Lowering her head over the tepid dishwater, she felt the sting of tears. Well, he was right about her being able to handle the farm. She’d grown up on it, had been doing chores from the time she was no bigger than Dorothy. After Ben, Jr., marched off to war, she’d been Daddy’s only helper until Harley wandered along. She knew what needed done. It wouldn’t be easy, with Marjorie still so little and a new one on the way, but she could do it.
Except she didn’t want to do it—not on her own. She wanted her husband working with her instead of just alongside her. Why couldn’t she and Harley have what her mama and daddy had modeled—a partnership? Even though her daddy was a strong man, he hadn’t been bothered by asking for Mama’s thoughts on things. And when Mama talked, he listened. Why, how many times had she peeked through her parents’ doorway and seen them side-by-side on their knees, praying together?
A lump formed in Anna Mae’s throat. She closed her eyes and whispered, ‘‘Lord, I’ve prayed so hard for Harley to come to you, so we could have what Mama and Daddy had. But he still fights you. Please, Lord, please reveal yourself to Harley. Whatever it takes . . .’’
A heavy sigh ended the prayer. She glanced out the window again, looking across the open expanse of prairie that seemed to stretch forever. Suddenly it felt as though the little house where she’d grown up was the only house in the world, and she the only person. Responsibility bore down on her, slumping her shoulders for a moment. Then resolve made her stand straight. She could manage things while Harley was off building his castle. Sure she could.
‘‘As Mama always said,’’ she told herself, turning her attention back to the dishpan to scrub at dried egg yolk on the last plate, ‘‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’’ She looked toward the ceiling and released another sigh. ‘‘I’m counting on that promise, God. Because right now I feel about as strong as a newly hatched chick.’’
Harley stood beside the gate leading to the Berkley dairy farm, his forearm resting on the gate post. He sucked in breaths of hot air meant to calm him before he approached his neighbor. If a man was going to ask a favor, he shouldn’t have anger in his voice when he did it. He’d done a pretty good job of learning to control his temper since he’d married Annie, but today she’d surely tried his patience.
Couldn’t she see he was only doing what he had to do to keep her farm in the family? For more than two years they’d been scratching by on next to nothing. No point in putting in a crop this year, knowing the ground wouldn’t produce. But with that WPA job, he had the chance to have a steady paycheck, get the girls the things they needed, and make sure the farm would be there when the rains finally fell again so crops could grow. Why’d she have to make it so doggone difficult?
‘‘You need Jack’s help,’’ he told himself, ‘‘so put on a smile and be friendly.’’ He pushed off from the post and ambled across the yard, his gaze sweeping the neat grounds and freshly whitewashed outbuildings. Harley experienced the same slap of envy he always did when visiting the Berkleys. The dairy had been in Jack’s family for three generations—just got handed to Jack when his pa turned sixty last year. It didn’t seem fair that some people got things so easy and others had to work so hard to gain what little bit they owned.
Harley remembered working side-by-side with Annie’s father, never slacking, always willing to do whatever he was asked so the old man would trust him with the farm when the time came. Ben Elliott might’ve left it to Annie, but in Harley’s heart the farm was his. He’d work his heart out to keep it, too, even if he had to leave it and work someplace else for a while. It would be here, waiting for his return. And someday he’d give it to his girls, just like Jack’s pa gave his land to Jack.
He stood between the house and the fenced pasture where cows, their udders hanging half full, stood in small clusters and eyed him with idle curiosity. He swung his gaze back and forth, seeking Jack, and suddenly from behind the barn a big border collie charged at Harley. The dog’s tail wagged like a flag as the beast barked out a greeting.
‘‘Hey, Clem.’’ Harley gave the dog a few friendly pats. ‘‘Where’s your master, huh?’’ The dog leaped in the air, then trotted toward the barn, looking back at Harley as if to say, ‘‘Well, come on.’’ Harley followed and found Jack poking around beneath the hood of his Model T Ford. Another pang of jealousy struck. Now that Harley’d sold the mules, he didn’t even have a wagon to his name. Jack had two wagons and a Model T.
Nope, some things just weren’t fair.
Head still under the hood, Jack called, ‘‘Hey. I’ll be with you in a minute. Just want to tighten this bolt good.’’
