“Let the waiting begin,” she said to no one. Or maybe to God. Somehow she felt more and more like He might actually be listening.
33
MARGARET JUST KNEW IT. He’d fallen in love with one of those blond songbird sisters of his friend from school and was coming home to tell her in person. Henry had finally written back, but he didn’t answer her directly. He only let her know when he’d be home and wrote that he’d like to talk to her about something important. He had a degree plus a possible career in music and what did she have? A high school diploma and a willingness to work the farm. Oh, and lots and lots of freckles. Surely he wanted more than that. She’d make a fine housekeeper, but anything more? Nonsense.
Henry was due to arrive at his mother’s house that afternoon, and then they’d come to dinner at Emily’s. Margaret and Emily cooked all day as Margaret’s mood sank lower and lower. She surveyed the table. There was a glazed ham from the hog they raised last year, the first of the summer squash, biscuits, and mashed potatoes made with cream from Bertie, whose second calf was finally old enough for them to resume milking. There were also strawberry preserves she’d put up the week before and a pound cake for dessert. It should have pleased her to look over that table, but she was pretty sure she couldn’t eat a bite.
Since coming home from Henry’s graduation Margaret had lost her appetite. She’d always enjoyed food, but the pleasure seemed to have gone out of it. That probably meant she really was in love with Henry. She didn’t know for sure, but if her current level of misery was any indicator, then she was definitely gone on him. She almost wished he’d married Barbara and never given her any hope. Almost.
“Here they come,” Mayfair called from where she was kneeling on the sofa to watch out the window. She practically danced into the kitchen, smiling and clapping her hands. “Henry’s home,” she sang.
Emily smiled and wiped her hands on her apron. “I declare, that child looks and sounds the way I feel.”
Margaret did her best to smile. Her sister was on the cusp of annoying her. Mayfair tended to have a positive outlook, but today she was downright bubbly. They all hurried out of the house to greet Henry as soon as he stepped out of his truck. He grinned and waved, then walked around to open his mother’s door. Margaret thought that was gentlemanly of him. She almost wished he’d act like a jerk instead.
Henry hugged his grandmother first, swinging her feet until she insisted he put her down. Then he practically tossed Mayfair into the air as her crystal laughter fell over them all. Finally he turned to Margaret and took both of her hands in his.
“I sure have missed you,” he said.
Margaret felt a flutter and tried to push it down. He was just being nice. They were friends, and he was going to let her down easy. There was no need to pin her future on a boy—she looked at him more closely, okay, a man—who was only going to break her heart.
Henry winked, and Margaret’s resolve proved to be made of timid stuff. She almost cried when he turned away and escorted the chattering group of women into the house. She brought up the rear, determined not to spoil the party for everyone.
The meal was filled with laughter and Henry’s stories. Margaret felt everyone was looking at her but guessed it was just this feeling that Henry was going to break her heart that made her feel like the center of attention. Goodness knows, she’d never been the center of anything. Finally, the meal drew to a close, and Emily offered to make coffee while they went into the living room to enjoy their cake.
“Margaret, come show me the garden,” Henry said.
Margaret looked toward her sister. “Mayfair’s the gardener around here. I just do what she tells me. Maybe she should show you.”
Mayfair rolled her eyes. “I promised I’d dry the dishes.”
“And I’d rather you show me,” Henry said, reaching for her hand.
Margaret let him lead her outside. The late June evening felt cool against her skin, and the dusk softened the world around them. Roses bloomed on a trellis at the end of the porch, and she caught a trace of their perfume.
“Garden sure looks good.” Henry walked to the end of a row of tomato plants, releasing her hand. “You and Mayfair make a good team.”
“I like being in the garden. It’s . . .” Margaret searched for the right word. “Manageable.”
Henry half smiled. “I don’t think I’ve heard anyone describe a garden that way before.”
