Where Willows Grow

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

Anna Mae cringed, looking at the tabletop. His last words, uttered so kindly, felt like a slap in the face. ‘‘N-no. Of course he won’t.’’

  ‘‘But I’m sure he told you he’s been studying textbooks on drafting. That would be a good career for him if he can get the money to go to school.’’

  Anna Mae’s gaze bounced up, meeting Mr. Peterson’s. She could make no sense of what he’d said. ‘‘You mean before his accident, Harley was studying?’’

  Mr. Peterson shook his head. ‘‘No. Since his accident.’’

  The room spun. Anna Mae grabbed the tabletop for support, knocking her glass sideways. Half-melted ice slivers skidded across the table. One slipped over the edge and hit the floor beside her foot. Mrs. Peterson scurried to clean up the mess.

  ‘‘W-what do you mean since his accident?’’ Anna Mae’s voice sounded hollow in her ears, as if it came from far away.

  Mr. Peterson frowned. ‘‘Well, while he’s been in the hospital.’’

  Harley was in the hospital? But that would mean—She shook her head, her heart pounding. Mr. Peterson’s words planted a seed of hope in her heart, yet she was desperately afraid of letting the hope take root.

  Mrs. Peterson stopped beside Anna Mae’s chair and grasped her shoulder. ‘‘Mrs. Phipps, are you all right?’’

  Anna Mae looked from one to the other, struggling to comprehend what she’d just heard. Was it possible that it had all been a mistake? That Harley was alive? ‘‘You . . . you said Harley was . . . was in the hospital?’’

  Mr. Peterson nodded. ‘‘Yes. He’s been there for several weeks.’’

  Anna Mae’s heart thumped so hard she thought she might pass out. ‘‘But—but a salesman came . . . he said a man had been killed.’’ She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to put the pieces together. ‘‘He said a man from Spencer had been killed, and Harley was the only man from Spencer on the crew.’’

  ‘‘Oh, you poor girl.’’ Mrs. Peterson sat beside her, continuing to pat her shoulder. ‘‘What you must have gone through these past weeks.’’

  Mr. Peterson leaned forward, his elbows on the table. ‘‘Mrs. Phipps, a man was killed. A man named Dirk Farley. The salesman must have gotten his facts turned around.’’

  Dirk Farley? Harley’s friend, Anna Mae remembered, the one Harley said read his Bible. Her heart ached for Harley. She understood the loss he must have experienced at Dirk’s death. Holding trembling fingers to her lips, she fought to gain control of her emotions. When she felt secure, she pushed herself to her feet and stood on shaky legs. ‘‘I . . . I need to see my husband. Where is the hospital?’’

  Mr. Peterson rose. ‘‘Yes. I’ll take you there, then you can spend the night here, with us.’’

  ‘‘Oh, but—’’

  Mrs. Peterson cut in, ‘‘No arguments, Mrs. Phipps. Go now. You’ve got some making up to do.’’

  Although Anna Mae knew the woman referred to making up lost time, there was a deeper meaning in her heart. Thank you, God, for the opportunity to make things right!

  Harley propped his crutches in the corner and hopped on one foot back to his bed. His everyday practice of walking around the room had strengthened his leg and given him confidence. The doctor had told him that he would be able to go home in another few days.

  Home. That had to be one of the best words in the English language.

  He glanced at the stack of books Mr. Peterson had brought. If he had limited time left, he’d better take advantage of it. Settling on the edge of the mattress, he reached for Drafting Fundamentals. As he opened the book to the sixth chapter, someone entered the room. He glanced up, expecting the nurse with his supper tray.

  He rubbed his eyes, certain he was imagining things. But when he looked again, the vision was the same. Annie, with a circle of daisies on her head, stood framed in the doorway. He thought his heart might shoot from his chest through the wall. He grinned with uncontrollable joy. ‘‘Annie!’’

  She raced across the floor, the daisy-laden hat flying off and landing on the floor. Her arms slipped around his torso, and she buried her face against his neck. His bulky cast—and her bulky form—created a barrier, but he wrapped both arms around her and held her as tight as he could. The way he’d longed to hold her for months. The way he wanted to hold her forever.

  Her tears wet his skin, and he couldn’t hold back a teasing comment. ‘‘I hope those’re happy tears.’’

