Where Willows Grow (8 page)
Well, it would keep for a while yet. She didn’t need to deal with it right now. She stomped up the steps, went back into the kitchen to retrieve Marjorie, then turned her attention to the garden. Weeding needed to be done, as well as watering. She heaved a huge sigh. So much to do! Then she remembered Harley had said Dorothy was big enough to help. She cupped one hand beside her mouth and called, ‘‘Dorothy?’’
The little girl came running from her playing spot.
Anna Mae touched Dorothy’s hair. ‘‘Want to help Mama?’’
Dorothy squinted upward. ‘‘Do I gotta watch Marjorie?’’
‘‘No, I want you to water the garden.’’
‘‘Okay!’’
Anna Mae set Marjorie down in the shade of the bushes with a stern order. ‘‘You stay right here.’’ She ran a bucket of water from the pump by the barn, hefted it to the edge of the garden plot, and plunked it on the ground where Dorothy could reach. She then instructed Dorothy on how to water the garden. She finished with, ‘‘Every little plant needs a good drink, darlin’. Can you do that?’’
‘‘Sure!’’ The child’s enthusiasm lifted Anna Mae’s spirits.
Anna Mae watched Dorothy walk with the dipper held in both hands to the rows of tiny shoots of green, splash the water onto one fledgling plant, then run to the bucket for another dipperful. The precious look of concentration on the little girl’s face tugged at Anna Mae’s heart. She called, ‘‘Do a good job, and Mama will fix you a treat this afternoon.’’
‘‘Okay!’’
Anna Mae kept one eye on Marjorie as she pulled the weeds that intruded and tried to steal nourishment from their garden plants. The weeding finished, she took the baby inside and prepared a simple lunch of bologna sandwiches and canned peaches.
Dorothy came in just as Anna Mae put the plates on the table. ‘‘Mama, I put the bucket back in the lean-to.’’
‘‘Good girl.’’ Anna Mae sent her daughter a smile. ‘‘Now climb up to the sink and get your hands washed. I think you’re wearing half the dirt from the garden.’’
While the baby napped and Dorothy curled up in her bed with a picture book, Anna Mae followed through on her promise to treat Dorothy. She pulled out her mama’s sugar cookie recipe and got to baking. When the first batch came from the oven, mounded high with bits of sugar sparkling on the light brown tops, the aroma made her stomach growl. She smiled as she glanced out the open kitchen window. Harley could smell Mama’s sugar cookies baking from a mile away. Shouldn’t be long, and he’d be heading for the house, an eager grin on his face, ready to beg a fresh-baked treat.
Her smile vanished as she remembered Harley wasn’t out in the barn or the fields. The smell of cookies wouldn’t reach him—not with him miles down the road. Slumping forward, she fought tears.
How she disliked tears. A sign of weakness, that’s all they were. Strong people didn’t sit around boo-hooing over every little thing. And hadn’t she always been told she was a strong person?
Lord, this crying doesn’t fix anything. I know it’s just because
the baby’s got me all mixed up inside, but I’ve got to be strong for my
girls. Please make these tears go away
.
The brief prayer helped. Mama always said ask and you’d receive. So she asked once more for strength, straightened her shoulders, and sniffed hard. The tears dried up. She reached for the spatula to remove the cookies from the tin sheet. While that batch cooled on a wooden rack set beneath the window, she rolled balls of dough and pushed them flat with a glass dipped in sugar. She hummed as she worked, imagining Dorothy’s pleased face when she came out from her rest.
Just as she leaned down, apron protecting her hands, to remove the last batch from the oven, she heard a scuffling behind her. Shaking her head, she said, ‘‘Dorothy, I told you to wait until Mama called you. What are you doing out here?’’
‘‘Sorry. Wrong again.’’
Anna Mae snapped upright, spinning from the oven to face the back door. A man stood in the open kitchen doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with arms crossed and one toe propped against the linoleum floor. A familiar, lazy grin lifted one side of his mouth.
Anna Mae forgot all about the cookies still inside the oven. She also forgot that she needed him to take her milk to town. Giving the oven door a slam, she spouted, ‘‘Jack Berkley, I thought I told you to git!’’
Harley wiped the sweat from his brow and maintained a brisk pace. He’d lost half the morning, thanks to Mrs. Farley’s insistence that he sit in on Bible reading with the family before his leave-taking. He couldn’t complain—she had generously filled his poke with slices of ham, radishes and carrots, half a loaf of bread, and half a dozen boiled eggs. But if he’d left first thing, he could be a good five miles farther down the road and that much closer to his new job.
What was it with females and Bible reading? Annie would be tickled to know he’d sat through a whole chapter. She’d also have a few choice words concerning his reading with the Farley family instead of his own. How many times had she pestered him about reading the Bible with her and the girls?
