The Homeplace

by Janet Dailey

  There was a rap on the door. "I've poured you a cup of coffee," Rob called out from the other side.

  "I'll be out in a minute," she answered, stirring herself into mobility even though she could have used a longer respite from his presence.

  Rob barely glanced up when she padded into the room minutes later, the robe securely belted around her waist. "Sit down." He motioned toward the table, sliding a glance in her direction over his shoulder.

  Her green eyes were drawn admiringly to his crisp appearance in his fawn-colored trousers and a complementing silk shirt. When he turned away from the counter carrying her cup of coffee, she veiled her look with dark lashes. He stopped beside her chair, brushing her arm as he set the cup down and causing a renewed fluttering in her stomach. Involuntarily she drew away.

  "Your clothes will be dry in a few more minutes,'' Rob said abruptly, moving away to lean against the kitchen counter.

  There was a burning intensity to his brown eyes as he studied her lowered head. Cathie took the cup of coffee in her hand, seeking to divert her attention from his magnetic attraction. She took a healthy-sized swallow of the medium-hot liquid. Instantly her throat burned and she began coughing and sputtering, not from the heat of the coffee but because of the liberal lacing of whisky it contained.

  "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded hoarsely. Her eyes were watering from the potency of the liquor. The choking sensation remained as she rose from her chair and walked to the sink to pour the remainder of the liquid in the cup down the drain.

  "Because I presumed you would do exactly what you just did," he answered sharply. "This way you drank at least some of it down." His dark eyes raked her form, still shuddering from the aftereffects of the drink. "As shaky as you were out there in the cellar, trembling like a half-drowned kitten, I thought you needed it."

  "Storms like that don't terrify me. I grew up with them." Her knuckles were white from the way she was gripping the cup so tightly. "You were imagining things."

  "Then why were you quivering like jelly in my arms?" Rob demanded with a derisive laugh.

  Now it was her chin that was trembling as Cathie tried to salvage a bit of her pride and self-respect. "Maybe I just couldn't stand to have you touch me," she spat out sarcastically, needing to deny the havoc his touch caused in her.

  The angry fire in his gaze seared over her as his arms shot out to imprison her shoulders. "Damn, but I'm tired of you always lashing out at me as if I was a whipping boy supposed to take your insults without any protest!"

  He drew her roughly against the rock hardness of his chest. Her arms were pinned against him by her own body and the iron bank of his arms held her there. Twining his fingers in the golden curls of her hair, Rob forced her head up, staring into the jade eyes sparkling with diamond tears.

  "Please, please let me go," she whispered. The hard contours of his body were destroying all her weakly constructed defenses, the desire to surrender almost impossible to withstand.

  The soft, persuasive velvet look was gone from his eyes, replaced by ebony-hard coals that glowed with avenging anger. "You're an independent feline creature, aren't you?" Rob mocked. "Coolly aloof and sarcastic when it suits you, other times hissing and showing your claws." His gaze narrowed on her lips, moistly parted and tremulous. "It's time I heard you really purr."

  "N-no!" Cathie breathed, already being brought closer to the sensual line of his mouth. But there was only the barest glimmer of a smile on his lips before they took hers captive.

  There was no place to withdraw to, away from the feverish heat building under the consummate kiss. Her head was pressed back against his shoulder, the short honey-colored curls clinging to the silk shirt while the sweet savageness of his mouth received the response it demanded. Here was a storm as tempestuous as anything the heavens could create. Golden lightning bolts touched off more burning fires inside while thunder roared in her ears, and Cathie was swept away by the whirling winds of his embrace.

  Her arms that had been crushed between their bodies found their way around his neck, bringing her still closer to him. The caressing movements of his hands on her back molded her tighter, the combustion of her surrender changing his lips from demanding to possessive. Rob's breathing, too, was ragged as he explored the sensitive cord in her neck and the tan hollow of her shoulder.

  "Rob," she murmured, aching for the feel of his lips against hers again and moving her head until she found them. It was agony when he dragged his mouth away again.

