He helped his children sit at the table, listening to their rambling accounts about their day. He dished up the thick stew from the pot Millie had set on the table. They passed around the basket of biscuits and the butter, and Adam found himself looking at the meal he’d been dreaming about just ten minutes prior.
Once the food was distributed, they bowed their heads and Adam prayed. He had barely said Amen when Genie yelled, “Eat!” Adam smiled at the exclamation, looking at Millie. She was smiling, too. Their eyes met, and both smiles disappeared. The tension exploded.
They were still looking at one another across the table when Caty spoke. “Daddy? Is it okay to eat?”
“What?” Adam realized she and Genie were watching them, waiting for them to start eating before they did the same. Guilt festered in Adam’s gut. If the awkwardness between him and Millie was noticeable enough for Genie to not start immediately eating, then it was bad. Really bad.
“I’m sorry, kids. That was my fault. I got a little sad for a second, but I’m better now.” Millie broke off a piece of biscuit and began to eat, and the children followed without hesitation. “Caty, did you tell your dad how you helped make the biscuits today? I bet he’d like to hear that.”
Adam began eating his own biscuit. “Yes, I would, Caty-girl. Did you get all of Millie’s secrets about how she makes them so yummy?”
Caty smiled and nodded. “I’m going to make them with her again and again until I can do it by myself.”
“Then you can make biscuits and Millie can make biscuits and we’ll get to eat biscuits all day long.” Adam teased his daughter, feeling his frustration melt away as it always did in Caty and Genie’s presence. He loved ranching and loved farming, but his children were the real source of joy in his life.
He looked at his daughter, blushing and proud of what she had learned. Looked at his son, with his toothy grin and mouth full of food, bursting to tell his daddy all about his day. He had wanted Millie to come into this structure and make it a home. He’d wanted his children loved and cared for. Not just physically cared for, but emotionally nourished. He’d wanted this. This very moment.
And Millie had given it to him. To them. She’d done everything he had told her he wanted in his letter. Not only done it, but done it with a cheerful heart. Instead of making his children feel like some sort of obligation, she’d made them feel special and loved.
No, Millie wasn’t the one trying to change the bargain. That had been him. He’d sprung one-on-one nighttime conversations on her. Had insisted on talking about feelings. Adam was the one who had made things too personal. He’d been hoping for a deeper friendship, but now saw that maybe he’d taken it too far. By pushing for more, he was jeopardizing the good thing they’d managed to create in the last month.
They needed to talk. Again. Not to become closer friends, but to clear up the argument they’d had. Then, things could go back to how they were before.
Adam felt a dread building in his gut as this night replayed the exact same way as the night before. They spent time together, tucked the children into bed, said prayers. Adam once again found himself waiting for Millie to come out of the kids’ room.
She seemed to stay in there longer than normal, and Adam wondered if she was avoiding him. Maybe she would find a way to spend all night with the kids and never have to face him. Adam hoped she would be braver than that.
Adam sat in his rocking chair and pulled out the Bible, trying to find some guidance. His parents had loved one another deeply. They’d made being married look easy. Fun. They had even died together, when Adam was nineteen.
His mom had come down with what they had believed was the flu, and his dad had tended her devotedly. He would never balk at playing nurse for the woman he adored. It quickly became obvious that his mother’s illness was more severe than they’d first expected. By the time the doctor made it out to their place, the scarlet fever had infected both of his parents. They died within a week of one another. In a way, that made sense. Adam couldn’t conceive of a world with one of his parents in it without the other one.
Seeing that kind of love had been a gift. And then it had been a curse. Even before she became tired of being a farmer’s wife, his marriage to his first wife had fallen far short of the great love he’d expected. The one he’d grown up seeing.
But that was a past mistake. A lesson Adam had learned. He had entered this marriage with Millie with very different expectations. Love, in Adam’s experience, faded fast. It was much more important to have common goals.
Adam looked up when he heard Millie come out of the children’s bedroom. She gently shut the door, one hand guiding it to close without making a sound. When she turned, she did not look the least bit surprised to see him there waiting for her. Instead, she looked resigned. Like Adam was some kind of unpleasant task to be endured. He tried to focus on the book in his hand and not the defensiveness coating his skin like some kind of armor.
“Adam.”
“Millie.”
They just watched each other, him in the rocking chair and her standing, hands pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders.
This was ridiculous. Adam sighed and set the Bible down on the table. He held both hands out, palms up, as though trying to prove that he meant her no harm. “Let’s talk. Please.”
She nodded and sat down in the other rocking chair, moving it to face him more directly rather than sit beside him. She did not speak.
“I want to talk about last night,” Adam continued. “We were having a nice conversation, at least I thought we were, and then it went bad. I got upset and you got upset and we both left upset. But, I don’t want to live that way, with tension between us. I don’t want the kids exposed to that kind of discord. So, we need to talk it out.”
Millie sighed, but it sounded much more weary than exasperated. She leaned back into the rocking chair and shut her eyes, squeezing them so tight that the skin around them went white.
