When Tomorrow Comes (6 page)
“And then a strange thing happened. At least it seems rather strange when I look back on it. I began to make friends. Not just . . . just acquaintances but real, deep-down friends. I loved the people, Christine. The women. The darling children. And of course there was our precious Sammy. . . .” Elizabeth could not speak for a moment. Christine knew the story of the little Indian boy whom Elizabeth and Wynn had taken into their home and their hearts. And then, much later, his father had returned to claim him. . . . Christine had a lump in her throat as her mother wiped her eyes. But Elizabeth took a deep breath and continued, “Those Indian women’s lives were so . . . so hard. They endured so much.
“It was hard to leave them. I felt like . . . rather a traitor, actually. I was going back to many comforts. Many amenities. And they . . . they just had to stay where they were—
as they
were
—and cope. I felt like I . . . deserted them.”
“But you didn’t.”
Elizabeth raised her head. “When your father was injured and we thought we were going to lose him, something happened inside me. Before . . . before when I was afraid . . . or troubled, I always had him. He was my strength. My comfort. As long as I had that I could go on. But when I thought I might lose him, I realized that I had no strength of my own. Not really. If I lost him . . .”
Christine reached for her mother’s hand again.
“The North nearly took him from me, Christine.”
“But, Mama . . .”
“I was the one who pushed to get him back to a place that was more civilized. I don’t think your father really wanted to come. He would have stayed right there, injured leg and all, and trekked the miles and camped in the cold and exposed himself to more half-crazy men. I . . . I think his heart is still in the North. If we went back—”
“I’m going back,” Christine said impulsively. “I don’t blame Dad for feeling that way. For loving it. He was . . . was needed there. Loved. The North was where he belonged.”
She spoke with such vehemence that both of them were surprised.
“You are angry with me?” Elizabeth spoke softly.
Christine stirred on the worn plush seat, her sudden outburst now controlled.
“I’m not angry. Just . . . just a little upset, I guess. I love the North. You . . . you not only took Dad from it, but us . . . Henry and me too. It . . . it just doesn’t seem fair.”
Elizabeth toyed with the gloves in her lap. “I guess I did,” she admitted. “And I’m sorry. But no . . . no, I’m not sorry. It was time for you to come out. Both of you. You needed to . . . to learn about the rest of the world. You needed to see things and hear things and—and grow up. And your father. He needed to be able to sleep in a bed at night. To have regular hours of work. To walk around without watching his back.”
“Walk without ‘watching his back’?” Christine was stirred to remonstrate, “But he was loved. And respected.”
“By most. Yes. But there were always a few—those who had broken the law and been made to pay for it—who watched for opportunities to . . . well, let’s just say your father had to be very vigilant when out on the trail.”
“You never said—”
“Of course we didn’t. We didn’t want to frighten you. But it’s a part of life for a Mountie.”
“Does Henry. . . ?”
“If he has made enemies. Yes.”
“But that’s not fair.”
“Life is never fair. The best one can hope for is to be given a chance.”
Christine had much to ponder. It was the first time Elizabeth had really opened her heart to Christine—not simply as her daughter but now as a friend. In the past she had always been the protector. The guardian. Now she had exposed herself as vulnerable. Needy. Human. Christine was not sure how to respond.
She had one more question she had to ask. “Was . . . was Dad afraid?”
“Afraid? Sensibly so. Cautious. He worried at times that something might happen to him, and I’d—we’d be stranded with no way to get out of the North. No place to go. We talked of it. He . . . he kept a little stash of money—not much, but a little. He . . . he said if ever anything happened, I was to use it to find us a small house in some safe town. He said—”
But Christine did not wish to hear more. It was too much. All the morbid thoughts on such a brilliant day. She shivered and stopped her mother. “Look. There are tracks all across that field. Deer must have been playing tag or something.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “We missed it,” she lamented.
