Kelly's Chance (4 page)

“Yoo-hoo! Mr. Cooper, I need you!”

Kelly and Mike both turned. Betsy Nelson, the local preacher’s daughter, was heading their way, her long, green skirt swishing this way and that.

Kelly cringed, remembering how overbearing Betsy could be. She didn’t simply share the Good News, the way Reverend Nelson did. No, Betsy tried to cram it down folks’ throats by insisting they come to Sunday school at the little church in Walnutport, where her father served as pastor.

One time, when Kelly was about seven years old, Betsy had actually told Kelly and her sister, Sarah, that they were going to the devil if they didn’t come to Sunday school and learn about Jesus. Papa overheard the conversation and blew up, telling sixteen-year-old Betsy what he thought of her pushy ways. He’d sent her home in tears and told Kelly and Sarah there was no need for either of them to go to church. He said he’d gotten along fine all these years without God, so he didn’t think his daughters needed religion.

Mama thought otherwise, and while the girls were young, she often read them a Bible story before going to bed. When Kelly turned twelve, Mama gave her an old Bible that had belonged to Grandma Minnotti, who’d died and gone to heaven. It was during the reading of the Bible story about Jesus’ death on the cross that Kelly had confessed her sins in the quiet of her room one night. She’d felt a sense of hope, realizing Jesus was her personal Savior and would walk with her wherever she went—even up and down the dirty towpath.

What had happened to her childlike faith since then? Had she become discouraged after Sarah ran away with Sam, leaving her with the responsibility of leading the mules? Or had her faith in God slipped because Papa was so mean and wouldn’t give Kelly any money for the hard work she did every day?

Kelly’s thoughts came to a halt when Betsy Nelson stepped between her and Mike and announced, “I need to buy material for some new kitchen curtains I plan to make.”

“Go on up to the store and choose what you want. I’ll be there in a minute,” Mike answered with a nod.

Betsy stood grounded to her spot, and Mike motioned toward Kelly. “Betsy, in case you didn’t recognize her, this is Kelly McGregor, all grown up.”

Kelly felt her face flame, and she opened her mouth to offer a greeting, but Betsy interrupted.

“Sure, I remember you—the skinny little girl in pigtails who refused to go to Sunday school.”

Kelly knew that wasn’t entirely true, as it had been Papa’s decision, not hers. She figured it would be best not to say anything, however.

Betsy squinted her gray blue eyes and reached up to pat the tight bun she wore at the back of her head. Kelly wondered if the young woman ever allowed her dingy blond hair to hang down her back. Or did the prim and proper preacher’s daughter even sleep with her hair pulled back so tightly her cheeks looked drawn?

“I was hoping you would help me choose the material,” Betsy said, offering Mike a pinched-looking smile.

Mike fingered his mustache and rocked back on his heels. Kelly thought he looked uncomfortable. “I’m kind of busy right now,” he said, nodding at Kelly.

“It’s all right,” she was quick to say. “Papa’s about ready to go, and I think we’ve finished with our business.”

“But you haven’t given me any pictures,” Mike reminded her.

“Oh ... oh, you’re right.” Kelly’s voice wavered when she spoke. She was feeling more flustered by the minute.

“Kelly, you got them mules ready yet?” Papa shouted from the bow of the boat.

Kelly turned to her father and called, “In a minute, Papa.” She faced Mike again. “I’ll be right back with the drawings.” She whirled around, sprinted toward the boat, and leaped over the side, nearly catching her long skirt in the process.

A few minutes later, Kelly came back, carrying three drawings done on newsprint and neatly pressed between two pieces of cardboard. Two were of children fishing along the canal, and the third was a picture of Hector and Herman standing in the middle of the towpath. She handed them to Mike. “I’ll have more to show you the next time we stop by.”

Mike lifted the top piece of cardboard and studied the drawings. “Nicely done, Kelly. Very nice.”

Heat rushed to Kelly’s face. “Thanks. I hope the others will be as good.”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t be.” Mike held up the picture of Kelly’s mules. “Look, Betsy. See what Kelly’s drawn.”

“Uh-huh. Nice.” Betsy barely took notice as she grabbed hold of Mike’s arm. “Can we go see about that material now?”

“I guess so.” Mike turned to Kelly. “See you in a few days.”

She nodded. “If Papa decides to stop. If not, then soon, I hope.”

