‘‘Anna Mae.’’ A warning rumble.
She ignored the tone and railed at him. ‘‘I’m not the one running off to some supposed castle-building site halfway across the state. If anyone ought to be worried about somebody being unfaithful, it should be me.’’
He jumped up so fast the mattress springs twanged for a solid fifteen seconds. He stormed to the door, flung it open, and thumped down the hallway. Anna Mae heard the kitchen door squeak open, then thud shut. A second, softer bang—the porch door—followed.
It occurred to her he was marching around the yard in nothing but his underdrawers. The thought should have been funny. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t funny at all. She buried her face in her pillow and allowed the tears she’d squelched earlier to come back full force. I’m so mixed up, God. We never fought like this before the rains stopped coming. Is this drought going to steal everything I care about?
5
HARLEY AWAKENED TO BIRDSONG. Cardinal, probably, judging by the trill. He yawned, stretching, and the back of his hand encountered something scratchy. Like hay.
Hay?
He popped his eyes open and sat up. In the murky predawn light, he made out the stall walls surrounding his makeshift bed. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to make sense of his location. Why was he in the barn? Then it all flooded back—Annie, the baby, their fight . . .
With a groan, he dropped backward against the rough blanket thrown over a pile of hay. Regret filled his middle when he remembered what he’d said. Of course the baby was his—Annie was too religious to break any laws of that Bible she spent so much time reading. He shouldn’t’ve been so hateful, what with her carrying a child. Women got moody when they carried a child—he’d already been through it twice with her. Why’d he let himself get so upset last night?
Annie’s words haunted his memory. ‘‘My baby.’’ That was why he got so upset. Would anything ever belong to him?
As a boy, sharecropping with his pa, he’d owned little more than the clothes he wore. He’d realized early that those who worked their own land were better off than those working for somebody else, and he’d made the decision that he’d be a landowner someday. Well, in the eyes of the law he was. By marrying Annie right after her daddy’s death, he’d become owner of the Elliott land. But if you asked Annie? Nope. This was her land, her house, her barn, her mules—and, according to what she’d said last night, her babies growing up on her farm.
Bending his legs, he rested his elbows on his widespread knees, letting his head droop low. Well, when he left, she’d have a chance to see how it felt to have everything be hers. Might even be good for her to figure out she wasn’t as self-sufficient as she thought. Of course, there were lots of women managing on their own, with all the men traipsing off in search of work. Or traipsing off to escape their responsibilities.
But Harley wasn’t one of those men. He fully recognized his responsibilities. Pushing to his feet, he set his jaw with determination. He’d promised Annie’s daddy that this farm would be cared for, that it would stay in the family. He had to leave it for a spell, but he’d be back. Whether Annie admitted it or not, his own sweat was poured into this land, and that made it his.
Gooseflesh broke out over his arms and legs as he left the barn and headed across the dewy ground to the house. First time he’d felt gooseflesh since he couldn’t remember when. He paused on the stoop, savoring the coolness of the morning for a few more minutes before opening the screen door and entering the porch.
When he tugged the kitchen door open, he found Annie already at the table. The tin of saltines sat open in front of her, and she held one cracker, her hand hovering midway between the tabletop and her mouth. When she saw him, her face filled with pink, and she lowered her hand to the table.
‘‘Go ahead an’ eat your saltines, Annie.’’ His voice sounded croaky. He cleared his throat. ‘‘I’m gonna get dressed.’’
She gave a slight nod, her head down. He crossed to the bedroom, dressed quickly, then turned to go back to the kitchen. But Annie stood in the bedroom doorway. She twisted her toe against the wood floor, her eyes downcast. Even in her wrinkled nightgown, with her long hair all sleep-tangled, she was beautiful. Love welled up so hard it almost choked him.
They stood for long seconds without saying anything. He wanted her to speak first—it was always easier to respond to a conversation than start one. His heart bumped hard inside his chest as he waited. He hoped they wouldn’t fight again. Not today. Not when he’d be leaving.
‘‘You should say good-bye to the girls,’’ she said quietly.
So that was how it was gonna be. Well, he wouldn’t be the one to apologize first. He nodded. ‘‘Bring ’em in here.’’