Dirk strode easily beside him, his wide face creased into a permanent grin. For a big man, he sure could move. His long legs had never faltered as the two crossed a pasture to follow the railroad tracks. Dirk had agreed with Harley about following tracks rather than the road. He’d also agreed about not hitching a free ride in a boxcar.
‘‘Be kind of like stealing, wouldn’t it?’’ Dirk winked. ‘‘Don’t know about your mama, but mine never was one for lettin’ me take somethin’ that didn’t belong to me.’’
Harley released a brief laugh. ‘‘Your mama an’ my wife would get along real good, what with reading the Bible every day and speaking out against stealing. Annie’s got real strong ideas about right and wrong.’’
‘‘Annie? That your wife?’’
Harley’s heart expanded as he thought about his Annie. Prettiest girl in Spencer—easily the prettiest in all of Reno County. And she’d married Harley Phipps, a drifter from Mississippi who’d hardly had two pennies to his name. ‘‘Yep. Anna Mae, but I call her Annie.’’ He chuckled. ‘‘She doesn’t much care for it, but somehow wrapping my tongue around Anna Mae just ain’t easy.’’
Dirk nodded. ‘‘And she’s a God-fearing woman?’’
‘‘Bible reading every day, church every Sunday, prayers all the time. Yep, she’s God-fearing.’’ Harley scowled. ‘‘For what good it does her.’’
‘‘What you mean by that?’’
Harley sneaked a glance in Dirk’s direction. For the first time, the big man’s face wore no easy smile. He seemed genuinely interested in Harley’s answer.
‘‘All that prayin’ . . . Asking God to bless the food, to bless the land, to bring us rain.’’ He snorted. ‘‘Rain. Ha! Look at that sky.’’ He flung his arm outward, gesturing toward the expanse of shimmering blue overhead. ‘‘Not so much as a cloud anywhere. See how much good her praying does?’’
Dirk shrugged, shifting his pack higher on his shoulder. ‘‘Must do some good, or she wouldn’t keep prayin’.’’
‘‘But nobody answers!’’ Harley surprised himself with his vehemence.
Dirk raised one eyebrow. ‘‘Listen, Harley, I don’t know how you was raised, but my ma and pa taught me that God loves me. Loves me so much He sent His Son to die on a cross just so I could have my sins forgiven. I figure a God who loves me that much has the right to decide what I need and when I need it. Sure, I’d like it to rain, too—hurts me to see plants all shriveled up and my pa watching the farm he’s worked so hard on just fallin’ apart.’’
Harley saw tears glint in the big man’s eyes, and he turned away from the sight. Men and tears didn’t mix. Especially not with a man the size of Dirk. Those tears gave Harley a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.
‘‘But seein’ all that don’t keep me from praying. Praying’s not just to get something, Harley—praying’s for what it does for you. Connects you with your Maker. Keeps you in touch. You figure your relationship with your Annie would be worth anything if you never talked to her?’’ He poked Harley with his elbow.
Harley grimaced but didn’t reply. His and Annie’s talking had slowed down too much, and Harley knew it.
Dirk chuckled. ‘‘Yep, gotta talk to keep a relationship goin’. So I talk to God. Then I trust Him to take care of me in the way that’s best.’’
Harley couldn’t stay silent. ‘‘An’ you figure this drought is what’s best?’’
‘‘My ways ain’t God’s ways.’’ Dirk poked out his lips in thought for a moment. ‘‘In the Bible, God lets hardship bring folks around to Him. Funny how some folks keep their distance ’til they really need Him.’’
Harley kicked at a dirt clod.
‘‘In the meantime,’’ Dirk continued, seemingly oblivious to Harley’s churning temper, ‘‘I’m mighty thankful for this job opportunity. Thankful to you, too, for mentionin’ it. I figure you’re God’s messenger, Harley.’’
Harley nearly laughed out loud. Him? God’s messenger? ‘‘You’re thankin’ the wrong person. I don’t have nothin’ to do with that job—thank President Roosevelt. He’s the one thought up all these programs to help us out.’’
‘‘But I wouldn’t’ve known about it except for you. I figure God sent you along just at the time we needed the idea. Pa’s been praying. God answered with you.’’
Harley pushed his hat brim upward and swiped at the sweat that dribbled toward his eyes. ‘‘You go ahead and believe what you want to, Dirk, an’ let me believe what I want to. Long as we can agree to disagree, we’ll get along fine.’’
Just like me and Annie
.
‘‘I’
M TIRED OF STANDING HERE
. When’re they coming, Mama?’’
Anna Mae reached out and stroked Dorothy’s blond curls. The little girl was always cranky on Sunday mornings. Anna Mae didn’t mind Dorothy’s straight, untamed hair on the weekdays, but she insisted on curls for Sunday morning church. Dorothy, however, hated sleeping on the lumpy wads of rags the night before and made sure her mother knew it.
