Asked For (8 page)

Knuckles rounded on the door in sharp, distinct raps.

The knock that had said
hurry
the first time Lana heard it said
hurry
again.
Hurry
and marry me.
Hurry
and fix my supper.
Hurry
and let me see my son.

“Magdalena and I are ready.” Lana nodded to Ella. She winced as she straightened in the bed and snuggled Magdalena even closer to her breast. “He’ll love the daughter I’ve given him. You can let him in.”

Chapter 7

Lana 1932

Three years. Three years of being Cletus’ wife. Three years of being mother to his children, first to Magdalena, now to Betsy, and soon to another which was well on its way. Two girls in three years. Two reasons Cletus was disappointed in her, two reasons that proved Lana wasn’t being the wife she was supposed to be. Lana squeezed her daughters onto her lap as Ella’s husband, Carl, closed his truck’s door for her.

“Want me to take one?” Ella twisted Lana’s way from the center of the truck’s seat, extending her forearms to take one of the girls.

“Here, take Betsy.” Lana wrapped an arm around Magdalena and let Betsy be drawn from her small lap onto Ella’s much fuller one. Carl climbed into the driver’s side, slamming the door behind him. The farm truck roared and smelled of fumes as he pushed the starter and revved the engine. Both girls jumped, Betsy fading into Ella’s soft skin and Magdalena giggling with delight. Lana smiled. Magdalena always managed a laugh, even though she had little to laugh about in her small world. Betsy was the opposite. She mirrored the quietness of their home, the disappointment there were no boys, doing her best to stay invisible even at her tiny age, mostly vanishing into the woodwork.

Magdalena squirmed while Betsy burrowed into Ella’s arms, her eyelids already half closed as Carl pulled onto the dirt road.

“You want to trade girls?” Ella whispered, even though she could have shouted since the truck’s engine would have muffled her yell.

Lana tried to manage Magdalena’s wiggles around her protruding belly, rolling the truck’s window up against the dust that was swirling in. A trade would be wonderful, but Ella would be better off with Betsy. “Magdalena might take over the driving if she gets close to Carl.” Lana laughed.

The scenery hadn’t changed much since three years ago when she’d traveled this road the opposite way, going from Grandma’s to Cletus’. She had come his way shattered, a child with a heart that was broken from missing her father. She was going to Grandma’s a woman, a wife with her heart in her throat, terrified this unborn baby was going to be a girl, another girl. Cletus probably worried about the same. She saw it in the way he looked at her, the way he looked at his daughters every day.

Lana needed answers, going this way from Cletus’ to Grandma’s. Grandma’d sent her his way with the orders to work hard and let him do whatever he wanted. Cletus had sent her Grandma’s way with the reminder he’d be home at 6:30 and expected his supper then. She promised she’d be back in time. She’d touched his arm, felt the bristly hair she’d longed to feel three years ago. He’d pulled away, nodded goodbye, then glanced at the girls. Grandma would surely have the answers. Grandma would know what to do.

Lana showed Carl where to turn after an hour and a half of dusty roads, jarring ruts, two- and three-word conversations, and soft snores from Ella between them. The truck rumbled down the narrow dirt road, and Lana’s heart beat harder as the terrain changed from familiar to home, grasses that were common everywhere suddenly waving at her as if they recognized her and welcomed her back. These were her grasses, grasses that didn’t, yet did, belong to Grandma. A road and fields that weren’t Grandma’s either, but they
were
hers, because they were landmarks of home. Lana pinned her gaze on the horizon, waiting for the low-pitched roof that was theirs—Grandma’s—and the cottonwood tree next to it she’d never thought much about until now. Why hadn’t she cared about it when she was a girl? Now that tree was like a beacon, a comfort, a memory of the way things used to be.

“Right there!” She didn’t mean to shout, but she did, and she pointed, acting like Magdalena instead of herself. Ella stirred, Betsy opened her eyes, and Carl gunned the engine, eating up the last of the road between her and her old home. The truck bounded into the lane the same way Cletus’ had bounded out. Lana squeezed Magdalena tighter as she scanned Grandma’s weedy yard, unpainted chicken coop, and sagging shed where they always kept a milk cow. She and Grandma’d written letters to each other, Grandma with little to say and Lana with little she wanted to say on paper. She’d told Grandma she’d be here one day this week, depending on Carl’s schedule and Cletus not changing his mind. It didn’t matter if Grandma didn’t know what day they would come. Grandma would be here. Like Lana, she rarely went anywhere.

