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Authors: Janette Oke

[Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm (11 page)

BOOK: [Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm
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Henry turned to place his Stetson on the shelf and rubbed his neatly clipped head. “Yup.”
He took his seat at his desk and pulled some papers forward.
“So—what did you think of Sam?” Rogers pursued the interrogation.
Henry studied the form before him, though his brain was not making sense of any of the words. The two men had no idea what he was feeling inside. What intense emotions had been stirred by this chance meeting. Nor could he share his thoughts and emotions with them. He struggled to keep from showing the agitation that he felt. One hand reached up to run a finger along the line of his mustache.
She was not Sam. He knew that. He had done paper work at the time of her husband’s accident. He knew her name well. It had been on his lips, whispered in his prayers, many times over the years. But he said nothing about the name. “She does a good job,” he answered offhandedly.
Henry felt the exchanged glances. The fellows were expecting something more.
“Come on, Sarge,” said Laray. “Every young buck for miles around gets his hair cut at least twice as often as he needs to. Including me.” He laughed loudly.
“He’s been trying for more than a haircut,” put in Rogers. “So far he hasn’t gotten to first base.”
“She’s as pretty as a picture—and as cold as an icehouse in the middle of a blizzard,” Laray observed. His laughter had died now. Henry thought the young man likely wasn’t used to getting the cold shoulder.
“Even the uniform doesn’t turn her head,” Rogers went on.
“I asked her out once—ever so politely—and got told straight off that her place was a place of business. Period. No social engagements were arranged there.” Laray was mimicking her by the last sentence.
Henry felt himself scowling. Was that what the young woman had to face in her shop? Offensive, heavy-handed flirts? No wonder she was distant and had no time for chatter.
He bit down on his tongue. He was so close to reprimanding the two men. Telling them to keep their hands off. To treat the young woman as she should be treated—as a lady.
“Next time I go, I’m gonna ask her for a shave too,” said Laray, rubbing his hand up and down his cheek.
Henry could no longer hold his anger in check. “Look,” he said, too sharply. “Treat her with respect—or stay out of her shop.”
Both heads jerked in his direction. Henry could see questions in the two sets of eyes. Just male banter. Nothing harmful in that.
He eased back in his chair.
“She’s ... she’s a citizen of the town ... with rights,” Henry went on more evenly now. “We don’t want any complaints brought. Especially against the Force.”
The two faces before him looked rather sober, and they both nodded. Rogers even flushed.
“I think she’s plenty used to it,” Laray said a bit defensively, but he was no longer cocky. “Fellows are talking all the time about how they tried this or said that.”
“Well ... I don’t want that kind of talk coming from this office,” Henry said, his words firm. As the one in charge he was expected to give orders. The two subordinates nodded, eyes on their desks.
“What I don’t get,” said Laray after some minutes, “is where wooing a gal stops and ... and stepping over the line takes over.”
Henry reached up and rubbed at his head, feeling once again the smoothness of the new haircut.
“Okay,” he said, looking at Laray’s expression of honest concern. “I admit it’s a tough call ... at times. Maybe I have to go back to what my mother taught me. She says you don’t want to
mar
—to damage—a good relationship. So you think, MAR. Motive, approach, and response. MAR.”
“Wha-at?” wailed Laray. “This sounds like ... like school.”
“What’s your motive?” Henry continued, ignoring Laray’s exaggerated sighs. “Are you just out to ... to get your own pleasure, or do you have true respect for the other person?”
Laray seemed to be thinking about it. “Okay,” he said at length. “I follow.”
“Approach,” said Henry. “Have you gone about it in a proper, socially acceptable way?”
Again Laray nodded. Rogers was leaning on an elbow, listening.
“Response,” Henry went on. “If your advances are—or appear to be—unwelcome, then back off.”
“What about ‘Faint heart never won fair lady’?” asked Rogers.
Henry reached into his wastebasket, crumpled up a sheet of paper, and hurled it toward Rogers. “Come on,” he joked, “I’m not a psychologist. How do I know?” He stood and reached for his Stetson. “I’ll ask my mother next time I see her.” The three men laughed, and Henry said, “You’ve your orders—let’s get busy.”
A busy and troubling day followed that little exchange. A farm accident meant a trip to the city hospital with an injured farmer. A domestic dispute had to be settled in a ramshackle cabin on the edge of town. Two young boys set a fire out behind an old, unused livery barn. A woman was bitten by a dog that was feared to be rabid. A rancher reported that some of his stock was missing. By the end of the day there was little time for small talk as the three officers busied themselves with lengthy reports, stomachs grumbling in complaint. Even Jessie’s food would be welcomed. And bed? Bed would look awfully good.
Henry was very glad when Sunday arrived. It had been a busy, tiring week and emotionally exhausting. The unexpected encounter with the young woman whom he had met under such difficult circumstances almost five years previously had churned up a whole lot of feelings and questions he thought he’d finally gotten under control. Now he found himself watching for her as he walked the streets of the small town. He could not keep from closely studying every group of children he saw in the playground or in yards of homes. But he had not spotted Danny again. Nor his mother. It seemed ironic to be so close—yet so unable to help them as he yearned to do.
He dressed for church wishing he’d purchased a civilian suit. After a shave he studied himself in the mirror.
