Betsy's Return (5 page)

On Sunday morning, as Betsy secured the rope that would tie Bristle Face to the maple tree in their backyard, she thought back to Monday and what had happened after she and William had finished practicing their song. Betsy had said she needed to get home to check on her father, and as she left the church, she'd found Papa's dog crouched in the bushes near the front porch of their cottage. She was relieved to see that Bristle Face wasn't hurt, but from the way he whined and crawled to her on his belly, she could tell something had traumatized him. It had made her wonder if the poor animal had gone over to the parsonage and been chased off by Pastor William's disagreeable housekeeper.

“You'd better stay put today,” Betsy warned Bristle Face. “If you don't, I'll ask someone to build you a cage.” She shook her head as she walked away, realizing she'd been so busy with laundry and mending jobs all week she'd forgotten to ask the pastor about finding someone to put a fence around their backyard.
I'll do that sometime this week,
she promised herself.

Returning to the house, Betsy found her father sitting on the sofa with his Bible lying open in his lap. It seemed as if he was always reading God's Word. “Are you sure you don't want to take the buckboard to church today?” she asked. “There's still time for me to hitch up the horse.”

He shook his head. “I'd rather walk. The fresh air and sunshine are good for me; the doctor said so.”

“All right then, but we still have plenty of time before church starts, so let's not be in a hurry getting there.” Betsy touched his pale cheek. “Those dark circles under your eyes lead me to believe you didn't sleep well last night.”

“I'll be fine.” Papa closed his Bible and stood. “Shall we go?”

She nodded and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.

As Betsy and her father headed to church, she became more concerned, because he had to stop every few feet in order to catch his breath.

“Maybe we should go back and get the buckboard,” she suggested. “Or better yet, why don't you stay home from church today and rest?”

He shook his head. “And miss hearing you sing?”

Betsy smiled despite her growing concerns. Ever since Mama had died, Papa had doted on her.
Guess maybe he spoiled me a bit, too,
she mused, gripping her father's arm a little tighter as they proceeded down the street.

They were nearly at the church when Betsy halted. A trickle of perspiration rolled down her forehead and onto her nose. “Papa, do you think anyone in the congregation will get the wrong idea when Pastor William and I sing our duet?”

He stared at her like she'd taken leave of her senses. “Of course not, Betsy. Think of all the times you've sung with other people in our church, including me.”

“But I wasn't sharing a song with a handsome, single minister.”

Papa raised his bushy eyebrows. “Are you saying I'm not handsome?”

“Certainly not. You're the most handsome man I know.” She smiled up at him. “But seriously, some people might wonder why the minister chose to sing with me. There might be those who will think there's something going on between Pastor William and me.”

Papa grinned. “Is there something going on?”

“Absolutely not. We barely know each other, and I have no intention of—”

“You deserve to be happy, daughter. And when I'm gone, you'll need to begin a life of your own.”

She patted his arm. “I have a life, right here with you.”

“I appreciate your devotion, but it's past time for you to find a husband and start a family of your own.”

Betsy shook her head. “If the Lord was going to give me a husband, I'm sure He would have done so by now. I'm thirty-one years old, Papa, and no man has ever shown the slightest interest in me.”

“What about Mike Cooper? He seemed interested for a time.”

“Puh! It was me who was interested in Mike, not the other way around. He only had eyes for Kelly, and I was a fool to throw myself at him the way I did.” Betsy lifted her chin as they walked up the steps leading to the church. “I'm older and wiser now, and I shall never do such a humiliating thing again.”

William was glad Mrs. Bevens had come to church today, but he wasn't pleased with the dour expression on her face as she stood off to one side of the foyer, watching him greet people as they entered the building.
She's probably scrutinizing everything I say and do. I think if she didn't have something in which to find fault, she would be miserable.

Turning away from Mrs. Bevens and her accusing stare, William stepped forward and greeted Betsy and her father. “Good morning. How are you feeling today, Rev. Nelson?”

“I'm a bit winded from the walk over here, but I'm sure I'll be fine once I'm seated.”

William glanced at Betsy to gauge her reaction.

“I tried to talk him into staying home today, but he insisted on coming.” She frowned. “I couldn't get him to agree to take the buckboard, either.”

