Betsy's Return (8 page)

“I'm sorry you couldn't come over to our place for supper last week,” Ruby said to Betsy as they both pulled their buckboards into a clearing near the section of the canal closest to the lock tender's house.

Betsy glanced over at her father, who sat in the seat beside her. “Papa wasn't feeling well that night, and—”

“I tried to get her to go, but my daughter can be so stubborn sometimes.” Papa nodded at Betsy. “I love you and appreciate your dedication, but you worry about me too much.”

Betsy couldn't argue with that. She did worry about her father and wanted him to get well so they could spend more time together.

“I'm glad you're feeling up to attending our church service and picnic at the canal today,” Ruby said. “Sure wish my husband would have been able to come.”

“Is Clem sick?” Betsy asked. “I didn't see him at our service in town.”

“He's not sick, but yesterday morning that determined man put a kink in his back when he tried to move a huge rock in our backyard.” Ruby pursed her lips. “He was still hurtin' this morning and didn't want to get out of bed. Said I should go to church without him.”

“Clem should have asked some of the men from church to help him move that rock,” Betsy's father put in. “That's how we got our fence put up. Isn't that right, Betsy?”

She nodded and reached over to touch his hand. “Are you sure you're up to this outing today?”

He squeezed her fingers. “I'm fine, and I wouldn't have missed seeing my canal friends here—not to mention sampling some of the tasty food the ladies from church have brought along to share.”

“I baked some apple pies,” Ruby said. “That's always been a favorite of yours.”

He grinned and patted his stomach. “Yes, Ruby, I do love your sweet apple pies.”

Betsy smiled. The fact that Papa seemed so pleased gave her hope that he might be feeling better. If God provided a miracle and healed Papa's heart, he might be able to start preaching again. Of course, now there was a new pastor standing in his pulpit, so either William would have to leave or Papa would need to look for some other church to pastor. The thought of them moving away from Walnutport didn't set well with Betsy, and thinking about the new pastor leaving wasn't much better. Betsy wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, but in the short time Pastor William had been in town, she'd become quite fond of him. He seemed kind, caring, and smart, and he was extremely good-looking. She was sure he would make a fine husband.

Betsy's shoulders tensed as a pain shot up her neck, and her musings came to a halt. What on earth had she been thinking? Friendship was all she could offer right now, and she was sure the pastor saw her only as a friend as well.

“Shall we climb down from the buckboard and join the others?” Papa asked.

Betsy nodded. “Let me put a blanket on the grass so you'll have a comfortable place to sit, and then I'll come back to the buckboard to get you.”

“I'm not an invalid, Betsy. And I don't plan to sit on a blanket all day.”

Betsy knew her father's words weren't meant to be harsh, but she felt the sting of them nonetheless. “I just don't want you overdoing it. This is the first day in a long while that you've been outside the house.”

He patted her arm. “I'll be fine.”

A short time later as Betsy, her father, and Ruby headed for the canal, she spotted Mike and Kelly along with their two children: Anna, who was four, and Marcus, who had just turned two.

“Pastor Nelson, it's so good to see you,” Mike said, taking Betsy's father by the arm.

“I wouldn't have missed coming here today for anything,” Papa replied. The two men wandered off, Ruby joined Freda Hanson, who stood nearby, and Betsy followed Kelly and her children across the grass.

“I think I'm going to set out my blanket and picnic basket before the service begins,” Kelly said. “That way we'll be sure to have a good place to sit when it's time to eat.”

Betsy nodded. “Guess I'll do the same.”

The children sat on the grass and watched as Kelly and Betsy spread out their blankets. They'd just gotten everything situated when Kelly's mother and sister—Dorrie and Sarah—showed up. Sarah's three children—Sam Jr., age six; Willis, who was four; and two-year-old Helen—tagged along behind them.

Kelly's children scurried over to their grandmother, and she gave them each a hug. “I'm so glad the new pastor has decided to hold services down here by the canal.” She smiled at Betsy. “Since your father retired from preaching, those of us who spend most of the week on our boats have missed this time of singing, Bible teaching, and fellowship.”

“That's right,” Sarah said with a nod. “Even though my family usually makes it to church in town most Sundays, we've always enjoyed the services held here along the water.”

“Mike and I have enjoyed that, too,” Kelly agreed.

“Betsy, did you bring your zither?” Dorrie asked.

Betsy nodded and pointed to the leather case she'd set on one end of the blanket. “I'm just waiting for our pastor to arrive.”

Sarah glanced at the group of people who had already congregated. “I would think he would have been here by now. I hope he didn't change his mind about holding the service down here.”

