When Tomorrow Comes (17 page)

Her aunt Mary seemed to be almost as enthusiastic as she was. “Do you realize we have never had our two families all together at the same time? Oh, William and his family must come, they just must.”

And Mary promptly rang William in Winnipeg. Christine heard part of the conversation. “Your aunt Beth and uncle Wynn will be here, and Henry and Amber are coming too. You haven’t met Henry’s new wife yet. She’s so sweet. You haven’t been home for just ages. I’ve missed the little ones so.” She caught herself. “Oh, I’ve missed you and Violet, too, of course—but the little ones change so much in such a short time. I hate to miss all of that. Oh—bless them. Oh—that’s sweet.”

A long pause while William must have been talking.

“Yes. Yes—of course we understand. But if it works out, we’d so love to have you. Where will we put everyone? I’ve got all these extra rooms. Yes, Christine is with us. I don’t know how we would have made out without her help. Yes. I expect they will stay with us. I know. I know how many children you have. But the girls are here. They’d love to share rooms with family. Their children would be so excited to have their cousins. I know. I know it’s a busy time. But it would be such a wonderful opportunity to all be together. We never have, you know. I know, dear. Well, you do what you think is best. Give my love to Violet and the kids. Yes. Yes, you too. Bye-bye.”

Christine heard the soft click of the receiver. Her aunt reentered the room, running her hands over her skirts in nervous excitement. Her eyes were sparkling. “I think they’ll come,” she said. Christine smiled and wondered what had happened to
“You do what you think is best.”

“He says he is very busy in the office right now, but he will try to clear things so they can come. He says the kids have been begging to go to Nana’s house. Isn’t that sweet? My, I miss them.”

Later that evening William called back to say they were making plans to come. Christine had never seen her aunt Mary so animated. Mary immediately began telephoning her daughters. “They’re coming. We’ll all be here. Oh, isn’t it wonderful? It’ll be like birthdays and Christmas all rolled into one.”

One after another the calls were repeated to Sarah, Kathleen, and Lizbeth, each one with more excitement than the last. “We’ll get together and make the plans. Work out the details. We’ll have our Easter dinner here, of course. It will be so much fun to have to stretch out the table. I still haven’t sat down and counted noses. Can you come over for coffee in the morning? We’ll work it all out then.”

Christine had to agree. It would be like one large Christmas and birthday celebration.

Wynn and Elizabeth would be the first to arrive. Wynn had arranged to take a few extra days in Calgary. He had some police business to attend to in the city and could do so while Elizabeth spent more time visiting. Christine rode with Jon and Mary to meet their train.

The conversation was lively on the way home. Elizabeth had to hear all the details about the coming weekend. “It will be so good to see William, Violet, and their little ones. I haven’t seen them for ages,” she enthused.

“His little ones aren’t so little any more,” Jonathan chuckled.

“My, no,” added Mary. “Leticia is already fourteen. I can scarcely believe it. Brenda is ten and Mark is eight. And then they have the little tagalong. Paul Jonathan is only two.”

They were speaking of family members Christine had never even met. “They will be staying with Kathleen—except for Leticia. She will go to Tom and Sarah’s. Sarah’s Janet is about the same age. They write one another regularly. Janet spent a few weeks in Winnipeg last summer. Audrey doesn’t think it fair that she doesn’t have a girl cousin her age. ‘Boys aren’t much good as cousins,’ she says. William’s Mark and Kathleen’s Toby are her age, but they are a little too rowdy for Audrey. And Mitchell is always busy trying to keep up with them even though he’s only six. Of course Lizbeth’s little Andrew is still much too young to attempt keeping up with the pack. He’s not even walking yet.”

“I do so look forward to seeing them all,” Elizabeth said again.

“It’s going to be fun,” was the general consensus of everyone in the car.

It was raining when the train from the East pulled into the station. They all were gathered to meet it, young cousins dashing around excitedly calling to one another while parents tried to keep them firmly in control. Christine smiled. How did one ever harness so much exuberance? Even baby Andrew protested against being held, squirming to get down and crawl on the station floor.

