After Lars had returned with the pail of fresh water, he began to haul wood. He did not stop until I insisted that I would be unable to get out of my house if he brought in any more. He grinned, then proceeded to chop a fine supply of kindling. I wanted to offer him a quarter, but somehow I felt that it wouldn’t be right in the eyes of his mother who had sent him over; so, instead, I fixed him a few more slices of bread and jam. He sat on my step and ate them, while I sat beside him.
“How many students do you think I’ll have?”
“’Bout eighteen or nineteen, or more maybe if da bigger boys come.”
Perhaps twenty students, of all ages and abilities. It seems like an awesome task.
“Ve only haf desks fer sixteen, so da ot’ers vill haf to haf tables an’ benches,” Lars continued.
“And who will look after getting tables and benches?” I asked him, knowing that he was right about the desks. I had counted them the night before but had seen no evidence of tables or benches.
“Mr. Laverly asked Mr. Yohnson to build ’em. He’s a car—car—builder.”
I smiled. “I see. Will they be ready for Monday, do you think?”
“S’pose to be.”
Lars finished his last bit of bread, “I’d better go. Mama vill need me. T’anks fer da bread and yam. Oh, yah. Ma says, ‘come to supper tonight.’ Six o’clock. Right over dat vay—cross da field. Can ya come?”
“I’d be delighted.”
He frowned slightly, “Does dat mean ya vill?”
“I will.”
“Good.” And with a grin, he was gone.
“Thank you for the wood and water,” I called after him.
I spent the rest of the day sorting through my little house, making a list of the items I would need to purchase and wishing desperately that I had my trunks. Mr. Laverly did not come by as I had hoped, and I had no way of knowing where or how to contact him.
At twenty minutes to six, I straightened my hair, brushed off my dress, and set out to find the Petersons. Lars was right. As soon as I passed through the growth of trees behind the school grounds, I could see their farm sitting on the side of the next hill. At times I lost sight of it as I passed through other groves of trees, but my bearings seemed to hold true; it was always there, just where I expected it to be, whenever I emerged from the woods.
Anna Peterson greeted me with a warm smile. Her English was broken, and she spoke with a heavy accent, but her eyes danced with humor as she laughed at her own mistakes.
“Ve are so glad ya come. Ve need school bad—so chil’ren don’t talk none like me.”
Mr. Peterson “velcomed” me too, and the warmth of their friendliness made it easy for me to respond. Olga and Peter were very shy. Else was a bit more outgoing, though still quick to drop her gaze and step back if I spoke directly to her.
Anna was a good cook. The simple ingredients in her big kitchen produced mouth-watering food. It was awfully nice to enjoy a meal with a family again.
The evening went quickly, and before I knew it, I could see the sun sinking slowly toward the treetops. Dusk was stealing over the land, making me feel like curling up and purring with contentment.
“I must go,” I announced. “I hadn’t realized—it will soon be dark and I’m not very sure of my way.”
“Lars vill go vid. He knows da vay gud.”
I accepted Lars’ company with gratitude.
Mrs. Peterson insisted on giving me a basket of food—milk, cream, butter, eggs, bread and fresh vegetables from her garden. I tried to explain that I still had milk and cream on hand.
“T’row out milk. Vill be no gud,” she insisted. “Save cream for baking, maybe. Make lots gud t’ings vid sour cream. Ve vill send more t’ings vid Lars to school for ‘you.”
“I will be happy to buy . . .”
“Buy not’ing. I gif. I glad you here. Now my boys an’ girls learn—learn to speak, to read. I don’t teach—I don’t know. Now dey teach me.”
“I’ll show you, Mama,” Else spoke up. “I’ll show you all I learn.”
“Yah, little vun teach big vun,” Mrs. Peterson smiled, placing a loving hand on Else’s head. “’Tis gud.”
Lars and I walked slowly through the twilight. I allowed him, at his insistence, to carry the basket. Already I loved him and his family and could hardly wait for Monday, to meet the other children of the community.
We were about halfway home when a now-familiar but nonetheless heart-stopping howl rent the stillness. My first impulse was to lift my skirts and dash for home, but I restrained myself. I’m sure my face must have lost all of its color, and my hands fluttered to my breast, but Lars didn’t seem to notice. He was telling me about his Holstein heifer calf and didn’t even break his sentence.
The howl came again and was joined by many others. Lars merely raised his voice to speak above the din. I fought hard to keep from panicking. Eventually Lars probably noticed my reaction and commented, “Silly ol’ coyotes. Sure make a racket. Sound like yust behind next clump, yet dey vay over in da field.”
Then he went on with his story.
Lars’ easy dismissal of the animals reassured me, and my heart slowly returned to its normal beat.
When we reached the teacherage, Lars went in with me. He found the matches and lit the lamp, then unloaded the basket of food onto my small cupboard.
“Ya be needin’ a fire?”
“Not tonight. It’s plenty warm, and I won’t be staying up long.”
I was beginning to feel weary from the lack of sleep the night before.
“Guess I go now,” said Lars. He walked toward the door, basket in hand.
“Thank you so much, Lars, for seeing me home—and for carrying the basket.”
He would never realize the difference that his calm presence had made when the coyotes had begun to howl.
“Yer velcome,” he grinned.
“I wish I had some books to send home with you so that you and your sisters might practice reading, but I have none here. All my things are in my trunks, and I need to see Mr. Laverly before I can get them.”
“Ya need Mr. Laverly? Vere yer trunks?”
“Still in Lacombe. There wasn’t any room to bring them in the automobile.”
“Ya need ’em?”
“I certainly do,” I said emphatically.
He nodded, then with a wave and grin pushed open the door. “’Night, Miss T’atcher.”
“Good-night, Lars.”
I watched him move away in the soft darkness. Soon the moon would rise to give light to the world, but for now his way was still dark—yet he moved forward without uncertainty or fear. The coyotes howled again, but Lars paid no attention to them as he hurried off toward home.
I turned toward the coyotes now. They still made little tingles scurry up and down my spine each time I heard their mournful cry, but I refused to allow panic to seize me.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I spoke aloud to them. “You made a cringing, frightened coward of me last night, but never again—never again!”
Still, I was glad to hook my door behind me as I entered the little teacherage I now called home.