Then there was Betsy Nelson, daughter of the minister who lived in nearby Walnutport and regularly traveled along the canal in hopes of winning folks to the Lord. Betsy wasn’t beautiful, but she wasn’t as ugly as the muddy waters in Lehigh Canal, either. Of course, Mike wasn’t nearly as concerned about a woman’s looks as he was with her temperament. Betsy should have been sweet as apple pie, her being a pastor’s daughter and all, but she could cut a body right in two with that sharp tongue of hers. Why, he’d never forget the day Betsy raked old Ross Spivey up one side and down the other for spitting out a wad of tobacco in the middle of one of her daddy’s sermons. By the time she’d finished with Ross, the poor man was down on his knees, begging forgiveness for being so rude.
Mike grabbed a broom from the storage closet, shook his head, and muttered, “A fellow would have to be hard of hearing or just plain dumb-witted to put up with the likes of Miss Betsy Nelson. It’s no wonder she’s not married yet.”
He pushed the straw broom across the wooden floor, visualizing with each stroke a beautiful, sweet-spirited woman who’d be more than happy to become his wife. After a few seconds, Mike shook his head and murmured, “I’ll have to wait, that’s all. Wait and keep on praying.”
Mike quoted Genesis 2:18, a Bible verse that had become one of his favorites since he’d decided he wanted a wife: “‘And the Lord God said, It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him.’”
“I know the perfect woman is out there somewhere, Lord,” he whispered. “All I need is for You to send her my way, and I can take it from there.”
***
Kelly awoke feeling tired and out of sorts. She’d stayed up late the night before, working on another char-coal drawing of an ocean scene with lots of fishing boats on the water. Not that Kelly had ever seen the ocean. Her only experience with water involved the Lehigh, Morris, and Delaware rivers and canals. She’d only seen the ocean in her mind from stories she’d read in books or from the tales of those who had per-sonally been to the coast.
If she could ever figure out a way to earn enough money of her own, Kelly might like to take a trip to the shore. Maybe she would open an art gallery there, to show and sell some of her work. She had seen such a place in the town of Easton, although Papa would never let her go inside. Kelly wondered if her drawings were good enough to sell. If only she could afford to buy a store-bought tablet, along with some oil paints, watercolors, or sticks of charcoal. She was getting tired of making her own pieces of charcoal, using hunks left over in the cooking stove or from campfires along the canal. Kelly let the chunks cool and then whittled them down to the proper size. It wasn’t what she would have liked, but at least it al-lowed her to draw.
Kelly swung her legs over the edge of the bunk and stretched her aching limbs. If a young woman of seventeen could hurt this much from long hours of walking and caring for mules, she could only imagine how older folks must feel. Papa worked plenty hard steering the boat and helping load and unload the coal they hauled, which might account for his crabby attitude. Mama labored from sunup to sunset as well. Be-sides cooking and cleaning, she always had laundry and mending to do. At times, Mama even steered the boat while Papa rested or took care of chores only he could do. Kelly’s mother also helped by watching up ahead and letting Papa know where to direct the boat.
Stifling a yawn, Kelly reached for a plain brown skirt and white, long-sleeved blouse lying on a straight-backed chair near the bed. She glanced around the small cabin and studied her meager furnishings. The room wasn’t much bigger than a storage closet, and it was several steps below the main deck. Her only pieces of furniture were the bunk, a small desk, a chair, and the trunk she kept at the foot of her bed.
I wonder what it would be like to have a roomy bedroom in a real house,
Kelly mused. The canal boat had been her primary home as far back as she could remember. The only time they lived elsewhere was in the winter, when the canal was drained due to freezing temperatures and couldn’t be navigated. Then Kelly’s dad worked at one of the factories in Easton. Leaving the few pieces of furniture they owned on their boat, the McGregor family settled into Flannigan’s Boardinghouse until the spring thaw came and Papa could resume work on the canal. During the winter months, Kelly and her sister had gone to school when they were younger, but the rest of the year, Mama taught them reading and sums whenever they had a free moment.
Kelly’s nose twitched and her stomach rumbled as the distinctive aroma of cooked oatmeal and cinnamon wafted down the stairs, calling her to breakfast. A new day was about to begin, and she would need a hearty meal to help get started.
