Betsy's Return (7 page)

Betsy bent over the washtub she'd set up on the back porch and grabbed a pair of overalls. It was time to do laundry again. Today she had her and Papa's clothes to do, as well as some from the boatmen. She'd been getting more business lately, which was a good thing because she needed the money. The washing and mending, however, kept her busier than ever, leaving less time to spend with her father.

For the last few weeks some of the women from church had taken turns relieving Betsy so she could teach Sunday school, play the organ during church, and go shopping whenever it was needed. During those weeks Dr. McGrath had been giving Betsy's father a dose of hawthorn berry tea every day, and they were waiting to see if it helped his heart any.

A fence had been put up around their backyard as well. Since Ben Hanson owned the house Betsy and her father lived in, he'd agreed to pay for the needed supplies. Several of the men from church, including Pastor William and Mike Cooper, had been involved in building the fence. Bristle Face was now safe and secure, and he couldn't make a pest of himself by going over to the parsonage and bothering Mrs. Bevens or the pastor anymore.

At the moment, the dog was sleeping on the porch, but when he let out a noisy yap, Betsy spotted Harriet Miller coming up the walk, carrying a wicker basket.

“I brought lunch over for you and your father,” Harriet said once she'd reached the gate. “Would you like me to hand it over the fence, or should I come into the yard?”

Betsy dropped a just-washed pair of trousers into the rinse bucket and straightened. “If you'd like to go around front, I'll meet you there. If you come into the backyard, you'll have to deal with Bristle Face, which probably won't be pleasant.”

Harriet's eyebrows lifted, and a blotch of pink erupted on her cheeks. “Oh dear, does the animal bite?”

“To my knowledge, Bristle Face has never bitten anyone, but he does like to jump up, and I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate his dirty paw prints all over your clean skirt.”

Harriet nodded. “I'll head around front.”

A few minutes later Betsy joined Harriet on the front porch. “It was kind of you to bring us a meal,” she said, taking the basket from the elderly woman. “Would you care to come inside and say hello to my father while you're here?”

“Is he feeling up to company today?”

“I think so. He was relaxing on the sofa when I went outside to do the laundry, but I'm sure he would enjoy a visit from you.”

Harriet smiled. “I'll go in to see him in a few minutes, but first, I'd like to have a little chat with you, if you have the time.”

Betsy motioned to the two wicker chairs sitting near the door. When they were both seated, she placed the wicker basket on the porch by her chair. “Was there anything in particular you wished to speak with me about?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.” Harriet smoothed the wrinkles in her long, gray skirt. “I've been meeting with some of the other women from church on Monday mornings, so we can pray, study our Bibles, and discuss the needs of our congregation.”

“There seems to be many needs among us these days,” Betsy said with a nod.

“You're so right, and one of the needs we've been praying about is a husband for you.”

Betsy's mouth dropped open. “What?”

Harriet reached over and took hold of Betsy's hand. “Look how red and wrinkled your skin has become since you started taking in washing. And I saw the way you grimaced in pain when you stood up from that washtub earlier.” She clicked her tongue. “If you had a husband to provide for your needs, you wouldn't have to slave over a hot tub of water in order to earn money.”

Betsy gripped the arms of her chair until her fingers dug into the wicker. “Are all the women in your group praying that I find a husband?”

Harriet nodded. “Most of us have attended the community church for a good many years, and we've known you since you were a little girl.”

“That's true, but—”

“What about our handsome young preacher?”

“What about him?”

“I think you and Pastor William would make the perfect match.”

“Oh, I don't believe—”

Harriet patted Betsy's hand in a motherly fashion. “Several of us think you would make a good minister's wife. After all, you've grown up in the ministry and know what's expected of a pastor and his family. Your musical abilities are certainly a plus, too.”

Betsy swallowed hard. “Have I said or done anything to make you believe I've set my cap for the preacher?”

Harriet blinked. “Why, no, dear. I just think that the two of you are well suited, and—”

Betsy shook her head. “I'm not looking for a husband, Harriet.”

“Haven't you noticed how kind and caring the pastor seems to be? He's such a handsome man, don't you think?”

Betsy didn't know how to respond. She had noticed how handsome the pastor was, and if she were still the old flirtatious Betsy, she might be tempted to let her interest in the man be known. But she had changed and would not throw herself at any man, no matter how much he might interest her. If God ever decided that she should have a husband, then He would have to cause that man to make the first move.

William couldn't get over all the invitations he'd recently received to share lunches and suppers with various people from his congregation. Yet here he was, stepping into another house for a noon meal. It was the third invitation in two days. Mrs. Bevens had been invited, too, but as usual she'd declined.

“Fred and I are so glad you could join us for lunch today,” Doris Brown said as she led William into her roomy kitchen. “Why, when I told Fred you were coming over to eat, he said, ‘I'll just knock over a chicken or two, and you can get out some flour doin's, and then we'll feed that new pastor of ours some tasty chicken fixin's.'” She offered William a wide grin and pointed to the table. “Fred's upstairs changing out of his dirty work clothes, but he'll be down soon, so why don't you pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable?”

William smiled and took the chair closest to him.

