Canadian West Collection, page 1
© 1983, 1985, 1986, 2000, 2001 by Janette Oke
Previously published in six separate volumes:
When Calls the Heart © 1983
When Comes the Spring © 1985
When Breaks the Dawn © 1986
When Hope Springs New © 1986
Beyond the Gathering Storm © 2000
When Tomorrow Comes © 2001
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2015
Ebook corrections 08.07.2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.
ISBN 978-1-4412-2927-4
Cover design by Dan Pitts
Contents
Cover 1
Title Page 3
Copyright Page 4
Book 1: When Calls the Heart 11
Preface 12
1. Elizabeth 14
2. The First Step 25
3. On the Way 28
4. Calgary 32
5. Family 37
6. Introductions 42
7. Mr. Higgins’ Plan 52
8. The New School 59
9. The Wilderness 68
10. Lars 73
11. The Petersons 78
12. Trip to Town 82
13. Saturday 86
14. Sunday 89
15. School Begins 94
16. Joint Tenants 98
17. Sunday Service 104
18. Letters 106
19. The Living Mouse Trap 110
20. A Visitor 113
21. Pupils 117
22. The School Stove 121
23. Plans 127
24. Napoleon 135
25. The Box Social 138
26. Andy 144
27. School Break 146
28. Dee 153
29. Return to School 158
30. Christmas Concert 165
31. Christmas Eve 170
32. Christmas Day 177
33. The Confession 182
34. Return to Pine Springs 187
35. Spring 189
36. School Ends 195
Book 2: When Comes the Spring 201
Characters 202
1. Days of Preparation 203
2. Good News and Bad News 208
3. Stepped-Up Plans 217
4. Preparing 225
5. The Wedding Day 233
6. Marriage 236
7. Banff 243
8. Mountain Lake 253
9. Back to Calgary 258
10. The Journey Begins 265
11. Onward 280
12. By Wagon 286
13. The Last Day on the Trail 295
14. Home 299
15. Making a Home 304
16. Neighbors 310
17. Adjustments 318
18. Teas and Such 326
19. Friends 332
20. Change of Direction 341
21. The Storyteller 346
22. Studies 352
23. Winter 356
24. Settling In 365
25. The Storm 372
26. Aftermath 380
27. Village Life 386
28. March 391
29. Nimmie 397
30. Making Do 409
31. The Watchful Eye 414
32. Traps 419
33. Spring 425
Book 3: When Breaks the Dawn 429
Characters 430
1. The Homecoming 431
2. Together Again 436
3. Catching Up 442
4. Supply House 448
5. A New Day 452
6. Routine 458
7. Life Goes On 462
8. Surprises 468
9. Nonita 475
10. Summer 478
11. Another Winter 480
12. School 483
13. The Three R’s 490
14. Trials and Triumphs 494
15. Another Christmas 499
16. Winter Visitor 506
17. Classes Resume 511
18. Susie 514
19. Spring Returns 520
20. Changes 529
21. Reminders 536
22. Sickness 539
23. Summer of ’Fourteen 544
24. Waiting 549
25. Temptation 554
26. Duty 557
27. Out 565
28. Calgary 570
29. Home Again 576
30. Settling In 579
31. Spring Again 587
32. The Birthday Party 590
33. Sorrow and Joy 598
Book 4: When Hope Springs New 605
1. Uprooted 606
2. Smoke Lake 610
3. A New Home 614
4. Getting Settled 618
5. Lonely Days 623
6. Blueberry Pie 628
7. Winter 631
8. Neighbors 636
9. Spring 640
10. Planting the Seed 645
11. Introductions 650
12. Summer 656
13. Panic 661
14. Reversal 668
15. Aftermath 673
16. Difficulties 680
17. Counting the Days 686
18. The Gift 692
19. Misunderstanding 696
20. Relief 702
21. Reunion 707
22. Starting Over 710
23. Adjustments 715
24. Change 722
25. Leaving 730
26. Athabasca Landing 735
27. Involvement 744
28. Service 750
29. Winter 754
30. Sunday Dinners 759
31. Answers 767
Book 5: Beyond the Gathering Storm 775
Chapter One 776
Chapter Two 785
Chapter Three 793
Chapter Four 802
Chapter Five 812
Chapter Six 819
Chapter Seven 825
Chapter Eight 833
Chapter Nine 841
Chapter Ten 848
Chapter Eleven 856
Chapter Twelve 863
Chapter Thirteen 872
Chapter Fourteen 879
Chapter Fifteen 889
Chapter Sixteen 897
Chapter Seventeen 906
Chapter Eighteen 913
Chapter Nineteen 922
Chapter Twenty 930
Chapter Twenty-One 939
Chapter Twenty-Two 949
Chapter Twenty-Three 957
Book 6: When Tomorrow Comes 965
Chapter One 966
Chapter Two 976
Chapter Three 985
Chapter Four 994
Chapter Five 1003
Chapter Six 1012
Chapter Seven 1022
Chapter Eight 1032
Chapter Nine 1041
Chapter Ten 1051
Chapter Eleven 1060
Chapter Twelve 1070
Chapter Thirteen 1078
Chapter Fourteen 1086
Chapter Fifteen 1095
Chapter Sixteen 1105
Chapter Seventeen 1114
Chapter Eighteen 1123
Chapter Nineteen 1132
Chapter Twenty 1143
Chapter Twenty-One 1150
About the Author 1157
Books by the Author 1158
Book 1
When Calls the Heart
To my oldest sister,
Elizabeth Margaret (Betty) Cox,
for having the patience
to let me “pull the needle,”
and for many other reasons.
