The Road to Love (18 page)

Yes, she'd survive. She'd manage. She just didn't know how she'd mask the pain.

She lowered her head to her hands. “God, if it's possible, persuade Hatcher to stay. If he won't, if it's best for him to move on, give me the strength to handle it.” Remembering the morning's sermon, she added, “You can carry my concerns as easily as you do me.”

When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee: and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of Israel thy Savior.

“Thank you, God.”

Hatcher would know where to find the verse. Smiling, she picked up her Bible and began to look for it. After a few minutes she located it. “Isaiah chapter forty-three.” She'd be prepared if she got a chance to tell Hatcher about the verse. Feeling more peaceful, she returned to the kitchen and sliced bread to make sandwiches for dinner.

Mary raced into the house and grabbed the pail of scraps.

“What are you doing with that?”

“The chickens are out.”

Kate groaned. She didn't want to face the blazing hot sun again especially in the middle of the day. “Where's Dougie?”

“I can do it. Hatcher's going to show me how to trick the chickens.”

Kate stared at her departing daughter. This was Mary? The child who both hated and feared chickens? Hatcher was still here? She rushed to the window.

Yes, Hatcher stood at the chicken house talking to Mary, pointing first at the pail of peelings then the chickens.

Mary nodded several times then with Hatcher watching, marched into the chicken yard. She stopped at the far side, tossed a few peelings on the ground and chanted. “Here, chicken. Here, stupid chicken. Come and eat. Cluck, cluck.”

At the sound of food, the chickens headed for the gate. Some, as usual, ran into the fence, squawking and shedding a flurry of feathers.

Kate blinked when Mary laughed. Mary continued to call the birds, tossing out handfuls of peelings as she backed away. As the last bird raced in for a snack, Mary dashed out and threw the gate shut, leaning against it, her triumphant smile gleaming. Hatcher patted her shoulder.

Kate watched them through a blur of tears. The children needed him as much as she did. Would that argument convince him?

Hatcher saw her watching from the window, kept his gaze locked on hers as he straightened. Across the distance, through the dusty glass, his gaze burned away every doubt. Her heart skittered in her throat. He felt something. She knew it. Surely she could convince him to stay.

She lifted her hand, waggled her fingers and mouthed, “Come for dinner.”

He shook his head, spoke to Mary again then strode toward the shanty.

Kate leaned over the windowsill as pain sliced through her. She pulled herself together and called the children for dinner.

“Did you see me, Momma?” Mary asked. “Hatcher said chickens were the stupidest thing God made apart from rocks.” Mary giggled before she went on. “Said I could trick them because I was tons smarter. He said if I threw the food away from me instead of at my feet, the chickens wouldn't even come near me. He was right, wasn't he, Momma?” She sobered. “He's smart, you know.”

Kate stared at her shy, nervous daughter. The man had helped her in a way she, the child's mother, hadn't. And it was so simple. Why had she never thought to give the child coping skills instead of hoping she'd outgrow her fears?

Couldn't he see how badly they all needed him?

The sun continued its journey westward in the brittle blue of the sky. Kate sat in the shade of the house, fanning herself as she tried to read. Her mind wandered over to the shanty. What was Hatcher thinking? Feeling? Did he dread the parting as much as she?

Suddenly she remembered something.

“Mary.” Her daughter sat on the ground beside her, playing with a doll. Dougie had gone to play in the barn. Seems they had all sunk into the stupor of the day. She blamed it on the heat, though there seemed no point in pretending they didn't all feel at odds because of Hatcher's impending departure. “Mary, did you see any of the Sandstrums at church?” Kate hated to admit she'd been so wrapped up in her own drama she couldn't say if they'd been or not.

“No. I looked for them. I hoped Mrs. Sandstrum would bring the baby. I so want to see her. But not even Mr. Sandstrum was there.”

Axel had come every Sunday, even when Alice couldn't. A terrible thought bit at Kate's mind. Had the baby worsened? Died? Or was Alice sick? She'd have to be awfully sick to make Axel break his routine.

“Run and get your brother. We're going over to see them.”

Mary dashed away, cheering.

Kate could only pray.
God, may they be safe.
She reached for the box of baby things she's sorted for Annie then hesitated. What if they were no longer needed? She wouldn't take them until she knew for sure.

The children climbed into the truck, but Kate hesitated. She didn't want them to be in the Sandstrum house if…but she didn't want them waiting out in the sun or playing unsupervised. She could imagine the mischief Dougie would find.

