[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (13 page)

Again I ate, cleared away and cleaned up, all without using
up very many minutes out of the lengthy day.

In the afternoon I read more about Nehemiah and spent
time in prayer. I missed, more than I had ever thought possible, our church back home. I thought, too, of Jon and Mary and the family in Calgary and the Sundays that I had enjoyed
worshiping with them in their small church. I should have
thought to ask the Petersons if there was a church nearby
where I might meet on Sundays with other believers. I
couldn't imagine living, Sunday after Sunday, without an opportunity for worship and fellowship. How dry the endless
days would become with no Sunday service to revive and refresh one's spirit!

I was sorely tempted to find some excuse to journey over to
the Petersons, but my Eastern reserve and mother-taught
manners held me in check. I had not been invited; one did not
impose upon others.

I tried to read; I took short, unsatisfactory walks; I fixed
afternoon tea; and all the time I ached with loneliness, and the
day dragged on.

About six-thirty I heard voices. It was Lars and Else. I
don't recall ever being happier about seeing visitors. I fairly
ran to meet them! They must have seen my eagerness, but
Else held back as Lars walked with me to my door.

"Lars," she whispered, " 'member."

"Yah," he answered, but kept on walking.

"But Mama said," Else persisted.

"It's okay," Lars said, seeming a little exasperated.

"What is it"' I asked.

"Mama said not to bot'er you."

"She said, if Miss T'atcher vas busy or didn't want company,' " Lars informed Else. "She's not busy." He turned to
me quickly, "Are ya?"

"Oh, no." I hurried to assure them, lest they get away from
me. "And I'd really like some company."

I sat down on my step, and they joined me. It had been
such a lonely day.

"I'm not used to a Sunday all alone, nor am I used to a
Sunday without going to church. Is there any church around
here?"

"Nope-not yet," said Lars. "Mama vould sure like vun.
but dere are only two Lut'ran families-not 'nough fer a
church."

"Ve have church," Else corrected her brother in great
astonishment.

"Not in a church," Lars replied.

"Still, church," she insisted.

"Where?" I asked, excited about any kind of service.

"In the school," Else said.

I was confused.

"But I've been here all day-no one came."

"I know," Lars said. "Mr. Laverly said dat ve vouldn't haf
it today. He said dat da new teacher might not be happy wid
us all meetin' here, messin' up t'ings. Ve'd yust haf to vait an'
see.

"So that's it," I said, thankful that I wouldn't have to put
in another Sunday like this one. "I will speak to Mr. Laverly,
and we'll have church as usual next Sunday."

Else's eyes lit up, and I could tell that she, too, had missed
church that day. Lars didn't appear to care too much one way
or the other.

"Ma says, `Ya need anyt'ing?'

"No-no-nothing. You hauled such a good wood supply that I still have plenty. The days are nice and warm, and
I let the fire go out as soon as I have finished cooking my
food."

"An' vater?"

"It's good for me to haul my own water. I just finished getting a bucket."

I glanced down at my hands. My scratches were healing
nicely, but already my hands had lost their well-cared-for
look. I wasn't unduly upset by it, but I wasn't especially
pleased with the new look either. Julie would laugh, or cry out
in alarm, if she could see my hands now. I smiled.

Looking back at Lars, I suddenly thought of Matthew. How
good it would be to have him here with me! For some reason,
which I couldn't put my finger on, I decided that this land
would be good for my young brother Matthew also.

Else's quiet question brought my mind back to my visitors.

"Did ya get da books?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Yes-yes, I did. Mr. Laverly came right over after you saw him on Friday, Lars. I must thank you for going over so
promptly."

Lars flushed slightly at my thanks, so I hurried on. "We
went to Lacombe in the wagon and got all of my things. I've
unpacked everything and organized both the schoolroom and
my house. Do you want to see them?"

I could tell by Else's eyes that she did, so I led the way.