She gives a good haircut,
he thought as he once again ran a hand over his hair. He backed away hurriedly, surprised at how near she was to his conscious thought.
Vigorously he applied blackening to his already shining boots. Then he dusted off his Stetson and set out for a quick breakfast at Jessie’s. At least eggs were not spiced. He’d have eggs and toast and a cup of her strong coffee.
After being served, he still had plenty of time, so he lingered over a second cup of coffee, the talk and banter swirling, mostly unnoticed, about him. He had not been in town long enough to be considered one of them. Folks still had to get a feel for this new lawman. See if he had a human streak. So most of the conversation was not meant for him. He was lucky, at this point, to get an occasional nod and a good-morning.
After church he had no idea how he would spend the rest of the day. Church would take only a couple of hours. What he would do after that, he had no idea. He stared into his cup, and a feeling of intense loneliness suddenly engulfed him. He envied Rogers, who was bringing in his wife and young family in a few weeks, finally having found accommodation for them. No wonder Rogers was walking with a lighter step.
Henry’s thoughts turned again to home. He hadn’t fully appreciated as a kid just how fortunate—how blessed—he’d been. Oh, he remembered the enormous change between the two households. From the trouble, bickering, and often outright fighting of his earliest memories, he had suddenly come into a family where he was loved. Loved and nurtured. And even shown respect as an individual. There had been no doubt in his mind from that time on as to “what he would be when he grew up.” He’d be a Mountie. Just like his father. He’d walk tall—and proud—and help people.
He looked down at the uniform. He was still proud to be a Mountie. Still wore the uniform with dignity. But inside the scarlet tunic beat a human heart. One that longed for intimacy—not aloofness. One that yearned for a relationship, rather than only duty. He sighed deeply. Maybe for him that would never be. Maybe he would be one of the men “married to the Force.” He hoped not. His father and mother had been a living example of how good a marriage could be.
He put down his cup and stood. It was time to walk the short distance to the little church. He needed that time in worship this morning. Even though the church family still held back, in awe of his position and uniform, they welcomed him with kindly smiles. He felt a comfort in the familiar hymns, a contentment in the familiar words of Scripture. A completeness somehow. It managed to bring balm to his soul. To put his world back into proper perspective.
He felt his stride quicken. He was anxious to join with others in praise and worship.
The church was small and the pews were almost full when he entered and removed his hat. An usher welcomed him and pointed out a place. He walked in as unobtrusively as possible, but he sensed heads turning.
The service began, and he shared the hymnbook with the young lad beside him. The woman at the piano did a fine job of following the notes. His thoughts went to his mother. He had loved to watch her play. Had enjoyed the fluid motion of her slim hands just as much as he had enjoyed the music. It was always a marvel to him that fingers could move in such unison, yet individually, each seeking out the key that produced the note desired. He watched this woman’s hands now with similar awe at their skill.
They sang three hymns in a row. By the end of the third his heart felt truly focused on God in worship. He had been lifted out of himself, his workaday world, his isolation. He felt part of the family of God.
The preacher was young. Though not yet a deep theologian, he had some thought-provoking insights to share. Challenges for the congregation as they faced another week. Henry was sorry to hear the last amen ... now thrust back into the world to somehow fill in the hours of this long day.
He was on the wide front steps of the church before he saw the boy. The child was swinging on the handrail, chatting excitedly with a small group of youngsters. Henry was about to move forward and speak to the boy himself when he heard a voice almost at his elbow. “Danny, careful—you 11 fall.”
Danny scooted back onto the steps, but without a moment’s hesitation in his report—something about neighborhood puppies, and there were six of them, and he sure would like to have one, and ....
Henry did not dare turn around. He was sure he would say or do something she wouldn’t like. She might even be suspicious of his attendance in church.
A child ducked in front of him, and he was forced to halt midstep. He felt a brief nudge and heard a soft “Sorry.”
He turned to reassure the person of no harm done and found himself looking directly into her violet eyes. He couldn’t speak. Did not offer a smile. She was so close. Almost in his arms again.
“Sorry,” she said again, her voice not more than a whisper.
Her face was flushed, and she seemed as uncomfortable as he was. He managed to nod. That was all.
The brief encounter disturbed him. He didn’t stop to change from his dress uniform. He didn’t go back to Jessie’s for some of her Sunday special. Instead, he found himself heading out the dusty track that led from the town. He’d walk. It had been some days since he’d had a good walk. It was one more thing he missed about the North. He wished he had a dog to accompany him. At least then he’d have some companionship. Maybe one of those puppies ... He brushed the thought aside and set out briskly. Maybe with time and miles he’d be able to walk himself out of his doldrums.
CHAPTER
Nine
Christine still wasn’t sure she was doing the right thing. Boyd had been home for three weeks. Three weeks of phone calls and rose bouquets. Three weeks of office flirtations and dinner invitations, which she more and more reluctantly turned down. And now, here she was, finally having consented to a Saturday picnic in the park with some of his friends. She admitted to herself that she found him immensely attractive. She acknowledged that she felt a bit smug over the envy of the other girls in the office. But she also recognized the fact that she was still uncomfortable with finally giving in and going out with him.
“Can’t wait to show you off,” he was saying, whipping the fast-moving automobile around a sharp turn, his eyes not on the road as much as on her face.
BOOK: [Canadian West 05] - Beyond the Gathering Storm
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