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fingerprint smudges, a vision of Kelly came to mind. With her long, dark hair hanging freely down her back, and those huge brown eyes reminding him of a baby deer, she was sure easy to look at. Nothing like Betsy Nelson, the preacher’s daughter, who had a birdlike nose, squinty gray blue eyes, and a prim-and-proper bun for her dingy blond hair.
    Kelly’s personality seemed different, too. She wasn’t pushy and opinionated, the way Betsy was. Kelly, though a bit shy, seemed to have a zest for life that showed itself in her drawings. She was a hard worker, too—trudging up and down the towpath six days a week, from sunup to sunset. Mike was well aware of the way the canal boatmen pushed to get their loads picked up and delivered. The responsibility put upon the mule drivers was heavy, yet it was often delegated to women and children.
    I wonder if Amos McGregor appreciates his daughter and pays her well enough. Mike doubted it, seeing the way the man barked orders at Kelly. And why, if she was paid a decent wage, would Kelly be using crude sticks of charcoal instead of store-bought paints or pencils, not to mention her homemade tablet?
    Mike’s thoughts were halted when the front door of his store opened and banged shut.
    “Good morning, Mike Cooper,” Preacher Nelson said as he sauntered into the room.
    “Mornin’,” Mike answered with a smile and a nod.
    “How’s business?”
    “Been kind of busy the last couple of days. Now that the weather’s warmed and the canal is full of water again, the boatmen are back in full swing.”
    The preacher raked his long fingers through the ends of his curly, dark hair. His gray blue eyes were small and beady, like his daughter’s. “You still keeping the same hours?” the man questioned.
    Mike nodded. “Yep ... Monday to Saturday, nine o’clock in the morning till six at night.”
    Hiram Nelson smiled, revealing a prominent dimple in his clean-shaven chin. “Sure glad to hear you’re still closing the store on Sundays.”
    Mike moved over to the wooden counter where he waited on customers. “Sunday’s a day of rest.”
    “That’s how God wants it, but there’s sure a lot of folks who think otherwise.”
    Not knowing what else to say, Mike merely shrugged. “Anything I can help you with, Reverend Nelson?”
    The older man leaned on the edge of the counter. “Actually, there is.”
    “What are you in need of?”
    “You.”
    “Me?”
    The preacher’s head bobbed up and down. “This Friday’s my daughter’s twenty-sixth birthday, and I thought it would be nice for Betsy if someone her age joined us for supper.” He chuckled. “She sees enough of her old papa, and since her mama died a few years ago, Betsy’s been kind of lonely.”
    Mike was tempted to remind the preacher that his daughter was two years older than he but decided not to mention their age difference—or the fact that most women Betsy’s age were already married and raising a family. “Isn’t there someone from your church you could invite?” he asked.
    Pastor Nelson’s face turned slightly red. “It’s you Betsy thought of when she said she’d like to have a guest on her birthday.” He tapped the edge of the counter.
    Mike wasn’t sure how to respond. Was it possible that Betsy Nelson was romantically interested in him? If so, he had to figure out a way to discourage her.
    “So, what do you say, son? Will you come to supper on Friday evening?”
    Remembering that the Nelsons’ home was next to the church and several miles away, Mike knew he would have to close the store early in order to make it in time for supper. This would be the excuse he needed to decline the invitation. Besides, what if the McGregors came by while he was gone? He didn’t want to miss an opportunity to see Kelly again.
    “I–I’m afraid I can’t make it,” Mike said.
    The preacher pursed his lips. “Why not? You got other plans?”
    Mike shook his head. “Not exactly, but I’d have to close the store