Wings of a Dream

by Anne Mateer

  “Thank you for dinner, ma’am.” He tipped his hat to Mama, even though I was the one who had prepared the meal. Then his hungry eyes swept over me before he cranked the engine once more.

  “We’ll look forward to seeing you at church, Sheriff.” Mama raised her arm to wave.

  I stepped back to avoid the dust. Poor Henry. He didn’t deserve to be a rope tugged at both ends by Mama and me. As we walked back to the house, I wondered again if he was the man God had planned for me. Mama liked Sheriff Jeffries, even if she didn’t yet know that his dreams would carry us even farther from her than Prater’s Junction.

  And Henry was a sight more interesting than old Barney Graves. But could I sacrifice my own happiness for Mama’s? Was that the kind of faith God wanted me to have?

  I glanced at Mama. She frowned at James careening into our path, jabbering like a magpie.

  “Did ya see me, Bekah? Daddy said I run faster than the Kaiser from Uncle Sam!”

  Frank followed close behind, arms filled with his smallest son and daughter, Ollie trotting alongside. My heart surged like a horse in full gallop, and I could find no desire to rein it in.

  Mama sat rigid in the front seat of the buggy long before Frank and I managed to get the children readied for church and out the door. Daddy sat behind Dandy with a grim smile. His eyes met Frank’s in what seemed to be a hesitant handshake. Some sort of agreement not spoken aloud.

  I climbed up beside Mama. Frank set Janie in my lap before squeezing in the back with the rest of his children, as if he were a child himself instead of the owner of the conveyance and the master of all he surveyed. He’d put himself in the lower place to avoid unleashing Mama’s tongue. Not many men would do so.

  Mama’s presence on our journey hushed even the smallest voices. I don’t think even a bird dared chirp as we passed. And as the buggy wheels devoured each inch of road, another part of me tightened.

  The people of Prater’s Junction had become my friends. Would Mama turn up her nose at them or would she cultivate their good graces and push me more firmly toward the sheriff’s arms? I lifted my thumbnail to my mouth. Mama gently pushed my hand back down.

  “I hope your preacher isn’t in the habit of spinning long sermons, Mr. Gresham,” she said.

  Silence answered.

  “No, Mama. Brother Latham is always very timely. Not too short. Not too long.”

  I chewed my bottom lip, hoping my answer would stifle her comments.

  “Such a nice man, that sheriff. He’s a man a girl could depend on. Don’t you agree, Mr. Gresham?”

  Help me, Lord. Help me, Lord. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. I waited for Frank to say something. Anything.

  Mama turned her head. “Don’t you agree, Mr.—”

  “Look, Mama, there’s a redbird.”

  “Where?” She whipped around like a distracted child.

  I breathed out relief as I pointed out the church steeple instead.

  I sat between Mama and Daddy in the pew, the children between Daddy and Frank. After the service, I didn’t give Mama any choice about being sociable. I took her arm and introduced her to Doc Risinger and Mr. and Mrs. Crenshaw and the Culpepper clan. Each one greeted her not only with kindness but gave her a memory of their time with her sister. Did she realize that Adabelle hadn’t, apparently, made their estrangement a topic of conversation amongst her neighbors and friends?

  As Daddy took Mama’s hand and led her to the buggy, Frank sidled up beside me, sending my heart into a sprint. “I asked the Lathams to dinner. Will we have enough to feed everyone?”

  I sighed. “I expect, but I wish you’d have told me sooner.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stand another meal . . . I mean, I know she’s your mother, but—”

  I laid my hand on his arm. “You don’t have to explain—or apologize.”

  He nodded once, his eyes raking over the field of headstones.

  Mama hadn’t even asked to visit her sister’s grave.

  Three chickens, fried crisp. A heaping pot of potatoes, mashed, with butter and salt. Cornbread. And green beans cooked with bacon. Even Mama couldn’t find anything to complain about. And because of that, conversation flew amiable and free around the dining room table.

  Bellies full, the men sauntered off to the barn.

  “Mrs. Hendricks, why don’t you rest a bit? It’s been a full day, I know.” Irene led Mama to the parlor while I washed dishes.

