Something Old © 2015 by Tracey Bateman
Something New © 2015 by Joanne Bischof
Something Borrowed © 2015 by Kim Vogel Sawyer
Something Blue © 2015 by Mona Hodgson
Print ISBN 978-1-63409-479-5
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-390-3
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-391-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in Canada.
Something Old
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Something New
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Something Borrowed
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Something Blue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Something Old
Tucker’s Creek, Kansas
October 1880
The horses pulling Betsy Lowell’s wagon swayed toward the right side of the road as she tried to hang on to the reins with one hand and tightened her scarf about her neck with the other. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees in the past hour since she and her grandpa left the cabin for town, and the morning’s steady rain had frozen to icy pellets, driven by a gusty wind. Why they had waited until the end of October to get their winter supplies in the first place was beyond Betsy. She’d been after her grandpa for a month to get it done, but Pops always said there was plenty of time before the weather set in. Much as she’d like to point out that she’d been right, she thought better of it. No need to get him up in arms when he was trying to keep his horse upright.
“Mercy, Pops,” she said, eyeing her grandfather, who rode his own horse next to the wagon. “You likely should’ve settled for the wagon instead of riding Job. Looks like we’re in for some nasty weather, and you know how crazy that horse gets.” But Pops never was one for wagon-sitting. He preferred the feel of the saddle, the strain of the bit. And Job, the four-year-old stallion, was about the strainingest-at-the-bit horse Betsy had ever seen. And ornery. You couldn’t feed the animal a peppermint candy without him taking a nip at your fingers.
Predictably, Pops gave a snort. “Ain’t never seen a horse yet I can’t handle.” He nodded at the two horses veering toward the woods. “You best worry about keeping the wagon on the road and don’t concern yourself about me.”
With a heavy sigh, Betsy added her other hand to the reins and righted the horses.
For once, Pops gave Job a yank, holding him back. “Now listen here, Betsy. There’s something I got to say to you before we get to town. I reckon I ought to have told you this awhile back.” He cleared his throat and paused for so long Betsy cut him a glance. He had a faraway look in his eyes that meant he was getting the words in his head, and she knew better than to press. He’d come out with it in his own good time. And from the way Job was pulling against the biting wind and stinging ice, Pops would need all of his concentration to keep the dumb animal from tossing him to the ground again.
They approached town in silence as the ice picked up in intensity. “Pops?”
“We’re almost to the general store now. No time to talk. We’ll get to it.”
A frown creased Betsy’s brow. The only time Pops had ever seemed this nervous about talking with her was the day he’d told her about her parents’ accident and that she was going to come live with him from now on. If the news he was clearly avoiding was even half as bad, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Surprisingly, the weather hadn’t deterred the folks of Tucker’s Creek from getting out and about. She passed patrons going in and out of Miss Annie’s restaurant, noted the seamstress working at her machine through the window, and had to pass Fields’ General Store by a good six wagons down to find a place to stop.
“Careful getting down, Pops,” she said as she set the brake and carefully negotiated the slick road up to the boardwalk. She watched him and noted with some pride that, for a man his age, he got around pretty well. In front of folks, anyway. Back at the cabin was another story, but she and Pops kept their business to themselves. And hardly anyone ever came to visit, so no one needed to know the state of the place.
Warmth from the stove greeted them as they entered the store. She smiled at a few familiar faces. Rather than the friendly greetings she was accustomed to on their rare trips to town, folks gave her tentative smiles and looked away. Everyone just seemed nervous. Betsy chalked it up to the weather and didn’t take it personally.
The store was busier than usual, and Betsy loosened her scarf and unbuttoned her coat, figuring it might be awhile before Mrs. Fields or her high-and-mighty son, Stuart, was able to fill their order for new supplies. She retreated to a corner and watched as Pops beelined for the other side of the store, close to the stove where three other codgers sat jawing—more to keep warm, she figured, than adding to the Fieldses’ pockets. The old-timers greeted him loudly as he helped himself to the pot of coffee staying warm on top of the woodstove.
Mr. Mahoney, the former blacksmith and owner of the livery stable before his son took over the business, moved over and offered Pops a seat next to him on a roughly hewn wooden bench. “What are you doing bringing that little girl out on a day like this? Don’t you know it ain’t fit out there for the likes of her?”
“A little cold ain’t gonna hurt nobody,” Pops said, waving away the comment. “My Betsy might be little, but she’s as sturdy as old Job, out there.”
The pride in his voice brought a smile to Betsy’s lips. Pops might never admit she was a grown woman of nearly twenty years old, but he had never been one to coddle her just because she was a girl. She reckoned it was just too much for him to think about the day she would find a man and settle down. Of course, she’d never marry a man who didn’t understand she came as a pair. Her and Pops. He hadn’t abandoned her after her parents had died, and she’d never leave him on his own.
Their conversation faded into the background as Betsy roamed the aisles, looking over the ribbons and store-bought dresses she’d never have the courage to ask Pops for. Mama had taught her to sew as early as she could remember, and she’d always had a knack for it, so as young as she was when her parents died seven years ago, Betsy had the skills to make her own clothes and keep Pops’ trousers free of holes and his shirts with a full set of buttons.
