CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (24 page)
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My gloved hand flew to my face.
“But Willie, my Sunday school pupil—”
The man began to laugh. His roar shook the building. I saw nothing funny about the situation. He didn’t even explain it really, just pointed to a door, and said, “In there. That’s who you wish to see—my brother.”
It was a bad start all around. By the time I knocked on the door, I was already flustered and embarrassed. When he answered the knock, I opened the door and stepped in.
The room was an office. The desk in front of the man was piled high with accounts and books. He didn’t even look up but growled at me, “Yeah?”
I cleared my throat to begin.
“Excuse me, sir.”
His head jerked up at the sound of my voice. He scowled at me as though I had some nerve to come interrupting his work.
He had the same shock of reddish hair, the same bushy mustache, only his did not twitch with amusement. It bristled with indignation. His eyes pinned me to the spot.
I wanted to get out of there. The only way I could see to do so was to speak my piece quickly and then retreat.
I wanted no misunderstandings. I started by clarifying my position.
“I am Mrs. Delaney,” I said in what I hoped was an even voice. “My husband is the new commander at the North West Mounted Police Post. I am Willie’s Sunday school teacher. I understand you are Willie’s father?”
There was silence for a few moments. I began to think he wasn’t even going to answer me; then he threw down the pencil he was working with and gave me a withering look.
“So what’s he done now?”
“Done? Why, nothing. I ... I ...”
He glared at me.
“If he hasn’t done anything, what are you doing here?”
“I came to personally follow up the invitation I sent home with your son last Sunday.”
He stood to his feet. He was a tall man, stockily built. I could see why a child would find him intimidating.
“What invitation?” he snapped. “One to your little Sunday school class?” he actually sneered as he asked the question. “Now look here, Miss Whatever your name is”—he left his chair and came around his desk where he could stand glowering down on me—“they asked for my kid to go to that there church. I’m not for it, but I didn’t think it could do no harm; besides, it gets him out of my hair for a few hours. Sunday morning is the only time I get to sleep. Now you got the kid; what more do you want?”
I was angry. I was frightened. I was trembling with inner rage. How could this overgrown child be acting so foolishly? It must run in the family! I fumed. First his—his humorous brother allowed me to make a complete fool of myself, and now he had the nerve to stand over me as though shaking a finger at a naughty school child, all because I happened to care about his son!
I stepped back, not to get away from him, but so I could get a good look at his angry red face and his snapping eyes.
“Excuse me, Mr. Schultz,” I said. “I think you have a few things confused here. In the first place, I am not inviting you into my Sunday school class. I do not allow spoiled, cantankerous children to take a part. And second, I was here to invite you to our home for Sunday dinner, not because I feel that your presence will be particularly enjoyable but because I happen to care about your son.
“No, Mr. Schultz, Willie has not ‘done something,’ but he will someday if you don’t give him more of your time and love. He needs a parent—now! We at the church love him and are trying to help him to grow up to be a God-fearing, law-abiding citizen, but we can’t do it alone. Willie is already hostile—and he’s not going to reform unless
you
do.”
you
do.”
The face before me was changing. There was first a look of such anger that I thought he might strike me, and then there was a look of absolute unbelief. I was sure no one, at least no one in his right mind, had ever addressed him the way I had. I still wasn’t through.
“And finally, Mr. Schultz,” I said, “I am willing to guess that Willie had a mother who was an upright, decent woman, and it would bring her great pain if her son did not grow up to be a decent man.”
I stopped and took a breath. My words were beginning to catch up with me and in shame and embarrassment I mumbled to a halt. My face flushed, and tears that I had stubbornly refused threatened to appear. I lowered my face.
“I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I apologize for my outburst. I had no reason to act in such a rude manner. It’s inexcusable. Forgive me, please.”
I stepped around the big man who had not moved out of my way and reached with a trembling hand for the doorknob. I needed to escape.
I hesitated just long enough to say in not much more than a whisper, “The invitation still stands. A week from Sunday.” I opened the door and hurried out of the office.
I would have fled to the street, but as I passed the desk where the other Mr. Schultz still worked a crossword puzzle, he looked up with a twitching mustache and twinkling eyes and said, “Bully for you.”
I gave him a stony look and continued out, fighting hard to preserve some dignity.
As I reached the door, he called after me. “By the way, does my invitation still stand, too?”
Without answering him, I pulled the door open, closed it securely behind me, and kept right on going. I could hear his uproarious laughter following me.
THIRTY
Sunday Dinners
The next Saturday I was at the church rehearsing with some of the junior girls for a part in the Sunday school Christmas program. Suddenly the door burst open and Willie came flying in. Without even waiting to remove his hat or take a breath, he rushed at me, his hand outstretched.
He couldn’t speak, he was too out of breath. He just poked the strange piece of paper at me and urged me to take it.
I reached out and took it while he waited, breathless as I opened it on the spot.
It was a simple note, expressing only that on behalf of his son Willie and himself, Mr. Schultz would be happy to accept my invitation for Sunday dinner. I gasped and Willie looked at me with a grin on his face, his red hair flopping across his forehead.
“Why, Willie,” I said, giving him a hug, “that is wonderful!”
“Told ya, he’d come,” panted the boy.
“I’m so pleased,” I said honestly.
“Gotta show Stephen,” Willie said and was gone again.