  “How are you?” she whispered on her return.

  I almost answered “fine,” as if reciting a school lesson by rote. But the look on Irene’s face told me she knew things I hadn’t yet spoken.

  “It’s all right, honey. I know some about your mother. Your aunt and I were friends, remember? And I had a mother, too.” Her eyes twinkled as if she’d read every thought in my head since Mama stepped into this house.

  “Some hours are better than others.” I dunked a soapy plate beneath the rinse water.

  Irene laughed in her usual way. I handed her a dripping plate.

  “And what about Frank? How’s he doing with all this?” She stacked the dried plate on the table with the others.

  I plunged my hands beneath the warm water, seeking another dish to scrub. “As good as can be expected, I suppose.”

  She sighed as she wiped another dish and set it aside. “Will you go with your parents when they leave?”

  My knees threatened to give way. I grabbed the edge of the dish tub. “I can’t go home with them, Irene. I just can’t.”

  She smiled at me, a weary smile. “Sometimes the Lord asks us to do hard things.”

  My back stiffened, strength surging back into my legs. “He can’t ask me to go home again. He brought me here. I know it.” My gaze faltered from her face. “I have to stay. For a while longer, at least.”

  She lifted the stack of clean dishes. “I’m praying for you, Rebekah. Don’t ever forget that.”

  I dried my hands as Irene disappeared into the dining room. Maybe God would hear her prayers. I certainly didn’t feel as if He heard mine.

  Just before noon the next day, Frank rode back into the yard. I followed him around to the corral, pulled like kerosene up a dry wick. He swung down, set Dandy loose in the pen. My eyes lit on his, but something dark answered back. I bit my lip and looked away.

  “Rebekah?”

  “Yes?” I turned back. Too eager?

  He led me away from the barn. “I went to town this afternoon.”

  I held my breath, his face hovering only inches above mine.

  “Mr. Crenshaw said you bought the children Christmas presents. On account.”

  I nodded, afraid to look into his eyes lest their blue turn stormy gray.

  He settled his hands on his hips, exasperated-like. “Why in the world didn’t you just pay cash?”

  I picked at a crust of teacake on the skirt of my dress. “Because there wasn’t any to pay with. No cash in your letters. None in the house. None in the bank.” I raised my eyes to his, not caring what I’d see. “What would you have had me do? Let them think Santa Claus forgot them?”

  Of course there was the two dollars wasted in Dallas, but irritation hid my embarrassment. Daddy would repay Frank his precious money if I asked him to. I glared up at him, expecting wrath. But something new crossed his face. Surprise? Admiration?

  His laugh started low and worked itself into a regular guffaw. Heat crawled up my face as he shook his head and wiped his eyes. “I heard about your visit to the bank. You certainly have gumption.”

  “Is that . . . a good thing?”

  He blinked surprise. Then a smile started on his lips and ended in his eyes. “Why, yes, I guess it is.”

  I couldn’t hold back my grin, so I studied the ground.

  “Don’t worry.” He laid a hand on my shoulder. I didn’t move away. “I covered it all with Mr. Crenshaw today. I guess Adabelle didn’t tell you about the tin box under the floorboard in the bedroom.”
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  Relief washed over me. Money had been there all along.

  Dan suddenly tugged at my hand. “C’mon, Bekah. Daddy and Uncle Lloyd are takin’ us fishing. Right, Daddy?”

  “Uncle Lloyd?” I looked at Frank.

  He shrugged. “Your father suggested it.”

  “You comin’ with us, Bekah?” Dan pressed his hands together, as if in prayer. “Please?”

  “Please, Rebekah?” Frank seemed as anxious as his son for my answer.

  Elation coursed through me, almost raising my feet from the ground. I opened my mouth to say yes.

  “Rebekah?” Mama’s voice pulled my attention toward the house. “Rebekah Grace, where have you gotten to?”

  When my gaze returned to Frank, his sunny expression had darkened to a thundercloud. My hands turned to ice, in spite of unhindered sun.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. I ran toward the house, toward Mama, all the while hating myself for wishing she’d never come.

