by Linda Ford
* * *
Several days later he got off the tractor and stood proudly looking out at the last field. He’d worked the entire hundred acres. Now he could seed the crop.
Kate joined him. He didn’t have to turn to know what her expression would be. He’d watched her day by day. Knew the sight of her in overalls so baggy she got lost in them. He’d chuckled at the way she wrinkled her nose as she mucked out the barn. He knew the look of her in her faded blue housedress, her arms browning from exposure to the sun, humming as she fed the chickens. And in her going-to-town outfit, a smart brown dress with a white collar. He’d learned her various expressions. The strained look around her eyes, her mouth set tight as she hurried to complete a task. Her maternal smile as she greeted the children returning from school. Fact is, he caught himself watching her more than he should, felt things budding in his heart he’d denied for years and must continue to close his heart to.
Yet for a moment, standing side by side, he allowed himself to share her enjoyment. He knew she’d be smiling with a touch of justifiable pride. She loved the land.
“It looks good,” she said.
He heard the smile in her voice. Felt an answering smile in his heart and tucked it away into secrecy. “It does.”
“Smells even better.”
“Yup.” But it wasn’t the freshly turned sod he smelled, it was the warm faintly lilac scent of her. He wondered if she bathed in lilac-scented water or absorbed the sweet aroma from the bouquet of lilacs her friend, Sally, had given her and which now sat in the center of the white kitchen table.
“I can hardly wait to see the green shoots poking through the ground.”
“I’ll start seeding tomorrow.” He headed back to the tractor.
“I think I’ll make something special to celebrate.” She laughed and ran toward the house.
Only then did he allow himself to watch her. Graceful, full of life and love. That Doyle was one fortunate fellow. Only she said she hadn’t promised to marry him. For some reason, the thought brought a wide smile to his mouth.
* * *
The next morning, he headed over for breakfast. The woman was a fine cook. He had started to put on a little weight. And the rhubarb pie she’d made last night had been mighty fine. He wondered if there might be more of it left for breakfast.
He hadn’t gone more than thirty feet when he heard cows bellowing, then a thin scream. Mary. And then Kate yelling. He couldn’t make out the words but her panic rang clearly across the distance. Hatcher broke into a dead run. Soon he could make out her words. “Dougie, don’t go that way. It’s too far.”
Hatcher didn’t slow for the fence, cleared it without breaking stride and skidded around the corner of the barn. In a glance he saw it all—Dougie between a cow and her calf, the cow not liking it. Only the other cows milling around kept her from attacking him. The animals were restless, agitated. Something had spooked them.
Kate stood in the pen, trying to edge toward her son but the cows would have none of it.
Mary, crying, peered through the fence at her mother and brother.
Hatcher leaped over the fence and roared at the animals. He pushed his way through the melee, scooped up Dougie and spun away, letting the cow charge through to her calf. He jogged across the pen and dropped the boy to his feet across the fence then reached out, grabbed the woman by the arm and pulled her after him out of the pen. Mary clung to the rails, her eyes wide.
Kate hugged Dougie and scolded him at the same time. Her eyes glistened as she turned to Hatcher. “Thank you.”
He touched his hat. “Ma’am.”
She stood up tall, her son pressed to her side. “You’ve just rescued both me and my son. Don’t you think it’s time you called me something besides ma’am? Like my name.”
In his mind he’d been calling her Kate for days but to say the word out loud threatened his peace of mind in a way he didn’t want to think about, so rather than answer her question, he shifted backward to lean against the fence, realizing he still breathed hard from his little adventure. As much from the scare it gave him to see Kate and her boy in the midst of the snorting animals as from the physical effort of racing across the grass. He didn’t want to analyze why his heart kicked into a gallop at the idea of either of them being hurt. He would hate to see anyone hurt, he reasoned, but it felt more like a mortal blow than normal concern for another human being. “Heard you folks as I left the shack. Ran all the way over.”
“I’m very glad you did. But you’re not changing the subject. I’m tired of being called ma’am.” Her hard stare said she wouldn’t be letting the subject go.
“Nothing against your name, ma’am.”
She narrowed her eyes and edged forward until they were inches apart. The least movement would send some part of his anatomy into contact with her. Sweat beaded on his skin at the thought. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her demanding brown eyes.
“Not ma’am,” she insisted. “My name is Kate.”
“Know that already.” Saying it would put him on the wrong side of a mental line—one he’d drawn for himself. A way to avoid getting close to people. Letting them get close to him. But she was a stubborn lady. He understood she wasn’t prepared to let it go this time.
“Kate,” she said.
He nodded, swallowed hard. “Kate.” It sounded strangled and felt both foreign and sweet on his tongue.
She grinned. “Didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”
Before he could say anything, not that he intended to, she turned to Dougie. “Now what happened?”
The boy had tried several times to break away from his mother’s grasp but she wasn’t letting him escape so easily. He refused to look at her. She squatted down until she was eye level with him and caught his chin, turning him to face her. “What happened? Something must have scared the animals. What was it?”