‘‘They’ll be here soon, darlin’.’’ Anna Mae gave her daughter a smile even though her stomach trembled. She had resigned herself to Jack Berkley’s help with chores—she couldn’t let her pride allow the precious milk to spoil in the cellar. But having that man march around in her yard and barn was one thing—riding in his Model T Ford as he and his father escorted her and the girls to church was another. Still, she comforted herself, having Mr. Berkley with them would keep things seemly.
‘‘Wish they’d hurry. It’s hot out here.’’ Dorothy flapped her skirt with one hand and held her shoes in the other. Anna Mae hoped she’d be able to buy Dorothy some new shoes with Harley’s first paycheck.
Anna Mae jiggled Marjorie, who fussed in her mother’s arms. Both girls were irritable this morning. Anna Mae could hardly blame them. Between the heat, the wind, the dust, and no daddy to play with in the evenings, there wasn’t much worth being smiley about.
‘‘Complaining won’t speed him up,’’ Anna Mae reminded Dorothy.
The little girl scowled in reply. Then her expression turned puzzled. ‘‘Why aren’tcha wearing the hat Daddy bought you? He said it was for Sundays.’’
‘‘It’s too pretty to wear with my old dress,’’ Anna Mae answered. Truth was, she had taken the hat out this morning and placed it on her head. A glance in the mirror confirmed it was a perfect hat for her cream-colored blouse and simple tan skirt. Yet she couldn’t make herself keep it on. When she’d looked at the hat, she’d thought of the sold mules and the fact that Harley was halfway across Kansas. She hadn’t liked the reminder. So she’d put the hat back on the closet shelf.
Anna Mae sighed and aimed her gaze toward the road. She absently smoothed a hand over her hair, which she had twisted into a knot at the back of her head. She hoped the hairpins wouldn’t rattle loose on the way to church. Already the wind had pulled a few strands from their moorings, forcing her to tuck them behind her ears. Dorothy’s curls looked tangled, too, and the bow Anna Mae had tied into the little girl’s hair appeared bedraggled. Another sigh escaped her lips. Couldn’t they at least look nice until they got to church?
A
chugga-chugga
captured Anna Mae’s attention. Dorothy stood on tiptoes, watching. ‘‘There it comes!’’ Dorothy pointed to the Model T that turned in at the gate. She bounced off the porch and raced toward it.
‘‘Dorothy, slow down!’’ Anna Mae admonished. She understood the child’s excitement at the chance to ride in a real automobile. Truth be known, Anna Mae looked forward to it, too. Her family had never owned an automobile. If only Jack Berkley wasn’t the driver . . .
‘‘Hey there, Dorothy.’’ Jack smiled as he stepped out of the vehicle. ‘‘You look real pretty this morning.’’
Anna Mae’s mother-pride welled up at Jack’s comment. Dorothy
was
pretty, even in her flour-sack dress and bare feet. She watched the little girl clamber into the backseat and sit on her knees to peer out the open back window.
Jack turned his charming grin in Anna Mae’s direction. ‘‘Just as pretty as your mama.’’
That comment set Anna Mae’s teeth on edge.
Compliment
my girls, but leave me out of it!
She fiddled with the hem of Marjorie’s dress as she peeked inside the car. She straightened, panic filling her chest. ‘‘Where’s your father?’’
Jack rested his hand on the top of the car door. ‘‘Gout’s acting up in his big toe. He couldn’t get his shoe on. And he refused to go to church barefooted.’’ Jack grinned. ‘‘Unlike your Dorothy, there.’’
Anna Mae felt herself blush. Sticking her head in the car, she scolded, ‘‘Dorothy, you get those shoes on now, you hear?’’
Dorothy scowled but sat down on the seat to force her feet into her shoes.
‘‘Here, Anna Mae, I’ll hold the baby while you climb in.’’
Anna Mae looked at Jack, who held out his hands. Should she even get in since Mr. Berkley wasn’t going? The week stretched so long when she didn’t go to church. She needed the fellowship. With a disgruntled huff, she held Marjorie out to Jack. The sight of Marjorie in Jack’s muscled arms unsettled her. The little girl fussed, reaching one dimpled hand toward her mother. Jack gave her some bounces while Anna Mae quickly situated herself in the car’s leather seat.
Once she was settled, Jack handed Marjorie in, slammed her door, then strode around the front of the vehicle and climbed in on the opposite side. He sent her another smile before putting the auto into gear and releasing the clutch. ‘‘Here we go!’’ He turned the car around and headed for the road. Dorothy squealed from the backseat, and Jack laughed. He glanced at Anna Mae. ‘‘You look real pretty, Anna Mae, with your hair all slicked away from your face.’’