[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm (14 page)

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Authors: Janette Oke

BOOK: [Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm
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Mr. Martin reached out with gnarled fingers and drew the boy close to his side. He kissed the tousled head before he replied. “I’m good ... now.”
“We came to see you.”
“I see you did. You check with Granny. She might have another piece or two of that pie.”
There was a quiet step behind him, and Henry knew without turning around that the boy’s mother had arrived in the room. He could almost sense her moment of hesitation. Then she moved forward.
“How are you, Papa?” she asked as she proceeded toward the man. She bent to place a kiss on his forehead.
Mrs. Martin had sprung up from her chair. “There’s a seat for you, dear. Pull out that chair for Danny. I’ll get pie and more coffee.”
“Mama—we’ve already eaten.”
“Well, Danny can always make room for pie,” she answered with a grandmother’s certainty.
“Just a small piece, then.”
“You’ve met Sergeant Delaney?” Sam Martin asked.
Henry stood to his feet to acknowledge the introduction. He nodded silently, wondering if he should extend his hand or wait for her to make the move.
She just nodded. “Hello” was all she said. Then as an afterthought she waved her hand toward the table. “Please ... finish your pie.”
»
Henry took his seat again.
Danny had rushed off to the kitchen to supervise his grandmother’s serving up of the pie. Henry could hear them.
“Who’s that man?”
“He’s our guest.”
“He’s got a red coat. Does that make him a Mountie?”
“Yes. He’s a policeman.”
“Tommy says policemans are to lock you away in big iron cages. ”
“Tommy is wrong. We’ll talk about it later.”
Mr. Martin turned to his daughter with a question, probably to cover up the kitchen conversation.
“How has your week gone?”
She nodded. “It’s gone.” Then she smiled and added, “Fairly good, actually.”
“Sergeant Delaney here has just been telling us about the North. He was raised up there. Also worked up there. Says there may be a chance the Indians would have some tea that would help my arthritis.”
But Henry wondered if the young woman had been following her father’s comments. He felt her eyes upon him, studying his face. “Really?” he heard her say.
Mrs. Martin and Danny returned, Danny carrying his own piece of pie. Mrs. Martin had another for her daughter and a cup of coffee in the other hand.
“Really, Mother. I couldn’t eat anything. Just the coffee. Thank you. Danny—my goodness. That piece is awfully large.”
“It’s my favorite,” explained Danny, forking in his first bite.
“Favorite or not, you’re going to have a tummy ache.”
“No, Mama, I won’t. Gramma’s pies don’t give tummy aches.”
A chuckle rippled around the table. Only Danny missed the joke. He was much too busy enjoying his pie.
“I’m sorry to have barged in,” his mother said. “I had no idea you had a guest. I thought you’d be all done with your dinner.”
“We’ve just been chatting over our dessert,” said her mother.
“As soon as Danny eats his pie we’ll be off and leave you to finish your visit.”
Henry was quick to offer his first comment since her arrival. “Please, don’t feel you need to go. I was just about to take my leave. I’ve so enjoyed the dinner and the visit I’m afraid I’ve stayed much longer than I intended.”
Mr. Martin turned to his daughter. “Sergeant Delaney has kindly offered to—” He broke off. “I guess we should talk about it sometime when we are alone.” He nodded toward the young boy. “Best not get any hopes up before we get it sorted out,” he added in an undertone.
Henry already felt certain what her answer would be. He cast a quick glance at her face, and he didn’t think she had changed her mind.
“I’ve done a fair bit of outdoor activity with young boys,” Henry said in an effort to reassure her. “Camping. Fishing. Snowshoeing. Mushing. Young boys love the out-of-doors. I thought it might be one way I could help out at the church. Work with the boys. My father—that was how he first talked me into attending his Sunday school class.” Seeing their expressions of curiosity, he hurried on. “I was adopted. My RCMP father taught the boys’ class in Athabasca when I was a kid. I don’t suppose I would have ever been interested in church if it wasn’t for him.”
Henry was touched by her parents’ evident warmth and interest, but she said, “That’s a great idea,” without much enthusiasm. “For older boys.”
Henry nodded and rose to go. It was difficult to express his heartfelt thanks to his host and hostess because of the keen disappointment he felt. It was clear that the younger woman was not going to open any doors to friendship.
CHAPTER
Eleven
Boyd did find interesting things for them to do. Reluctantly at first, Christine agreed to outings. First a drive in the country. Then a picnic along the river. Then a concert. Out to dinner. Soon it was expected that they’d date each weekend. Christine had done a lot of praying about the matter to begin with, but gradually she pushed her concerns aside and began to count the days, living for that weekend event with Boyd. Then it became twice a week. Three times.
There was no mention of church, though Christine continued to pray that Boyd would change his attitude concerning God. Occasionally there was a casual mention of his friends. “My friends are having a party. Want to go?” Or “They’re meeting at the beach this Saturday. Interested?” Christine always shook her head. She had no desire to try to fit in with that crowd. “You go if you like,” she would say.
Sometimes he would sulk, turning cold and angry. Her heart sank when he was in that mood. But always, by the end of their date, he changed back to the attentive suitor she appreciated. Most of the time they did indeed have delightful times together.
