. But I also wanted to give you time—to care for your mother, and time to heal. And then, out of nowhere, I overheard you talkin’ with Nora and Liv at church about going away with your father. I thought I’d missed my chance.”

  “I had no idea, Walter.” Lillian’s voice was a thin whisper.

  He pushed himself up, away from the porch rail, and moved a step closer. “I don’t want to miss my chance again. Or I wouldn’t be so forward right now. I sure hope that’s not a mistake.”

  Lillian squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then turned back to face him. She was aware of how restrained her words sounded compared to his. “I think the world of you. I always have.”

  “I hoped you did. I’d like to call, then, if I may.”

  A surge of emotion. “I—I’m not certain—how it would affect Grace—and the children. We’ve only just settled in.”

  “But if they’re to have homes soon . . . I thought . . .”

  She lifted a hand, placed it gently on his jacket lapel. Was she willing him closer or pushing him away? Even Lillian wasn’t sure. “We’re going to search in earnest for homes. And now that we have Miss Tilly, Grace has some good ideas about how to accomplish that. I just can’t make any promises about how quickly it might happen. I . . .”

  He exhaled as if he were a deflating balloon. “It seems there’s always somethin’ standin’ in my way.”

  Lillian grasped the lapel of his jacket in her fingertips. “I’m sorry. I’m not saying . . . not at all . . . I’m just not sure how quickly . . . how much time . . .” She regretted the cloud that had fallen over him. Have I hurt his feelings? “I’m sorry, Walter. I’m not trying to be
difficult. I . . .”

  He nodded and his expression slowly relaxed. “Well, I’m not much of a quitter, Lillian. So I’ll keep comin’ around—so long as you don’t mind me pesterin’ you.”

  Relieved, she shook her head. “Oh goodness, you’ve done nothing of the sort.”

  A slow breath drawn in and allowed to escape again. “I’ll see you later, Lillian. I’ll be anxious to hear about Lemuel. And don’t feel bad about callin’ if a ride would be helpful. I’d like to feel useful to you.”

  “Good-bye, Walter. Really, thank you.”

  “Just glad I could help.”

  Lemuel was disappointed to miss school on Monday and Tuesday. His arm was genuinely feeling much better, but Miss Lillian and Miss Grace agreed it would be a small sacrifice to make in order to feel assured that it wouldn’t worsen again before the doctor was back in town.

  As George stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for the others to assemble for their walk to school, he muttered toward the parlor, in the direction where Lemuel was resting, “If it was me, I’d be happy to stay home from school. I got a spelling test today, an’ Mr. Jensen thinks we should remember all them words. Every one. I bet he didn’t like spelling tests neither when he was a kid.”

  “I’ll trade you places if you like, George. ’Cause having a busted arm isn’t great neither. You should be glad to go.”

  “Easy for you ta say!” The expression on the boy’s face seemed sympathetic enough despite his puerile words. And then George added, “Want me to bring yer lessons home from Miss Clark?”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Before leaving for school, Bryony slipped inside the parlor door and tiptoed across the room. She patted Lemuel’s leg and told him she wished he’d feel better soon. Miss Lillian delivered a book to him, a thick reference book with loads of new topics to peruse. He accepted it gratefully. Maybe two days laid up won’t be so terrible after all.

  On Wednesday he overheard Miss Grace accept an offer of a ride from Pastor Bukowski, who had knocked at the door. The sisters had decided that she’d be the one to ride into town for the late-morning appointment with the new doctor, and Miss Lillian would remain home in order to help Miss Tilly. It was baking day and Miss Lillian apparently enjoyed that kind of work much more than Miss Grace.

  Even as Lemuel sat in the waiting room, he was intrigued by the doctor’s office. It was simple and scantily furnished, but there was an eye chart on the wall and medical paraphernalia around the room. He used his waiting time to try to guess the purpose of each piece.

  The door to the examination room opened and a nurse appeared. “Dr. Shepherd is ready for you, Lemuel.”

  Rising slowly, protecting his sore arm, he crossed the small waiting room and entered the next area. Grace followed behind him. She stepped aside as he took a seat on the designated examination chair.

  He was surprised at first. The doctor wasn’t as he’d pictured. He was younger and far friendlier than the few society physicians he’d seen in his life. He answered the questions the doctor asked during the examination, tried to be thorough in his explanations.

  “I can’t see a reason for the pain, Lemuel. The arm seems to be healing well. But there’s obviously something going on.” Dr. Shepherd shook his head. “Not much we can do other than just remove the cast and get a better look. We don’t have the ability to do X-rays here. So it’s the only way to have a good look.” He turned to Miss Grace. “You might want to take a seat in the other room, Miss Bennett. It’s kind of a scary process to remove it.”

  Grace hesitated. “I’d like to stay with him, for support. What do you think, Lemuel?”

  How could he respond without hurting her feelings? “I’m fine, Miss Grace. You can go out.”

  She nodded. “Fine then, son. I’ll be just outside.”

  But when Dr. Shepherd produced a saw and some other tools from the closet, Lemuel shuddered. He’d never considered what they might use to remove the cast. He turned away, clamped his jaw tightly, and tried not to panic.

