Betsy's Return Read online

  William’s hand jerked, and some of the coffee spilled onto the table. If Betsy left, who would play the organ on Sunday mornings? And what about the girls’ Sunday school class she’d been teaching? “Has she said anything to you or your wife about leaving?”

  “Well, no, but I just assumed—”

  “Walnutport is her home, is it not?”

  Mike nodded.

  “I would think she would want to stay close to the place where her father is buried and where she has friends to offer comfort.”

  “Maybe she will.” Mike smiled. “I guess the only way to know what plans she might make is to come right out and ask her. What do you think, Pastor?”

  William set his cup down and reached up to loosen his tie. “Are you suggesting that I ask what her plans are?”

  “I don’t see why not.” Mike’s head bobbed up and down. “You are her pastor, after all.”

  “Well, yes, that’s true, but—”

  “I didn’t see your housekeeper at the funeral this morning,” Clara Andrews interrupted as she plunked down beside William. “That was some tumble she took into the canal last Sunday. I hope she didn’t come down with a cold because of it.”

  “Mrs. Bevens is fine. She’s a little embarrassed by what happened, and I don’t think she’s ready to socialize with anyone yet,” William replied.

  “Humph!” Clara folded her arms across her ample chest and frowned. “A funeral service is hardly a social function. I would think she would have had the decency to offer her condolences to Rev. Nelson’s grieving daughter.”

  William couldn’t argue with that. He had told Mrs. Bevens the same thing this morning when she’d refused to accompany him to the funeral service. “I came to Walnutport to look out for your needs, not to socialize with the people in your congregation,” Mrs. Bevens had said.

  William figured that with Mrs. Bevens’s dour attitude, it was better that she wasn’t here today. He was sure she wouldn’t have offered Betsy much comfort, and she might have said something rude or condescending.

  He glanced across the room again and noticed that Kelly had moved away and Betsy now stood alone. “If you’ll excuse me, Clara, I think I should see how Miss Nelson is doing.”

  ***

  Betsy was about to head into the kitchen to see if she could find something that would keep her hands busy, when Pastor William stepped up to her. “I was wondering if there’s anything you might need—anything I can do for you.”

  She bit her bottom lip to stop the flow of tears. Why did it make her feel worse when someone offered help or sympathy? “I’ll be fine,” she replied, not really believing it. The truth was, Betsy didn’t know if she could make it through the next minute, let alone the next hour, day, or week. The future looked bleak and frightening without Papa. She felt like a canal boat that had broken free from its towrope and had no purpose, no sense of direction, no haven of rest.

  William touched her arm. “You don’t have to go through this alone. The people at the Walnutport Community Church had a great love and respect for your father, and it’s obvious that they care about you as well.”

  “I ... I appreciate everyone’s concern, but I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re in the valley right now, Betsy.” His tone was comforting. “When we’re walking through the valley, we must learn to reach out to God and His people.”

  She gazed into his dark blue eyes, so full of compassion, and swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Thank you for that reminder, Pastor William. I’ve said the same thing to others I’ve ministered to through the Salvation Army, but it’s much harder to accept help than it is to give it.”

  “I know.” He took her hand, and his warm fingers wrapped around hers in a gentle squeeze. “Never be afraid to ask any of us for help. And if ever you need to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

  Chapter 18

  A steady tap, tap, tap roused Betsy from her slumber. She yawned, stretched, and pulled herself to a sitting position. She’d curled up on the sofa shortly after breakfast and must have fallen asleep. It had been a week since Papa’s death, and still she wasn’t sleeping well, so an occasional catnap was probably good for her.

  The tapping continued, and Betsy stumbled to the front door, unmindful of her wrinkled dress or tangled hair. When she opened the door, she discovered Kelly standing on the porch, holding a wicker basket.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I brought a hot meal for your lunch,” Kelly said with a friendly smile.

