Where Willows Grow

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Jack swallowed hard but didn’t answer.

  ‘‘You sure you’re using good sense? There’s a lot of history between you and Anna Mae Phipps.’’

  Jack forced a laugh. ‘‘Listen, Pop, it’s all under control. Sure there’s history between Anna Mae and me, like you said. But history’s in the past. So are those feelings.’’

  Pop nibbled his mustache, his expression pensive. ‘‘Oh yeah? Then how come you haven’t so much as looked at another woman since the day Harley escorted Anna Mae out of the Countryside Church?’’

  Jack winced. He’d lost out that day, there was no doubt about it. And losing didn’t come easy. Concentrating on driving, he slowed the acceleration and adjusted the clutch as he angled the Model T into their drive. He coasted to a stop by the back porch and waited, but Pop didn’t get out.

  ‘‘Jack, I’m worried about you.’’

  Although he would have preferred to ignore his father’s words, he knew his pop was stubborn enough to wait until doomsday for a reply. He took a deep breath and finally faced his father. ‘‘Look, Pop, Anna Mae never saw me as more than a replacement for the brother she lost. You think I can change that now?’’

  Pop lifted his shoulders in a shrug. ‘‘I’m just saying that woman and her two little girls make a pleasing package. And you seem awfully eager to claim it as your own.’’

  ‘‘It’s a package already claimed,’’ Jack said forcefully. The truth of his words smacked him hard. ‘‘Now, are you going to get out and put our lunch on the table before it’s time for evening chores?’’ He affected a teasing grin.

  Pop sighed. ‘‘Okay, okay. Just . . .’’ He shook his head again. ‘‘Never mind. You’re a grown man. Can’t tell you what to do.’’ As he mumbled, he opened the door and climbed out.

  Jack put the Model T into gear and pulled it behind the barn. He killed the engine, then rested his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, gaining control of his racing heart. It was easy to tell Pop he had no feelings for Anna Mae—it was another thing to mean it.

  Pop was right—Jack had never looked beyond Anna Mae. No other female had ever measured up. Physically speaking, she painted a pleasing picture. Intellectually, she could match wits with anyone. She was spunky and funny and determined. Everything a man could want in a wife, Anna Mae Elliott had it. And then, of course, there was the fact that she lived right next door to his property. Together they could have created a dairy farm to best any of them. They were a perfect match.

  Pop was right about all that history between him and Anna Mae. They had a connection that went back to the days of their babyhood. A person couldn’t rewrite history. Jack had proposed to her, offered her the moon and stars and a fancy jar to keep them in, but she went and married Harley Phipps, son of a sharecropper who didn’t own much more than the worn-out clothes on his back. What in the world had she seen in Harley?

  Nope, a person couldn’t rewrite history. What was past, was past. But as for the future. . . ? That was a clean slate, and Jack had a pencil ready to write things the way he had wanted them all along.

  13

  DIRK LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR and released a long, satisfied sigh. ‘‘That was good grub. Not as good as Ma’s, but good.’’ He pushed his empty plate away from the edge of the table.

  Harley rubbed his stomach. ‘‘Not as good as my Annie’s cooking, either, but a whole lot better than the beans we’ve been eating.’’

  Dirk laughed, the sound carrying above the clatter of other café noise. ‘‘Well, you gotta admit, beans’re filling, at least. Lots of people right now would appreciate even a meal of beans every day.’’

  ‘‘I s’pose you’re right about that.’’ Harley thought about the newspaper reports of farmers protesting low prices by dumping milk on the ground or slaughtering their livestock rather than selling it to be butchered. That translated into children going hungry.

  As always, thoughts of children brought an immediate rush of desire to see his own little girls. He knew Dottie and Margie were at least well fed, and with this first paycheck going home, Annie would be able to buy Dottie some new shoes. He hoped they wouldn’t give her blisters.

  The waitress stopped by their booth to take their empty plates. ‘‘You fellas want some pie or cake for dessert? Got peach or apple pie, and a tall chocolate cake with cherries.’’

  Dirk’s eyebrows shot up. ‘‘Chocolate cake with cherries for me. How ’bout you, Harley?’’

  Harley smiled, remembering how Annie had asked for a hat with cherries on it.

  ‘‘That’ll be two chocolate cakes, coming right up.’’ The waitress hurried off.