“We’ll be stoppin’ by Cooper’s General Store this afternoon ’cause we need some supplies,” Papa an-nounced when Kelly arrived at the breakfast table. He glanced over at Mama, then at Kelly, his green eyes looking ever so serious. “Don’t know when we’ll take time out for another supply stop, so if either of you needs anything, you’d better plan on gettin’ it today.” He slid his fingers across his auburn, handle-bar mustache.
“I could use a few more bars of that newfangled soap I bought last time we came through,” Mama spoke up. “It’s a wonder to me the way that stuff floats!”
Kelly smiled at her mother’s enthusiasm over something as simple as a bar of white soap that floated.
I guess things like that are important to a woman with a family. Mama doesn’t have much else to get excited about.
Kelly ate a spoonful of oatmeal as she studied her mother, a large-boned woman of Italian descent. She had dark brown hair like Kelly’s; only Mama didn’t wear hers hanging down. She pulled it up into a tight bun at the back of her head. Mama’s eyes, the color of chestnuts, were her best feature.
Mama could be real pretty if she was able to have nice, new clothes and keep herself fixed up. Instead, she’s growing old before her time—slavin’ over a hot stove and scrubbin’ clothes in canal water, with only a washboard and a bar of soap that bobs like a cork. Poor Mama!
Papa’s chair scraped across the wooden planks as he pulled his wiry frame away from the table. “It’s time to get rollin’.” He nodded toward Kelly. “Better get them mules ready, girl.”
Kelly finished the rest of her breakfast and jumped up. When Papa said it was time to roll, he meant busi-ness. For that matter, when Papa said anything at all, she knew she’d better listen.
***
At noon, the McGregors tied their boat to a tree not far from the town of Walnutport and stopped for lunch. Normally they would have eaten a quick bite, then started back up the canal, but today they were heading to Cooper’s General Store. After a bowl of vegetable soup and some of Mama’s sweet cornbread, they would shop for needed supplies and more food staples.
Kelly welcomed the stop not only because she was hungry, but also because Papa had promised to buy her a new pair of boots. She’d been wearing the same ones for more than a year, and they were much too tight. Besides, the laces were missing, and the soles were worn nearly clear through. Kelly had thought by the time she turned sixteen her feet would have quit growing. But here she was only ten months from her eighteenth birthday, and her long toes were still stretching the boots she wore. At this rate, she feared she’d be wearing a size 9 when her feet finally stopped growing.
Kelly ate hurriedly, anxious to head over to the general store. She hadn’t been inside Cooper’s in well over a year because she usually chose to wait outside while her folks did the shopping. Today, Kelly planned to check the mules and offer them a bit of feed, then hurry into the store. If she found new boots in short order, there might be enough time to sit on a log and draw awhile. She always found inter-esting things along the canal—other boats, people fishing, and plenty of waterfowl.
Too bad I can’t buy some oil paints or a set of watercolors,
Kelly thought as she hooked the mules to a post and began to check them for harness sores, fly bites, or hornet stings.
Guess I should be happy Papa has agreed to buy me new boots, but I’d sure like to have somethin’ just for fun once in a while.
Kelly scratched Hector behind his ear. “If I ever make any money of my own, I might just buy you a big, juicy apple.” She patted Herman’s neck. “You, too, old boy.”
***
Mike whistled a hymn as he dusted off the candy counter, always a favorite with the children who stopped by. He was running low on horehound drops but still had plenty of licorice, lemon drops, and taffy chews. He knew he’d have to order more of everything soon, since summer was not far off and a lot more little ones would be coming by in hopes of finding something to satisfy their sweet tooth.
Many boats were being pulled up the Lehigh Navigation System already, and it was still early spring. Mike figured by this time next month his store would have even more customers. Last winter, when he’d had plenty of time on his hands, Mike had decided to order some Bibles to either sell or give away. If someone showed an interest and didn’t have the money to buy one, he’d gladly offer it to them for free. Anything to see that folks learned about Jesus. Too many of the boatmen were uneducated in spiritual matters, and Mike wanted to do his part to teach them God’s ways.
