Go Away Home

by Carol Bodensteiner

Vern asked Littmann, “Did you know she bakes the best bread in the county?”

  “You are full of surprises,” Littmann said to her. He gave a cursory glance at the tables, then sought the exit. “We haven’t been down the midway yet. Shall we go?”

  “Do we have time before the show?”

  “Enough. I’m feeling lucky.” He took her hand. “There might be a prize in it for you.”

  “For me?” She’d never had anyone try to win something for her.

  “Of course for you.” He squeezed her hand and let it go.

  Minnie linked arms with Liddie, and the two walked ahead while the men compared strategies for outwitting the carnies. The carnival games offered enough hope to keep people playing without yielding enough reward to deplete the prizes hanging from the rafters. Today was no exception.

  “That’s enough, Thomas. You tried,” Liddie said after Littmann rolled the balls five times without success, his frustration building with each loss. “Save your money.”

  “Once more.” Littmann motioned to the carny.

  “Give the man some space,” Vern said. He’d won a string of beads in a shooting game. Minnie caressed the blue-glass strand hanging around her neck as though it were made of priceless sapphires.

  “This is the time.” Littmann eyed the pins for ten seconds before he released the first ball. Pins tottered, but none fell. Same with the second ball. He shook his head. “My luck is off. This is the last ball. Do you want to throw it, Liddie?”

  She drew back, waving her hands. “No.” She realized that whether she threw the ball and won or threw the ball and missed, she would damage his ego. “I know you can do it. You don’t need me.”

  He shrugged. “This is it, then. All or nothing.”

  Liddie held her breath as the yellow wooden ball rattled up the alley. It connected with two pins, knocking them into the third, which tottered back and forth before all three finally fell. Flooded with relief, she breathed again. “Wonderful!”

  “Good one.” Vern slapped Littmann on the back.

  The carny handed a stuffed bear to Littmann, who gave it to Liddie with a bow. “For you, my lady.”

  “Why, thank you, kind sir.” Liddie executed a deep curtsy.

  As she rose, her gaze was drawn past Littmann. Her mind could not conceive of what she was seeing. She looked away and then looked back. It was true. Joe was standing in front of the next midway booth, not twenty feet away, hands in his back pockets, grinning at her.

  “Joe!” she shouted. She thrust the bear back into Littmann’s hands, pushed past Vern and Minnie, and ran straight into his arms.

  She hugged him and then stepped back, holding his hands as she peppered him with questions. “What are you doing here? I got your letter yesterday and you didn’t say anything!” She looked to Vern. “Did you know he was coming? Why didn’t you tell me? How could you keep this a secret?”

  “Nobody tells me nothing,” Vern said. He pumped Joe’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Joe.”

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, had to wait till the threshers were done,” Joe said. “Are you going to introduce me?” Joe looked past Vern and Liddie to Minnie, who stood watching them with clear delight. Meanwhile, Littmann’s eyes moved between Liddie and Joe, the lines of a frown deepening into his forehead.

  “Minnie. Come meet Joe,” Vern said.

  “You’re even prettier than Vern told me,” Joe said. “And that’s saying something!”

  Minnie blushed. “I feel like I’ve known you all along. Vern and Liddie talk about you all the time.”

  “Good, I hope?”

  “We only had to polish the apple a little,” Vern cracked. Then he introduced Littmann.

  “Mr. Littmann.” Joe extended his hand. “I feel I know you, too. Liddie’s mentioned you in her letters.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage.” Littmann shook Joe’s hand, but he looked askance at Liddie.

  Liddie realized she was still holding Joe’s arm. She released it. “Joe’s been a friend . . . of our family . . . for many years.”

  “I was a hired hand for the Treadways,” Joe said.

  “A friend.” Vern cuffed Joe on the arm. “My hunting buddy and card-playing partner.”

  Littmann slipped an arm around Liddie’s waist. “Is it possible your friend hasn’t heard the good news?”

  “News?” Joe asked.

