Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel by Janette Oke, Laurel Oke Logan

Beth was quite exhausted even before they managed to heave the last table back into its original position. Beth was certain she could hear quick, impatient-sounding footsteps from the living quarters above them, where she assumed the Grants must reside. That thought had made her work even more quickly. Teddy, whose help would have been a great benefit, was needed at Molly’s to chop extra wood for washday on the morrow.
    Beth silently rehearsed what she would say to Molly—how she could put into adequate words a summary of such highs and lows. And, further, what she would include in her letter written later to those at home. Though perhaps there was little that would sound like an accomplishment, she felt at least a good foundation of trust had been laid.
    As they mounted the steps of Molly’s front porch, Beth and Marnie were met with the sound of clattering lids from the kitchen. It’s suppertime, she thought with a quick glance at the watch pinned to her dress, and Marnie seemed to realize it at the same moment and rushed through the screen door toward the kitchen.
    “I’m sorry, Miss Molly,” the girl called, “I shoulda come back quicker.”
    Molly tossed more potato cubes into her pot. “I’m sure ya did yer best, child,” she answered comfortably. “But now I need ya to ready the green beans.” Marnie hastened to comply.
    Beth set the table—with the minimum of utensils—and then pulled hot rolls from the oven, spreading butter across their crusty tops. Having watched two meals prepared, she imitated what she had seen previously. Next she chipped a large piece of ice from the block in the icebox and placed it in a basin. She set to work chipping off shards small enough to fit inside the glasses and poured each with fresh water. Just as Molly set the last of the serving dishes on the table, the company men, conversing in loud voices and stamping their boots, appeared on the doorstep.
    Beth looked down at the wet splotches on her apron—even on her blouse. Her hair likely was disheveled, and there were deep wrinkles in her sleeves where she had rolled them up. She was not at all presentable—nor was she interested in sitting once again with the men. “Miss Molly,” she began, “I really can’t eat with them like this.”
    Molly frowned. “S’pose yer right, dearie. Fix yerself a plate, and you can eat in yer room. Though it would please me some if you’d come back for dessert.”
    “Thank you. I’ll try.”
    While Beth helped herself from the pots on the stove, Mollylingered next to her for a moment. “An’ how was yer day? How many did ya have?”
    Beth smiled. “Twenty-three.”
    “That’s all of ’em, leastwise. They stay all day?”
    “Yes,” Beth answered, then sighed. “I worried for a time they wouldn’t return after lunch, but when the mine whistle blew, every one of them came back.”
    “Then ya musta done somethin’ right,” Molly affirmed with a pat on Beth’s shoulder and moved back to the sink.
    This wasn’t what Beth had pictured—no describing of all the day’s details to Molly, who seemed to love conversation. But the simple encouraging statement carried more impact just because it came from such a busy, caring, and no-nonsense woman.
    That evening Beth read through the writing assignments from the older students. Several were fairly long and described hunting, nature, or some other personal interest. Beth wiped away tears as most of them referenced the collapse of the mine and the loss of their daddies. The words underscored to Beth that theirs was a community far from the end of hurting and healing. Lord, help me, please, she prayed, to know how to help them.

    The next day unfolded in much the same way. But from the opening recitation of the Lord’s Prayer to working on the last assignment of the day, lessons were less frantic and more predictable, though still a struggle. Especially without all the materials and books she had planned to have with her.
    Beth