“I'm sure Pastor William is coming,” Betsy said. “He helped me pick out the songs we're going to sing today, and he seemed excited about the opportunity to preach to the boatmen.”

Kelly poked Betsy gently on the arm and motioned to the left. “Here he comes now, and he's got his housekeeper with him.”

William was amazed at how many people had gathered along the grassy banks near the canal. He recognized several from church, but lots of faces were new to him.

“I don't see why you insisted that I be here for this,” Mrs. Bevens said through tight lips as she tromped through the tall grass beside him. “I attended services at your church this morning; that ought to be good enough.”

“I thought you might use this time as an opportunity to get to know the people in the community a little better,” he said, patting her arm. “It's a warm, sunny afternoon with not much humidity, and it's the perfect day for a picnic.”

“Perfect for the ants and buzzing insects maybe.” Mrs. Bevens lifted the edge of her long, gray skirt and frowned. “If I get grass stains on my dress, it will be your fault.”

William clenched his teeth and kept on walking. He was nervous enough about conducting his first outdoor service, and he didn't need Mrs. Bevens's negative attitude to put a damper on things. He spotted Betsy standing beside Kelly and her sister and was relieved to see that she'd brought her zither along.

“Should we begin with some singing?” he asked, moving away from Mrs. Bevens and stepping up to Betsy.

She nodded. “That's the way Papa always began his services.” She motioned to a log lying a few feet from the towpath. Her father was sitting there with Mike Cooper on one side of him and Sam Turner on the other side.

“I'm glad your father could make it. I didn't see him in church this morning, so I assumed he wasn't feeling well.”

“He says he's feeling better today, but he knew it would be too long of a day if he went to church in town and came here, too.” Betsy smiled. “So he chose to attend this service and the picnic that will follow.”

“Our dad's here today, too,” Sarah put in.

“That's right. Preacher Nelson led Papa to the Lord some time ago,” Kelly added. “He's not as comfortable comin' into town to the fancy church building, but ever since he accepted Christ as his Savior, Papa has enjoyed the services held along the canal.”

“That's good to hear. If things go well today, I'll try to hold services down here on a regular basis.”

Kelly and Sarah smiled, and Betsy fairly beamed. “I'm ready to get started with the singing whenever you are, Pastor,” she said.

William moved over to the crowd of people and lifted his hands. “Good afternoon. For those of you who haven't met me yet, I'm Pastor William Covington, and I'm pleased to see so many of you here today.”

There were several
amen
s, a few people snickered, and a couple of the canalers shouted, “Nice to meet ya, Preacher!”

William's cheeks warmed, and he knew it wasn't from the summer sun. The people at the church he'd attended in Buffalo were so formal and stuffy compared to these plain, simple folks who weren't afraid to show enthusiasm or say whatever was on their mind. Nothing William had learned in seminary had prepared him for preaching to a group of unpretentious, uneducated canalers, but he was ready and willing to do the Lord's work, no matter what it took.

William opened the service with a word of prayer then announced the first song they would sing: “Shall We Gather at the River?” He nodded at Betsy, and she began to strum her zither. Everyone's voices blended together as they sang out, “Shall we gather at the river, where bright angel feet have trod, with its crystal tide forever flowing by the throne of God?'”

William was pleased to see a look of joy on the people's faces, as they lifted their heads toward the sky and sang with gusto. He led them in two more songs, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” and “Wonderful Words of Life,” and was about to launch into his sermon when a voice from the crowd shouted, “I would like it if we sang, ‘I Feel Like Traveling On'!”

William turned to see Hiram Nelson walking toward him, his face fairly glowing and his eyes shimmering with tears. “Of course we can sing that song. Would you like to lead us, Rev. Nelson?”

Hiram nodded, and in a surprisingly steady voice he began, “‘My heavenly home is bright and fair. I feel like traveling on. Nor pain nor death can enter there. I feel like traveling on.'” He motioned to the crowd, and they joined him on the chorus: “‘Yes, I feel like traveling on. I feel like traveling on. My heavenly home is bright and fair. I feel like traveling on.'”

When the song ended, Rev. Nelson lifted his hands and looked upward. “I'm ready to go home whenever You're ready to take me, Lord!”

Betsy didn't know how she'd managed to sit through Pastor William's message when the singing ended, because after Papa's song and him telling God that he was ready to go home to be with Him, she felt numb. Just this morning Papa had told her that he was feeling better. Yet his choice of song and the prayer that followed made it clear that he was ready to die.