Mike leaned on the glass counter and let his mind wander back to when he was a boy of ten and had first heard about the Lord. Grandma Cooper, a proper Englishwoman, had told him about Jesus. Mike’s family had lived with her and Grandpa for several years when Mike’s pa was helping out on the farm in upstate New York, where Mike had been born. Ellis Cooper had no mind to stay on the farm, though, and as soon as he had enough money, he moved his wife and three sons to Pennsylvania, where he’d opened the general store along the Lehigh Canal.
Mike’s father didn’t hold much to religious things. He used to say the Bible was a bunch of stories made up to help folks get through life with some measure of hope.
“There’s hope, all right,” Mike whispered as he brought his mind back to the present. “And thanks to Grandma’s teachings, I’d like to help prove that hope never has to die.”
When he heard a familiar creak, Mike glanced at the front door. Enough daydreaming and reflecting on the past. He had customers to satisfy.
As he moved toward the front of the store, Mike’s heart slammed into his chest. Coming through the doorway was the most beautiful young woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
Don’t reckon I’ve seen her before. She must be new ... just passing through. Maybe she’s a passenger on one of the packet boats that hauls tourists. Maybe...
Mike blinked a couple of times. He recognized the man and woman entering the store behind the young woman: Amos and Dorrie McGregor. It wasn’t until Amos called her by name that Mike realized the beauty was none other than the McGregors’ younger daughter, Kelly.
Mike shook his head. It couldn’t be. Kelly had pigtails, freckles, and was all arms and legs. This stun-ning creature had long brown hair that reached clear down to her waist, and from where he stood, not one freckle was visible on her lovely face. She looked his way, and he gasped at the intensity of her dark brown eyes.
A man could lose himself in those eyes. A man could—
“Howdy, Mike Cooper,” Amos said, extending his hand. “How’s business these days?”
Mike forced himself to breathe, and with even more resolve, he kept his focus on Amos and not the man’s appealing daughter.
“Business is fine, sir.” He shook the man’s hand. “How are you and the family doing?”
Amos shrugged. “Fair to middlin’. I’d be a sight better if I hadn’t hit one of the locks and put a hole in my boat the first week back to work.” He gave his handlebar mustache a tug. “In order to get my repairs done, I had to use most of what I made this winter workin’ at a shoe factory in Easton.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Mike said sincerely. He glanced back at Kelly, offering her what he hoped was a friendly smile. “Can this be the same Kelly McGregor who used to come runnin’ in here, begging her pa to buy a few lemon drops?”
Kelly’s face turned slightly pink as she nodded. “Guess I’ve grown a bit since you last saw me.”
“I’ll say!” Mike felt a trickle of sweat roll down his forehead, and he quickly pulled a handkerchief out of his pant’s pocket and wiped it away. Kelly McGregor was certainly no child. She was a desirable woman, even if she did have a few layers of dirt on her cotton skirt and wore a tattered straw hat and a pair of boots that looked like they were ready for burial.
Could she be the one I’ve been waiting for, Lord?
Mike cleared his throat. “So what can I help you good folks with today?”
Amos nudged his wife. “Now don’t be shy, Dorrie. Tell the man what you’re needin’. I’ll just poke around the store and see what I can find, while you and Kelly stock up on food items and the like.”
Kelly cast her father a pleading look. “I’m still gettin’ new boots, right, Papa?”
Her dad nodded. “Yeah, sure. See if Mike has somethin’ that’ll fit your big feet.”
Mike felt sorry for Kelly, whose face was now red as a tomato. She shifted from one foot to the other and never once did she look Mike in the eye.
“I got a new shipment of boots in not long ago,” he said quickly, hoping to help her feel a bit more at ease. “They’re right over there.” He pointed to a shelf across the room. “Would you like me to see if I have any your size?”
Dorrie McGregor spoke up for the first time. “Why don’t you help my husband find what he’s needin’? Me and Kelly can manage fine on our own.”
Mike shrugged. “Whatever you think best.” He offered Kelly the briefest of smiles and then headed across the room to help her pa.
***
Kelly didn’t know why, but she felt as jittery as one of the mules when they were being forced to walk through standing water. Was it her imagination, or was Mike Cooper staring at her? Ever since they’d entered the store, he’d seemed to be watching her, and now, while she stooped down on the floor trying on a pair of size 9 boots, the man was actually gawking.