  Despite her best efforts, Betsy released a noisy yawn. “Thanks. I haven’t felt like cooking much lately, and I’ve appreciated all the meals the ladies from church have brought in this week.” Remembering her manners, she opened the door wider. “Won’t you come in, Kelly?”

  “You look as if you’ve been sleeping, and I don’t want to disturb you. I can just leave the meal and be on my way.”

  Betsy pushed a wayward strand of hair out of her face and tried to smile. “That’s okay. I was just dozing on the sofa, but I need to get some things done yet today.” She stepped aside and motioned Kelly to follow her down the hall.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Kelly asked when they entered the kitchen. She placed the basket on the table and took a seat.

  “Don’t you have things to do at the store?”

  “Mike said he could manage while I came to see you.”

  “What about your children? Who’s watching them?”

  “They’re visiting my sister and her family today, so I’d be pleased to stay awhile if you need help with anything.”

  Betsy paced the length of the kitchen floor, feeling frustrated and kind of jittery. “I guess you could help me pack.”

  Kelly’s eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise. “Pack? Are you going somewhere?”

  Betsy stopped pacing and leaned against the counter. “I suppose I’ll return to New York. Now that’s Papa’s gone, there’s really no reason for me to stay here.”

  “Yes there is.” Kelly stood and moved over to stand beside Betsy. “Our church needs you—I need you.”

  Tears welled in Betsy’s eyes, blurring her vision. She used to see Kelly as her rival, but since she’d returned to Walnutport, they’d become friends. “That’s nice to hear,” she murmured. “But the church got along fine without me during the four years I lived in New York, and so did you.”

  Kelly gave Betsy a hug. “We didn’t know what we were missing.”

  It felt good to be appreciated, and Betsy was about to comment when a knock sounded at the front door again. “Guess I’d better see who that is.”

  Kelly nodded. “I’ll put the stew I brought on the stove so it stays warm.”

  “Thanks.” Betsy hurried out of the room and down the hall. When she opened the door, she found Pastor William standing on the porch with his Bible tucked under his arm.

  “Hello, Betsy,” he said. “I missed seeing you in church Sunday morning, so I decided to check up on you today.”

  “I didn’t feel up to coming to church, so I was glad Sarah Turner was willing to teach my Sunday school class.”

  A look of understanding flashed across his face. “It had only been a few days after your father’s funeral, so I’m sure you weren’t up to going anywhere yet.”

  Betsy nodded. The truth was, she still felt uncomfortable seeing people or trying to make idle conversation. She missed Papa terribly, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and sleep until the pain subsided.

  “How are you doing today, Betsy?”

  Instinctively she reached up to smooth the tangles in her hair, which she hadn’t bothered to put up in a bun this morning. “I’m doing all right. Kelly Cooper’s out in the kitchen, heating some stew she brought for lunch.”

  William shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, since you’ve already got company, I guess I should probably be on my way.”

  “Don’t leave on my account,” Kelly said as she ste
pped into the hallway. “There’s more than enough stew for the three of us. So if you have the time, Betsy and I would be pleased to have you join us for lunch.”

  William sniffed the air and grinned. “It does smell good. Sure, I’d be happy to join you.”

  ***

  As William sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of stew and a plate of biscuits sitting before him, he glanced across the table at Betsy. Her face looked drawn, and her eyes were dark and hollow, as if she hadn’t slept in several days. He figured she probably hadn’t had a good night’s rest since her father died. He grimaced. This was one area of the ministry where he fell seriously short. He’d always had trouble knowing what to say to someone who was grieving.

  He glanced over at Kelly, who sat beside Betsy. “This is good stew. It’s real flavorful.”

  She grinned back at him. “Thanks. It’s one my mama used to make a lot when I was a girl leading Papa’s mules up the towpath.”

  “That must have been hard work for a child.”

  “It was.”

  “Do you ever miss it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m happy to spend my days raising our children and helping Mike at the store. When I have the time, I like to draw and paint pictures, too.”