The spell was broken. Christine leaned her head back against the high seat and closed her eyes. Her emotions were still in turmoil. So much . . . so much had gone on in her family that she had been totally unaware of. So many battles fought and won—or lost. So many struggles with inner or outer conflicts. As a child she had assumed that grown-ups had everything neatly figured out. That they were in charge of their world. That there was nothing that troubled their sleep or caused them alarm. Now was she being told that there was never a place in the world free of worry or challenge? That was not what Christine was hoping to hear right now.
Both Jon and Mary met them at the Calgary station. “I just couldn’t bear to wait at home,” Mary exclaimed as she hugged first one, then the other. “It’s been such a long time.”
“Oh, it’s so good to see you,” responded Elizabeth, tears in her eyes. “I think of you all so often. And the children. How are the children?”
“Well,” laughed Jonathan, “the children have children of their own now, as you know. They are quite adult. Quite, shall we say, independent—for which their mother and I are dreadfully thankful.”
They all laughed.
“Oh, I want to see them. Each of them,” enthused Elizabeth.
“And you shall. They are all coming to dinner tonight. Well, all, that is, except William. He and his family haven’t been home since a year ago June. He took them all off to Winnipeg. Can’t imagine it. But William loves it. He’s an attorney, you know.”
“Yes,” murmured Elizabeth. “And a good one, too, I’m sure.”
“Well, let’s get you loaded up and off to our home,” said Jonathan, lifting the two heavy suitcases. “We’ve plenty of time to talk in the comfort of the living room.”
“I think the city has grown again,” mused Elizabeth as she gazed out the car window.
“Grown. Growing. Every time you turn around, a new building is going up.” Jonathan seemed very pleased and proud of his city.
“It’s growing too fast, if you ask me,” cut in Mary. “We can’t keep up with things.”
“We’ll catch up,” Jonathan replied comfortably.
Christine could not help but compare Calgary to the Edmonton she knew. It was true that Calgary was growing quickly. She noted several new buildings since the time she had spent with her uncle Jon and aunt Mary while taking her secretarial course. But if she had to choose in which of the two cities she would make her home, she was not sure which one it would be. They were very different—in both appearance and feel.
“You’ve changed the color of your house,” Elizabeth exclaimed as they pulled up into the driveway.
“It was time for a change. It had the same blue-green trim for over thirty years.”
“I liked it,” said Elizabeth and quickly caught herself. “This looks nice too. Such a nice fresh color.”
“It’s very popular right now,” spoke up Mary. “I suppose, like everything else, it will need something new in the future. It no doubt will soon be dated. But for now . . .” She shrugged. “You know what they say, ‘The only thing constant is change.’ Or something like that.”
Except in the North,
thought Christine.
In the North things
have stayed the same for generation after generation. And they will
go on staying the same. That’s what I like about the North. Well,
at least, that’s one thing I like
.
They shed their wraps and were shown to their rooms, then invited to the drawing room for a refreshing cup of tea and newly baked scones. There was no flickering fire in the fireplace.
“We really don’t need it now, because the central heating’s so effective,” practical Mary explained. “We only light it if we feel sentimental. This is so much less messy.”
But Christine missed the dancing of the flames and the crackle of burning logs. Central heating could not fill that need.
“So our Henry is getting married,” Mary noted. “Wonderful. He stopped in and introduced us to his bride-to-be. She seems so sweet. And that little boy. Isn’t he a darling? You must be thrilled, Elizabeth.”
The talk swirled around Christine. It was clear the two women had much to talk about and were set to enjoy hours and hours of each other’s company. Should she sit and listen or set her empty cup aside with a smile and retreat to her room? Or perhaps she could excuse herself with the need for some exercise. But she felt content. Lazy. At length she squirmed herself into a comfortable position in the overstuffed easy chair and settled down to enjoy the rise and fall of the familiar voices.
