Betsy's Return (4 page)

“Yoo-hoo, Pastor Covington! Could you please come here a minute?”

William set his cup of coffee on the table and turned to see who had called him. Clara Andrews was waving frantically and looking wide-eyed and desperate. Maybe if he acted as if he hadn't heard, she would get busy talking to someone else and forget she had called him.

Ever since the potluck had begun, several women, and even a few men, had bombarded William with supper invitations and introduced their eligible daughters. It seemed to be a hazard of his chosen profession—at least the supper invitations. If he were married, dealing with desperate mothers and tethering young women wouldn't be a problem.

Maybe I should have made that announcement that I'm not a candidate for marriage. That would have saved these hopeful parents the trouble of introducing their daughters and planning some special meal in my honor.
William grimaced. If he had made such an announcement, he might have some explaining to do. More than likely, people would have wanted to know why he was opposed to marriage, and he wasn't ready to share the shame of being left at the altar. Still, he wasn't willing to pretend he hadn't heard Mrs. Andrews call his name either.

As William stood, he glanced at Rev. Nelson, who sat beside his daughter at the next table. Hiram was probably the only parent present who hadn't tried to pawn his daughter off on the new preacher.

“Pastor Covington, are you coming?” Clara called again. This time she held a white hankie above her head and waved it as though it were a flag of surrender.

With a sigh of resignation, William ambled across the yard to see what the determined woman wanted.

When he arrived at the place where she and several other women stood, Clara pointed to a cluster of wooden boxes sitting beside one of the tables. “As a welcome gift, our church folks have put together some food items for you to take home so your pantry will be well stocked.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod. “That was generous of you.” At least it wasn't another supper invitation in hopes of him getting together with someone's daughter.

“What's all this?” Mrs. Bevens asked as William entered the kitchen, carrying one of the boxes he'd been given during the potluck.

“Donations of food.” He set the box on the sideboard near the sink. “Several more like it are on the porch.”

Mrs. Bevens peeked into the box and wrinkled her nose. “Ten jars of blackstrap molasses! What am I supposed to do with those?”

“Use them for baking.”

“Humph! I prefer to use honey when I bake.”

William started for the door but turned when she spoke again.

“I see some home-canned vegetables in here, too. How do you know they were properly prepared and won't make us sick?”

He clenched his teeth. “I'm sure we won't die from food poisoning, Mrs. Bevens. But just to be sure, I'll say an extra prayer over each of our meals.”

“I think to be on the safe side, I'll throw away the jars that don't look right to me.”

“I wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings by throwing away what they've worked so hard to prepare.”

Mrs. Bevens compressed her thin lips and squinted at the box, but before she could comment, William said, “By the way, what are you doing out of bed? You said you weren't feeling well this morning, and since you couldn't go to church, I figured you would spend the day resting.”

Mrs. Bevens straightened to her full height, and her cheeks turned pink. “I
was
feeling under the weather, but I got up in order to fix your lunch.”

“That was kind of you, but I have already eaten. We had a potluck meal after church.” William patted his much-too-full stomach and grinned. “It didn't take me long to discover that there are some fine cooks in my congregation.”

“Too many potlucks like that, and you'll end up looking like your father's friend Eustace Landers.” Mrs. Bevens released an undignified grunt. “His stomach's so big that he has to sit a foot away from the table in order to eat. It's a wonder the poor man can even walk.”

William went out the door, shaking his head. He returned to the kitchen moments later with another box of food, which he placed on the table.

Mrs. Bevens was immediately at his side, peering into the box as if it had been packed full of snakes. “You should see how many containers of salt are in here. Too much salt's not good for anyone.”

“Too little salt makes everything taste flat,” William mumbled under his breath.

She glared at him. “Are you insinuating that my cooking is flat?”

“Your cooking is fine, Mrs. Bevens.” William rushed out of the room before she could say anything more.

“Are you sure you won't take a nap?” Betsy asked her father soon after they arrived home from church. “You look awfully tired.”

He shook his head. “I'll just sit in my chair and read a few passages of scripture. If I get sleepy, I'll lie down on the sofa.”

“All right. I'll go make some tea.”