“I guess I know what to expect from the garden. If I plant and water and weed, eventually I’ll get a harvest. It’s not like people. You never know with people.” She ducked her head and stuffed her hands into the pockets of the skirt she’d put on for Henry’s homecoming. Her mother bought it for her back when she thought buying clothes a size too small would make Margaret lose weight. Now it was almost loose-fitting.
“You look different,” Henry said, cocking his head to one side.
Margaret looked at him and squinted. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, prettier for one thing. Maybe sadder for another. Mayfair’s okay, isn’t she?”
“Yes, I think she’s the healthiest she’s been in a long time. We’ve been really careful about what she eats and getting her insulin.”
Henry nodded, appearing to be only half listening. “Good, I’m glad. So what about you? Seems like you didn’t eat much this evening.”
Margaret shrugged and knelt down to nip suckers off the tomato plants. She was surprised he’d noticed. “I’m okay. I’ve learned a lot about keeping up a farm from your grandmother. I’m not sure what good it’ll do me, but I like learning it.”
Henry moved toward a hill of crookneck squash with its mix of blooms and ripening vegetables. The buttery blossoms were closing now against the dark. “Yeah, I thought for a while I might want to do something else—something more—than farm this place. But over the last month I’ve realized living here, working the land my father and grandfather worked, is exactly what I want.” He shrugged. “Some of the guys think I should do something else. Maybe use my degree to go into research or teach, keep playing music, but . . .” He looked around at the closing of the day, the fireflies rising from the grasses, and the last trails of light slipping behind the horizon. Then he looked right at Margaret. “But this is what I really want.”
Margaret swallowed past a lump in her throat. It was what she wanted, too, but she hardly dared hope Henry saw her as part of his dream.
“What about you, Margaret? What do you want?”
She cleared her throat. “What I have now is pretty great. But I don’t guess I can live in your grandmother’s cottage for the rest of my life. Who knows what’ll happen down the road? I might have to work in a plant or something. I don’t guess I’m qualified for much else. I could go to school, but I don’t know . . .” She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
Henry moved to the far side of the squash plant, and Margaret took a step that direction to pull a few weeds hiding under the broad leaves. Henry knelt down opposite and reached over to tilt Margaret’s chin up. He looked into her eyes, and she felt tears begin to pool. She would not let them fall.
“What’s that?” Henry asked, releasing her.
Margaret was confused. “What?”
“That,” he said, pointing down.
Margaret looked and saw where some dollar weed had begun to encroach on the hill. He was pointing out a weed she’d missed? Seriously? She reached for the weed, and her eye caught on a squash blossom. It looked different. There was something inside—not an insect—something shiny.
With shaking fingers, Margaret reached into the flower and touched the cool metal of . . . a ring. It was a simple gold band with a small diamond. She looked at Henry.
He smiled. “Margaret Anne Hoffman, would you marry me and live on this farm for the rest of your life?”
Henry lay in the bed he’d been sleeping in since he got too big for the crib he hoped was up in the attic somewhere. No way would he sleep tonight. When he drov
e home from Morgantown with that ring in his pocket—paid for with what he’d earned playing at the Screen Door—he’d felt one hundred percent sure that Margaret would say yes. But once he was there in the garden where he’d tucked that band of gold, he’d had his doubts.
Margaret had been different. She had achieved an almost fragile prettiness since he’d seen her a month before. She seemed smaller, less sturdy than he remembered. No less strong or capable, but somehow more feminine. The feelings she stirred standing there in the garden in that soft blue skirt and white blouse had surprised him. The first time he thought of Margaret as a potential wife, he’d seen it as a practical arrangement. But now . . . well, he supposed this was how a man was supposed to feel about the woman he was going to marry.
He hadn’t known he wanted to marry her until he’d tried on the life of a musician for size. He’d been so certain it would be the right fit. He thought if he could play music while she waited for him, life would be just about perfect. But then she left on a bus for the farm, and somehow as good as the music felt, it wasn’t enough.