Harley squatted down and stroked Clem’s warm back until Jack finished his task. He rose when Jack emerged. ‘‘Hey, Jack.’’
‘‘Harley.’’ Jack held out his hand, then grimaced when he spotted the grease stains. ‘‘A howdy will have to do unless you want this on you, too.’’
Harley grinned. ‘‘Howdy’s fine.’’ He took another step forward, Clem pushing against his legs. ‘‘Came to ask a favor.’’
Jack clicked the hood closed over the engine and shot Harley an interested look. ‘‘What’s that?’’
‘‘I’m heading out tomorrow—taking a job in Lindsborg for a while.’’ He briefly described the project. ‘‘That means Annie an’ the girls won’t have a man around.’’
Jack held up his hand. ‘‘Say no more, Harley. You know me and Pop will help out Anna Mae any way we can.’’
‘‘She’ll probably fight you.’’ Harley shook his head, twisting his lips into a wry smile. ‘‘You know how stubborn she can be.’’
Jack released a hoot of laughter. ‘‘Oh, I know. She’s always been headstrong and independent. But Pop won’t let her overdo.’’
‘‘Thanks. I figured as much.’’ Harley squinted against the sun. ‘‘If you’ll tote our milk, cream, and eggs to the grocery, you can keep ten percent of the sale for your trouble.’’
‘‘Don’t want the ten percent. Wouldn’t hardly amount to a hill o’ beans anyway, would it?’’
He grinned as he said it, but Harley’s muscles tensed anyway. Hill o’ beans was better than nothing, as far as Harley was concerned. But he kept his mouth shut and forced a stiff smile in return.
Jack pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands. ‘‘It’s no trouble to haul yours in when I take mine to meet the milk truck. Be glad to do it.’’
Harley hated taking something for nothing, but he knew the Berkley and Elliott families had been friends for years—even before Annie was born. Favors among friends were acceptable. Besides that, his family could use every penny coming in. He swallowed his pride. ‘‘ ’Preciate it. And if there’s ever anything I can do for you—’’
‘‘No problem. Will . . .’’ Jack paused, the muscles in his jaw twitching briefly. ‘‘Will your wife need help with the milking or the garden?’’
‘‘She oughta be able to handle those chores.’’ Harley slipped his thumbs beneath his suspender straps. ‘‘Chores aren’t new to her. Mostly she’ll just need toting. I . . .’’ He ran his thumbs up and down the elastic straps. ‘‘I had to sell the mules.’’
Jack raised one eyebrow. ‘‘Yeah?’’
Just one word, but it was enough to set Harley’s hackles on edge. He released his suspenders with a slight snap. ‘‘Yeah. So . . . she’ll need totin’ to town and church, if you could see fit.’’
‘‘I can do that.’’ The answer came quickly. Jack slapped his hand onto the hood of the Model T, and a grin again rounded his cheeks—a sly grin. ‘‘Reckon those little girls of yours will enjoy a car ride now and then, too, huh?’’
Harley pushed aside the envy Jack’s comment evoked. ‘‘Reckon they will. Thanks again, Jack. I knew I could count on you.’’
‘‘Anytime, Harley. Good luck at that job.’’
Harley gave a nod of thanks. As he walked back to his place, he felt a tingle of unease work its way down his spin
e. It wasn’t as if he expected Jack to resist helping. He just wished the man hadn’t seemed quite so eager.
4
ANNA MAE KICKED THE SHEET to the end of the bed and lay uncovered. Although she had opened both bedroom windows to allow in the night breeze, the room still felt sweltering. If spring was this hot, how would they bear the summer? A fine sheen of sweat covered every inch of her body. She’d taken a bath in the secondhand claw-foot tub Daddy had installed in the washroom tucked at one end of the back porch, but she’d need another one by morning if things didn’t cool down. Pulling up the hem of her nightgown, she wiped her brow. Harley came in as she dropped the cotton cloth back across her thighs.
‘‘Bed already?’’
He’d hardly said two words all evening. It seemed odd for him to make such a casual comment in light of their earlier disagreement, but she could meet him halfway. The Good Book said you shouldn’t let the sun set on your anger. ‘‘Yes. It’s been a long day.’’
