At first it seemed strange to have a young boy in the house. There were many things to do. Wynn had to report the whereabouts of the child and seek temporary legal custody so we could keep him.
I had to shop for clothes and make arrangements at the local school for consultation to determine the grade in which he should be placed. His attendance had been so sporadic before that they had not even attempted to place him.
I worked with him in the evenings to help him catch up to his age group, but even though he was bright enough and we worked hard, I knew it would be some time before he was where he should have been.
He loved Kip and coaxed to have the dog share his room. As Kip was used to being in the house in the cold winter, I gave in rather readily. I did insist that Kip’s place be on the rug beside the bed rather than on the bed, and when we checked the room at night after the two had retired, Henry always slept with one hand resting on the dog, his fingers curled in the heavy fur.
He was quick to learn his assigned tasks and thankfully proved not to be lazy. He carried wood and water with no prompting from me, and even looked for additional jobs to do, knowing that it would bring our praise.
The calendar was quickly using up the winter months, and I looked forward to spring with mixed emotions. I knew it could mean we would be returning to the village. I longed to go. I missed our Indian friends. I had been praying daily that God would somehow open the door so we could return and help to share the good news of Christ’s coming to earth to live and die for mankind. How can they believe on Him in whom they have not heard, I kept asking myself? How could they know that the evil they feared could be overcome through acceptance of God’s great plan of salvation?
And yet when I thought about going back to the Indian people, I also thought of my Sunday school class. They, too, needed to know about Christ and His love. I thought about Willie’s father who had lived in deep bitterness for so many years and now appeared to be slowly moving out of his self-exile. I thought about Wynn’s boys and their need of making that personal commitment to the Lord Jesus. If we went, would there be anyone to teach them?
But more than all that, I thought about Henry, our little deserted waif. Who would care for Henry?
Wynn and I talked about it many times, but with no conclusion. We kept putting it off. I don’t think either of us wanted to face the thought of giving up the boy. It was so much easier to push the decision off into the future.
At last, one mid-April day when the spring sun was pouring its warmth upon the hillsides, causing little rivulets to run trickling toward the groaning Athabasca River as it tried to free itself from her winter ice, we knew we needed to face squarely the question: What about Henry?
“He’s trying so hard and he has come so far,” I maintained.
Wynn agreed, though we both knew Henry still had many things to work through.
“I’m afraid if he faces another change right now, he might regress,” I continued.
“Do you suppose Stephen’s folks would take him?” proposed Wynn.
“They are a fine young couple, but I’m not sure they can handle their own,” I stated quite honestly. “I feel that the girls are totally undisciplined. Henry still needs a very strong hand, and Stephen’s father doesn’t get involved at all, and his mother is not able to follow through.”
“You’re right,” Wynn agreed. “That is exactly the way I see them.”
“What about the Kellys?” I asked.
“Do you think that would be fair? After all, they are not young anymore. They are looking forward to retirement—not raising another family.”
“I suppose it would be an imposition,” I reluctantly agreed.
“I wonder if Phillip and Lydia would take him?” pondered Wynn.
“Don’t forget they have added another two young ones to their own family in the last few years,” I reminded him. “Lydia might have all that she can handle.” I paused for a moment and then said thoughtfully, “Do you suppose Jon and Mary might be willing—?”
“I don’t think Henry would like city life at all. He wouldn’t fit in there. The school system—William and his friends? It would be a very difficult adjustment.”
“Wynn,” I said, “couldn’t we take him with us to the village?”
“What about his education?”
“I could get the books and teach him.”
“Yes, I suppose you could. But do you really think it would be the best for him? I mean, he wouldn’t know the language, wouldn’t fit in with the other boys. I think he needs more support than that, Elizabeth. And you know how much I need to be gone. You’d have so much of the care of him.”
We both were quiet as we thought about it. It didn’t seem like the Indian village was the right place for the boy.
“I’m afraid I just don’t have the answer,” admitted Wynn. “We’ll have to keep praying.”
We both agonized over Henry. It was so important that he have love and grounding in order to be taught the truths of the Gospel and make his own decision to follow the Lord.
And yet, our Indian people were important, too. They needed someone to take the Gospel to them—and they needed it now.
I tried to leave it all with the Lord. “Cast your burden upon the Lord,” the Scripture said, and I cast it—and then I pulled it back—and then I cast it again. I was miserable with my worrying, and then one day in my quiet prayer time I became honest, totally honest before God.
“Lord,” I said, “I am sick of worrying about Henry. Now I know that I am not the only person that You can minister through. I give Henry over to You, Lord. If You ask us to leave him with someone else, then I am going to trust You that his needs will be met and that You will care for him—physically and spiritually.
“Help me to truly release him to You, knowing that You love and care for him. And help me not to take this burden of Henry’s care back on my own shoulders again.
“Amen.”
I finally found release. And strangely enough, instead of Henry seeming less important to me, as I had feared might happen, I loved him even more deeply. Still I did not fret about what would happen when the new orders came from the Police Headquarters.
———
It was a Wednesday. Henry had come home from school, had his snack of cookies and milk, hurried through his chores with Kip fast on his heels, and then come to me with pleading in his eyes.
“Can I go over to the police office to play with the puppies and then walk home with Sergeant Wynn?” he asked me.
