[Canadian West 01] - When Calls the Heart (11 page)

"Hello," I answered, so glad to see him that I could have
hugged him. He must have read the pleasure in my face, for
his grin broke forth.

"Come in," I welcomed him with a smile of my own. "I'm
Miss Thatcher."

He stepped forward awkwardly, timidly looked around for
a moment, and then decided that he'd better get down to business.

"Ma sent me over to see if I could help ya none." His words
were thick with a Scandinavian accent.

Some, my teacher's mind corrected, but I let it pass.

"That's very kind," I said.

"I can carry yer vood an' vater an' t'ings," the boy continued. Then he stopped and sniffed. "Smoky," he stated simply.
"Havin' trouble vid ver fire?"

"It'll clear soon," I assured him, not wanting to blame the dependable old stove, but not knowing just how to bring up
the matter of the wolves, either.

The aroma of the coffee made my stomach gurgle.

"Before you start on the wood and water, would you like to
join me for breakfast?"

"T'ank ya, but I already haf my breakfast."

"Then make this a lunch," I suggested, and the boy
laughed.

"Just sit down," I pointed toward the pale green chairs.
"Take your pick."

He stepped to the nearest one and sat down. I spread four
slices of bread with butter and strawberry preserves, poured
milk for him and coffee for me, and joined him at the table. I
bowed my head and said a short grace; his eyes showed no surprise. The bread and jam were delicious, and he seemed to enjoy them as much as I did.

"Yer lamp is still burnin'," he said suddenly. In the light of
day I had failed to notice it. The wick had burned down so
that only a tiny flame showed. I felt my cheeks flush in embarrassment, but without further comment the boy leaned over
and blew out the struggling flame.

I wondered just how to start our conversation so that we
might get to know one another. But he took care of that problem.

"I live on da farm yust over dere," he began, pointing a finger toward the northeast. "Vasn't fer da trees, you could see
our house an' barn real plain."

This was good news. I had no idea that I had neighbors so
near.

"Will you be one of my new pupils?"

"Ya mean, vill I go to school?"

"That's right."

"Me an' my sisters, Else an' Olga, an' my broder, Peter."

"That's nice," I said and really meant it. "And what is
your name?"

"Lars-Lars Peterson. I vas named after my grandfader."

I could tell by the way he said it that he was proud of the
fact.

"And your father's name?"

"Henry Peterson. An' Ma is Anna."

"And what class will you be in, Lars?"

"Don't know yet. Never been to school, but Pa has tried to
teach us some letters an' some words. Ma doesn't know da
English vords too good yet. Pa studied a little bit in English
wen he first came over. Ma came six mont's later vid us younguns, an' she didn't haf time to study. But she knows numbers
real good. Numbers ain't much different in any country, I
guess."

I nodded and smiled, but I was thinking about the shame
of a child nearing ten without ever having been in a classroom.

"I vas pretty little yet ven ve came from da old country."
Lars continued. "Olga vas not t'ree yet and da tvins gust babies."

"How old are they now?"

"Olga is seven and a half, an' Else an' Peter are yust
turned six."

"And you?"

"I'm nine."

He wiped the last crumbs from his cheeks and arose from
the chair.

"I best be carryin' dat vood," he said, "yer almost out." I
was relieved that he made no comment on the extraordinary
amount I had used. "T'ank ya fer da good break-lunch," he
finished with a grin. "I'll git ya some fresh vater first."

I moved to get him my water pail, pouring what still remained into the reservoir on the stove.

"Lars," I said slowly. I had to know, yet hardly knew how
to ask, "What do people around here do about the wolves?"

"Volves?" He looked surprised and confused. Then he answered confidently, "Ve don't got no volves."

"But last night I heard them. And if your farm is so near,
you should have heard them, too."

"Oh, dem. Dem's coyotes."

"Coyotes?"

"Yah, yust silly ole coyotes. Pa says dat coyotes are yella-
livered. Scared of der own shadows, dey are. Von't even take
on anyt'ing bigger dan a hen or a mouse."

"But they sounded-"

"Don't dey make a racket!" His eyes sparkled. "I like to
listen to 'em. Dey sound so close-like, an' dev all howl togeder
an-

"Yes, they do sound close," I put in, shivering at my recollection. "And they never attack people?"