Preface
I would like to supply my readers with a few facts concerning the North West Mounted Police. The Force was founded in 1873 as an answer to the problem of illicit liquor trade and lawlessness in the West. It has been said that the Mountie was dressed in a red coat to readily set him apart from the U.S. Cavalry. The Mountie’s job was to make peace with the Indians, not to defeat them; and many of the Indian tribes which he had to deal with had already had run-ins with the troops from south of the border. Whether for this reason, or some other, the scarlet tunic soon became distinctive, and set apart the man who was wearing it.
The uniform and the name both evolved. The title of Royal North West Mounted Police was granted by King Edward VII in 1904, in recognition of the Force’s contribution to Canada. In 1920, the name was changed to Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Eventually, the red coat was adopted as the dress uniform of the Force, and a more practical brown coat was chosen for regular duty, because, said Superintendent Steele, it was “almost impossible for even a neat and tidy man to keep the red coat clean for three months on the trail.” The hat also changed from the original pill-box, through various shapes and designs, to the Stetson that was approved in 1901.
It was the Yukon Gold Rush of 1895 that first brought the Mounties into the Far North. By 1898 there were twelve officers and 254 sergeants and constables in the Yukon
Although I try not to be too sentimental when I think of the Mounties and their part in the development of the Canadian West, to me, they are a living symbol of my Canadian home-land. To the people of the Lacombe area, may I assure you that among the names of Spruceville, Blackfalds, Brookfield, Turville and Iowalta; Woody Nook, Jones Valley, Canyon and Eclipse; Eureka, Spring Valley, Arbor Dale and Blindman; Central, West Branch, Birch Lake and Lincoln; Milton, Mt. Grove, Sunny Crest and Morningside; Gull Lake, Lakeside and Fairview; you will find no Pine Springs. Nor will you find a historic character that matches Pearlie’s pa in the town of Lacombe itself. All of the characters in the story are fictional, with no intended likenesses to anyone either living or dead.
May I also assure you that having grown up in the Hoadley area and having spent my early school years in the little one-room school at Harmonien, I have a great deal of love for and many fond memories of rural Alberta community life.
Chapter One
Elizabeth
It came as a great surprise to me. Oh, not the letter itself. We were all used to the arrival of letters from brother Jonathan. They came quite regularly and always caused a small stir in our household. No, it wasn’t the letter, but rather what it contained that caught me completely off guard. And Mother’s response to it was even more astounding.
The day, April 12, 1910, had started out like every other day. I arose early, had a quiet prayer time in my room, cared for my grooming, breakfasted with the family, and left at 8:00 to walk the eleven blocks to the school where I taught. I had made it a habit to be there early so that I would have plenty of time to make my morning preparations before the students arrived. I was usually the first teacher to make an appearance, but I rather enjoyed the early morning quietness of the other-wise noisy building.
As I walked along on that delightful spring morning, the world appeared especially beautiful and alive. For some reason, the flower-scented air and the song of the birds caused me to take a rare look at my inner self.
And how are you this delightful spring morning? I asked myself.
Why, I am just fine, thank you, I silently answered, and then almost blushed as I quickly looked around for fear that someone might be able to read my thoughts. It wasn’t like me to talk to myself—even inwardly, especially when walking along this public, maple-sheltered street. But no one shared the sidewalk with me at the moment so the self-dialogue continued.
Are you now? And what is it that makes your day so glorious—your step so feather-light?
The morning; life itself; the very fragrance of the air I breathe.
’Tis nice—but, then, you have always been a soul who took pleasure in just being alive. I do declare that you would be happy and contented anywhere on God’s green earth.
No—not really. Not really.
The sudden turn of the conversation and the switch of my emotion surprised me. There was a strange and unfamiliar stirring deep within me. A restlessness was there, begging me to give it proper notice. I tried to push it back into a recessed corner of my being, but it elbowed its way forward.
