Betsy's Return (3 page)

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 hungry, 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.”

Her heart continued to thud, and then it felt like it had sunk all the way to her toes. A new shepherd would soon lead Walnutport Community Church, and she and Papa would have to move.

William, still holding Bristle Face, took a step toward Betsy. “Are you all right? You look pale. Maybe you should sit down.”

Betsy didn't want to sit. She didn't want to continue this discussion with the new minister. All she wanted to do was run into the house and have a good cry. But what good would that do? It wouldn't alter the fact that her father's life was about to change and hers right along with it. For Papa's sake she needed to remain strong.

Stepping onto the porch, Betsy nodded at the wooden bench positioned near the railing. “Won't you have a seat? I'll run inside and get some refreshments.”

“Please, don't go to any bother.”

“It's no bother. I'll be right back.” She rushed into the house before Rev. Covington could say anything more.

When she returned a few minutes later with some tea and a plate of ginger cookies, she found Rev. Covington sitting on the bench with Bristle Face in his lap.

Betsy placed the tray on the small table near the bench and handed him a cup of tea.

He smiled and took a sip. “Umm ... this is good.”

She leaned against the porch railing and folded her arms. “Help yourself to some cookies.”

“Aren't you having any?”

“I'm not really hungry.”

He tapped the empty space beside him. “Then please have a seat. It makes me feel uncomfortable to watch you stand while I enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

Betsy shrugged and seated herself on one end of the bench, being careful to put a respectable distance between them. “How soon will you be moving into the parsonage?”

“Probably not for another month. I'll need to return home to pack whatever things I'll need for the trip.”

“When will you be heading to Buffalo?”

“On Monday morning. I'll be preaching tomorrow morning as planned. That way I'll have the chance to meet my new congregation before I head back.”

Betsy flinched. Everything was happening so fast, and she dreaded having to give her father the news of the board's decision.

“When I asked one of the deacons about music in the church, he said his wife had been playing the organ while you were in New York, but now that you're back, she would prefer having you take over that responsibility again,” William said.

“I ... I suppose I could play on the Sundays Papa feels well enough to be in church or is up to staying home by himself.” She sighed. “I'll make sure we're moved out of the parsonage by the time you get back from Buffalo.”

Bristle Face woke up just then and jumped onto the porch. Rev. Covington shifted on the bench and turned to face Betsy. “If it were only me to worry about, I'd be happy to stay at one of the boardinghouses in town, but as I mentioned before, I'll be bringing my housekeeper along.” His face turned a light shade of red. “It was Mother's idea. The moment I told her I was coming for an interview, she started planning things. She insists that, since I'm not married, I'll need to have someone to cook and keep house for me.”

“Well, you needn't worry,” Betsy was quick to say. “Papa and I will be moved out of the parsonage well before you and your housekeeper arrive.”

A flutter of nervousness tickled William's stomach as he stepped onto the platform at the community church the following morning. In one month, this would be his church and the men and women staring back at him would be his people. It would be an exciting venture, yet a frightening one, since this was his very first church. He wanted to make a good impression.

He took a seat in one of the chairs near the back of the platform as Ben Hanson, the head deacon, stepped up to the pulpit. “Good morning,” the man said in a booming voice, nodding at the congregation. “Yesterday the board of deacons met with Rev. Covington, and I'm happy to say that our vote was unanimous to call him as our new pastor.” Ben motioned William to step forward. “I'm pleased to say that Rev. Covington has accepted that call.”

William joined the deacon behind the pulpit, hoping his smile didn't appear forced and that his suit wasn't showing the signs of the perspiration he felt under his arms. “I'm glad to be here this morning,” he said, nodding at the congregation. His gaze went to the first row of pews, where Betsy Nelson sat, dressed in a pale yellow frock that matched the color of her hair. He noted that Betsy's father wasn't with her, and William figured the man either wasn't feeling well enough to attend church this morning or couldn't tolerate the idea of seeing someone else standing behind his pulpit.

Yesterday, when Rev. Nelson had awoken from his nap, William had been able to speak with him, and he'd been impressed by the man's friendliness. Yet he'd sensed a sadness that went deeper than Rev. Nelson's health problems, and William wondered what it could be.

“There wasn't time to plan a welcome dinner in honor of our new pastor today, but we'll have a short time of fellowship with coffee and cookies after the service so everyone has a chance to greet Rev. Covington,” Ben said, giving William's shoulder a squeeze. “Tomorrow morning the good reverend will return to his home in Buffalo, but he'll back within the month to begin his ministry here in our little church.”