  That night the parlor felt as stifling as a kitchen in August. With the kids in bed, Mama worked at her needlepoint. Daddy read the paper. Frank stared at the almanac, but I never saw him turn a single page.

  I, on the other hand, couldn’t sit still. I fanned myself with Better Homes and Gardens until Mama frowned at me. Then I wandered from one end of the room to the other, finally opening the sash and sticking my head into the cool night air.

  “Rebekah, put down that window.”

  I turned around but didn’t comply. Mama’s needlepoint dropped into her lap. “Lloyd.”

  “It’s fine, Margaret.” He turned the page and kept reading. “It was getting warm in here.”

  I spied James’s good pair of pants in the sewing basket next to the sofa. I ought to mend them before Sunday. Without much enthusiasm, I settled down to work. Mama didn’t prattle on about the women’s forum or church or gossip from town like she did in the evenings in Downington. Nor did she question Daddy about politics or financial matters. It wasn’t like her to be so quiet. The silence pricked at my nerves as painfully as my needle on my thimbleless finger.

  The clock chimed nine. Had it only been an hour? Daddy folded the newspaper and cleared his throat. “We’ll be heading home tomorrow.”

  My head jerked up. So did Mama’s. Had Daddy’s announcement shocked her that much—or not at all? I couldn’t tell.

  “So soon?” The words came out before I thought. I clamped my lips shut.

  Mama rolled up her needlepoint. “And of course you’ll be coming with us, Rebekah Grace.”

  The words I had been waiting for but didn’t want to hear.

  Frank looked as taut as a laundry line. I shoved James’s pants back in the basket, trying to keep my voice steady. “I . . . I hadn’t planned to.”

  “But you can’t stay here—alone.” Her gaze raced back and forth between Frank’s face and mine. “It’s unseemly.”

  Frank clenched his fists, his eyes flashing anger. He looked like a cat ready to pounce. “No one around here seems to think such a thing. Your daughter has cared for my children. I happen to think the Lord sent her here on their behalf.”

  My head jerked up. Did he really believe that?

  Mama stared at Frank as if she’d never seen him before. No color lit her cheeks, but a slight tremor moved her lips. “Yet you’ve ruined her all the same.”

  I gasped. “Mama!”

  “I don’t intend to take advantage of your daughter in any way at all, Mrs. Hendricks.” An edge hard as iron encased his words.

  I sucked in my breath and held it.

  “I guarantee you’ll have your daughter home before the end of March.”

  Almost six weeks. What was he planning to do between now and then? Court a new wife? Hire a new housekeeper? Would he let me be privy to his plans, or did he think I wouldn’t need to know what would become of the children?

  “Are y’all going to plan my whole life for me? Don’t I have any say?” I jammed my fists on my hips, my cheeks burning.

  Daddy crossed the room, took Mama by the hand. “You’re welcome to come with us, Rebekah, but I’m thinking Frank could use your help.”

  “But—” Mama bit off her words at Daddy’s look.

  “We can trust Rebekah to do what is right, Margaret.”

  “Fine. But if she stays, I’m buying her ticket home myself.” She glared at Frank. “You can pick it up at the station on your next trip to town.”

  In an instant, Frank and I were alone.

  I couldn’t look at him. I feared he’d read too much in my expression. He’d know I couldn’t go back and marry Barney Graves. And he’d see that Sheriff Jeffries didn’t stir more than friendship in my soul. He’d recognize that somewhere in the past few weeks, I’d gone and fallen in love with a farmer.

  I sat hard on the sofa.

  “Are you staying or going?”

  His voice made me tremble. I pretended it was the night air and jumped up to close the window. But the sash wouldn’t budge.

  His arms reached over me, slid the window shut before he sat on the arm of the sofa. “Staying or going?”

  I moistened my lips, my gaze falling everywhere but directly on him. He moved to the mantel, poked at the embers. The shadowed skin that circled beneath his eyes taunted me as Mama and Daddy’s voices rumbled from the next room, then quieted.

