“Something I found after you left.”
“Don’t we have to wait for Gib?”
“He’ll find us.” He strode toward the barn, his gait as assured as if this were already his place.
Curious, Liddie followed along. Once they were in the barn, Joe led her to the ladder and up to the haymow. Again, he steadied her as she stepped off the ladder. Again, her skin responded to his touch. He went to the small door on the south wall, opened it wide, and stood silently, looking out.
Stepping up next to him, she scanned the fields, but she couldn’t see anything different. “What is it? What am I supposed to see?”
Finally, he spoke. “Liddie, could you live here?”
“What do you mean?”
“A farm like this is what I’ve always wanted. But it isn’t just the land.” He faced her and took her hands in his.
Immediately, her heart was in her throat.
“I didn’t know it when I left Canada, but when I saw you at the fair, and being with you this week . . . I realized I came back to Iowa for you.”
Her heart pounded. She looked down at their hands—his tanned and work toughened, hers white and soft. Her knees suddenly felt too weak to hold her upright.
“I love you, Liddie.” His words drew her eyes up to his. “Could you be happy here? With me?”
His questions hung in the air. She knew what her answer was. She knew what she wanted. But she was engaged. She could not say yes to two men.
“Oh, Joe . . .” The loft air was too thick. “I . . . Littmann . . . Europe . . .”
“I can’t give you Europe. But I love you, and I promise I will make you happy. Will you marry me?” Joe’s tone conveyed humility and confidence, yearning and commitment.
Emotions flooded her mind—surprise, confusion, delight, dread—and her heart. “Joe, I . . .”
“Hello! Anybody here?” Gib’s voice rose up to the mow.
“In the mow, Gib,” Joe called. “On our way down.” Joe looked at Liddie, waiting. When she didn’t respond, disappointment flashed in his eyes. He squeezed her hands before letting them go.
The disappointment she’d seen in Joe’s eyes distressed her. Had he seen the turmoil on her face and thought it to be rejection? She set to picking ripe pears from the tree and the least bruised ones off the ground. Picking pears had been a reasonable excuse for leaving the men to talk, and the effort gave her time to sort through her emotions. When the bucket was full, she sat on the slope north of the house, out of sight of the barn, looking to the familiar Iowa hills for an answer.
All her life, she’d wanted off the farm. All her life, she’d said she’d never marry a farmer. All her life, she’d wanted a career and adventure. And yet here she was, ready to throw away everything she’d ever thought she wanted to grab hold of something she’d been certain she didn’t want. She looked up at the wide-open summer sky and laughed. The irony was inescapable.
Remembering the warmth of Joe’s hands holding hers, the sound of him saying I love you, Liddie sent tremors of delight from her toes to her fingertips. At that moment, she knew without a doubt she wanted more than what Littmann offered.
She buried her face in her hands. Littmann. She’d said yes to his proposal. If she walked away, people would think she was a fool. Even worse, people would think she was like the woman who jilted Joe. While Liddie quailed at being compared to Catherine, she also felt empathy for her. Except Liddie was worse—Catherine had never said yes to Joe.
Chapter 33
By the time they left the Gibson farm, Joe’s decision to stay in Iowa was made. How he would dispose of his horses, equipment, and crops in Canada was yet to be worked out. But he and Gib had shaken hands.
During the ride back to the Treadway place, Joe repeatedly reined his horse close to Liddie’s mare. Once, he drew her attention to a meadowlark on a fence; another time, he asked her opinion about the farmhouse kitchen.
She felt him looking at her, knew he waited on her answer. But as much as Liddie wanted to respond to Joe’s attention, she avoided meeting his gaze. Each time she thought of looking into his hazel eyes, she felt Littmann’s accusing brown eyes staring back.
When they were near the Treadway farm, Joe reached over and grabbed her horse’s bridle, bringing both horses to a stop. “Liddie. Look at me. You can’t ignore me.”
“I’m sorry, Joe.” She looked at him for only a moment before lowering her eyes to focus on the pail of pears hooked over her saddle horn. “I never expected you to propose, and I need time to think.”
“You have feelings for me. I know you do.”
“I don’t deny it.” She felt herself blushing.
“That’s what I needed to hear.” Joe released his grip on the bridle and reached over, grazing her cheek with his fingers.
She tilted her head, savoring the feel of his hand. Then she recovered her senses and shook her head. “But I’m engaged to Thomas. I can’t deny that, either.” She looked off into the distance. “I need to talk to him.” She kicked her horse into a trot.
When they rode up to the Treadway farmstead, Littmann stood waiting in front of the house. Overcome by vertigo, Liddie gripped the saddle horn. Seeing him leaning with studied casualness against the fender of his motorcar, his tan fedora set at a confident angle, sent a wave of panic through her. She reined in her horse.
Joe followed her gaze, then turned again to look at her, uncertainty in his eyes.
She held his eyes for a long moment but didn’t speak. Then she turned toward Littman, forced a smile to her lips, and nudged her horse forward with her heels.
“Thomas! You’re here,” she called out cheerfully, attempting to cover her discomfiture. “Look what I have.” She handed him the bucket of pears. “Minnie asked me to make dessert.” She spoke too brightly.
