“You can have a job here with me.”
“That would be fun—but I need another kind of job. One I am trained to do.”
Even as she spoke the words, Christine had nagging doubts. Would she be able to find something? Things had changed so since the war.
The war.
In all of the busy preparations for the wedding and the daily caring for Danny, she had given little thought to the war. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it were all over? If all the troops were on the way home?
But she didn’t suppose that had happened. There would have been great celebration across the land if it had. She would most surely have heard of it.
The war
.
Christine, ready or not, was soon to be returned to the real world.
The plan was for Henry to drive her to Calgary on Sunday afternoon. Laray called Saturday morning.
“This may . . . this could be out of line,” he started, sounding nervous, “but I really would like a chance to see you before you go.”
Oh my,
thought Christine,
I didn’t want this to happen
. Or did she? She wasn’t quite sure.
“All right,” she heard herself agreeing. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t get off until ten tonight. Could we take a short drive afterward?”
“I . . . I . . . sure. That’s fine.”
“I know it’s not what—”
“No . . . it’s fine. Really.”
“Thanks.”
The connection clicked off, and she stared at the phone in her hand.
When Laray arrived a few minutes past ten, Christine was ready. They exchanged little more than nods as he led her to the car and helped her in. She felt butterflies flitting in her stomach and reminded herself that she was acting like a schoolgirl.
“So are you stopping off in Calgary or going right on home?” he asked as he put the car in gear.
“I still haven’t decided. Aunt Mary has invited me to stay with them and look for work in Calgary. I really don’t know what to do.”
“Is there lots of work in Edmonton?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t tried—except for the one job I had.”
“Henry said you didn’t have much trouble getting that one.”
“No . . . no, it worked out . . . quite well.”
They drove east out of the town. Christine was relieved that Laray was not taking her to the lookout again. She could imagine that local couples frequented the place.
Laray shifted into high gear and looked her way. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just keep driving while I talk. I never was very good at—at saying my mind.”
Christine nodded dumbly.
“Henry let me know that you’ve just . . . had a . . . a breakup. Gave a guy back his ring.”
Oh no,
groaned Christine silently.
What else did Henry tell
you?
She cast a quick glance Laray’s way, but his eyes were on the road ahead.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Those things can be pretty tough.”
Christine appreciated his understanding, but she didn’t know what to say.
“Because of that I’ve . . . I’ve sort of backed off,” he continued. “I went through that once myself. I know that it takes time. ’Course I found a way to let off steam, so to speak. I went out and joined the Force. It worked. I had plenty to think about.”
Laray managed to give her a lopsided smile.
Again silence.
“Anyway—I won’t push. I just want you to know that I think you’re pretty special—though this might not be the right time to be saying it. I don’t suppose I’ll be seeing you again unless . . .”
He did not finish the thought. Christine could have finished it for him. She knew exactly what he was saying.
“So I thought,” he said slowly, “maybe we should come to—well, to some kind of understanding. Have a little sign between us, you might say.”
Christine turned to look at him. She swallowed and waited, wondering what he was going to suggest.
“I thought maybe if the time ever comes when . . . when you think you’d be ready to . . . to think about . . . you know . . . dating again and you think maybe . . . well, you know . . . then you can just drop me a note in the mail. Even if I’m transferred, I will make sure your brother always knows where to find me.
“You won’t have to make any promises. I don’t expect that. Just a little note saying things are going fine. I’ll pick it up from there.”
Christine wanted to weep. He was being so gallant. So gentlemanly. Part of her wished to tell him that she was ready now. But she knew that was not true. She was not ready for another relationship. It was possible she never would be. Her heart truly had been broken by the last venture of falling in love.
She became aware of tears coursing down her cheeks. She dug in her pocket for a hankie. She had to say something. She couldn’t just leave this kind and thoughtful man with no response at all.
