Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel by Janette Oke, Laurel Oke Logan Page A
Authors: Janette Oke, Laurel Oke Logan
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watched the clock carefully after school so she and Marnie arrived home sooner. Molly, as expected, made no comment but appeared appreciative. For a second time, Bethbegged off eating with the men and was given reluctant permission to carry her supper up to the privacy of her room.
Setting her plate down on the dresser, she kicked off her shoes and decided to stretch out for a moment on the bed. She was utterly fatigued, but it was Friday, and she anticipated two days in which to recuperate and plan for the upcoming week. She was satisfied with what had been accomplished thus far. . . .
And before she could manage another conscious thought, Beth had drifted off to sleep, her supper turning cold across the room.
Despite Molly’s declarations that it was unnecessary, that Beth was “a payin’ guest,” she chose to join Marnie on Saturday in the expansive garden, while Molly’s skillful hands labored indoors to preserve the bounty for winter. The gardening proved far more difficult than Beth had expected, with all the bending to pull carrots, onions, and parsnips from the rich black soil. Soon she was sweating and stiff, her hands dirty and sore. What would Mother say? But the thought brought a small though victorious smile to her lips. Truth is, I’m keeping up with Marnie fairly well, she thought, glancing over at her partner. It had seemed rather ironic that morning as the two exchanged roles, the youngster explaining and showing Beth just how it should be done.
Molly’s carefully tended plot stretched up the hillside in a broad sunlit clearing behind the boarding house, guarded by a picket fence, rows of thorny berry bushes, a sagging scarecrow, and several spinning whirligigs—all meant to ward off deer and other nuisances. The dreaded outhouse stood discreetly in its own corner. Teddy was busy nearby, cleaning out thechicken coop for Molly’s small flock and chopping firewood. Next he shoveled coal from the small shed into the hod, then hefted it into the kitchen.
By evening Beth had to admit she was physically exhausted. Certainly from the work of the day, as well as emotionally wrung out from her attempts to join in the wide-ranging conversations of the mine company’s officials over supper. She was pleased to see them strike out together for the pool hall. Grateful for the quiet, she retreated to the parlor to grade a few papers and make further plans for Monday’s lessons before turning in for the night.
She rose early on Sunday but found herself for the first time with little to do. There was no permanent pastor in Coal Valley, and this was a week when the itinerant minister was busy elsewhere. Beth felt strangely restless. The town was quieter than she had yet known it to be—each family observing some sort of Sunday rest. If only . . . if only there were music somewhere. Singing, or a church organ, or a Victrola. . . . Beth’s heart ached to express itself in music—and the memory of the violin she would never play again dampened her spirits further.
She spent some time reading a borrowed Bible and sitting around Molly’s house—though she found she was not truly enjoying her leisure. The inviting cool breeze on the front porch was not enough to lure her out with the four men already relaxing in Molly’s rocking chairs. They seemed to view her as an odd but interesting diversion.
During the afternoon, Beth decided to take a stroll along the road that had brought her into the small town, and she was pleased when Marnie agreed to join her. Even with no one nearby, Beth could not successfully elicit conversation from the shy girl except for short answers to her questions. But it was pleasant to spend some quiet time together, picking fallberries growing not far from the road and walking through the speckled patches of shade.
There was little evidence of the woods attracting others until Beth noticed a faint trail heading away from the road and disappearing behind a tangle of bushes.
Setting her plate down on the dresser, she kicked off her shoes and decided to stretch out for a moment on the bed. She was utterly fatigued, but it was Friday, and she anticipated two days in which to recuperate and plan for the upcoming week. She was satisfied with what had been accomplished thus far. . . .
And before she could manage another conscious thought, Beth had drifted off to sleep, her supper turning cold across the room.
Despite Molly’s declarations that it was unnecessary, that Beth was “a payin’ guest,” she chose to join Marnie on Saturday in the expansive garden, while Molly’s skillful hands labored indoors to preserve the bounty for winter. The gardening proved far more difficult than Beth had expected, with all the bending to pull carrots, onions, and parsnips from the rich black soil. Soon she was sweating and stiff, her hands dirty and sore. What would Mother say? But the thought brought a small though victorious smile to her lips. Truth is, I’m keeping up with Marnie fairly well, she thought, glancing over at her partner. It had seemed rather ironic that morning as the two exchanged roles, the youngster explaining and showing Beth just how it should be done.
Molly’s carefully tended plot stretched up the hillside in a broad sunlit clearing behind the boarding house, guarded by a picket fence, rows of thorny berry bushes, a sagging scarecrow, and several spinning whirligigs—all meant to ward off deer and other nuisances. The dreaded outhouse stood discreetly in its own corner. Teddy was busy nearby, cleaning out thechicken coop for Molly’s small flock and chopping firewood. Next he shoveled coal from the small shed into the hod, then hefted it into the kitchen.
By evening Beth had to admit she was physically exhausted. Certainly from the work of the day, as well as emotionally wrung out from her attempts to join in the wide-ranging conversations of the mine company’s officials over supper. She was pleased to see them strike out together for the pool hall. Grateful for the quiet, she retreated to the parlor to grade a few papers and make further plans for Monday’s lessons before turning in for the night.
She rose early on Sunday but found herself for the first time with little to do. There was no permanent pastor in Coal Valley, and this was a week when the itinerant minister was busy elsewhere. Beth felt strangely restless. The town was quieter than she had yet known it to be—each family observing some sort of Sunday rest. If only . . . if only there were music somewhere. Singing, or a church organ, or a Victrola. . . . Beth’s heart ached to express itself in music—and the memory of the violin she would never play again dampened her spirits further.
She spent some time reading a borrowed Bible and sitting around Molly’s house—though she found she was not truly enjoying her leisure. The inviting cool breeze on the front porch was not enough to lure her out with the four men already relaxing in Molly’s rocking chairs. They seemed to view her as an odd but interesting diversion.
During the afternoon, Beth decided to take a stroll along the road that had brought her into the small town, and she was pleased when Marnie agreed to join her. Even with no one nearby, Beth could not successfully elicit conversation from the shy girl except for short answers to her questions. But it was pleasant to spend some quiet time together, picking fallberries growing not far from the road and walking through the speckled patches of shade.
There was little evidence of the woods attracting others until Beth noticed a faint trail heading away from the road and disappearing behind a tangle of bushes.
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