"Naw, not coyotes. Dey're scared silly of everyt'ing-es-
pecially people. Dey run vid der tails 'tveen der legs. I tried to
sneak up on 'em a coupla times to get a good look at 'em, but
soon as you git a little close, dev turn tail an' run off, slinkin'
avay as fast as dey can go."

I felt relieved and embarrassed as I thought of my terror
during the night I had just endured. Coyotes-harmless, noisy
coyotes! Humiliation flushed my cheeks.

Lars suddenly turned to me, the empty water pail still in
his hand.

"Miss T'atcher, ya know vat? Ven I vas little, I vas scared
of 'em. I used to lay in bed vid my head under da covers, sveat-
in' and cryin'." He blushed slightly. "Den my pa told me
'bout dem bein' sissies. Dey'd be more scared dan me if ve met
up sudden. Pa says he's gonna git a coupla good dogs, gust to
keep da coyotes avay from da chickens-chickens be 'bout da
only t'ings dat need fear coyotes." He turned to go, then
turned back. "Ya von't tell, vill va-dat I used to be scared of
silly coyotes?"

"No, I won't tell, No one will know-you can be sure," I
promised him. He left the room with relief showing in his eyes.

I won't tell, I said to myself, about hiding under the covers,
or fear, or fires, or burning lamps-and thing. I'll never tell.

After Lars had returned with the pail of fresh water, he began to haul wood. He did not stop until I insisted that I would
be unable to get out of my house if he brought in any more. He
grinned, then proceeded to chop a fine supply of kindling. I
wanted to offer him a quarter, but somehow I felt that it
wouldn't be right in the eyes of his mother who had sent him
over; so, instead, I fixed him a few more slices of bread and
jam. He sat on my step and ate them, while I sat beside him.

"How many students do you think I'll have?"

" 'Bout eighteen or nineteen, or more maybe if da bigger
boys come."

Perhaps twenty students, of all ages and abilities. It seems
like an awesome task.

"Ve only haf desks fer sixteen, so da ot'ers vill haf to haf
tables an' benches," Lars continued.

"And who will look after getting tables and benches?" I
asked him, knowing that he was right about the desks. I had
counted them the night before but had seen no evidence of tables or benches.

"Mr. Laverly asked Mr. Yohnson to build 'em. He's a
car-car-builder."

I smiled. "I see. Will they be ready for Monday, do you
think?"

"S'pose to be."

Lars finished his last bit of bread, "I'd better go. Mama vill need me. T'anks fer da bread and yam. Oh, yah. Ma says,
`come to supper tonight.' Six o'clock. Right over dat vay-
cross da field. Can va come?"

"I'd be delighted."

He frowned slightly, "Does dat mean ya vill?"

"I will."

"Good." And with a grin, he was gone.

"Thank you for the wood and water," I called after him.

I spent the rest of the day sorting through my little house,
making a list of the items I would need to purchase and wishing desperately that I had my trunks. Mr. Laverly did not
come by as I had hoped, and I had no way of knowing where or
how to contact him.

At twenty minutes to six I straightened my hair, brushed
off my dress, and set out to find the Petersons. Lars was right.
As soon as I passed through the growth of trees behind the
school grounds, I could see their farm sitting on the side of the
next hill. At times I lost sight of it as I passed through other
groves of trees, but my bearings seemed to hold true; it was always there, just where I expected it to be, whenever I emerged
from the woods.

Anna Peterson greeted me with a warm smile. Her English
was broken, and she spoke with a heavy accent, but her eyes
danced with humor as she laughed at her own mistakes.

"Ve are so glad ya come. Ve need school bad-so chil'ren
don't talk none like me."

Mr. Peterson "velcomed" me too, and the warmth of their
friendliness made it easy for me to respond. Olga and Peter
were very shy. Else was a bit more outgoing, though still quick
to drop her gaze and step back if I spoke directly to her.

Anna was a good cook. The simple ingredients in her big
kitchen produced mouth-watering food. It was awfully nice to
enjoy a meal with a family again.

The evening went quickly, and before I knew it, I could see
the sun sinking slowly toward the treetops. Dusk was stealing
over the land, making me feel like curling up and purring with
contentment.

"I must go," I announced. "I hadn't realized-it will soon
be dark and I'm not very sure of my way."