Dinner that evening was a rather boisterous affair. The table was crowded with family. Two high chairs and their tiny occupants pushed their way in between parents at either end of the table. The baby girl had been named Elizabeth in honor of her great-aunt, a fact that Elizabeth cooed and gushed over. The little boy, two months younger than his cousin, was named Matthew. He had large brown eyes and heavy lashes. Christine was sure she had never seen a prettier baby. Other little ones sat on stacked phone books or small orange crates placed on dining room chairs. The older two—seven and ten years old— were able to sit in adult-sized chairs. The boy was a little saucy but the girl quite sedate and grown-up in manner. Christine remembered them from her time spent in the city, but they had changed considerably over the years since she had left. They either did not remember her well or pretended they did not. At any rate, they responded only politely to her overtures.
The talk swirled around the table like incoming breakers, punctuated frequently by splashes of laughter. It was enough to make one feel dizzy. Elizabeth seemed to revel in it. Christine realized for the first time just how much her mother must have missed contact with family. No wonder her father had suggested she come early to
store up
once again.
At the thought of her father, Christine felt a twinge. Already she missed him. How was he faring all alone? Certainly he had no cause to go hungry with all the food her mother had left for him. Was he lonely? Did he miss the stir of his wife in the kitchen? The conversation before the open fire of an evening?
Perhaps he enjoys a few quiet moments to sort through his own
thoughts,
concluded Christine.
We all need quiet times now and
then
.
But we all need communication as well,
her silent soliloquy continued.
I would have never guessed that Mother felt some of
the things she shared today. In the future, I must be more . . . more
open, more prepared to listen. To sense her needs
.
It was certainly something new to think about.
The next days passed pleasantly with much activity—some of it fun and some relating to wedding preparations. Actually, that was fun, too, Christine decided. Then the day arrived when Henry would come to Calgary and bring Christine back for the days leading up to his wedding. Her new suit was carefully folded in tissue and packed for the journey. She finally had chosen material of a soft navy, having come to the conclusion that the red serge of the Force was not an easy color to complement.
But she was pleased with the pattern they had found and most satisfied with her mother’s skilled seamstress ability. The suit looked good on her. Even she could appreciate that fact. She did hope Amber would be equally happy with it.
One fact had dampened her visit to the bustling city. Everywhere she turned it seemed she saw young people in full uniform. Never had she imagined that so many of her country’s youth were willing to go off to war. They seemed to swarm over the city, calling jovially from each street corner, congregating at bus stops, laughing and jostling at lunchroom counters.
“You’d think it was some adventurous lark, instead of a war that needs fighting,” Christine heard one disgruntled matron exclaim to another. And it was true. The young men and women seemed to be celebrating rather than preparing for a dangerous undertaking that could cost them their lives. Perhaps they did have more sober moments when the enormity of what was at stake accosted them, but they appeared very careful not to let it show.
Maybe that’s why,
Christine wondered.
They’re
trying to keep their spirits up to face what is ahead
.
The Sunday service had been another reminder. One of the young lads from the local congregation had just left for overseas. Serious, fervent prayer was offered up on behalf of the family who remained at home, forced to wait—and pray—hoping for his safe return.
“There are so many needs,” the pastor informed them. “Not just overseas, but here at home as well. You ask how you might be involved? Seek ways. Look around you. There are hand projects. Gloves, socks, and toques are needed. Even sweaters can be knit and sent. You can make up CARE packages. Little bits of home for the young men and women over there.
“And the local clubs need help. Faith Church has started a drop-in center for the servicemen. We can help out. They serve coffee and cake and give the boys—and the young women, we have young women going too—a chance to gather and play games or just talk.
“And many of the businesses need employees. So many young men have gone that it is up to the womenfolk to take their places here on the home front. We need to keep our country productive if the war effort is to be successful. See what you can do to help—and prayerfully get involved.”
Christine had not considered the involvement needed at home. But it was true. There was much to be done here at home as well. Her prayers began to change from that time on. “Lord, show me how you want me to be involved. Don’t let me jump in with my own plans. Show me, Lord.”
Reminders. Everywhere were reminders. From signs asking the populace to buy war bonds, to posted lists in local papers, to news of advancing or retreating forces on each night’s news- cast, to uniformed youth on each city street. Every place Christine went she was confronted with the fact that Canada was at war.