The congregation clapped—everyone except Betsy Nelson, who sat stiff and tall with her hands folded in her lap.
She's probably not happy about me taking her father's place, and hearing the deacon's exuberant introduction must have been difficult for her.

“Now, if you'll take your songbooks and turn to page 15, our song leader, Bill Hamilton, will lead us in praising the Lord.” Ben stepped aside, and a young, dark-haired man wearing a well-worn suit stepped onto the platform. William returned to his seat behind the pulpit, Betsy took her place at the organ, and everyone rose to their feet.

When the first song, “The Solid Rock,” began, William was surprised at the congregation's zeal for singing. Apparently this was a foot-stomping, hand-clapping group of people he'd agreed to pastor, and that would take some getting used to. The church William had grown up in back in Buffalo was full of people who barely smiled on Sunday mornings, and they certainly never would have shouted, “Hallelujah! Praise the Lord!”

He glanced over at Betsy, who was matching the rhythm of the music as her head bobbed up and down, and her feet pumped the pedals of the well-used organ that sat near the front of the room.

Yes indeed,
William said to himself as he tapped his foot against the wooden platform,
this will surely take some getting used to.

“I think you and your father will be comfortable here,” Freda Hanson said as she opened the door to the small cottage she'd offered to show Betsy. “Since my niece has recently married and moved to Boston, the house is empty, and Ben and I would be happy to have good people like you and your father living here.”

Betsy followed the tall, slender woman inside. Ben and Freda, a middle-aged, childless couple, were among the few people living in Walnutport who had been educated past high school. Soon after he'd become a successful businessman in Boston, Ben had decided to return to his hometown of Walnutport and open a few businesses. The bank was one of them, as well as a hotel, a restaurant, and a few small cottages.

“How much would the rent be?” Betsy asked as her gaze traveled around the small, partially furnished living room. “I don't have a job yet, and Papa won't be getting any more money from the church, so—”

Freda put her arm around Betsy's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Now don't fret, dear. Ben and I have talked this over, and we want you and your father to live here rent free for as long as necessary. All we ask in return is that you keep the place clean and in good condition.” She smiled. “It's the least we can do for the kindhearted man who pastored our church for so many years.”

Betsy swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Your offer is so generous, but I was planning to get a job and—”

“Your father needs you to be close to him now,” Freda interrupted. “Perhaps you can do sewing or laundry for some of the boatmen. That would be something you could do from home.”

Betsy nodded as she fought to keep her emotions under control. “That might be best since I couldn't afford to hire someone to look out for Papa if I took a job away from home.”

Freda gave Betsy's shoulder another squeeze. “Anytime you need to go shopping, run errands, or just take a break, be sure to let me know. I'll ask one of the ladies from church to stay with your father while you're gone.”

“That's kind of you. I ... I can't tell you how much I appreciate all you and Mr. Hanson have already done.”

“Ben and I realize how hard this must be for you and your father. We want to do all we can to make this transition as smooth as possible.” Freda motioned to the door leading to the next room. “Why don't I show you the rest of the house? Then if you think it's acceptable, we'll see about getting some of the men from church to move your things over right away. Our new preacher and his housekeeper will be in Walnutport by the end of the week, so we'll need to see that the parsonage is vacated before then.”

Betsy didn't need any reminder that the new preacher was coming. It had been on her mind every day since Rev. Covington had left Walnutport after his call to their church. She blinked against stinging tears and bit her bottom lip, determined not to break down in front of Freda.
Papa and I will make it through this
.
With God's help, we can do it.

“This is the home the church has provided for the minister?” Mrs. Bevens's voice raised a notch as William followed her into the kitchen.

“It seems to be adequate for my needs.” William and his housekeeper had arrived in Walnutport a short time ago, and he was showing her around the parsonage. “Having the home right next to the church makes it quite handy.”

“You will no doubt want to entertain some of the town's more prominent business people in the hopes of getting them to support your church financially.” She made a swooping gesture with one hand and cast a mournful look at the faded blue curtains hanging on the window above the sink. “This place isn't large enough or nice enough for entertaining a mere commoner, much less someone of higher standing.”

“Most of the people living in Walnutport are not well-to-do, and this house is all the church has to offer, so we shall make the best of it.” William leaned against the table and folded his arms. “If you're not happy with the arrangements, then perhaps you should catch the next train back to Buffalo and tell my mother you've changed your mind about being my housekeeper.”

