On A Cold Winter's Night

by Leanne Burroughs

  "And I helped.” Tommy puffed up his chest as a smile wreathed his face. “Grandma wrung the chicken's neck this morning and I helped her pluck the feathers."

  Not to be outdone, Kathie made a face at Tommy. “I helped Mama pick the apples from our trees last fall. Didn't I, Mama? She canned them so we could have apple pie anytime we wanted. Just like tonight. Wasn't the pie good, Uncle Mark? Mama said you'd prefer the pie over the chocolate cake I thought we were going to make. She said you didn't like chocolate.” She wrinkled her nose. “Never heard of someone not liking chocolate before. Mama, me and Maddy love chocolate."

  "That's enough, children,” their grandmother said.

  Mark's mother, Caroline Donovan, had never been one to put up with too much fussing when he and Susie were young. Guess at least that hadn't changed. So much else around the old homestead had. John and Susie were doing a good job maintaining the farm.

  "Help me into the living room,” his mother continued. “I want to get comfortable before Amos n’ Andy comes on the radio."

  "I listened to them sometimes, too, if I got home early enough from eating out. WMAQ in Chicago carried some program every night.” Somehow he had to bridge the gap he sensed between his family and him. Although he certainly didn't plan on remaining here—he planned to return to Chicago as soon as he could—it would take some time to get back on his feet. And he hoped the tension between them wouldn't last long. Or was he the only one that felt it? The happy faces around him all looked at peace.

  "Grandma listens to the radio every night,” Tommy said. He smiled, revealing the gap where he'd lost a tooth.

  Through the doorway, Mark watched his mother slowly walk from the room. She limped slowly toward the couch and reached for a crocheted lap blanket. Earlier she'd said her knees and back were bothering her again. Maybe I should buy her a cane. What a laugh. If he could afford to buy anything, he wouldn't be here.

  These last years had aged her. It was one of the things he'd argued before he'd left. That if they stayed on the farm, they'd all get old before their time. Like his father had. No one had listened. Now her head was capped with a riot of soft, white curls instead of the dark brown hair she'd still had when he left home. Just like his. And her body was slowly failing her. At least he hoped it would be slow. Mark wasn't sure why she would want a blanket. It was still hot. Was she sicker than Susie had told him?

  "Can I help with the dishes, Sis?” He lifted a few dishes from the table and moved them to the side of the sink.

  "No, I'll be fine. You go spend some time with Mama. You'll have plenty of time to help me with dishes.” He went in and sat on the floor beside her rocker.

  Soon a voice came from the radio. “Campbell's Soup brings you Amos n’ Andy.” Kathie and Tommy sat mesmerized on the floor before the Crosley XJ. His mother seemed just as engrossed. Music came from the radio, then, “How do you do everyone? This is Bill Hayes.” The man went on to talk about Campbell's new soup—cream of mushroom.

  * * * *

  He'd enjoyed the past fifteen minutes. Behind him, Susie leaned against the doorjamb, a towel in her hands. As always, Amos n’ Andy had been hilarious. From her rocker, his mother had laughed through the entire show.

  "Do you like our radio, Uncle Mark?” Tommy came over to sit beside Mark. “Daddy bought it for Mama for Christmas a few years ago. She cried and said it was too extrav . . . extrav . . . expensive, but then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.” The face he made told Mark exactly what Tommy thought about kissing.

  "I do like it. It plays almost as good as mine did.” Uh oh. He had to quit comparing.

  "What kind did you have?” Kathie's inquisitiveness came out in every question.

  He'd been like that, too. Had continually asked questions. Mama had never tired of his inquiring mind—or had never shown it. She'd always said, “That's how you learn things."

  "Some of our friends at school have radios their daddies made,” Kathie continued. “They aren't pretty, but they play just fine. Daddy says their families being able to spend time together is all that matters."

  "I had a Radiola Grand.” Now the expenditure embarrassed him. If only he still had the $325 he'd spent for it. In the end, it had been just one more thing he'd had to sell.