“I got offended when you asked about my savings. It felt like you don’t trust me to take care of you. That insults me.” There. He’d said it as bluntly as possible. That, at its core, was the hurdle they needed to get over. He couldn’t do this if she was constantly doubting him.
Not just because it made him feel like less of a man, though that was a large part to be sure. But also because this was the exact road he’d stumbled down with his first wife. Sarah had doubted him. Sarah had tried to change him. Sarah had left him. Them.
“I grew up in an orphanage.” Millie was still sitting back in her rocking chair, as withdrawn as she could be without getting up and walking away. Her eyes were still pressed shut. But, she was talking, her voice low. Steady. Adam couldn’t hear any emotion in her tone, and that made his skin prickle.
“Orphans learn real quick not to trust people. That people simply can’t be trusted. Even the good people. Workers who were kind to you left. Workers who were mean to you were mean, though they pretended to be nice in front of other adults, so anything you said against them was never believed. And even the mean ones left—you couldn’t count on them either way.”
She was still rocking. Still using that flat tone. She didn’t even sound sad about her wretched childhood, just resigned in a way that hurt to hear. Adam wanted to stop her, to tell her never mind. He also found that, despite all his earlier protestations to the contrary, he very much wanted to hear what was on Millie’s mind. And how this story ended.
“Us kids just looked out for ourselves. I mean, we tried to stick together. To be a team. But, at the end of the day, the only person who cared about me was me. And every sad story began with one of us being naive fools and trusting someone.”
Adam held his breath when Millie stopped rocking and sat up. Looked right at him with the most direct gaze Adam could remember having focused on him.
“But I didn’t learn t
hat lesson well enough. I trusted my first husband. Trusted that he would always be there and that he would take care of me. I thought we had a good marriage.” Millie’s voice turned hard, the first emotion Adam had heard since she started talking. It wasn’t a pleasant emotion. “Then he died. And I found out about his secret life. The debt. And that I was in a worse position than I had ever been before. And that was saying something.”
Adam felt the vise that had been around his chest lessen as Millie took her gaze off him. She leaned back again. Began rocking again. But her eyes were open this time, looking up at the ceiling.
“I know that part, Millie. I knew it before I married you.” Adam tried to gentle his voice as much as possible. It was a hard story, had been hard to hear it when considering marrying her. He had worried that a woman who had faced that difficult experience might be bitter or harsh in a way that would make her an unsuitable mother for his sweet, impressionable children. Millie’s church friends had assured him that she was gentle and kind and would be wonderful with the children—all of which turned out to be true. But, that did not change her not trusting him, her possibly leaving him. And that was a problem.
“You don’t. Not really. You might know the facts as they appear written down on a piece of paper but there is no way you know the experience as I lived it. You couldn’t.” Millie’s voice held the second emotion of the night, a despair that made the vise reappear, only this time on his throat instead of his chest.
“Adam, I thought I was going to be alone. Pregnant. Homeless and penniless. And all I knew how to do was keep house, straighten things on store shelves, read and make to-do lists. That was it.” Her voice broke. “I thought I was going to have to give my baby away to an orphanage. That my baby would grow up the exact same way I did because there was no way I could take care of myself and a baby.”
Millie said more, but the words were just the inhalations and exhalations of her sobs. Every logical, reasonable, implacable reason Adam had to be mad at Millie crumbled, and he rushed over to somehow hug her in that rocking chair. She was right. He knew the words that described her past, but he didn’t know the fear. Even this small glimpse of it was almost too much to bear.
The floor was punishing against Adam’s knees and the armrests of the rocking chair were digging into his ribs, but Adam pressed forward, keeping his arms tight around her. It didn’t help. Millie just continued to sob, arms wrapped around the womb where her child grew.
Chapter Six
To Do:
Daily chores
Die of mortification
Weed garden, collect vegetables
Sew my big mouth shut
Put on a roast for supper
Pretend that the last two nights never happened
Go into town for supplies and see if the store will sell my knitting
Find a way to go to bed early
Millie wasn’t sure how she had made it through the morning, but she had. And she would keep doing so. Keep going forward, performing the daily tasks of life. So she had broken down last night. So she had cried like a baby and told Adam her most shameful secret—that she had almost given up her child. So what?
Millie felt paralyzed, but forced her arms to keep moving as she chopped potatoes to put in with the roast. Then, she would force herself to smile when Edith came to pick her up. Force her way through life.
Millie could do that. She could.
Edith had suggested the shopping trip to town last week. In truth, she had ridden into the yard and all but announced that they were going. At the time, Millie had been nervous about spending hours alone in a wagon with the woman. Today, though, Millie’s relief at getting off the farm, if only for a few hours, made her dizzy.
Caty and Genie were playing together on the rug in front of the fireplace. They were having a party, blocks and horses and dolls all dancing and making noises. Millie was thankful that they had not picked up on her current mood. She wasn’t exactly sure what her current mood was, but she knew that at some point, she needed to figure it out and make it better. Just, not today. Today was for getting through. That was all.
