Free Where Courage Calls: A When Calls the Heart Novel by Janette Oke, Laurel Oke Logan Page A

far too near startled Beth with his question.
    “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
    “Yer luggage? I come to help carry. They forget to leave yer things?”
    She drew in a long breath. “I’m afraid I have nothing. My trunks were stolen from the platform at the Lethbridge train station.”
    His head tipped to one side. “Ya don’t say!” There was a pause as he digested the fact. “Then what’ll ya do?”
    “I don’t know. . . .”
    A group of women had followed Beth from the hall, and the man waved them over. “She ain’t got bags,” he announced. “They was stole.”
    Quickly the women once more surrounded Beth, their faces showing the dismay they felt at this disclosure. “Poor dear,” they clucked over her. “Oh my!” “Well, let’s get you to Molly’s guest house and see what she says.”
    Beth followed obediently, asking no further explanation.She had been promised room and board as a portion of her salary. Certainly this would have been known, and the women would direct her to her proper residence. She was led past the empty lot to the large weathered house facing the street. The ladies pushed back the wobbly gate, crossed the tidy yard, and mounted the porch, calling out, “Molly! Molly, she’s here.”
    A plump woman in a dull dress of indeterminate color pushed open the screen door and smiled a warm, gap-toothed grin. “Bless us. She is at that.” She wiped her hands on her apron and reached out to take Beth’s hand. “Welcome, dearie. We’re so glad ya come.”
    “She ain’t got no bags” was bluntly repeated for Molly’s benefit. “Somebody musta took off wit’ ’em.”
    Molly looked from one to another, then shook her head. “No bags, eh? Well, that’s a shame.” And immediately she added sagely, “No sense cryin’ over spilled milk. We’ll jest have to make do.”
    Beth timidly stepped into the foyer and was passed on to Molly’s care. The other women turned and walked away in singles and pairs. Molly, like a practiced sergeant commanding the troops, motioned toward two teenagers hovering in a doorway nearby.
    “Teddy Boy, go see that the pink room is unlocked, and open a window so it airs.” The boy rushed past and up the stairs. Molly cast a quick glance over Beth and then to the girl. “Marnie, go see Sarah and Miss Kate. Ask if they’ve some duds to borrow to the new schoolmarm. Tell ’em she ain’t got nothin’ ’cept the clothes on her back.” Then she called after the girl as she whisked out, the screen door banging behind her, “And see Miss Charlotte too. Now she’s in the family way she’s laid aside most’a what she’s got.”
    Without waiting further, Molly started down the halltoward the back of her house. “Come with me, dearie. I’m fixin’ pickles that need tendin’, but we can jaw awhile till the kids get back.”
    Beth trailed behind and seated herself on a chair at a small table not far from where Molly was working. The room was scantily outfitted but neatly kept. A wood-burning stove stood against the back wall. Next was a small box half filled with wood, along with an oddly shaped bin of black coal beside an exterior door. There were two large pots and a kettle on the stove at which Molly stood. Along the far wall was a long, roughly built table with several crowded shelves fixed to the wall above and wooden bins tucked carefully beneath. A small doorway beside the table was half covered by a curtain, shielding an unlit pantry. On the third wall to Beth’s right were a dry sink with a large metal basin and two pails of water waiting beside it, and finally the icebox. Though a remote location, Beth had not considered that homes here might not have plumbing or electricity. How difficult life must be here in this place, she marveled.
    As Beth watched, the practiced hands scrubbed and measured, salted and stirred, her conversation never slacking. “We ain’t got much here, dearie, but we know how to care for our own. And now yer