Reaching out, she allowed herself a moment to indulge, fingering a silken, red ribbon between her thumb and forefinger. She imagined herself with the ribbon braided into her dark hair and twisted atop her head as she danced with a tall, handsome gentleman. A smile touched her lips at the thought.
“That would be lovely on you.”
Betsy jumped and dropped the ribbon. “Mrs. Fields,” she said, pressing her palm to her stomach. “I–I’m sorry. My hands are clean. I didn’t hurt it.”
The older woman smiled, her brown eyes filled with kindness. “Of course you didn’t hurt it.” She reached out and pulled the ribbon from the bin, then held it against Betsy’s cheek. “This is the perfect color for you. Shall I wrap it up?”
Betsy darted a gaze toward Pops, feeling guilty for coveting what he called “women’s foolishness.” “No, ma’am. Pops and I don’t go in for such things.”
At the disappointment in the storekeep’s eyes, Betsy reached out and touched Mrs. Fields’ arm. “But I thank you for your kind words. Perhaps I’ll look at the red when it’s time for next year’s dress.”
She knew that wouldn’t be possible. Pops wouldn’t stand for such a bold color on her. She would eye the beautiful blues and reds and even yellows, but ultimately, Pops would insist she pick up a sensible brown, perhaps a blue—if it was dark enough—but never, ever a red. And never any embellishments such as lace or a pretty scalloped collar. Pops wasn’t harsh; he just wanted her decent. And Betsy would never give him any reason to be ashamed of her.
“Well if I can’t interest you in a ribbon, what can I help you and your grandfather with today?”
With a last glance at the bin of ribbons, she reached into the reticule tied around her wrist and pulled out the list of supplies. “We’re out of just about everything. Pops said we best stock up before winter sets in or he won’t get his biscuits.” She smiled, but Mrs. Fields frowned.
“So, you’ve found a new place?”
“No, ma’am. It’s the same old cabin as always. Pops and I did put up a new fence by the barn last month. The calf kept getting out. He made Pops so mad I thought he was going to bust a vein.”
“That’s not what I—”
“About time you got around to waiting on us.” Pops’ voice filled the room. “Thought we was gonna have to head down to Rex’s store if you didn’t want our business.”
Stuart gave a loud snort from behind the counter. Betsy knew exactly what he was thinking. Their account was embarrassing and long past due, but he didn’t have to remind them in such a rude manner.
Heat seared Betsy’s neck and cheeks as all eyes turned toward them. “Pops, they have other customers.” She sent her grandfather a scowl that said everything she couldn’t say out loud about what she thought of his rudeness. “It doesn’t hurt us to wait our turn.”
Mrs. Fields smiled and gave her a passing pat on the shoulder as she walked to the counter. Betsy noted with some concern that the older woman moved a little slower than usual and seemed to be favoring one side of her body. She wanted to ask if everything was okay but didn’t want to pry.
Mrs. Fields set the lengthy list on the counter and turned toward the shelves behind her. A sense of unease twisted Betsy’s gut as Stuart walked toward the counter, glanced at the paper, and frowned. He turned his back, leaned over, and said something to his mother. She spoke right back, equally quiet, lifting a ten-pound bag of flour from the shelf and dropping it firmly into Stuart’s arms. Anger and humiliation shot through Betsy as Stuart turned and practically slammed the bag down. His gaze landed first on Pops, then drifted to her. Their eyes met.
Stuart Fields might have been just about the handsomest boy in their schoolroom, growing up, and he might still be the handsomest man in town, but Betsy didn’t find anything attractive in that haughty look. She narrowed her gaze at him to show him she couldn’t care less what he thought. Noting with more than a little satisfaction that his face turned red and he averted his gaze, she raised her eyebrows and gave herself back to looking at the dresses and ribbons.
Stuart squirmed a little as he turned away from Betsy Lowell’s haughty gaze. “Have you seen the ledger lately? Mr. Lowell owes for the last two years.”
Predictably, his ma’s lips pressed together, and she raised her eyebrows as she pointed to the sugar sack. “Three of those,” she said firmly.
Stuart rolled his eyes but did as Ma commanded. “Fifteen pounds of sugar. Where do they plan to store it?”
“Keep your voice down. I don’t think Betsy knows.”
“Knows what?” He ventured a quick glance at the pretty brunette who at this moment stood, arms folded across her chest, shooting daggers with her blue eyes. He didn’t begrudge her the anger she directed his way. He had been unforgivably rude.
“About the bank.”
Shock shot through him. “You mean she doesn’t know Old Joe lost their land?” How could her grandfather have done that to her?
“That’s exactly what I mean. That girl has no idea that tomorrow it’ll all be gone. So don’t be so unkind.”
Stuart wasn’t without a heart. Compassion tugged at him as he imagined her taking supplies home and setting up for the winter only to discover she was out in the cold. “Ma, where will they live?”
“That’s for this community to help work out for them. We can’t see them without a roof over their heads with winter coming on.”
“You two gonna jaw all day, or you gonna finish up my order?”
Stuart stiffened his spine at the sound of Old Joe’s voice. You’d think a man living on the charity of others would show a little more humility than the cross old man. It wasn’t too difficult to see where Betsy’s pride came from. Stuart would have liked nothing more than to mention the fact to Mr. Lowell, but Ma would dress him down good if he showed disrespect to any customer—especially an old man—and, though he couldn’t fathom the reason, to this old man in particular. His pa had been the same way about Mr. Lowell. But Stuart had never understood the devotion.