After she’d left to wake the girls, he shimmied into his britches while he listened to the homey morning sounds of his family: Dottie’s sleep-raspy voice greeting her mother, the baby’s hiccupping cry, Annie’s sweet voice soothing Margie. He’d miss these morning sounds.
Dottie bounced in, her hair all tousled, smelling like sweat. When he patted the bed, she clambered up and sat cross-legged beside him, her little hand on his chest.
‘‘Morning, Daddy,’’ she chirped, then leaned forward to give him a morning kiss.
‘‘Mornin’, Dottie-doll. Did you sleep good?’’
‘‘Uh-huh.’’
‘‘Good dreams?’’
‘‘Uh-huh.’’
He tickled her ribs, making her squeal. Then he pulled her into a hug and kissed her hair. Annie came in carrying Margie.
‘‘C’mere, Margie-girl.’’ Harley held out his arms, and Margie tumbled from Annie’s arms into his. He cuddled Margie in one arm and Dottie in the other. His girls . . . Dottie was big enough he didn’t need to worry, but he hoped Margie wouldn’t forget him.
Annie stood beside the bed, a smile on her face. It was good to see her smile again. ‘‘I’ll go get us some breakfast started.’’
Harley nodded. Annie left the room, and Harley played pat-a-cake with Margie while talking with Dottie. ‘‘Didja like those gumdrops, Dottie?’’
‘‘Yeah! So did Smokey.’’
Harley swallowed his grin. He couldn’t imagine the big barn cat chewing through the rubbery gumdrops. ‘‘Oh yeah? He eat quite a few?’’
‘‘No.’’ Dottie picked at her big toenail. ‘‘Only one. But he ate it for a long time.’’
Harley nearly snorted with amusement. But Dottie didn’t care to be laughed at, so he kept it under control. ‘‘Well, it’s real nice of you to share with Ol’ Smokey.’’
‘‘I know.’’
‘‘Listen, Dottie-doll . . .’’ Margie played with his fingers, burbling to herself. He used his free arm to scoop Dottie close to his hip. ‘‘Would you like it if Daddy had money to buy you gumdrops every month?’’
Dottie’s blue eyes widened. ‘‘Every month?’’ Then her face puckered. ‘‘What is that?’’
‘‘What is what?’’
‘‘A month.’’
‘‘Oh . . . a month?’’
‘‘Uh-huh.’’
Harley cocked one eyebrow, searching for a way to explain. ‘‘A month is about four weeks.’’ Dottie’s expression didn’t clear. ‘‘You know what months are. They’re on your mama’s calendar in the kitchen—January, February, March . . .’’
Dottie brightened. ‘‘Oh! You mean I’d get gumdrops in Janarary and Febeeary and all the months?’’
Harley blew out a breath of relief. ‘‘That’s right.’’
‘‘I’d like that, Daddy.’’
Harley grinned. Good. This would be easy, then. ‘‘Well, guess what, doll? Daddy’s gonna take a job that’ll give us enough money for me to buy you gumdrops every month.’’
Dottie squealed and bounced her bottom against the bed. The noise startled Margie, whose lower lip poked out. Harley lifted her and placed her on his stomach. She toyed with his nose and lips as he spoke to Dottie. ‘‘Daddy’s gonna go build a castle.’�
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‘‘Like in my storybook?’’
Harley remembered the fairy tale book Annie had read to the girls. ‘‘Yeah. Just like in your book.’’
‘‘Can I be the princess in it? And let my hair grow real, real long like in the story?’’
Harley had a hard time answering this time. Dottie’s brighteyed innocence nearly broke his heart. It would be plenty hard to walk down the road, away from his sweet-faced little girl. ‘‘Well, Dottie-doll, you’re gonna have to stay here with Mama instead of livin’ in that castle. The castle’s pretty far away.’’
Dottie chewed her lower lip, and her forehead wrinkled. Finally she said, ‘‘You aren’t building the castle here?’’
Harley swallowed. ‘‘No.’’
Dottie sat up on her knees. ‘‘Where you gonna go, Daddy?’’
‘‘A place called Lindsborg. It’s a far walk, but I’ll be back when the castle’s done.’’
