by Linda Ford
“Hatcher, what really happened?”
He took the plate of food from her hand and ate it hurriedly without answering. “I’ll get right at the seeding,” he said, handing back the empty plate.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. But...”
He slid her a glance, saw her eyes gleaming like earth warmed by the hot sun, felt the same warmth wrap around his heart. He envied the man who’d enjoy that glance day after day. He only hoped it wouldn’t be Doyle. She deserved better.
“Someday, you’ll tell me the truth, Hatcher Jones.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “Someday will never come.” He grabbed the milk pails. “It’s best not to know everything.” He headed for the barn.
He sat with his head against the warm flank of the Jersey cow when he heard her approach. He should have known she wouldn’t let the whole thing rest. She’d work at it like a farmer preparing the soil.
She poured some oats into the trough for the cows, wondered aloud whether or not the supply would last the summer but Hatcher wasn’t fooled. She vibrated with curiosity.
“Hatcher, do you have parents?”
Her question, coming out of left field like that, startled him. It did him no good to think of his parents. Any more than it served any purpose to remember what had happened. “Nope.”
“They’re both dead?”
He couldn’t lie. Knew she’d guess it if he did. “Why do you want to know?”
She stood beside him, her presence crowding his body and his thoughts. “When was the last time you saw them?”
“You planning to write a book?”
She chuckled. “Are you saying there’s a story here?”
“Nope.” There’d been far too much written about it already. He wanted only to erase it from his mind.
“I just keep thinking what it would be like for me if it was Dougie or Mary. You know I have two brothers. Ted is eighteen now and he’s working on a ranch in Montana. He came to visit two years ago, before he started work there. Ray’s older. He’s like Dad. Always on the move. I haven’t seen him in four years. Got a letter last Christmas. He was in California then. Don’t expect he still is.”
Hatcher wondered where she was going with this tale. He finished the Jersey cow and moved on to the big Holstein.
Kate turned the Jersey out and returned to his side. He could only dream she’d feel the need to go bake cookies, or whitewash the walls or something. Anything but push at his memories with her talk of parents and brothers.
“Do you think it’s fair to my children to keep them on the farm?”
He blinked, grateful he was bent over the cow’s flank and she couldn’t see how her question surprised him. Talk about a sudden switch. Before he could figure out where she was going with this, she hurried on.
“Maybe they’d be better off in town. After all, they have so many responsibilities here. I need them to work, especially when I don’t have help. Seems I never have time for them.” She backed away. He hoped she’d give him room but she only lounged against the rough wood panel, settling down for a long, intimate talk.
Not far enough away he could breathe without inhaling her presence.
“Mary would almost certainly be happier in town,” she mused. “She’s afraid of the chickens, the cows, almost everything.”
Hatcher sprang to the child’s defense. “Best thing is she faces her fears, realizes what’s real danger. She’ll be stronger for it.”
“Never thought of it that way. I suppose you’re right. But Dougie worries me. He’s reckless.”
“He’s a boy. Just needs to learn to measure things. You wouldn’t want him to be afraid of risks.” Not that it was any of his concern what she did with her two kids. “Don’t see how moving them into town will change who they were or how they need to grow.”
“But I’m so busy. If I lived in town I’d have more time to spend with them.”
The woman was more persistent than a newspaper reporter. He finished milking and jerked to his feet. “Ma’am, if you want to spend more time with your kids, you’ll just do it. Whether you’re on the farm or in town.”
She stared at him as if he’d announced the cow had gone dry.
He continued. “Sure, life in town might be easier. Or just different. It’s got nothing to do with what you’re talking about. Seems you’ve just forgotten how to have fun.”
He headed for the house with the milk, not surprised when she wasn’t on his heels. Couldn’t expect a woman to be happy about having a few truths thrown in her face.
But he’d only set the pails inside when she bounced up and down at his back apparently ready to overlook his interference.
“I need to take some milk to the Sandstrum baby.”
He’d left most of the bags of corn in the back of the truck. Made it easier to get it to the field. “I’ll fill the drills.”
A little while later, he watched her drive away and prayed the baby would be stronger today. Then he lost himself in the roar of the tractor, the need to concentrate on following the previous track and the wind alternately at his face, his back, on one cheek or the other.
Only his thoughts wouldn’t be lulled. Thanks to Kate and her persistent questions, he kept thinking of his father, wondering how he was, missed his mother, wished he could see Lowell just one more time. He didn’t need such thoughts or their accompanying memories. They only made his stomach ache the way it had when he was a child. He rubbed at the chicken pox scar on his wrist.
“Hatch, honey, don’t scratch, you’ll get infection.” His mother caught his wrist and examined the sore. “I’ll put on some more chamomile lotion.”
Her eyes had the special look that made him feel loved and important.
“How come I gotta be so sick when Lowell wasn’t?” His brother had four chicken pox and spent the time at home reading and playing. Hatch had spent his days feeling miserable and wanting to scratch every inch of his skin.
His mother rubbed his hair. He didn’t mind that she made a couple spots itch. “Would you feel better if your brother felt as bad as you do?”