Stuart pulled a crate from beneath the counter and began boxing up the supplies. “Almost finished.”
“Don’t forget the peppermints. My horse has a hankering for them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ma sent him an approving nod as he bit back the words he wanted to say and chose to be polite instead.
By the time the order was complete, Stuart had filled two large crates. He glanced at Betsy and noted with some surprise that she was focused on the ribbons in the bins next to the dresses Ma had ordered from Topeka. In his mind’s eye, he could see her at eight or nine years old, long, dark braids tied with ribbons, but he couldn’t remember anytime in the recent years when she’d worn anything but a dark dress, a man’s coat, and a man’s hat. Like today. The absence of any sort of feminine enhancements in no way detracted from her beauty. She might not be all that pleasant when she opened her mouth to speak, but only a blind man wouldn’t recognize that Betsy Lowell was and always had been the prettiest girl in town.
“Get your eyes back in your head, son.” Mr. Lowell’s gravelly voice jerked Stuart from his thoughts, and he felt his ears warm as Betsy looked up at her grandfather’s words just in time to catch Stuart staring at her. Her eyes grew wide, then narrowed. Clearly she didn’t appreciate his admiration.
A low, almost indiscernible chuckle came from his mother. Stuart cleared his throat and grabbed one of the heavy crates from the counter. “I’ll just take these out to your wagon,” he said, needing to get out of there fast. Without pausing for his hat and coat, he carried the crate to the door and stepped out onto the boardwalk. He cringed a little, regretting his hasty exit. He knew his mother would pounce on his actions later, insisting he was sweet on Betsy—as she had insisted since he was a child and put worms on the little girl’s desk or dipped her braids in his inkwell. And perhaps, as a boy, he’d had a particular admiration for her, but she certainly wasn’t the sort of woman he was looking to wed.
He stepped carefully, noting the slick spots starting to form from the still-falling ice. He squirmed inside, kicking himself for staring at Betsy so openly that Old Joe and Ma had both noticed. Even if he’d had a schoolboy crush, he certainly didn’t anymore. There were no less than half-a-dozen suitable young women he could court right here in town if he so chose. Young women without haughty eyes and sharp tongues. No, Betsy Lowell might be an uncommonly beautiful girl, but beauty was vain. He’d rather marry a homely girl—as long as she wasn’t too homely—who had a quiet spirit and gentle words. Heaven help the man who got himself saddled with the likes of Betsy Lowell.
Betsy followed behind Stuart and Pops as the younger man carried the last crate to the wagon. Pops was clearly miffed and didn’t even thank Stuart, which embarrassed her more than a little. She maneuvered carefully on slick boots as she walked around the horses and reached for the seat to grab on to while she hoisted herself up. “Can I help?”
She turned, surprised to find Stuart at her side, holding out his hand. Her stomach did a leap, and she swallowed hard. She was about to accept his assistance when Pops nudged Stuart out of the way. “Best you go see to your customers and stop trying to take liberties with my granddaughter.”
“Liberties?” Stuart’s tone clearly conveyed his outrage. Betsy didn’t blame him one bit.
“Honestly, Pops.” She took his hand. She couldn’t remember the last time Pops had helped her into a wagon or held open a door for her. Even now his grip was so loose she would have felt more secure holding on to the wagon seat and getting up on her own. She turned purposely to Stuart. “Thank you for carrying out the supplies, Mr. Fields. We appreciate it.”
Pops gave a humph but fortunately didn’t say anything else insulting.
“My pleasure, Miss Lowell.”
Pops snorted and stayed planted next to the wagon, staring hard at Stuart. “Well?”
“Yes, sir. I’m going.” His gaze met Betsy’s, and he offered her a wry grin. “Be careful. Looks like ice is making things slick.”
“I will,” Betsy said, nodding as she clutched the reins and released the brake.
Pops glared after Stuart as he walked back toward the store. “Don’t be getting any ideas about that one.”
“A girl’s got to marry someone, Pops.” Betsy grinned at her own teasing. Pops could be intimidating to folks who didn’t know his gruffness covered a heart of gold. She’d figured it out when she was barely more than an infant, toddling around his cabin.
“You ain’t marrying no fella with hands like a woman’s. That boy ain’t done a man’s work a day in his life. My girl’s gonna marry someone who can take care of her.”
“Well, this girl is going to marry whomever I choose, and that’s not going to be for a very long time.” Even as she said the words, her heart sank a little. She wasn’t exactly a spring chicken. Before long, she’d be so old no one would want her anyway.
“Leo Blakely would marry you in a second, and he’s plenty set to take care of a wife.”
“Yes, and he’s old enough to be my pa.” Not to mention that when he looked at her, she felt undressed. “Besides, I know you ran him off the place a few weeks ago.” And much to Betsy’s relief the man hadn’t been back since. She’d assumed Pops had finally told him to stop coming around, trying to get Betsy to marry him. So why was he bringing up the old bachelor now?
She pulled her scarf tighter. “Pops, we best get going if we’re going to get home tonight. Stuart’s right. The roads are going to start getting too slick for the horses if we don’t get a move on.”
