He had to stop. “Let me try. Tell me what to do. Every mistake I make, you can laugh, and you’ll be ready to work again in no time at all.”
“Good-for-nothing city gentleman.” Humor lightened Charles’s grumble. “Show me what you’ve got.”
As soon as the harness settled on Zack’s shoulders, its weight told him it would be different from anything he’d ever done before. It reminded him of the knapsacks he’d carried during the war, heavy enough to form grooves in his skin. Maybe Debbie could rub some of that bag balm onto his back to ease it into toughness, the way she had helped his hands.
He hadn’t even gone a quarter of a row, and already they were veering to the left. He pushed himself against the plow, forcing it in the opposite direction.
The steer bellowed. The ropes and plow probably hurt its muscles as well. “Sorry, fella.” They moved two more yards. Glancing behind his shoulder, the line wobbled like a toddler’s trip across the floor, but at least it didn’t slither like a snake.
Half an hour later, he finished the first row. Sweat had soaked the brim of his hat.
Charles ambled over with the canteen. “Drink some water.” He studied the row Zack had plowed. “Not bad. Keep your eye on where you’re headed.”
Zack nodded. He took his neckerchief and poured water onto it before tying it beneath his hat. If it helped in the southern swamps, it should work under the Kansas sun.
The steer didn’t want to leave his feast of prairie grass to go back to work, but Zack forced him to plow the third row. Charles stood at the end of the row to give him a visual. Good idea. Zack tipped his hat. If he stayed focused, maybe he’d finish the field by the end of the day. He glanced up at the sky. Maybe half the field.
“Yoo-hoo,” Debbie called.
Zack kept his eyes fixed on the end of the row, only three feet ahead. She kept calling, and he kept ignoring her, until she reached the field as he finished his sixth row.
Luncheon called him to a halt. Zack felt about as strong as jelly in a jar. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” He sat down carefully, hoping he could hide his exhaustion. Debbie handed him a jar of milk, while her eyes wandered between the two men. Her gaze returned to Zack. “So today you became a farmer.”
He reached up to rub his shoulder. “Perhaps you should ask old Babe over there. He might have a different opinion.”
The steer lowed, as if he knew he was being discussed then grabbed another mouthful of grass. “I wish we had it that easy to find food,” Zack said.
“You can. Just eat grass,” Charles said.
Zack enjoyed Charles’s quiet humor. “I tried it once. Didn’t like it. I blame it all on Eve.”
Debbie’s eyes widened at his words. “Oh, you can’t blame Eve for everything. God told Adam the ground was cursed because of what he did.”
“Yeah. He listened to Eve.”
Charles cleared his throat, and Zack stopped talking. That didn’t stop him from smiling at Debbie and imagining her as his Eve. Did women realize how much influence they had over men, how far a man would go to win a woman’s affections?
To stop his mind from wandering too far in that direction, he grabbed a sandwich. Before he took his first bite, he said, “So what do you think of my farm?”
Instead of answering, she walked up and down the rows. The direction her feet wandered demonstrated how crooked they were. He stifled a groan and forced himself to eat. Charles ate at a leisurely pace, quiet amusement lighting his features.
By the time she finished, Zack was ready to return to work. He met her at the corner of the field. “So what do you think?”
“Our farm is in good hands, Mr. Zack Gage.”
A goofy smile spread across his face while she packed up lunch and headed home. Zack waited until she disappeared from view. If he had started before, he would have kept his eyes on her and run the plow off the field in his pursuit.
The break had done him good. Her approval of the job he had done that morning spurred him to finish the field by the end of the day.
Chapter 9
The Barkers had rescheduled their celebration dinner, after Papa recovered and they’d finished the planting. Mama’s checklist ran longer than when they lived in a house, complete with fancy china and linens.
Debbie’s immediate task was to sweep the yard and make it level, ridding the area of excess chicken feed and droppings. Zack had built a coop, so their chickens wouldn’t wander around. The poor hens kept running against the wire, their claws scratching at the dirt just out of reach.
