[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm (5 page)

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Authors: Janette Oke

BOOK: [Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm
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“Why don’t you two take Teeko for a walk?” suggested Wynn.
The gifts had been opened, the clutter cleared away, and the traditional Delaney Christmas breakfast of poached egg on toast had disappeared. From the kitchen came the aroma of the roasting turkey. Already the blueberry pie had been lifted from the oven, but it would be some time yet before they sat down again to the table.
Henry stretched long arms above his tall frame. “It would be good to work out a few kinks,” he agreed. Christine hung up the dish towel. “Only if Mom promises to take a break while we’re gone.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “I promise. I was looking for an excuse for a second cup of coffee.”
“What about it, big guy?” Henry asked the yawning dog. “Are you up for a tramp through the woods?”
The dog responded only with a thump of his tail, his recognition of having been spoken to. Henry then changed to “Teeko. Walk?” At once Teeko was on his feet, his whole body shivering in anticipation as he headed for the door that led them outside.
“Guess he’s willing,” noted Henry.
“He’s always willing,” laughed Elizabeth. “Rain or shine. Day or night.”
It didn’t take them long to gather coats and mittens, and soon the house was quiet again. Elizabeth poured two cups of coffee and joined Wynn before the fire. She sipped quietly for a moment before she turned to her husband. “So ... which one of our children should we be most concerned about?”
Wynn looked over at her but did not speak.
“Henry and his painful memory—or Christine with her pain of empathy?” she continued.
“I guess we didn’t raise them to be insensitive,” replied Wynn slowly. “But they do seem to be taking on others’ burdens with perhaps too much intensity.”
Elizabeth put down her cup. “It’s hard,” she mused. “So hard—in life—to arrive at that proper balance.” She was thoughtful for a few moments before saying, “I do hope that Christine’s compassion doesn’t blind her to other things.”
“You see the possibility of something more?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Sometimes the ‘something more’ sneaks up on one.”
“You don’t want her falling for this young man.”
“No. No, I don’t. I will be honest about it. It sounds risky to me. She knows the importance of a shared faith with the man she learns to love. His ... his unawareness of spiritual things, of God, frightens me. But Christine knows all that. She knows about love. Respect. Goodness. She’ll know better than to get involved—unless he changes. But—even then ...” Her voice drifted to a halt before picking up the thought again. “If the feeling is ... is pity because of what he didn’t have, or guilt because of what she
did
have—then no. No. I don’t want that kind of a relationship for her. She should have something much better than that.”
“Will you tell her?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t know. Perhaps. I’ll need to ... to pray about it. To feel ... led.”
He nodded.
“But our Henry—I’ve no idea how to ... to help Henry.”
“I know how he feels. At least to some extent. A sudden death is always hard. And to be the bearer of the news is heart wrenching. I’ve had to do it a number of times over the years. But never ... never to a young woman with an infant. It must have been an awful experience.”
“Do you think ... he’ll be able to get over it?”
“Do we want him to?” Wynn looked directly into Elizabeth’s eyes. When she didn’t speak, he continued, “Time will help. But the experience will change him. In some way. If it is shrugged off, thinking ‘that’s their problem,’ one becomes callous. Indifferent. If you let it stay with you, festering like an inner canker when there is nothing you can do about it, it brings cynicism. If you do what you can, accept it as part of life, but let God keep you open to others—then you grow from the experience.”
Elizabeth nodded. She had always wanted her children to grow. To mature. To get beyond the selfishness of childhood and be able to reach out to others in a world full of sorrow and tragedy. But sometimes that growth came through such pain. Her mother’s heart wished there were some other way.
“How do you think the folks are doing?” Christine asked as soon as they were a comfortable distance from the small house. Henry moved on a few steps, listening to the crunch beneath his heavy boots before answering. Like Christine, he would miss the sound of the snow underfoot if it were to be taken from him.
“Look all right to me,” he answered lightly. “You?” When she was slow in responding, he turned to look at his sister. “Okay,” she said at length. “I think Mom looks a little tired.”
“She always gets too involved in things. That’s Mom. No wonder she’s tired.”
Teeko ran ahead, barking joyously at being outside. He turned once and looked back to make sure they were still following.
“Dad said anything about his leg?”
Henry shrugged. “You know he doesn’t talk about it.” Wynn never made mention of his injured leg.
“It still makes me angry when I think of it,” Christine burst out. “He likes to shrug it off as being part of the job—but it isn’t. At least, it shouldn’t be. Just because he’s a Mountie doesn’t mean he should have to lose a leg to maintain law and order.”
“What should he have done?”
“He saw the guy had a knife—and he knew he would use it.”
“Are you saying he should have shot the fellow?”