“My daughter worries too much,” Hiram said before William could offer a reply. He squeezed Betsy's shoulder. “I'm anxious to hear the song you and Betsy will be singing today. She has a beautiful voice, and from what I hear, so do you.”

William smiled, and he glanced at Mrs. Bevens again. She gave him an angry glare, as if to remind him of what she had told him that morning during breakfast. “I'm concerned about how your duet with Miss Nelson will look to the congregation,” she had said. When he asked what she meant, she had pursed her lips, then replied, “Some people might get the impression that you're romantically interested in Betsy, and if you choose to sing with her, it might set off some ugly rumors.”

He had assured Mrs. Bevens that he had no romantic interest in any woman and that he'd only asked Betsy to help with the song because she sang it so well and would keep him on key. He'd also said that he didn't believe the people in Walnutport were like those who lived in the larger cities, where vicious gossipers seemed to be everywhere. He'd ended the conversation by saying that if he got wind of any gossip in his church, he would be quick to nip it in the bud.

When William glanced at Mrs. Bevens again, he was relieved to see that she was now engaged in a conversation with Sarah Turner, one of the lock tenders' wives.

“We should get into the sanctuary,” Betsy said, taking hold of her father's arm. “Pastor William has other people to greet, and I need to get the organ warmed up.”

As Betsy and her father moved away, the room seemed stuffy all of a sudden, and William slid one finger under the back of his shirt collar, noticing that it felt kind of tight.
Oh Lord,
he prayed,
please tell me I didn't do the wrong thing by asking Betsy to sing with me this morning.

Betsy hadn't been sure if she could get through the music part of the service without making obvious mistakes, but she'd managed to play all the hymns as well as the offertory without missing a note. The pastor had offered a lengthy prayer after the congregational singing, and he'd just announced that he and Betsy would now sing a duet.

Dear Lord,
she prayed,
please still my racing heart and help my voice not to crack in the middle of our song.

As William stepped up to the organ, Betsy glanced at the congregation and noticed her father slouched on the front pew. He seemed to be struggling to keep awake, and she wished once more that he had stayed home in bed. Her gaze went to the other side of the room, where Mrs. Bevens sat rigid without a hint of a smile on her face.

Betsy grimaced internally.
For some reason that woman doesn't like me. Either that or she had a bowl of sour cherries for breakfast this morning.

“I'm ready when you are,” William whispered, bending close to Betsy's ear.

She nodded, and a shiver tickled her spine.

Betsy sang the first verse alone, and William joined her on the chorus. Their voices blended in perfect unison, and Betsy soon forgot her nervousness as she allowed the music and the words of the beautiful hymn to lift her spirits. As they reached the last note, she felt as if God was looking down from heaven and smiling His approval.

The room exploded with applause and numerous
amen
s, and everyone but William's housekeeper and a few of the young, single women smiled back at them.

When the service ended and Betsy and her father headed for the door, she was stopped by several people who said how much they enjoyed the duet. Some even commented on how well the pastor's and Betsy's voices blended, and Kelly Cooper had been bold enough to whisper that she thought Betsy and the preacher looked real handsome together.

“Please don't tell that to the pastor or anyone else,” Betsy whispered back. “I wouldn't want any false rumors getting started.”

“Oh, don't worry,” Kelly said as she ushered her two children out the door behind their father. “I would never embarrass you that way.”

Betsy turned to her father, who looked even paler than he had earlier. “Should I see if someone can give us a ride home?”

He nodded. “That's probably a good idea. I'm feeling a bit weak and shaky.”

“Why don't I walk you back to the sanctuary so you can have a seat? Then I'll see who might be available to take us home.”

Papa took hold of Betsy's arm and offered her a feeble-looking smile. “You're such a thoughtful daughter, and you've got the voice of an angel. I know everyone enjoyed the song you and the pastor sang today.”

“Thank you, Papa.” Betsy saw that her father was situated on a back pew, and then she headed back to the foyer. She was about to ask Sarah Turner and her husband, Sam, if they could catch a ride in their wagon, when she overheard Clara Andrews invite the preacher over to her house for Sunday dinner. “It will give you and my daughter, Hortence, a chance to get better acquainted,” the woman said, clasping the pastor's arm.