  “Kelly’s quite the artist,” Betsy spoke up. “Mike even added a small art gallery onto their store so Kelly could paint and sell her artwork there.” She smiled, although it never quite reached her eyes. “Several years ago I was the recipient of one of Kelly’s beautiful charcoal drawings.”

  “It was just a silly old picture of two children fishing along the canal,” Kelly said. “I’d given a couple of my pictures to Mike to sell in his store, and he ended up giving one of them to Betsy for her birthday.”

  William looked back at Betsy and noticed her flushed cheeks. It made him wonder if she and Mike had been boyfriend and girlfriend at one time.

  “Papa invited Mike to dinner to celebrate my birthday one year.” Betsy toyed with the handle of the spoon lying next to her half-eaten bowl of stew. “I think the poor man felt obligated to bring me a present.”

  “Betsy used to have her eye on Mike,” Kelly said. “Then I came along and stole him away.”

  Betsy’s blush deepened, and she stared at the table. “I was a terrible flirt back then, and I’d give anything if I could undo the past.”

  “It’s okay,” Kelly said, reaching over to pat Betsy’s arm. “I might never have fallen for Mike if you hadn’t made me feel so jealous.”

  “There was nothing to be jealous about. Mike only had eyes for you, and you’re a much better wife for him than I could have been.”

  All this talk about love and marriage conjured up memories of the woman William had once loved and had almost married. Maybe Beatrice had done him a favor by breaking things off. Maybe she wouldn’t have made a good preacher’s wife.

  “Did you know that Betsy’s thinking of returning to New York?”

  Shock spiraled through him as he turned to face Betsy. “You want to leave Walnutport?”

  She shrugged. “I only came back to care for my father. Now that he’s gone, there doesn’t seem to be any reason for me to stay.”

  “That’s not true. You’re needed at church—as the organist and as a Sunday school teacher.”

  Betsy took a sip of water. “I’m sure you’ll find someone to fill those positions after I’m gone.”

  “Does that mean you’re definitely planning to leave?” He wondered how he could talk her out of going and why it mattered so much.

  Betsy opened her mouth as if to reply, but Kelly cut her off. “I think she should pray about it, don’t you, Pastor?”

  He gave a quick nod. “I’ll be praying, too.”

  Chapter 19

  As Betsy sat on the top porch step with Bristle Face in her lap, she reflected on her situation. Almost two weeks had passed since her father’s death, and still she hadn’t made a decision. If she went back to New York, she could continue with her work for the Salvation Army, which she knew would give a sense of purpose to her life. If she stayed in Walnutport, she could continue to play the organ for church and teach Sunday school, and both activities would help to further the Gospel.

  “If I leave here, who’s going to take care of you, little guy?” Betsy murmured as the terrier nuzzled her hand with his cold, wet nose. “You miss Papa, too, don’t you, boy?”

  The dog responded with a grunt, and she rubbed his silky ears. “I could see if Pastor William might be willing to take you, but there’s the problem of his cranky housekeeper.” Mrs. Bevens had never given any indication that she liked Bristle Face. She’d seemed quite upset when the dog kept running over to the parsonage before the fence was built, and she’d been adamant about Betsy keeping Bristle Face at home.

  Betsy knew that if she stayed in Walnutport, she might lose her heart to a man who saw her as nothing more than a member of his congregation. And if she wasn’t careful, she might end up throwing herself at him, or at least it could appear as if she was doing that.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as the truth hit her full in the face. She didn’t know when it had happened, but she had fallen in love with the new pastor. Oh Lord, what would You have me to do? Should I move back to New York or stay here in Walnutport?

  “Yoo-hoo, Betsy! Can you hold on to your dog so I can come into the yard and speak with you about something important?”

  Betsy’s eyes snapped open, and she squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun. Freda Hanson stood on the walkway in front of the house, frantically waving her hand.