  ‘‘Oh, Harley,’’ she choked, burrowing into his shoulder. ‘‘Harley . . . Harley.’’ She pulled free, and her hands roamed, touching his shoulders, cheeks, mouth, hair. Her face wore an expression of wonder he didn’t understand, but he sensed her need to explore, so he remained silent and waiting, his hands on her thick waist. Her inspection finished, she melted into his arms again. He held her, allowing her to cry, while a lump filled his throat.

  At long last she pulled loose and stood before him, holding both of his hands as if afraid to let him go. Her eyes, red-rimmed from tears, shone with a happiness Harley hadn’t seen in a long while.

  He sighed. ‘‘Ah, Annie, honey, I’ve missed you so much. I’m so glad you’re here.’’ He looked toward the door, his heart hopeful. ‘‘Did you bring the girls?’’

  ‘‘No. They’re with Ern Berkley.’’

  Ern? ‘‘And Jack?’’

  ‘‘No, not Jack.’’ She shook her head, her face clouding for a moment. ‘‘Harley, I have so much to tell you.’’

  He twisted his face into a mock scowl, giving her hands a tug. ‘‘I know. It’s been months, and you never wrote.’’

  She ducked her head, biting down on her lower lip. When she raised her gaze again, she said softly, ‘‘We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. But first, could we just . . . sit together? I need to feel your arms around me.’’

  There was something in her eyes he couldn’t read—something she wasn’t yet ready to share. Although curious, Harley could wait. He shifted himself fully onto the mattress and leaned against the pillows, scooting to the edge of the bed. He held out his arms, and she climbed awkwardly into the bed beside him, curling sideways to nestle her head against his shoulder. He’d almost forgotten how neatly she fit into the crook of his arm.

  35

  HARLEY BOUNCED MARGIE on his good knee, relishing the sound of the baby’s chortle. Dottie stood nearby, hands clasped beneath her chin, blue eyes sparkling. ‘‘Me next, Daddy! Me next!’’ He slipped Margie to the sofa beside him, hefted Dottie onto his knee, and bounced her wildly enough to make her ponytail dance.

  A week home and it felt like he’d never left. So much was familiar—same barn in the yard with the same old cow needing milked every dawn, same squeaky porch door, same morning sounds—with a few additions. Muffled clanks drifting from the pasture on the morning breeze let him know the oilmen were setting up those new pumps. His jaw had nearly hit the ground when Annie showed him how much money one pump had brought in. With four, they’d be set just fine. Better than fine. God was meeting their needs beyond anything Harley could have imagined.

  ‘‘Are my pony and pony riders ready for breakfast?’’

  Annie stood in the parlor doorway, her hands in her apron, a soft smile lighting her face. The sweetness in her expression every time she peeked in his direction nearly melted him. She couldn’t pass him without stopping to run a hand through his hair, tweak his ear, or kiss his cheek or his lips.

  ‘‘Waffles!’’ Dottie crowed, slipping from her father’s knee and racing for the door.

  Harley lifted Margie from the sofa and watched her toddle after her sister. It gave him a twinge of sadness to see how much Margie had grown and changed when he wasn’t looking. But now he was here and he was staying, Lord willing, and he wouldn’t miss even one more minute of changes.

  Grabbing his crutches, he hobbled toward Annie, who slipped her fingers beneath one of his elbows and escorted him to the table. He settled himself while she put Margie in the high chair. Dottie waited, hands folded, until
Annie sat down. Then she looked at Harley.

  ‘‘Pray, Daddy.’’

  A lump filled Harley’s throat. Such a simple command, yet what an effect it had on Harley’s heart. ‘‘Pray, Daddy,’’ like she’d said it a hundred times before. It was the way it should have been all along, with him leading his family in prayer and Bible reading and church attendance.

  At first he’d felt embarrassed, praying out loud. But when he remembered Dirk’s ease in addressing God, it gave him courage. Closing his eyes, he licked his lips and began. ‘‘Thank you, Lord, for this food. Thank you for Annie, who fixed it for us. Let this food bless our bodies so we can be strong to do your will. Amen.’’

  ‘‘Amen!’’ Dottie echoed, then snatched a waffle from the steaming plate in the middle of the table.

