Where Willows Grow (2 page)

Harley’s grin stretched from ear to ear. ‘‘Look here what I got.’’

Anna Mae inched forward and peered into the crate. She gasped. ‘‘Harley!’’

‘‘Thought you’d be pleased.’’ He set the crate on the ground and bent down on one knee, shifting things around as he recited the crate’s contents. ‘‘Got your beans. Plus sugar, coffee, cornmeal.’’ He grinned up at her and winked. ‘‘Gotta have corn bread to go with that mess of ham an’ beans, right?’’ He poked around some more. ‘‘Pound an’ a half of bologna, some cheese, canned peaches, the biggest tin of saltines I could find . . .’’

The list went on, while Anna Mae’s amazement grew.

‘‘And’’—he picked up an odd-shaped, tissue-wrapped package and stood, holding it out to Anna Mae in his work-roughened hands—‘‘I got this for you.’’

Anna Mae tipped her head. ‘‘W-what is it?’’

Harley tousled Marjorie’s wispy hair before peeling back the tissue paper. ‘‘Didn’t have one with cherries on it, but I thought these daisies were real purty.’’

Anna Mae’s eyes widened as Harley placed a tan straw hat with daisies all around the brim on her head. ‘‘Harley! What’s it for?’’

A boyish grin tipped up one corner of his lips. ‘‘Oh . . . just because.’’

Was she dreaming? She touched the hat with one hand. The silk petals of the flowers tickled her palm. Yes, it was real. She pushed Marjorie’s hand down as the baby reached for the hat. ‘‘But . . . but it must have cost so dear!’’ Tears sprang into her eyes. When had Harley ever bought her a present ‘‘just because’’? Not since their courting days, for sure.

‘‘It wasn’t so much.’’ His blue eyes sparkled with pleasure. ‘‘An’ it looks real purty on you, just like I knew it would.’’

Dorothy ran around the house, her cotton dress flying up to reveal her dirty knees. ‘‘Daddy! What’cha got?’’

Harley bent down to capture the little girl in a hug. He rubbed his whiskered cheek against her smooth one, making her squeal. Then, kneeling in the dirt beside the box, he answered, ‘‘Got all kinds of goodies. Lookee here.’’ He pulled out a small brown bag and handed it to the child. ‘‘Peek in there, Dottie.’’

Dorothy unrolled the top, peeked in, and squealed again. ‘‘Gumdrops!’’

‘‘That’s right. But you gotta make ’em last. Don’t eat ’em all at once.’’

‘‘I won’t!’’ Dorothy popped a green gumdrop into her mouth and beamed at her father.

Anna Mae shook her head. She took off the hat and held it against her hip. ‘‘Harley, this is all wonderful, but—but where’d you get the money?’’ Her heart pounded in sudden fear. ‘‘You didn’t take out a loan, did you?’’ If they lost the house, what would they do?

Harley shot her a frown as he straightened to his feet. ‘‘ ’Course not, Annie, I got more sense than that. No, I—’’ He scratched his chin. ‘‘I sold the mules.’’

‘‘You did what?’’ Marjorie squirmed, reaching for the hat again, and Anna Mae plunked it back into the crate. Suddenly she couldn’t bear to hold it.

‘‘Sold the mules.’’ Harley’s voice sounded gruff.

Marjorie slipped lower on Anna Mae’s hip, and she jerked the baby upward so abruptly the child began to howl. Anna Mae raised her voice to be heard over the ruckus. ‘‘Those mules were the only thing we had to keep this farm going! You can’t work the land without those animals. What were you thinking to sell them off?’’

Harley’s jaw thrust out. ‘‘I was thinking my family needed fed. It was either butcher ’em or sell ’em. Didn’t figure you’d be willing to cook ’em up if I did butcher ’em, so I sold ’em and bought enough grub to get us through the next month at least.’’

‘‘It was a fool thing to do, Harley.’’

Harley’s face drained of color, then filled with red. He pressed his lips together so tightly they nearly disappeared, and his hands balled into fists. Anna Mae sucked in her breath. Never had she seen Harley so angry. Instinctively, she shrank back, cradling Marjorie’s head in the crook of her neck. Even Dorothy stopped sucking on her gumdrop and peered at her father with round, frightened eyes.

But Harley didn’t storm at her or raise his fist to strike her. He stayed rooted in place with his neck arched so taut the tendons stood out like rope. For long seconds he stared into her face, his eyes narrowed, fury seeming to spark from him. Then, slowly, he relaxed his shoulders. His hands opened to pick up the crate.