“I expected you to be here when I arrived. It’s nearly dinnertime.”
“Is it so late? I didn’t realize.”
He set the bucket on the ground and reached up, grasping her waist, then guided her as she stepped down from the stirrup.
Distressed at the thought of Joe watching them, Liddie slipped out of Littmann’s hands and picked up the pears. “I’ve got to get a dessert in the oven. Thomas, will you put my horse up for me?”
“I’m not dressed for barn work,” he said. “Joe will handle it.”
Liddie sucked in her breath. He didn’t ask; he assumed. It was the condescending way he spoke to waitresses and clerks. Shame sent blood pounding through her temples. “Never mind.” She forced a stiff smile. “I should have realized. I’ll do it myself.”
Joe reached for the reins, letting his hand cover hers. “I’m happy to do it for you, Liddie.”
“Thank you.” Looking at Joe directly, she thanked him with her eyes as well as her words. She knew Joe felt her gratitude; she wished Littmann felt her shame.
It was unbearable. She could not stay with Joe and did not want to stay with Littmann. She sought refuge in the house. “I’ll be making dessert,” she said, and turned away.
“I won’t be long in the barn. Want to come along?” Joe asked Littmann. “To watch.” He spoke with thinly veiled mockery.
“I need to talk with Liddie,” Littmann said. He called after her.
She glanced back. “Something’s come up?” She kept her voice neutral, though her heart raced. She really didn’t want to speak to him now. Maybe on the way to town. Or tomorrow. When she calmed down.
“I only said that to get some time alone with you.” He took her elbow and steered her away from the house. “You’ve spent days with your family. I’d think you’d want to spend a little time with me.”
“I can’t right now. Minnie expects . . .” She stopped in the middle of her excuse. If she put him off, what would that solve?
The late-afternoon sun cast golden light through a nearby ash tree, cr
eating a lacy web of shadows on the ground. A single bee buzzed past her shoulder and down by her hand, attracted by the ripening pears. She looked toward the barn. That’s where she wanted to be, with Joe. She dropped her eyes to watch the bee. She fluttered her fingers gently, hoping to make it go away without angering it.
“All right. Over there.” She gestured to a bench under the ash tree. This man had proposed, and she’d said yes. She owed him honesty. She owed herself that, too.
As they sat on the bench, she tried to think of what to say and how to say it. She felt as though she were balancing on the top rail of a fence, one man on either side, one life on either side.
“You’re going to be glad to get out of here, aren’t you?” Littmann’s words broke into her thoughts. He removed his hat and set it beside him on the bench.
“What?”
“Think of where we’ll be in another month. New York. Then Paris. You’ll have left the sticks behind.”
She stared at him. He was entirely serious. And she was appalled. He knew nothing about her. “No.” She was getting off this wagon, here and now. “No, Thomas. I can’t marry you.” There. She’d said it.
Surprise registered on his face. “But Liddie, your mother will never let you go to Europe if we’re not married.”
She stifled a groan. “I’m not going to Europe, either.”
A frown creased his forehead. “You said you wanted . . .”
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, holding on to her resolve. “Until I came home this week, I thought so, too. I did. Working with you, learning about photography. When you laid out your plans for us to go to Europe, I saw everything I’d ever thought I wanted in life right there, waiting for me to say yes. And so I did. I said yes.”
“You can have that. Even more,” he said. “You said you loved me. Were you playing games?”
In fact, Liddie was not certain she had said she loved him. Those hours after he proposed were so fuzzy in her mind. But how could she argue? “When you said you loved me, I was swept away. I thought I should love you . . .” Her voice trailed off. She felt horrid.
“What do you propose to do instead? Go back to sewing? Go back to a farm?”
The disdain in Littmann’s voice hit Liddie like a slap across the face.
“I’m giving you a chance to make something of yourself. Why throw that away? With me, you could be something. Here? You’re wasted.”
Wasted? Liddie fought back the angry words crowding her throat. She had never told him how much it bothered her that he dismissed her sewing, the farm, her family, even her. She had barely admitted it to herself. Instead, she made excuses. She could retaliate now, but she knew with absolute certainty that it would make no difference at all to him.
She set her shoulders. “We’re different,” she said. “I don’t think I realized until now how different.” She put her hand on his. She looked into the gold-flecked brown eyes she’d found so appealing. “You’ve been important to me, Thomas. You’ve taught me to see my own life—the farm, my family, the way I was raised—differently. Because of you, I value it more. I’m grateful to you for that.”
“We’re a good team, Liddie.” He repeated the phrase she’d heard so often. “We’ve done good work here, and we can do more in Europe. Think about it. I know you’ll change your mind.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I won’t.”
“You will.” He stroked his chin with well-manicured fingers, looking at her, calculating. “You want to be with me; it’s what you’ve wanted since the night we met.”
He leaned in as though to kiss her. Liddie dipped away, but he caught her shoulders and forced his lips to hers in a rough kiss.
“Stop it, Thomas,” she hissed, shoving hard against his chest. “Stop it.” He let go and she jumped to her feet, glaring at him.