  Liddie felt her cheeks burn and knew the heat was not from the afternoon sun. “Oh. I expect he has not.” She forced herself to meet Joe’s eyes. “Thomas and I are getting married.”

  “Married?” The smile on Joe’s face faded.

  “That’s right,” Littmann affirmed. “Three weeks from today. Then we’re off to Europe.”

  “Married,” Joe repeated. “Europe?” He looked at Liddie.

  “I’ve been meaning to write and tell you,” she said.

  “Sometimes, you have to act,” Littmann added. “The opportunity arose for me, and I couldn’t see going without her. Liddie’s the best little assistant I’ve ever had.”

  Liddie held a tight smile on her lips.

  Joe frowned. “Might your . . . wife to be . . . be more than an assistant?”

  Liddie felt Littmann’s arm tense against her waist. “Your meaning?” he asked, his voice stiff.

  “From the pictures Liddie sends, I peg her as a fine photographer in her own right.”

  “She sends you pictures?” Littmann’s cheek twitched as he looked at her. He fixed Joe with a superior look. “Even a novice can see her talent.”

  Joe met Littmann’s eyes without wavering. “I expect there are different definitions of helpmate.”

  “How long are you going to be in Iowa, Joe?” Minnie interjected.

  Liddie could have kissed her for changing the subject.

  “A week or so. I want to check out that place Vern told me was for rent.”

  Liddie shot an accusing glare at her brother. “You did know he was coming.”

  “Nope. Sure didn’t. Can’t say as I’m disappointed, though.” He grinned at Joe. “Suppose we’ll get a game of cards in while you’re here? Maybe go hunting?”

  “I expect. But I want to see that farm. Got time to go over there with me?”

  “I’ll make time.”

  Littmann tugged Liddie’s arm. “We must move on.”

  “B-but,” Liddie stuttered. “Wait . . .”

  “You’re not forgetting the show, are you?” He urged her toward the grandstand. “Besides, they’ll be wanting to talk farming.”

  Hearing some of the mocking twang Littmann had adopted at the barn dance, she threw him a hard look. In fact, she’d forgotten the Wild West show. Taking photos was now the last thing on her mind.

  “You coming to the farm tonight?” Vern asked Joe.

  “Went right to the hotel when I got off the train,” he said. “Didn’t want to presume.”

  “Mama’ll be upset if you don’t stay with us. So will we,” Minnie insisted.

  “Time to go, Liddie.” Littmann’s fingers tightened on her elbow.

  “Maybe Joe could join us?” she suggested.

  Littmann didn’t hide a scowl.

  “You go,” Joe said. “You have plans, and I want to look at the corn planters.”

  “If you’re still in Iowa, I’m sure you’ll want to come to the wedding,” Littmann said. “Good friend that you are.” The hard edge of sarcasm in his voice cut the air.

  Liddie allowed Littmann to move her several steps down the midway. Shame crept up her back as she imagined Joe watching her be led away. She stopped. “No. This is not right, Thomas. He’s a friend.” She removed her arm from his hand. “I’ll be right back.” She ran the few steps to where Joe stood talking with Vern and Minnie.

  “When will I see you again?” she
asked, loud enough for Littmann to hear.

  “I’ll be at the farm in the morning. Will you come by?”

  “I wouldn’t . . . I couldn’t . . . miss seeing you. It’ll be like old times with all of us at the table.” She smiled at Minnie. “I’m sorry. I invited myself to dinner. I’ll help cook.”

  “You must come,” Minnie said. “Bring Thomas, too. If he wants.”

  Joe lowered his voice. “He may have other ideas.”

  “Liddie,” Littmann said. “Now.”

  When Liddie looked toward Littmann, the angle of the sun blinded her. She threw up her hand to block the glare, but she couldn’t see his face. “I’ll be right there,” she called. She put a hand on Joe’s arm. “I’m glad you’re back.”

  “Just visiting.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Joe’s gaze shifted to Littmann and then back to Liddie. “I’ll see you later on.”

