Kelly's Chance (12 page)

She shrugged and switched her focus to the bowl of stew in front of her. “He was showin’ me something he made and plans to sell in his store.”

“What did he make?” Mama questioned.

Kelly had hoped neither of her parents would question her further. She didn’t want them to know she’d given Mike some of her drawings and paintings to sell in his store. And she sure wasn’t about to tell them the storekeeper had been the only person to buy any of her work.

“It was a picture frame,” she said, her mind searching for anything she could say to change the subject. She took a bite of stew and smacked her lips. “This is delicious, Mama. Good as always.”

Her mother smiled from ear to ear. She was a good cook; there was no denying it. Mama could take a few vegetables and a slab of dried meat and turn it into a nutritious, tasty meal.

“I don’t want that storekeeper hangin’ around you, Kelly. Is that understood?”

At the sound of her dad’s threatening voice, Kelly dropped the spoon, and it landed in her bowl, splashing stew broth all over the oilcloth table covering.

“You don’t have to shout, Amos,” Mama said in her usual soft-spoken tone.

“I’ll shout whenever I feel like it,” he shot back, giving Kelly’s mother a mind-your-own-business look.

Mama quickly lowered her gaze, but Kelly, feeling braver than usual, spoke her mind. “Mike and I are just friends. I don’t see what harm there is in us havin’ a conversation once in a while.”

“Humph!” Papa sputtered. “From what I could see, the two of you was havin’ more than a little talk.”

So he had seen Mike take her hand. Kelly trembled, but she couldn’t let her father know how flustered she felt. She was glad Mama hadn’t said anything about her and Mike going on a picnic together, for that would surely get Papa riled.

Mama touched Kelly’s arm. “I think your dad is concerned that you’ll run off with some man, the way Sarah did.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” Kelly was quick to say. “I don’t plan on ever gettin’ married.”
Besides, Mike Cooper’s not interested in me. It’s Betsy Nelson he’s set his cap for.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Papa tapped his knife along the edge of the table. “Just so you know, if I catch that storekeeper with his hands on you again, I’ll knock his block off. Is that clear enough?”

Kelly nodded, as her eyes filled with tears. She might be mad as all get-out at Mike, but she couldn’t stand to think of him getting beat up by her dad. She would have to make sure Mike never touched her when Papa was around. Not that she wanted him to, of course.

She reached into her pocket for a hanky and found the slip of paper Betsy Nelson had given her instead. Holding it in her lap, so Papa couldn’t see it, Kelly silently read the verse of Scripture:
“Jesus said, ‘If ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you’” Matthew 6:14.

Kelly swallowed hard. She knew she needed to forgive Papa for the way he acted toward her. It sure wouldn’t be easy, though.

***

On Thursday morning, a sack of mail was delivered to Mike’s store, brought in by one of the canal boats. This was a weekly occurrence, as Mike’s place of business also served as the area’s post office.

While sorting through the pile of letters and packages, Mike discovered one addressed to him. He recognized his brother Alvin’s handwriting and quickly tore open the envelope.

Mike hadn’t heard from either Alvin or John in several months, so he was anxious to see what the letter had to say:

Dear Mike,

John and me are both fine, and our fishing business is doing right well. I wanted to let you know that I’ve found myself a girlfriend, and we plan to be married in
December, when we’ll be done fishing for the season.

Hope things are good for you there at the store.

Your brother,
Alvin

Mike was happy for his brother, but he couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy. He wanted so much to have a wife and children, and he wasn’t any closer to it now than he had been several weeks before, when he’d prayed earnestly for God to send him a wife. He was still hoping Kelly McGregor might be that woman, but so far, she’d given him no indication that she was interested in anything beyond friendship. At least he knew she had a personal relationship with Christ, even though she had been in a hurry when he’d asked her so they couldn’t really discuss it.

Mike turned and glanced at the wall directly behind the counter. He’d framed all of Kelly’s pictures and hung them there. One had sold yesterday, and the man who’d bought it seemed interested in the others. No doubt Kelly had talent, but she was also young and probably insecure when it came to men. Maybe she didn’t know how to show her feelings. Maybe she was afraid. Mike had noticed how Amos McGregor often yelled at Kelly and his wife. Kelly might think all men were like her dad.