When Debbie reached the garden enclosure, she couldn’t resist checking the progress. Her heart sank when she saw no change. It shouldn’t have surprised her; she hadn’t heard Zack’s movements at night. He had taken over Papa’s burden of getting the crops planted.
Debbie snapped her fingers. If Zack wasn’t working at night, she could. It wouldn’t break Mama’s rule. A gift to him for all he’d done for her family—for all he meant to her. Delighted with her plan, she skipped out of the room before Mama discovered her dawdling.
Soon she would see Alanna again. She was eager to hear about her mail-order romance. Even more, she wanted to show off Zack.
Zack had fashioned a couple of plank benches for their guests. They didn’t have enough chairs for everyone, but few homesteaders would. Food they had aplenty. In a few months, they would have fresh vegetables. Hope bubbled up in Debbie. When they left Maine last year, her spirits had dragged until the day she met Zack. A thread of hope had stitched itself into her life every day since.
Papa and Zack disappeared to the creek to clean up. Mama called to Debbie. “I have bath water ready for you.” She held a clean towel and a bar of soap in her hands.
Debbie threw her arms around her mother. “It will have to be quick.”
“I’ll help with your hair.”
When Debbie took the soap from her mother’s hand, she saw it was one of the bars of fancy French perfume. “When did we get this?”
Mama’s face grew pink while she shaved a few flakes of the soaps and set them aside for Debbie to wash her hair. “You told a certain gentleman you liked these fancy soaps.”
“Zack?” Debbie dipped herself under the water, holding her breath, amazed he would buy the soap for her.
“It seems like a strange topic to discuss with a man.” Mama soaped up Debbie’s long hair. The head massage relaxed her. “What kind of soap you prefer.”
Looking back on it, Debbie giggled. It had seemed natural at the time. They were sharing things that brought them joy. Certain aromas stirred memories in her. From now on, this soap would bring Zack to her mind—the same way his masculine scent alerted her to his return at night before he’d set a foot inside the soddy. “I also showed him the pine sachets.”
Mama shrugged as if she didn’t understand. “It’s sweet.” Debbie dipped beneath the water to rinse out the lather from her head. The soap felt luxurious on her body, cleaning out the ground-in dirt on her feet while smoothing her arms. She emerged from the tub, wrapped in a blanket. “I feel glorious.” She hadn’t taken such care since meeting Zack, not even on the day of the audition—thanks to the soap he had provided.
Her dress slipped on easily enough, but she encountered unexpected tangles in brushing her hair. Mama took another brush and worked on the opposite side of Debbie’s head. “Your hair is worth every brushstroke. It’s a woman’s crowning glory. And yours shines like the sunrise, especially when it’s clean. The summer sun brings out the highlights.”
Debbie’s hand went to her face. The sun also brought out a few freckles.
By the time they’d finished, they’d looped her hair into a simple bun, adorned by a braid on top of Debbie’s head. She tugged at her shirtwaist, a pretty shade of yellow, which paired well with her green brocade skirt. The only thing lacking was the bustle featured in nearly every dress advertised in Godey’s lady’s magazine, but bustles were no more practical on the Kansas prairie than they had been
on their farm in Maine. Even without the bustle, the white buttons, lace cuffs, and the frill showing around the edge of her skirt—a new addition—could grace a ballroom. All she needed to complete her perfect summer outfit was an umbrella.
Tonight she wouldn’t even use a sunbonnet, so her hair would be visible. Was she daring the sunset to a duel? The fanciful thought brought another smile to her face, one of many.
“Debbie.” Ma’s voice reached her where she sat, putting the finishing touches to her toilette together. “Our guests are almost here.”
At last the field was tilled and planted. A few clouds ran across the sky, suggesting God would bless them with rain to encourage the seeds to grow.
Both men took a bath in the river. The water was surprisingly warm, easing Zack’s muscles when he scrubbed the dirt out of his skin. What did Debbie think of her new soap? After tonight, he’d dedicate the time to her that she deserved. He’d work on the garden.