She watched Harley tug his suspenders down, then remove his shirt. Shadows played along the muscles of his shoulders as he pulled loose one sleeve, then the other. She felt mesmerized by the strength displayed in his broad shoulders. Why did he have to be such a handsome man? It would be easier sometimes if he weren’t such a pleasure to look upon.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his back toward her, to remove his boots and socks. The mattress sank on his side, and she had to stiffen her body to keep from rolling toward him. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch the familiar mole that rested low on his left shoulder blade. His spine stood out like a row of pebbles, his firm skin stretched tight over muscles and ribs. He stood to remove his pants, and she shifted her gaze to the ceiling. Even after seven years of marriage, she still felt somewhat shy about this whole undressing procedure. She always tried to be in her nightclothes before Harley came to the bedroom, as her mama had taught her was proper for a lady.
Dressed only in his undershorts, Harley reached up and pulled the light cord, plunging the room into full shadow. Then he threw himself onto the mattress, making it bounce. He tucked his hands behind his head with his elbows splayed outward and let out a heavy sigh. ‘‘It has been a long day. The walk back from town totin’ that crate plumb wore me out.’’ He rolled his head sideways to gaze at her. ‘‘Annie?’’
She stifled a sigh. How she wished he’d call her something besides that awful nickname. Daddy had called Mama honeybunch. It made Mama smile in a secretive way. Of course, Mama had called Daddy sugar. Anna Mae couldn’t imagine calling Harley sugar.
He nudged her with his elbow. ‘‘You sleepin’ already?’’
She realized she hadn’t answered. Shifting onto her side, she said, ‘‘No. I’m awake. What do you want?’’
‘‘You still mad at me?’’
His boyish tone tugged at her heart. She wasn’t mad, really. Disappointed, yes. Frustrated, too. But not angry. She answered honestly. ‘‘No. I’m not mad.’’
‘‘I know you held fondness for them mules, but I just couldn’t see feedin’ them when it’s so hard just to feed us. They can’t earn their keep since I’m not plantin’ this year.’’
He really thought it was all about mules? She swallowed hard. ‘‘I know, Harley. It’s just . . .’’ But what could she say that he’d understand? In the past when she’d asked him to consult her, he’d gotten defensive and accused her of thinking he wasn’t smart enough to run the farm. She didn’t want another argument tonight.
‘‘The job over in Saline County . . .’’ He went on as if she hadn’t spoken, his gaze aimed at the ceiling. ‘‘That’ll be a real good thing, if I can get on the crew. I like doin’ with my hands—buildin’ things. And a castle, Annie. A castle’ll be made outta stones. Stones last. That castle will still be standin’ when our Dottie and Margie are grown women—maybe even still standing when our grandbabies are grown. Gives me a real good feeling to know I’ll be putting my hands to something that’ll last.’’
Without thinking, Anna Mae stretched out her hand and placed it on Harley’s bare chest. His coarse hair tickled her palm, reminding her of the whisper touch of the daisy petals from the hat he’d bought her. She blinked several times before whispering into the darkened room, ‘‘Do you worry sometimes, Harley, that this farm won’t last?’’
‘‘It’s gotta last.’’ His answer came quickly, firmly. ‘‘I promised your daddy, an’ I don’t go back on my word.’’
She nodded, teasing the hair on his chest until he brought down one hand to hold hers. They lay in silence for long minutes, listening to the wind move the weeping willow branches. An owl hooted in the distance, the echo of its call drifting on the night breeze. Anna Mae yawned, her eyelids slipping closed. She hovered at that stage halfway between sleep and wake until Harley spoke again.
‘‘You got . . . something important . . . to tell me?’’
Her fuzzy mind processed the question. Something important? Then she understood. Her heart began to pound. She answered in a quavering tone. ‘‘L-like what?’’
His swallow seemed loud against the night sounds. ‘‘Like why you asked for those saltines.’’
Fully awake now, she held her breath. She hadn’t wanted to tell him yet, but she couldn’t outright lie and say the saltines didn’t mean anything. Instead of answering directly, she said, ‘‘Do you think they mean something?’’
He released her hand to roll sideways, facing her. His right hand cupped her hip, his fingers strong and firm. ‘‘Anna Mae, are you expecting another baby?’’
