Chastity's Angel Read online

  "I know."

  He pulled out the chair next to him. They'd had this discussion before. She had explained how important it was to keep up the tradition her mother had started of running a boardinghouse that provided more than a room and meals. Her mother had drummed into her head from her earliest memories that they could never be certain of the identity of the people who lived in their rooms.

  "Remember—some could even be angels we're entertaining unaware," she had said.

  Chastity lowered her head to hide a smile. She had to admit that to the best of her knowledge she had never fed an angel, but the idea did make the work more satisfying.

  As if reading her mind, Michael said, "Your mother places far too much emphasis on this angel business. A person can't turn around without running into a statue or a painting of one."

  Chastity laughed. "It's pretty hard to ignore, isn't it?"

  "Downright impossible. It doesn't take all these paintings and things to be reminded of the angel's gift." He grabbed her hand, sending warm waves through her body. "One only has to look at you."

  Chastity knew her cheeks had blushed pink, and she shifted on her chair. With her free hand, she plucked at the papers on the table. "Michael, you're making me blush."

  He squeezed her hand. "It's very becoming."

  She returned his squeeze, relaxing under his gentle teasing. "You always make me feel better, you know."

  He nodded. "Part of my job."

  "I suppose the ad said, 'Besides taking over a classroom of nine to twelve year olds, the applicant must be willing to keep former teacher informed of her students' progress and provide cheer and encouragement to said teacher.' "

  He shrugged. "You have your standards for your job; I have mine."

  She looked deep into his eyes, liking the steady warmth she saw, finding calmness settling into her bones. Michael was good for her. Steady as a rock. He would never pull up stakes and head for some far port in search of adventure. Not like Adam.

  She blinked. Where had that come from?

  "I thought of introducing some new arithmetic concepts next week. The grade-six class is ready to go on to..."

  They spent a pleasant half hour discussing different exercises for the class before the bell sounded at the front door.

  Chastity hurried to answer it.

  Doc Johnson, round as a toad, stood on the porch. He carried with him the slight odor of formaldehyde and disinfectant. "How's your mother? I understand she took another fall." His jowls shook as he talked. With a heavy tread, he stepped inside and hung his hat and jacket on a hook. "I warned her to take it easy."

  "She isn't good at taking orders."

  Doc chuckled, making his whole body jiggle. "She's always had a mind of her own." He rubbed his hands together a moment before picking up his worn black bag. "Though in all truth, it's what's made her such a strong woman. Now where is she?"

  Chastity waved down the hall. "In her room. I'll take you."

  She led the way, pausing at the door. "Mother, Doc Johnson is here. I asked him to have a look at you."

  Mother lay on her bed reading her Bible. She glanced over her glasses at the doctor. "Samuel, you needn't have bothered."

  Doc stepped into the room. "Well, I'm already here, so let's have a look at what you've done to yourself."

  "I'll be back in a few minutes." Chastity pulled the door closed and hurried back to the dining room. "It's Doc. He's with Mother right now."

  Michael shuffled the papers into a neat pile. "I'll be on my way."

  She nodded. She really did need to look after things. She followed him to the door. "Thank you, Michael. It was nice to have your company."

  "Saturday then?"

  "Of course." It was a long-standing arrangement—every Wednesday and Saturday for supper, and church on Sunday with dinner afterward.

  "I hope it's nothing serious with your mother."

  "Me too."

  They stood at the door, the silence between them as comfortable as a pair of worn slippers. He smiled at her, said, "See you then," and left.

  “‘Bye." Chastity pulled the door closed, her gaze resting on her hand curled around the knob, unable to identify the unsettled feeling in her stomach. She wished Michael had kissed her, but then he never had.

  Pushing back her thoughts, she straightened her shoulders and hurried down the hall to knock on her mother's door.

  "Come in," Mother called.

  Doc sat on the edge of the bed, folding his stethoscope into his bag. He waited for Chastity to close the door before he spoke. "Marie, I'd have to say you've probably undone all the good you accomplished over the last two years." He shook his head, his jowls swaying. "As I said before, you've torn a muscle or ligament or something. It's reluctant to get better."