She’d run to her room last night just as soon as her faltering legs would carry her. And then this morning, Millie came out of her room later than normal. It had taken all her courage to come out at all. She usually made Adam breakfast, something hot and substantial to see him though a morning of hard work. But, like yesterday, he was already gone. She’d had no chance to remind him that she was going to town today, though he’d been supportive of the idea last week when Edith came over. But, given how early he’d left to avoid her, Millie doubted he would be home before well past sunset. And she should be back in time for supper.
Caty and Genie stopped playing when they heard the sound of a wagon approaching the house. Caty ran to the window and peeked out. “Edith!”
Millie smiled as she watched them open the door and rush out on the porch. Millie followed, feeling like a rescue party had arrived. She hadn’t been back to town since the day she’d married Adam. He kept the farm pretty well supplied, so she didn’t exactly have to go right now. But, Edith had declared the need for people and civilization, and today, being able to think about something other than this farm or her marriage sounded like a vacation to Millie.
Edith smiled and waved from the wagon. “Good morning! Are you ready to leave cows and chickens behind for a few hours? Go look at pretty fabric? Eat cake?”
“Cake! Cake! Cake!” Genie clapped each time he shouted the world, stomping his way around in a little circle. This little boy was such a gift. Such a bundle of joy, ready to share his glee with anyone he met.
Caty wasn’t yelling about cake like her brother, but her smile took up most of her face, and Millie saw she was rocking back and forth on her feet as though just waiting for the word go. This sweet girl was also a gift. Millie’s life was not entirely composed of mortification and fear and resentment. There was also a whole lot of love.
Millie made sure she had the money she’d brought with her from Saint Louis. The last bit of currency that she had to her name. She stowed her basket of knitting in the back of the wagon with both kids, and then she climbed up to sit by Edith.
“I have to tell you, Millie, I’ve been looking forward to this for months. Absolutely months.”
“Months? I’ve only been here a little over a month, and you just told me about the trip last week.”
“That may be, but I’ve still been looking forward to this. Going to town with another woman. Having a chance to talk and just be silly for a day. When Adam told me he was getting remarried, I was happy for him. But, I was even happier for myself, if you want to know the selfish truth.”
“Well, I guess I’m glad I could help you out.” Millie was smiling, but she was a bit in awe of this woman. She seemed so happy and in charge. So secure.
Millie needed to figure out how to get her questions about drought answered in between the small talk without drawing attention to her concerns. Millie needed answers, but Edith would likely wonder why Millie wasn’t directing those questions at Adam. She’d have to be careful not to reveal that these weren’t issues she felt she could discuss with her husband. She wasn’t in a good place with Adam, but she didn’t want to talk badly about him.
“So, Millie, what do you think about living on a farm? Adam told me you had lived in a city for most of your life.”
“I actually lived in a city for all of my life before moving here. I like the farm. Once I got the hang of the chores, it’s been a nice experience.”
“I went to Saint Louis once, when I was a little girl. All I remember is the noise. And people being everywhere.”
Millie felt an unexpected wave of homesickness rise up. She had not had a good life in the city, but it had been the only home she’d ever known, and there had also been good things th
at she still missed. Sometimes Millie really wished she could drown out her own thoughts and get lost in a crowd. “Yes, it was loud and crazy. Always.”
“But it was home, too, wasn’t it?” Edith’s voice was incredibly sympathetic.
“Yes. It was.”
“If you ever get lonely, you can come visit me. I’m not that far from you, and Adam can show you the way. I could come visit you, too. We can even just do chores and things together.” There was a note of yearning in Edith’s voice that made Millie realize the woman was lonely herself. That made a lot of sense. She didn’t have children, so she was completely by herself during the day.
“I think I would like that, Edith. I do miss talking to another woman. And, I bet you know all kinds of secrets when it comes to being a farm wife. I’d like to steal them.”
Edith laughed. “I don’t know about that. But the work does go so much faster when you’re not alone. That is probably the one thing I miss the most now that Mike and I are on our own. When we first married, he helped my dad farm his land. Mike would go to the fields, and I would spend the day working with my mom and sisters.”
“Are they far from here?”
“A few hours. I’m relieved that Mike was able to find land so close, really. He thought we might have to go much farther to find property of our own. I just don’t get to see them that often this time of year. Mike doesn’t like me making the trip by myself, and he’s busy from sunup to sundown.”
“Adam, too. It seems like all he does is work in the fields.”
“That’s typical for this time of year, unfortunately. It’ll get better, though. In the winter, you’ll probably wish he would get out of the house more.” Edith’s tone suggested she’d experienced that feeling more than once in prior winters.
Millie intentionally kept her voice as casual as possible, hoping Edith would think she was still just making conversation. “I thought maybe he was working longer hours because of the drought.”
Family of Convenience Page 7
