Not too many had arrived at the school by two o’clock. The Petersons were the first to appear. Because the day was cloudy and cool, Lars was allowed to build a fire in the big stove.
The Dickersons came and then the Blakes, the Johnsons and a family by the name of Thebeau. They had two teenage sons who would not be in school until after the harvest—if at all.
Mr. Dickerson was in charge of the service. We sang several songs and read scripture. Mrs. Thebeau gave a Bible lesson for the children, then Mr. Dickerson gave some thoughts on a passage of scripture. It was not a sermon, he clarified, because he was not a preacher. He voiced some worthwhile insights, and I appreciated his direct approach. I even found myself thinking that it was a shame he was not a preacher.
As we stood around visiting after the short service, other teams began pulling into the schoolyard. My first thought was that they had misunderstood the time for the afternoon meeting and were arriving late. What a shame!
I glanced about me. To my surprise there was activity going on all around me in the schoolroom. The fire had been built up and a large kettle of water placed on to heat. Tables were being pushed together, items laid out upon them, and men were busy rearranging the desks. Seeing my puzzled look, Anna Peterson crossed over to me.
“Da folks wanta meet da new teacher. Dis be gud vay, yah?”
I was astounded. But as the afternoon went on I agreed with Anna. Yes, this was a good way. All of my students and their parents were there—except for Phillip Delaney and his parents; they, I was informed, were very sorry to miss the gathering but they were, of necessity, in Calgary for the weekend. Others from the community, though they did not have children of school age, took advantage of the opportunity to get together with the neighbors and perhaps to satisfy curiosity about the new schoolmarm. They all welcomed me heartily.
There were a few men whom I presumed to be unmarried. Two of them were in their twenties, I would have guessed, and the others were older. Three of them in particular made me uncomfortable—I wasn’t used to such open stares. One was especially bold. I was afraid that he might approach me, but he never left his companions. I hoped that I wouldn’t be thrown into his company at some future date.
Unconsciously, I found myself watching for a possible glimpse of Wynn, but I did not see him. It was obvious that he was not concerned about meeting the new schoolteacher. A foolish disappointment trailed me about the room as I made the acquaintance of my new neighbors. I forced the ridiculous thought from my mind.
I liked my new neighbors. In comparison to my upbringing, they lacked refinement and polish; but they were open and friendly, and I respected their spirit of venture and their sense of humor. They were hearty people, these pioneers. They knew how to laugh and, obviously, they knew how to work.
When the last of the group had returned to their homes, I walked slowly to my teacherage, my heart singing. I already felt that I was a part of this community, and I liked the feeling. I was completely happy here; then I thought of my still-present mice companions, and my song left me. What would I do with them? Live with them, I guessed. . . .