  As Liddie turned to go, Joe winked at her. And when he did, her stomach tightened in a way that she could only describe as tingly.

  Chapter 32

  Liddie relaxed in the darkness, lulled by the rhythmic clip-clop of the horse’s hooves. On the seat in front of her, Minnie rested her head on Vern’s shoulder, their forms silhouetted by the light of the waning third-quarter moon. Though Littmann had objected mightily, Liddie insisted on going out to the farm after the Wild West show. Littmann had refused Minnie’s invitation to come along, acquiescing only to joining them for Sunday dinner, after which he’d bring Liddie back to town.

  Wrapped in the quiet dark, Liddie let her mind drift to Joe. Nearly three years had passed since she’d last seen him. He looked the same and yet different in ways she couldn’t name. Her fingers trailed along her arm. She could still feel his embrace.

  Only when Minnie said, “Liddie, we’re here,” did she realize she’d fallen asleep. In the dark, she found her way to her old room and crawled into bed. Dreams that made no sense pestered her through the night, and she woke unsure at first where she was.

  As she dressed in the shirtwaist and skirt she’d worn the day before, her gaze lingered on each piece of furniture, each crocheted doily, each small item that combined to create her childhood home. “I may never see any of this again,” she whispered. By breakfast, she was almost frantic to revisit every bit of the farm before she went back to Maquoketa. She knew her anxiety was irrational—she’d be on the farm often before she left Iowa—but she could not quell the feeling of imminent loss.

  After breakfast, Liddie walked the homestead, a journey that eventually led her to the grove where she’d spent so much time as a child. Weeds encroached. The roof on the lean-to had fallen through. Yet even in shambles, the grove gave Liddie a sense of calm she hadn’t felt in a good long time. She set to picking up sticks, pulling weeds, restoring order to the disarray.

  If only it were as easy to bring order to her mind, to answer the questions about her future that continued to plague her.

  As she worked, the anxiety knotting her shoulders receded. When the area was tidy, she stood, breathing in the warm air. It felt so fine to be on the farm, to be home. She reached her arms above her head in a long stretch. Locking her knees, she bent over and put her palms flat on the ground. She held that position, enjoying the sense of muscles stretching along her legs, back, and arms.

  “You can still do that.”

  Liddie jerked upright. “Joe!” She grabbed a sapling for support as the blood rushed from her head.

  He stepped forward, taking her arm to steady her. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She shook her head to clear it. “I can’t believe I’m seeing you; you should have told us you were coming.”

  “Didn’t know I was for sure until I got on the train.” He wedged his hands in his back pockets. Now she saw how he had changed. He was still slender, though he’d filled out; the muscles in his shoulders stretched against his shirt. His hazel eyes were the same, though. And his voice. The same voice she heard in his letters, though the words came slower than they used to, as if he now measured his thoughts more.

  “Speaking of surprises, you put one on me.” He rubbed his jaw. “Littmann’s not what I expected.”

  “I forgot you’d never met him.”

  “You talked about him enough in your letters that I almost believed I had.”

  Liddie’s cheeks flushed. What had she been thinking? Talking about one man to another. At the moment, it seemed wildly inappropriate.

  “And you’re getting married.” He cocked an eyebrow.

  “It came up suddenly. There hasn’t been time to write.” She shrank from the partial lie. “So. What do you think?”

  Joe walked to the edge of the clearing and looked into the distance. She’d often imagined him standing that way on his porch in Canada, looking out over the fields.

  “I don’t expect I know Littmann well enough to make a judgment.”

  She knew he was hedging. “I value your opinion, Joe. Tell me.”

  “All right.” He faced her. “I don’t like it. ‘The best assistant I’ve ever had.’” He mimicked Littmann.

  “Well, I am a good assistant.”

  “Come on, Liddie. That’s not how a man talks about the woman he loves. The first thing—the only thing—he says is what a great assistant you are?”

