Betsy's Return Read online

  “That’s not what I meant at all,” she had said in a defensive tone.

  “What your mother is trying to say is that a small church in the middle of nowhere won’t be able to pay you much because there won’t be enough people,” his father had interjected, giving his goatee a couple of quick pulls.

  William gripped the reins tighter. “I shouldn’t have expected them to understand. All Mother cares about is her socialite friends, and all Father worries about is his money.”

  He drew in a quick breath and blew it out with a huff. “It would have been nice if one of them had been supportive about me going to Walnutport for this interview.”

  William rounded a bend and spotted a store near the canal, so he decided to stop and get himself something cold to drink. It wouldn’t do for the prospective pastor to show up in Walnutport hot, sweaty, and feeling as out of sorts as a dog with a tick on his backside. Maybe a bottle of sarsaparilla was what he needed.

  ***

  “It’s so nice to see you again,” Kelly Cooper said, as she wrote up Betsy’s purchases. “It’s a shame you had to come home under such gloomy conditions though.”

  Betsy lifted her shoulders and let them drop with a sigh. There was no point giving in to her emotions, for it wouldn’t change a thing.

  “If there’s anything we can do to help, be sure to let us know,” Kelly’s husband, Mike, offered as he joined his wife behind the counter.

  “I appreciate that.” Betsy hoped her smile didn’t appear forced. She appreciated their concern, but it was hard to think about Papa leaving the ministry, much less to see the pity on Mike’s face when he offered support. “What Papa and I need most is your prayers.”

  “You’ve sure got those,” Kelly said.

  Mike nodded his agreement.

  “If you hear of anywhere we can move once we’re ousted from the parsonage, be sure to let us know.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes and ears opened—you can be sure of that,” Mike said.

  “Thanks.” Betsy was pleased she had developed a pleasant relationship with the Coopers over the years in spite of the way she’d behaved before Mike and Kelly had gotten married. I’ll never throw myself at another man the way I did at Mike, she determined. It would be better to remain an old maid for the rest of my life than to embarrass myself like that.

  She glanced around the room. “Where are your two little ones, Kelly?”

  “They’re over at my sister Sarah’s, playing with her kids.”

  The bell above the front door jingled, and Betsy turned her head. A young man with neatly combed, chestnut-colored hair and the bluest eyes she had ever seen stepped into the store. He wore a dark brown suit and a pair of leather shoes that looked as out of place in Cooper’s General Store as a fish trying to make his home on dry land.

  “Can I help you, sir?” Mike asked, stepping quickly around the counter.

  The man nodded. “I’d like a bottle of sarsaparilla, if you have some.”

  “Sure do. If you’ll wait here, I’ll get one from the ice chest.”

  “I’ll do that.” The man seemed a bit uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

  Betsy offered him the briefest of smiles then quickly averted her gaze to the food Kelly was packaging for her.

  “I don’t recollect seein’ you around before,” Kelly said, nodding at the man. “Are you visiting someone in the area or just passing through?”

  “My name is William Covington, and I’ve come from Buffalo, New York. I’ll be meeting with the board of deacons at the Walnutport Community Church tomorrow about the possibility of becoming their new minister.”

  Betsy’s mouth dropped open, and Kelly glanced her way with a shrug. Betsy had known the board would be interviewing a minister from Buffalo; she just didn’t think he would be so young—or so handsome.

  Chapter 3

  “Can you tell me how much farther it is to Walnutport?” William asked, directing his question to the young woman who stood behind the counter, with long, dark hair hanging down her back.

  “It’s a short drive from here.” She nodded toward the other woman, whose ash-blond hair was worn in a tight bun at the back of her head. “This is Betsy Nelson, the preacher’s daughter. She could probably show you the way to town.”

  “You’re ... Rev. Nelson’s daughter?”

  She nodded. “My father’s the man you’ll be replacing if the board of deacons hires you.”

  William swallowed. “I–I’m sorry about your father’s health problems, and if you would feel awkward about showing me the way to Walnutport, I’ll certainly understand.”

  Miss Nelson lifted her package into her arms. “It would be no bother. I’m going there anyway, and it’s not your fault my father has been asked to resign.”

  William winced, feeling as though he’d been slapped. It might not be his fault Rev. Nelson had been asked to step down from the pulpit, but he was the one who might be taking the poor man’s place.

  “Here’s your sarsaparilla,” the young man who ran the store said, handing the bottle to William.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  The man flashed William a friendly grin. “It’s free. Consider it my welcome to our community.”

  William was tempted to say that he hadn’t been hired as the new minister yet and might not be moving to Walnutport, but he took the sarsaparilla gratefully and expressed his thanks.

  “I’m ready to head out if you are,” Miss Nelson said, nodding toward the front door.

  “Yes, I suppose we should.” William extended his hand toward the storekeeper. “It was nice to meet you. I’ll be preaching at the community church on Sunday, so maybe I’ll see you there.”

  The storekeeper nodded as he shook William’s hand. “My name’s Mike Cooper, and my wife, Kelly, and I, as well as our two children, attend regularly. We’ll look forward to seeing you on Sunday morning.”