Her gaze shifted to the shanty. “Wait in the shade.” She marched toward the shack, the dry grass brittle under her feet, grasshoppers flying before her.

Hatcher sat in the doorway, tipped back in one of the old chairs, his feet propped on the doorjamb, his Bible on his lap. When he saw her, he dropped the chair to all fours and leaped to his feet in one swift movement. “What's wrong?”

“I hope I'm worrying needlessly, but Axel wasn't at church today. He never misses, even when Alice is sick. I'm going over to check on them.”

“Can I do something?”

She smiled. “I hoped you'd ask. I want you to come along….” She didn't want him solely for the children. She wanted his strength to lean on if…“Just in case.”

He drew back, looked stunned. He opened his mouth, closed it again, shook his head. “I can't.”

“I don't want the children—”

“You could leave them here.”

She could but no way could she face the dreadful possibility that lay across the fields. “I already told them they could go and Mary is hoping to see the baby.”
God, let the baby be well. Let Mary get to hold a live baby.

He dropped his Bible to the chair and accompanied her with all the enthusiasm of Dougie on his way to bed.

She let him drive, holding Dougie on her lap as they headed for the Sandstrums. She needed the comfort of his warm, vigorous little body.

Axel came to the door as they drove in. At least he was well and accounted for.

She jumped from the truck. “Stay here—” she told the children “—until I call you.”

“They'll be okay with me,” Hatcher said.

She clung to his steady gaze for a moment, wanting to point out how much they all needed him. Then she took a deep, fortifying breath and went to Axel. “Alice and Annie?”

“Inside.” He tilted his head to the house. “Little one is starting to grow.”

“Thank God.” She rushed into the house to see Alice looking so much better than a few days ago, feeding Annie her bottle. She grabbed a chair and sank into it. “When none of you were in church, I feared the worst.”

Alice laughed. “We're fine, thanks to you and your help, but thanks for worrying. When Axel went out to start the truck he discovered he had a flat tire. He knew he'd never fix it in time so decided he might as well stay home.”

“Kate?” Hatcher stood in the doorway.

She smiled. “Tell the children to come and meet baby Annie.”

Alice let the children hold the baby, invited them all for tea. Hatcher hesitated but Axel drew him outside to look at the crops.

A short while later, they headed back home.

As they neared the driveway, a gray car drove out and headed for town.

“Doyle,” Kate muttered. What did he want? She never expected to see him on a personal basis again. Couldn't think she'd want to.

Kate let the children out at the house. “Thank you for coming with me,” she said to Hatcher.

“I'm glad you didn't really need me.”

But I did. I do.

“Unfortunately you missed your lawyer friend.”

“I can't imagine what he wants.”

Hatcher jerked his head in what might have been a nod and headed toward the shanty.

H
atcher was up before dawn the next day. By the time the sky turned silvery and pink, he'd filled the drill boxes for the last time. As the sun broke over the horizon, he started around the field.

Kate came to the door and stared in his direction. He couldn't see her expression but guessed at her surprise at him starting work before dawn. He drank in the sight of her, cinnamon-colored hair tied back neatly, wearing a familiar cotton housedress—a mixture of pink and brown flowers. He knew he would never drink his fill of her, yet he wanted to store up memories for the future.

When she waved him to come for breakfast, he shook his head. He intended to finish this job without spending any more time with her. He hadn't planned to go over yesterday, either, until he saw Mary open the gate of the chicken pen and clap her hands until the birds scattered across the yard.

He'd crossed the yard then. “What are you doing, Mary?”

“Chasing the chickens.” Her tone suggested he should be able to see that for himself.

“Why?”

“Mr. Grey said a bad word about you.”

Hatcher sighed. Everyone he knew and cared about was bound to be hurt simply because he had stayed too long.

“You shouldn't pay any attention.”

Mary's eyes were awash in tears. “I don't want you to leave.”

“I must. Someday you'll understand that it's for the best.”

She stomped her foot. “I'm tired of being told that.”

He chuckled. “Can't say as I blame you. But this time it's true.”

“Then I don't want to stay on the farm.” She waved her arms, laughing mirthlessly when the nearby chickens squawked and flapped away.

“But where would you go?”

The child didn't answer.

“Didn't this farm belong to your poppa? What would he want you to do?”

Still no answer.

“Do you want your mother to marry Mr. Grey?”

