When The Geese Fly North

by Dragon, Tracey L.

  “Why do you say vulnerable?”

  Amy told her mother about Will’s sensitivity to the scars on his face and about his leg injury. “He doesn’t seem to want to talk about himself.”

  “Still waters run deep.” Her mother sighed. “The war left more than external wounds as we are well aware of. Hopefully in time, Mr. Henderson will be able to find peace with his. Now . . . you said he’s sleeping in the barn. The nights are still pretty cold. Does he have enough covers to keep warm? Why don’t I get that old down comforter that belonged to your grandmother?” Her mom rose and went upstairs leaving Amy to ponder her words regarding Will.

  “I’ll be by next week to check out your Mr. Henderson,” her mom said, returning to the kitchen with her arms full. “In the meantime”—she picked up a large tin of the freshly baked molasses cookies and handed them to her—“a man needs more than three meals when he’s working. This will give him something to snack on in the evenings.” She hugged Amy and Thomas and helped them load the bedding and canned goods into the back of the truck.

  Amy thanked her mom then left for home. She wondered what Will had been doing all day, and she realized that this was the first time in a long time that she returned to the farm with anticipation instead of dread.

  Chapter 14

  Will worked until five-thirty trying to finish the first field. He had to stop twice and repair the old plow. Thankfully, Travis had come to help and was able to run to town and pick up some badly needed bolts.

  What he wouldn’t give for a long hot shower or a soak in a tub right now, but as a Marine he was used to making do with what he had. Using an old washtub he found behind the barn, he stood with his good leg in the water and his artificial foot outside of the makeshift tub. He had filled two buckets of water from the hand pump and left them in the sun all afternoon in hopes of removing the chill. No such luck. When he poured the first bucket over him, he felt his nether parts shrink. Damn it was cold.

  He was in the process of drying off when he heard the barn door rattle and barely had time to yank a towel in front of him when Amy strolled in with a pile of bedding in her arms. “Out,” he roared, startling her. “Now.” He awkwardly slid the towel as low as he could in an attempt to hide his bad leg.

  “I, uh, oh.” Amy’s eyes widened and she dropped the armload she’d been carrying onto the floor, and high-tailed it out of there.

  Once dressed in clean clothes, Will sat in the tack room trying to gain control over the anger he felt at the invasion of his privacy. They had set up ground rules, and she had violated the one most sacred to him. Christ, he wondered if she saw his bum leg. He couldn’t face another woman staring at him with pity in her eyes or seeing him as less than the man he’d once been. Dusk had set in by the time he reassembled his emotions and thought of speaking to Amy again. Obviously, he would need to reiterate his need for privacy, but he didn’t think he could face her tonight. He limped over to the items she dropped on the ground and picked them up. His anger dissipated when he realized she had brought him a down comforter for his bed and a large tin of molasses cookies. He carried them into the tack room and set them on the bed.

  Maybe he would skip dinner. He didn’t think he was up for small talk tonight, and it would be awkward as hell if she saw his leg. He grabbed a handful of the large, soft cookies and walked out behind the barn to the wood slatted fence. Once it got dark he figured she’d realize he wasn’t coming in for supper.

  The evening was cooling down, and he knew he’d be glad for the extra bedding Amy brought him. It would be nice if he had a small woodstove in the barn, the nights were still chilly and his woolen military blanket hadn’t been enough to keep him warm. With a stove, he could heat soup or make coffee and be less dependent on taking his meals from Amy which would be more to his liking. When his next check came in, he’d see if Travis knew of any place where he might find a good secondhand stove and metal pipe. He’d have to run it by the lady of the house of course, but he best wait for now. He didn’t imagine she was terribly thrilled with him at the moment.

  He leaned against the fence watching the geese that had settled around the pond, resting for their early morning flight. The cookies had taken the edge off his hunger, but he sure could use a cup of strong coffee preferably with a shot of whiskey in it. Then he remembered the Johnnie Walker Scotch Travis had brought him this morning and thought why not. She hadn’t abided by his ground rules, why should he follow hers? A tit-for-a-tat.

  He hobbled back into the tack room, dug the pint from his duffle bag where he had stashed it and poured half of it into the metal coffee mug he kept in his room. The first swallow went down smoothly, the second even smoother. By the third, he justified his behavior as medicinal for his aching leg, his wounded soul, and a much-needed source of warmth for his innards. Besides the little termagant all snug in her warm house didn’t say he couldn’t drink, she’d only said no getting drunk on the property. It’d take a hell of a lot more than a pint to inebriate him.

  He’d finished off the last of the bottle and thought he might as well turn in early. The cookies and the Scotch had diminished his appetite, and although he was nowhere near intoxicated, he felt pleasantly warm and mellow and thought perhaps his tired aching body would let him rest. He usually limited his drinking to a couple beers with Travis when they were out. He’d seen too many returning vets fall victim to the bottle, and he had no plans to be one himself. He knew how tempting it could be.

  He’d just bent over to remove his prosthetic boot when he heard a timid knock at the barn door. When he ignored it, the rapping became louder and more persistent.