  "Nice name,” Kathie said, “but I'll bet it wasn't as pretty as Mama's.” Ah, the innocence of a child.

  "What else did you—” Kathie began just as Susie interrupted.

  "Enough questions for one night. Uncle Mark must be tired after his long trip today. Time for you and Tommy to get ready for bed.” She turned to Mark, a look of sympathy in her eyes. “Uncle Mark will have plenty of time to answer all of your questions now that he's back home."

  Home. Such a simple word. A word that held such love. The walls he'd built around himself all those years ago threatened to squeeze his heart.

  * * * *

  Worn out after getting up early to milk the cows and helping John out in the fields, Mark headed to the house for lunch.

  As he walked beside John, Kathie shouted, “Aunt Maddy's here, Mom."

  "Did I hear you or Susie say Maddy lives in town now?"

  "She stays with the preacher and his wife during the week. After school on Friday she heads out to the old house. She stays there some and spends some time with us."

  "Why doesn't she just sell the house and live in town?"

  John shifted his gaze to Mark. “She has a dream of getting married and living there. Says she wants a life like our folks had. Like Susie and I have. So she refuses to let me sell it."

  "Does she come here often?"

  "Usually every weekend. She stayed at the house when she first moved back from school, but it was hard maintaining it by herself. I tried to help—and I still go over there when I have time—but keeping up with everything here is hard enough.” He turned to look directly at Mark. “And then one day I headed over to repair some shingles that had fallen and found two drifters there.” John kicked a stone in the path as he walked. “Don't get me wrong. I try to help everyone when I can, and they might have been perfectly harmless men, but that was my sister alone with them and I went berserk. I stayed there the rest of the day until they'd moved on after she fed them dinner. The next morning I asked the preacher if there was some place in town she could stay during the week."

  "Still hard thinking of her as grown. I remember the gangly young girl that was all arms and legs and followed us everywhere we went."

  John merely smiled.

  * * * *

  Mark stopped in his tracks. The young woman kneeling to hug Kathie was certainly no child. He'd seen more than his share of beautiful women in Chicago—wealthy femme fatales and flappers to name just a few. But with her long, brunette hair cascading over her shoulders, this woman was . . . gorgeous.

  She rose and took Kathie's hand as she headed toward him. She extended her right hand. “Hello, Mark. I heard you were coming home this week. It's good to see you."

  "M-Madelyn? You can't be. The little kid I left was skinny and had pigtails. You . . . definitely don't have pigtails."

  She laughed. “Good to see you, too.” Catching him off-guard, she pulled him to her and gave him a hug. A very adult hug. No, she wasn't a skinny little kid anymore, and she had curves in all the right places.

  * * * *

  "The American Dream has become a nightmare. And I'm living it.” Mark sat on the front porch swing with Maddy after listening to that evening's broadcast of the Amos n’ Andy Show. The only light reflecting over them was the light from the living room window and a few stars twinkling in the inky dark sky.

  She tucked her feet up under her and met his gaze. “Is it really so horrible being home again? I couldn't wait to finish school and come back. I loved the children I taught every day and I had promised to teach in the city to help lower some of the cost of school. But I couldn't wait to get home. I love it here."

  "It's not about just being home. It's about how the entir
e world is right now. The stock market is in a shambles. People are unemployed. Men begging for jobs. Apple Annies on the street doing the best they can to put food on the table for their families. I wanted to come home by train to get here faster. But I didn't have the money any more than the hobos that jump the blinds. So, I had to take a bus.” He stood and stepped to the railing, the only sound the creaking of the swing. “Can you imagine how humiliating that was? After the way I used to get around Chicago?"

  "I've ridden on buses. They aren't so bad."

  But it was awful. Especially compared to his Mercedes. “And President Hoover has no idea of how bad things are. Why, I wouldn't doubt if all forty-eight states are in depression now."

  "I know we're in a depression, Mark. We might live simpler lives than big city folks, but it's hit us here, too. It's affected everyone, even the farmers."