“No. I don't like him. He just pretends to be nice to Dougie and me.”

“Then maybe the farm is a better place to be.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you think you should get the chickens back in the pen?”

She shuddered. “I hate chickens.”

“They're the dumbest thing God made except for rocks.”

She'd laughed and let him show her how to outsmart the birds.

He would miss the children.

He clamped his jaw tight. No point in thinking such things.
But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea
. Matthew eighteen, verse six.

She'd already been offended once because of him. It wouldn't happen again. He was prepared to sit on the tractor until he finished this field and then move on. Leave them all in peace.

Only when he turned the corner closest to the house, Kate stood at the furrow. He should have known she wouldn't let him be. Obstinate, headstrong woman. Pity the man who married her.

No way he could ignore her unless he wanted to run over her. He stopped the tractor and waited as she marched toward him.

“I brought you breakfast, seeing as you wouldn't stop.” She held out a towel-covered plate.

“Not particularly hungry.”

She didn't withdraw the offered plate. They did battle with their eyes, no words necessary for her to make her message plain. She didn't plan to take No for an answer.

“You started early today,” she said.

“I'll finish today.” He left the rest unsaid.
Then I'll move on
.

The egg yolks were runny. Just the way he liked them. The bread, freshly baked, soaking up butter. He concentrated on the food, one of the pleasures of life. Good food, good weather, a dry place to lay his head. Simple, everyday things he would find on his travels. What more did a man need?

“I saw how you helped Mary yesterday.” Kate's voice carried expectation.

He nodded. “Big job to chase chickens.” He knew it wasn't really what she wanted to talk about, but he offered nothing more.

“You're good with the children. You've taught them a lot.” A long, waiting silence that Hatcher didn't intend to fill.

“Hatcher, don't you see how much we need you? The children?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Me?” She sucked in air as if she'd run a mile head on into the wind.

“You don't need to leave.”

She thought she wanted him to stay, but she didn't know what it meant. The name-calling, finger-pointing, blaming. And that was the least of it.

He'd learned to keep his anger contained by walking away from situations and people. The longer he stayed, the more he let himself care, the more likely his anger would escape his control. One man had already died, others had been hurt in different ways from his vicious anger. He would never put Kate and her children at risk of such ugliness.

He gulped the rest of his breakfast and handed the plate back. “Thank you.” He headed the noisy tractor down the field without a glance at Kate.

It took a great deal of concentration to recite Bible verses throughout the morning, but he would not let his thoughts dwell on anything else.

The hot sun hung straight over his head baking the soil when he saw two cars approach. He recognized Doyle's. Watched as the man climbed from his vehicle and stared in Hatcher's direction. He recognized the look. A warning to Hatcher that Doyle had taken control of things.

Why didn't the man let Hatcher finish so he could be on his way?

Then he saw the insignia on the door of the second vehicle. The law. Was it about to start all over? But he'd done nothing. Hadn't left the farm except to go to the Sandstrums.

A uniformed man stepped from the second vehicle. The men spoke to Kate, who'd come to the door, then headed toward Hatcher. Kate followed, talking, being ignored as the men strode across the field. The sheriff waved him down. Hatcher stopped the tractor and waited.

“Mr. Jones? Hatcher Jones,” the lawman said.

“That's me.”

“Would you step down?”

Hatcher hesitated. Whatever it was, he hadn't done it but from the look on both men's face, he guessed they wouldn't believe him. He jumped down and faced the sheriff. “What can I do for you?”

“You're under arrest.”

“For what?”

“Robbery and vandalism, to start with.”

Who had been robbed? Of what? But he kept his mouth shut. He was a hobo. Had been in jail before. Been accused of worse than this. And one thing he knew, his previous experience would be counted against him.

The sheriff clamped on handcuffs.

“He never left the farm. How could he have done it?” Kate protested.

“We have an eyewitness.”

“Who?” Kate demanded.

“The storekeeper remembers him stopping there before.”

“Did you?” Kate asked Hatcher.

She wondered if he was guilty? If she had any doubt she'd already convicted him in her mind. “What is it I'm supposed to have done?”

Kate answered before the sheriff could explain. “They say you robbed Mr. Anderson's store.”

“Did a pile of damage at the same time,” the sheriff said, pushing Hatcher ahead of him off the field.

“Did you stop there at any time?” Kate asked, keeping at his side.

“I went by when I first came to town.” The one and only time. He and three other hobos had picked through the garbage in the alley hoping to find something useful. Preferably edible. The owner had chased them away. He hadn't been to town since.