She had no idea what he did with his days when he was home from college for the summer. She knew he did not have a job. From snippets of conversation, she understood that he was not an early riser. His father joked about him at times but always in good humor. “Boyd’s resting up for university life,” or “Boyd’s a growing boy. Needs his sleep.”
He did spend time tinkering with his car. In fact, he now had two cars. Why, Christine could not imagine, but he did enjoy the hours with wrenches and grease. “I think Boyd could make anything run,” Mr. Kingsley boasted proudly. “Listen to that baby purr. Soft as a kitten.”
Christine would smile. She was willing to accept the purring motor as an outstanding accomplishment.
But all through the glorious yet troubling months of their short summer, Christine continued to feel an uncomfortable sense that something was not quite right. She was getting too involved. The changes being made were not for the good. Instead of Boyd being more open to her faith, he seemed to be coaxing her more and more into his world. She had resisted—had told herself she was being firm. Strong. But was she? She prayed harder. “God, change him” was the heart of her prayers. Already she knew she did not want to lose him.
With the end of summer approaching, Christine knew Boyd was again leaving for college. “Why can’t you transfer here?” she asked as he drove her home after their last dinner together. She recognized her own voice as pleading.
“I’ve started out in Toronto. I want to finish there.”
Christine did not say that, from what she had gathered, he had not had too auspicious a start.
“I’ll be home for Christmas,” he said cheerfully. “That’s only a few months.”
Christine was sure they would be very long months. She had unwisely lost touch with the church group her age. Her attendance at the Sunday morning service had not stopped, but that was as far as her commitment now would go.
He pulled the car in against the curb and put it in neutral. “I’ll miss you,” he said, and his voice was warm and genuine. He pulled her close and kissed her. She knew she would miss him too. With all her heart.
She wanted to tell him she would be praying for him, but she swallowed the words along with the tears in the back of her throat.
“You’ll write?” she asked as she clung to him.
He laughed. “I’m not much good at writing. I’ll phone.”
Christine thought of the common phone in the hall at the boardinghouse. She knew that under the circumstances the calls would not be very satisfactory.
“I can only use the phone for five minutes at a time,” she informed him sadly. “And then for one call a night.”
“Hey,” he said suddenly, “why don’t you take my dad up on his offer? Move in. No reason you should still be sitting over here dictated to by that Mrs. Whatever-her-color-is.”
Christine laughed in spite of her aching heart. “Mrs. Green.”
“I’ve never cared much for your Mrs. Green,” he continued. “She’s a pompous little dictator.”
“You don’t even know Mrs. Green.”
“I’ve run into her a few times when I’ve come to get you. She’s always sharp and sour and looks at me like I came to steal the silver. Worse than Ol’ Bones.”
“She’s not. She’s been most kind to me.” She pulled away slightly. He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s not fuss,” he whispered against her hair. “This is our last night together.”
She didn’t need to be reminded.
“Well ... why not?” he asked again, nuzzling her hair.
“I ... don’t know. It just doesn’t—”
“Is it the cooking? Hey—if you don’t want to cook, don’t cook. Just live there. Be good for the old guy to have some company. And he likes you. Lots.”
“It’s not the cooking. I like to cook. It’s just ... well, it doesn’t seem proper ‘for a girl to be living ... like that.”
“Proper to whom? Why should you care what others think? If you were at the house, I could call you anytime I wanted and talk for as long as I cared.”
It was tempting.
“Come on,” he coaxed further. “Just think-when I come home for Christmas, you would be there waiting for me.”
She would like that. She’d really like that. “I’ll ... I’ll think about it.” She swallowed hard. Even thinking about it was against her better judgment. Well ... she’d pray about it. That was safe enough. Dared she say that to him?
She stirred. “Mrs. Green locks the door at nine.”
“See what I mean? She’s a tyrant. You can’t even live your own’life. Move in with Dad.”
“I have to go. Really.”
“Not yet.”
“But I must. I don’t want to be locked out.”
“I’ll take you home with me. Now. We’ll get your things and tell Mrs. Green to stick the key in her ear and you’re out of here,”
“No—please. Not tonight. I ... need some time to think about this. To pray...”
“I thought you were getting over that praying stuff.” He was angry now. She hadn’t wanted him to be angry—hadn’t wanted their last evening together to end like this. She wished to turn her face against his shoulder and cry, knowing instinctively that he would hold her close and comfort her. But there was no time for comfort. At any minute Mrs. Green would be heading for the door, key in hand. Christine put a hand up to his lips. “Please,” she whispered, “I need to go.”
He not only released her, he almost pushed her away. He was already reaching for the gearshift before she could even open the car door.
She reached the door just as Mrs. Green came down the hall, jingling the keys in her hand. Christine managed a smile and a “good night,” but it required every ounce of will she had. She wanted to do nothing other than throw herself on her bed and weep. Boyd was leaving in the morning, and they had parted with a quarrel.
When Christine dragged herself into the office the next morning, a lovely bouquet of red roses graced her desk. The card said simply,
Love, Boyd.
She wondered if he had ordered the flowers before or after his angry departure. She pushed that thought aside and buried her face in the blooms, drinking deeply of the fragrance. Tears threatened to come again, but she willed them away.

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