  She flinched at the plain truth of his words. “You make him sound horrible. He’s not like that all the time.” Her back stiffened. “You know, you’re right. You don’t know him well enough to judge.” She crossed her arms to hide her clenched fists.

  “You asked.”

  “I never expected you to be mean.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be mean. But you deserve better. I expect your pa would think so.” He hesitated, then added, “I know I do.”

  Liddie took two deep breaths. How could they be fighting? This was not what she wanted. “I’m sorry,” she offered. “I did ask. Can we start over?” She unclenched her hands, wiggling her fingers to release the tension, and smiled.

  He snorted. “No, I’m sorry. Living by myself, I picked up rough edges. I was too direct.” He sat down on a log, gesturing for her to sit, too, and she did. “You’ve grown up.”

  She looked at him wryly. “I guess it was bound to happen.”

  “I suppose.” He chuckled. “It snuck up on me, though. Even the picture you sent didn’t prepare me. I did appreciate those letters. I nearly wore the pages out reading them.”

  “I know what you mean.” Liddie nodded. “It was as though you were right here talking to me.”

  “I came to count on getting something from you. I kept the pictures you sent on the table so I’d see you when I ate.”

  The image of Joe looking at her pictures during meals filled Liddie with tenderness. She hadn’t known her letters meant so much to him. “I didn’t show all of your letters to Mama,” she admitted.

  “Did I say something out of line?”

  “You didn’t. It’s just . . . they felt like us talking, and I wouldn’t tell anyone what we talked about if you were here. Why would I with you away?”

  He looked off toward the fields. “Your ma kept telling me how I better get back here or all the girls would be married.”

  “She did?” Liddie was surprised. “Did you come back for someone?” Her stomach twisted at the idea.

  “No.” He stood abruptly and moved away. His shoulders rose and fell as though he were pulling something in with one breath and letting it go with the next. He turned back to her. “Forget what I said about Littmann. If you love him, then I’m happy for you, Liddie.”

  There it was again, the assumption of love. She pushed the thought aside. “How long will you be in Iowa?” she asked.

  “A week. No more’n two.” He averted his eyes and added in a tone that was flat and forc
ed, “Sorry I’ll miss the wedding.”

  She didn’t think he sounded sorry.

  “When do you go back to town?” he asked.

  “Thomas is picking me up tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Humph.”

  Liddie couldn’t decipher the meaning of that sound.

  “We’re riding over to the Gibson place this afternoon. Why don’t you come along?”

  Without waiting for a response, he headed for the house.

  After dinner, Liddie helped Vern and Joe saddle the horses. She watched as Joe ran his hands over the gelding’s chest, back, and flanks before saddling him. The skittish animal quieted under his touch.

  An image of Joe running his hands over her arms, her back flashed in her mind. The image shocked her and she turned away, pressing her palms to her face, forcing herself to take even breaths until her heart slowed.

  “It might be better if I stayed to help Minnie in the kitchen,” she said when she felt calm enough to speak. “Besides, Joe, I bet Vern hoped to have some time with you.”

  “We’ll have plenty of time,” Joe said. “You’re only here till tomorrow. Come with us. From what Vern’s told me, this is the kind of place I’ve been looking for.”

  “Sure,” Vern said. “Ride along.”

  Liddie agreed but wondered if it were really wise.

  The farm was similar to the Treadway place—160 acres of rolling hills. Rich, black soil. Fifty acres under the plow. Fields planted to corn, oats, and alfalfa. The back forty included pasture and timber, with a creek running west to east. The renter had left without notice—not a common occurrence, but not unheard of, either.

  “Gib said he’d meet us here,” Vern said when they reined in their horses next to the house.

  “You can see forever,” Liddie exclaimed, looking in all directions before she dismounted.

  “Any idea what kind of deal he wants?” Joe asked.

  “I expect he’ll be open to an offer. Gib’s got his own farm. Can’t do both.”

  “Looks like a fine barn. Think he’d mind if I checked it out?”

  “Go ahead. I’ll wait for him here.”