“Kelly McGregor!” Papa’s voice had grown even louder, and Kelly knew he was running out of patience.

“Ready in a minute,” she hollered back. “See you, Mike. See you, Betsy.” Kelly grabbed hold of the towline and hurried off toward the mules waiting patiently under a maple tree. A few minutes later, she was trudging up the towpath, wishing she could have visited with Mike a bit longer.

Kelly glanced over her shoulder and saw Betsy hanging onto Mike’s arm. A pang of jealousy stabbed her heart, but she couldn’t explain it. She had no claims on Mike Cooper, nor did she wish to have any. Betsy Nelson was more than welcome to the storekeeper.

***

Mike headed for the store, wishing it were Kelly and not Betsy clinging to his arm. As he reached the front door, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the McGregors’ canal boat disappear around the bend. He’d wanted to spend more time with Kelly, but Betsy’s interruption had stolen what precious moments they might have had.

As he stepped into the store, Mike shot a quick prayer heavenward.
Is Kelly the one, Lord? Might she make me a good wife?

“Mr. Cooper, are you listening to me?” Betsy gave his shirtsleeve a good tug.

Mike refocused his thoughts and turned to look at Betsy, still clinging to his arm.

“The material’s on that shelf, and please feel free to call me Mike.” He pulled his arm free and pointed to the wall along the left side of his store. “Give me a minute to put Kelly’s drawings in a safe place, and I’ll join you over there.”

Mike could see by the pucker of Betsy’s lips that she wasn’t happy, but she headed in the direction he had pointed.

Did Betsy think he would drop everything just because she wanted his opinion on the material she wished to buy? Mike doubted his advice counted for much. He knew little about kitchen curtains. His mother had decorated the house he lived in, which was connected to the back of the store. Since Ma’s death, he hadn’t given much thought to her choice of colors, fabric, or even furniture. If it had been good enough for Ma and Pa, then it was good enough for him.

Mike placed Kelly’s drawings on a shelf under the counter and headed across the room to where Betsy stood holding a bolt of yellow and white calico material.

She smiled at him. “What do you think of this color?”

He shrugged. “Guess it would work fine.”

For the next half hour, Mike looked at bolts of material, nodded his head, and tried to show an interest in Betsy’s curtain-making project. He felt relieved when another customer entered the store, but much to his disappointment, Betsy was still looking at material when he finished up with Hank Summers’ order.

“Have you made a decision yet?” Mike called to Betsy from where he stood behind the counter.

“I suppose the yellow and white calico will work best.” Betsy marched across the room and plunked the bolt of material on the wooden counter. “I’ll take ten yards.”

Ten yards? Mike thought Betsy was only making curtains for the kitchen, not every window in the house.
Guess women are prone to changing their minds.

Betsy grinned at him and fluttered her pale eyelashes. “I’m thinking of making a dress from the leftover material, and I want to be sure I have plenty. Do you think this color will look good on me?”

Mike groaned inwardly. He didn’t want to offend the preacher’s daughter, so he merely smiled and nodded in response.

As soon as Betsy left the store, Mike pulled Kelly’s pictures from under the counter, took a seat on his wooden stool, and studied the charcoal drawings.

Kelly McGregor had talent; there was no doubt about it. The question was, would he be able to sell her artwork?

***

Over the next couple of days, Kelly daydreamed a lot while she walked the towpath. Was it possible that Mike Cooper might be able to sell some of her drawings? Were they as good as he’d said, or had Mike been trying to be polite when he told Kelly she had talent?

“Sure wish he wasn’t so handsome,” Kelly muttered as she neared the changing bridge where she and the mules would cross to the other side of the canal. A vision of Mike’s face crept into her mind, and she began to sing her favorite canal song, hoping to block out all thoughts of the storekeeper.

“Hunks-a-go pudding and pieces of pie; my mother gave me when I was knee-high.... And if you don’t believe it, just drop in and see—the hunks-a-go pudding my mother gave me.”

Kelly found herself thinking about food and how good supper would taste when they stopped for the night. Mama had bought a hunk of dried beef at Mike Cooper’s store, so they would be having savory stew later on.

It was time to get the mules ready to cross over to the towpath on the other side of the canal. Soon they were going up and over the changing bridge, as Kelly lifted the towrope over the railing. Obediently, Hector and Herman followed. In no time, they were on the other side, and Papa was able to steer his boat farther down the canal.