  William smiled. “Good day then.” He held the door for Miss Nelson and followed her to a dilapidated buckboard. If the town’s minister couldn’t afford to drive anything better than this, the church probably didn’t pay its pastor much at all.

  But I won’t be coming here for the money, he reminded himself. This is my chance to make a fresh start and serve God’s people.

  Miss Nelson leaned into the wagon and placed her package on the floor behind the seat. Lifting her long, brown skirt, she started to step up. William was quick to offer his hand, but she shook her head and mumbled, “I’ve been climbing into this old wagon since I was a girl in pigtails.”

  William shrugged and headed for his carriage. By the time he’d gathered the reins, Miss Nelson was already heading down the road at a pretty good clip.

  “She’s either in a hurry, or she has made up her mind that she doesn’t like me,” he mumbled.

  ***

  I shouldn’t have been so rude to Rev. Covington, Betsy reprimanded herself as she headed down the dusty road toward Walnutport. I’ll need to apologize as soon as we get to town. She glanced over her shoulder and pulled slightly back on the reins to slow the horse. The reverend’s buggy was way behind, and if she didn’t allow him to catch up, he might think she didn’t want to show him the way to town.

  As Betsy continued to travel, she thought about her father. Had he awakened in her absence and found the note she’d left him? Should she tell Papa about the new minister who’d come to interview for his position? Maybe it would be better not to say anything. The interview might not go well, and then the Rev. William Covington would be on his way back to Buffalo, leaving the board of deacons to begin the process of finding another prospective minister.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Hold up there, boy!”

  Betsy turned in her seat to see what was going on in the minister’s rig and was surprised to discover that he’d stopped the horse and was climbing out of his carriage. She halted her horse, stepped down from the buckboard, and walked back to where he stood, holding up his horse’s right f
ront foot.

  “Is there a problem?”

  He nodded. “My horse has thrown a shoe and seems to have picked up a stone. I’m afraid if I keep going along this road he might turn up lame.”

  Betsy’s forehead wrinkled as she mulled over her options. She could leave the reverend here with his rig while she headed for town to see about getting the blacksmith to come shoe the horse, or she could suggest that Rev. Covington tie the horse to a tree, push his carriage off the road, and ride with her. When she got to town, she would drop him off at the blacksmith’s shop and let the smithy take things from there. The second option seemed like the polite thing to do, so she suggested it.

  “Yes, yes. I suppose it would be wise.” He pushed a wayward strand of thick hair off his damp forehead. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I’d minded.” Betsy could have bit her tongue. She was being rude again. “I’m sorry for snapping,” she apologized. “And I’m sorry if I sounded curt with you back at the store.” She released a sigh. “I’m concerned about my father, and I’m afraid my fears have caused my tongue to be sharper than usual.”

  “Apology accepted. I understand this must be a difficult time for you and your father,” Rev. Covington said, as he unhitched his horse and led him to the closest tree.

  “Yes it is,” Betsy agreed. “When I got the telegram saying my father had suffered a heart attack and had been forced to retire from the ministry, I knew I should leave my job in New York City and return to Walnutport in order to care for him.”

  “You were working in New York?”

  She nodded. “For the Salvation Army. I’ve been with them the past four years.”

  “I see.” He tied the horse and moved back to his buggy, which he pushed off the road with little effort.

  No questions or comments about the Salvation Army? Was a quick “I see” all the man was capable of offering? Maybe he sees the work I did as inferior. Betsy couldn’t believe how inconsequential she felt in this man’s presence. She, who used to look down her nose at those she thought were beneath her, felt as out of place standing beside Rev. Covington as one of the canal mules trying to take up residence inside a church.

  “Shall we be on our way?” he asked, pulling her thoughts back to the present.

  She offered a quick nod then led the way to her buckboard.

  This time Betsy allowed the reverend to help her climb aboard. She even offered to let him take the reins, but he declined, saying he could enjoy the scenery more if he wasn’t driving.

  Betsy took up the reins and got the horse moving again. They rode in silence for a time, until he turned to her and said, “The lay of the land is quite different here than in Buffalo. The navigation system is a whole different world, isn’t it?” He pointed to a flat-roofed boat making its way up the canal with a load of coal.

  “Yes it is, but there used to be a lot more action on the canal than there is now.”

  “Many things that were once hauled by the canal boats are now being transported by train,” he said with a nod.

  Her eyebrows lifted as she stared at him.

  “When I was asked to interview here, I made an effort to learn about the area,” he explained.

  “I see.” Betsy drew in a deep breath and decided to broach the subject she dreaded the most. “What kind of congregation are you looking for, Rev. Covington?”

  “A needy one. A caring one.” He paused and reached up to rub his chin. “A congregation that works together, plays together, and most importantly, prays together.”

  Betsy couldn’t argue with that. She’d heard her father stress the importance of prayer to his flock many times.

  “Now I have a question for you,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “How did you get involved with the Salvation Army, and what took you to New York City in the first place?”

