CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New (23 page)

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Authors: Janette Oke

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BOOK: CAN West 04 - When Hope Springs New

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My tears fell uncontrollably as I thought of my dear, light-hearted sister and her deep sorrow. I thanked God her letter held no bitterness, only love for her young preacher husband and faith in her mighty God.

Jon and Mary’s family were keeping well, though Elizabeth, their climber, had suffered a broken arm in a fall from a ladder left beside the house. The arm had healed nicely, and they hoped she had learned a lesson.

Mother Delaney had had two more hospital stays, one resulting in gall-bladder surgery. Now she was feeling much better. Phillip and Lydia’s family were all well and growing.

I read each letter over many times before I laid them aside. It was the next best thing to a good visit with those we loved.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Service

I was excited with my new Sunday school class—even more excited than I was about the opportunity to again play the piano. I was given a class of six energetic seven- and eight-year-olds. Four of them were girls and two were boys.

One of the boys, a real handful, had been raised by a man who had lost his wife in childbirth. He had chosen, in his bitterness, not to remarry. I’m afraid his wrath affected his growing son. It was a neighbor lady who somehow managed to get Willie to Sunday school. The father had no room in his life for God, but the woman’s son was the only friend of the young boy and so the two came to Sunday school together.

They could not have been more different. Stephen Williams was a quiet, small-framed boy with a lisp and questioning blue eyes. He had learned not to speak unless spoken to. I think it had to do with being ridiculed by other children rather than because of good manners.

Willie Schultz, on the other hand, was big for his age, loud and cantankerous, never stopped talking, and had a quick and fiery temper to go with his shock of unruly reddish hair.

They seemed such an unlikely pair to be “best friends,” but it was evident to me from the first Sunday that they considered themselves just that.

They insisted on sitting together, sharing a book, that they be separated from “the girls,” and that they be allowed to communicate whenever they wished.

I, on the other hand, insisted that they sit across the room from one another, each have his own book, be intermingled with the girls and be quiet unless I asked them to speak.

For a few moments it seemed as if I would be the loser. They looked glumly at one another, threatening to “never come again,” Willie’s rage showing in his eyes, but as the lesson went on they got involved and forgot to continue their protest.

Thankfully, all four of my girls were quite well behaved. I learned that one, called Mary, was the daughter of the lady in the bakeshop. She was a bit on the chubby
side—she must have free hand in sampling the goods,
I decided.

Molly and Polly were twins, daughters of the town’s blacksmith, and Sue Marie was the daughter of the man who worked on the ferry boat. I later learned that Sue Marie and her family had lived in many places, her father shifting from job to job. For this reason Sue Marie had had very little education. She would just be starting classes at one school and they would be on the road again, often to places where there was no school. Sunday school was a new experience for Sue Marie as well, and it was because of the kindnesses of Mrs. Kelly to the family that Sue Marie was allowed to attend.

So I looked at my Sunday school class as a great challenge. Here were six students who needed to know the truths from God’s Word. For some of them, this might well be their only opportunity. I prayed for the help of the Lord.

Wynn began his class with a group of four reluctant and withdrawn boys. The first Sunday he was discouraged with their actions and their response, but much to his surprise all four were back the following Sunday.

He took them on a backpacking trip the next Saturday. Over the open fire they cooked the fish they had caught, and Wynn taught them some of the skills of survival in the wilderness. The next Sunday there were six boys in his class, and the following Sunday he had eight, all eager to get in on the activities if not to learn, and pressing for his attention.

Wynn followed the backpacking trip with canoeing and hiking. One Saturday was even spent showing how to properly start training a puppy. The puppy belonged to Jock MacGregor, and all the boys then clamored for a dog of their own so they too could get involved. I knew that when Revva’s litter arrived, we would have more trainers than we had puppies.

Wynn enjoyed his “boys” and they took to dropping by our house in the evenings or on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. I often felt like I was running a restaurant for hungry youngsters, but it was fun and I never objected.

My class, too, felt welcome at our house. We spent some Saturdays baking cookies or making candy. Even the boys took part, though they were much better at eating than baking. We went for nature walks together. I promised them that when the snow was deep enough, I would teach them how to walk with snowshoes, and they were all eager to try.

With the activity of our classes and the dropping in of our students, my days were soon full. It was like having a great big family of our own.

Not all of our “family” listened well to our instructions. Willie, though he never missed Sunday school and came to the house oftener than any of my other students, still seemed to carry a chip on his shoulder. He was often belligerent and unyielding, and sometimes flew into a rage if things didn’t go his way.

I tried to understand him and his needs, but I also had to be quite firm. In spite of the fact that Willie was a boy who needed lots of love and attention, I felt he also needed strong discipline to help him grow up to be of use to himself and society.

Wynn had two boys who were also a problem. One was from a home with no resident father. His father had gone away, leaving the home and the family, and no one seemed to know where. The second one was the youngest of a brood of twelve, very needy and excessively transient. They stayed in one place only long enough to completely wear out their welcome and then moved on.

Only two of the twelve were not still living at home, though many of them were of an age to be considered adults. They stayed with the family group, clinging to one another—not out of love, however. Continual inner strife often resulted in horrible fights, with fists, or knives or anything they could get their hands on. That family was Wynn’s greatest source of distress. The police force probably answered more calls to that one ramshackled home than to any other area under their patrol.