Betsy had just reached the door leading to the other room when he called out to her. “Do you know where Bristle Face is? I haven't seen him since we got home from church!”

“I tied him to a tree in the backyard before we left this morning. Since he's not used to our new home yet, I didn't want to take a chance that he might run off.”

“Would you mind bringing my furry friend inside? I'd like to hold him awhile.”

“Sure, Papa. I'll get him right now.” Betsy scurried out of the room and went out the back door. When she reached the end of the porch, she halted. The rope she'd tied around Bristle Face's neck was still connected to the tree, but the dog wasn't on the other end of it.

She scanned the yard but didn't see Bristle Face anywhere. She cupped her hands around her mouth and hollered, “Bristle Face! Where are you, boy?”

No whine. No bark. No sign of the dog.

She ran around the side of the house, checking behind the shrubs, calling the dog's name, looking under the porch, and searching every nook and cranny. No Bristle Face. She was getting worried. What if the animal had run off and couldn't find his way back? She knew her father would be heartsick if he lost his loyal companion.

Betsy moaned and went back inside.

“Did you find him?” Papa asked as soon as she had entered the sitting room.

She shook her head. “Bristle Face broke free from his rope and took off. I searched the entire yard, but there was no sign of him.”

Papa frowned. “It's not like my dog to take off. I wonder if...”

“What is it, Papa? What are you thinking?”

“Do you suppose Bristle Face went back to the parson-age? That's been his home ever since he was a pup. He might have gotten confused once he broke the rope, so he could have headed for the place he knows best.”

“You might be right about that. Would you like me to go over there and see?”

He nodded. “If Bristle Face isn't there, would you ask the new preacher to keep an eye out for him—in case he shows up on his doorstep?”

“Of course.” Betsy leaned over and kissed her father's forehead. “I'll be back soon.”

As Betsy walked over to the parsonage, she searched for Bristle Face along the way. She saw no sign of the scruffy little black terrier, and none of the people she spoke with had seen the dog either.

Soon she reached the parsonage, and when she stepped onto the porch, the boards creaked under her feet. She lifted her hand and was about to knock when the door swung open. Rev. Covington stepped out, still wearing the dark gray suit he'd worn to church that morning. “I didn't realize anyone was here,” he said.

“Actually I was about to knock when you opened the door.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then, feeling a bit uncomfortable, looked away. The young minister's neatly trimmed hair and finely chiseled features seemed to fit his refined personality, and being in his presence made her feel like a commoner. “I hope I haven't interrupted anything,” she mumbled, forcing herself to look at him again.

“No no. I was just on my way over to the church to get my Bible.” His ears turned pink. “I got busy carrying the boxes of food and forgot it.”

“I see.”

“What can I do for you?” he asked. “Is it about your father? Is he doing all right this afternoon?”

She nodded. “He says he's fine, although I think the long day took a bit out of him.”

“That's understandable.”

Betsy shifted her weight and leaned against the porch railing. “The reason I came by is to ask if you've seen Papa's dog. I tied him to a tree in our backyard this morning, but he broke free while we were at church, and I thought he might have come here.”

“He wasn't here when I got home, but I suppose he could be now. Shall we go around back and take a look?”

“Sure.”

They stepped off the porch, and Rev. Covington's footsteps quickened through the tall grass as they made their way around the side of the house. They had just reached the backyard when Betsy's steps slowed, and she halted. “Look, there he is!” She pointed to the overgrown flower bed near the porch, where the dog lay curled in a tight ball.

The pastor patted the side of his knee. “Here, Bristle Face. Come here, little fella.”

The dog lifted his head, stretched his front feet in front of him, and plodded across the yard. Rev. Covington bent down and scooped the animal into his arms. “You don't live here anymore,” he said, ruffling the wiry hair on the terrier's head. “You've got to stay at your new home with your master now.”

Betsy reached over and rubbed one of Bristle Face's silky ears. “I don't know if he showed up here because he still thinks it's his home or if it's because he's taken a liking to you, Rev. Covington.”

“I'd appreciate it if you would call me Pastor William.” He smiled, and the dimples in his cheeks seemed to deepen.