“We ain’t going home tonight.”
Betsy frowned. “What do you mean? Where are we going?”
“Over to the boardinghouse.”
“The boardinghouse! And just how are we going to pay Mrs. Stone?”
“You let me worry about that. Drive on over to the livery. We’ll board the horses and walk over to the boardinghouse.”
Betsy didn’t protest, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Pops was beginning to lose his mind. It was one thing to buy their goods on account. Everyone did that. But she knew for a fact that Mrs. Stone was cash on the barrel. The woman wasn’t going to let them stay in her home without payment. Mr. Mahoney’s son owned the livery, and he and Pops had always been friends, so Betsy figured he wouldn’t refuse them. But she had a feeling they’d be bedding down with the horses tonight.
She backed the wagon into the street while Pops walked to Job. It took him three tries before the horse allowed him to mount. She shook her head. The already cantankerous animal was clearly even more annoyed than ever after standing in the cold and wet for the past forty-five minutes. She followed as Pops rode toward the livery. She held her breath every time Job slipped, then gained his footing. “Pops. Maybe you ought to come ride in the wagon.”
Pops waved, then reached into his pocket. “He’s fine.” Leaning forward, he spoke low to the horse. Betsy had seen him offer the animal treats from the saddle before and had always thought it dangerous for a man his age, but she sat helpless as Job took the treat, then immediately twisted his neck around for another, nipping at Pops’ leg. Intent on the treat, the horse stepped down without looking where he was going and slipped, nearly taking Betsy’s breath. “Pops, make Job mind you before he—”
Too late. Pops spoke harshly to the horse and smacked his neck, just as Job slipped again.
Helpless, Betsy bit back a scream as his attempts to right himself failed. Horse and rider went down as one, with Pops taking the brunt of the fall, landing beneath the horse’s body.
Betsy’s breath stopped as she yanked on the reins so hard her horses’ front legs nearly came off the ground as the wagon rolled to a stop.
Job pulled himself up and limped away, his reins dragging the ground. “You stupid horse!” she screamed after him, running toward Pops, who lay on the ground, still as death.
Junior Mahoney appeared from the livery door and ran into the street just as she dropped to Pops’ side. She heard the sound of boots running on the boardwalk behind her, but her mind spun as she looked at the still form next to her. “Pops!” She grabbed his hand. Blood trickled from his mouth, and she noted his other arm was twisted in a dreadful, broken manner. Her head swam as she looked slowly down his form and tried to make sense of what had just happened.
Junior Mahoney dropped to her side and nudged her. “Move away, Betsy.”
She shook her head. “Pops? Can you answer me?”
Someone took her arm and pulled her to her feet. She spun and found herself in Stuart Fields’ arms.
“Let me be!” She thrashed about, trying to get loose, but he held her tighter, seemingly without effort.
He held her out at arm’s length. “Betsy, calm down. We need to get your grandfather over to Doc Avery. Do you understand?”
His brown eyes held her gaze, and she found her breath as his words began to make sense. She nodded. If they were in a rush to get him to the doc, then Pops wasn’t dead. “Hurry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He released her, and he and Junior gathered up the frail, twisted body. The sound of her grandfather’s groan nearly took the small amount of strength still keeping her upright. They settled him as carefully as possible into the wagon bed. Betsy hurried to the seat and scrambled up. Before she could gather the reins, Stuart was next to her in the seat. “I’m driving you.”
Nodding, she released the reins to his hands. Her mind raced back to what Pops had said about Stuart and his soft hands, but as she watched him guide the horses, all Betsy could think was that they seemed very strong and capable. And she was grateful that he had taken over.
She turned in the seat to check on Pops. Junior was in the wagon sitting next to him. Gratitude welled up inside of her. She’d had no idea the liveryman had climbed into the wagon after him. They reached the doctor’s office in only a couple of minutes. Doc Avery was a middle-aged man who had only come to Tucker’s Creek five years before. Until then, they’d relied on midwives for birthing and did the best they could in emergencies. Right now, Betsy was beyond grateful the doctor had come to town.
He rushed outside as Stuart pulled up and wrapped the horses’ reins around the brake.
Doc was already rolling up his sleeves as he looked at Old Joe lying broken in the back of the wagon. “Get him in, quick. But be careful. What happened?”
“His horse slipped on the ice and landed on him.” Junior held Pops’s arms while Stuart took his legs. The doctor stabilized his middle, and the three men carried him into the house, which doubled as the doctor’s office. “Where do you want him, Doc?” Stuart asked.
“Don’t bother with the examining room. He won’t be going anywhere for a while. Just take him in there.” He pointed to a bedroom on the opposite side of the house as Mrs. Avery appeared in the doorway. She slipped her arm around Betsy’s shoulders. “Come with me, dear.”
“I can’t leave Pops.”
“It’ll be best if you let the men get him undressed and let my husband examine him in private.”
Stubbornly, Betsy shook her head.
“Honey,” the woman said, keeping her arm firmly around Betsy, her other hand on Betsy’s arm. “Do you think your grandfather would want you to see him undressed?”