It was Christine’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to sort it out. But it doesn’t seem right that he couldn’t protect himself. That crazed idiot would have cut him up into little pieces if he’d been able—”
“He was drunk.”
“Drunk or sober—what’s the difference? Dad still lost his leg.”
“Well ... not totally. He’s always saying how thankful he is that he still has it.”
Henry thought back to the awful day of the incident. They’d been sure they were going to lose their father. When that fear was finally put to rest, they were sure he would at least lose the leg. But that didn’t happen either. He’d been pulled from the North where he loved to work and had been given an office job instead, but he could still walk, although with a limp. They had all thanked God for that many times.
“Does he really hate being caged behind a desk instead of being out in the air and sun?” Christine wondered aloud.
Henry laughed. “Last time he talked to me he didn’t sound at all envious. Said he was getting a bit old to enjoy nights huddled in blankets in a bank of snow, or trekking forty miles behind a dog team to check on some trapper’s line.”
“I think it’s a bluff,” said Christine.
Just then Teeko managed to flush a partridge. He set off at a run, barking at the bird winging its way above his head.
“Silly old dog would chase anything,” laughed Henry. “Never knows when he’s licked.”
Christine smiled but made no comment.
“So ... this here Boyd guy,” ventured Henry, “you been out with him?”
Christine swung around to face him. “You mean—on a date?”
“Yeah.”
She shook her head vigorously. “Not me. He scares me.”
“Scares you? In what way?”
Christine quickly said, “Well ... not scares me. But ... I don’t know. He ... he sort of has a dark side. I haven’t figured it out yet.”
“Is he angry? Violent?”
“Oh no. Nothing like that. At least not that I’ve seen. ’Course I haven’t been around him much. Just a ... a closed-away feeling I get sometimes. Brooding. I don’t know.”
“Has he ... asked you for a date?”
Christine hesitated. “Not really.”
“Not really? Come on, Chrissie—yes or no.”
Christine turned away, kicking at a clump of snow-covered grass as she passed by. “No,” she said with more force than needed. “No—he has not asked me for a date.”
Henry was not to be so easily put off. “But ...” he prompted.
She turned back to him again. He’d always had a way of pulling forth her thoughts. Her feelings. But this time she seemed closed away herself as she said carefully, “I don’t know. I sort of ... sort of get the feeling that he has thought about it. That he might ... if I gave any encouragement.” She turned to walk on.
“And you haven’t given encouragement?”
“No,” she answered over her shoulder.
“Why?”
She stopped and faced him. “I’m not sure,” she said, now sounding more forthright. “I’ve thought about it. I’d love to invite him to church. I worry about his attitude. He needs fixing—and that’s for sure. But I don’t know if I’m the one—if there is anything ...” She paused, then burst out, “I wish you could meet him. You’d know what to do. There’s just something about him that ... disturbs me. But I can’t just walk away, can I? What If—?”
Henry reached out and drew her close. “I trust you, Chrissie,” he whispered softly. “If you ... if you are unsure ... then keep out of it. Stay away. Don’t let him fool you into ...” He did not complete the thought. He was sure his beloved sister understood his words and his feelings.
CHAPTER
Four
Christine had difficulty getting back into the rhythm of city life. After the joys of once again walking in snowy white fields and along frosted trails, after spending long evenings before a warming fire with a favorite book and the peaceful security of family, she felt the city to be harsh and demanding. Trolleys clanged. Auto horns blared. Streets sloshed with muck after every snowfall. Christine had to adjust to the city environment all over again.
It did help some that she now knew her workmates—though certainly in a different way than she knew her childhood friends. There were a host of acquaintances right in her own office building—women who worked at desks close enough to touch, men who entered each morning and took their places through doors down the hall—the majority of whom she would not have thought of claiming as friends. She nodded to them when she arrived at her station in the morning. She exchanged courteous words throughout the day when her duties demanded it. At the end of the day she watched them shrug into their respective coats and turn back to the streets. She did not know where their homeward steps led them—nor did she particularly care. They were simply people who occupied a little space in her environs for a few hours of her day.
But there was one girl in the office who did capture Christine’s interest as more than a casual acquaintance. They were about the same age. Though they were nothing alike in looks or temperament, Christine felt drawn to her. Jayne Easton had come from the farm. Christine felt sure Jayne was as out of her element in the city as was Christine herself. The young woman was not a plain Jane. Not by any means. In fact, her flaxen head of curls and her bright china blue eyes turned many heads for a second look. But Jayne seemed to be totally unaware of the attention she drew. She was quiet and withdrawn and seemed to be very unsure of herself. For some reason Christine could not define, she felt the need to shelter, to protect, the girl. She found herself making an effort to establish a relationship.
“How long have you been in the city?” she began as they munched their sandwiches in the lunchroom.

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