Papa sat on the blanket beside her now, smiling and licking his lips as he ate a chicken wing he'd pulled from the covered dish Betsy had taken from their picnic basket a few minutes ago. Didn't he realize how much he'd upset her with that song and prayer?

“This is sure tasty,” he said with a smile. “You're going to make some man a mighty fine wife some day.”

Betsy shook her head. “I'm an old maid, Papa, and I'm quite likely to stay one.”

“You never know what the future holds.” He glanced over at her half-eaten plate of food and frowned. “You've barely touched a thing. I can't eat all this by myself, you know.”

She shrugged, wishing she felt free to tell her father all the things that were on her mind. “I'm not so hungry right now.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “How come? Are you feeling sick?”

“No, I'm not sick.”

“That's good to hear.” Papa took another bite of chicken and wiped his mouth on the napkin she'd just handed him. “That young pastor sure preached a good sermon on forgiveness this afternoon, didn't he?”

Betsy shifted uncomfortably on the blanket. “I'm ... uh ... glad Pastor William decided to hold services down here.” She didn't want to admit that she hadn't heard more than a few words of the pastor's message. “Several of the boatmen have told me how much they've missed the meetings you used to hold along the canal.”

Her father nodded and reached for the cup of water Betsy had placed on the lid of the picnic basket. “I'm pleased to see such a good turnout, and I'm hoping Pastor William will continue to hold services here on a regular basis.”

“I'm sure he will, as long as the weather cooperates.” Betsy sighed and set her plate aside.

He cast her a furtive glance. “Are you sure you're all right?”

She nodded and offered him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I can tell by the wrinkles in your forehead that something is bothering you, so you may as well tell me what it is.”

Betsy drew in a deep breath and released it quickly, glancing around to be sure no one sitting nearby was listening. “I'm worried about you, Papa.”

“Now, Betsy, you know what the Bible says about worry. ‘Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment?' Matthew 6:25.”

Betsy grimaced. “I'm not worried about what I shall eat or wear, Papa. After hearing that song you sang earlier and listening to your prayer, I became worried that you might have given up on life and were preparing to die.”

“We're all going to die sometime.” Papa reached over and patted her hand. “You must remember that no matter what happens in the days ahead, my life is in God's hands.”

Betsy opened her mouth to comment, but he rushed on. “No one but God knows what the future holds, but we do know that our heavenly Father holds the future, so let us remember to be loyal to Him and leave our destiny in His hands.”

Betsy swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had formed in her throat. “I know, Papa, and I'll try not to worry.”

“That's my girl,” he said with a wink. “Now why don't you let your old papa take a nap while you visit with some of your friends?”

Betsy didn't feel like visiting with anyone right now, but because she knew her father needed to rest, she gathered up their plates and leftover food, placed them inside the picnic basket, and stood. Smoothing the wrinkles in her long, green skirt, she smiled down at him. “I'll come back in half an hour to check on you.”

He reclined on the blanket, placing both hands behind his head. “No need to worry about me. I'll be fine.”

“I'm going over to talk with Rev. Nelson for a bit,” William said to Mrs. Bevens as she began putting away their leftover picnic food. “While I'm gone, why don't you try to get to know some of the ladies here a little better?”

Mrs. Bevens's mouth drooped at the corners. “I'd rather be alone. Maybe I will take a walk along the canal.”

He released a frustrated groan. “Suit yourself, but you'll never feel at home in Walnutport unless you learn to mingle.”

She pursed her lips and kept piling things into the wicker basket.

William rose from the blanket. “Have a nice walk, Mrs. Bevens.”

A short time later he found Hiram Nelson lying under the shade of a leafy maple tree. The man's eyes were closed, and his steady, even breathing indicated that he must be sleeping. William was about to walk away, when the reverend said, “Don't run off. I'd like to talk to you.”

William jumped. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Nope. Just resting my eyes.” Hiram sat up and motioned William over to the blanket. “Have a seat, and we can visit awhile.”

“Are you sure I'm not interrupting your nap?”

“I can sleep any old time.” He chuckled. “To tell you the truth, I only said I wanted to take a nap so my daughter would feel free to leave my side and spend some time with her friends.”

William glanced across the grassy area near the towpath and spotted Betsy sitting on a blanket beside Kelly and her sister, Sarah. “A couple of women from church have mentioned to me that Betsy doesn't socialize much.”

“That's because she spends all her time washing and mending clothes for the canalers and, of course, tending to my needs.”

“Betsy takes good care of you. It's obvious that she loves you very much.”