The house was certainly nothing fancy. I had brought very
little with me in the way of furnishings-a few pictures of my
family, a spread for my bed, a soft rug, a few favorite ornaments, some dresser scarves and small pillows: but they managed to give my little home a feeling of warmth. It was plain to
see that Else was impressed. Even Lars seemed to notice the
difference.

"It's nice," he said.

I saw Else's eyes skim over everything, then rest on my
china teapot and cups and saucers. I knew at once who would
be the first person that I would invite for a cup of tea-though
she was but six years old. She could drink milk from the cup if
she preferred.

Even as Else's eyes assured me that she appreciated my
little house, they also declared that something was missing. At
length she gave voice to her concern.

"Is dat all da books`'" She pointed at my Bible and the
book of poetry with which I had attempted to fill my day.

"Oh, no. I have no bookshelves you see, so I had to leave
my books in the trunk."

I raised the lid of one of rnv trunks to show her the volumes
that had become my good friends over the years. Her eyes caressed them.

"Maybe you'd like to see the school. I took the books for
classroom use over there."

They both flashed excited glances at each other. so together we walked to the school.

If I had been in doubt about teaching in a one-room classroom with students who had never had any formal learning, I
would have lost all such doubts after seeing their response to
their first look at the school.

First they stopped and stared, their eyes traveling over everything. Lars began to softly name the letters on the alphabet
chart, while Else migrated toward the meager stacks of primers and books on the two small shelves at the front of the room.
I went with her and lifted a book from the others.

"Here, try this one," I encouraged her. "You may look at
the pictures if you'd like."

She took the book, crossed to a desk and sat down. She
gently turned each page, missing nothing as her eyes eagerly
drank in the pictures and her mind sought for the words on the
printed pages.

Time passed quickly. Before we had realized it, the sun
was crawling into bed. Lars, who had also chosen a book and
retreated to a desk, looked up in unbelief.

"Ve gotta go," he said quickly. "Mama vill vorry. Come,
Else."

Reluctantly Else handed me the book.

"Why don't you take it home with you and show it to Olga
and Peter? I'm sure that they would like to see it, too. You
may bring it back in the morning."

She hesitated, wondering if she was worthy of being entrusted with such a treasure.

"Go ahead," I said. "Lars may take his, too."

They ran off then. now eager to get home for more than one
reason. I walked slowly back to the teacherage.

I felt contented now. I was sure that in the evening hours I
would be able to enjoy Wordsworth, Longfellow, or Keats. Perhaps my heart wouldn't even skip a beat tonight at the howling of the coyotes. I sat warm and comfortable in my lumpy
chair and sipped tea from my china cup. I knew that tomorrow
held great promise.

I was up with the birds on Monday morning. I was far too
excited to sleep. I had always enjoyed teaching, but never before had it affected me in quite this way; the eagerness of the
people in the area had rubbed off on me.

The bell was to be rung at nine o'clock. I felt that I had already lived two full days that morning before nine o'clock
arrived.

Dressing carefully, I did my hair in the most becoming way
that I knew. It really was too fussy for the classroom, but I
couldn't reason myself out of it. I tried to eat my breakfast but
didn't feel at all hungry, so I finally gave up and cleaned up
my kitchen area.

I left early for the classroom and dusted and polished, rearranged and prepared, and still the hands on the clock had
hardly moved.

The first students arrived at twenty to nine. Cindy and
Sally Blake were accompanied by their mother and father.
Mr. Blake was a quiet man-but every family can use one
quiet member, I decided. Mrs. Blake was chattering before she
even climbed down from the wagon, and didn't actually cease
until the schoolroom door closed upon her departing figure.

The Clarks came together-seven of them. It took me a few
moments to sort them all out, and the harder I tried the more
confused I became. It helped when I learned that there were
two families involved, cousins-three from one family and
four from the other.

Mrs. Dickerson brought her small son in by the hand. I
think she had hoped he would be shy and reluctant to leave
her side, but his face brightened at the first glimpse of his
school.

Others came too quickly for me to learn each name as they
entered. I would have to wait until the bell rang and the students had taken their places--and their parents had returned
home.