At long last the whistle blew. They had to hold the children back to wait for the passengers to disembark, and then pandemonium broke out. Cousins greeted cousins with such wild excitement that Christine had to back up a few paces. She was concerned that the stationmaster might approach and ask them all to leave the premises. At length the greetings settled to a more normal level, and they busily sorted out passengers and luggage and prepared to load the vehicles for the trip back to Nana’s house. A late evening meal had been planned for all to share together. Christine wondered just how things would be once the cousins were turned loose in the house.

But it was more controlled than she imagined it would be. The cousins seemed to break up in little groups by ages and go their separate ways, leaving the adults to try to catch their breath and get to know one another again.

After a few moments, the cousins were gathered once again and the meal served. The children ate much more quickly than the adults and, because of the circumstances, were excused early and allowed to go off to play once again. Only babies Andrew and Elizabeth, in their high chairs, and young Paul Jonathan, who had fallen asleep on his father’s knee, were left.

The joyful chaos now turned into soft murmurs, punctuated by occasional laughter.

“When does Henry arrive?” William wanted to know.

“Tomorrow,” answered Elizabeth. “He has to work until four o’clock and will drive up after that. He warned us that he won’t be early. Said we should hang out the latchkey and all go to bed. I’m sure he knows better than that.”

William smiled knowingly and joked, “So no one will see them until Saturday, then?” He laughed as Elizabeth tried to explain that she would be staying up until they arrived.

“You always were a tease, William,” she said when she caught on.

“We’re planning on a late breakfast here on Saturday morning,” put in Mary. “We thought about nine o’clock if the children can last that long.”

William nodded. “We’ll give them a piece of toast if they’re up too early.”

Gradually the gathering broke up with many promises to one another about what the next day’s activity would hold, but Christine paid little attention. She had to be in at the office. She felt a little cheated, not to be able to share the day. Being part of a large, close family reminded her of the feel in the Indian village where she had grown up. Like everyone belonged together. Looked out for one another. She had missed that.

The next evening they sat around and sipped coffee and ate chocolate cake while waiting for the hours to tick by. They were alone once again—just Jon and Mary, Wynn and Elizabeth and Christine. The others had all taken tired children to various homes to tuck them into bed. It had been a busy day—Christine wondered just who was more exhausted, the children or their parents.

Now it was quiet.

The evening was warm and pleasant, so they had not built a fire in the hearth. Christine was well aware that one pair of eyes or another traveled often to the clock on the mantel as each person tracked the journey. If Henry got away promptly after four, and if they had no delays, ate a picnic lunch on the way, and did not stop long for a gas fill-up, they could arrive as early as ten o’clock. Perhaps even as early as nine-thirty if things went especially well.

At least the roads would be good. The rain had not lasted long. Just enough to settle the dust for good driving, her father had declared. The country roads could be rather nasty if they got either too dry or too wet.

“William has such a nice little family,” Elizabeth was saying. “So well mannered. I have always appreciated good manners in a child.”

Mary beamed her pleasure at the compliment about her grandchildren.

“They get a little rambunctious at times,” Jonathan noted with a chuckle.

“They wouldn’t be healthy children if they didn’t,” Mary defended stoutly.

They talked of many things. The clock ticked on. Nine-thirty came and went. There was no longer the possibility that the journey had gone better than hoped. Ten o’clock arrived. Still no sound of a car pulling up in the driveway.

Ten-fifteen. Elizabeth’s eyes were constantly on the clock, her ears so attuned to the sound of a motor that she no doubt was missing much of the conversation.

Ten-thirty.

“Why don’t you give Maurice a call and see if Henry was held up before getting away?” Elizabeth asked Wynn.

“I don’t have his number. Besides, he may have retired by now.”

“Well—just call the office, then. Someone will be working.”

Wynn looked at the clock. “Let’s give it another half hour or so,” he suggested.

A quarter to eleven.

Christine felt herself yawn. It was getting late and she had been up early. Her mother must have seen her. “Why don’t you go to bed, dear? You’ll see them in the morning.”

Then Elizabeth turned to Jon and Mary. “Why don’t you go off to bed too? No need for us all to stay up and wait.”

“I don’t mind,” said Mary.