She wiped her face and blinked back further tears. “I’m sorry,” she began, her voice trembling. “You are quite right. I am not ready . . . yet. I . . . I have no . . . no desire to get involved with someone again. Maybe someday. I don’t know . . . but not now.”
She blew her nose and began again. “I do want you to know that if . . . if I were ready . . . I think you are a very fine man, and I would be proud to have you ask me out. I mean that. Truly.”
He smiled. “That’s a high compliment. And all I can ask for . . . at the moment.”
He reached for her hand, but he did not hold it for long. Simply gave it a little squeeze as if to seal their understanding and released it again. Then he found a spot to turn the car around and headed for home.
It was a quiet drive back. It seemed that everything had already been said.
“It is a pleasure to know you. I wish you only God’s best— whatever that is.” He spoke so sincerely that Christine feared she would weep again. She did manage to tell him that she wished him the same, and then he was opening the car door and coming around to help her out. There was no move to kiss her, no arm about her shoulder or claim on her in any way. When they reached the porch, he leaned to open the door, his face very close to hers. “Just drop a note,” he whispered; then he was gone.
Christine was grateful no one was still up to observe her entrance. She was crying so hard she could scarcely see her way to the room she was to use for one last night. He was so sweet. Was she making the biggest mistake of her life to walk away? But she wasn’t ready to give her heart. Surely—surely if this was meant to be, the future would work it all out.
But Christine’s pillow was damp before she managed to fall asleep.
Danny rode along for the trip to Calgary. Amber had intended to join them, but the onset of a head cold kept her at home. “You’d best stay in and take care of it,” Henry had advised.
Christine was glad for Danny’s chatter. It meant Henry would be less likely to notice her silence. Thankfully he asked no questions concerning the previous night, and Christine volunteered no information.
When Danny stopped for a breather, Henry turned to Christine with the same question Laray asked. “Will you be staying on in Calgary—or going on home?”
“Well, I’ll need to go on home regardless. I brought nothing with me but this one suitcase.”
“You might look for work in Edmonton again?”
“I think I may at least start there.”
“Might be for the best. You know the city.”
“Actually, I know very little of the city. I just traveled from my rooming house to work or church—that’s about the extent of it. And I don’t care to find work again in the same area.”
She knew he did not have to ask why.
“What would you prefer to do?”
“Prefer? I’d prefer to go back home. Up north.”
“You still feel that way?” Henry sounded surprised.
“I do.”
“But there’s nobody there now.”
“All our friends are still there.”
“Things have changed by now, Chrissy. It wouldn’t be the same.”
“It’s still the North. That will never change.”
Christine thought again of the constant cry of the North. There would be no emotional struggles to sort out would-be suitors. No disturbing war news. How she longed for its sense of peace. Of sameness.
Danny’s head fell over against her shoulder. He had fallen asleep. She turned to rearrange him and pull him closer.
“Poor little guy. He’s tuckered out.”
“We really appreciate your looking after him. He’s grown very fond of his auntie Christine.”
“I’ve grown fond of him too. I just wish—”
“Yes?”
“That we were closer. Who knows when I’ll see him again?”
“Work in Calgary. Then you can come down every now and then.”
“Then you’ll go and get transferred to who knows where.”
Henry chuckled. Any Mountie recognized that constant possibility.
“Did you know Amber is putting the shop up for sale?”
“No. When?”
“Soon. We have no idea how long it might take to sell, but we do want it all settled before that next transfer comes— whenever it is.”
“I guess that’s wise,” Christine agreed.
For several minutes they rode in silence. Christine found her thoughts going back to Laray. How would he feel if Henry got transferred out? Of course it could be Laray who was transferred first. Who knew? She wished she could talk to her big brother about Laray, but she had no idea what she would say. For that matter, she had no idea how she really felt. It was all one confusing big lump in her chest.
She said good-bye to Aunt Mary and Uncle Jon and left for home the next day. The train ride was not nearly as enjoyable with no one to share it. She noted Lacombe, thinking about the fact that, except to visit family, her mother had never returned to the town. But then, maybe there was nothing in Lacombe to draw one back—not like the North, where she had grown up.