“All right, Pastor William,” she murmured.

“It's nice to know someone likes me today,” he said as he continued to pet the dog. “I think my housekeeper is ready to disown me.”

Betsy tipped her head. “Why's that?”

He shrugged, and his ears turned even pinker. Betsy had a hunch it didn't take much to make the young minister blush.

“I shouldn't have asked,” she said. “It's none of my business.”

William handed her the dog. “Let's just say Mrs. Bevens and I had a difference of opinion.”

Betsy didn't press the issue. She figured whatever had caused the rift between William and his housekeeper was between them. “I guess I'd better take this little guy home.”

Pastor William placed his hand on Betsy's wrist. The innocent contact sent unexpected shivers up her arm.

“Did your father say anything about my sermon today?” he asked, apparently unaware of her reaction.

She blinked a couple of times. “Uh ... no, he didn't. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to be sure I didn't say anything he disapproved of.”

Betsy drew in a couple of shallow breaths. “I ... I'm sure Papa found no fault in your message.”

A look of relief flashed onto his face, and he nodded. “That's good to hear.”

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I thought you did well with the delivery of your sermon, and the congregation can always use a reminder of the importance of unity.”

“Thanks,” he said with a smile that reached all the way to his dark blue eyes. “I appreciate hearing that.”

Bristle Face stirred restlessly in Betsy's arms. “I ... uh ... really should go. Have a good afternoon, and I hope you locate your Bible as easily as I found Papa's dog.”

He snickered, and they walked away in opposite directions.
I can see why so many women in church are anxious to match the new pastor with their daughters,
Betsy thought.
Despite the fact that I wish he weren't taking Papa's place, he is quite charming.

The following morning, after Betsy had finished cleaning the kitchen and had washed a batch of clothes one of the boatmen had brought her, she decided to check on Bristle Face. She had tied him to a tree in the backyard again, being careful to make sure the knot was more secure than it had been the day before.

As Betsy stepped out the back door, the morning sun struck her shoulders with such intense heat that she grimaced. “I'll be glad when summer is over and fall brings in cooler weather.” She squinted against the harsh light and scanned the yard until her gaze came to rest on the maple tree where she'd tied Bristle Face. The dog wasn't there. “Oh no,” she moaned. “Not again.”

Betsy trudged back to the house, mumbling all the way. She found her father in the sitting room, reclining on the sofa with his Bible in his hands. “Bristle Face has broken free from his rope again,” she said. “I've a pretty good hunch where he's gone.”

Papa turned his head toward her. “Maybe we should see if some of the men from church would be willing to put a fence around our yard. That's probably the only way we're going to keep that renegade dog from running back to the parsonage all the time.”

“I'll speak to the new pastor about it when I go over to get Bristle Face. Hopefully he'll be willing to round up a crew of men to do the work.” Betsy nodded at her father. “I'm sure you would do the same thing for someone if you were still the pastor.”

“I'd do more than that. I would be the first one in line to do the work.”

A pang of regret stabbed Betsy's heart as she was reminded once more of the reality of her father's declining health. The doctor had told her that any day Papa could have another heart attack and the next one could be his last. “Will you be all right on your own? I really should go over to the parsonage and retrieve Bristle Face before he makes a nuisance of himself.”

He smiled. “I'll be fine, so there's no need to hurry back if you decide to stay and visit awhile.”

“I shouldn't be too long.” Betsy leaned over and kissed the top of his head before she left the room.

A short time later she found herself on the front porch of the parsonage, knocking on the door.

When the door opened, she was greeted by a tall, older woman with hazel eyes and graying brown hair worn in a tight bun at the back of her head. “May I help you?”

“Is Pastor William in? I need to speak with him.”

“He's not here right now.” The woman nodded curtly. “I'm his housekeeper, Mrs. Bevens. Is there something I can help you with?”

The intensity in the woman's eyes made Betsy feel like a bug about to be squashed. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I'm Betsy Nelson, and I'm here about my father's dog, Bristle Face. He broke free from his rope again, and I thought he might have come here.”

Mrs. Bevens squinted as she stared at Betsy. “Are you sure you're not using the dog as an excuse to see William?”