“I’ll go slow with Kelly and win her heart over time,” Mike murmured as he continued to study her artwork. “And while I’m waiting, I’ll try even harder to get some of these pictures sold.”

***

Papa had kept true to his word and taken it slow and easy on the trip to Mauch Chunk. On a normal run, they would have been there by Wednesday night. Instead, they’d spent Wednesday night outside the small town of Parryville.

They arrived in Mauch Chunk on Thursday afternoon, with Herman doing well and his leg in good shape. Then they loaded the boat with coal from the loading chutes, which descended 250 feet to the river. They spent the night in Mauch Chunk, surrounded by hills that were covered with birch, maple, oak, and wild locust trees.

The next morning, they were heading back toward Easton to deliver their load. They’d be passing Mike’s store either that evening or the next morning, depending on how hard Papa pushed. Since Herman was doing well, Kelly suspected they would move faster than they had on Wednesday and Thursday.

“Probably won’t be stopping at Mike’s store this time,” Kelly mumbled. “Sure wish we were, though. I need to talk to him about the picture he gave Betsy Nelson.”

As the wind whipped against her long skirt, Kelly glanced up at the darkening sky. They were in for a storm, sure as anything. She hoped it would hold off until they stopped for the night. She hated walking the towpath during a rainstorm.

Hector’s ears twitched, as though he sensed the impending danger a torrential downpour could cause—fallen trees, a muddy towpath, rising canal waters. And there was always the threat of being hit by lightning, especially with so many trees lining the path. A few years back, a young boy leading his dad’s mules had been struck by a bolt of lightning and was killed instantly.

Kelly shivered. Just thinking about what was to come made her feel jumpy as a frog. The mules would be harder to handle once the rain started because they had no depth perception and hated walking through water, even small puddles. If they came to a stretch of puddles, they would tromp clear around them. There was no fear of the mules jumping into the canal to get cooled off on a hot day the way a horse would have done. Kelly’s mules liked water for drinking, but that was all.

Forcing her mind off the impending storm, Kelly thought about how glad she was that Papa had chosen mules, not horses, to pull his boats. It was a proven fact that mules, with their brute strength and surefooted agility, were much less skittish and far more reliable than any horse could be. If horses weren’t stopped in time, they would keep on pulling until they fell over dead. Mules, if they were overly tired or had fallen sick, would stop in the middle of the path and refuse to budge. A mule ate one-third less food than a horse did as well, making the beast of burden far more economical.

By noon, rain began falling. First it arrived in tiny droplets, splattering the end of Kelly’s nose. Then the lightning and thunder came, bringing a chilling downpour.

Kelly cupped her hands around her mouth and leaned into the wind. “Are we gonna stop soon?” she hollered to Papa, who stood at the stern of the boat, already dripping wet. He was just getting over a bad cold and shouldn’t be out in this weather.

“Keep movin’!” Papa shouted back to her. “We won’t stop unless it gets worse.”

Worse? Kelly didn’t see how it could get much worse. Thunder rumbled across the sky, and black clouds hung so low she felt as if she could touch them. “I–I’m cold and wet,” she yelled, wondering if he could hear her. The wind was howling fiercely, and she could barely hear herself. Then Kelly’s straw hat flew off her head, causing long strands of hair to blow across her face. She ran up ahead, retrieved the hat, and pushed it down on her head, hoping it would stay in place.

Papa leaned over the edge of the boat and tossed a jacket over the side. Kelly lunged forward and barely caught it in time. If it had fallen into the canal, it would have been lost forever, as the murky brown water was swirling and gurgling something awful.

Kelly slipped her arms into the oversized wool jacket and buttoned it up to her neck. It helped some to keep out the wind, but she knew it was only a matter of time until the rain leaked through and soaked her clean to the skin.

On and on Kelly and the mules trudged, through the driving rain, pushing against the wind, tromping in and out of mud puddles, murk, and mire. Several times, the mules balked and refused to move forward. Kelly coaxed, pushed, pleaded, and pulled until she finally got them moving again.