  Harley looked at Dirk. ‘‘Did I ask for cake?’’

  ‘‘Nope, but your smile did.’’

  With a shrug, Harley admitted, ‘‘I can eat a piece of cake with no trouble.’’

  ‘‘Whadja think of the sermon?’’ Dirk leaned his elbows on the table. ‘‘Bein’ a farmer, I ’specially liked the part about the sower of the seeds. Used to like that story when I was little, too.’’

  Harley gave a brief chuckle. ‘‘I can’t imagine you ever being little.’’

  Dirk grinned. ‘‘Don’t guess I ever really was. Not like most boys, anyway.’’

  Harley frowned. ‘‘And how’d you get so big anyhow? Neither of your parents are big like you.’’

  Dirk offered a slow shrug. ‘‘ ’Cause they ain’t my real parents. They took me in when I was three or four—picked me out at an orphanage in Topeka.’’

  ‘‘You’re adopted?’’ That explained the difference in size and appearance between the boy and his parents.

  ‘‘Yep.’’ The smile reappeared on Dirk’s wide face. ‘‘Been adopted twice. Once by my ma and pa, and once by my heavenly Father.’’

  Harley knew Dirk wanted him to question his final statement, but he remained stubbornly silent, and finally Dirk spoke again.

  ‘‘You didn’t answer my question about the sermon.’’

  Harley knew that. The truth was, he’d gone to church with Dirk just so the man wouldn’t have to go alone. Harley felt sorry for Dirk, going to the church all by himself, so he’d gone along out of respect for him. But he hadn’t really listened to the sermon.

  ‘‘Didja understand the meaning behind the story?’’

  Harley looked sharply into Dirk’s face. Was Dirk trying to make him feel stupid? The big man blinked in innocence. Harley pushed his temper down. Dirk wasn’t capable of intentional cruelty. And that made him determined not to hurt his friend’s feelings.

  Keeping his voice low, he admitted, ‘‘To be honest, I didn’t listen all that close. So . . . no, I s’pose I didn’t understand.’’ Dirk opened his mouth, and Harley headed him off before he could speak. ‘‘And that’s okay with me. I mean, I only went ’cause you were going and I didn’t want you to be alone. I didn’t go to learn anything.’’

  Dirk’s eyes looked sad, but the big man chuckled softly. ‘‘That’s funny, Harley—you didn’t go to learn anything. Guess that makes you kind of like the seed that fell on the hard ground. You received the truth, but you chose to do nothin’ with it.’’

  Harley scowled. ‘‘Don’t preach to me, Dirk.’’

  ‘‘I’m not preachin’. I’m just telling you what I think.’’

  ‘‘Well, quit thinking.’’

  Dirk laughed loudly at that. ‘‘Ah, Harley, what I’m thinking right now is your wife would be awful happy to know you went to church with me this mornin’, even if you didn’t go to learn anything.’’

  The waitress plopped two saucers, each holding a man-sized wedge of dark chocolate cake oozing with thick frosting and plump red cherries, on the table before rushing off again. Harley welcomed the intrusion. He picked up his fork and eagerly stabbed into his piece. Dirk did likewise, and the two ate without any conversation until every crumb was gone. The waitress brought their bill, and Dirk snatched it up.

  ‘‘Lunch is on me.’’

  H
arley held out his hand. ‘‘No, Dirk. I’ll pay my own tab.’’

  But Dirk shook his head. ‘‘Nope. You favored me by goin’ to church with me when you weren’t truly interested. Let me favor you now by payin’ for your lunch.’’ He grinned. ‘‘Besides, don’t you got a birthday present to buy with your spendin’ money?’’

  Harley acknowledged the extra money would be helpful in finding something nice for Marjorie’s first birthday. Yet it rubbed him the wrong way to have Dirk’s charity. ‘‘Yeah, I do, but—’’

  ‘‘Then let me take care o’ lunch.’’

  Harley blew out a breath of pure aggravation. Would he ever win an argument with Dirk? ‘‘All right,’’ he groused. ‘‘Let’s get moving.’’

  In a few minutes, they were ambling down the sidewalk to peer through windows. Lindsborg wasn’t large, but it was neat, and it had nearly everything a body could want in the way of goods. Unfortunately, it being Sunday, nothing was open. But, as Dirk pointed out, Harley could find something he wanted to purchase for Marjorie’s birthday and come back one evening next week to get it.