Before Carl stopped, Grandma’s thin form appeared in the doorway of the shed. Her hair was neat, neater than usual, as if she’d taken more care this morning. Her dress was tucked evenly within a makeshift belt, another scrap of material promoted to something more glorious than being just a rag. Lana pressed her hand against the truck’s window as Carl slowed to stop, watching Grandma’s form disappear on the other side of Lana’s fingers. She wanted to grasp her grandmother and hold on as she passed, remake the connection she never realized they had until it was gone, soak in some of Grandma’s wisdom that had always been there teaching her, though she just hadn’t realized it until now.

“Grandma,” Lana said to Magdalena. Her daughter stared out the window, lifted her tiny hand, and plastered it next to Lana’s on the glass.

Lana dropped out of the truck’s cab the instant Carl stopped. With Magdalena on one hip, she reached for Betsy and settled her sleepy daughter on the other, her stomach, where the next child lay, protruding between her two girls. She balanced herself like a tightrope performer, pivoted toward Grandma, and waddled her way. “Grandma…” Her voice sounded like a child’s, the knot in her throat choking the confidence she’d meant to portray. Grandma’s face looked just like Lana felt, and Lana knew she understood.

Betsy nuzzled her head against Lana’s shoulder as they drew up in front of Grandma. Magdalena squirmed and made gleeful nonsense noises. Lana gripped her tighter.

“My, aren’t you a sight!” Grandma tried to sound brash and bossy, but her eyes betrayed how happy she really was. Lana hadn’t thought to come here not looking like a sight. Her dresses were all baggy—until she was pregnant, like now. Then they bulged forward, hiking the skirt up in front, making her dress look like a bell in the middle of a toll. She wore her auburn hair longer now because Cletus liked it that way, but it was pulled back out of Magdalena’s and Betsy’s reaches. And no makeup. She’d come plain, the way she always was, plain and tired.

“I probably am a sight.” Lana felt her face flush, but tried to ignore it. She wasn’t here to be told how good she looked. She was here to see Grandma, see herself and her new life against her old one and the person who’d told her how this new one was supposed to be lived.

“You look just fine, actually.” A tall shadow filled the shed’s doorway behind Grandma. “If anything, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Jim…”

Jim Dillon stepped from the shed’s dark interior. He’d changed. She was shocked at what he’d become. He’d grown in three years, muscles where scrawny arms used to be, tanned skin and chiseled features where softness used to be. There was still the boy in his eyes, though, the boy who’d helped her with chores before she left to get married. The boy Grandma had said really wasn’t there to help Lana but was there because he needed the pay. A bucket half full of milk dangled from one of Jim’s hands. Grandma was right again. He was here not because Lana was but because he needed the pay.

Jim didn’t stare at her daughters, or the bulge of her stomach, or the worn dress that covered it. He just looked at her face, his eyes scanning every feature as if relearning, even admiring, who she’d become. Lana’s hand twitched. She wanted to run it over her hair, smooth it, or pull it out of its knot and let it hang loose so she’d look like the girl she used to be, not the worn-out housewife she’d become. Her face warmed. She was being silly. Jim didn’t care, he was just a childhood friend.

“Let me take one of those girls.” Ella appeared at Lana’s side and took Magdalena from one hip. Before Lana could reposition Betsy, the tiny girl was lifted away also, up into the air, Jim’s big hands around her ribs. Lana watched her shy daughter go, bracing herself for the wail the frightened Betsy would let go. Jim talked to Betsy, let her have a good long look at him, then settled her gently at his side.

“She looks kind of like you.” He turned to Lana.

Betsy was actually pretty. She had Lana’s complexion and some of her fine features.
Lana looked at her daughter, a semblance of what Lana used to be when she grew up here near Jim. She glanced at him.
Please don’t say it, don’t say what’s too late to say.
Too much had happened, too much had changed. A strand of hair came loose and blew across Lana’s face. She didn’t straighten it. She let it blow.

“And this one’s like her daddy,” Ella chimed in, bouncing Magdalena on her hip. “Got his fair hair and skin.”

Every eye went to her oldest daughter, the lanky girl who really was like her father, except she knew how to laugh and smile. Lana hurried to say everyone’s names and explain who everyone was. Everyone except Cletus, the daddy Magdalena favored. He wasn’t here, and Ella’s comparison was enough of a tribute, so she finished the introductions and left it at that.