“What? I assure you that—”

“Two other young women have already called on the pastor this morning,” Mrs. Bevens said, cutting Betsy off in midsentence. She lifted her chin and held her shoulders rigid. “Of course, they made up some excuse about needing to know if the pastor planned to begin a choir, and if so, they wanted him to know they were willing to be in it.”

“I only came to see if my father's dog is here,” Betsy said with a shake of her head. “He came over to the parsonage yesterday afternoon, and since he's broken free again, I thought he might have—”

“I don't know anything about a dog.” Mrs. Bevens pursed her lips. “Rev. Covington is at the church going over some music, so I'm sure he won't want to be disturbed. Good day to you, Miss Nelson.” With that, the woman pivoted on her heel and shut the door.

Betsy stood with her mouth hanging open. She'd never met such a rude, irritating woman. Even during her most self-centered days, she hadn't acted that unpleasantly. At least she hoped she hadn't.

She turned and started down the porch steps.
Maybe I'll head over to the church and speak to Pastor William. At least I can let him know that Bristle Face has escaped again and might turn up on his doorstep.

For the last half hour, William had been sitting on a back pew in the sanctuary, looking through the hymnbook, and he still hadn't found the song he was searching for. His message next week would be on the subject of hope, and he'd planned to sing a solo before he spoke to the congregation.

When William heard a door open and close, he set the hymnal aside and walked to the foyer. Betsy Nelson stood there, her flaxen hair hanging down her back in soft, gentle waves, rather than being pulled back in its usual bun, and he drew in a quick breath, surprised by her beauty. “Good—good morning, Betsy.” His voice sounded strained, and he cleared his throat a couple of times, giving himself a good mental shake. “How may I help you?”

Her cheeks blushed crimson, and she averted her gaze. “Bristle Face is missing again. I stopped by the parsonage to see if he'd gone there, but your housekeeper said she hadn't seen him.”

William tapped his chin with the tip of his finger. “Mrs. Bevens doesn't much care for dogs. If Bristle Face did show up there, she probably chased him away.”

Betsy's stunned expression made him wish he could take back his words, so he quickly added, “I'm sure she would have told you if she'd seen him though.”

“I hope he hasn't run away or become lost,” she said. “It would break Papa's heart if something happened to his little terrier.”

Betsy looked so forlorn that, for one crazy moment, William had the impulse to give her a hug.
Take control of your thoughts,
he reprimanded himself.
She might misinterpret the gesture, and besides, it wouldn't be appropriate.
“Is there any place the dog might have gone?” he asked. “Somewhere he's run off to before?”

“The only place he ever went when we lived next door was over here to the church,” she said with a shrug.

William's eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really? The dog came to church?”

“He didn't actually come to church; he just liked to follow my father over here when he came to prepare his sermons. Papa sometimes let Bristle Face into his study.” Betsy chuckled. “Of course, no one but the two of us knew about that.”

William grinned and touched his lips. “You can count on me to keep it a secret.”

“So I take it you haven't seen any sign of the dog today?”

He shook his head. “I've been here for the last half hour, trying to find a song to share with the congregation before my message next Sunday.”

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I'll be speaking on the subject of hope.”

“How about ‘I Know Whom I Have Believed'? I'm quite sure it's on page 35 in our songbooks.”

“That's impressive. You must be quite familiar with the hymnal.”

“I've sung it several times at various Salvation Army street meetings.”

He motioned toward the sanctuary. “Would you be willing to sing it for me now?”

Betsy nodded, although her face had turned quite pink.

He opened the door to the sanctuary and allowed her to go in first, then he followed her up front.

Betsy took a seat on the organ bench, and William sat on the front pew. He watched as she set the hymnal on the music rack and turned to the proper page. Her legs began pumping, her fingers pressed down on the keys, and the room swelled with mellow music. He closed his eyes and rested against the pew as her voice sang out:

When she began the second verse, he joined in:

He stood and moved over to the organ.

They finished the next three verses as a duet, and when the song was over, William sank to the bench beside her. “You have the voice of an angel, do you know that? It should be you singing the solo next Sunday, not me.”

“Maybe we could sing the song together,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I would like that.”