  The men paused to cup their hands beside their faces and look through each store’s front window, but it wasn’t until they encountered a clothier’s display that Harley saw something that interested him. ‘‘Dirk, lookee there.’’ He shoved his finger against the glass, pointing at a frilly little dress of white covered all over with red dots. It made Harley think of cherries swimming in cream. A little red bow rested below the lacy collar, and more red bows decorated the puffy sleeves. ‘‘Margie’s never had a store-bought dress—Annie makes all the girls’ clothes. My baby girl would look sweet as sugar in that dress.’’

  Dirk pressed his nose to the glass, squinting. ‘‘Price tag says three dollars and twenty-five cents.’’

  Harley reared back. ‘‘That much?’’

  Dirk lifted his shoulders, his forehead creasing. ‘‘It’s a lot.’’

  Harley looked back at the little dress. Three dollars was half his month’s spending money. As much as he wanted it, he couldn’t justify paying that much for a dress that would be outgrown in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. He turned from the window, regret churning through his middle. How it stung to be unable to buy something special for Margie. A baby ought to have something special for her first birthday.

  ‘‘There’re other stores, Harley.’’ Dirk nudged his arm. ‘‘C’mon, let’s look some more.’’

  Harley shook his head, defeated. ‘‘Nah. I don’t much feel like it anymore. Let’s . . . let’s just head back.’’

  They turned toward the street leading to the Petersons’ place on the edge of town. For long minutes they walked without talking, although Dirk whistled softly between his teeth. Harley ignored the tune and thought about that little dress and how sweet Margie would look in it. Maybe he should get it, even if it did cost so dear. But no, that much money could buy a week’s worth of groceries—wasn’t worth the expense.

  His thoughts tumbled and churned until he’d worked himself into a fine temper. He kicked a rock, zinging it into the brush at the side of the street. Two birds took flight at the sudden intrusion.

  Dirk sent him a sidelong glance. His whistling ended. ‘‘You mad at somebody, Harley?’’

  ‘‘Yeah.’’ Harley growled the word. ‘‘I’m mad at me. Mad at me ’cause I can’t even afford to buy my baby girl a decent present for her birthday. Mad at me ’cause I’m far from home—won’t even be there to give her a birthday kiss or watch her bite into her first cake. Mad at me ’cause’’—he gave another rock a vicious kick that left a scuff on the toe of his new boot—‘‘nothin’ ever goes right in this life.’’

  Dirk came to a halt, but Harley marched another dozen feet before he stopped and whirled around, hands balled into fists. ‘‘Well? Are you comin’ or not?’’

  Dirk shook his head sadly. ‘‘You’re lookin’ at things all backward, Harley. How can you say nothin’ ever goes right? You got a wife and two little girls to love. Reckon they love you back, too. Those’re sure things that are right. You got a home and a farm waitin’ for you. Lots of men’ve lost theirs already, what with that Stock Market crash. That’s somethin’ else gone right. And what about this job you an’ me are on? A steady paycheck, a way to take care of our families even if we do have to be away from ’em. I’d say that’s three things gone right.’’

  Harley stood silently in the middle of the road, the sun beating down on his head, his anger burning as hotly as the fireball in the sky.

  Dirk walked up and put his big hand on Harley’s shoulder. ‘‘You gotta count your blessings, Harley, ’stead of always seeing the sad side of things. You’ll never be happy until you do that.’’

  Harley resisted throwing Dirk’s hand away. Gritting his teeth, he admitted, ‘‘I’m not so good at counting blessings.’’

  A sad smile played at the corners of Dirk’s lips. ‘‘I know. But you won’t get good at it unless you try.’’

  Harley shook his head. Dirk was such a child at times. Counting blessings, ha! Dirk didn’t know how few blessings had been in Harley’s life until he met Annie and the girls were born. Then it had stopped raining, and he and Annie had grown distant, and now he was away from her. Where was the blessing in that?

  Dirk gave Harley a brisk pat that set him into motion. The two walked several more yards before Dirk spoke again. ‘‘Guess I’m gonna hafta up my prayers for you, my friend. Good thing I’m on such good terms with that Sower of the Seeds. I know He’ll hear me when I pray for you.’’

  Harley snorted in response, but inwardly a little part of him hoped Dirk was right.

  Ga-ooooo-gah!