Finally Mrs. Avery’s meaning sank in. Betsy gasped. Pops would be madder than all get-out if he thought for a second she stayed in the room when they were about to strip him down. She allowed Mrs. Avery to escort her from the room. “Here, honey. Let me take your coat and hat.”
Numb, Betsy surrendered as the doctor’s wife slipped her out of her coat and hung it on the peg board next to the door. She led Betsy into the kitchen and pulled out a wooden chair. “You sit here and let me get you some coffee. I was just about to have some lunch. Are you hungry?”
Betsy shook her head, annoyed that the woman could even suggest food at a time like this.
Mrs. Avery set a steaming cup in front of her. “At least drink this. It’ll warm you up.” Instinctively, Betsy reached out and cradled the cup between her palms, allowing the warmth to seep into her ice-cold hands. She shuddered from somewhere deep inside of her. Her hands shook at the memory of Pops lying in the street, his body twisted and broken. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. What would she do without Pops?
“Now, don’t worry about a thing,” Mrs. Avery said as though reading her mind. The other woman handed her a dish towel. “Wipe your face, hon. The doctor will do his very best.” She smiled. “And that is very good.”
Nodding, Betsy grabbed the towel and swiped her face and nose. She knew Mrs. Avery was being kind, but as much as she appreciated it, she couldn’t bear just sitting here, drinking coffee, when Pops was lying in the other room, maybe dying. Maybe even dead already.
“Was your grandfather’s horse hurt in the accident?”
The words jarred Betsy from her maudlin thoughts and brought a swift jolt of anger. “If he wasn’t, he will be.”
When no response was forthcoming, Betsy ventured a glance to the woman. She stared back at her from across the table. “I see. You’ll take your revenge on the animal, then?”
Betsy recognized a hint of admonishment, but she didn’t care. With a jerk of her chin, she looked away. “Yes, ma’am. I sure will. That horse has been nothing but a thorn in Pops’ side since the day he was born. Ornery as all get-out, and I say good riddance.”
“Oh, the horse did it on purpose?”
Betsy’s lips twisted. “Well, no. He didn’t make himself slip on the ice.”
Mrs. Avery set her coffee on the table and walked to the stove. “Are you sure I can’t interest you in some stew, hon? The venison is fresh. George just shot him day before last.”
“No, thank you.” Her stomach twisted at the very thought of food. Although it did smell awfully good. She gathered a breath. “The fact is, if that ornery horse hadn’t tried nipping at Pops to get another piece of peppermint, this never would have happened. So in a way, he did do it on purpose.”
There was no real reason to care one way or another what anyone else thought about what she did with her own property. But Betsy couldn’t seem to let it go until this woman understood. How could anyone not want to punish the animal that just got up and walked away?
“Do you think that’s what Old Joe would want?”
Betsy sent her a scowl as she dipped stew into a bowl for herself and brought it to the table. She gave a short laugh. “Pops would probably be the first one to brush him down, give him a peppermint to soothe him, and rub liniment on his leg.”
“Liniment? Was the horse injured, too?”
Betsy shrugged. “He limped a little when he walked off after nearly killing my pops. And I vow, if Pops dies—”
“Don’t think about that. We are going to sit here and trust God to guide my husband’s hands, and if it’s His will, your grandfather will pull through good as new.”
“But what if it’s not God’s will? What good does it do to pray if God wants to take Pops to heaven?” Like He had her parents. Was God’s will for her to be completely alone?
“Honey, we don’t know the heart and mind of God. All we can do is trust He knows better than we do.”
Betsy knew better than to argue with a person’s faith. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t believe in God; she just wasn’t so sure He was very nice. If she had all that power, she wouldn’t govern humans at her whim. This one dies, that one lives. What right had He to play with people’s lives that way? She knew she ought to be more careful with her thoughts. Usually when she thought about her parents dying when she still needed them and anger against God burned fierce and sharp in her chest, she said a hasty prayer of repentance and tried to be sincere. But right now, she couldn’t drum up even the slightest bit of remorse toward the Almighty.
“So tell me, why do folks in Tucker’s Creek call your grandfather Old Joe?”
Betsy shrugged. “Because he’s old and his name is Joe.”
Mrs. Avery smiled. “That’s it? What did they call him when he was young? I hear he was one of three men who founded Tucker’s Creek way back fifty years ago.”
Betsy knew the doc’s wife was just trying to get her mind off the accident, but she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Still, given this woman’s kindness, she didn’t want to be rude. “My pa was named after Pops, so when he started at the school, everyone called him Joe-Joe and Pops became Old Joe.”
She lifted her cup to her lips. By the time she set it back on the table, she heard footsteps and shoved up from her chair. Stuart stood in the doorway, face white and visibly shaken.
“Is he dead?”
He shook his head, and Betsy’s legs went weak with relief. She grabbed on to the back of her chair to keep from dropping to the floor. “You look like he is.”
“No, I’m sorry. Just… I never was one for this kind of thing.”
“Come and sit down, Stuart,” Mrs. Avery said with the gentleness of a mother. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
Stuart gave her a wry grin. “Thanks for not saying faint.” He practically stumbled to the chair and sat hard in the seat. Without asking, Mrs. Avery poured him some coffee. Betsy rolled her eyes. What would Pops think about a man who practically fainted at the sight of blood?
