Where Willows Grow (22 page)

‘‘Betcha your little girls’ll be tickled to see what their daddy’s got planned,’’ Dirk said.

‘‘Yeah. Yeah, I hope they will.’’

Dirk reached across the table and tapped the hand holding Harley’s fork where the bite of potatoes waited, uneaten. ‘‘Hey? What’s wrong?’’

Harley shook his head. ‘‘Nothin’. Just thinkin’ about how long it’s been, an’ no word from Annie.’’

Dirk took another bite, chewed, and swallowed before answering. ‘‘You’re bound to hear soon, Harley. In fact’’—he put the remainder of his hamburger on his plate and folded his hands—‘‘I’ll just pray about that right now.’’ He bowed his head. ‘‘Dear Lord, Harley here is lonesome for his wife an’ children. Could you please see fit to prod Annie to send him some word that things’re okay at home? He’d feel a lot better. Thank you, Lord. Amen.’’ He opened his eyes, picked up his hamburger, and took another bite.

Harley sat, unmoving.

Dirk poked him again. ‘‘Eat. I prayed. God’ll answer. You gotta trust.’’

Harley chuckled. He finally put the bite of potatoes in his mouth. Talking around the lump, he said, ‘‘Sometimes, Dirk, you don’t act no older than Dottie.’’

Dirk grinned. ‘‘I’m gonna take that as a compliment, my friend, ’cause the Bible tells us to trust like little children.’’

Well,
Harley thought as he stabbed his fork back into the mound of potatoes on his plate,
I’m gonna keep writing to Annie
until she sees fit to write back to me
. In the back of his mind, a tiny ray of hope flickered that Dirk’s prayer would be answered.

22

A
T THE WHOOSH-THUD OF THE MACHINE’S
first thrust, Jack felt as though his heart rushed to the top of his head. He counted the heaves of the pump, imagining the extraction of gallons of oil. It was worth standing in the broiling sun, being pelted with dust by the gusting wind, just to see the pump in action.

‘‘I’m glad you contacted us, Berkley.’’ Floyd Tompkins slapped Jack’s shoulder, his smile wide. Jack had located the man at the Stamey Hotel in Hutchinson, where the oilmen all seemed to gather, and Tompkins had been pleased to come out and oversee the placement of Jack’s pumps. Now, having spent two hours in the pasture with Jack, getting the machines all running, the man’s face was shiny from sweat, his blue-and-white-striped shirt blotchy at the chest and under the arms. But he still looked happy. ‘‘This will prove lucrative for both of us.’’

Jack nodded. Oh yes, four oil pumps on his property would surely prove lucrative. In more ways than one. He glanced at the scraggly row of cottonwoods that separated his land from Anna Mae’s. His heart picked up its tempo. How could she possibly turn away from someone who could provide financial security for her and her children? A smile tugged at his lips. She couldn’t.

His gaze shifted to the fifth oil pump, the one that sat over the edge of his property line, on Anna Mae’s land. Sun glinted off the sleek black pump, making Jack squint, but he didn’t turn away. He’d had to do some string-pulling to get that one in place. But nothing he’d told the surveyors was untrue—the land was going delinquent due to nonpayment of taxes, and he would be snatching it up the moment that happened. So, in theory, it was already his land. Anna Mae stood to gain from that oil pump, so how could anybody think he’d done wrong by authorizing its placement there?

Remembering Pop’s sad look when he’d seen the map and the
X
s that indicated the pumps’ locations, Jack felt a small prickle of unease. Pop knew that fifth well wasn’t on their land. Pop thought Jack’d done wrong, but Pop didn’t understand how business worked. You had to strike when the opportunity arose or stand to lose. Once the money was rolling in, and once Anna Mae was living under Pop’s roof, he’d be glad Jack had moved ahead with these plans. Pop had always loved Anna Mae, and being Grandpa to those little girls would surely bring him a great deal of pleasure.

‘‘Well, they’re all workin’ fine.’’ Tompkins lifted his toolbox and turned toward his waiting pickup truck. ‘‘I’ll be back end of the week to check the output. See you then.’’

‘‘Bye,’’ Jack said. He watched the truck bounce across the pasture, dust kicked up by its tires. Cows shifted, turning their curious stares to follow the truck’s passage, then moved back into clusters. The animals kept a wide berth around the wells. Jack surmised they didn’t like the noise. That was okay—he didn’t want one of them getting hurt. Doctoring the cows was one of his least favorite chores.