  "I'm sure it has. Last year after the crash, Hoover said, ‘Any lack of confidence in the economic future or the basic strength of business in the United States is foolish.’ And just a few months ago he touted, ‘All the evidences indicate that the worst effects of the crash upon unemployment will have passed during the next sixty days.’ I heard that jive enough on the radio that I memorized it.” He moved back to sit in the swing.

  "Many people across the country are having to file bankruptcy, but for now we're actually better off than most. With Johnny and Susie growing their own food, they still have plenty to feed their family every day. Everyone's affected in one way or another. I pray every night the town council can afford to keep me on as the local teacher. Shop owners have had to lay people off and man their own counters. Do you know how that felt to most of them?"

  "Yes, I do.” He resisted telling her about the run on the bank and all that he'd lost.

  "Those people were their neighbors. Their friends."

  "I wasn't saying big cities are the only places that—"

  She held up her hand. “But you didn't answer my question. Is it really so horrible being home again?"

  He took a deep breath. Gazed off the porch into the darkness of the night. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, but didn't want to lie either. “It's not horrible, Maddy. Just not what I expected for my life. I wanted . . . more."

  "You wanted things,” she clarified.

  Her honesty shocked him. “That's not fair."

  "Maybe not, but it's true. Tell me, Mark, can you really compare the meal we had tonight—with all the love, laughter and family—with what you had in Chicago? Did you cook for yourself every night? Or did you eat in some fancy restaurant?"

  He thought of all the fancy restaurants he'd dined in. At most, he was there so often, he'd even had his own ‘table.’ “I ate out most every night."

  "Was the food better?"

  He laughed. “No, not much can top Susie or Mama's cooking."

  She arched a brow. “Was the company better?"

  "Better? No. It was . . . different."

  "Wealthy girls you met in your bank?"

  "Some.” He reached out and brushed a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. Its softness surprised him. Made him want to pull her close and run his fingers through it. Instead, he said, “Fishing for information? You always were nosy."

  She swatted him lightly on the arm and started to get up from the swing.

  "Don't go, Madelyn. It's nice talking to you.” He felt so alone here. Even with family around, loneliness haunted him.

  She leaned back into the white wooden seat. “We used to talk a lot. And I always hated it when you called me Madelyn. You know I don't like the name."

  He chuckled. “I know. It's why I used it all the time. Loved seeing the expressions you got on your face. It's one of the few things about you that hasn't changed."

  She shifted in the seat to face him. “Have I really changed that much? Or have you?"

  "You've grown up."

  "And you grew away."

  He nodded. “Yes, I guess I did.” He placed his thumb on the side of his face and rubbed his fingertips across his forehead. “I didn't mean to let things get so distant with everyone. Life just . . . intruded."

  "And you got rich."

  He tilted his head, watching her. “I did. Is that so horrible?"

  "Of course not. It's what a person does with the money and how they live that matters. What did you do with your money?"

  "Do? What do you mean what did I do with it? I bought things."

  An aha look crossed her face as if she'd scored a major coup. “Exactly. Things. I heard you had a fancy house and fancy car. Were you really happier in your house than John and Susie are in this one? Did your car get you around better than John's plain Model T? Or did they just look better?"

  Mark sat straighter, his hackles raised. “You don't think much of me, do you?"

  Maddy's eyes misted over as they met his. “Silly man. Don't you know I always loved you?"

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Two

  * * * *

  Mark couldn't concentrate as he helped John in the fields.

  Yesterday Maddy had gone to the preacher's house after church and Sunday dinner yesterday. He couldn't get her out of his mind. Or the statement she'd made. Don't you know I always loved you?

  If only that were true. As much as he'd always teased her, he'd fallen in love with her when she'd been a young, skinny girl tagging along behind him and John wherever they went. She'd gotten under his skin and he'd never forgotten her. Looking back at his recent relationships, he'd always compared every woman he'd met to her—to her inner beauty. She had her mother's darker hair rather than her father's Swedish light coloring. Mark had always guessed she'd grow up to be beautiful, but never in his wildest imaginings had he pictured her as she looked now.