The doctor’s wife patted him on the shoulder. “Buck up, and tell us about Mr. Lowell. How is he?”
Betsy broke in before he could say anything. “Can I go see him?”
Stuart shook his head. “Doc said to tell you to stay put while they’re setting his bones.”
With a heavy sigh, Betsy sat back down. “I could’ve helped since you clearly faint at the sight of blood.”
A flash of anger brought back Stuart’s color. “I don’t—”
Mrs. Avery clicked her tongue. “There’s no point in throwing stones, you two.” She patted Stuart again. “Are you hungry? I have some venison stew warming on the stove.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but I best get back over to the store. This kind of weather brings folks out for supplies, and Ma’s going to need my help.”
“Well, we’re mighty glad you were there to help out with Old Joe, aren’t we, Betsy?”
Betsy nodded and sipped her own coffee to avoid having to say something.
He stood. “Thank you for the coffee, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome.” Mrs. Avery stood as well, grabbing his cup from the table. She walked to the sink to rinse it out. “Betsy, honey, can you walk Stuart out? I need to stir this stew before it scorches.”
There was no way to avoid doing the polite thing. “Yes, ma’am.” With a sigh, Betsy followed him into the foyer as he retrieved his coat and hat from the peg board by the door.
Awkward silence filled the space between them as he stood there, his hand on the doorknob, looking down at her. “Betsy, I’m sorry about your grandfather.”
Fighting back tears, Betsy nodded. Mrs. Avery was right. Stuart had been a godsend. “Thank you for your help. I—I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
“Unfortunately, I’ve never been much help in these sorts of situations.” He released a heavy breath and jammed his hat on his head. “I wish I could have done more.”
“You were there when we needed you.” Swallowing hard, she suddenly had a twinge of conscience about her outburst a few minutes ago. “I apologize for the fainting comment.” She wanted to offer an excuse. Something about how worried she was and that was the reason she chose those insulting words. But she knew that wouldn’t be a true apology, and after all, Stuart had been right there to help get Pops to Doc Avery’s.
Stuart’s face softened, and he reached out for just a second and touched her arm. “I’m glad I was here to help. If you need anything, please let us know.” He touched his hat and walked out the door, leaving Betsy speechless at the uncommon gentleness from him.
She stared at the closed door. Had she misjudged Stuart Fields all these years?
Still shaken from the twisted body he’d been forced to witness, Stuart walked into the store amid a jumble of activity. His ma glanced up from filling an order, and her face softened with relief. “Thank heaven you’re back.” Stuart grabbed his apron from the peg at the end of the shelves and tied it on with shaky fingers. “How’s Old Joe?”
“Not good, Ma.” He kept his voice low. “I don’t see how he can survive, but Doc Avery and Junior Mahoney are doing everything they can.”
“I hope you didn’t come back here just for me. It doesn’t hurt folks to wait a little while when there’s a crisis.”
“There wasn’t much I could do to help the doc. Junior was there, so I felt like I was more in the way.”
His mother nodded. Stuart appreciated her discretion in not mentioning his aversion to the sight of blood and broken bodies. Just the memory of Old Joe’s injuries brought on a bout of dizziness.
“I can’t imagine what poor Betsy will do if Old Joe doesn’t pull through.” A heavy sigh accompanied her words, and she shook her head.
“I told her to let us know if we could do anything to help out.”
Ma’s graying eyebrows rose. “That was… kind.”
Fortunately, a woman carrying a pair of men’s trousers approached the counter just then. She ordered several goods from behind the counter, and by the time she had paid for her purchases, Ma was occupied with another customer, so Stuart didn’t have to continue the conversation. They remained busy for the next four hours until closing. At five o’clock, Stuart locked up with a deep sense of relief that the day was finally over.
Ma tucked a loose strand of gray hair behind her ear and dropped onto the bench next to the stove. “Gracious. What a day.” She offered him a weary smile. “I’m getting too far along in age to keep up on days like this.”
Stuart grabbed the broom and began the nightly cleanup. “You just sit and rest, and I’ll tidy up. Then we can go over to Miss Annie’s for supper before we go home.”
“Annie’s. The prices she charges are highway robbery.” Ma gave a snort. “And the food isn’t even that good.”
A smile touched Stuart’s lips. “You know, Ma,” he said, swiping at the floor with the broom. “Eventually, you’re going to have to forgive Annie.”
“Forgive? What on earth are you talking about? I have nothing against that woman except for her ridiculous prices and overcooked roast.”
Not to mention the fact that thirty years ago, Miss Annie had invited Pa to the Sadie Hawkins dance before Ma had drummed up the courage to do so. Of course, Ma hadn’t confided this fact to him. Pa had. As much as he’d love to force her into an admission, he knew better. When Ma set her mind to something, there was no convincing her of anything else.
She sat by the fire, staring out at the front window. “You know, I’ve been thinking.”
“About what, Ma?” He collected the dust he’d just swept and walked toward the door to throw it outside where dirt belonged. He noted with some relief that the ice had stopped falling. He’d still have to help Ma cross the street to the restaurant, but the wagons going back and forth all day had helped melt some of the ice, so there were places to step. He closed the door and carried the broom back, leaning it against the wall behind the counter.
“Are you listening?” Ma’s voice sounded testy, and he realized he hadn’t heard the last thing she’d said.