You’re always doing that! it hotly declared. Whenever I try to raise my head, you push me down, shove me back. Why are you so afraid to confront me?
Afraid?
Yes, afraid.
I’m not afraid. It’s just that I believe—I’ve been taught—that one ought to be content with what one has, especially if one has been as blessed as I. It is a shame—no, a sin—to feel discontented while enjoying all of the good things that life—and Papa—have showered upon me.
Aye, t’would be a sin to disregard one’s blessings. I should never wish you to do so. But perhaps, just perhaps, it would quiet your soul if you’d look fairly and squarely at what makes the empty little longing tug at you now and then.
It was a challenge; and though I still felt fearful, and perhaps not a little guilty, I decided that I must take a look at this inner longing if the voice was ever to be stilled.
I was born Elizabeth Marie Thatcher on June 3, 1891, the third daughter to Ephraim and Elizabeth Thatcher. My father was a merchantman in the city of Toronto and had done very well for himself and his family. In fact, we were considered part of the upper class, and I was used to all of the material benefits that came with such a station. My father’s marriage to my mother was the second one for her. She had first been married to a captain in the King’s service. To this union had been born a son, my half brother, Jonathan. Mother’s first husband had been killed when Jonathan was but three years old; Mother therefore had returned to her own father’s house, bringing her small son with her.
My father met my mother at a Christmas dinner given by mutual friends. She had just officially come out of mourning, though she found it difficult to wrap up her grief and lay it aside with her mourning garments. I often wondered just what appealed most to my father, the beauty of the young widow or her obvious need for someone to love and care for her. At any rate, he wooed and won her, and they were married the following November.
The next year my oldest sister, Margaret, was born. Ruthie then followed two years later. Mother lost a baby boy between Ruthie and me, and it nearly broke her heart. I think now that she was disappointed that I wasn’t a son, but for some reason I was the one whom she chose to bear her name. Julie arrived two years after me. Then, two and a half years later, much to Mother’s delight, another son was born, our baby brother, Matthew. I can’t blame Mother for spoiling Matthew, for I know full well that we shared in it equally. From the time that he arrived, we all pampered and fussed over him.
Our home lacked nothing. Papa provided well for us, and Mother spent hours making sure that her girls would grow into ladies. Together my parents assumed the responsibility for our spiritual nurturing and, within the proper boundaries, we were encouraged to be ourselves.
Margaret was the nesting one of the family. She married at eighteen and was perfectly content to give herself completely to making a happy home for her solicitor husband and their little family. Ruth was the musical one, and she was encouraged to develop her talent as a pianist under the tutorship of the finest teachers available. When she met a young and promising violinist in New York and decided that she would rather be his accompanist than a soloist, my parents gave her their blessing.
I was known as the practical one, the one who could always be counted on. It was I whom Mother called if ever there was a calamity or problem when Papa wasn’t home, relying on what she referred to as my “cool head” and “quick thinking.” Even at an early age I knew that she often depended upon me.
I guess it was my practical side that made me prepare for independence, and with that in mind I took my training to be a teacher. I knew Mother thought that a lady, attractive and pleasant as she had raised me to be, had no need for a career; after all, a suitable marriage was available by just nodding my pretty head at some suitor. But she held her tongue and even encouraged me in my pursuit.
I loved children and entered the classroom with confidence and pleasure. I enjoyed my third-graders immensely.
My sister Julie was our flighty one, the adventure-seeker, the romantic. I loved her dearly, but I often despaired of her silliness. She was dainty and pretty, so she had no trouble getting plenty of male attention; but somehow it never seemed to be enough for her. I prayed daily for Julie.
Matthew! I suppose that I was the only one in the family to feel, at least very often, concern for Matthew. I could see what we all had done to him with our spoiling, and I wondered if we had gone too far. Now a teenager, he was too dear to be made to suffer because of the over-attention of a careless family. He and I often had little private times together when I tried to explain to him the responsibilities of the adult world. At first I felt that my subtle approach was beyond his understanding, but then I began to see a consciousness of the meaning of my words breaking through. He became less demanding, and began to assert himself in the proper sense, to stand independently. I nurtured hope that we hadn’t ruined him after all. He was showing a strength of character that manifested itself in love and concern for others. Our Matt was going to make something of himself in spite of us.
My morning reverie was interrupted by the particularly sweet song of a robin. He seemed so happy as he perched on a limb high over my head, and my heart broke away from its review of my family to sing its own little song to accompany him.
Well, I thought when our song had ended, the restlessness does not come because I do not appreciate the benefits that God has given me, nor does it come because I do not love my family. Some of the feeling of guilt began to drain away from me. I felt much better having honestly discovered these facts.