I stood watching him, wondering what had changed the mind of the senior Schultz. Surely Willie’s uncle was not playing another trick on me. No, I told myself, even he wouldn’t be that heartless.
I turned back to my girls. Even our song seemed to go better, and when I left the church I walked through the lightly falling snow with a lighter step.
Maybe, just maybe, something had jolted the father to make him realize that he had a son who needed him.
Our Sunday with the Schultzes went very well. Mr. Schultz did not join us at church like I had hoped, but he and Willie arrived promptly at one o’clock.
To my relief Wynn and Mr. Schultz visited very easily and he proved to be an intelligent and even agreeable man.
Nothing was said about my visit to the hotel or my outburst. Nor was anything said about the brother who enjoyed his teasing. I wondered if Willie’s father even knew of that part of the incident.
I served the dinner, letting Willie help me in the kitchen. He was pleased to pour his own milk and put on the rolls, butter, and pickles. I glanced at Mr. Schultz once or twice to see if he might object to his son doing “woman’s work,” but he seemed not to even notice.
It turned out that Mr. Schultz was very interested in the work of the Force. He asked several questions and Wynn was happy to answer them. They chatted amicably until I announced the meal was ready.
Mr. Schultz acted cordial enough at the table, evidencing fine table manners, even when Wynn said the table grace. The talk was light and friendly and after coffee and dessert, which I let Willie help serve, they visited a bit more; then he thanked me politely and left.
I took a big breath after I closed the door. Before I tackled the dirty dishes I turned to Wynn. “Well,” I asked, “what do you think?”
“Pleasant enough man. Certainly nobody’s fool,” Wynn responded.
“Except where Willie is concerned,” I murmured. “I’m afraid the man knows very little about the needs of a growing boy.”
I turned to the dishes then, musing as I washed them. Wynn came to take a towel for drying them.
“If I help with the dishes, Mrs. Delaney,” he proposed, “will you promise to go for a walk with me?”
“Is that a request or an order, Sergeant?” I teased back.
“A request,” Wynn stated. “If you turn down my request, then it becomes an order.”
We laughed together and hurried with the dishes so we could get our walk in.
We took Kip with us. He bounded ahead, loving his freedom to run. He did not enjoy being confined to our fenced-in yard even if there was plenty of room.
It was a lovely winter afternoon and the fresh, crisp snow crunched underfoot as we walked.
“Just think,” I remarked to Wynn. “In just three weeks it will be Christmas again.”
“Are you looking forward to it?” he asked.
“I am,” I admitted. “I really am. It will seem more like Christmas this year. There will be the Christmas program for the Sunday school, the church service, a tree, decorations, even a turkey for dinner. I think I will really enjoy having an old-fashioned, honest-to-goodness Christmas again.”
“I’m looking forward to it, too,” stated Wynn. “I’m tired of giving you new stockings.”
We both laughed heartily and walked on through the downy falling snow.
Sue Marie and her family were the last students we would have in for dinner before Christmas. After Christmas we would begin asking Wynn’s class members. Already we had asked each other what we would do when it came time to ask the family of Henry “Rabid” Myers. We pushed the problem into the future, vowing to cross that bridge when the time came.
Sue Marie accepted our invitation, but her family did not come with her. I was sorry we were not going to have the opportunity to meet them but promised myself that after Christmas I would at least try to get to know her mother.
With solemn, somber face, Sue Marie sat quietly and sedately in a chair while I got the meal on the table. Wynn tried to entertain her, but she only shook her head yes or no to his questions.
At the table she ate very little, though her eyes took in everything. She looked uncomfortable and shy. The apple pie she did like, and even accepted a second piece.
I didn’t want to shoo her off home as soon as we had finished, so I suggested she might want to look at some books while I washed the dishes. She took the books and studied the pictures, but she didn’t attempt to read them. I wondered if Sue Marie could read at all.
After I had finished with the dishes, I went in and sat down beside the little girl.
“Would you like to hear the story?” I asked. She seemed hesitant, but finally nodded her head. I was surprised at her reluctance. She had not been so shy the many times that she had been in our home with the other children. I picked up the book and began to read. Before long she was totally engrossed in the story.
We read book after book together and then she looked at the clock.
“I’ve got to go,” she said. “Mommy said to be home by three.”
I found her coat and mittens and helped her on with her boots.
She turned at the door and said politely, “Thank you for the good dinner, Miz Delaney.”
“You are most welcome,” I answered her. “I’m so glad you came.
She turned then to pat Kip who had bounded up to get some attention. Kip always made sure he got in on the party when the children came to the house.
Then she turned soberly to me. “Did I be good enough, Miz Delaney?” she asked, her eyes big and questioning.
“Why, you were just fine,” I said kneeling beside her and putting an arm around her.
“Good,” she said seriously. “ ’Cause Mamma said if she heard that I don’t be good, I’d get one awful spanking when I get home.”
“When I see your mamma,” I told her, “I’ll tell her what a well-behaved little girl she has.”
She broke into a big grin, and then she was gone, tripping through the winter afternoon.
The church was packed for the Sunday school Christmas program. I was responsible for all the singing and had rehearsed with the children for several Saturdays prior to the big event.
Most of our numbers were done as a group, but the twins were singing “Away in a Manger,” and Willie, whom I discovered had a lovely boyish tenor, sang a solo, “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Though I hoped his father would come to hear him, I didn’t hazard another trip to the hotel with an invitation.
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