“Sorry, Ma. I am now.”
“Even if Old Joe pulls through, he’ll likely be off his feet for quite some time, wouldn’t you agree?”
“No doubt about it. He’ll be indisposed for weeks if not months.” If he made it at all. Stuart wasn’t very optimistic that the old-timer would regain consciousness, let alone return to his former strength.
“I’m guessing Betsy still doesn’t know about losing the farm.”
“Not unless Mrs. Avery told her. I still can’t understand why Old Joe didn’t let her know. It doesn’t seem right to leave her in the dark. Especially now when he’s unconscious and Betsy’s going to learn about it from someone else.”
“Do you have any idea where Betsy is planning to stay while her grandfather is recovering?”
Stuart shook his head. Truth be told, the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I can’t imagine she has the money to stay at the boardinghouse. The Averys will likely put her up for a while at least.”
“Of course they won’t throw her out in the street. But she’s going to have to plan long term. I wonder what Old Joe had in mind for them.”
If the old-timer even had a plan. The thought of Betsy’s ignorance over the situation annoyed Stuart more than a little. It didn’t seem fair to her. “What’s on your mind, Ma?”
“I think we should offer Betsy your sister’s old room.”
The very idea sent waves of horror through Stuart. “Ma—”
She held up her hand. “I don’t know what you have against her. I have my suspicions, but this is my decision.”
“I don’t have anything against Betsy Lowell, Ma. But what will people say about an unattached man and woman living under the same roof? Do you think it might hurt Betsy’s reputation?”
Ma scowled, waving away his concern. “Heavens, I’ll be right there as chaperone. And you can move down to your father’s study so that you’re not sleeping on the same floor of the house.”
“You’re kicking me out of my room to give Betsy a home?” He grinned. They’d been discussing his moving downstairs for a while.
Shaking his head, he grabbed their coats from the storeroom. When he returned, Ma was working her way to her feet. “You’re not doing so well today. That hip giving you trouble?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m fine. Don’t fret, and don’t change the subject.” She slipped her arms into the coat he held out. “Now, about Betsy—”
“Do what you think is best. I’ll move my things downstairs tonight.”
If he knew Betsy Lowell, she’d never accept the room. She was even more stubborn than his ma.
Betsy sat next to her grandpa’s bed, grateful for each shallow rise and fall of his chest. Despite Mrs. Avery’s insistence that she take the other bedroom in this vast house, Betsy refused to leave his side. But two nights of sitting in the chair at his side was beginning to wear on her. Doc had come into the room several times through the night, as he had the night before, and now as the sun began to rise, she heard his familiar footsteps on the stairs. A moment later, the door opened, and he walked in.
“Good morning, Betsy.”
Betsy nodded, too weary and worried for pleasantries. “He made it through another night. That’s a good sign, right?”
The doc shushed her and listened to his patient’s heart. He straightened up with a sigh. “His heart isn’t as strong as I’d like to hear it, but as you said, he made it through the night again. Your grandfather is nothing if not a fighter.”
The words did little to comfort Betsy. “Is he going to make it, Doc?” Her voice broke with the question.
Doc Avery looked at her with kind, sympathetic eyes. “Only God knows that. But I can promise I’ll do my very best with the abilities He’s given me. The rest is up to Him. But you need to prepare yourself just in case it’s Old Joe’s time. The cracked ribs, the broken bones, a weak heart. We’ll have to watch for pneumonia.”
He’d said all this to her before. “I know. I’m not closing my mind to what might happen. It’s just…” She wanted to give in to the threatening tears, wanted to beg the doctor for more reassurance than he was able to give. But if Pops died, she’d be all alone. At least she’d have the cabin and the stock. Pops had taught her everything she would need to know. She could cut her own wood for the fire, fix a fence, put a new roof on the cabin. She’d been doing most of the work around the place for the last two years anyway. But without Pops, she had no family, no one to talk to at night. She would miss him dreadfully if God chose to take him. Swallowing hard, she squared her shoulders and faced the doctor. “It’s just we can’t leave the stock alone much longer. I’m going to have to go home today and take care of them. I might not make it back for a couple days.”
The doctor frowned. “Betsy, there’s something you should know. I can’t imagine why Old Joe hasn’t said anything….”
Betsy frowned. Was there even more wrong with Pops than the doc was letting on? Before she could question him, Mrs. Avery came into the room, bringing with her the scent of coffee brewing and ham frying. “How’s he doing this morning?” she asked, a little cheerier than Betsy had the stomach for this early.
“Not much different than last night,” Betsy said.
Doc Avery patted Betsy’s arm. “But I’m hopeful he will wake up today.”
“Well, I have breakfast cooking.” Mrs. Avery looked at Betsy. “Honey, why don’t you go and wash your face and then come eat something?”
Betsy nodded. As much as she’d love to stay by her grandpa’s bedside until he awoke, she had to keep up her strength in order to take care of him once he came to.
When she entered the kitchen a few minutes later, feeling better but still more weary than she could remember, Doc and Mrs. Avery stopped their conversation abruptly. Betsy could only surmise they were discussing either her or Pops, but she didn’t pry. Mrs. Avery stood and went to the stove. “Have a seat, Betsy. I’ll get your breakfast.”