“I—I don't know.” Pastor William looked kind of flustered. Had he made other plans for the afternoon? “I'll have to check with my housekeeper and see what plans she's made for our dinner today.”

“Mrs. Bevens is welcome to join us. In fact, that will work out real well. She and I can visit while you and Hortence spend some time together.”

And I was worried that someone might think I'd set my cap for the pastor,
Betsy thought with a shake of her head.
I would say Pastor William is the one who needs to worry.

“I'm heading out to make a few calls on some people in my congregation,” William told Mrs. Bevens as he grabbed his Bible and started for the back door.

She looked up from the letters she'd been writing at the kitchen table and frowned. “Can't that wait? I was hoping you would help me measure the windows in the sitting room today. The curtains are terribly faded, and they should have been replaced before we moved in. I want to have some new ones put up as soon as possible.”

“I don't think new curtains are a priority right now,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“Oh, but they are,” Mrs. Bevens argued. “If you're going to entertain properly, you'll need the parsonage to look as nice as possible.” She wrinkled her nose, as though some foul odor had permeated the room. “This house is a disgrace.”

William grimaced. It was a shame that the persnickety woman put so much emphasis on material things and didn't seem to care about people or their needs.
And she calls herself a Christian,
he thought with dismay.
But then, it's not my place to judge. Only God has the right to do that.

“I need to go, Mrs. Bevens. We'll talk about the curtains some other time.” Without waiting for her reply, he rushed out the door.

Betsy pushed a strand of hair away from her face and bent to pick up a pair of trousers. She'd spent four hours last night at the treadle sewing machine, mending several shirts, which had left the muscles in her shoulders sore and tense. This morning after breakfast she'd come out to the backyard, where she'd spent several more hours stooped over the washtub, scrubbing trousers, shirts, and socks that had been dropped off by some of the boatmen on their way up the canal to Mauch Chunk. It was amazing how quickly the news had gotten out that Betsy was taking in clothes to wash and mend. While she wasn't earning a lot of money, it was enough for their basic needs, and since Papa had saved a little from his years of preaching, they could fall back on that if the need arose. Betsy felt sure that God would provide for their needs, and as much as she missed her work with the Salvation Army, at least she was doing something meaningful.

In order to make the time pass more quickly and to take her mind off the pain that had settled in her lower back, Betsy decided to sing a few hymns. She'd just finished “Almost Persuaded” and had just begun to sing “Only Trust Him,” when a deep voice coming from the other side of the yard sang out, “‘Come, every soul by sin oppressed; there's mercy with the Lord, and He will surely give you rest rd.'”

Betsy turned and saw Pastor William walking across the grass, holding his Bible in one hand. “It's a beautiful song. Let's sing the refrain together,” he said, as he approached her.

Betsy strummed the washboard, keeping time to the music as her voice blended with Pastor William's. “‘Only trust Him, only trust Him, only trust Him now; He will save you, He will save you, He will save you now.'”

When the song was over, she straightened and faced him, feeling the heat of a blush sweep over her face. “What brings you by on this hot, sticky morning?” she asked the smiling preacher.

He lifted his Bible. “I've been out calling on people. I hope to get into a routine of doing that at least once a week. I'll be setting certain hours aside for studying my sermon, too, of course.”

Betsy resumed her scrubbing. “Have you given any thought to holding services along the canal for the boatmen and their families who don't come to the church?”

“I have considered the idea, but I'm wondering if it wouldn't be better if I went down to the canal, introduced myself, and invited those people to attend our regular Sunday services here in town. I understand that none of the canal boats run on Sunday, so I don't see why the boatmen can't come to the church.”

Betsy grabbed another pair of trousers and sloshed them up and down in the soapy water. “I know many of the men who work the canals, and most wouldn't feel comfortable sitting inside a church building.”

The pastor's eyes narrowed. “Why is that?”

“Most of the canalers don't have a lot of money. They wear simple, plain clothes, speak crudely, are uneducated, and would feel as out of place sitting on a polished pew as a duck trying to make its nest in a tree.” She reached around to rub the kink in her back and winced.