And it wasn’t just Margaret’s presence that was lacking. He missed milking Bertie on dewy mornings. He missed stupid things like hayfields dotted with daisies. He missed watching the chickens peck the yard clean. He missed his mother and grandmother and Mayfair, and yes, Margaret most of all. He called and even wrote a letter or two, but he’d still catch himself playing those mournful tunes at the end of a set, wishing he could watch the sunset throw its reflection over the pond as if it had all the light in the world to waste.
And then Margaret’s letter came like permission to come home and claim the life he wanted more than anything. It was when he made that decision that he felt not only the pleasure it would have given Dad, but the pleasure it did give God. He punched his pillow and rolled over. He was going to marry Margaret and make this farm their own. He couldn’t wait.
They were getting married—in August. Margaret held her hand up, tilted her head to watch light catch in the diamond. Henry said he wished it were bigger, but playing music didn’t pay quite as well as he hoped. He laughed and said he used the moonshine money to pay off his tuition, and she’d just have to wait for him to earn some honest money. She didn’t care one way or the other. She was getting married, and they would live here in the little gray house together. And Mayfair could stay as long as she wanted.
Margaret would call this a dream come true, if she’d ever had the courage to dream anything as good as this. She went to get ready for bed, although she doubted she’d be able to sleep a wink.
The next morning, Margaret felt shy when Henry came by the farmhouse as they were finishing breakfast. He said he’d already eaten, but he managed to force down a stack of Margaret’s buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup just the same. He was halfway out the door when he ducked back in.
“Oh, yeah. Mom wants to do an engagement party for us,” he said to Margaret. “Sadie’s coming home for the Fourth of July, and she figured it would be the perfect time. I’m not sure she’ll be able to come again for the wedding, so Mom wanted to have a party now.” He rolled his eyes. “I guess this is the kind of thing you girls like to do.”
Margaret smiled. She liked being included in “you girls.” She’d always felt kind of alone before this. “Sounds great. I’ll give Perla a call.”
Henry nodded and headed out to start the day’s chores, Mayfair on his heels. Margaret smiled. What were the odds that she would find a good man who loved her and her sister? She still wasn’t a hundred percent sure what Henry saw in her, but she hoped whatever it was would last forever.
Henry didn’t know about this engagement party business. Wasn’t a wedding enough? Still, it was worth it to come out on the other side with the woman he loved. He laughed aloud as he finished hoeing the row of popcorn Mayfair insisted on planting. Who would’ve thought? Before Dad died he’d barely noticed Margaret, but somehow that morning—the worst morning of his life—she’d come to his attention. And he’d been noticing her more and more ever since. He thought about a Scripture Ray had written down and sent him in a letter. And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.
He thought he remembered that was from Romans chapter eight. Good stuff. Who knew God could use losing his father to lead him to the woman who would be his wife? He guessed he’d been too wrapped up in his own world before. Well, he still missed Dad, but at least something good—no, great—was coming out of it.
Margaret wondered if that business of breathing into a brown paper bag really worked. She felt like she was going to hyperventilate. Most of the town of Wise was out there in the community hall, and she wasn’t sure she could face them. They’d know she wasn’t pretty enough or smart enough for Henry Phillips. They’d know he was basically marrying a farmhand. And while she’d normally worry that her mother might come, now she was worried that everyone knew her mother wasn’t there because she was at a clinic where she could work through her “issues.” That’s what Dad said when he called to let them know Lenore was checking into alcohol rehabilitation. He said Mayfair’s illness and the loss of both daughters had been more than she could stand. Margaret wondered what had driven her to drink before all that, but she didn’t say it out loud. She just made the appropriate comments and asked her father to let them know when Mom came home. Not that it mattered, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
Now she wished there were a place she could go and get away from everything. She’d been out there for thirty minutes, smiling and shaking hands, being hugged by women she barely knew. Everyone acted nice, but she couldn’t help thinking they were looking at her with a critical eye. She’d been hiding in the ladies’ room for ten minutes, hoping no one else would come in. She heard a hand hit the door, and her heart sank.
