"Elizabeth!"
Fiona was calling from the door of the Mercantile. When Elizabeth was in doing her shopping, Fiona had been on the phone.
"I have something for you," Fiona said, with a mysterious tone in her voice. "And I think you're going to like it very much."
Intrigued, Elizabeth walked back, holding Jack's hand. Jack wanted to walk, and no matter how long it took, he was going to do it himself.
Elizabeth laughed, calling out to Fiona from down the sidewalk, "We're getting there..." Fiona laughed too. Jack was growing so fast. Everyone in town felt like he was getting bigger right before their eyes.
Finally at the door, Jack let Fiona pick him up and give him snuggles, kissing him on the neck. "Come on back," she said to Elizabeth. They went to the operator's station and Fiona reached into a drawer and pulled out a large envelope.
"I got these back today." She reached in and handed Elizabeth a photograph.
"Oh, Fiona," Elizabeth said, her voice breaking.
It was the photo Fiona had taken of them when Nathan was in the Infirmary. Allie on one side, Elizabeth on the other, and Nathan in the middle on the bed with Jack in his lap. Jack was holding up his wooden Mountie proudly. All of them were smiling, and the happiness they felt in being together practically jumped out of the picture.
Fiona put her arm around Elizabeth. "You are the sweetest little family," she said. "This one is going front and center for our Founder's Day photo display."
Elizabeth was suddenly gripped with missing Nathan so completely that her eyes filled. Until this moment, she'd had no pictures of him. What she held in her hands was more precious than gold.
And then, her kindness took over, as it always did. "I'm going to send this to Nathan," she said softly. "In my next letter. He'll love seeing it."
Fiona could see the sadness in Elizabeth's eyes at the prospect of letting it go. She smiled and sighed. Founder's Day was still more than a month away. Fiona reached back into the envelope and pulled out a copy for Elizabeth. "I can get another one developed for the display, we have time."
Elizabeth threw her arms around Fiona and hugged her tightly. "Thank you!" She looked at the photo again and leaned down to Jack where he was pushing Fiona's chair on wheels around the room.
"Jack, look!" Jack stopped and looked at the photo. He reached out to take it in his hands, and Elizabeth said, "No, just look, please. We don't want our fingers on it." She pointed to him in the middle and said, "Who's that, Jack?" Jack put his hand on his own chest. "That's right!" Elizabeth said, "That's you!" Then Jack pointed to the Mountie and then to Nathan. He was getting better at saying his name. "Natan," then, "Mama," and finally, "Lee," for Allie.
Fiona melted. "Oh, Elizabeth. How do you live with that cuteness day after day? Little Jack is just the bee's knees."
"Yes, he is," Elizabeth said, kissing his cheek. She stood up, still looking at the photo. "Fiona, if I wanted a picture frame, would I have to order it, or do you have any here?"
"Well, I do have some that I ordered, for Founder's Day," she said, laughing, "But I can get another one of these, too." She reached around to a cupboard and handed Elizabeth a lovely wooden frame, just the right size. "This is the one I was going to put your photo in. I think it goes well, don't you?"
"It's perfect," Elizabeth said. Fiona opened the back of the frame, put the picture inside, and clipped it together again. Elizabeth knew exactly where she would put it.
She hugged Fiona, thanked her again and started out the door. It had been four days since she'd last seen Nathan, and she could hardly keep herself from looking at the photo again. But she would save it and look at it at home.
"Hold on, Elizabeth," Ned said. "I just got the mail sorted." Ned thought this was the best part of his job. Making people happy with letters from loved ones.
Elizabeth turned. Ned was holding up a letter with the return address: N. Grant, Airdrie, Alberta.
As Elizabeth ran toward him, Ned grinned. The other great part of this job. Sometimes, he even got hugs.
April 12, 1917
To: Nathan Grant, General Delivery, Airdrie, Alberta
My dearest Nathan,
As I'm sure you have realized, you are holding the photo that Fiona took of all of us in the Infirmary. In a matter of five minutes, Fiona gave me this photo and Ned gave me your letter of the 9th.
I can't describe how utterly blessed I felt. Rich beyond measure.
The photo in your hands is a copy. I have my own in a frame on the table next to the stairs. I would be embarrassed to tell you how many times I've picked it up and looked at it already.