  Breakfast passed with the baby’s babbles and Dottie’s cheerful chatter. When they’d eaten their fill, Annie cleaned Margie’s face with a rag and lifted her from the high chair. ‘‘All right, Dorothy. Take your sister to your room, and you two get dressed. I laid out your clothes for today.’’

  ‘‘Okay, Mama.’’ Dottie took hold of Margie’s hand and led her from the room.

  Harley watched them go and then looked at Annie. ‘‘You’ve been lettin’ Dottie dress Margie all week. That something new?’’

  Annie stacked dirty plates. ‘‘With this new one coming, I’ll need her help. She can do it; she’s getting to be a big girl.’’

  Harley pushed his plate toward Annie and watched her carry it to the sink. The new baby had certainly made its presence known. Annie’s gracefulness had slipped away with the expansion of her middle, but she was still the prettiest thing in Reno County. He reminded her, ‘‘I’ll be around to help, too, y’know.’’

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. ‘‘No, you won’t.’’

  ‘‘I won’t?’’

  Turning around, she grinned. ‘‘No, you won’t.’’

  Crooking his elbow over the back of the chair rungs, he frowned slightly. ‘‘Where am I gonna be?’’

  A giggle spilled out. She reached into her apron pocket and thrust a piece of paper at him. ‘‘In school.’’

  Harley took the paper and unfolded it. It was a brochure about Salt City Business College. His gaze bounced back to Annie’s smiling face. She sat at the table and flicked the brochure with one fingertip.

  ‘‘I had it mailed to me. I wanted to see what courses they offered. You can take classes there for drawing blueprints, Harley.’’

  The enthusiasm in her voice reminded him of the celebration when he’d told her he’d asked Jesus to be his Lord and Savior. She’d babbled something about praying ‘‘whatever it took’’ and being sorry it took so much, yet the joy in her voice had made him want to celebrate all over again. He had the same lift in his heart now, looking into her smiling face and hearing the bubble of excitement.

  He hated to put a damper on things, but he had to be practical. ‘‘Annie, I don’t even have a high school diploma. They probably won’t let me in.’’

  She shook her head, pointing to a paragraph in the brochure. ‘‘They’ll give you a test, and if you pass it, you can enroll.’’

  ‘‘But—’’

  She took his hand. ‘‘Harley, you can’t farm.’’

  Her gentle voice didn’t sting a bit.

  ‘‘Even if you could, the ground won’t produce, not without rain. There’s no guarantee when rain will come again. The oil pumps will be working, though, so we’ll have money for you to go school and for us to live on. Then, if the oil dries up, you’ll have a skill you can use to take care of us.’’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘‘Don’t you see? It’s God’s way of working things out.’’

  Harley wouldn’t argue that point. But he did see a small problem. ‘‘But that school—it’s in Hutchinson. That’s a good twenty-mile drive. And we don’t even have a wagon to get me there since I sold the mules. Who’s gonna take me every day?’’

  She bit her lower lip. ‘‘Well, Mr. Berkley and I talked about that a couple days ago. He came up with an idea.’’

  Harley’s curiosity grew. Ern Berkley had done so much to help his family—even at the expense of losing his own son. Harley trusted the man to have good ideas. ‘‘What is it?’’

  ‘‘He said maybe we should use some of the oil money to buy a car—not a brand-new one, but an older one that wouldn’t cost so much—and then rent a house in Hutchinson so you’d be close to the college.’’

  Harley sat back, his jaw open. ‘‘You want to leave the farm?’’

  A hint of sadness appeared in Annie’s eyes. ‘‘Of course I don’t.’’ She rested her elbows on the table, fitting her thumbnails together. ‘‘But we wouldn’t need to sell it, as long as the pumps are producing. Mr. Berkley said he’d keep an eye on things for us, even take care of Bossie. Then, when your schooling is done, we could come back here and live, or we could think about selling if you need to be in a city to do your blueprint drawing.’’

  Harley thought about what she’d said while he fingered the brochure. He wouldn’t deny the eagerness that rose in his chest when presented with the chance to get schooling. Thinking about not being on this farm put a little tinge of sadness around the edges, but it wouldn’t have to be forever. And maybe they could drive out on weekends, attend the little church where Annie’d grown up, invite Ern Berkley over for dinner . . .