  I took a deep breath and steadied my gaze on Frank’s face. “I told James I wouldn’t leave. Not yet.”

  Daddy reached into his pocket before he left the next morning and pulled out a fold of paper money. He peeled away five one-dollar bills and handed them to me. “For anything you need, baby girl.” He kissed me on the cheek before he helped Mama into the Lathams’ buggy.

  Tears rose and retreated in my eyes as quickly as shallow puddles after a midsummer rain. I couldn’t do what Mama wanted. I’d made a commitment to the Lord to stay here until He made it clear I should leave. If the end of March came and I had no other options, only then would I return to Downington.

  I had thirty-nine days to figure out the rest of my life. I’d mark them off on a piece of paper, one by one.

  James’s hand slipped into mine. His eyes danced. So much like his daddy’s, only lighter in color. So clear in speaking their need. How would I ever say good-bye?

  Mama did indeed buy my ticket home before she left. Even sent it back to me with Mr. Culpepper instead of waiting for Frank to pick it up. I stared at it later that afternoon, a lump forming in my throat.

  I turned to find Frank standing behind me, his eyes also fixed on the ticket. And it seemed from that moment on I couldn’t get him out from underfoot.

  I gathered the wrung-out sheet and placed it in the basket to carry to the clothesline. Beside me, Frank fed another sheet through the wringer and fished in the wash pot for more.

  “So did you often help Aunt Adabelle with the laundry?” I tapped my foot against the hard dirt.

  The surprise on his face told me all I needed to know. He nodded toward the basket at my feet. “You ready to hang those?”

  “Yes.” I tilted my head. “Do you want to help?”

  “I can.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “Let me douse the coals of this fire first.”

  I picked up the basket and headed for the clothesline, calling to the boys and Janie, who played far from the fire and the clothes wringer. They appeared for a moment, cheeks brightened by the cool air. I sent them into the house to warm up a bit, even as I considered shedding my own coat.

  Then I trudged around to the side of the house, set the basket on the ground, and pulled the clothespins near. Maybe if I got this all done quickly, Frank would leave me alone. Not that I didn’t enjoy his nearness. I enjoyed it far too much. And that made it harder to push him from my mind. I jammed a clothespin over a fold of cloth on the line.

  Help me, Lord. Help me to trust Your plans.

  Halfway through my task, Frank appeared again, his easy grin spinning my stomach and thumping my heart. His hand brus
hed mine, tingling the skin all the way up my arm.

  “I guess you haven’t had any driving adventures lately.” He picked up one of Janie’s dresses, so small in his hands. He frowned at it. Turned it upside down, then right side up.

  “Let me help.” I took the dress from him, shook it out, hung the shoulders over the line, and pinned them in place. Then I shook out one of Ollie’s dresses. “No. No driving lately.”

  “Did you tell your mother about that adventure?” He chuckled as he pinned one of Dan’s small shirts to the line.

  “No!” I laughed, reaching for another piece of clothing. “She’d never understand that.”

  “I imagine not.” He sidled an amused glance in my direction. “But you’d do it again, wouldn’t you?”

  I stopped working, faced him full on. “Yes, I would. I’d like to drive more. All by myself.” A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Of course, I’d do my best not to knock down your fence again.”

  His eyes shone with held-in laughter. “And I’d thank you for that.”

  Pulling my gaze from his, I reached for another item from the basket. “Do you . . . Have you ever thought about buying a car? My brother had one. A Model T. He bought it before he left for France. Mama mentioned he took it with him on his last adventure. Maybe he sold it to pay for—” The words stuck in my throat, but I imagined Frank would understand.

  “Tell me about your home.”

  “My home?” It took me a moment to realize he didn’t mean here. When had I come to think of this place as home? I shook away my shock. “Downington.”

  He nodded and kept working.

  “It’s not much different than Prater’s Junction, really.”

  “I guess you miss your friends there.”

  “Friends?”

  He’d edged closer to me now, the basket resting at the far end of the line.

  I scooted toward the porch, eased down on the step, leaving him to hang the last few things. “I didn’t have any close friends there.”