“Why, Margaret, what are you doing in here?”
Margaret tried to smile at Sadie—her future sister-in-law. She liked Sadie, who was a little on the plump side and very businesslike. She tended to get to the point, and Margaret actually believed her when she said she was glad Henry had the good sense to marry her.
“I’m feeling a little—”
“Overwhelmed. Of course you are. Mother never does things by halves. We could have just had a nice family supper, but she had to invite the whole town. Now they’ll be mad if they aren’t invited to the wedding, too.” Sadie sighed and fluffed her strawberry blond curls in the mirror. “I can never get my hair to do right. You’re smart, keeping your hair put up.”
Margaret touched her hair, trying to smooth the waves and frizz she’d mostly tamed for the evening. She’d love to have actual curls like Sadie’s. Margaret began to wonder if Henry would be willing to elope. She wasn’t sure she could go through a wedding where there would be even more attention on her. And while she’d been excited about getting a dress, now she wondered what people would think of her choice. They’d judge and measure every little thing, and there would be no hiding in the background.
Panic rose in Margaret’s throat, and she wanted nothing more than to run home and hide in the cowshed with Bertie. She started for the door, but as she extended her arm, the door flew open, and Perla stood there, looking flushed.
“Margaret, you’d better come. It’s Mayfair.”
Margaret rushed into the room she’d been trying to escape. Mayfair had been doing so well. Had she eaten too much cake? What if she went into a coma again? It could kill her.
Margaret stood in the main room, looking around desperately for her sister, probably lying prostrate on the floor. She never should have left her. Crowds were always overwhelming, and now she was having an episode on top of everything else. But instead of seeing her sister collapsed in a corner, she saw a room full of quiet people turned toward the small raised dais at the end of the hall. Mayfair stood there, looking pale, but perfectly fine otherwise.
“I have something to say.” Mayfair’s voice was soft b
ut clear. Margaret felt rooted to the spot. “My sister is going to marry Henry.” A smile crept across her lips. “And the best part is that I still get to live with them.”
Laughter rippled across the crowd.
“I think they’ve had a hard time figuring out that they love each other.” Mayfair ducked her head, but her voice grew stronger. “I knew it from the start, but sometimes I know things like that. Love is easy to see if you’re looking for it. I guess I’ve always liked looking out for love.” She lifted her chin and found Margaret in the crowd. “Margaret’s always loved me, and I’m glad I’m not the only one anymore. She’s got a lot of love in her heart.”
She let her gaze drift across the faces. Margaret feared that the magnitude of the crowd would overwhelm her baby sister. Would she faint? Run from the stage? But Mayfair didn’t do either, and Margaret suddenly realized her sister was growing into a young woman.
“I just wanted to say to everyone that it’s good for us to love one another. Like sisters or friends or family. You know, the way God loves us no matter what. It’s the best thing there is, and I’m glad Margaret and Henry have it.” She released her arms and tucked one foot behind the other. “Anyway, I can’t wait for the wedding.”
“Neither can Henry,” came a masculine voice from the crowd. They erupted in laughter, and several ladies gathered around Mayfair, hugging her and kissing her cheeks.
Margaret wound her way through dozens of people who wanted to congratulate her until she finally found her sister. “That was a lovely speech,” she said. “I’m proud of you for getting up in front of all these people.”
Mayfair clasped her hands around Margaret’s waist. “It’s not so bad when love keeps you safe. It’s even better than angels,” she said.
Margaret closed her eyes and held her sister close. Another set of arms wrapped around them both, and she looked to see Henry holding them tight. She bit her lip hard and hugged Mayfair while leaning into the man she loved. Maybe no one had shown her what love between a man and a woman should look like, but this surely felt right. Maybe her sister was a miracle worker after all.
Until the Harvest Page 26