  Damn, he really didn’t want to speak with her tonight, especially with whiskey on his breath.

  “Mr. Henderson,” Amy called. “Ignore me if you want, but I can see the light from under the door.”

  He refused to respond in hopes she’d give up and leave. Unfortunately, that strategy didn’t work.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ve knocked as you requested, and now I’m telling you I have your dinner here, and I’m coming in whether you like it or not. I think we need to talk.”

  Will groaned. That was the last damn thing he wanted to do. He went to the door, yanked it open, and glowered at her. “Not tonight,” he said curtly and reached for the plate of food and the cup of coffee she’d brought him.

  She ducked under his outstretched arm and strode to the tack room, set the plate on the table, and plopped down in the chair in the corner. Arms crossed, her chin raised and pointed, she started to speak, then stopped as her glance shifted to the dresser where he’d set the empty bottle of scotch. Her eyes narrowed and her voice rose an octave, its tone accusatory. “You’ve been drinking.” She hopped up. “I told you no getting drunk on the property.”

  “And I told you no entering the barn without knocking,” he countered.

  “I won’t have you getting drunk here, I mean it.” She stood toe-to-toe with him even though he stood a foot taller and outweighed her by almost a hundred pounds.

  Will couldn’t help but admire her spunk. “And if I do?”

  “I won’t have it,” she repeated and stomped her foot at him, although there was a slight tremor to her voice.

  Will paused and studied the slight figure in front of him noting the tenseness with which she held herself and sensed a false bravado. There was more than anger there, there was fear. Fear that he might be drunk. With the rapid-fire processing that had kept him alive during the war, he quickly analyzed the situation and came to a conclusion that downright pissed him off.

  “The bastard got drunk and hit you, didn’t he?”

  Her mulish expression neither confirmed nor denied it. There was no need to, her body language spoke volumes. He was going to beat the living shit out of that asshole if he ever raised a hand to her again, bum leg and all he thought he could take him.
He let out a sigh and pushed his hair back off his forehead. “I’m not drunk,” he said softly. “It would take a lot more than a pint of whiskey. Drunk or sober, you needn’t ever fear me. I’ve never hit a woman in my life, and God strike me dead if I ever did. Any man who does should be shot, no questions asked.”

  At his words, Amy shoulder’s relaxed and her tear-filled eyes sought his.

  God, those eyes were going to be the death of him yet. The unwanted desire to haul her into his arms struck hard and furious, and he clenched his fists at his side to keep from doing it. That bastard she’d been married to deserved to have his balls cut off and shoved down his throat. He nodded to the chair in resignation. “Sit. You wanted to talk?”

  Chapter 15

  Amy did as Will directed but found she had a hard time meeting his gaze. Instead, she pretended to study her cracked nail polish rather than raise her eyes to Will’s. “Please have your dinner before it gets cold. We can talk while you eat.”

  Will nodded, picked up the towel-wrapped plate and sat on the end of the bed where he proceeded to eat what she brought him.

  She cleared her throat trying to work up the courage to say what needed to be said but found it difficult to find the right words. “I wanted to apologize to you for my unannounced visit to the barn earlier.” Her cheeks warmed as she recalled the vision of Will in all his glory standing by the makeshift tub. She had gotten an eyeful before Will had managed to completely cover himself with the towel. “I’m aware I violated one of your requests. I would have knocked, but my arms were full, and I didn’t want to set the coverlet on the ground.”

  Will’s blue eyes pierced her as if wondering how much she’d actually seen. Then he concentrated on the plate of food he’d been eating.

  More than she wanted or needed to would have been her answer to the question in his eyes, but not what she’d volunteer to say. She had however noticed his one booted foot and had time to ponder it. “What happened to your leg?”

  Will visibly tensed as if she’d struck him and studiously ignored her as he continued to eat.

  She waited patiently for him to answer then asked again. “Will,” she said softly, leaning forward resting her forearms on her knees, hands clenched between them.

  He put his plate on the floor, not meeting her eyes, his jaw set in grim determination.

  When his gaze did lock with hers, the naked pain floored her.

  “I took a shell fragment in it.”

  “I noticed you were showering with your boot on your injured leg. Why?”

  Will sprung up as if he couldn’t sit still any longer and limped to the door as if to leave, then turned back and all but snarled at her. “What’s the matter? You afraid I can’t do the work?”

  Startled by Will’s reaction, she sat back in her chair. He reminded her of a wounded animal with his paw caught in a trap, snarling and hissing at anyone who got close. “I’m sure that’s not a problem.” She kept her voice low and even. “You wouldn’t be here if that were the case. You’re too honorable of a man. How badly were you injured?”

  He leaned against the edge of the door frame and reached an arm across the expanse to press the other side, a red hue appeared across his neck and flushed up his cheeks. His fingers flexed and unflexed on the wooden beam.

  She knew Will understood what she was asking, and by his physical response she also knew how he would answer.

  “The damage to my lower leg was severe. If it hadn’t become infected . . .” He shrugged as if the matter were a moot point. “By the time they got me to a field hospital, they had no choice but to amputate the lower part of my left leg above the ankle.” That being said, he turned and left the barn.

