Betsy's Return (9 page)

“I'll be on the back porch, washing some clothes, if you need me for anything,” Betsy told her father as she positioned a small pillow behind his head, where he reclined on the sofa. He had come to the sitting room to read his Bible soon after breakfast, saying he wanted to spend time praying and meditating over God's Word.

I need to do that more often, too,
Betsy thought, bending over to kiss his forehead.

“Don't work too hard, daughter. And always remember that I love you and wish you nothing but God's best.”

“I love you, too, Papa.” Betsy hurried out to the porch, anxious to get the washing out of the way so she could spend time with her father. She had convinced herself that if she cared for him properly, he would get well and things would be as they had been before his heart had started acting up. After seeing how well he'd done yesterday at the canal service, Betsy was beginning to believe that God might answer her prayers for a miracle.

Returning to the kitchen, Betsy hauled a kettle of hot water out to the porch, poured it into the washtub, added some lye soap, and dropped in one of the canalers' shirts. She reached into the hot, soapy water and dipped the shirt up and down several times, making sure it was sufficiently wet.

An image of Mrs. Bevens popped into her mind, and she bit back a chuckle. If she lived to be ninety, she didn't think she would ever forget seeing William's prim and proper housekeeper falling into the canal. Mrs. Bevens hadn't offered Harvey Collins any thanks at all for saving her life. For that matter, she hadn't thanked Betsy for the quilt she'd put around her shoulders.

A prick of conscience made Betsy shake her head. “It's not my place to judge Mrs. Bevens. Forgive me, Lord, for thinking such thoughts.”

Betsy scrubbed the shirt against the washboard and gritted her teeth as she reflected on the way she used to be—self-centered and snobbish, always wanting her own way. She could have ended up just like Mrs. Bevens if she hadn't turned her life over to God and allowed Him to soften her heart.

She closed her eyes and offered up a heartfelt prayer.
Dear Lord, help me remember to set a good example to others and remind me whenever necessary that, but for Your grace, I could still be a snooty, selfish woman.

Some time later, when all the clothes had been washed and hung on the line to dry, Betsy entered the kitchen. She filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stove with the intent of making her father his daily cup of hawthorn berry tea. While the water heated, she took a hunk of salt pork from the cooler, cut it into small pieces, and fried it in a pan to get the grease out, then she set it aside. She would add some potatoes, onion, tomatoes, and corn to the pot and then get some pork float cooking for their noon meal as soon as she had served Papa his tea.

Betsy placed a teacup on a wooden tray, filled it with water and the proper amount of the herb, and then headed for the sitting room. She stepped through the doorway, halted, and gasped. Papa lay facedown on the floor.

As William strolled down the sidewalk, prepared to make a few pastoral calls, he hummed his favorite hymn, “Where He Leads, I'll Follow,” and thought about Sunday's service and the picnic that had followed. Most events during the day had encouraged his soul. He'd gotten to know several of the boatmen, become better acquainted with those who attended his church, had a pleasant conversation with Betsy's father, and filled his stomach with enough food to last him all week. The only sour note had been Mrs. Bevens's unplanned dip in the Lehigh Canal.

William couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor woman as he remembered how pathetic she'd looked when she came out of the water with porcupine hair and waterlogged clothes. The hoity-toity woman who'd gotten knocked into the canal had stepped onto dry land looking like an ordinary commoner. Unfortunately the incident hadn't done anything to soften Mrs. Bevens's heart.

I wish I could think of some way to get my dear housekeeper to move back to Buffalo,
he thought ruefully.
Unless the Lord changes that frustrated woman's heart, she will never fit in here.

Reminding himself that he needed to focus on something positive, William continued his trek down the street with a firm resolve.
I think I'll make my first call at the Nelsons' home and see how Hiram is doing.

He had just turned onto Elm Street, when he almost collided with Betsy running at full speed. Her face looked pale, and her eyes were wide and full of fear.

“Betsy, what's wrong?” William clasped her shoulders.

“It–it's Papa. I was bringing him a cup of tea, and I f–found him lying on the floor. I couldn't get him to respond, and I'm afraid he might be—” Betsy choked on the words, and William instinctively drew her into his arms. “I've—I've got to get Dr. McGrath to come now. He needs to see Papa right away,” she sobbed.

Realizing how shaken she was, he said, “I'll go with you to Dr. McGrath's.”

Betsy pulled free from his embrace and darted down the street. William followed at a fast pace, reaching for Betsy's hand when he caught up to her. By the time they arrived at the doctor's office, Betsy could barely speak. “It's Papa. It's Papa. I think he's dead!” she gasped.