Mrs. Bevens patted the sides of her graying brown hair, pulled back into a perfectly shaped bun, and squinted her hazel eyes. “I'll simply have to make do. I'm sure that, once we're able to fill the house with some decent furniture and hang some proper curtains at the windows, the place will be a bit more livable.”

William's gaze went to the ceiling. He could only imagine what kind of plans Mrs. Bevens had for this simple, warm home. Maybe if she kept busy with her remodeling projects, she wouldn't have time to smother him, the way she had done during his childhood.

A knock at the back door drove William's thoughts aside, and before Mrs. Bevens had a chance to respond, he strode across the room and opened the door. He discovered a middle-aged, dark-haired woman standing on the porch, holding a wicker basket.

“Afternoon, Pastor,” she said with a friendly grin. “I'm Alice Clark, and my husband, Garth, and I are members of your church. We met on the Sunday after your interview, but you might not remember us, since that was a whole month ago.”

William returned her smile. “I do remember, Mrs. Clark. If I'm not mistaken, you were the lady who made those wonderful oatmeal cookies.”

Her head bobbed up and down as she held the basket out to him. “Those were mine, all right. I've brought you a tasty potato casserole today, along with a loaf of freshly baked bread.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Clark. That was thoughtful of you.” William opened the door wider. “Won't you come in and meet my housekeeper?”

“Only for a minute. I promised to do some shopping with my daughter Mabel this afternoon. Mabel teaches school here in Walnutport, and she's not married.” Alice's pale blue eyes fairly twinkled. “We'll have you over for supper soon, so the two of you can get better acquainted.”

William grimaced internally and stepped aside
.
If his role as minister was going to include lots of supper invitations, he might have to keep an eye on his weight. And if his ministerial duties included dodging matchmaking mothers and their available daughters, then at some point he might need to let his congregation know that he was a confirmed bachelor and planned to stay one.

As William stepped into the church on his first Sunday as pastor, deacons Ben Hanson and Henry Simms met him in the foyer. “Good morning, Rev. Covington,” Ben said with a hearty handshake. “My wife wanted me to inform you that the ladies have planned a potluck dinner today, and it will be served on the lawn out behind the church after the service.”

William smiled. “That's fine with me. My housekeeper isn't feeling well this morning, which is why she didn't accompany me to church, so I'm sure she won't feel up to cooking or attending the potluck.”

Henry draped his arm across William's shoulder. “What you need is a wife, not a housekeeper, Rev. Covington.”

A sour knot formed in William's stomach.
Don't tell me the men in this church want to match me up with their daughters, too. Maybe I should make the announcement about being a confirmed bachelor at the close of my sermon today.

“Are you sure you're feeling up to going to the worship service this morning?” Betsy asked as she strolled down the sidewalk with one hand in the crook of her father's arm. In the other hand she carried a basket full of muffins she had made for the potluck dinner. Papa seemed a little stronger this morning, but being back in church and seeing his successor standing behind the pulpit might be hard on him. She'd wanted him to stay home, but he'd adamantly refused, saying he was anxious to hear the new preacher deliver his sermon.

Papa gave Betsy's hand a reassuring squeeze. “I feel better today than I have in weeks.”

“Maybe that's because you've been sleeping more lately.”

“And maybe it's because my daughter is taking such good care of me.”

She smiled. “I enjoy taking care of you. I'm just not looking forward to seeing someone else take your place.”

“I'd like to see you get involved in some church activities,” he said, making no reference to his replacement. “A bit of socializing would be good for you, Betsy.”

“I didn't return to Walnutport so I could socialize. I'm here to see to your needs.”

“Be that as it may, you still need to make time for some fun.”

They were approaching the church, so Betsy decided to drop the subject.

A short time later they entered the sanctuary where several others had already gathered. Rev. Covington was seated in one of the chairs near the back of the platform. Betsy escorted her father to a seat and hurried to take her place at the organ. When the song leader announced the first hymn, “Rescue the Perishing,” Betsy's heart sank clear to her toes. This was a song she had often sung while she played her zither during street meetings in New York. It was a reminder of the call God had placed on her heart four years ago. Though she might not have gone to a foreign country as a missionary, she'd certainly met the challenge of spreading God's Word during her years with the Salvation Army, and she missed it.

What can I do to serve You here in Walnutport?
Betsy beseeched the Lord as she opened her songbook to the proper page.
Is there anyone besides Papa to whom I can minister?