  He looked at Annie. ‘‘You think I could learn to drive a car?’’

  Annie smiled. ‘‘Harley, you helped build a castle in the middle of Kansas. I think you can do anything you set your mind to.’’

  Anna Mae glanced at Harley, and she felt a smile creep up her cheeks. He wore his driving face: proud expression, chin angled high, eyes bright. When he’d spotted the late–1920s Oldsmobile in the back corner of Felix Haskell’s small car lot, his eyes had lit with pleasure. The once bright-red paint had faded to a rusty reddish orange, and the chrome bore some gray smudges, but Anna Mae had known at once this was the automobile they’d buy.

  She’d learned to drive first. With Harley’s cast, he couldn’t work the pedals. How they’d laughed at her first attempts! But she’d mastered it, earning Harley’s admiration. And then she’d taught him, giving them more reasons for laughter. He now looked as at ease behind the wheel of his Oldsmobile as he had behind the handles of his plow. And how it pleased her to have her husband driving her home from church after sitting beside her in her familiar pew, hearing his voice raised in song, seeing his head bowed in prayer. They’d stayed a few minutes after the service today to talk to the minister and arrange Harley’s baptism now that his cast was off. Anna Mae had never been happier.

  So many things had fallen into place. Harley had passed his test for entrance into the Salt City Business School, and he’d start school in January. They’d found a little house on Avenue C in Hutchinson, just a few blocks from the college, to rent. When Dorothy had explored and found a fairly young weeping willow tree on the far corner of the backyard, Anna Mae had known it was the house for them. They would move in after Christmas, and the oil money would take care of their financial needs until Harley finished his classes and found a job.

  Harley had blossomed so much in the past month. Love for her husband overflowed, making her chest feel tight. How could she have wondered for even one minute whether he was the man for her? It seemed so foolish now, remembering how Jack had made her question it. Her love for Harley ran as deep as a willow’s root, as deep as the roots of her faith, which he now shared. She knew their faith in God and each other would continue to grow.

  Another twinge caught her in the back, making her squirm in the seat. Those twinges had started early this morning, awakening her. They’d gotten stronger during the long sermon, and twice Harley had sent her curious looks when she’d straightened in the pew. But she knew from past experience babies took their time about coming. They’d be home, comfortable, long before this baby wiggled its way into the world.

  A
nd Harley would be here to welcome it, to love it, to raise it in the knowledge and love of the Lord. Anna Mae swiped at the tears that formed in her eyes.

  Harley’s brows came down as he glanced at her. ‘‘You okay?’’

  She nodded, sending him a secretive smile. ‘‘I’m okay. But instead of taking the girls home, let’s drop them off at Mr. Berkley’s—see if he’ll keep them this afternoon.’’

  ‘‘Papa Berkley! Papa Berkley!’’ Dorothy bounced in the backseat, clapping her hands.

  Marjorie echoed, ‘‘Papa Berk’ey!’’

  Harley’s frown deepened. ‘‘You got some reason you want the girls out of the—’’ And then his eyebrows shot high. ‘‘You mean—?’’

  Anna Mae nodded, but then a twinge—stronger than any of the others—seized her, making her catch her breath.

  Harley adjusted the accelerator, zooming the car along the road. Anna Mae stayed in the car while Harley walked the girls to the house. His limp, a permanent reminder of his accident, endeared him even more to Anna Mae. He’d overcome a great deal, all without complaint. She clutched her belly and whispered, ‘‘You’ve got an extra special daddy, little one. And you’ll get to meet him soon.’’

  She looked out the window for Harley, and something—something she hadn’t seen for months—captured her attention. Clouds. Dark clouds building in the east. ‘‘Lord, can it be?’’ she wondered aloud.

  Harley slammed the door open and fell in behind the wheel. ‘‘Ern says he’ll keep the girls as long as we need him to. Now let’s get you back to Spencer an’—’’ ‘‘No, Harley, no time to go back to Spencer.’’ A pressure down low told Anna Mae things were moving faster than they had with her first two. She stared hard at the clouds, hope building in her heart. ‘‘We’d better just go home.’’

  ‘‘But I can’t deliver a baby!’’

  Anna Mae finally looked at him. ‘‘Well, of course not in a car. But at home, in my own bed, we can do it. Let’s go, Harley.’’