By the time Papa signaled her to stop, Kelly felt like a limp dishrag. She glanced around and realized they were directly in front of Mike’s store. Lifting her gaze to the thunderous sky, Kelly prayed, “Thank You, God, for keepin’ us safe and for givin’ Papa the good sense to stop.”

“We’re stayin’ here for the night,” Papa shouted. “Help me get the mules on board the boat.”

“Can’t they bed down in Mike Cooper’s barn tonight?” Kelly asked. “I could care for ’em better there.”

“Guess it wouldn’t hurt for one night,” Papa surprised her by saying.

***

Mike was about to close up his store, figuring no one in their right mind would be out in this terrible weather, when the door flew open, and Kelly practically fell into the room. She looked like a drowned rat. Her hair, wet and tangled, hung in her face. Her clothes were soaked with rainwater, and her boots were covered in mud. Her straw hat, pushed far over her forehead, resembled a hunk of soggy cardboard.

Mike grabbed hold of Kelly as a gust of wind pushed her forward. The door slammed shut with so much force that the broom, lying against one wall, toppled over, while several pieces of paper blew off the counter and sailed to the floor.

“Kelly, what are you doing here?” he questioned.

“We’ve stopped for the day because of the storm.” She leaned into him, and he had the sudden desire to kiss her. Why was it that every time they were together anymore, Mike wanted to find out what her lips would feel like against his own?

He drew in a deep breath and gently stroked her back. “Are you okay? You look miserable.”

She pulled away. “I’m fine, but we were wonderin’ if we could stable the mules in your barn tonight.”

He nodded. “Of course. I’ll put on my jacket and help you get them settled in.”

“I can manage,” she said in a brisk tone of voice. She’d been so friendly a few minutes ago. What had happened to make her change?

Mike studied Kelly’s face. It was pinched, and tears streamed down her face. At least he thought they were tears. They might have been raindrops.

“Kelly, what’s wrong?” Mike touched her arm, and she recoiled as if some pesky insect had bitten her.

As she moved toward the door, her gaze swung to the pictures on the wall.

“How do you like the way I’ve got your artwork displayed?” he questioned.

She squinted her eyes at him. “How could you, Mike?”

“How could I what?”

“Buy my drawing and give it to Betsy Nelson for her birthday?”

“Her dad invited me to their house for supper to help her celebrate. I wanted to take something, and I thought Betsy would like one of your wonderful charcoal drawings.”

She continued to stare at him, and Mike felt his face heat up. Why was she looking at him as though he’d done something wrong? He’d paid her for the picture; same as if someone else had bought it.

“And the other drawing?”

“Huh?”

“You gave me money for two drawings and said you’d sold them both.”

The heat Mike felt on his face had now spread to his ears. “I ... that is ... I bought both of the pictures,” he admitted. “One for Betsy’s birthday and the other to hang in my living room.”

She shook her head slowly. “I figured as much.”

“How did you find out about the picture I gave the preacher’s daughter?”

“Reverend Nelson told me when I ran into him and Betsy on the towpath the other day.” Kelly bit down on her lower lip, like she might be about to cry. “Why’d ya lead me to believe you’d sold my pictures, Mike?”

“I did sell them,” he defended. “I don’t see what difference it makes who bought them.”

“It makes a lot of difference,” Kelly shouted before she turned toward the front door. “I may be poor but I don’t need charity from you or anyone else!”

He couldn’t let her leave like this. Not without making her understand he wasn’t trying to hurt her. Mike grabbed Kelly’s arm and turned her around. “Please forgive me. I never meant to upset you, and I really did want those drawings.” He pointed to the wall where her other paintings hung. “I sold one of your watercolors this morning to a man who lives in Walnutport.”

She squinted her dark eyes at him. “Really?”

“Yes. He was impressed with your work and said he may be back to buy more.”

Kelly’s eyes were swimming with tears. “I—I can’t believe it.”

“It’s true. Mr. Porter knows talent when he sees it, and so do I.” Mike reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Am I forgiven for misleading you?”

She hesitated a moment, then her lips curved up. “Yes.”