Suddenly she couldn’t find her voice. She couldn’t tell by his tone whether he was upset or hopeful.
‘‘You are, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve looked so peaked in the mornings. That’s why you asked for those saltines. You’re gonna have another one, aren’t you?’’
There was no escaping. Her mouth was dry, and words wouldn’t come. So she nodded.
A long sigh came from his side of the bed, and his hand tightened on her hip. ‘‘Are you sure?’’
The hopeful tone indicated he wanted her to be wrong. Tears pricked in her eyes, but tears were a waste of precious moisture. She blinked them away. ‘‘I’ve missed two cycles, Harley. I’m not wrong.’’
His arms wrapped around her and gathered her against his chest. Although it was too hot for snuggling, she clung, welcoming the comfort found in his familiar embrace.
‘‘I’m sorry,’’ she choked out.
‘‘Yeah. Me too. Even with this new job, I don’t know how we’ll manage to feed another one.’’
She pulled back slightly so she could look into his face. The scant light, coupled with his chiseled features, made his expression seem hard. She licked her lips. ‘‘Well, it won’t eat right away, you know. And I’ve already got diapers and little gowns. If I have it at home, like I did Dorothy and Marjorie, we won’t have to pay a doctor.’’
‘‘You can’t have a baby without at least a midwife, Annie. That takes money.’’
‘‘But a midwife’s cheaper than a doctor in a hospital. So it won’t cost too much—not right at first.’’ She spoke fervently, trying to convince herself as much as Harley.
‘‘Maybe not at first, but . . . Gee, Annie. Another baby?’’
That wasn’t the response she had hoped for. She wanted him to tell her it was okay, that he loved the first two so much he’d surely love this one, too. She needed him to smile and laugh and spin her around the room the way he had when she’d shared that Dorothy and then Marjorie were on the way. But he just pulled her tight once more against his hot chest, his chin pressed to the top of her head, for several seconds before releasing her.
She shifted to her own half of the bed but remained on her side. She felt him groping for her hand, and she laced her fingers through his. Even if they couldn’t celebrate this one’s coming, they could commiserate together. That was something, at least.
‘‘Got a name in mind?’’
Thinking name
s already? The birth was months away. But she realized he might be gone right up until the time of this one’s arrival. They probably better talk about it now.
‘‘I like the name Rosalyn.’’
‘‘Why you always thinking it’ll be a girl?’’ Harley’s rough thumb traced a pattern on the back of her hand. ‘‘And that name’s too high-falutin’. What’s wrong with naming this one after my mama?’’
Anna Mae wrinkled her nose. ‘‘Bertha? I’m sorry, Harley, but I just couldn’t name my baby Bertha.’’
Harley threw her hand aside and rolled away to sit on the mattress’s edge. He propped his elbows on his knees and put his face in his hands. His bare back appeared white in the muted light from the moon. The muscles between his shoulder blades twitched. She’d upset him, she realized, by disdaining his mama’s name. She reached out to stroke his back, but he jerked upright and swiveled to face her.
‘‘ ‘My baby,’ you said. Like you made that child all on your own.’’
His accusatory tone was like a knife in her heart. She sat up and reached for him again, but he flinched, resisting her touch. Pushing her hand into the folds of her nightgown, she swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. ‘‘Harley, I didn’t mean it that way.’’
A harsh laugh cut through the gentle night sounds. ‘‘Oh, I think you did, Annie. Everything here—it’s all yours. Your daddy left it all to you, and you’re always callin’ it yours. Never ours.’’ He pointed his finger at her. ‘‘But those kids, they’re mine, too. And don’t you forget it.’’
‘‘How could I forget it? Of course the girls are yours. Just like this new one’s yours.’’
‘‘It better be.’’ The growling tone held an undercurrent that made the fine hairs on Anna Mae’s neck stand up.
Anger swelled in her breast. How dare he make such an accusation? ‘‘Harley, that was uncalled for.’’
He didn’t apologize, just turned his back and stared into the gray without speaking. His stubborn position made Anna Mae even angrier. She yanked up his pillow and whopped him across his obstinate back. She knew it didn’t hurt him, but it got his attention.
Where Willows Grow Page 3