  Betsy spent the next little while telling William about her call to the mission field, how she’d been beaten and robbed when she first got to New York, and the details of Abigail nursing her back to health, then introducing her to the work and mission of the Salvation Army. “There are so many needy people in New York City, and if we can help even one find his way to Christ, it’s worth every hour we spend serving others at the soup kitchens and conducting street meetings,” she added.

  “Any form of ministry that leads people to God is a worthy endeavor,” he said with a note of conviction.

  “I agree.”

  “I imagine your father missed you when you left for New York.”

  “I suppose he did. I was very involved at our church until I went away.” Betsy nodded toward the canal. “My father and I even held some services down here so the boatmen could hear God’s Word. Papa would preach, and I played my zither and led the people in singing.”

  His eyebrows lifted high on his forehead. “Why don’t the boatmen attend church in town?”

  “Some do, but others aren’t comfortable inside a church building.”

  “I see.” He stared straight ahead. “That would make it hard for the church to grow. This could be a difficult ministry.”

  Betsy shrugged, wondering if he might have second thoughts about coming here to interview. “If the board of deacons asks you to take the church, how would your family feel about moving here?” she asked.

  He turned and looked at her. “I have no family except my mother, father, and older brother who is married. If I take this church, none of my family will be coming with me, only Frances Bevens, an older widow who used to be my nanny and might be coming as my housekeeper.”

  “Oh, I see. I thought you might have a wife and children.”

  He grimaced, and the light in his eyes faded. “No, I’m as single as any man can be.”

  Chapter 4

  As William headed down Main Street after leaving the small hotel where he’d spent the previous night, he thought about his meeting with Betsy Nelson the day before. She was obviously a devoted daughter, having left New York and given up a work she seemed passionate about in order to care for her father. William was sure it must have been difficult for her to meet him yesterday, since he could possibly be the one to take her father’s place as shepherd of the community church.

  His thoughts went to Betsy’s father, the Rev. Hiram Nelson. The process of the church finding someone to replace him had to be even harder on the ailing man than it was on his daughter. Not only did Rev. Nelson have a serious health problem, but he’d been asked to give up his ministerial duties.

  I haven’t even begun my ministry as a pastor, William thought, yet I would feel horrible if someone said I couldn’t do it. Maybe I should stop by the reverend’s house to speak with him and offer a word of encouragement.

  He reached into his jacket and withdrew the pocket watch that had once been his grandfather’s. His meeting with the board of deacons was scheduled for ten o’clock at the church, and it was quarter to ten now. I’d better wait to call on Rev. Nelson until after my interview, he decided. By then I’ll know if I’ll be taking his place.

  ***

  Betsy took one last look at her sleeping father and closed the door to his room. Dr. McGrath had been there earlier to examine Papa and give him some medicine to help him sleep.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Betsy stoked the woodstove and set a kettle of water on to heat. Maybe a cup of chamomile tea and some time in God’s Word would help calm her nerves. She certainly needed something to take her mind off the interview that was going on in the church next door.

  If Rev. Covington is asked to take Papa’s position, I wonder how long it will be before he moves to Walnutport and we’ll be expected to find a new home, she fretted.

  Bristle Face, the shaggy terrier that had been her father’s trusted friend for the last four years, flipped his tail against Betsy’s long skirt and whined.

  “What’s the matter, boy?” she asked, reaching down to pet the animal’s silky head. “Are you hungr
y, or do you need to go outside?”

  The dog whimpered and padded across the room.

  “All right then, out you go.” Betsy hurried across the room, opened the door, and let out a squeal when she discovered Rev. Covington standing on the porch, dressed in a dark blue suit.

  “Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “I was getting ready to knock when you opened the door.”

  Before Betsy had a chance to respond, the little terrier stood on his hind legs and pawed at the man’s pant leg.

  “Bad dog! Get down,” Betsy scolded as she gave Bristle Face a nudge with the toe of her shoe.

  “It’s okay. My father has an English setter, so I’m used to dogs.” William chuckled. “Cats, too, for that matter.”

  Betsy bent down and scooped Bristle Face into her arms; then she stepped off the porch and placed him on the ground. “Now do your business, and be quick about it.”

  The dog turned, hopped back onto the porch, and pawed at William’s pant leg again.

  “Bristle Face, no!” she shouted. “I told you to stay down!” William leaned over and picked up the terrier. “Bristle Face, huh? Interesting name.”

  Betsy gave a quick nod.

  “I think the little guy has taken a liking to me.”

  “He can be a pest, but my father likes him.” She smiled. “The dog showed up at the parsonage shortly after I moved to New York, and he’s been Papa’s friend ever since.”

  “Speaking of your father,” William said, “I was wondering if I might have a few words with him.”

  “He’s taking a nap right now.”

  “Would you mind if I wait until he wakes up? I’d like to speak with him about a few things.”

  “Is ... is it about the church? Have the deacons decided to hire you?”

  He nodded. “We’ve just finished the interview, and it was a unanimous decision.”

  Betsy felt the pounding of her heart against her rib cage, and she drew in a calming breath. “Have you accepted the call?”

  “Yes. Yes I have.”