  "Damn you," Rob muttered into her hair as he crushed her tightly against him. His breath fanned her ears before he moved his head away to stare into her questioning and hurt viridescent eyes. "I swore I wouldn't let you bewitch me. First Yvette used me to escape the dream world of her parents and now you want me to fulfill your own dream world. There's poetic justice in that!"

  "Rob… ." The words formed on her lips to dispel his assumption.

  "Don't you see it doesn't matter!" he said, tossing back his head to laugh bitterly before bringing his scornful gaze back to her pleading face. "I've fallen in love with you," he declared grimly, unmindful of the exultant disbelief sparkling now in her eyes. "I don't care why you want me. All I want to know is that you're mine!" An eyebrow arched at the look of dismay. "Where's the triumphant smile, Cat? Surely the taste of victory is sweet? I knew you were lying that morning when you said you weren't considering me to take Clay's place. I could see it in your face."

  "Rob, you don't understand. I don't want you to take Clay's place. I never loved Clay," Cathie began earnestly, "not like I love you." Her fingers covered the cynical curl of his mouth. "It has nothing to do with the Homeplace, the farm. It never did, except at the beginning when I hated you for buying it." She swallowed nervously at the still doubting look on his face. "How can I make you understand that I'm telling you the truth? You can sell the Homeplace, burn it to the ground, do whatever you want, and I'll still love you. You can take me to New York or the Arctic Circle. All I want is to be with you." Her hands moved lovingly over his face, savoring each feature of the handsome lines. "All I want is to be yours."

  His fingers bit into her shoulders as his dark eyes examined her face. "It's true," she breathed again, letting all the love she had tried to conceal shine in her eyes. "I do love you."

  "Then why…" His eyes raced over her face. "Why did you put me through this hell?"

  "I was going through it myself. The hardest thing to realize was that I loved you. When I finally admitted it to myself you made it clear that you expected me to pursue you in order to get the farm." A small smile curved her mouth. "A girl has some pride, you know, and until this moment I didn't believe that you actually cared for me."

  "Oh, Cat!" he laughed exultantly. "I do!" He swung her completely off the floor to rain kisses on her face, before finally settling on her mouth in one long, breathtaking kiss. They were both stunned by the passion-charged minutes when Rob lifted his head some time later. "I think you'd better go and get your clothes out of the dryer and put them on damp or dry, or I'm not going to be responsible for my actions," he murmured huskily.

  With a tinkling laugh of pleasure, Cathie slipped out of his arms, the feverish color of her face revealing that she was truly his to command. There was a sharp intake of breath from Rob at the love radiating so openly from her green eyes, eyes that she knew would never tire of looking at him.

  "Go," he ordered gruffly, and she dutifully glided toward the stairwell to the basement. As her bare foot touched the first step, his voice halted her. She turned to drink in the sight of the lean frame a few steps away. "Did you mean it, Cat, when you said you would go back to New York with me?''

  "Yes," she replied without any hesitation.

  "What about the farm?"

  She smiled widely, understanding his need to be reassured of the genuineness of her love. "I'll miss it because basically I'm a country girl. But my homeplace is where ever you are, Rob. It's the most important thing in the world to me for
you to believe that."

  "I do," he said nodding, a possessively tender light shining from his eyes.

  Cathie wanted to cross the space that separated them and feel again the heady excitement of being in his arms. But considering the present state of their emotions that was too dangerous. Instead she turned and floated down the stairs, changing into her dry clothes in record time. Rob was standing in front of the windows in the sun porch, a cup of coffee in his hand, and staring out the window when she ascended the last flight.

  "Look," he said, darting an admiring glance in her direction before motioning with his head out the window. She walked swiftly to his side and was immediately nestled against his shoulder as she looked out the window. A multicolored rainbow was arching out of the dissipating clouds, shimmering with jewel-like colors of sapphire, emerald, amethyst, topaz and carnelian. The entire countryside was etched in sharp relief, the air washed clean of all dust particles to vividly reveal the rolling fields of corn, wheat and hay, dotted by trees and buildings.

