Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel by Janette Oke, Laurel Oke Logan
Authors: Janette Oke, Laurel Oke Logan
Didn’t wanna bother with no more families. Got more’n enough of them to worry about already.”
“How do these women, the widows, provide for themselves?”
“Pensions—small ones. And livin’ in the company houses.That’ll keep ’em for a while. Most of ’em don’t know what to do when that runs out.”
“And the children?”
Molly paused, jar and spoon hovering over the pot, to contemplate her answer. “Don’t none of us want ’em minin’—that’s for certain. So I guess this is where you come in.” She put down her utensils and lumbered over to lower herself onto a chair. She reached across the table to take Beth’s hands. “Me an’ Frances been talkin’ about this. A lot. Them mines took her man, Lachlan, and her grown son, Peter, too. Nigh broke her heart in two. Had he been schooled, who knows what else might’a been. So we can’t let the mines get the rest, Miss Beth. We gotta find a way to give ’em more. Can you help us do that, ya think?”
Beth squeezed the damp, calloused hands. “Education can open many doors. I do believe that, Miss Molly. I assure you that I shall do my very best in my year here.”
“I know you will.” The matter was decided, and Molly returned to her pickles, waving off Beth’s offer to help. She saw the woman hastily wiping away a tear on the corner of her apron.
Once Marnie returned with a box of clothing items she had managed to gather, Molly sent Beth upstairs to find her room and to see if any of the clothes would fit. Cautiously opening the door, she peered around it. The room was simple—a bed with a pink quilt, a bedside table, a dresser, a washstand, and a row of hooks in place of a closet. Beth reached for the switch to turn on the light and found there was none. Her eyes rose to the empty ceiling and saw with new shock that there was no light other than three oil lamps placed in strategic positions around the room. She placed the box of clothing on the bed and began somewhat apprehensively to rummage through it.
She found simple homemade garments, but Beth quickly understood they represented both sacrifice and skill from women who had little. She slipped out of her traveling clothes and into a plain brown skirt and floral blouse. The fabric was rough and well worn, by far the simplest outfit she had ever donned. The skirt hem did not even cover her calves. Though comparable to the dress lengths that the latest fashion dictated, Beth felt terribly exposed. For the first time, she was grateful that she was shorter than most other women and tried not to think about how much of her legs were showing.
She hung the other garments from the hooks behind the door and tucked the borrowed underclothes away in an empty dresser drawer, happy that a simple shift would serve as nightwear. She steeled her resolve against the mortification she was feeling. As soon as Mother’s shipment arrived, she would return the items to their owners. Until that time, she would care for them well, wear them with gratitude.
Her next thought was to look for the privy, and she winced as she realized it would likely be found in the backyard. Slipping down the stairs, out the front door, and around the side of the house so she wouldn’t draw undue attention, Beth found the small structure. “One year,” she whispered to herself, “just one year.” Even as she spoke, she wondered if she would have consented to come had she realized the extent of the primitive living conditions.
Upon returning to her room, Beth poured water from the washstand pitcher into the waiting bowl and dipped her hands. The water was cold, the soap bar heavy and smelling of lye. She grimaced as she braced herself for a further adjustment. After drying her hands on the rough towel hanging on the nearby peg, she found paper and pencil in her handbag, seatedherself on the bed, rested her back against the headboard, and dutifully began the first of her promised letters home.
It was impossible to
“How do these women, the widows, provide for themselves?”
“Pensions—small ones. And livin’ in the company houses.That’ll keep ’em for a while. Most of ’em don’t know what to do when that runs out.”
“And the children?”
Molly paused, jar and spoon hovering over the pot, to contemplate her answer. “Don’t none of us want ’em minin’—that’s for certain. So I guess this is where you come in.” She put down her utensils and lumbered over to lower herself onto a chair. She reached across the table to take Beth’s hands. “Me an’ Frances been talkin’ about this. A lot. Them mines took her man, Lachlan, and her grown son, Peter, too. Nigh broke her heart in two. Had he been schooled, who knows what else might’a been. So we can’t let the mines get the rest, Miss Beth. We gotta find a way to give ’em more. Can you help us do that, ya think?”
Beth squeezed the damp, calloused hands. “Education can open many doors. I do believe that, Miss Molly. I assure you that I shall do my very best in my year here.”
“I know you will.” The matter was decided, and Molly returned to her pickles, waving off Beth’s offer to help. She saw the woman hastily wiping away a tear on the corner of her apron.
Once Marnie returned with a box of clothing items she had managed to gather, Molly sent Beth upstairs to find her room and to see if any of the clothes would fit. Cautiously opening the door, she peered around it. The room was simple—a bed with a pink quilt, a bedside table, a dresser, a washstand, and a row of hooks in place of a closet. Beth reached for the switch to turn on the light and found there was none. Her eyes rose to the empty ceiling and saw with new shock that there was no light other than three oil lamps placed in strategic positions around the room. She placed the box of clothing on the bed and began somewhat apprehensively to rummage through it.
She found simple homemade garments, but Beth quickly understood they represented both sacrifice and skill from women who had little. She slipped out of her traveling clothes and into a plain brown skirt and floral blouse. The fabric was rough and well worn, by far the simplest outfit she had ever donned. The skirt hem did not even cover her calves. Though comparable to the dress lengths that the latest fashion dictated, Beth felt terribly exposed. For the first time, she was grateful that she was shorter than most other women and tried not to think about how much of her legs were showing.
She hung the other garments from the hooks behind the door and tucked the borrowed underclothes away in an empty dresser drawer, happy that a simple shift would serve as nightwear. She steeled her resolve against the mortification she was feeling. As soon as Mother’s shipment arrived, she would return the items to their owners. Until that time, she would care for them well, wear them with gratitude.
Her next thought was to look for the privy, and she winced as she realized it would likely be found in the backyard. Slipping down the stairs, out the front door, and around the side of the house so she wouldn’t draw undue attention, Beth found the small structure. “One year,” she whispered to herself, “just one year.” Even as she spoke, she wondered if she would have consented to come had she realized the extent of the primitive living conditions.
Upon returning to her room, Beth poured water from the washstand pitcher into the waiting bowl and dipped her hands. The water was cold, the soap bar heavy and smelling of lye. She grimaced as she braced herself for a further adjustment. After drying her hands on the rough towel hanging on the nearby peg, she found paper and pencil in her handbag, seatedherself on the bed, rested her back against the headboard, and dutifully began the first of her promised letters home.
It was impossible to