Karl, stop your sniveling and hold fast to Will. Will, you’d best quit wiggling, else Marie is going to tumble.” Betsy Larkin hoisted little Greta higher onto her hip and held the reins in her other hand. All four of her younger siblings wouldn’t fit on their plow horse, so she held the youngest. The other three perched precariously atop the mare and hung on to one another.
“I wanna walk, Sis,” Karl whined again. “You’re walking.”
“Only because Jenny came up lame. I’d be riding, otherwise.” Betsy hitched Greta again and hoped her petticoat wasn’t peeping out from beneath her hem. “If I let you boys get down, you’ll be muddy as piglets by the time we get to church.”
“Little bitta mud never hurt a body,” Karl grumbled.
Betsy ignored his observation. She made it a point to try to enter God’s house in a good mood. Scolding her youngers could be the ruination of a glad heart, and she refused to let that happen. Mud sucked at her too-big boots, making each step an effort. She knew the bottom six inches of her dress were spattered beyond redemption, but there was no helping that. Cleanliness might well be next to godliness on most days, but after last night’s fierce gully washer, she knew a muddy worshipper would please God more than a vain slacker who didn’t make it to church.
They got to the hitching post just outside Hickory Corners Bible Church as the steeple bell pealed. “Here. I’ll take Greta,” her friend Elsa offered from the steps.
“Oh, thank you!” Betsy handed over her youngest sister and carefully pulled Marie from the nag. Once she did, both brothers flung themselves earthward. “Mind that mud puddle!”
“Aw, Sis!”
She quickly set Marie on the church steps beside Elsa and tied the mare to the hitching post. A bit of grit speckled her chapped hands, so Betsy conscientiously wiped her palms off on her skirt. Satisfied she’d gotten them fairly clean, she took a pair of mended cotton gloves she’d tucked into her sash and pulled them on.
“My, you and Shane are aglow with happiness. Marriage agrees with both of you,” Betsy said as she smiled at Elsa and her handsome bridegroom. It was their first Sunday back after their extended honeymoon, and Elsa wore the pale-blue wedding gown the sewing circle had helped her make.
Shane gave Elsa an affectionate squeeze. “Someday, you’ll make a man as happy as my Elsa has made me.”
Betsy manufactured a smile for him and didn’t bother to correct his misconception. She knew better. Because of her family obligations, she was destined for spinsterhood. Men disappeared quickly once they realized her brothers and sisters claimed her time and devotion. One beau actually pretended he’d be happy to farm alongside Pa in the fields, but as soon as he learned the farm was to go to her brothers—not her husband—that one hiked on down the road. Before he left, he listed her liabilities and made her painfully aware there’d be no husband in her future.
Betsy herded her flock on into the chapel and toward the second to the last pew on the left. Once they were seated, she pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, surreptitiously moistened it a bit with her tongue, and tried to rub a trace of dirt from behind Will’s ear. He jerked away. She gave him a stern look, and he made a face as she diligently rid him of the flaw. After gently tucking one of Greta’s little blond curls behind her ear, Betsy settled in. She was ready to worship.
Tyson Walker followed the tiny woman into the church. He stood in the back and watched her fuss like a hen over her brood. Her moves were quick, economical, and gentle. A wide-brimmed, flower-bedecked straw hat that had seen better days hid the color of her hair and eyes. Oddly enough, that piqued his curiosity. He waited until everyone took a place in the polished oak pews and looked for an empty spot.
“Howdy!” An old man in a black suit hobbled up. His sparse gray hair looked freshly slicked down. “Josiah Gardner. Folks call me Doc.”
Ty accepted his gnarled hand and shook it carefully. His own hands were suited to holding a hammer, and he conscientiously monitored his strength so his grip stayed gentle enough to keep from harming the bony palm, yet firm enough to preserve Doc’s dignity. “Tyson Walker. I just bought the smithy.”
Doc let out a rusty laugh. “Glad to have you here in God’s house and over at the smithy. You’ll have plenty of work to keep you out of trouble.”
“I was hoping that would be the case.” He smiled. “I’d be honored to be your friend, but I hope I don’t need your services.”
The old gent chuckled. “Just as well that you’re healthy. I’m getting too old to make nighttime house calls.”
Ty didn’t want to make the old man feel self-conscious about his frailty, so he diplomatically changed the subject. “Looks like you have a full house this morning.”
“Now that’s a fact. We’re near to busting out the seams here.” Doc looked around and nodded toward the woman Ty had been watching. “Yonder is a seat. You can sit with Miz Betsy and her little brood. Mr. Larkin doesn’t come, so you’ll have plenty of room.”
“Thank you.” Ty walked over and slipped into the pew. Miz Betsy turned and tilted her head back a bit to face him. He’d expected a weathered, slightly careworn housewife. Instead, compassionate, big brown eyes glanced back at him. A generous set of freckles sprinkled across her nose. She was young! How young, he couldn’t quite say. Her mouth seemed a tad big for a tiny woman, but when a hesitant smile lifted her lips, she radiated kindness. One thing for sure—a pretty face like hers could steal a man’s breath away. Even in the dim interior of the clapboard church, she glowed. Ty scarcely remembered his manners enough to nod a silent greeting to her.
Her smile widened. As soon as she’d paid him that polite attention, she scooted a bit to the side and rested her hand on the older boy’s leg to stop him from swinging it. “Sit still,” she whispered.
As the service went on, Ty watched her manage her brood. The youngest two kids were too short to get back up on the pew after they stood for singing. She lifted them back into place, seated herself, and tucked her skirt a mite closer to her sides without any fuss or nonsense. When the older girl got restless, Miz Betsy deftly folded her handkerchief diagonally, rolled the sides inward, and then flipped back the tip-tops to form a hammock with “babies” for her to use as quiet entertainment. The youngest fell asleep during the sermon, so Miz Betsy cradled her in her lap. No matter what attention her children required, she paid it; but he watched her from the corner of his eye, and Ty felt certain she’d not missed a single word the preacher said.
He thoroughly enjoyed the sermon, but he also fought a strong streak of curiosity that never managed to thin, no matter how hard he tried to tame it. Miz Betsy surely couldn’t have borne these children. Simply put, she was far too young to claim them as her own. Had she married their father and taken them as part of the package? She certainly disciplined them with ease. The older of the little girls favored Miz Betsy as far as her wide, brown eyes and delicately rounded chin went. Could they be sisters? Ty wanted to know if Miz Betsy Larkin was already bound in matrimony or if she might be free for a bit of courting.
He wasn’t a man to act hastily. The fact that he’d set to wondering about courting her this early on was completely out of character. Mere looks didn’t hold his attention—though hers, alone, were sufficient to captivate any man in five counties. She seemed tenderhearted with the wee ones, yet she kept complete control of them. A woman with a level head, soft heart, and hardworking hands was a prize well worth pursuing.
Ty didn’t understand how other men said God spoke to them directly and told them to do something. It never happened to him. Still, he’d been praying about his future. The smithy just happened to be listed for sale in a gazette he read, and the price suited his budget. He’d saved up every last little coin he could for years until this opportunity came up and felt maybe the hand of God swept him here. A man couldn’t hope to meet a woman at a better place than church—though that wasn’t why he’d come to worship. If the Lord had set him in this town, could it be He also set him on this pew, next to this woman, for a reason?