Dottie threw herself against his chest, dislodging Margie, who set up an immediate howl of protest. ‘‘I don’t need gumdrops every month, Daddy. You stay here. Okay? Okay, Daddy?’’ Her shrill voice pierced Harley’s ears. And his heart.
If Harley had been a praying man, he’d have started seeking the Lord’s help right then. Margie squalled in one ear and Dottie begged in the other while he patted and cajoled, but nothing he did seemed to help at all.
Annie rushed into the room. She took the baby, leaving Harley the task of comforting Dottie. Harley wrapped both arms around the little girl and rocked her back and forth.
‘‘Listen to me, Dottie-doll. Daddy’s only gonna be gone for a little while. An’ when I come back, I’ll get you those gumdrops, just like I promised, okay?’’
Dottie pushed her hands against his chest, freeing herself. Hooking her heels on the edge of the mattress, she pulled herself from the bed, then stood, glaring at him. Her look of betrayal stung worse than his daddy’s belt ever had. ‘‘I don’t want no gumdrops!’’ She ran from the room.
Harley pushed himself off the mattress and took two steps toward Annie. Margie, in Annie’s arms, put her fingers in her mouth. Plump tears quivered on her lower lashes. Harley toyed with the baby’s hair as he stood silently beside his wife.
‘‘Annie, I—’’
‘‘Don’t talk to me, Harley.’’ Her voice, like Dottie’s, stung like a lash. ‘‘You said you were going, so just go.’’ Without a glance in his direction, she charged down the hall, carrying Margie with her.
He stood in the middle of the floor, his hands balled into fists. Follow her, his thoughts urged. Make her understand. He swallowed his own temper and followed, but he stopped at the end of the hall and watched Annie plunk Margie into the high chair and tie a bib around the baby’s neck. She yanked out a kitchen chair, seated herself, and slid a fried egg onto a plate. Using a fork, she chopped the egg into small bites—clack! clack! clack! He was surprised the fork didn’t go clear through the table, as much pressure as she put behind it. And when she started shoving food into Margie’s mouth without saying her customary prayer, Harley knew without a doubt the intensity of her anger.
She was in no mood to listen. Not to anybody. Not to anything.
He turned back to the bedroom. Digging around in the closet, he unearthed an old pillowcase that could serve as a pack. Annie had done the laundry yesterday, so he tossed in all his clean drawers, three shirts, and two pairs of dungarees. He rummaged through his socks and packed all the ones he could find that didn’t have holes. He scratched his head, deciding what else he’d need, then rolled his worn jean jacket into a ball and pushed it underneath everything else. It was hotter’n blazes now, but who knew how long he’d be gone—he’d better be prepared for cooler days later.
Using an old rawhide shoelace, he tied the pack closed, then sank onto the edge of the bed, the bulky bag in his lap, listening to the scrape of the fork against the plate, Margie’s jabber, and Annie’s low-pitched responses. When he was sure the baby had been fed, he heaved a sigh, lifted his pack, and headed to the kitchen.
6
MARGIE SAT IN HER HIGH CHAIR, gumming a cracker, and Annie stood at the sink, her hands on the edge of the counter, her gaze aimed out the window. When Harley cleared his throat, she jumped but didn’t turn around.
Stubborn woman.
‘‘I was thinkin’ I’d take along some of those crackers, and maybe some cheese.’’
Annie’s shoulders lifted and fell in a gesture of defeat. ‘‘Suit yourself. Cheese is in the icebox, crackers in the cupboard.’’
But she didn’t say which cupboard, and he had to open three doors before he found them. Couldn’t she help just a little bit? He held his tongue as he wrapped the cheese and crackers in a square of waxed paper. He untied his bag and dropped in the food, then tied the thing shut again. Annie still hadn’t looked at him.
Leaving the pack on the floor by the door, he crossed to the high chair and kissed Margie’s head. She reached her dimpled hand toward him, and he kissed her messy fingers. The back of his nose burned. She was still so little—not quite a year yet. Would she even know him when he came back? He gave her one more kiss and then straightened, his gaze sweeping around the room.
‘‘Where’d Dottie go?’’
Annie dumped the breakfast dishes into the basin, still avoiding his gaze. ‘‘I imagine she’s hiding out. She’ll come in when she’s hungry.’’