Dougie sent Hatcher a desperate help-me look but Hatcher couldn’t help him. Whatever the boy had done caused a small stampede. Someone could have been badly hurt. His limbs turned watery at the idea.
“I didn’t mean to, Momma,” he whispered.
“What did you do?”
“I blew my whistle.”
Kate shot Hatcher a surprised look then turned back to her son. “Why would that bother them? You two have been blowing those whistles nonstop for days.”
Dougie studied his boots. “I snuck up behind them. Wanted to see if I could scare them.”
Kate rubbed at a spot below her ear. “Well, you certainly did. And almost got trampled doing it. Dougie, I don’t know what to do with you. Can’t you see those cows are way bigger than you? Don’t you understand how you could be hurt?” Kate stood and reached for the fence.
As the color drained from her face, Hatcher tensed, ready to catch her if she fainted. But although her knees bent for a second, she took a deep, noisy breath and stayed on her feet.
“Momma?” Mary slid closer, watching her mother anxiously.
“Ma’am?”
She shot him a warning look.
He relaxed. She wasn’t too weak to object to the way he addressed her.
She held up one hand. “I’m fine.”
Dougie began to slink away.
“Oh no you don’t, young man,” Kate warned. “I’m not done with you.”
Dougie halted.
His mother studied him. “What am I going to do with you? You take far too many chances. One of these days you’ll get hurt.”
Hatcher watched and waited, wondering what she would do. The boy needed to understand the seriousness of his actions. He also needed to be shown a few things about being in a pen with cows and calves.
“Couple of pens in the barn need cleaning,” he murmured, directing his words nowhere in particular.
No one responded.
“Not a big job. Rea
lly doesn’t need a grown-up’s time.”
Kate looked at him a full thirty seconds then grinned. “Noticed that myself.” She faced her son. “Dougie, after school you can clean out those pens. And while you’re doing it, I want you to think about how foolish it is to tease the cows.”
“Yes, Momma. Can I go now?”
Before Kate could answer, Hatcher clamped his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “How be if I show you a few things every man has to learn about cows?”
Dougie preened at the idea of being considered a man.
“If your mother has no objections.” Hatcher waited for Kate’s nod.
He led the boy to the fence, waited for Dougie to climb the rails so they could lean side by side over the top one. “First, never get between a cow and her calf, especially if the animals are upset. Use your eyes and know where each animal is. It’s a good idea to keep close to a fence. That way you can escape quickly if you have to. Now these animals are tame as pets but when they’re frightened they’re wild animals. Keep that in mind.” He jumped over the fence into the pen of cows that had now settled down. They ignored his presence. He indicated Dougie should join him and step-by-step showed him how to handle cows. Where to touch them to get them to move without panic, how to turn them without shouting, and mostly how to remain calm yet alert.
“Think you can remember all that?” he asked the boy.
“I’ll try,” Dougie said.
Suddenly, Hatcher realized Kate remained at the fence, watching him, listening to every word. Of course she would. Just being protective of her son. As Dougie ran to his mother, Hatcher backstepped past the cows, aiming for the barn.
“Thank you, Mr. Jones,” she called.
“Name’s Hatcher,” he murmured, without looking at her.
“Thank you, Hatcher.”
Her gentle voice wrapped itself around his resolve, threatened it in a dozen places at the same time. Made him forget. Made him want. Made him regret.
“Breakfast will be ready shortly.”
Not until she turned away, the children at her side, heading toward the house did Hatcher realize he stood stock-still in the middle of the pen, his boots planted in a fresh, odorous cow pie.
He hurried out of the enclosure and scrubbed his boots on the grass. Something about Kate Bradshaw upset his equilibrium, his self-imposed indifference. Maybe it was her stubbornness. Her bravery at hanging on to the farm. Her protectiveness of her children. Didn’t matter the whys. All that mattered was his handling of it. Best to keep his distance from the woman until the crop was in and then move on as fast and as far as he could.
Before the morning was half-spent, he realized his plan was doomed.
Kate wanted the wheat seeded first.
That made sense.
She wanted to show him where she’d stored the seed wheat.
Like he couldn’t find it on his own.
She insisted on leading him to the seed instead of telling him. And she talked. Something inside her must have snapped for her tongue seemed to flap on both ends.
No way could Hatcher lose himself in his own thoughts. Not with Kate talking a mile a minute. And demanding his reply.
He headed for the drill to get it ready to go to work.
“I remember the first time I saw this farm,” she said, skipping along at his side.
At least that didn’t require a response. If the drill didn’t require too much work, he would be out seeding before noon. Enjoying peace and quiet.
“I was sixteen years old. Jeremiah needed someone to do some housework and cook his dinner. At first, I seldom saw Jeremiah. And the work wasn’t too hard so I had time to explore. I couldn’t believe one man owned all this. Course I knew about big farms. Father had worked on a few, but this was different.”
He expected she would tell him how this land was different without him asking and he opened the drill boxes. Someone had neglected to clean them properly. He dug out the sprouted seeds and tossed them on the ground.
Kate reached in and helped.