“Too bad your housekeeper couldn't have come over,” Doris said. “She's not such a friendly type, is she?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Some of us women have been having ourselves a little Bible study on Monday mornings, and when I saw Mrs. Bevens at church a couple of Sundays ago, I asked if she'd like to join us.”

“I see.” William didn't bother to ask what reply his housekeeper had given, because he already knew Mrs. Bevens had declined the invitation. The snooty woman had mentioned that she didn't care much for people like Doris Brown, a plain, simple woman, lacking in education and social graces.

“I haven't been able to figure out if your housekeeper is stuck on herself or is just shy around folks she don't know so well.” Doris reached around William to pour water into his glass. “The lady doesn't say much, and some of the women from church think she seems kind of hoity-toity, which makes no sense, seeing as to how she's workin' as your housekeeper and all.”

William grimaced. Hoity-toity. That was exactly the impression Mrs. Bevens left with people.

Doris pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and sat down, apparently in no hurry to get lunch on the table. “Can you tell me why Mrs. Bevens keeps her distance?”

William drew in a deep breath and released it quickly. “I've known Mrs. Bevens since I was a boy—when she was my nanny. It's my understanding that her father was once a successful businessman, but soon after his wife died, he started drinking and lost all his assets.”

“Assets?”

“All his business holdings—his money.”

“I see.”

“So Mrs. Bevens, being an only child, was sent away to live with her old maid aunt because her father could no longer care for her.” William paused. He hoped he wasn't speaking out of turn or that the information would appear to be gossip. But Doris had asked a direct question, and he felt she deserved an honest answer.

“Do you think Mrs. Bevens might've become bitter 'cause her daddy was a louse?” Doris leaned forward with her elbows on the table and blinked her eyelashes several times.

William shrugged. “Maybe so, but it's not my place to judge. I've probably spoken out of turn by telling you what I have about Mrs. Bevens.”

“I'm glad you shared what you did 'cause it helps me understand the woman a little better.” Doris pushed away from the table and lumbered over to the stove. She opened the oven door and peeked inside. “Chicken looks brown enough now, so we can eat as soon as my man shows up.”

“If it tastes half as good as it smells, I'm sure I'll be in for a treat.”

“Oh, it will—I can guarantee that,” Doris's husband, Fred, said as he sauntered into the room with a towel slung over his shoulder. He stepped up beside his wife and planted a noisy kiss on her cheek. “My Doris is the best cook in the whole state of Pennsylvania.”

“I think we have a church full of good cooks.” William patted his stomach. “I've eaten several meals prepared by the ladies already, and I enjoyed every one.”

Fred plodded over to the table and pulled out a chair. “Know what I think you need, Preacher?”

William opened his mouth to respond, but Doris cut him off. “He needs a wife, that's what he needs.”

Fred's bald head bobbed up and down. “That's just what I was gonna say. It ain't good for a preacher man to be single.”

Doris placed a platter full of chicken on the table and patted William on the back. “I know exactly who the perfect wife for you would be.”

William fiddled with the knife beside his plate as his face heated up. Was everyone in the church determined to see him married?

“It's Frank Andrews's daughter, Hortence, huh?” Fred jiggled his bushy eyebrows and gave William a silly grin. “I've seen the way that little gal looks at you on Sunday mornings.”

William's ears burned, and a trickle of sweat rolled down his forehead.

“Oh no, Fred,” Doris said as she set a bowl of mashed potatoes in front of William. “I think Betsy Nelson would be more suitable as a pastor's wife, don't you?”

William cringed.
I think it's time for me to nip this talk of marriage in the bud.
This Sunday, before he began his sermon, he would let everyone in the congregation know that he was perfectly happy being single and that he planned to stay that way.

On Sunday morning as William stepped into the pulpit, he reminded himself what his first announcement should be. His only concern was in choosing the right words. He didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings, yet he couldn't allow the folks who had been trying to play matchmaker to continue inviting him to dinner with the hope of getting him married off to their daughters.

He placed his Bible on the pulpit, collected his thoughts as best he could, and smiled at the congregation. “Good morning. This is the day that the Lord hath made.”

Several
amen
s went up around the room, and many people nodded their heads in agreement.

“I ... uh ... have an announcement to make.” William loosened his tie a notch and swallowed around the constriction in his throat. Everyone wore expectant looks, even Betsy, who sat at the organ with her hymnbook in her hands. Would he embarrass someone if he said this in front of the entire congregation? He didn't want to cause hard feelings or draw attention to anyone in particular. Maybe it would be better if he spoke one-on-one to the individuals who were determined to play matchmaker, rather than announcing to the whole group that he was a confirmed bachelor.

William gripped the edge of the pulpit for support. Why did the room feel so hot all of a sudden? The windows were open, so a breeze must be coming in. These people were expecting him to make an announcement, so if he wasn't going to say what was on his mind, then he needed to come up with something else to say.

He cleared his throat a couple of times. “My ... uh ... announcement this morning is that ... uh...”

“What's the matter, Preacher? Are you gonna chew us out because we've done somethin' wrong?” Abe Rawlings, one of the few canalers who came to church whenever his boat passed through the area, shouted from the back of the room.