  Dorothy skittered to the window and peeked out. She spun back to face Anna Mae and crowed, ‘‘They’re here, Mama! They’re here!’’

  ‘‘Well, come back and let me tie your bow,’’ Anna Mae scolded. Her fretful tone told of her inner confusion. Should she be going into Hutchinson with Jack Berkley and his father? Her hands automatically twisted the ties on Dorothy’s dress into a neat bow at the base of her spine. ‘‘Now let me look at you.’’

  Dorothy obediently stood in front of her mother, her arms held outward, a beaming smile on her pixie face. Anna Mae sighed. The dress was really too short, but it was the little girl’s nicest—buttery yellow organza, full-skirted, with a peep of lace around the collar and cuffs. The short skirt showed Dorothy’s scuffed knees and sagging anklets, giving her a waifish appearance that only endeared the little girl more to her mama.

  ‘‘How do I look?’’

  Anna Mae gave Dorothy a quick hug. ‘‘You look beautiful, darlin’. Now run out and tell Mr. Berkley I’ll be right there. I want to tuck an extra diaper into my purse for Marjorie.’’

  Dorothy dashed out the door, and the child’s excited chatter came through the open window. Anna Mae stood and smoothed her hands over the front of her own good Sunday skirt. It fit tightly now, uncomfortably so. The new baby was already making its presence known. It wouldn’t be long and she’d need to get the maternity clothes from the box in the attic. Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed them against the gentle mound. Closing her eyes, she tried to envision the tiny babe within. No image would come.

  A burst of laughter sounded from outside, deep and thunderous. Jack’s. The sound sent her stomach churning with nervousness. What did she think she was doing, putting on her best dress and driving clear into Hutchinson with the man who’d proposed to her on her eighteenth birthday?

  Oh, Harley, I wish you were here. If Harley were here, there’d be no need to celebrate Marjorie’s first birthday with a trip into town. If Harley were here, she’d just bake a cake. They’d watch the baby shove her little fists into the mounds of icing and laugh when she coated herself with gooey chocolate, just as they had with Dorothy.

  But Harley wasn’t here.

  Jack was. And he was waiting.

  With a resigned sigh, she stuffed another diaper into the depths of he
r bag, then lifted Marjorie from the high chair. She’d dressed the baby in a pink gingham sunsuit and put a little bow in the wisps of hair on the top of her head. Brown sandals covered her pudgy feet.

  ‘‘I guess you’ll do, too, little darlin’.’’ She kissed Marjorie’s round cheek as she headed outside.

  Jack met them in the middle of the yard, and Marjorie offered a dimpled smile, waving her chubby fists in excitement. Over the weeks, the girls had become so accustomed to Jack, the baby didn’t count him a stranger. Anna Mae didn’t know if she considered that a good thing or an annoyance.

  Jack laughed and reached for Marjorie. The baby tumbled into his arms as readily as she would have her daddy’s. Anna Mae’s stomach gave another jump. She turned her attention to Jack’s father, who waited beside the Model T.

  ‘‘Well, Miss Dimples,’’ Mr. Berkley said, watching Jack bounce Marjorie on his broad arm, ‘‘we could save some gas and pocket change by just staying here and looking at you, couldn’t we?’’ His gaze swept to include Dorothy. ‘‘Can’t imagine Shirley Temple is any prettier than these two little girls.’’

  Dorothy giggled. She twirled, making the skirt of her dress flare out. ‘‘Papa Berkley says we’re pretty, Mama!’’

  Anna Mae stopped Dorothy’s dance with a hand on her head. ‘‘Yes, he did, but pretty is as pretty does. Behave like a lady, please.’’

  The little girl sighed, then skipped to the car and climbed in. Mr. Berkley got in with her.

  As Anna Mae followed Jack, she asked, ‘‘Is this outing a hardship?’’

  He looked at her over his shoulder. His lips quirked into a one-sided grin. ‘‘A hardship? What do you mean?’’

  She paused beside the open car door. ‘‘Well, paying for gasoline to get us to Hutchinson, then movie tickets, and Dorothy will beg for popcorn . . . Are you sure this isn’t too much?’’

  He shook his head. ‘‘No. I’ve been to several shows already at the Fox. I know exactly what I’m getting myself into, and I’m ready for it.’’ A full grin lit his face. ‘‘But thanks for being concerned. Now get in.’’