Ella and Carl had family nearby, or at least they’d said they did when Ella offered to bring Lana to see her grandma. Lana wondered if they’d go down the road and just sit in the hot sun all day, waiting, letting her have a much-needed moment with Grandma. Ella and Carl climbed into their truck. They knew to be back in time to have Lana home to fix Cletus’ supper before 6:30. She waved as they drove away. So did Magdalena, from Lana’s hip now that Ella was gone. Jim waved Betsy’s little hand for her. Lana watched, surprised. She’d never seen that done before. She’d never seen Betsy held by a man before.

“Well, I’ll finish taking care of the milk,” Jim said to Grandma. He brought Betsy to Lana and set her easily on Lana’s hip.

“You’re good with little girls,” Lana said. He smelled like milk, like their—Grandma’s—shed, like home used to be.

“It’s the big girls that baffle me.” His mouth took on a grin, but his eyes were serious. He picked up the bucket and turned away.

“I’ll pay you tomorrow,” Grandma said to his back. “You can head on home and take some eggs tomorrow.”

“No need to give me anything,” he said. He stopped and turned around. “Glad to help out.” Then he looked at Lana, his dark hair glistening in the sun. She felt herself redden as he studied her. A smile appeared, an inward one that didn’t really show, yet it was there in his gaze. She recognized it—she knew it well. It revived the one that used to be in her, even after three long, difficult years. “Glad to help you too, if you ever need it,” he said to her. “Just let me know.”

“She’s fine. You go on, and I’ll pay you tomorrow.” Grandma was at Lana’s side. She took Betsy, dragging her from Lana’s hip as Lana watched Jim walk away. He disappeared back into the shed as Grandma created a commotion with Betsy.

“Here, let me keep her,” Lana offered.

Grandma held onto Betsy like a sack of potatoes. “Let’s just get inside. Come on.” Grandma hurried toward the house.

Lana turned from the shed and followed her. “Jim’s just being neighborly to me for old time’s sake.”

“That’s right. Now come on.” Grandma moved even faster, folds of her dress gripped in Betsy’s small fists.

Grandma’s house hadn’t changed, not as much as Lana would have expected with Cletus’ promised care. It was even smaller than she remembered, now that she lived in Cletus’ much larger home, and still empty except for a cabinet she didn’t recognize.

“Grandma…” Lana began, making a sweep around the room—the small dresser, the cots, the stove, the lone picture of an angel watching over a small house. “I thought there’d be more…”

Grandma dropped into her rocker, Betsy bouncing and flopping on Grandma’s lap. Magdalena slid from Lana’s hip to the floor and began to explore.

“Has Cletus been sending you something, like he said he would?” Lana came and stood near Grandma’s rocker.

Grandma thrust forward, then back, rocking hard, squeezing a frightened Betsy tight. “Notice the cabinet over there? Got that right after your wedding.”

Lana glanced at the cabinet. It was old, probably used, but new to Grandma. “It’s nice,” Lana said. “But it’s been three years. I thought there’d be more…” Lana looked at Betsy, terror in her eyes as Grandma flailed back and forth in the rocker. Then Lana looked at Magdalena, roving around the room, running her finger over what little Grandma had. Cletus thought there’d be more too, more than two daughters.

“Don’t need more.” Grandma snorted. Betsy let out a whimper, and Lana saved her from Grandma’s grasp, then knelt beside the rocker. She wanted to set Betsy on the floor and crawl onto Grandma’s lap herself, have both of them rock hard to fling the hurtful things away.

“Grandma…”

“Those girls look plenty healthy,” Grandma interrupted her. Lana watched Magdalena toddle around the room. “Can’t be easy supporting a wife, two girls, and a third on the way. Especially at his age.”

“He doesn’t want girls, Grandma, he wants sons.” Lana looked at Grandma, the determined fix of her face, but she thought of Cletus and how much he smelled like burnt metal when he came in at night. Their bed smelled like welding and hot skin. He did work hard, so hard she couldn’t clean it out of their blankets, no matter how much she tried.

“Looks like your husband’s doing what he’s supposed to, no matter what.” Grandma slowed in the rocker. “You just gotta keep doing what’s right, so he will too.”

Keep doing what’s right. Two girls in three years. What if this third child was another daughter? What if Cletus left, left these two girls alone? Lana had cooked and cleaned, done all the outdoor work Cletus asked her to. She never complained and she always let him have his way. She’d done the best she could. She’d tried to be a good wife. Betsy nestled into Lana’s lap, and Magdalena rounded the room for the third time. Lana rested her chin on Betsy’s head. “He’s not happy with me. He’s sorry he asked for me, and now he’s taking that out on you. What if he…”