“And I love her.” Hiram pointed to the towpath where Mrs. Bevens walked alone. “Your housekeeper takes care of your basic needs, too, but she'll never take the place of a wife.”

William's mouth dropped open. Surely Rev. Nelson wasn't in on the plot to see him married off, too.

“I wouldn't be so bold as to try and pick a wife for you,” Hiram continued, “but I do think if you found the right helpmate it would benefit your ministry.”

“But—but you have no wife, and from what I've heard, you got along just fine,” William sputtered.

Hiram pulled his fingers through his thinning brown hair. “I was widowed when Betsy was a young girl, and many people thought I should find another wife.”

“But you stayed single and did okay in your ministry. Am I right about that?”

Hiram nodded. “Yes, but that was because I never found a woman I could love as much as Betsy's mother. Abigail was a special lady, and she made me feel complete in so many...” His voice trailed off, as he stared into space.

William sat there a few seconds, allowing Hiram the privilege of reminiscing. After a few minutes he touched the man's arm. “I suppose I should let you get back to your nap. Unless there was more you wanted to say.”

“Actually, there is one thing I'd like to mention.”

“What's that?”

The older man cleared his throat. “This is ... uh ... a bit difficult for me to say, but I get the feeling that you might be putting a safe distance between you and your flock.” He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. “At first I thought it was because you thought you were better than them, since you're more educated and all.”

A shock wave spiraled through William, but before he could offer a retort, Hiram added, “Now that I've gotten to know you better, I no longer believe that is true. I think the real reason you're keeping your distance is because you've been hurt by someone—perhaps a woman.”

William clasped his hands together so hard that two of his knuckles popped. “I don't see what this has to do with anything.”

Hiram laid a hand on William's shoulder. “If you want your ministry in Walnutport to succeed, then you're going to have to do more than preach a good sermon. You'll need to become part of the congregation—bring yourself down to their level: laugh with them, cry with them, become one of them. You must ask God to help you set your fears aside and become vulnerable enough to love and be loved by these people—and maybe by some special woman.”

William blinked rapidly. “I don't know what to say.”

“Just say you'll think about what I've said and also pray about it.”

“Yes. Yes, of course I will.” William rose. “You look tired, and I probably should mingle a bit and get to know some of the boatmen.”

Hiram smiled, and William noticed the moisture clinging to the man's eyelashes. “Good for you, Pastor. Good for you.”

As William started to walk away, two young boys raced past, shouting and tossing a ball back and forth as they zigzagged around the blankets where people sat visiting. “It's a wonder those two don't bump into someone,” he muttered.

The boys kept running past the grassy area and onto the towpath. One threw the ball, and the other ran ahead to catch it, laughing and hollering as he went. William caught sight of his housekeeper again, standing along the edge of the canal, apparently deep in thought. He was about to call out a warning that a ball might be coming her way when the sphere of white whizzed through the air and smacked Mrs. Bevens on the back. She let out a muffled grunt and tumbled into the canal.

William rushed toward the water, but Harvey Collins, one of the canalers, jumped in first. William stood on the bank of the canal, watching as Mrs. Bevens flailed about, hollering, “I'm drowning!” while poor old Harvey struggled to drag her to shore.

Mrs. Bevens came out of the water, looking like a soggy scarecrow, and the unpleasant words she spewed told William she saw the incident as anything but funny. The finicky woman's hair had come loose from its perfect bun and stuck out in odd directions. Her stylish dress that had once been neatly pressed and stiffly starched at the collar clung to her body like it had been soaked with glue.

“Who did this to me?” Mrs. Bevens bellowed, as she spit water out of her mouth and stumbled onto shore. “I knew I should not have come here today!”

“That dunk in the canal sure took the wind out of your snooty sails, didn't it?” Harvey chuckled as he squeezed water out of his own sopping clothes.

“Maybe what she needed was a good lesson in humility!” one of the other canalers called.

William couldn't argue with that. Mrs. Bevens did need to be taught a lesson, but he couldn't help feeling sorry for her as she spluttered away. Even Mrs. Bevens didn't deserve this kind of embarrassment.

Betsy rushed forward with a quilt and wrapped it around Mrs. Bevens's trembling shoulders. Not a word of thanks came from the woman's quivering lips—not to Betsy for the quilt or to Harvey for saving her life. Mrs. Bevens needed a lot of prayer, and William knew that was one thing he could do without her scolding him for it. He stepped forward and offered his arm. “I think it's time we went home, don't you?”

She gave a curt nod then tromped off toward William's buggy.

He nodded at Betsy and then at Harvey. “Thank you both for your kindness.”