  Cathie sighed. "It will be hard to leave all this beauty."

  "Who said we were?" Rob's gaze turned tenderly to her bemused face.

  "You did." Her eyes widened with blinking bewilderment.

  "No," he smiled. "You brought it up, and I only verified that if I asked you to leave the farm for New York that you would. I have no intention of ever leaving here."

  "That's too wonderful to be true!" Cathie gasped, covering a little sob of happiness. "I feel I should give up something I cherish to prove that I love you and not what you own."

  "I have a better idea. Why don't you spend the rest of your life proving that you love me? That would truly be heaven on earth."

  His head was moving to take her up on the invitation written on her parted lips when the back door slammed. They turned in unison as Tad raced up the steps. He showed not the slightest surprise to see Cathie as he greeted them together.

  "Hi, dad. Hi, Cathie. Mr. Smith brought me home so you wouldn't be worried about me. Boy, that was some storm!" His words were tumbling over each other in his excitement. "Charlie and me saw a tornado! But it never came down out of the sky."

  "We saw it, too," Rob said, nodding and holding Cathie tighter when she would have moved away. "I'm glad you're home, son. I wanted to ask you what you thought about Cathie and me getting married." A teasing light danced over her flushed cheeks. "I have to get my proposal in to make it official."

  "Really?" Tad's hazel eyes grew enormously large. "That would be terrific!" Then he stopped, a smile running from cheek to cheek. "Especially since you won't be my teacher next year."

  "We'll go see your parents this weekend," said Rob, gazing into her tremulous expression. "That is, if you are going to marry me."

  "Yes," Cathie breathed.

  "I forgot to tell you," Tad inserted. "When we drove past the pasture, I saw where the wind had uprooted the willow tree over the spring."

  Cathie tore her gaze away from Rob's handsome features to look at Tad. The willow tree, that special living bridge over the spring and in some strange way a link with her childhood. Now it was gone, destroyed by the storm that had brought her Rob. Then a smile came back to her mouth. It was more than an even trade.

  "I'm sorry, Cat," said Rob, gently touching her cheek. "That was a special tree. Tad told me about it."

  "I don't mind, darling," she replied, turning her head to brush a kiss in his palm. "Not anymore."

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  Chapter Twelve

  SUNLIGHT SHIMMERED on the smooth surface of the jade stone, striking rainbow colors on the swirling diamond brilliants on either side of the green gem while turning the circling band into molten gold. Their simple church wedding had taken place in August and Cathie still studied her wedding rings, unable to believe her good fortune. Harvest time was already nipping at the heels of summer. School had been in session for three weeks, not sufficient time for Cathie's heart to stop leaping every time one of her students addressed her as Mrs. Douglas.

  She smiled up at the Saturday morning sun. She hadn't known that loving a man could bring such utter contentment and bliss. Even during the mundane tasks of making beds, fixing meals and washing dishes, she would glance in Rob's direction and feel that rush of warmth that made their relationship so special, night or day. Her temper was still with her, rising to the forefront when some minor irritation became more than she could bear, but Rob wasn't browbeaten like Clay and gave as good as he got. And they always ended up laughing about it later, or better yet—loving.

  "Cathie!" Tad's voice pulled her out of her daydream.

  There was more satisfaction for her watching the slender darkly tanned boy racing across the lawn to where she was reclining on a lawn chair. His bleached brown hair was tousled by the wind, his face was streaked with dirt and perspiration, his denim jeans a series of patches and grass stains. The Tad who stopped breathlessly in front of her bore almost no resemblance to the aloof, withdrawn child who had walked into her classroom those many months ago.

  "Dad wants you to help him." A happy grin split his face. There was open affection in the way his hazel eyes glowed when they looked at Cathie.

  "Where is he?" she asked as she rose to her feet, glancing down at her tan slacks and hoping this help Rob wanted didn't involve a greasy tractor.

  "Out in the pasture," Tad replied, reaching for her hand to hurry her along.