  When he'd first seen her kneeling down to hug Kathie, Maddy had taken his breath away.

  And she no doubt hated him now despite her flippant comment. Hated the man he'd become. But deep down he was the same Mark. The same man who'd been in love with her for years.

  He would have given anything for her to have said love instead of loved. Right now he doubted there was much about him anyone could love.

  * * * *

  By Wednesday, Mark could stand it no longer. He tossed a towel down on the sink after helping Susie dry the dishes. “Is it okay if I disappear for a few hours?"

  Her eyes lit with a smile. “Of course it is. This is your home, Mark. You can do whatever you want."

  "But John might—"

  "You've worked beside John in the field for hours every day. You deserve a little relaxation."

  He laughed. “Relaxation? I don't know what that is. I worked long hours at the bank. Rarely took time off.” He looked around the large kitchen, his eyes landing on the last of the dishes she was washing after lunch. “Do you and John have time to relax? You both work every hour of every day."

  "That's different. It's our—"

  "Home?” he finished for her.

  "I'm sorry, Mark. I didn't mean to suggest this wasn't your home."

  "I know you didn't. And I know it's my fault I still feel like a fish out of water being here. But I'm working on that, Sis, I really am."

  She hugged him, and the tension inside him eased.

  "Can I borrow the truck, too?"

  The look that crossed her face at his request chilled him to the bone. So much for making him feel at ease.

  "The truck?” She nodded. “Of course you can. Guess you're wanting to go into town. I knew the pull would be there, but I didn't think you'd need to get away from here that quickly.” She motioned toward the house. “Wait here a minute. I'll go get the keys and some money for you. If you're going all the way to Claremont City, you might as well eat in a fancy restaurant while you're there."

  Well, her hot temper hadn't changed. He grabbed her arm. “I'm not going to town or the city."

  "Then why—"

  "I want to go to Maddy's house and
take a look around. Want to see if there's anything I can do in the way of repairs. John told me how hard it is for him to get away to keep up both houses.” He shrugged, almost feeling guilty. “I just wanted to do something to help. I can walk if you'd prefer."

  She rushed to throw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Mark. I'm so sorry. Forgive me? Please? John tells me I always let my emotions rule my mouth before discovering all the facts."

  "There's nothing to forgive.” He pulled away to look in her eyes. It was like looking in the mirror. Her light green eyes reflected his own. Despite her bright red hair as opposed to his dark hair, everyone had always said there was no mistaking the Donovan kids were brother and sister.

  "There is! I keep telling you to quit harboring feelings of resentment, but I guess if I'm honest, I have a few of my own.” Sobs racked her body and she moved closer to lay her head on his shoulder. “I really am sorry I said that. This is your home—forever—and you can do anything you want. Just please forgive me for what I said."

  He rubbed his hand up and down her back to console her. “I love you, Sis. I'll always forgive you. But you were right. I have been holding part of myself back. Wishing I were back in Chicago.” He pushed away again. “How about we both start over?"

  She looked at him, a question in her eyes.

  He smiled. “Hi, Sis. I'm home."

  Elation spread over her face. “You wait right here. I'll go get the keys to the truck.” She ran to the house and sprinted up the steps.

  * * * *

  Memories drifted over Mark as he walked around the old Stepson farm. Hours of John and him running all over the farm, slipping away to go fishing. Hours of Maddy following behind them being a pest. Hours of falling in love with her—the thin as a rail girl who'd blossomed into a beautiful woman who now took his breath away.

  He strolled around the side of the barn and stopped. Stared at the rambling old white house where he'd spent so much time. Had eaten so many meals. Being here felt right. As if he could recapture a part of himself that he'd lost. Mr. and Mrs. Stepson had always treated him like a son. Just as his folks had treated John. As if they knew the families would one day be intermingled. As if he and Maddy would—