I smiled at the Peterson children. Else and Lars presented
me with carefully wrapped packages. Their mother wanted
the precious books to be returned safely without soil, so she
had wrapped them in brown paper and tied them securely
with string.

The morning was spent in organizing a roll call and trying
to determine the grade level of each student. Even the older
ones had previously had very little opportunity to learn, so it
was going to be "back to basics" for the first few weeks of my
teaching. I prayed that I would be able to present the simple
lessons in a manner that would not offend the older students.
It was difficult to include a girl of fourteen with a row of sixyear-olds for a lesson on the alphabet or the phonic sounds
without making her feel embarrassed, but I'd need to devise a
way to do it.

Not all of the students were eager to attend school. I picked
out three who, for one reason or another, seemed to prefer going their own way on this lovely fall morning.

Sally Clark seemed rather absent-minded and uncaring.
She was fifteen and probably reasoned that if she had managed thus far without school, why bother now? Besides, she
would likely marry in a few years, and she could already bake
bread, make quilts and care for babies. Time spent in a classroom with a lot of little children seemed like a total waste of
time.

Eight-year-old Andy Pastachuck may have wanted to
learn, but it was clear that he wasn't capable of learning very
much. I was told that Andy had been kicked by a horse when
he was three years old. The side of his head bore a rugged, vicious scar, and I concluded that Andy's little mind bore a scar as well. I determined that I would do all that I could for him.
With his older sister, Teresa, I longed to find some way to protect him from the cruel, angry world.

David Dickerson had no problem with ability. He was
wiry, witty, and had a constant, seemingly uncontrollable energy. He wished to be at all places and involved in all things at
once, and found it most difficult to sit still long enough for a
fact to catch up to him. This six-year-old thrived on ideas
rather than information and jumped quickly from one to another. If I can ever corral all that energy and steer it in the
right direction, I thought, I'll have an exceptionally capable
student. In the meantime, David seemed to wish to be in the
wheatfield, the playground, on his pony, up a pine tree-anywhere but quietly seated at a desk in the classroom. Still, he
did have a hunger for knowledge, and I was sure that if I could
only get him to sit still long enough, he would learn quickly.

By the end of our first day spent together, I had been able
to introduce my pupils to the open door of learning: but I knew
that many difficult days lay ahead before I would be able to
sort them into legitimate classes. Certainly I couldn't divide
them by age. I would have to wait and discover their learning
abilities.

I went home from my first day in the classroom excited and
exhausted. Every student I had-and there were nineteenneeded individual tutoring. Would I be able to handle it?
Where would the time come from? How long before some of
them could work on their own?

It seemed that my only recourse was to prepare individual
assignments, both after school at night and before school each
morning. Then each member of the class would have something to work on as I took time with the individual lessons.

I sighed deeply at the awesome task that lay ahead of me.
Reminding myself that it was a challenge but not an impossibility, I squared my shoulders as I entered the teacherage
door.

I brewed some tea and carried the teapot and my china cup
to my chair and sat down. Poking at some of the chair stuffing
to make it fit me better, I decided I should get some sort of footstool so that I could put my feet up for a few minutes at the
end of the day. I recalled seeing a small wooden crate in the
storage shed. Surely I could find enough pieces of material in
my sewing basket to cover it. I planned that it would be my
next Saturday's project.

As I relaxed in my big chair and sipped the hot tea, I
thought about each student and how best I could teach him.
As soon as I had drained my cup, I began preparing some simple assignments. I worked well into the late evening by the
wavering light of the lamp. Tonight even the howling of the
coyotes failed to distract me.

The week was a busy one. I arose early each morning to
write assignments on the blackboard and to add last-minute
ideas to the lessons that I had prepared on paper. The day was
given entirely to the students. Already some of them were beginning to show abilities in one area or another. A small group
was slowly emerging who would be able to take a forward step
in arithmetic. Another group was ready to go on in the second
primer. Two students showed real promise in art and three
had musical ability.