Tonight he wore blue wool slacks that made him itch just to look at them, but they matched his shirt, ironed with sharp creases. Kathleen chose it for him, saying they brought out his eyes, and Debbie said he looked good in blue. Zack took his time clearing his chin of whiskers.
Charles finished first and watched his efforts. “Do you want to get rid of some of that hair?” He lifted a pair of scissors. “It looks like it’s been a while.”
A poor hair cut was better than hair so long it slipped under his shirt collar. “I’d appreciate it.”
Charles’s hair didn’t need cutting. Maybe Kathleen took care of it for him. Zack ran his hand around his neck, imagining Debbie doing the same for him. Such small things made him long for the comforts of a home and a wife.
Charles took his time. When he reached Zack’s ears, he stopped and surveyed his work. “Maybe we should have left it long. Your neck is white.” He chuckled.
Zack felt the back of his neck, his hair hadn’t been cut shorter since his enlistment. Hair would always grow back, unless he went bald. “Thank you.” His shirt and belt fit well. The steady flow of solid meals offset the long hours of work. His chest expanded under the shirt a bit more, his muscles more defined. He dared hope Debbie would notice.
“Stop admiring yourself,” Charles said. “The ladies are waiting for us.”
In the distance, puffs of dust announced the approach of their guests. “We’d better get back to the house.”
When he saw Debbie, dressed in all her splendor after her bath, Zack became as speechless as a schoolboy. Her skin looked like tinted porcelain, her clothes belonged on the pages of a fashion magazine, and her hair—her hair was on fire, the red-and-gold highlights reflected on her sun-kissed cheeks, a few freckles spread across her nose and cheeks.
She stared at him, seemingly as speechless as he was. She found her voice first. “Who cut your hair?”
“Your father.” He ran his hand across the back of his neck. “How did he do?”
She walked around him, studying the cut. Her gaze tickled his skin as surely as the edge of a razor. “He did a good job.” She swallowed. “And I don’t believe I have seen that outfit before. You look even handsomer than before.”
He waved that aside. “I have no words to describe how beautiful you are this evening.”
“It’s the French soap I used.” She winked at him.
The arrival of the Radles—Debbie’s friend Alanna with her parents, Michael and Earlene—kept Zack from getting more tongue-tied. In his opinion, Alanna couldn’t hold a candle to his Debbie, in spite of her freckles. Alanna would make a good schoolmarm, with a bit of severity to give her authority. Good-looking in her own way.
Sidney made a beeline for Zack and shook his hand as if they were the best of friends. They looked each other in the eye, each asking about the other’s progress in the mail-order audition business.
“Miss Barker looks as happy as a firecracker on the Fourth of July,” Sidney said.
Zack stifled a laugh. The way Debbie tossed her head about in eager conversation, red sparks did appear to fly from her hair. “She’s glad to have company. From what I’ve seen since I arrived, they haven’t taken time for much other than work since the ground thawed.”
“Except show up in town for the audition.” Sidney grinned.
Zack’s face warmed, but Sidney was in the same situation. He wouldn’t share his suspicion—Mr. Barker welcomed him more as an extra farmhand than as a potential suitor. “I’m grateful they did.” He tilted his head in Debbie’s direction. “You see, I like firecrackers.”
Sidney laughed. “I prefer brunettes myself.”
Alanna’s long, dark hair reminded Zack of his sisters. “They seem to be good friends,” he said. “How long have the Radles been homesteading?”
“They just proved up this year. They’re hoping Alanna and I will take the claim next to them.”
Zack raised his eyebrow. “So have you settled your mind to marry the girl, then?”
“Of course,” Sidney said. “I assumed you had, too. That’s what we’re celebrating tonight, isn’t it?”
His words hit Zack like a punch to the stomach. Is that what everyone was expecting?
Was Debbie hoping for a proposal tonight?
O Lord, what do I do?
Chapter 10
As soon as the Radles arrived for the party, Sidney had headed for Zack. Good. She was glad Zack had made a friend in Turtle Springs outside of her family. Debbie and her mother had finished setting up for the meal already, so she welcomed a chance to chat with Alanna. They found a spot across the clearing from the men.