  Chastity listened.

  "I could suggest a trip to the city, where you could have surgery, but—"

  Mother pushed herself up on her pillows. "It will get better, though, won't it, Samuel?"

  Doc Johnson cleared his throat with the sound of a bull frog in a muddy swamp. "Given time. Lots of time. I'm not one to say—sometimes things seem to improve when we least expect them to."

  "How long?" Mother demanded. "How long will it take?"

  The doctor shrugged. "There's always hope. You should never lose hope. I've seen my share of miracles."

  "Samuel, you're waffling."

  He heaved his bulk to his feet. "No doubt you'll have to put in another two years at the very least. Then there's your age-

  She drew back. "What about my age?"

  "All I'm saying is, you aren't as young as you used to be." He handed Chastity a slip of paper. "Take this to the drugstore tomorrow and get some more tablets for the pain."

  Chastity walked him to the door. "Doc, how much chance do you give her of getting back on her feet?"

  He shifted into his jacket and parked his hat on his round head. "My guess, and it's only a guess, is she'll gradually improve—if she takes it easy. But she'll never be strong again. As to running this house—" He shook his head. "I'll stop in again in a day or two. Call me if her pain gets severe."

  After he left, Chastity leaned on the door. Even though Doc Johnson had hedged his predictions, Chastity understood what he refused to say: Mother would never be able to manage the boardinghouse again.

  For two years she had willingly, happily done her job, always clinging to the knowledge, the hope, that at some point her mother would take over the task again.

  Now she was faced with a harsher reality.

  And she knew she must talk to her mother about it.

  She silently prayed for wisdom as she returned to her mother's bedside.

  "It doesn't sound too hopeful, does it, Mama?"

  Her mother held a tiny angel carved from ivory. "I haven't given up yet."

  "I would be disappointed if you did."

  Squaring her shoulders, she faced the older woman. "Doc doesn't seem to think you'll ever be strong enough to run the boardinghouse again."

  Mother's gaze veered to Chastity's face. "Is that a fact?"

  Chastity refused to blink. "That's what he says."

  "What if I prove him wrong?" Her voice was soft, but Chastity recognized the stubborn lines on her face.

  "I hope you do." She paused. "But it might take a very long time."

  "Ah. But what seems long to you might seem but a passing thing to me." Her gaze had dropped back to the small ivory angel. "Who knows? Perhaps I'll get a miracle." Suddenly her dark eyes flashed at Chastity. "I've had my share of them, you know."

  "I know." Chastity pulled a chair close and perched on the edge, leaning close to her mother. She waited for her hands to grow still, until she was sure she had her complete attention. "Mother, have you given any thought to selling the boardinghouse?"

  The older woman pulled back and gave a little scream.

  Chastity half rose, not knowing if it was the question that had given her mother pain or if the sudden movemen
t had sent a spasm through her hip.

  Mother shook her head, and Chastity sank back.

  "Chastity LaBlanc. How could you even ask such a thing?" Her mother clutched the angel. "This has been my home for twenty-five years. It's the only home you've ever known. Why, this is where a miracle led me." She tilted her chin. "No. I will not sell the boardinghouse. I'm not prepared to roll over and play dead. Not yet. Not by a long way."

  "I don't mean for you to give up. I thought we could get a little house together, just the two of us. We'd have time to enjoy the things we've never had time for."

  "And how would we live?" her mother asked abruptly. "Have you thought of that?"

  Chastity lifted her shoulders and let them drop again. "I could go back to teaching. And you'd have the money from the sale of this place. We would do all right."

  Mother turned to her, studying her long and hard before speaking. "Have you been so unhappy here?" she whispered. "Have I done the wrong thing in raising you this way?"

  "Oh, no, Mother." She grasped her mother's small, cool hand. "I've been happy. I still am. My life has been enriched by living here—seeing so many people and learning what pleases them. It's just—" She stood to her feet and paced to the end of the bed, then faced her mother. "I'm not unhappy. I'm not. I know God will take care of me and my future. But"—she sighed—"I don't want to live here the rest of my life. I don't want to run this house until the day I die."