“Yes.” At her saddened expression, he’d instantly repented. “I guess not. No use both of us wishing we were dead.”
His mother’s hands stilled.
He knew he’d disappointed her. “I didn’t mean it, Ma.” At ten, he thought talking tough proved he was grown-up.
His mother took both his hands, gently avoiding the sores. “Hatcher William Jones, I pray you will never feel desperate enough to mean those words. No matter what happens there is something about life that makes it worth living. Promise me you’ll always remember that. Promise me you’ll never say those words again or contemplate such a thing.”
“I promise.” But there’d been times he’d wondered if she’d been wrong in saying there was always something about life that made it worthwhile. Sometimes all that kept him going was the promise he’d given her.
Until Kate.
He groaned. He’d be leaving in another day or two. It would be the hardest thing he ever had to do.
Kate returned at noon. He waited until she waved from the kitchen door before he stopped and headed for the pump where he stuck his head under the gush of water to wash off the dirt. He used the time to deny the strong feelings growing toward this woman. Years of hiding his emotions enabled him to push them away.
He shook the water from his head, scrubbed his hair back and wondered if Kate could lend him scissors so he could cut it then sauntered to the step where Kate waited with sandwiches and cookies.
All his practice at denying his emotions seemed wasted. He couldn’t look at her without his heart bucking like an unbroken horse. He clutched at the safest topic that came to mind. “How’s the baby?”
“Improving. I think she’ll make it.”
“Good.”
“I
can’t imagine losing a baby. Or a child.”
He ignored her expectant look. Knew she wanted to hear about his parents, his family, how he’d been arrested for murder.
He gulped his food and escaped back to the field, where his thoughts would still haunt him but at least he’d be alone with his torture.
* * *
It was Saturday. Hatcher watched the activities around the house as he bounced along on the tractor while Kate and the children housecleaned. Dougie shook out the floor mats, banged them on the step, laughed as the dust rose in a cloud.
Hatcher’s throat tightened for so many reasons. The family he’d left behind, lost. The times he’d done the same thing for his mother. The laughter he’d shared with Lowell.
And the knowledge he’d soon be saying goodbye to Kate and the children. The ache inside his chest yawned like a bottomless cave.
Mary carried water from the house and poured it on the rows of potatoes, some already poking through the soil. Hatcher guessed it was wash water. He imagined the floors gleaming. Floors he’d had glimpses of when he handed the milk to Kate each day. The first day he’d seen inside, the house had a slightly neglected air—jackets tossed helter-skelter, dishes stacked on the sideboard as if she didn’t have time to put them away. Over the days, the interior took on a distinctly different air—it smelled fresh, it looked renewed. Every surface was clean and tidy.
Kate stepped outside and shook a floor mop. She glanced toward him and waved.
Ah, sweet Kate. My world will be the sweeter for having known you, the sadder for having to say goodbye. He acknowledged the truth of his mother’s words—there was always something that made life worthwhile. Having known Kate for even such a short length of time would make the rest of his life worth the living simply for the pleasure of remembering her.
He lifted his hand in a quick salute. She continued to watch him until he grew wary. She was scheming something. Likely figuring out how to persuade him to tell about his past. She was wasting her time. A shame considering how busy she was.
She still watched as he turned a corner. He told himself he didn’t care if she stared at his back. No matter to him. But didn’t she have better things to do?
Come noon, he considered skipping lunch. Except his stomach rebelled. And he couldn’t deny a little curiosity to see what all the running to and fro meant.
He didn’t have to wait long as Dougie ran out and met him halfway across the yard.
“We’re taking a little holiday.”
The yard suddenly seemed too full of space as though something had dropped out of his world. They were going away? Well, he’d been alone before and would soon have to get reacquainted with that state. “That a fact?”
“Momma says we deserve it for working so hard this morning. We cleaned the house from one end to the other. Momma says it hasn’t been so clean in a long time.”
No reason for them not to enjoy themselves. In fact, he was happy for them. Less so for himself as he envisioned the emptiness when they left. “Uh-huh.”
Mary joined them, her usual restrained, sedate self, or so he thought until she stopped dead center in front of him and giggled. “Guess what we’re going to do?”
“Maybe take a holiday?”
She wilted. “Dougie already told you.”
“Yup.”
“Bet he didn’t say what we’re going to do.”
“Nope.” He squeezed Dougie’s shoulder before the boy could shout it out. “Let Mary tell.”
“We’re going to the coulee to find violets.” The girl grinned so wide Hatcher knew this must be something special.
“Momma says she used to go there every spring,” Mary added.
“Before Poppa died,” Dougie said. “Before she got too busy,” he added in a sad tone.
Hatcher chuckled. The two of them sure could be dramatic.
“You’re coming with us, aren’t you?” Mary asked.
His heart leaped to his throat. He faltered on his next step. He’d once been part of a family, part of their outings. He and Lowell had favorite escapes. One, a grove of trees where they could play for hours. Lowell had spent much of his time building a tiny log shelter.