"Lars vill go vid. He knows da vay gud."

I accepted Lars' company with gratitude.

Mrs. Peterson insisted on giving me a basket of foodmilk, cream, butter, eggs, bread and fresh vegetables from her
garden. I tried to explain that I still had milk and cream on
hand.

"T'row out milk. Vill be no gud," she insisted. "Save
cream for baking, maybe. Make lots gud t'ings vid sour cream.
Ve vill send more t'ings vid Lars to school for you."

"I will be happy to buy ..."

"Buy not'ing. I gif. I glad you here. Now my boys an' girls
learn---learn to speak, to read. I don't teach-I don't know.
Now dev teach me."

"I'll show you, Mama," Else spoke up. "I'll show you all I
learn."

"Yah, little vun teach big vun," Mrs. Peterson smiled,
placing a loving hand on Else's head. " 'Tis gud."

Lars and I walked slowly through the twilight. I allowed
him, at his insistence, to carry the basket. Already I loved him
and his family and could hardly wait for Monday. to meet the
other children of the community.

We were about halfway home when a now-familiar but
nonetheless heart-stopping howl rent the stillness. My first
impulse was to lift my skirts and dash for home, but I restrained myself'. I'm sure my face must have lost all of its
color, and my hands fluttered to my breast, but Lars didn't
seem to notice. He was telling me about his Holstein heifer
calf and didn't even break his sentence.

The howl came again and was joined by many others. Lars
merely raised his voice to speak above the din. I fought hard to
keep from panicking. Eventually Lars probably noticed my
reaction and commented. "Silly ole coyotes. Sure make a
racket. Sound like yust behind next clump, yet dey vay over in
da field."

Then he went on with his story.

Lars' easy dismissal of the animals reassured me, and my
heart slowly returned to its normal beat.

When we reached the teacherage, Lars went in with me.
He found the matches and lit the lamp, then unloaded the
basket of food onto my small cupboard.

"Ya be needin' a fire?"

"Not tonight. It's plenty warm, and I won't be staying up
long."

I was beginning to feel weary from the lack of sleep the
night before.

"Guess I go now," said Lars. He walked toward the door,
basket in hand.

"Thank you so much, Lars, for seeing me home-and for
carrying the basket."

He would never realize the difference that his calm presence had made when the coyotes had begun to howl.

"Yer welcome," he grinned.

"I wish I had some books to send home with you so that
you and your sisters might practice reading, but I have none
here. All my things are in my trunks, and I need to see Mr.
Laverly before I can get them."

"Ya need Mr. Laverly? Vere yer trunks?"

"Still in Lacombe. There wasn't any room to bring them in
the automobile."

"Ya need 'em?"

"I certainly do," I said emphatically.

He nodded, then with a wave and grin pushed open the
door. " 'Night, Miss T'atcher."

"Good-night, Lars."

I watched him move away in the soft darkness. Soon the
moon would rise to give light to the world, but for now his way
was still dark-yet he moved forward without uncertainty or
fear. The coyotes howled again, but Lars paid no attention to
them as he hurried off toward home.

I turned toward the coyotes now. They still made little tingles scurry up and down my spine each time I heard their
mournful cry, but I refused to allow panic to seize me.

"Oh, no, you don't," I spoke aloud to them. "You made a
cringing, frightened coward of me last night, but never
again--never again!"

Still, I was glad to hook my door behind me as I entered the
little teacherage I now called home.

The next morning before I had even finished my breakfast,
a team and wagon turned into my lane. The driver approached my house and knocked on the door, hat in hand. He
introduced himself as Mr. Laverly. Lars, my special helper,
had already ridden over on horseback to his farm that morning and informed him that I needed my trunks.

"Sorry, ma'am," the man apologized. "Wanted to be over
to greet you yesterday right off, but my wagon busted a wheel
an' it took nigh all day to fix it. 'Course I had me no idee that
you was without yer belongin's, or I'd a borrowed an outfit
from a neighbor an' been right over." His round face mirrored
his sincere apology.

"I sure feel terrible that yer things didn't get here the same
time that you did," he hurried on, wiping his hands and face
with a bright square from a pocket. "I was 'opin' to spare ya a
trip by wagon over those long, dusty roads. I'd be happy to jest
go on in an' pick up yer things fer ya, an' ya can jest wait
here."