“You’re making a big mistake, Liddie.” Littmann made a show of picking up his hat as he stood, settling it on his head at the same confident angle. “You’re throwing away your future.”
“Going with you would be the mistake. I want more in my life.” And this time, she knew what “more” meant.
Liddie met Vern on the porch when he came in from the barn. “Where’s Joe?”
“Don’t know.” Vern shook his head. “It was the damnedest thing. He was all het up talking about the farm, coming back to Iowa. Took off for the house and not five minutes later was back, mood blacker’n a thundercloud.”
“Why?”
“Didn’t say. He took the horse and rode west. Didn’t even saddle him up. Figured he mighta got into it with Littmann.” Vern looked around. “Where is Mr. Littmann, anyway?”
“He’s gone.”
“Then what are you doing here? Thought you and him was gonna have supper and go back to town.”
She wet her lips as she gathered courage to say the words. “I told him I couldn’t marry him,” she said. Then she braced for his criticism.
For some reason, telling her brother she’d called off her wedding was harder than telling Minnie and her mother. As soon as Littmann had left, Liddie had squared her shoulders and gone to the house. Upon hearing the news, both women stared at her for what felt like an eternity—but in reality was only a second or two. Minnie said, “You’re making my head spin, Liddie.” Then she added with concern, “Are you all right?” Her mother had hugged her and said, “I’m sure this is for the best.”
Vern’s reaction was immediate and unexpected.
“Well, hot damn,” he said.
She drew back, surprised. “You’re happy I’m not getting married?”
“I’m glad you’re not marrying him.”
“You never said anything before.”
“When you get your head set on something, you’re hard to talk to.” Vern took out his pocketknife and scraped dirt from under his nails. “Nope. I didn’t see you being happy with him.”
“You were worried I wouldn’t be happy?”
“You’re my sister. Of course I care if you’re happy.”
Liddie thought she might cry.
“Why’d you change your mind?” he asked.
She looked off toward the barn. “I guess it was seeing Joe again.”
“Huh. So that’s it.” Vern closed the pocketknife and put it back in his pocket.
“That’s what?”
“Something Joe said when he rode off. Something about how a man shouldn’t be so wrong twice.”
With a sickening thud in her stomach, Liddie realized Joe must have seen her and Littmann. Seen them and totally misunderstood. Cords of anxiety tightened in her chest. “Oh, Vern. I have to talk with him.”
“He’ll come back once he’s worked it out. He always does.”
Liddie was surprised to feel such relief that Littmann and Europe were out of the picture. How could she so easily have done something that would have been so wrong? At the same time, anxiety flared up with each thought of Joe. When would he return?
After supper, they all sat on the porch chatting, as fireflies flickered in the growing darkness.
Before long, Margretta said, “I’ll leave you young folk to talk.” She took her cane and pushed up from the rocker, favoring her right foot.
“You need help, Ma?” Vern asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “’Night, all.”
“Her gout seems worse,” Liddie said when her mother was out of earshot.
“It comes and goes. It flared up again last week,” Minnie said. “I try to get her to take aspirin. She says chewing willow bark works as well.”
Vern snorted.
“Now, Vern.” Minnie shushed him.
“What?” Liddie asked.
“Ma liked to bit Minnie’s head off for bringing up aspirin.”
“But you get along so well,” Liddie exclaimed.
“When you’re home, yeah. When you’re not here”—he nodded sharply toward the door—“Minnie can’t do anything right.”
“Enough of that,” Minnie said. “Pain wears on anyone.”
They lapsed into silence, but Liddie vowed to talk to Minnie later. Even though it was too dark to see, she looked out to the fields, wondering where Joe was, when he’d return.
Vern yawned. “Morning’s gonna be here before you know it.” He stood and stretched. “You coming?”
“I won’t be much longer.” Minnie touched his hand as he passed. “Are you all right, Liddie?” she asked when the two women were alone.
“Surprisingly so.” Liddie nodded.
“Why did you change your mind?”
Liddie guessed that was the question of the day. “I think I finally saw some things clearly.”
“I expect Joe coming back helped?”
Liddie peered into the darkness. “I wish he’d come home.”
“I’m sure he will.” Minnie looked up at the night sky, which was lit by a sliver of moon. “I’m going to bed. You?”
“No. I’ll wait. It’s nice here in the dark. Peaceful.”
Even in the waning moonlight, Liddie saw Joe walking toward the house. She stood as he neared the porch.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice weary.
“Waiting for you.”
“I thought you’d be gone.”
“He left. I stayed.”
“I’ll be going back to Canada in the morning.”
“But Joe, what about the farm? What about . . . us?”
Joe’s laugh was harsh “Us? There’s no ‘us.’ I saw the two of you. I was a fool once. I can’t believe I fell for it again.”
“I was afraid that’s why you left.” She stepped down from the porch, wanting to be closer to him, wishing she could see his face. “That kiss meant nothing!”
“Kissing him was nothing? Is that what you learned living in town?”
“He kissed me, Joe. I didn’t kiss him.”
“It looked the same to me.”
Liddie could have argued, but that wasn’t the point. She said, “I told him I couldn’t marry him.”
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