She had to spend a night in Edmonton before catching her ride to Athabasca. There was nothing to do and nowhere to go, so time dragged. She was glad when it was a reasonable hour to go to bed. But even then she could not sleep.
Henry had asked what she would do if she had the choice, and she had answered honestly. She would go north again. Without a moment’s hesitation she would go back to the area of her birth. She belonged there. Had never fit well in the city or even the small town. Yet it was unreasonable to think that she could go alone. What could she do to earn her way? There certainly was no need for secretaries or stenos in the North, at least not that she was aware of.
She thought again about Laray. He had said he’d like to try the North. He had also said that all she had to do was write a note. Just a note.
But Christine pushed the idea from her thoughts. That would not be fair. It would not be right. To take advantage of his interest in her just because he could fulfill her dream. She would never be able to live with herself were she to do such a thing.
But she would pray. God knew the desire of her heart. Perhaps God could work out a way to get her back to the part of the country that she loved.
It was into the morning hours before Christine finally managed to quiet her thoughts enough to sleep.
She had to be up early. Mr. Carson, the same truck driver whom she had ridden with before, would transport her back home. He hauled goods back and forth between Edmonton and Athabasca.
Big and burly and unshaven, Mr. Carson was friendly enough. “How was yer trip?” His voice was deep and gruff. Christine might have been a bit afraid of him had she not known that her father trusted him.
“It was fine,” she answered.
“Thought you might stay out.”
“No. No, I intended to come home when I left.”
“Yeah—but lotsa folks change their minds once they git out to civilization.”
“I didn’t see anything too civilized,” she responded. “There was lots of war talk.”
“Yeah. We’re gitting it too. Wisht someone would jest sit on thet there Hitler. Whittle him down to size.”
Christine wished it too.
“Another one of the hometown boys has left. S’pect there won’t be any left around by the time this here thing is over and done with.”
“Who?” asked Christine.
“Clem Carlson.”
“Clem? I thought his name was Eric.”
“Clem’s the younger one.”
“Clem? I didn’t think they were taking them that young.”
“He’s a big kid fer his age. I think he lied some.”
Someone should have stopped him. Told the truth about his
age. I’m sure he’s barely seventeen. Much too young to be shipped
off to war
.
“Guess there’s lot of ’em doin’ it. Lyin’ about their age so they can go.”
Christine was shocked. It was bad enough that those of age were going.
So even at home she was not to escape the war. Perhaps there was no place on earth where one was not touched by it.
But Henry is not going. Henry is needed at home
. That fact brought her some consolation.
“’Spectin’ another storm later tonight, so’s I aim to push it some,” the driver told her. And push it he did. Christine was glad she had been warned.
At one point she was sure they were going in the ditch. They were coming down an incline much too fast when the truck hit a patch of ice. Whirling, spinning, swaying from one side to the other, the big man fought the wheel, this way, then that, then back again. Snow flew, making it difficult to see. Tires squealed and the load shifted.
When the truck finally stopped with its nose still pointed in the right direction, Christine slowly let out her breath. The big man seemed totally unruffled. “ ’Bout used up all the road on thet one,” was his only comment.
Christine opened her eyes and gradually unclenched her fists. She looked down at her knuckles and watched as the color slowly seeped back into them. It was taking even longer to get the air back in her lungs.
They pulled into town just as the sun was setting, and true to the man’s prediction, a wind had come up and it was beginning to snow. “Gonna be real nasty in no time,” the driver said. “Made it jest in time.”
Christine nodded, thankful to be home in one piece. Thankful they weren’t back in the ditch, helplessly and hopelessly stuck in the storm.
As soon as the truck pulled up in front of the house, she saw her mother brush back the kitchen curtain and look out into the semidarkness. By the time Christine had retrieved her suitcase, the door was open and her mother was waiting for her.