“They’re looking at us.” Alanna spoke too low for anyone else to hear. “Our mail-order grooms.”
How did Alanna stay so calm while Debbie felt her own face warm like bread in the oven? “Of course they are. We’re taking about them, after all.”
“So.” Alanna moved even closer, so her mouth was right next to Debbie’s ear. “What do you think of your Mr. Gage? Sidney hasn’t asked yet, but we’ve talked about it. I expect him to propose soon.”
“Congratulations.” If only Debbie could say the same.
“Now we’ve proved up on the homestead, nothing could make Papa happier, except maybe a grandbaby next summer.”
“Alanna.” Debbie laughed. Proposal, marriage, children—Debbie wanted the same things, but she was less certain about her parents.
“How about you? How are you and Zack getting along?” Alanna elbowed Debbie. “We wondered if tonight’s party had a special reason.”
Debbie backed away a few inches. “What? No, tonight we’re just happy we got our first field planted this week. We’re praying God will give us ideal weather conditions and enough of a crop to keep us through the winter.” She sighed. “And then, I suppose they’ll break up more ground.” She rattled off a list of improvements to the farm, speaking faster with each word.
Zack took Sidney into the extra space he had added, where they wanted to plant a garden, and she wanted to follow. Even now, seeds should be below the soil, reaching for the sunshine, and small green stems ready to appear. She stopped, ashamed of her jealousy over such a selfish request.
Alanna hugged her friend. “It will get better. The first year is always the hardest.” She looked at the men. “Judging from the way Zack looks at you, you have nothing to worry about. He’s smitten. He’s working as hard for you as Jacob did for Rachel.”
Debbie choked on a laugh. “Let’s hope he doesn’t take fourteen years.”
“No. Five years, tops, until you prove up on the land.”
Alanna’s silliness broke the crust of Debbie’s gloom, and she laughed out loud. “Not even Papa would make us wait that long. I almost made old maid status waiting for the war to end.”
Mama dashed into the soddy, and Debbie decided to head inside to help with last minute tasks. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d better help Mama. The Terrys are coming.”
“Let me help.”
Debbie didn’t refuse. Mrs. Radl
e joined them. They formed a line like volunteer fire fighters, passing pans from the stove to the yard. The final bowl landed on the table as the Terrys’ wagon arrived.
Clark Terry swung his wife, Susan, around easily. Debbie imagined Zack’s arms around her waist and shivered. Give it time, she reminded herself. Like the garden-to-be, showers of patience and hope mixed with the sunshine of joy should bring about the desired result.
The Radles, who’d lived in Turtle Springs the longest, praised Papa and Zack so much their heads could have floated across the sky like balloons. “But don’t expect a lot from this first crop,” Michael Radle warned. “It takes a year, sometimes two, for the ground to be properly ready for a crop.”
Zack helped himself to more ham. “I think the Flint Hills might be better suited to cattle ranching than farming.” He chewed a bite of the ham. “But I don’t know much about either occupation.”
Did Zack mean he thought the farm might fail? Debbie’s insides sickened.
The Radles’ glance gave weight to Zack’s suspicions. “It depends on what you want. Ranching’s a good option. We have plenty of grass growing around here, plenty of cattle fodder.”
Debbie enjoyed watching the wind ripple through the fields, like waves crossing the ocean. They were blessed. Papa wanted enough of a crop to feed themselves for the next year, but they had money from the sale of their family farm to tide them over. But what about Zack? They hadn’t discussed money in detail. All she knew was his family’s factory had closed.
“So tell me, gentlemen.” Mr. Terry looked up and down the table then leaned forward, as if the serious business of the night had started. “I’ll confess, I’m curious as to why you came to Turtle Springs for our ‘audition.’”
Silence fell around the table. Debbie hadn’t expected such a direct question from their neighbors.
Mr. Radle broke the silence. “The missus and me are happy as peacocks to have them here. They each have their own story. And regardless of Mr. Terry’s question, most of the menfolk of Turtle Springs are mighty pleased to have our numbers increased. Sidney’s told me his reasons, but I’ll let him tell it.”
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