  The noise was ugly and fierce. As the saw passed back and forth across the hard plaster, he could feel the vibrations all the way down to his toes. And the smell was disgusting. Dust wafted in streaks through the air. At last there were enough cuts so that the long, elbow-shaped cast could open along a jagged seam and his arm could slip free. Dr. Shepherd held Lemuel’s arm gently in his hands, the skin white and crinkled, the arm weak and terribly sore. Lemuel closed his eyes while the second examination of it took place. He was unable to keep himself from groaning. His wasting muscles ached. As soon as the doctor was done, Lemuel cradled it against his body with his other arm.

  The nurse held out the tortured plaster that remained, stretched it open as wide as it would go. Dr. Shepherd reached inside with a pair of tongs. “Well, there’s the problem, young man. What’s this?” When he drew the tool out, the ends pinched around three short twig fragments. “There’s even more in there. How’d all that get into your cast?”

  Lemuel’s mouth fell open. He struggled to admit his excuse. “It got so itchy, sir. Scratching inside it with sticks helped. I wondered if sometimes a piece broke off, but I didn’t think much about it. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have been poking it, but—but honest, it was just so itchy.”

  “Well, I do understand how terribly itchy a cast can be. I broke my arm too, a long time ago. However, you should never push anything inside your cast. Good news is, it doesn’t seem you’ve done any major damage to the skin. The scratches you’ve made aren’t deep. I don’t see any evidence of infection. The bad news is that you did cause some swelling. Probably because of the angle that the sticks were wedged.” He shook his head. “But the worst news is that now we have to recast it. I’m sorry. I’ll try not to move it much while we do, but I’m afraid it’ll be sore for a while after all this.”

  Exiting the doctor’s surgery with a slightly smaller cast, Lemuel avoided Miss Grace’s questions. He hated to admit he’d been the real cause of even more trouble—more fuss.

  Once they were home, it was Miss Lillian’s questions that persisted. “But why, Lemuel? Why didn’t you tell us that it was itching? We could have done something, tried to help you.”

  Miss Grace answered for him, her eyes steady and supportive. “It’s hard, isn’t it—knowing when you’re supposed to take care of yourself and when other people will help? I understand. I do. I imagine it’s difficult enough to navigate—growing into a man—with people who’ve been your family all your life. It’s much harder when the people around you keep changing.”

  A lump rose in Lemuel’s throat. He wished he could speak his thoughts more often, could share his honest feelings. But they seemed trapped inside him most of the time. He was unable to bring them to the surface. He could only nod. She was correct. It was too hard to know.

  CHAPTER 13

  Matty and Milton

  Routine returned, much more quickly than even Lillian had dared hope. With Miss Tilly running most of the time-consuming household tasks, while the children were in school the sisters were able to spend their time working toward good placements. They decided that the first attempt should be a picnic, open to everyone in town.

  “Let people see the children playing, so they lose their fears and preconceived judgments of them.” Grace shook her head a little, clearly frustrated. “Even here, so far out west, often people have a negative opinion of children from overseas—even good, kind people. They hear stories that imply the Home Children are all thieves and ruffians, or contagious with street diseases. It’s very sad. The politics of the situation are taken out on the innocent ones themselves.”

  “I know,” admitted Lillian. “I’ve heard a few comments too.”

  “But with a picnic they can see how lovely the children are, and we can observe the townsfolk too, to see if anyone shows a particular interest. Plus, even if nothing comes of it, we’ve all had a nice day.”

  “Well, I think it’ll be an especially good w
ay to help Bryony spend some time with the Moorelands and their boys. Where do you suggest we serve people? Here? In the yard?”

  “I think so. If we went somewhere else, we’d have to haul the food. And I like the idea that people can come into the house and look around.” Grace stopped short. “Oh, Lillian, that suddenly seems so impertinent—for me to presume you want people from town tramping all over your home and yard.”

  “It’s your home too.”

  “No,” Grace corrected. “It’s your family home—your father’s. And I think it’s such an understatement to say that we’ve imposed enough.”

  Is there a hint of jealousy in the way Grace said the words? Lillian had never had the thought before. It shivered down her spine uncomfortably.

  “Let’s have our picnic by the creek instead—the place we walked to last week, with the outcropping of rocks.”

  “Good idea.” But now Lillian was thinking about Father again.

  Grace moved on, unaware. “There’s supposed to be a shipment of some kind from Lethbridge. A driver will bring it out to us on Thursday.”

  “What’re they sending?”

  “Probably clothes and maybe some dry goods from town. I had asked to have a couple yards of gingham. I want to—”

  They were interrupted by the jangle and creak of a wagon in the front yard.

  Lillian shrugged. “Must be Otto.”

  Grace continued, “Anyway, I thought I would take on a project that would give the girls a chance to practice some sewing skills as well. If we made a curtain and hung it from a broom handle, I think we could use it to create a little area beside the stove for bath night. It’s so hard to keep everyone else out of the kitchen when we have so many baths to accomplish in one evening. And that way we could still be around to keep water heating in the pot on the stove. Gingham is fairly cheap, and—”

  A knock at the front door interrupted her explanation.

  “Who . . . ?”