“You don’t have to wait on me, ma’am. I can get my own.”
“Nonsense. You look about dead on your feet. Let me pamper you a little.”
Grateful, Betsy dropped into her chair. “Doc, I appreciate everything you’re doing for Pops. I don’t know how we’ll pay you, but I promise it’ll get done. Even if I have to sell off stock to settle up.”
The doctor looked away and picked up his cup.
Mrs. Avery spared him an answer as she set a plate and cup in front of Betsy. She patted Betsy’s shoulder. “There’s plenty of time to worry about that. You just eat your breakfast and let’s concentrate on getting Old Joe back on his feet.”
Betsy frowned. “I don’t want you to think I’m not going to pay my bills.” Unlike Pops. Guilt worked through her like a cord at the very thought of being so disloyal to Pops. But he was as cheap as they came, and he hadn’t plowed or harvested in two years, leaving the fields fallow and wasted. Until then, Pops had worked hard every day. The change in him had confused and angered her, but he wouldn’t tell her a thing. Betsy had tried to rouse him. Had tried to do the farming herself. But it had been an impossible task for one woman, what with all the other work to do. And no harvest meant no cash money coming in, so of course they had basically lived off the charity of the town.
“Doc, do you think Pops is going notional?”
Doc Avery sat back and touched his chin. He drew and released a full breath. “It’s possible. He’s more than seventy years old. Why do you ask?”
Betsy shrugged. “He’s been different the last couple years.”
“I wouldn’t add worry to worry,” he said. “Let’s just take one day at a time.”
“But there has to be a reason he just stopped working a couple years back.”
The doctor’s eyes met hers as though scrutinizing her.
“If you know something, please tell me.”
“He should have told you long ago, but he came to me complaining of pains in his chest and shortness of breath.”
“When?” But she already knew the answer.
“Two years ago, Betsy. His heart was weak even then, and I’m not positive he hadn’t already had a heart attack. I suggested he hire someone to help in the fields and stop doing the hard work.”
“He did stop working, but he never told me why and wouldn’t hire anyone.” Placing her elbow on the table, Betsy rested her chin in her palm. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the farm now that it’s gone so long without planting.”
Mrs. Avery shoved the basket of biscuits toward her. “There’s nothing for you to do for now except let me take care of you while you watch over your grandfather.” She smiled. “Now, eat up. Tomorrow will take care of itself, and the day after tomorrow, and so on.”
“Thank you both.” Betsy dug into her ham and eggs and biscuits. She barely heard a word either of the Averys said during the meal. When it was finished, Mrs. Avery waved away her attempt to clean up.
She checked on Pops, who remained exactly the way she’d left him before breakfast. The doctor had gone to make his daily rounds, and she heard Mrs. Avery humming as she washed the breakfast dishes. Not wanting to bother the kind woman, she quietly slipped into her coat and hat and walked out onto a wet, muddy road. The ice had melted under a bright sun, and the temperature seemed to have risen at least ten degrees above freezing. Betsy made her way to the livery, where Junior Mahoney had kindly offered to board the horses. The sweet smell of hay combined with the more pungent smell of horses greeted her when she entered.
“Morning, Junior.”
The liveryman looked up from scooping out one of the stalls. “Hey there, Betsy. How’s Old Joe today?”
“About the same.”
“Well, don’t you worry none. He’s about as stubborn as they come. Doc’ll pull him through.” He set down the shovel and wiped his hand with a towel as he walked toward her. “What can I help you with?”
“I just need to collect my wagon and horses.”
Junior frowned. “Going somewhere?”
Obviously. Betsy tucked back the sarcasm and nodded. “I have to get the supplies home and check on the animals. We missed chores the last two nights, the cow alone is probably about to burst.”
“But don’t you know what went on there yesterday?”
Betsy gave a short laugh. “Not much considering we’ve been in town.”
“Listen, I don’t know why no one has told you the truth.” He scowled. “I especially don’t understand why Old Joe left you in the dark about it.”
Betsy reached up and rubbed Ginger’s nose. “What are you talking about?”
“The bank called in your grandpa’s note.”
All the air left the room as Betsy turned and stared at the liveryman. “Wh–what note?”
“Old Joe took on a mortgage over a year ago. But he… uh… never paid it back. Now, I tried to loan him money from time to time, but he wouldn’t take it.”
Head spinning, Betsy leaned against Ginger’s stall. “I can’t believe Pops didn’t tell me. I could have found a position somewhere to help. Or taken in sewing and ironing. I could have done something.”
“I don’t know what he was thinking.”
“This must’ve been what Pops was trying to tell me.” And why he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
She gathered a breath. “I’ll have to go to the bank and see what’s to be done. I can sell off most of the stock. And Leo Blakely’s been trying to buy the back ten acres that connect with his land for as long as I can remember. Do you think that might be enough to hold things off until Pops is back on his feet?”
“Honey, that might have worked six months ago.”
“I don’t understand.”
He scratched at his beard and gave her a look of such dread Betsy’s stomach turned over. She held up her hand as he opened his mouth to speak. “You don’t have to say it. That’s why Pops wanted to get to town day before yesterday. Why he said we weren’t going home that night.”
Junior’s nod confirmed her words. “The auction was yesterday.”