  "Now you're being melodramatic. No one expects you to stay here until you die. I just need you to keep things going until I'm back on my feet. Can you do that for me?"

  Chastity's shoulders sagged. "Of course I will. You know you can count on me."

  "I know I can, ma cherie." She held out a hand. "Come here."

  Chastity went to her side and allowed her mother to pull her down on the edge of the bed. "I know a couple of years seem a long time when you're young, but it isn't very long in view of a lifetime."

  "I suppose not."

  "I'll be better much faster than you think."

  "I hope you are—for your sake, not mine."

  Mother wrapped her arms around Chastity. "I believe I'm doing the right thing.You know I wouldn't do anything I thought would hurt you."

  "I know."

  "You're the best thing that ever happened to me in my whole life, Child. I love you."

  Chastity grinned. "Am I better than an angel?"

  Mother chuckled. "Better by far. You're the gift of an angel." She paused. "Ma cherie, that is not quite correct. I know children are a gift of God, but in your case—"

  Knowing how it upset her mother to talk about the past, Chastity hugged her. "You're the best mother a girl could ever want. I love you lots."

  Her mother gave her a little push. "Now away with you. Let your old mother rest."

  Chastity sighed. "I've still got bread dough to mix up. Then I'll be back, and we can read together." They always read the Bible together at bedtime.

  Her mother smiled. "I'll be here."

  Chastity hurried from the room. She sang as she worked, but as she pounded and turned the dough, working it from a sticky mass to a smooth, elastic ball, a tear surprised her, trickling down her cheek and dripping off her chin. She dashed it away with the back of her wrist.

  Chapter 3

  The next afternoon, Mr. Elias came through the door as Chastity handed Mrs. B the cream and sugar. Mother was already sitting in her chair, sipping from her cup.

  Chastity had been up once in the night to give her mother a tablet for pain. She had managed to persuade her to take breakfast in bed, but she had refused to stay there for lunch. Seeing her face smooth, her eyes clear, the tightness across Chastity's temples relaxed.

  Her mother was strong and stubborn, traits that had stood her in good stead throughout her life. Perhaps she would, as she predicted, prove Doc Johnson wrong.

  The bell at the back door clanged.

  "I'll get it," Emma called from the kitchen, where she was getting scones.

  Chastity wasn't expecting any deliveries and wondered who could be calling. She didn't have to wonder long for Emma hurried into the room with the plate of scones in her hands and Adam at her heels.

  "I've come for tea, if I may," he said.

  "Why, how nice. Sit here beside me." Mother indicated the chair at her side. "Chastity, Dear, get Adam some tea." She beamed as Adam pulled the chair closer.

  "Of course," Chastity murmured.

  Mrs. B leaned forward for a better look.

  Emma sprang to Adam's side, offering a scone.

  Even Mr. Elias edged forward a couple of inches in his chair, his gaze lingering on the stack of papers in Adam's hand.

  Chastity grinned. Adam certainly had a way of making his presence felt.

  He looked up as she handed him his tea and caught the amusement in her expression. For a moment they regarded each other openly. Then, with a smile, he turned away.

  "I thought they might enjoy seeing some pictures."

  "Adam, how lovely of you to remember." Mother refused the scone Emma offered.

  "We'll enjoy tea first," Adam said. "Then I'll show you what I've brought."

  Mother made a wry face. "You're much too astute for a boy." She turned to Emma. "I've changed my mind. I'll have a scone after all."

  Emma chuckled. "Miz LaBlanc, don't you go letting him turn your head."

  Mother waved her away. "It's too late for me, but if I were your age"—she paused—"or Chastity's—"

  "Mother!" Chastity knew her cheeks were flaming pink. She turned a desperate look at Adam. "She thinks she's being funny."