William shook his head, feeling more frustrated than ever. He needed to think of something to announce, and it had better be quick. “No one has done anything wrong. I just wanted to announce that—” An idea suddenly popped into his head, and he practically shouted out the rest of his sentence. “Next Sunday, after the worship service is over, I want to conduct another service down by the canal, and a ... a picnic will follow.”

Several heads bobbed up and down, and smiles spread across most of the people's faces.

“Shortly after I came here, it was brought to my attention that the boatmen might enjoy some singing and preaching down at the canal, where their boats are tied up for their day of rest.” He glanced over at Betsy, knowing this had been her idea, and added, “I hope all of you will come and be part of this special service.”

“You can count on me, Pastor.”

“I'll be there.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“A picnic sounds like fun.”

Everyone seemed to be talking at once, and William rapped his knuckles on the edge of the pulpit to get their attention. “Perhaps some of you ladies can get together and discuss what you might want to bring for the picnic. I think it would be nice if each family brought enough food to share with some of the canalers, don't you?”

Several heads nodded in agreement, and a couple of women started whispering to those who sat near them.

William tapped on the pulpit again. “Rather than taking time to discuss the details of the picnic right now, I think it would be better if we waited until after church is over.”

“The preacher man's right!” Abe hollered. “We came here to sing God's praises and hear His Word, not talk about food!”

Everyone quieted, and William looked over at Betsy again. “Perhaps you could meet with me for a few minutes after church today, along with any others who might want to sing a special song or play a musical instrument during our canal service.”

Betsy nodded and smiled.

When church was over and the final prayer had been said, Betsy stood near the organ, waiting for the pastor to finish greeting the people so he could meet with her and any others who might want to contribute to the music next Sunday during the canal service. She was pleased that Pastor William had decided to hold church there. It had meant a lot to the boatmen whenever Papa walked the canal to hand out Bible verses or conducted a Sunday service in the grassy area near the towpath. Many men, including Kelly and Sarah's father, Amos McGregor, had found a personal relationship with the Lord because of those informal meetings. Now whenever Amos and his wife were near Walnutport on a Saturday evening, they would tie up for the night and come to church on Sunday morning. Betsy knew how pleased Kelly and Sarah were when their folks were able to be in church, and the look of pride on Dorrie McGregor's face as she sat on a pew, holding one of her grandchildren in her lap, was a joy to behold.

“Excuse me,” Ruby Miller said as she stepped up beside Betsy, “but I was wondering if I might speak to you a minute.”

Betsy nodded. “Of course. Were you wanting to sing a special song at our canal service next Sunday?”

Ruby's face turned pink, and she fanned her face with her hands. “Oh my, no. I'd scare folks away if I tried to sing a solo.”

Betsy smiled at the middle-aged woman and gently squeezed her arm. “You wouldn't have to sing a solo. You could do a duet with me or someone else from the congregation.”

Ruby shook her head. “My husband says I squawk like a chicken whenever I sing, so I wouldn't think of embarrassing anyone by asking them to do a duet with me.”

“So what did you wish to speak with me about?”

Ruby leaned closer to Betsy and whispered, “I was hoping you and your father might come to supper at our place one night next week.”

“It's nice of you to ask, but I don't think Papa's up to going anywhere right now.” Betsy gestured to the empty pews. “You've probably noticed he hasn't been in church for the last couple of weeks.”

Ruby nodded. “I'm sorry he's not doing any better. We're all praying for him, you know.”

“We appreciate that.”

“Would your father be okay with you coming to dinner without him? I could ask someone to sit with him while you're gone, if that would help.” Ruby touched Betsy's shoulder. “You really do need a break once in a while.”

“I'll think about it and let you know.” Betsy offered Ruby what she hoped was a pleasant smile.

“I'll stop by your house on Tuesday for an answer, and if you decide to accept my invitation, we'll have you over for supper on Friday evening.”

Ruby walked away, and a few minutes later Pastor William showed up. “Was Ruby talking to you about the music for our canal service next week?”

Betsy shook her head. “She had something else on her mind.”

“I see. Well, I hope you'll be able to take part in the services. I would like it if you brought your zither along to accompany the songs.”

“As long as my father isn't any worse and I can find someone to spend the afternoon with him, I'll be there,” Betsy said with a nod.

“It would be wonderful if he felt up to going along that day.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Does the doctor think the new treatment is helping at all?”

Betsy shrugged. “He's not sure. There are days when Papa seems a bit stronger and doesn't have as much chest pain, but other days he can barely walk across the room without having to stop every few seconds to catch his breath.”

“The last time I spoke with your father, he informed me that he's ready to die if the Lord chooses to take him home rather than heal his heart.”

A shiver started at the base of Betsy's neck and ran all the way down her spine. She could hardly think about Papa dying, much less speak the words.

“I apologize if I've spoken out of turn. I can see that you're shaken.” Pastor William nodded toward the organ bench. “Would you like to sit awhile?”

“I'm fine.” Betsy grabbed the hymnbook from the end of the organ where she had placed it after the service. “Should we pick some songs for next Sunday now?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”