Resting the crate against his belly, he rasped in a low, tight voice, ‘‘Don’t ever call me a fool, Annie.’’ He pushed forward, and she slid sideways to avoid being bumped with the crate. She watched him stomp into the house and heard the thud of the crate hitting the table. When he stomped back out, he passed her without a word, heading for the barn.

‘‘Mama?’’ Dorothy looked upward, her blue eyes—so much like Harley’s—wide and fearful.

Anna Mae tweaked her daughter’s tangled ponytail. ‘‘It’s okay, darlin’. You eat your gumdrops and don’t worry.’’

The little girl ambled back to her play area, the bag of gumdrops in one dirty fist.

Anna Mae patted Marjorie, who hiccupped with her crying, and looked toward the barn. Should she go talk to him? Apologize? Then she raised her chin in stubborn pride. No, she hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Selling those mules
was
foolish, and only a fool man would do such a thing! Why hadn’t he asked her about it first? Those mules had belonged to her daddy. She remembered the pride in her father’s eyes when he’d brought the team home, claiming he was moving up from driving a milk cow in his fields. Harley had no right to sell those mules without talking to her.

Leaving the remaining wet laundry in the basket beneath the clothesline, she stormed into the house and slammed the door as hard as she could. But when she turned, she spotted the crate on the table. The new straw hat sat on top of the other contents. Her heart turned over. He’d meant well.

But what would they do without those mules?

2

H
ARLEY JERKED THE PITCHFORK
from its spot in the corner.
Callin’ me a fool
. Turning, he thrust it into the soiled straw from the mules’ stalls.
Man tries to care for his own only way he sees fit,
an’ what kind of thanks does he get?
He shook the fork until the dry straw loosened and drifted to the hard-packed dirt floor.
Fool
woman doesn’t know beans about the fears in a man’s heart
. Stomping out to the side of the barn, he banged the soiled straw into the manure spreader.
What good’s a pair of mules when the land
ain’t fit for farmin’? Just take up space and eat hay I can’t afford to
buy
. He thumped back into the barn and repeated the process until the mules’ stalls were clean.

He threw the pitchfork back into the corner and plunked his hindquarters on a barrel, burying his face in his hands. Behind his lids he could see Annie, her gray-blue eyes staring in wonder into that crate. They had lit with pleasure—he’d seen it. It made his chest feel tight seeing her light up that way. Didn’t seem he had done much lately that had brought a sparkle to her eyes. Mostly he’d seen the other look—the one like when he’d said the mules were sold, the one filled with disappointment.

He stood and paced the barn. He knew he wasn’t what her daddy had planned for her. Ben Elliott and his wife had put great stock in their Anna Mae, making sure she got all the book learnin’ a girl’s head could hold. She was supposed to go to a city somewhere and get a job as a telephone operator or a store clerk. Meet up with a fancy dude who would put her in a fine house and take her to parties and such. Old Ben had talked about all this to Harley as they’d worked the fields together—Ben had made sure Harley understood. But it hadn’t changed the way Harley felt toward Anna Mae. And it hadn’t changed the way she felt about him.

At least, not back then.

Harley paused in his pacing to slam his palm against the sturdy wood beam in the center of the barn. It made his hand sting, but it was nothing compared to the way his heart hurt. He’d always hoped her love for him would be enough to make her set aside those other dreams. But how many times in the past two years had he seen her staring off into the distance, her eyes all dreamy? He knew what she was thinking. And it wasn’t about how happy she was here on the farm with him.

He swallowed the curse that pressed for release. Annie didn’t hold with cussing any more than his own mama had. But it sure would feel good right now to let fly.

‘‘Work it off,’’ he mumbled to himself. He could start with that dirty straw. Spread it on the garden. Wind would probably tumble it all away before morning, but at least he’d try to keep some of that soil in place.

He pushed the manure spreader across the hard ground to the garden plot, released the lever, and watched the manure spill over the tilled ground. Despite the temper that made him want to stomp across the garden, he took care not to crush the tiny sprouts that would grow into cabbage, squash, potatoes, and peas. Too early yet for tomatoes, beans, and cucumbers, but they’d be out here soon enough.

If the garden did good this year, maybe they could sell some of the extra to townsfolk. Didn’t need a mule to work the
garden
, anyway. Didn’t need a mule to milk the cow or churn her cream into butter. Didn’t need a mule to gather eggs. The things that brought money to the family these days—piddly amounts of money, but money all the same—why, none of ’em required mules.