Jack and I took your letter, unopened, out to the dock as you asked. I think he knew it was from you, because he played quietly and allowed me time to enjoy every last word of it. Twice. As you suggested, I felt that you had ridden up on Bear and were simply talking to me. While I read, I had our family picture sitting up on the wood stump where you found my book that first day, and I'll admit to glancing at it often.
Allie is at Hattie's house tonight. They're having a sleepover and are making cupcakes, so Jack and I are on our own. I'll miss her tonight, but my heart is happy that she has so completely embraced life in Hope Valley and has such an abundance of friends. She is often the ringleader of their little circus, but she does it with grace and humor and doesn't seem to engender jealousy in the other girls. It's a rare set of qualities to find in one so young.
Still on the subject of Allie, she was reading "Jane Eyre" to me the other night and one question led to another, until finally she asked in a sweet, shy and roundabout way if I loved her. I immediately told her the truth, that yes, I do love her, very much, and that she is very easy to love. Then she said she loved me too, which I believe was what she was longing to get to all along. I really was overwhelmed. And so grateful.
Thank you, Nathan, for bringing this beautiful girl into my life. I have had tender feelings for her from the moment I met her out there on the street holding up the fish she'd caught. Even if she did say that I was "a bit bossy and smelled like chalk." The fact that she hadn't met me yet eases the sting of that comment considerably. She's come so far, but she would never be who she is today without the love and care you have shown her.
In other news, I had a knock on the door yesterday and as I opened it, for a split-second all I could see was a solid field of red. My heart leapt as I slowly opened the door to see it was indeed red serge. And then it fell when I saw the owner of the tunic and realized it was not you, but instead was Acting Constable Stuart Covington.
I hope I can shorten up this story, because it took him quite a while to get around to the point of it. You may think I was exceedingly impolite, but I did not ask him in. He stood on the doorstep like an uninvited Bible salesman cooling his heels for the better part of twenty minutes.
It seems that he has discovered who my parents are. He finds our little town much too provincial for his tastes (and his talents, according to his own assessment) and wishes to be transferred to a big city. His preference is Calgary or Edmonton, but he said that Hamilton will do in a pinch. The nerve of the man!
So he was asking me to contact my father, posthaste, to request that he pull some strings and get him a position in Hamilton. Considering, as I told you, that Constable Jack Thornton was only posted to Coal Valley because my father pulled some strings, and Jack was very unhappy about it, the irony of the entire circular debacle struck me as ridiculously funny and I began to laugh.
Not just laugh, I was rendered unable to speak. Constable Covington was, needless to say, not amused. I never even managed to turn him down before he spun on his heel, saying, "Well, I never!" and stormed down the road.
I'm wondering what type of citation I will receive for this sort of transgression. Excessive mirth and reprehensible disrespect of a Mountie? Maybe you can help me understand the rules and regulations, Constable Grant.
Regarding your wonderful, gloriously lengthy letter, all I can say is; much more of the same, please. As I read, it was speaking in your voice, so true to your nature that you could have been reading it to me over my shoulder.
You are far too hard on yourself. You're writing to a person who reads for her work, for her pleasure, and as a hobby, so I know whereof I speak; and you have a way with a phrase that makes me smile, laugh, and touches my heart, sometimes all at once. So no more false modesty. Whether you know it or not, you are a writer too.
To your tangent #1, I will only say that I am in complete agreement. It was much easier to be away from you before I knew all the joys our closeness would bring. I very much miss all the things you described (especially the hugs and kisses, and that tendril of escaped hair seems to be consistently out of place and needs your attention). Your lovely list made me blush and then it made me miss you more.
Your observations of me as I write bring something to mind. When we love someone, even their smallest act has a depth of meaning: for me, it's the way you put your arm all the way under Bear's neck to hug him, your fondness for resting your hand on Jack's back, the way you laugh at Allie's jokes even when they aren't funny (and she does the same with you, by the way).
The keen observation that we exhibit with each other is love, I think. So as you described me in the act of writing in such detail and so very accurately, all I could read was love love love love love love love.
Thank you for loving me so well.