  Amy wiped the tears that gathered near the corner of her eyes. The last thing a Marine like Will would want is pity. She knew the feeling. Every time she ran into an acquaintance who knew the circumstances of her divorce, she could see it in their eyes. She’d begun to avoid town except to visit her mother and Fran. She’d swallowed her pride when she went to work at Ray’s, but beggars couldn’t afford to be choosy and where her son was concerned her feelings were unimportant.

  She debated whether to return to the house or go in search of her difficult Marine. She’d yet to discuss what she’d come to say and would like to finish the sensitive conversation before they had to face each other over the breakfast table. The evening had turned dark, but thankfully a full moon lit the night sky. She glanced around the front of the building, but no Will in sight. A disturbed goose honking and flapping its wings gave a clue to his whereabouts. She strode past the old outhouse and followed the path toward the pond where Will stood, his hands tucked in his back pockets as if pondering the weight of the world.

  He turned when she approached.

  She moved to his side and touched his arm.

  He flinched as if she burnt him but remained there.

  “I apologize for prying, but I needed to be sure you’re okay. Does it still hurt?”

  He shrugged as if somehow answering yes made him less of a man.

  “Okay then, Will Henderson,” she addressed him as if she were scolding her son. “Besides my apology for invading your privacy, I want to apologize for my thoughtless lack of concern for your personal needs. Until tonight, I hadn’t considered them.

  “The bathroom is down the hall from the kitchen, and I expect from now on you’ll bathe or shower in it as you need. Towels are under the sink, and there’s Bayer Aspirin in the medicine cabinet if you need it. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Amy thought she heard humor in his voice but realized she must be mistaken. She doubted he found anything funny about his situation.

  “Good.” She turned to leave then turned back. “By the way, I hate pity, so don’t expect any from me. I’ve had my fill of everyone feeling sorry for me because of my divorce. I don’t need it from my partner.” With that said, she turned and marched back to the house. Let him stick that in his craw and chew on it.

  Chapter 16

  Will felt a great burden lift from his shoulders. Although Amy knew about his foot, she’d offered no pity and asked to receive none in return. That was a deal he could live with.

  He rapped on the back door to the kitchen and his heart warmed at Thomas’s excited voice.

  “It’s Mr. Will, Momma. Can I wet him in?”

  He heard her murmur an affirmative.

  Suddenly the door opened and the little boy stood there beaming at him as if he were the sun and moon put together. He started wiggling in excitement. “Can I help you feed the chickens, today? Pweeze, Mr. Will. Pweeze.”

  Without even intending to he reached down and lifted the boy up until they were eye-to-eye. “That depends. Did you ask your mother if it’s okay?”

  Thomas turned his head toward his mom. “Can I Mommy? Can I?”

  Amy glanced from her son to Will and smiled broadly. “As long as you mind Mr. Will, I don’t see why not.”

  The lad’s face lit with pure joy, and Will had all he could do to keep from hugging him. “Here,” he said gruffly, and raised Thomas higher and set him on his shoulders. “How about I give you a ride to your chair?”

  Once Will had Thomas seated, he asked Amy if she needed any help. She ordered him to sit, and as usual, he ignored her, poured himself a cup of coffee and stood waiting to pull out her chair. They were developing a comfortable routine, he realized, and his buoyant mood took a nose dive as he reminded himself he’d be leaving in the fall. He didn’t need to form an attachment that couldn’t go anywhere.

  “What are your plans today?” Amy asked after breakfast.

  “I need to finish the plowing and then run the harrow over the soil to prepare it for seed. That will take me a couple of days.”

  “It’s wash day for me, so if you ha
ve any clothes that need cleaning, bring them to the house before you leave for the fields. I’ll throw them in with ours and run them through the ringer.”

  Will didn’t expect her to do his wash and was about to say so, but she cut him off as if she’d read his mind.

  “Will, you have more than enough to do on the farm, and I’m not going to argue about it. Just bring your laundry up to the house before you leave.”

  He knew when to cut his losses and to pick his battles. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you can stop calling me ma’am while you’re at it. Makes me feel like you’re addressing my mother, and I’m not that old yet. Call me Amy or Ames.”

  He chose to ignore the last request and glanced at Thomas instead. “You ready to go feed those chickens?” The little boy’s enthusiasm touched his soul. He would have liked to have had a son of his own, he thought, but he didn’t see it in the deck of cards he’d been dealt.

  It was a cool, breezy day and Will found himself getting chilled on the tractor even though the sun was shining. When he returned from the fields for lunch, he’d pick up his jacket. Even though the air was brisk, the warm rays on his face and the clean fresh air had a healing effect on his ravaged soul. He’d begun to feel a little like his old self and thought maybe when he finished up in the fall, he’d return to the land of his roots. He hadn’t seen his family in a while, and if he could earn enough money to cover the closing costs, he might be able to get himself one of those new GI loans the government was offering veterans and purchase a small farm nearby.

  Amy was hanging up the wash when he returned to the house at noontime.

  “Have a seat on the porch,” she called to him. “I’ll bring your lunch out in a second.”