He paused, looking toward the house. Of course, come Sunday, Annie might have a hard time walking the whole distance to church and back. He’d always carted her and the girls in the wagon. It was only a couple miles to the church—not too far for him, but a pretty fair distance for Annie, especially toting a baby on her hip.

Something else bothered him, too. Her asking for saltine crackers. Annie didn’t like saltines. Not even with cheese or peanut butter. Said she had to eat too many of ’em when she was a little piker because her tummy was weak and her mama thought they’d make her feel better. Only time she’d asked for saltines was when—

He shook his head hard. No, couldn’t be. Margie had just stopped nursing. Annie couldn’t possibly be carrying another one, could she?

His stomach churned at the thought. Just what they didn’t need around here—another mouth to feed, another body to clothe, another soul to care for. Harley gave the spreader a firm push to get it moving again. He loved his girls—Dottie and Margie were the best things in his life, outside of Annie. Even as hurting as they were for money, he wouldn’t take a million dollars for either of his little punkins.

He snorted. ‘‘An’ wouldn’t give a plug nickel for another’n.’’ The spreader flung out its last bit, and Harley pushed it out of the garden. It clanked all the way back to the barn, where he stored it in the tool lean-to. He glanced around to see what other chores needed tending. Woodpile was plenty tall. Garden didn’t need hoeing. Cow would need feeding, but not for another hour or two. Nothing required his immediate attention.

He ran his thumb over his chin. He could go into the house, drink a glass of water, and tell Annie what he’d heard in town about the Works Progress Administration job over near Lindsborg in Saline County. Building a castle. Wouldn’t Dottie be impressed? But he could imagine Annie’s response. ‘‘A castle? What kind of fool puts a castle in the middle of Kansas?’’ He held on to the word
fool
, absorbed it, almost wrapped it around himself, torturing himself with its meaning.

He strode into the stall where the milk cow stood contentedly chewing her cud. As he scratched her thick neck, his thoughts continued. He hadn’t gotten much book learnin’. Neither of his parents had been educated, and they hadn’t seen fit to send their only offspring to school beyond the first few years. He’d come along so late in their lives, it was easier to keep him home and let him see to chores than make him traipse off to school.

But he’d learned plenty. He could use any farm implement made by man. Fix them, too, if need be. Why, he figured he could even keep one of them tractors running if he had the funds to buy one. And he had a way with animals—the cow turned and rubbed her nose against his back as if to let him know she enjoyed his scratching. Once, he’d nursed a sick raccoon back to health. His pa had thought that plenty foolish—
‘‘Consarn critters ain’t good for nothin’ more’n mischief!’’
—but it had pleased Harley to see the little animal scuttle into the brush on four strong legs.

‘‘Fool, huh?’’ he asked the cow, giving her a final pat before turning toward the open doorway. ‘‘Well, Miz Anna Mae Phipps, these days a man’s gotta do whatever he can to take care of his own, an’ if you wanna call that foolish, I guess I’ll just hafta set you straight.’’ Her name might be on the title to this land, but he was still the man of the house. And he’d just march into that house and let her know once and for all she was going to have to trust him to do what was right for all of them.

Hitching up his britches, he turned his steps toward the house. Dust puffed up with every thud of his worn boots against the hard ground. He let the screen door bang behind him. He crossed the screened-in porch, wrenched the doorknob, and entered the kitchen. The crate still sat on the table, but he noticed it was empty. He smiled in satisfaction. She might’ve fussed, but she still put the stuff away.

Sweeping his hat from his head, he boomed, ‘‘Annie?’’

She appeared in the narrow hallway, a finger on her lips. ‘‘Shh. I just got Marjorie down for her nap.’’

That took some of the wind out of his sail. How could he lay down the law if he had to whisper to do it? He looked around. ‘‘Where’s Dottie?’’

‘‘Dorothy is outside, serving up gumdrops to her dolly and the barn cats.’’

Annie never could shorten up the girls’ names. Seemed to stick in her craw. Stuck in his craw that she always had to be so hoity-toity. ‘‘Then come to the barn. Somethin’ I gotta talk to you about.’’

Instead, she walked to the sink and started pumping water into the basin. ‘‘I’ve got dishes to do, Harley. I’ve been waiting for Marjorie to go to sleep so I could get some things done. She’s been so fussy with those new teeth coming in, I can’t put her down unless she’s sleeping. Can it wait?’’