I wanted to correct him by saying, “May I,” but I bit my tongue. Henry had so many things to learn that I must show patience.
He had developed a deep devotion for Wynn, and I knew it was good for him. I looked at the clock. I didn’t want Henry getting in Wynn’s way, but I knew he would be more than willing to play with the puppies until Wynn was ready to come home.
“I suppose you may,” I told the eager Henry.
“Can I take Kip?” he asked next.
“Very well, take Kip. He needs a bit of a run. Make sure you keep him out of trouble. The sergeant won’t take kindly to a dog fight in the street.”
“I will,” promised Henry, and he was off on a run, Kip bounding along ahead of him.
Henry had not been gone long when he was home again. He was all out of breath from his run, and his cheeks were flushed with excitement.
“Sergeant Wynn says to tell you that he will be another twenty minutes or so,” he said, gasping for breath. “And he also said to tell you that we will have a guest for supper. A real live Indian. I saw him myself.”
My excitement matched Henry’s. Which one of our friends would be coming for supper? Was he from Beaver River or Smoke Lake? I could hardly wait to find out as I placed another plate on the table and checked to see if I would have enough meat and potatoes.
“I’m going back to walk home with them,” said Henry, and he was off on a run again.
The time seemed to drag as I waited for Wynn and his guest to come for supper. I looked at the clock and then the road, over and over again.
When they finally did come, it was a stranger Wynn brought with him.
“Elizabeth,” he said, “I want you to meet Pastor Walking Horse. He is from the village south of Smoke Lake. He has been out taking his training to become a minister to his own people.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Delaney,” said the young man, and then he switched to the Indian tongue. “It gives me great joy to be a guest at your table.”
Oh, it was so good to hear the flowing language again! I took his hand and shook it as the white man greets a friend, but my heart was crying out to him in the words of the Indian.
I welcome you to my fire, the words formed in my mind. My heart is glad for your presence. You make my joy increase as flowers after winter snows, and my soul sings like ripples of a brook with gladness.
Henry was excited about sitting at the table with a real Indian. Wynn had told him much about the wisdom and the knowledge of the people in their own environment, and Henry had developed a healthy respect for them.
He listened now with Wynn and me as the young man explained how he had become acquainted in a personal way with the God of the Bible, and had cast aside all of the superstitious teachings of his forefathers in order to follow Him.
His desire now, he said, was to teach his people, and so he had gone out to take training and was ready to go back and challenge his people with the truth.
“My heart aches within me,” he said sorrowfully, “because when I left my village to go to the white man’s school, my chief said I would no longer be welcomed back, so I must go to another settlement to start my work.”
“Ours,” I said at once. “Ours. They are wonderful people, and they are ready, I’m sure. We have been praying and praying for someone to go to them. You are the answer to our prayers.”
The man was almost as excited about this news as I was.
We talked on and on about the village and the people. Henry was finally scooted off to bed. He obeyed, but he went reluctantly. He hated to miss one word of the conversation.
We talked until long into the night, and by the time we were finished and had prayed together, Pastor Walking Horse was convinced that Smoke Lake was the place where the Lord was leading him, especially with LaMeche already a believer. He would try to be ready to leave as soon as the road was fit to travel.
———
Two days later Wynn came home from the office with a telegram in his hands. The Force had sent his new orders.
Much to the surprise of both of us, we were told we would be staying on at Athabasca Landing for the present time. The young Mountie at Smoke Lake would continue there at his post.
It came as a surprise to me, and yet it shouldn’t have. I committed Henry to the Lord because I thought He would need me to care for the Indians. God had answered by preparing and sending a qualified young minister to the Indians and leaving Henry with me. I smiled. One should never try to outguess the Lord, I reminded myself.
“Well,” I said to Wynn, “I guess God took care of it all in His own way. We wouldn’t have needed to fret about it at all.”
Wynn smiled and then kissed me.
“Do you mind, Elizabeth?” he asked.
I thought about that. I would miss our people. I had been counting on going back—expecting to go back. But when I thought about it, I could answer honestly, “No, not really. It does seem best to stay for the present, doesn’t it? The church needs us here. The Sunday school children need us. Then there is Henry. I expect great things from that boy someday, Wynn.”
In a reflective moment I went on to answer Wynn’s question.
“No, I don’t mind. I guess I am quite content with God’s direction in this.”
I thought again about the village people.
“I will write a letter to Louis LaMeche and Silver Star,” I said, “and send it with Pastor Walking Horse. I will tell Silver Star that she can have my garden. I will give them both our love and best wishes. Can I send her a few things—and Kinnea and Kinook, too?” I asked.
“I’m sure the pastor would be willing to take a few small gifts,” said Wynn.
“You know,” I pondered, “I might even write a short note to Chief Crow Calls Loud. Just a short note of introduction, telling him that he might be very interested in what Pastor Walking Horse has to say.”
Wynn smiled again.
“So you will manage to run the village even from a distance, will you?” he teased.
I brushed aside his remark with a wave of my hand.
“Run it? No. But I certainly will continue to pray for those in it.”
Then I turned to my cupboards.
“But right now I’d better get busy,” I said, and there was love and joy in my voice. “I’ve a young boy due home from school in a few minutes, and he’s always half-starved.”