The doctor grabbed his black bag, said a few words to his nurse, and ushered them quickly out the door. “Let's take my carriage; it's around back.” He nodded toward the back of the small building that served as his office.

When they stepped inside the Nelsons' home a short time later, William halted inside the door. Hiram lay on the sitting room floor, unmoving. Betsy rushed to her father's side. Dr. McGrath knelt next to her, opened his bag, and removed a stethoscope. “Help me turn him over, would you, Rev. Covington?”

William rushed across the room and dropped to his knees. Once they'd gotten Hiram turned onto his back, he could see that the man's face was deathly pale. There was no movement in his chest. William waited as the doctor placed the stethoscope over Hiram's heart so he could listen for a heartbeat.

Several minutes went by, which seemed like an eternity, then Dr. McGrath removed the stethoscope and placed his thumb over Hiram's wrist. He shook his head slowly as he looked over at Betsy. “There's no pulse, and I detected no heartbeat either. I'm sorry, but your father is dead.”

Betsy sat there staring at her father. “Papa,” she murmured.

William reached for her hand. “Your father's at peace now. He's gone home to be with Jesus.”

Betsy blinked. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling onto her flushed cheeks. “Just yesterday Papa said he was feeling better.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “But his song and prayer during the canal service were an indication that he knew he was going to die.”

William winced, feeling her pain as though it were his own. Apparently Betsy's father had used the last of his strength to attend that service, and the song he'd sung and the prayer he'd prayed had been his final testimony.

“Lord, help Betsy in the days ahead,” William prayed aloud. “Give her the strength and courage to go on.” He gulped. The Rev. Hiram Nelson's funeral would be the first such service he'd ever conducted.

As Betsy stood near her father's coffin, she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to break down during his graveside service. She'd held up fairly well during the service at the church, so she must maintain control of her emotions here. Despite her resolve, she wasn't sure how long she could hold out, for the pain in her heart was worse than any physical agony she'd ever endured. There seemed to be no answers to the questions filling her mind, and that only fueled her frustration. Why hadn't God healed Papa's heart? Why couldn't He have given them a few more years together?

“Dearly beloved, we have gathered today to pay our final tribute and respects to the Rev. Hiram Nelson.” Pastor William's deep voice broke into Betsy's thoughts, and her eyes snapped open.

I must not break down. I must remain strong.

“Forasmuch as the spirit of our departed loved one has returned to God, who gave it, we therefore tenderly commit his body to the grave.” William paused long enough to open his Bible. “In John 14:1–3, we are told: ‘Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.'”

Papa's in heaven
. That thought should have offered Betsy comfort, but she only felt grief.

“In John 11:25–26, Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.'” William closed the Bible, and his gaze swept over the crowd of mourners. “May each of us find comfort in the knowledge that, while Hiram's body is dead, his soul lives on. Because this dedicated man believed in Jesus and accepted Him as his personal Savior, he now abides with the heavenly Father, where there are many mansions.”

In spite of Betsy's resolve not to cry, tears flooded her eyes and streamed down her face, dripping onto the front of her black mourning dress. She felt all stirred up—as if her churning insides were as hot as coals. It was a comfort to know Papa no longer suffered and was now with Jesus, but oh, how she would miss him.

As Pastor William led the group in reciting the Lord's Prayer, Betsy pressed her lips together in an effort to keep from sobbing out loud. Instead of concentrating on the prayer, she thought about the funeral dinner Freda Hanson would be hosting at her house after the committal and wondered how she could get through the rest of the day.

William didn't know how he'd made it through Hiram's funeral, but God had graciously given him the words he needed for the message he'd shared at the church and then at the cemetery. He hoped the words of condolence he'd offered to Hiram's grieving daughter had been helpful, but he felt there was more he should have said.

As the group of mourners entered the Hansons' house, William prayed that God would show him, as well as others in the church, how to comfort Betsy in the days ahead.

“You did a fine job conducting the funeral today,” Mike said, handing William a cup of coffee and steering him toward one of the tables that had been set up in the living room.

Once he was seated, William took a tentative sip. Realizing the coffee was cool enough to drink, he gulped some down. “Thank you. As you may have guessed, this was the first funeral I've ever done, and I was a little nervous.”

Mike thumped William lightly on the back. “It didn't show. You seemed to be in perfect control.” He glanced across the room to where Betsy stood talking to Kelly. “Betsy seems to be holding up well, don't you think?”

William nodded but made no comment. Despite the fact that Betsy appeared to be doing all right, her eyes looked hollow and tired, like she hadn't slept much since her father's death.

“I wonder if now that her father's gone, Betsy will return to New York and her work with the Salvation Army.”

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.”