Betsy's Return (2 page)

As Betsy stepped through the front doorway of the parsonage, a feeling of nostalgia swept over her like a cool wind on a hot summer's day. She had spent the better part of fifteen years in this home, and she and her father had created enough memories to fill up a lifetime.

“Papa, I'm home!” she called.

“I–I'm in the sitting room” came his feeble reply.

Betsy placed her suitcase beside the umbrella stand and rushed into the next room. The sight made her halt in midstride. Her father reclined on the sofa, his face pale and drawn, his hair, once full and shiny, now dull and thinning. He offered a weak smile and pulled himself to a sitting position. “Betsy, it's so good to see you.”

She hurried across the room and dropped to her knees in front of the sofa. “Oh, Papa, it's good to see you, too. If I'd known how things were with your health, I would have come much sooner.”

He reached out and wiped the moisture from her cheeks with his thumb. “Don't waste your tears on me, daughter. I'm in God's hands, and He will see me through to the end.”

The end? Did Papa believe he was dying? Could Papa's heart be so weak that he might not live much longer?

Betsy reached for her father's hand and was saddened by the lack of strength in his grip. Papa used to be so energetic; now he was a mere shell of a man.

“I wish you hadn't felt the need to come home,” he said. “Your work with the Salvation Army is important, and people check on me regularly.”

Betsy gently massaged his bony fingers. “I'm needed here right now. It's my place to care for you.”

Tears welled in Papa's eyes. “You're a good daughter, and I'm much obliged.”

Late-afternoon shadows bounced off the walls as Betsy glanced around the room, noting the thick coating of dust on the end tables and fireplace mantle. “Is there anything I can get for you, or would you rather I do some cleaning?”

He shook his head, easing himself back to the sofa pillows. “You're probably tired from your train trip, and the cleaning can wait. Why don't you sit awhile so we can visit?”

Betsy rose from her knees. “All right, but first let me fix you a cup of tea.”

“That would be nice.”

“What kind would you like, herbal or black?”

“A couple of ladies from church came by yesterday and brought some things for the pantry. So whatever you come up with is fine.”

“I'll be back soon.” Betsy leaned over and kissed his forehead then hurried to the kitchen. A knock sounded at the back door. When she opened it, she was greeted by two of the church deacons, Ben Hanson and Henry Simms.

“Afternoon, Betsy,” Ben said with a nod. “We heard you were coming and thought we'd better get over here and explain things to you.”

Betsy opened the door wider, bidding them enter. “Your telegram said my father had a heart attack and that his health has failed so much that he must resign as pastor.”

“That's right,” Henry said, combing his stubby fingers through his thinning hair. “A minister's on his way here from Buffalo, New York, to interview for the position.”

Betsy clenched her teeth. It grieved her to hear them speak of hiring someone to take Papa's place. Yet it wasn't their fault Papa's health had failed. Even though it had been the board of deacons' decision to ask for her father's resignation, the board had had no choice. If Papa could no longer fulfill his duties, it was time for him to step aside.

Ben cleared his throat and shuffled his feet. “The thing is, once we've hired a new preacher and he moves to Walnutport, he's going to need a place to live.”

Henry nodded in agreement. “Since the parsonage was built by the founding church members and is owned by the church, I'm afraid we'll have to ask you and your father to move.”

Betsy stood still as she let the deacons' words register. Her father would not be preaching in Walnutport anymore. A minister was coming for an interview. She and Papa would have to look for another place to live.

“You won't have to move until we've hired a new preacher and he's able to relocate.” Ben gave the end of his handlebar mustache a quick flick. “It could take several months to find the right man for the job.”

“That's right,” Henry put in. “I–I'm sure it won't be easy to fill your pa's shoes.”

Betsy bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. “Is that all you gentlemen wanted?”

“Yes, yes. I believe we've said all that needs to be said. Give the good preacher our regards!” Ben called over his shoulder as he and Henry hurried out the door.

“I'll do that.” Betsy closed the door behind them and headed for the pantry. She found several glass jars filled with vegetables and fruit, a jar of coffee, and a bag of flour on the floor, but no tea.

She released a sigh. “Looks like I'll need to make a trip to Cooper's store and see about getting some tea and a few other things we'll need,” she mumbled. “I'd better tell Papa where I'm going.”

When she entered the sitting room, she found her father asleep, so she scrawled him a note and left it on the low table in front of the sofa. She didn't think it would take long to get the things she needed, and she'd probably be back long before Papa woke up.

As William guided the horse pulling his rented carriage down the dusty road toward Walnutport, he thought about his mother's predictable reaction when he'd told her that he was interviewing to be pastor in a small town near the Lehigh Canal in Pennsylvania.

“Why can't you wait until a church opens here in Buffalo?” she had questioned. “Why would you want to minister to a bunch of country folks?”

“Don't you think I'll be a good enough preacher to shepherd the flock?” William had asked.

“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.

“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 front 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.”