  “Come on in. I’ll put Bristle Face in the backyard.” Betsy hoisted the terrier into her arms and hurried around back. When she returned, she found Freda sitting in one of the wicker chairs on the porch, so she took a seat in the other chair. “What did you wish to speak with me about?”

  Freda leaned close to Betsy. “There’s a rumor going around that you’re thinking of leaving Walnutport. Is it true?”

  Betsy nodded. “I’ve considered going back to New York and resuming my work with the Salvation Army.”

  “From the accounts I’ve read in the newspapers, the Salvation Army is a fine organization that does plenty of good deeds.” Freda pursed her thin lips. “But you can serve the Lord here in this community, don’t you think?”

  Freda was the third person since Papa’s death to suggest that Betsy was needed here. Could this be God’s way of letting her know that He wanted her to stay? Wasn’t it what she wanted, too?

  “If you decide to stay, Ben and I will allow you to keep living in this house for as long as you like.” Freda turned in her chair and motioned toward the front door.

  “I know you only gave us the house to use because Papa was ill and had served as your pastor for so many years.” A lump formed in Betsy’s throat. “If I do stay on, I’ll insist on paying you something for the rent.”

  “Does that mean you’ve decided to stay?”

  “I suppose so. At least for now.”

  “That’s wonderful, and there’s no hurry about you paying any rent either. We can talk about that some other time.” Freda reached over and clasped Betsy’s hand. “Now, I must tell you about the box social our church ladies are planning for next Saturday. We’re hoping you will take part in it.”

  Betsy shook her head. “I’m really not up to socializing yet.”

  “Oh, but this is for such a good cause. All the money that comes in during the bidding will go to our mission fund.”

  The words mission fund struck a chord with Betsy. How could she ignore something as important as that? At one time she had planned to serve in the mission field herself, and she knew missionaries who were sent to foreign countries needed all the funds they could get. “You can count on me to make a box lunch for the social, but I may not be there to see it bid on.”

  Freda frowned. “Not be there? Betsy, every woman who donates a box lunch should be in attendance that day. Please say you will come.”

&
nbsp; Betsy sat there a moment, mulling things over. Finally she released a sigh and nodded. “All right, I’ll be at the box social.”

  ***

  The church basement was abuzz with activity, as everyone took a seat to await the bidding at the box social. Boxes and baskets in various sizes and shapes adorned the long wooden table at one end of the room, while the men who’d come to bid and the women who’d donated box lunches sat around the room in segregated groups. William had been asked to oversee this event, and though he’d hoped to act as the auctioneer, Freda Hanson insisted that her husband fill that role. She’d told William he needed a chance to bid on a lunch, and she’d sweetened the deal by letting him know that one of the lunch boxes included a piece of peach pie, which William had told Freda was his favorite kind.

  As William took a seat beside Patrick O’Grady, the town’s young, able-bodied blacksmith, he glanced across the room and noticed Betsy Nelson sitting beside Hortence Andrews. He was surprised to see Betsy, knowing she was still in mourning and hadn’t attended church since her father’s death. He’d heard through Freda that, for the time being, Betsy planned to remain in Walnutport, and that pleased him more than he cared to admit. He told himself he was just doing his pastoral duties by being attentive to her needs, but deep down he knew better.

  When someone tapped William on the shoulder, he drew his gaze away from Betsy and turned. “Look for a white hatbox with a yellow ribbon, Pastor,” Freda whispered in his ear. Before he could comment, she skirted across the room to join the married women.

  Once again William focused on the colorful boxes sitting on the table. He spotted a white hatbox, but the ribbon tied around it was green, not yellow. His gaze went from one box to the next: a wicker basket with flowers tied to the handle; a short, square box covered with a red-and-white checkered cloth; a small silver bucket with two purple ribbons attached to the handle; a white hatbox with a bright yellow ribbon—that must be the one Freda spoke of—the one with the peach pie inside. That’s the one I’ll bid on, he decided.