Harley watched Annie lean over the sink and scrub at a plate. She scrubbed and scrubbed. No way the plate could need that much scrubbing. A part of him wanted to walk up behind her, wrap his arms around her middle, and kiss her neck. But pride kept him beside the high chair. Still, he offered softly, ‘‘I’ll miss you, Annie.’’ You have no idea how much.
She stiffened, her hands stilled, and her chin jerked upward. But she said nothing.
‘‘You’ll be okay?’’ He hadn’t meant to ask it. He’d meant to say it like he believed it.
Her chin rose higher. ‘‘Of course I will.’’ Her voice sounded tight, like she was forcing the words past a mighty lump. ‘‘I’ve got plenty of starch in my spine.’’
‘‘And I’ll stop by Jack Berkley’s on my way out—remind him to check in on you.’’
She swallowed audibly. ‘‘It’ll be nice, I suppose, to have someone check on us.’’
Harley wasn’t stupid. He caught the barb. Spinning toward the door, he grated, ‘‘I gotta get goin’.’’ He snatched up his pack and slammed through the door. One hard smack sent the porch door flying. His boots hit the packed earth, sending up a cloud of dust that coated his pant legs as he clomped across the yard toward the driveway that led to the road.
He heard the sound of pounding footsteps behind him. His heart lifted. Annie? But the frantic cry, ‘‘Daddy! Daddy!’’ identified his pursuer. He spun, dropped to one knee, and captured Dottie as she flung herself against his chest. His hat fell off and landed upside down in the dirt beside him. The hug turned almost desperate as he cradled Dorothy’s head in his wide hand and held her against his pounding heart.
‘‘Dottie-doll, I’m gonna miss you somethin’ fierce.’’
‘‘Don’t go, Daddy, please? I’m sorry. I won’t be mean no more.’’
A lump filled Harley’s throat, nearly choking him. ‘‘Dottie, I gotta go. An’ it’s got nothin’ to do with you being mean. I gotta get some money for our farm. Can’t grow crops without rain, an’ there’s no more rain in Kansas.’’ Harley set Dottie in front of him. ‘‘But I’ll be back. Maybe sooner, maybe later, but I won’t be gone forever.’’
‘‘Daddeeeee . . .’’ Dottie began to wail.
‘‘Listen, darlin’, I need you to be a big girl and help your mama while I’m gone.’’ His fingers curled around Dottie’s narrow shoulders. His chest ached with each heave of those skinny shoulders. ‘‘You remind your mama that Jack can tote the milk cans from the ’fraidy hole, and you help in the garden.’’
‘‘I w-will, Daddy.’’
‘‘Do you promise?’’
Dottie nodded, her tangled blond hair flying around her face. Her chin quivered. ‘‘I promise. An’ you’ll come back, right, Daddy?’’
Harley clutched her to his chest once more, breathing in the scent of her sweaty hair. His throat convulsed. ‘‘I promise, Dottie.’’ He cupped her head in his hands and kissed her forehead, both tear-damp cheeks, and the top of her head. Rising, he pointed to the house. ‘‘Go on, now.’’ His voice turned gruff, roughened by emotion he could barely contain. ‘‘And be a good girl, you hear?’’
Dottie nodded again, tears still raining down her pale face. She picked up Harley’s hat and handed it to him. He plopped it on his head, chucked his daughter beneath the chin, and headed for the gate. When he reached the bend in the road, he heard her call, ‘‘I love you, Daddy!’’
He turned to walk backward, lifting his hand in a wave. ‘‘I love you, too, Dottie-doll!’’
Anna Mae heard every word between Dorothy and Harley through the open kitchen window. Her fingers gripped the sink edge so hard it hurt as she battled the urge to run outside, race down the lane, and throw herself against Harley as freely as their daughter had. But her fingers didn’t let go. Not even when Harley finally turned forward again and the sight of his retreating back conjured memories of another leave-taking—her brother, Ben, marching off to join the Army. She hadn’t been much older than Dorothy.
What if this was the last time she saw Harley?
Come back, Harley. Please come back.
But the words remained confined to her heart, and of course he didn’t hear them. A weight pressed against her chest. Even if he heard, he wouldn’t heed them. He’d made up his mind, and once Harley decided on something, there was no dissuading him. There never had been.
Where Willows Grow Page 4