  Adam laughed—a low, pleasant sound—and met her gaze, his sparkling blue eyes never blinking. Then he turned away, allowing Chastity to draw a deep breath.

  "How are you today, Mrs. Banner?" he asked, raising his voice and leaning close.

  "You're that nice young boy from the store, aren't you?" She squinted to get a better look. "You're very much like your mother, aren't you?"

  "Yes, I am. Are you well today?"

  "I remember when she first came here with her new husband and a little boy with a thatch of blond hair and eyes so blue—" She leaned closer, peering into Adam's right eye and then his left. "They're still as blue as God's great sky." She leaned back, satisfied.

  Adam grinned. "Thank you, Mrs. B." He turned to Mr. Elias. "Good day, Sir."

  Mr. Elias nodded. "It's a fine day."

  "You'll be going out later to enjoy the sun?"

  "I take my daily constitutional every afternoon, rain or shine."

  "Ah. But how much more pleasant on a day like today."

  Mr. Elias tucked his chin in. "I've learned to forge ahead whatever the weather."

  Adam studied him. "I'm guessing you were a soldier."

  Mr. Elias pulled himself taller in his chair. "I was indeed in Her Royal Majesty's service for twenty years."

  Chastity gaped at the pair. Adam had discovered in five minutes something she hadn't known in the five years Mr. Elias had been there.

  "Where did you serve?"

  "Mostly in the East Indies."

  Adam nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Someday I'd like to talk to you about your experiences, if I may?"

  "That would be fine." Mr. Elias settled back, looking pleased.

  "Are we finished with tea?" Mother asked, and everyone murmured agreement.

  Chastity quickly gathered up the cups as Adam untied the strings around his sheaf of papers.

  "I thought I'd give you an overview of what it was like to go to the Klondike." He pulled out a photo. "You could take several routes, depending on where you disembarked, but all were treacherous beyond imagination. This series of photos depicts what is probably the most famous route—the passage to Dyea and then over the Chilkoot Trail."

  Adam handed Mother a photo, which she studied before passing it to Emma. He then handed another to Mother.

  "Men faced the most incredible odds. The strong overcame them. The
weak turned back—or, worse, simply sat down and quit. Then there were the weak of a different sort who took advantage of other men's desperation and profited from it."

  Chastity found herself drawn to the tale of men against the elements—weather, terrain that would stop a mountain goat—things at once beautiful and terrifying.

  "This picture shows the city of tents on the shores of Lynn Canal. Thousands of people arrived there." He passed around more pictures. “This is a group of men, outfitted for the trail." He paused. "To reach the Klondike River, each man had to cross a formidable range of mountains."

  Chastity gasped as the enormity of the gold fever stared back at her in stark black and white. "It looks like half the population raced off in search of gold."

  "The fervor these men displayed was incredible." Adam pointed to the picture in her hand. "These are the golden stairs."

  She saw an unbroken line of men scaling a steep slope.

  "The slope was thirty-five degrees, making it necessary for each man to walk so he bent over looking at his boots. It was a torturous climb."

  Chastity shook her head. "It's incredible."

  Adam held up his hand. "That's only the beginning. At the top the Mounties had a border check. In order to be allowed any further, each man had to have two thousand pounds of supplies. You have to understand there were no supplies available until ships could navigate the frozen waterways. So each man had to carry in what he needed." He bent over the photo, his head close to Chastity's. "A man could carry fifty pounds on his back. That meant he had to make the twenty-mile trip over this pass forty times."

  "Forty times!" Chastity stared into his blue eyes, dark and serious.

  "Many men died trying to make it."

  "But you made it." She couldn't take her eyes off him, thinking of the horrors he had faced as he forged his way to the Klondike. This was more than seeking adventure; it required the determination of a sort that awed her.

  He shook his head. "I took the all-Canadian route. It had its own set of challenges." Finally he pulled his gaze away and straightened to address the whole room. "These photos I'm showing you now were not taken by me. They were taken by a man I met in the Klondike. I got them from him."

  Curious about the tightness she heard in his voice, Chastity asked, "Who was this man?"