  A sad light dimmed the brilliance of her eyes, but she quickly chased it away. Cathie still couldn't get used to walking down to the pasture and not seeing the willow tree by the spring. The little ribbon of water looked so lonely without it. Of course she hadn't told Rob that. She didn't want him to think she attached that much importance to a willow tree.

  "Has something happened to one of the cows?" she asked, dodging the muddy Duchess who was rejoining Tad.

  "No," Tad assured her, grinning over his shoulder with an impish twinkle in his eyes that puzzled Cathie. Usually such excitement from Tad heralded the arrival of a baby animal, but to Cathie's knowledge there was none expected.

  Tad hustled her to the barnyard, taking the short cut past the concrete water tank and out the pasture gate. Near the bottom of the hill where the spring flowed into the Boyer River, Cathie saw the red and white pickup truck parked. Tad raced ahead to join his father, who had watched Cathie's hurried progress down the hill.

  "Here she is!" Tad announced, fairly dancing with excitement.

  "What is all this about?" Cathie asked, puzzled by the conspiratorial look exchanged between the two. Lazily Rob's brown eyes swung back to her, then he reached out to take her hand and lead her around to the opposite side of the pickup.

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked at the sapling lying on the ground and the open hole almost in the exact spot where the old willow had been. The sapling was a willow, too. Her voice couldn't get past the lump in her throat as she looked from the baby tree to the warm, loving light in her husband's eyes.

  "It's a surprise." Tad spoke up, gazing curiously at the tears trickling down her face. "Aren't you happy?"

  "Yes." A sobbing laugh finally permitted speech. "I'm very happy, Tad." She felt Rob's arm around her shoulders. "How did you know?" she asked, lifting her gaze to his face.

  "Oh, Cat—" he smiled, tenderly wiping a tear from her cheek "—I saw your chin trembling the day we burnt the last of the dead limbs. I know you tried not to let me see, but I know you too well."

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  "I didn't do it for you, you know." The velvet eyes gleamed with mischief. "It will be years before this willow can grow big enough for you to climb. I'm planting it for our grandchildren."

  Tad took no notice of the flame-colored flags in Cathie's cheeks. "We've figured it out," he said importantly, "that if we tie a string on the trunk of the sapling and anchor the string on the other side of the spring, we can make it grow across on the other side just like the old one."

  "No, Tad."
Cathie shook her head, wiping the tears from her face to smile down at him. "Let's not do that. You see, you can't force things to be the way they were in the past. Let's let the new tree grow the way it wants to."

  Tad didn't seem too excited by her suggestion, but accepted it willingly. The gentle pressure of Rob's hand on her arm brought Cathie's face around.

  "You really have given up your dreams of the future," Rob murmured, gazing into her love-starred eyes. "All those plans you made to keep everything the way it was."

  "All but my dream of living the rest of my life with you," she nodded.

  Neither paid any attention to the onlooking boy as their lips met in a kiss that was boundless in its pledge of love.

  In 1876 Eli Haradon came to the Boyer River Valley of Iowa and erected a blacksmith and wagon shop in Sac County around which the settlement of Early, Iowa grew. The railroad was built through the county in 1881, and the town moved two miles north to it. The old town site and surrounding acerage became the Haradon farm.

  Eli Haradon was my great-grandfather. The first thirteen years of my life were spent in and around the town of Early with the most memorable and precious times on the Haradon farm. There, my cousin David and I built tree houses, huts and disastrous rafts. Hours were spent sitting on the banks of the Boyer reading comic books and watching the red and white bobbers on our bamboo poles floating on the river.

  This last fall, after nearly a hundred years as the family home, the farm was sold out of the Haradon family. I took a last, nostalgic journey over my beloved farm this spring. As I paused near the remains of the willow tree that once bridged the spring flowing into the Boyer, I knew this farm—my "homeplace"—must become the focal point of my novel. All the characters and incidents in this story are fictitious, but the farm is real, as are my memories of my own idyllic days where the wildest dream was no farther out of reach then the top limb of my favorite climbing tree that I long ago committed to poetry.