“Are you in pain?” he asked, kneeling beside her with a look of concern.

“I'll be all right. It's just a little crick.”

He glanced at the pile of wet clothes in the wicker basket beside the laundry tub. “Surely these can't all be your father's.”

She shook her head. “I'm taking in washing and mending for some of the boatmen who don't have wives traveling with them. It was the only way I could think of to earn money.”

He cringed, as though it were his back that hurt and not hers. “In the home where I grew up, we had servants to do our washing, mending, and other chores around the house. The most menial tasks I ever saw my mother do was to tend her rose garden and crochet lace doilies.” He shook his head. “You shouldn't have to work so hard, Betsy. Not when you have your father to care for.”

“I'm managing,” she mumbled.

“Maybe my housekeeper could come by once a week to help you.”

Betsy straightened to her full height, ignoring the pain that shot through her back. “Absolutely not! I can't afford to pay anyone, and I'm getting by fine on my own.” She knew her tone was harsh, and she bit her bottom lip, wishing she could retract the words. “I–I'm sorry for snapping.”

“It is I who should apologize. I'm sorry if I've offended you by my suggestion.” Pastor William took a step closer to Betsy, and the scent of his spicy cologne stirred something deep within her.

“I tend to be a little too sensitive,” she admitted, leaning away. “I think it comes from years of self-reproach.”

He squinted his blue eyes. “Would you care to explain?”

Betsy stared at the ground. How could she admit that she used to be a flirt and had actually tried to manipulate men in order to get her way? She would be too embarrassed to confess that she'd once thrown herself at Mike Cooper, only to be rebuffed by him.

“I'm thinking the real reason you're a bit sensitive has more to do with your concern for your father than anything else. You seem like a loving, caring daughter, and your willingness to do such hard work is proof of that.” He motioned to the washtub.

She shrugged. “Maybe, but I must confess that I wasn't always so loving or caring. In my younger days I was a selfish, spoiled girl, and my tongue was sharper than any fisherman's knife.”

“People change, and you obviously have, for I don't see a trace of selfishness in you now.”

Betsy rinsed the trousers in the bucket of water sitting beside the washtub, wrung them out, and placed them in the wicker basket. “Papa's in the house, resting on the sofa. I assume you came by to see him.”

He nodded and raked his fingers through the back of his hair. “I also came to ask you a favor.”

“Oh?”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “I was talking with Kelly Cooper when I stopped by the store this morning, and she mentioned that you used to do volunteer work at an orphanage in New York City.”

“That's right. Several women from the Salvation Army helped out there.”

He cleared his throat and rubbed his hand across his chin. “I figure if you've worked with orphans that you must have a special way with children.”

“I never used to like children much. They made me feel uncomfortable,” Betsy admitted. “But my work at the orphanage changed that, and now I realize how special children are.”

“Yes, they're all precious in God's sight.” Pastor William cleared his throat. “The thing is I paid a call on Andy and Mae Gates this morning. Mae is in a family way and hasn't been feeling well, so she's going to give up teaching her Sunday school class.” He kicked a small stone with the toe of his shoe. “I was wondering if you might be willing to take over that class.”

Betsy thought about the puppets she'd made to entertain the children at the orphanage and wondered if something like that might work for a Sunday school class of young girls. “I would be willing to teach,” she finally said, “but my only concern is that I might not be able to be in church every week.”

“You mean because of your father's health?”

She nodded.

“On the Sundays you feel you must stay at home, perhaps one of the other ladies from church could fill in as your substitute teacher.” He smiled. “Or maybe someone could sit with your father while you're at church.”

“I'd feel better staying with him when he's having a bad day,” she said, nearly choking on the words. Betsy hadn't admitted it to anyone, but she was worried that Papa might not have much longer to live. She wanted to spend as much time with him as possible and was concerned that he might become extremely ill or could even die while she was away.

“I understand.” Pastor William glanced at the house. “I'd best see how your father is doing now. Think about the Sunday school class and let me know, all right?”

“Yes, I will. Thank you for stopping by.”

“You're welcome.” He started for the house, whistling a hymn, and Betsy resumed her work, praying that the Lord would help her make a wise decision. She also prayed that God would allow her to spend many more days with her father.