And we don't even need to discuss the idea of a house behind ours for Rebecca. It's a wonderful idea. I'd be surprised if she would be ready to leave the ranch while Charlie is still there, but were she to lose him, it would be nice if we had a place already built for her to land into softly.
How to respond to your Tangent #2? I will dutifully collect your new hat, boots and jodhpurs from the Mercantile. I will deliver them to your row house. What happens after that will be for me to know and for you to find out. But should you notice that there is the slightest suggestion of my perfume on the collar of your red serge, you mustn't draw conclusions. As you have been fond of saying, it's probably only a coincidence.
And here's my own tangent: I do find that I like it very much when you call me angel. It makes me close my eyes and take a suddenly-needed breath. You may continue to call me that whenever it suits you.
Jack wants me to tell you that he's still not used to your absence. He clutches his little Mountie, looks up at me and says your name. Yes, it's becoming more clear. He's found the A in Nathan, but is still struggling in his search for the H, so it comes out "Natan." His name for Allie is "Lee." I am, as ever, "Mama." He is growing so fast.
Rosemary wants me to be sure to send her love, as do Fiona, and Clara. Well, actually, everyone. As I walk around town, they tell me stories about the things you've done for them, how you open doors and tip your hat, and especially how you make them feel safe as you make your rounds in your red serge. We were without a Mountie for quite a while before you came to Hope Valley and your close call has made them appreciate even more how much you mean to this town.
I will add to that, how much you mean to me. As I walk through the town they will ask about you, and then ask to look at my ring again, then beg me to tell the story of the four diamonds just so they can see my face as I tell it. The immeasurable gratitude I feel for how this town embraced me in my sadness is only surpassed by how they are lifted by my current happiness.
Carson wanted me to be sure to tell you, "Just one more week on those crutches!" and it can come none too soon for me. Lucas wants his gin rummy partner back, and Ned Yost is willing to take another try at the Italian lessons. And I believe what Rosemary said is true: The town will throw a parade when you come home. It will happen one minute after Acting Constable Covington is put on the stagecoach out of town.
I miss you and Airdrie very much, but it gives me such pleasure to be back in the classroom. Teaching does feel like my destiny. Another Emerson favorite: "Once you make a decision, the universe conspires to make it happen." I made this decision to be a teacher long ago, but I could never have imagined what the universe would serve up. I look at Allie, Robert, Opal, Rachel, Hattie, all of them... and every day they show me how to be a better teacher. These wonderful children are the future, and that is limitless.
It's beyond my ability to explain my experience, but it's a profound thing for me to have found my true calling after so much uncertainty about it in my youth. So many never do find their true path in life, or even if they do, they aren't able to practice it because of a lack of opportunity or finances or circumstances. Every day I am allowed to do what I deeply love to do, and that is a sort of miracle.
I will gladly take you up on your request to meet you in your dreams. That's a lovely idea. Shall we meet on the bench at the pergola? Midnight sharp. Don't be late, please. I miss you so much.
And since we've had our minds on Elizabeth Barrett:
"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach..." Now that is a writer! And she writes my feelings so much better than I could.
Is this just wishful thinking, or did I sense that three weeks might be too long for you? I must admit that as that amount of time stretches out in front of me, eight hours on a train doesn't seem so long in comparison. But it means a day off school if I were to come visit, and the only substitute teachers we have are Rosemary and Florence. Rosemary tends to teach them about her theatrical exploits and scrimps on mathematics. Florence spends her days with the students in a terrified state and looking as if the ceiling is going to drop on her any moment.
No, it doesn't make sense for me to travel eight hours there at the weekend, spend a few hours with you and then come back eight hours. I just need to buck up and remember how many women are separated from their men for much longer than a silly little three weeks. I will be a big grown up girl.
And then, when you come home for good, we'll begin our planning. Rosemary is on call for whatever we need, and I told her I would let her know when we decide on a date.
For some reason, June 23, a Saturday, keeps popping in my head. It's the middle of the summer and there are short days at school. We could have the wedding at the pergola on that date, and then travel to Hope Valley on Sunday. Our celebration here could be Monday the 25th. That would mean that in exactly seventy-one days we will begin our journey as husband and wife.
I do like the sound of that.
I love you, future husband. You are dearer to me than you could possibly know.
With kisses from your angel and future wife,
Elizabeth