“If we didn’t already have a farm, I’d say let’s move west and build us a log cabin,” Hatcher had said, fascinated by the construction.
If only Lowell could see these flatlands where the trees were no bigger than a sapling, he’d be disappointed to say the least.
Hatcher shoved aside the thought, dismissed the memory, ignored the way pain tore through his gut.
“I have to work.” They reached the steps where Kate waited with his lunch in hand.
“No, you don’t. I’ve declared the afternoon a holiday for the whole farm,” she said.
Dougie cheered. “Now you can come, too.”
Hatcher kept his gaze on the plate, though for the life of him he couldn’t have said what the food was. Surely she didn’t mean to invite him.
“We’re going as soon as we finish dinner,” Mary said. She looked happier than Hatcher had seen her.
“That includes you,” Kate said softly.
To his credit, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t have to look to know her eyes would be stubborn and gentle at the same time.
Common sense returned. The children would no doubt tell of their adventure. People would soon realize he’d accompanied them. Doyle would have a royal snit. “Ma’am, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“I refuse to take no for an answer. Besides, do you want to disappoint the children?”
“Please say you’ll come.” Dougie practically bounced off the ground in his excitement.
Hatcher had to wonder when Kate had last taken the children on a fun outing.
He knew he shouldn’t do this. It was way over the line. Someone would end up paying for it. Probably all of them. Yet he allowed Dougie’s words and Mary’s eager look to override his internal protests.
He met Kate’s eyes then. The triumph in her expression let him know she realized his predicament.
He nodded slightly. Just enough to let her know he realized he’d been set up. He couldn’t spoil the children’s fun, though if he gave himself a chance to think it through, he would admit there was no point in them getting used to having him around. It would end soon.
“Very well,” he murmured.
“Let’s eat.” Kate shepherded the children inside leaving Hatcher with his uneaten lunch and undigested thoughts.
He didn’t know how they managed to eat and clean up so quickly but they returned before he’d choked down his own lunch or figured out a way to escape the afternoon.
“Come on.” Dougie stood in front of him, rocking from one foot to the other as he waited for Hatcher to join them.
Kate smiled as he slowly got to his feet and followed the children.
He’d pleased her with his decision to join them. He briefly allowed himself a taste of pleasure at her nod of approval, all the time aware of warning tension in the back of his head.
He should not be doing this.
Chapter Nine
The coulee with its constantly changing array of flowers was Kate’s favorite place away from the farm site. Yet she hadn’t been there since Jeremiah died. She hadn’t had time. The farm took every minute of her life and all her attention, demanding even more than her children received. But today she intended to make up for all the times she’d been too harsh, too hurried, too distracted. Today they were going to enjoy themselves. Hatcher included.
She shuddered as she recalled the way Doyle’s announcement speared through her like a well-aimed pitchfork. Her quick defense of Hatcher had been automatic, the accusations against him as unbelievable as someone naming Dougie a gunfighter. Not that Hatcher denied it. Something had happened, and Kate, curious, wished Hatcher wou
ld tell her. But whether or not he chose to wouldn’t change her conviction, her unquestioning knowledge of his innocence.
Once her initial shock died away, her throat practically pinched shut. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to be accused of such a crime. How had he been involved enough to receive such a terrible charge? But whatever happened had to have been an accident or a mistake.
How she ached for the pain and shame he’d faced, continued to face. She’d seen his resigned look when Doyle delivered his information. The wary guardedness in his eyes. Knew he’d experienced rejection because of the murder charge. It explained his hobo lifestyle.
She wanted nothing more than to ease that pain, erase the guardedness, comfort his sorrow. She longed to hold him close but the best she could do was include him in this outing, prove to him she didn’t believe he’d done wrong. Remind him of all the good things life offered.
She laughed from the pure joy of an afternoon free of the demands of work. She wanted to run and jump and holler like Dougie did. And laugh and dance like Mary. Instead she held her excitement at bay. But it swelled until her heart and lungs and stomach couldn’t take any more. For a moment she thought it might erupt uncontrolled, unfettered, unmanaged. But she metered it out in little laughs and wild waves of her hand as she pointed out the nearby farms to Hatcher.
“Listen,” she said, and they all ground to a halt and turned toward the sound of the train whistle as it passed through town five miles away. She and the children laughed and Hatcher looked amused, whether at hearing the train in the distance or their exuberance, she couldn’t say. Nor did it matter. For the first time in months she felt young and full of life. Today was for enjoying with her children and Hatcher.
She stole a quick glance his direction, confused at all the things his presence made her feel. She knew if he’d stayed at his work this afternoon he’d be close to finished. She’d purposely taken him away to delay the inevitable—he’d be gone once the crop was seeded.
She stopped the direction of her thoughts. She wouldn’t mar this day dreading the time he’d walk down the road without a backward look. She wouldn’t admit the hollowness in her middle at how lonely she’d be. Instead, she turned her attention back to the beauties of nature—the satin-blue sky, the rolling sweep of the buff-colored prairie.