He hadn't even known the man's name. Mr. Anderson, huh? Wonder what he was supposed to have taken. And what he'd damaged.

“I understand you've been staying in that shanty over there. Let's have a look.” The sheriff pushed Hatcher in that direction.

Kate continued to hop at Hatcher's side, trying to look at him and keep up. She fired questions at him and the other men. “Whose accusing Hatcher? What proof do you have? This is all wrong.”

Hatcher ignored her. Would they need or want proof? He knew Doyle wasn't interested in the truth. He just wanted to get Hatcher out of the way. Punish him because Kate had defended him. And he couldn't say whether the sheriff wanted the truth or an easy scapegoat.

They reached his tiny quarters. Doyle burst through the door first.

His hand on Hatcher's handcuffs, the sheriff followed.

Kate remained at Hatcher's side. Doyle stepped to one side and waited for the sheriff to do his job.

Hatcher's belongings were rolled into a bundle.

“Were you planning on leaving, Jones?” the sheriff asked.

Hatcher didn't answer. The less he said the better. Besides, it was obvious he intended to move on.

But Kate had no such qualms. “It's no guilty secret he meant to leave as soon as the crop was in. He would have finished today if you hadn't interrupted his work.”

“So he had it planned. Maybe meant to leave without finishing but couldn't leave the pretty lady,” the sheriff mocked as he flipped open Hatcher's belongings and started to paw through them.

A jangle of coins and a wad of money rolled out.

The money wasn't his, though Hatcher didn't expect anyone to believe him. Someone had planted it. But who? Doyle? Was that what brought him to the farm last night? But why? He knew Hatcher was leaving. He posed no threat to the lawyer.

“What do we have here?” the sheriff demanded. “Care to explain this?”

Hatcher glowered at the man. He wouldn't say anything. He wouldn't lay the blame where it seemed most likely to belong—at Doyle's feet. Not when Kate seemed bent on marrying him no matter how much she said to the contrary. He couldn't ruin her chance of happiness. Not that it mattered. No one wanted the truth. No one would believe his innocence. He tried not to see the shocked look on Kate's face. She'd have to believe whatever she wanted.

“You can try explaining it to the judge.” The sheriff jerked him around and not caring how the cuffs dug into his wrists.

He let the sheriff push him roughly into the back of the car and rode silently back to town, where he gave nothing but his name in way of a statement before he was shoved into a cell. The door locked behind him.

He stood behind the bars of the six-by-six-foot cell and stared hard.

Verses he'd memorized raced through his brain.
Surely the churning of milk bringeth forth butter, and the wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood; so the forcing of wrath bringeth forth strife.
Proverbs thirty, verse thirty-three.

He'd let his anger break forth too many times. It had caused strife. Death.
Be ye angry and sin not
. Ephesians four, verse twenty-six.

But his anger had led to sin. Even before it led to the death of another man.
For the wrath of man worketh not the righteousness of God
. James one, verse twenty.

God demanded repayment for Hatcher's anger and the death he'd caused. He'd known for ten years he would pay. Now was the time. He'd prepared himself for it. Just didn't think he'd care so much.

That was his mistake. He'd let himself care about Kate, her children, her happiness. After Doyle's first visit he knew he should move on. But he'd let his caring get in the way.

He rubbed his sore wrists and spun around. The narrow cot with its thin mattress would be hard and uncomfortable but he'd spent ten years getting used to sleeping on everything from rocky ground to wet snow. He stretched out and closed his mind.

“I want to see him.”

Hatcher kept his eyes closed as Kate's demanding voice rang through the jail. Keys rattled and she was admitted to the cell block.

He heard her firm, hurried steps stop in front of the bars confining him. But he didn't stir, kept his breathing deep and slow.

“Hatcher, we have to talk.”

He didn't move a muscle or a hair.

“Come on. Stop faking it and pay attention.” She waited but when he refused to acknowledge her presence, she didn't let it deter her. “I know you didn't do it. I've seen the way you handle yourself. Whatever happened back when you were accused of murder, I know you didn't do that, either. You wouldn't hurt anyone. The court was right when it declared you innocent. Same as I know you didn't rob the store or anything else they say you did.”

“Shouldn't you confine yourself to the facts,” he murmured, without opening his eyes.

“What are the facts?” she asked, quietly pleading for an explanation. She waited a few seconds for him to answer.