“But it’s getting so late. You must be worn out. You’ve had such a big day and tomorrow—”

“It’s all right, Beth,” Mary said as she stood and began to gather coffee cups on the tray. “I think I’ll just slip out to the kitchen and wash up these things while we’re waiting.”

Christine stood, too, and stretched. “I’ll help you,” she offered, glad to have something to do to help pass the time. The conversation had lagged to almost a standstill.

They were in the kitchen for twenty minutes. Christine had listened for the sound of the front door opening, followed by excited greetings, but she had heard nothing.

By the time they returned to the living room, Elizabeth’s face showed strain. It was now eleven fifteen. Without a word, Wynn rose from his chair and moved to the hall phone. It was some time before there was any sound from him.

“Laray? Oh—Officer Furbridge, sorry to bother you. This is Henry’s father. Yes—here in Calgary. No—no. No problem. I just wondered if Henry was able to get away as he had planned. He was? Good. No. No, he hasn’t arrived yet. No. I’m sure everything is fine. He may have had a bit of car trouble. Or some holdup. No—no, I didn’t mean a holdup—just a delay. Some delay. Okay. Thank you. Yes. Thanks.”

Christine was sure her mother had listened to the one-sided conversation with mixed emotions. Henry had left on time. That should be good news. But why had he not yet arrived? Her father had suggested car trouble. It was plausible. Cars were always breaking down at inconvenient times.

Maybe the roads. Just because Calgary had received only a light rainfall did not mean that other places had. It could have rained much harder in Henry’s area. Maybe even caused a washout or trouble with a bridge—

“He would have called if—”

“He wouldn’t have a phone,” said Wynn before Elizabeth could finish.

“Surely he would have been able to find one—somewhere— by now.”

“Maybe they decided to picnic on the way,” suggested Jonathan. “Make a day of it. You know how Danny loves to fish. The time can sneak by when you’re not watching.”

“That isn’t like Henry,” murmured Elizabeth, visibly troubled.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” offered Wynn. “No need for you to—”

“You know I’d never be able to sleep.”

“Well, at least you could rest.”

“No—I could not.” The words were spoken rather sharply.

“I think I’ll make us some tea,” said Mary, rising to her feet.

“My word. We’ll be waterlogged,” murmured Elizabeth distractedly, but Mary left to make the tea regardless.

Christine crossed to the fireplace. She wished they had made a fire. At least the flames would be something to watch, something to draw their attention away from the worried expressions in each other’s eyes. She squeezed at the back of her aching neck. Her eyes went again to the clock. Almost midnight. She agreed with her mother on one thing. It was not like Henry to keep them waiting without getting word to them— somehow. He would know their agitation and concern. It just wasn’t like Henry.

And he would know that the latchkey would not be out. That they would all be sitting, waiting for their arrival.

She crossed to her mother. “Would you like me to rub your neck?” she asked, knowing how her own felt and that Elizabeth loved to have her neck massaged.

Her mother didn’t even look up. “No,” she said tersely, then seemed to catch herself, giving Christine a forced smile with an added, “Not now, thanks.”

Christine withdrew.

Mary came with the tea. Everyone in the room accepted a cup, though no one seemed to pay any attention to its contents. They just sat holding it, absentmindedly watching the steam rise upward.

The phone rang and everyone in the room jumped. Jonathan was there in a few strides. “Yes. Yes. No—no, I’m afraid not. No. Very well.”

“A wrong number,” he said with a weary shrug. “Some guy’s spent too long at the tavern.”

Shoulders slumped with more fatigue.

Elizabeth set aside her cup and began to pace. “It’s just not—something’s not right,” she said, blinking back nervous tears. “Henry wouldn’t do this.”

Wynn rose and pulled her close. He held her for a long moment before saying, “I think you’re right, Elizabeth. Something must have happened that wasn’t planned. It isn’t like our son. I think we need to pray.”

Gently he eased her to the couch and sat down beside her. She was freely weeping now. He handed her his pocket handkerchief and let her wipe her tears. Then he took her hand and started to pray. The other family members in the room drew near and reached out hands to join in a circle, heads bowed, and tear-filled eyes closed.