Kelly was relieved the towline hadn’t become snagged. Whenever that happened, they were held up while Papa fixed things. Then he was angry the rest of the day because they’d lost precious time. Every load of anthracite coal was important, and payment was made only when it was delivered to the city of Easton, where it was weighed and unloaded. The trip back up the navigation system to Mauch Chunk was with an empty boat, and Papa never wanted to waste a single moment.

Today they were heading to Easton and would arrive by late afternoon if all went well. Kelly knew there was no way Papa would agree to stop by Cooper’s General Store on the way to deliver their coal, but coming back again, he might.

Maybe we’ll get there early enough so I’ll have time to get some drawing done,
Kelly told herself. If there was any possibility of Mike selling her artwork, she needed to have more pictures ready to give him.

Kelly didn’t realize she’d stopped walking until she felt Hector’s wet nose nudge the back of her neck. She whirled around. “Hey there, boy. Are ya that anxious to get to Easton?”

The mule snorted in response, and she laughed and reached out to stroke him behind the ear. Not to be left out, Herman bumped her hand.

“All right, Herman the Determined, I’ll give you some attention, too.” Kelly stroked the other mule’s ear for a few seconds, and then she clicked her tongue. “Now giddy-up, you two. There’s no more time to dawdle. Papa will be worse than a snappin’ turtle if we make him late tonight.”

The day wore on, and every few miles the boat came to another lock where they would wait while it filled with water to match the level of the canal. Then they entered the lock, and the gates enclosed the boat in a damp, wooden receptacle. Right ahead, the water came sizzling and streaming down from above, and gradually the boat would rise again, finally coming to a respectable elevation. The gates swung open, Kelly hooked the mules back to the towrope, and they resumed their voyage.

Ahead was another lock, and Papa blew on his conch shell, letting the lock tender know he was coming. When they approached the lock, Kelly saw another boat ahead of them. They would have to wait their turn.

Suddenly, a third boat came alongside Papa’s. “Move outta my way!” the captain shouted. “I’m runnin’ behind schedule and should’ve had this load delivered by now.”

“I was here first,” Papa hollered in response. “You’ll have to wait your turn.”

“Oh, yeah? Who’s gonna make me?” The burly looking man with a long, full beard shook his fist at Papa.

Standing on the bank next to the mules, Kelly watched as Mama stepped up beside Papa. She touched his arm and leaned close to Papa’s ear. Kelly was sure Mama was trying to get Papa calmed down, like she always did whenever he got riled.

Kelly took a few steps closer to the canal and strained to hear what Mama was saying.

“Don’t tell me what to do, woman!” Papa yelled as he leaned over the side of his boat. The other craft was right alongside him, and the driver of the mules pulling that boat stood next to Kelly.

The young boy, not much more than twelve or thirteen years old, gave Kelly a wide grin. His teeth were yellow and stained. Probably from smoking or chewing tobacco, Kelly figured. “Looks like my pa is gonna beat the stuffin’s outa your old man,” he taunted.

Kelly glanced back at the two boat captains. They were face-to-face, each leaning as far over the rails as possible. She sent up a quick prayer.
Not this time, Lord. Please help Papa calm down.

“Move aside, or I’m comin’ over there to clean your clock,” the burly man bellowed.

“Amos, please!” Mama begged as she gripped Papa’s arm again. “Just let the man pass through the lock first. This ain’t worth gettin’ into a skirmish over.”

Papa shot the man a look of contempt and grabbed hold of the tiller in order to steer the boat. “I’ll let it go this time, but you’d better never try to ace me out again.”

Kelly breathed a sigh of relief as Papa steered the boat aside and the other vessel passed through the lock. She’d seen her hot-tempered father use his fists to settle many disagreements in the past. It was always humiliating, and what did it prove—that Papa was tougher, meaner, or more aggressive than someone else? As far as Kelly could tell, nothing good had ever come from any of Papa’s fistfights. He was a hotheaded Irishman who’d grown up on the water. His dad had been one of the men who’d helped dig the Lehigh Canal, and Papa had said many times that he’d seen or been part of a good many fights throughout his growing-up days. If only he would give his heart to Jesus and confess his sins, the way Kelly and Mama had done.