Wynn feared the young boy would grow up to follow the same wayward path as the rest of his kin. So he tried to spend time with the boy and encourage him in any way he could. The boy’s name was Henry Myers, but the kids at school all called him “Rabid,” a nickname he seemed quite pleased with.

Because of all the time we were spending with our Sunday school classes, Wynn and I found that we were not getting much time to ourselves or to becoming acquainted with other people our age. We discussed it and decided we would have to set aside one night a week, informing our students we were unavailable that night. We would use that time to cultivate friendships of our own.

It didn’t work out too well. There always seemed to be one child or another standing at our door with a problem to solve or a joy to share. We finally decided we would save Sunday dinner for inviting couples or families in, and the rest of the time we would be available to our class members.

I had two mothers approach me about giving piano lessons to their children, and, with the permission of the kind pastor, we used the church piano. I began by teaching three lessons a week. More mothers were soon calling and the lessons increased to eleven per week, There would have been more, but I felt that was all I could handle.

Our lives were busy, our days so full, that it caught me quite by surprise when it started snowing. Winter was with us again, and I hadn’t even had time to anticipate or dread its coming.

TWENTY-NINE

Winter

This was a very different winter than I had been used to. Instead of hauling wood and melting water to keep my fire going and wash my laundry, I was teaching piano lessons to prim little girls and baking cookies for hungry boys.

My physical labor was much easier, but my days were much busier. I couldn’t believe how full our life was. I was seeing less of Wynn now than when we lived at one of the villages. Even our Sundays were full, the day of the week we had previously guarded jealously for one another.

Revva’s puppies arrived—five of them—but I was much too busy to help in their training. Besides, all Wynn’s Sunday school boys were clamoring to help him and I knew it was important to them.

We took on the enjoyable task of taking turns having all the families of our students in for Sunday dinner. A few found some nice way to decline our invitation, but most of them accepted, and I was kept busy preparing meals both affordable and tasty.

The students each were given a written invitation to carry home with them, inviting his or her family to our house for dinner two weeks hence. The next Sunday they were to carry back the reply. We could have asked the parents ourselves, but we wanted the students to feel part of the process. They took such delight in carrying the envelope home.

When it was Willie’s turn to carry home his invitation, he looked at me with angry eyes. As it turned out, he was not angry with me.

“Why bother?” he fumed. “My old man wouldn’t come.”

“Perhaps you should take home the invitation and let him decide,” I coaxed Willie.

“Won’t do no good. He’s so ugly mean. He’ll just get mad and take a swing at me.”

I couldn’t believe one so young could be so disrespectful and mistrustful of his father.

“I’ll deliver the invitation myself if you’d rather,” I told Willie.

He shoved the invitation deep into his pocket. “Might swing at you, too,” he growled.

I let the matter drop and went on with the class.

I decided Willie might need a little help in encouraging his father, so I did not wait for the next Sunday when Willie would bring back his reply to the invitation. Instead, I dressed in my best on Tuesday morning and headed for the small local hotel that Willie’s father owned.

When I entered the building I approached the man at the desk, pleased that I would not have to ask for Mr. Schultz. His swatch of reddish hair told me where Willie got his, and a brisk, friendly mustache twitched as though in amusement when he talked. His name was pinned to the front of his striped vest, G. W. Schultz.

I smiled warmly.

“Mr. Schultz,” I said, extending my hand. “I am Mrs. Delaney. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He took my hand and shook it thoroughly, murmuring something about the pleasure being all his.

“I am here to invite you to my house for dinner a Sunday from next,” I continued. “I assume that you have already received a written invitation, but I wanted to make it a personal invitation as well.”

“That is most kind,” said Mr. Schultz.

“We will be dining at one o’clock and you are most welcome to come a few minutes before that time if you wish. However, we don’t get home until around twelve-thirty from our morning church service.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Mr. Schultz, giving me a big smile, his mustache twitching.

He certainly seems friendly enough,
I thought to myself.
Why do people paint him as such an ogre?

I got even more daring.

“It would be delightful to have you join us for the morning service if you are free.”

“I just might do that,” said Mr. Schultz.

I felt ecstatic. Never had I been received so graciously.

“We will count on that then,” I said, and gave the man one of my nicest smiles.

“Certainly. And I thank you for your kindness. I shall look forward to the Sunday after next.”

I turned to go and then turned back again, with what I hoped was a winning smile, “Mr. Schultz,” I said rather teasingly, yet meaningfully, “you don’t have to wait for two weeks to attend our church, you know. You would be most welcome anytime—even next Sunday.”

He twirled his long reddish mustache, “Mrs. Delaney,” he said, “I have never had a more pleasant invitation.”

I flushed slightly and fumbled with the doorknob. Just as I was about to make my exit, he spoke again.

“Mrs. Delaney,” he said, “please don’t take offense, but are you a widow, ma’am?”

I turned back, my face warming under his gaze.

“No ... no ... of course not.”

“Then might I ask just why you are asking a bachelor like myself to dinner?”

“The invitation explained that, I—”

“What invitation?”

“Why the one your son—”

“My son? I have no son. As I said, I am a bachelor, Mrs. Delaney.”