It amazed him she could work and talk so fast at the same time. He began to wonder how much coffee she’d had for breakfast. She’d only offered him one cup.
“Jeremiah said I was welcome to do whatever I wanted. Go where I wanted. And I did. My favorite spot was the barn loft.” She paused long enough to take a breath and glance at the barn.
Long enough for his unguarded thoughts to rush back to a familiar loft where he and Lowell had spent so many hours. He mentally squeezed the memory away.
“I could sit in the open door and see for miles,” she continued. “I dreamed about someday having a house like Jeremiah’s. Owning my own land. My father never owned a thing except the clothes on his back.” She chuckled. “And the tarpaulin that was supposed to keep us warm and dry when we were on the road.”
Long-denied memories of Lowell and the home they’d shared burst full bloom into his head.
Hatcher grabbed a wrench and checked each bolt, tightened the loose ones.
Speaking of loose—Kate’s tongue continued to flap nonstop.
“I knew it wouldn’t last. None of my dreams would come true but you know what happened?”
He locked his mind tightly to dreaming of possible answers. “Nope.” He walked around the machine, Kate tripping on his heels.
“As always Father decided to move on. I cried when he told me. I was sick and tired of moving. I dreaded telling Jeremiah. When I did, you know what he said?”
“Nope.” Some grease here and there and the drill would be ready.
“He offered to marry me.”
She left a space between her words. Looked at him to fill it.
“Huh.” Best he could do. After all what does a man say about such a thing?
“I wasn’t sure at first. You see Jeremiah was fifteen years older than me. He’d been married once a long time before. She’d died of influenza after they’d been married only three months. Isn’t that sad?”
“Uh-huh. I’m going to get the tractor now and hook on.” He strode away.
She stayed at the drill.
He breathed in the quiet. Even the roar of the tractor had its own peace. A peace that lasted until he’d pulled the drill over to the granary of seed wheat.
Kate followed him and helped fill buckets with wheat. She picked up her story just like she’d only taken a breath, not waited half an hour between one sentence and the next. “I’d never thought of marrying Jeremiah. He was kind and gentle and I really liked him but with him being so much older...well, you understand what I mean, don’t you?”
He didn’t have the least idea, marriage being an unfamiliar notion for him. Though he supposed being married to a woman like Kate might be kind of pleasant. He blinked at the waywardness of his thoughts and again slammed a door in his mind. “Uh-huh,” he muttered, when he realized she waited for him to answer. One safe way to keep his thoughts where they belonged—focus them on something safe. He mentally calculated how many bushels were in the granary and figured out how much he could seed per acre. “You want to use up all this seed?”
“It’s enough, isn’t it?”
“Looks about right.”
“Jeremiah said I’d never have to move again if I married him. I know that’s not reason enough to marry a man but after I thought about it awhile and prayed about it, I knew I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay with Jeremiah and take care of him. Does that sound foolish to you?”
“Uh-uh.” People got married for less reason than that.
“It was the best decision of my life. We had a good few years together before he died.”
He handed her the empty buckets. “What happened?” As soon as he spoke he wished he could pull back the words and stuff them into the pail with the grain. He already knew more about this woman than was good for him—the sound o
f her laugh, the shape of her smile, the color of her eyes when she laughed—
“To Jeremiah?”
“Uh-huh.”
“He got a chill that last winter. Couldn’t shake it. Eventually it turned into pneumonia. He died in May after struggling for months.”
“Sorry.” And that left her to cope on her own. She was rail thin, proof of how hard she worked to keep the farm. Once she married the lawyer fella she wouldn’t have to work so hard. The idea should have felt better than it did.
“So here I am. Twenty-eight years old with two children to raise but with a house and farm that belong to me.” Her voice filled with pride. Or was it determination? Probably both.
They again exchanged buckets. She held the handle of one, waited until he glanced at her to see what was wrong.
“How do you do it?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “What?”
“How can you wander around without a place to call home?”
He took a full bucket from her. He would prefer to ignore her question but he felt her waiting. Knew she would prod and poke until he answered. Maybe build her own reasons and then, no doubt, want to discuss them in detail right down to the dot at the end of her sentence. “Home is where the heart is.” That would surely sound philosophical enough to stop any more questions.
“You’re saying you need nothing but what you carry on your back to be happy?”
Sounded about right to him so long as he didn’t let any more wayward thoughts escape. “Uh-huh.”
“How can you be content like that? Never knowing where your next meal is coming from, where you’re going to sleep. Having to endure cold, wet, unkindness from people. I just don’t understand it. Never have.”
They stared at each other. Her brown eyes flooded with distress, her lips tightened with worry.
He practically fell backward as her concern shredded his indifference. He had to do something to bring back her joy. “I am not alone. I am not afraid because I know God is with me. That’s all I need.” He suddenly felt the need to protect himself with words. “Psalms one hundred thirty-nine, verse seven says, ‘Wither shall I go from thy spirit? or wither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven thou art there: if I make my bed in hell behold thou art there. If I take the wings of the—’”