He couldn’t stop his smile from growing. Might be that he could sell off his stock and give up the dairying completely, depending on how much oil was pumped from the ground. He set his feet in motion toward the house, plans tumbling through his mind. Yes sir, no more early morning trips to the barn to line up sleepy cows, no more meeting the milk truck, no more doctoring sick cows or wrestling calves, no more work or worry. Just let the pumps do their job and carry the bags of money to the bank.

The bank. Jack glanced at his watch. Yep, there was still time to get in to Hutchinson and check the amount in his savings account. Then he needed to make a little visit to Robert Syler at the courthouse. Anna Mae’s land would go delinquent in less than two weeks. He’d better be ready.

Anna Mae kneeled beside the claw-foot tub, one hand on Marjorie’s waist. She scooped a cup of cool water and poured it down Dorothy’s bare back. The child squealed, arching backward, then begged for her mama to do it again. Smiling, Anna Mae followed Dorothy’s directions, but her thoughts were miles away from the bathtub and the two naked little girls who sat in four inches of water, their mama’s way of keeping them cool on this unbearably hot day.

Right now, in Hutchinson at the courthouse, her land was being declared delinquent. Well, she conceded as she splashed water over Marjorie’s chubby knees, it might not be happening right that minute. But the exact time didn’t matter so much. What mattered was that after today, the land that had been in her family’s possession since her granddaddy homesteaded back in 1862 would no longer be hers.

Her heart ached at the thought. She was glad her father wasn’t here to see this day. Her gaze moved slowly around the small room, examining the evidence of her daddy’s handiwork. She smiled, remembering how he’d carried Mama over the threshold of the bathroom when the hot water heater was set up. His voice boomed in her memory:
‘‘Now you can take you a
hot bath without heating pots on the stove. Ain’t that somethin’,
honey bunch?’’

It had taken Daddy two weeks of late evenings to turn half the porch into a bathing room, his hammer-banging keeping her and Mama from sleep, but it had been a small price to pay for the pride she witnessed on his face. Daddy had always taken such pride in this property. Who would own it now? Would the new owners even care about the split-rail fence Daddy had built using trees from their own hedgerow? Would they appreciate the tall ceiling of the lean-to on the side of the barn, set high so a man could wear his hat in there without bumping against the rafters? And all those acres of land that Daddy had so tenderly tilled and planted and sown. Would the person who took over the land care as much about it as Daddy had, letting one plot go fallow each planting season so the soil could renew itself?

She felt tears gather in her eyes, and she splashed a little water on her own face to hide them. Now that the land was being taken away, she couldn’t imagine why she’d ever considered leaving it. This was her home.

‘‘Mama?’’ Dorothy’s voice interrupted Anna Mae’s thoughts. ‘‘Can we open the window? It’s
snuffly
in here.’’

Despite herself, Anna Mae released a short laugh. ‘‘Darlin’, I think you mean
stuffy
.’’

Dorothy made a face. ‘‘It’s hot. Can we?’’

Anna Mae shook her head. ‘‘The window’s closed to keep out the dust. The wind is really strong today.’’ She spattered Dorothy with water. ‘‘If I opened the window now, the dust would stick to all your wet places, and you’d be black as coal.’’

The child shrugged, grinning. She flicked her wet fingers at Anna Mae, then laughed when her mother pretended to sputter.

‘‘Mama? Can we have bologna samwiches for lunch?’’

Again, Anna Mae had to shake her head. ‘‘I’m sorry, darlin’. The bologna is all gone. How about jelly-bread sandwiches instead?’’

Dorothy sighed. ‘‘Okay. But I sure like bologna samwiches. Daddy does, too.’’ She hummed as she ran her fingers through the cool water.

Anna Mae’s heart lurched. How long had it been since Dorothy had mentioned her daddy? Weeks. Anna Mae thought of Harley every day, but she’d stopped talking about him to the girls, just in case.

She forced a close to the thought. He
would
come back. He
would
come home. But when? And why didn’t he answer her letters? Why didn’t he send money, as he’d said he would?

And then reality struck hard. Come home to what? The farm would no longer be theirs. What was the point of Harley returning now? He’d be coming back to nothing. She didn’t know where she and the girls would go when the county treasurer banged on the door and told her to git. Even if Harley did come back, where would he find her?

Oh, Lord, what’s going to happen to us? Are you watching? Do
you even care?

A mighty gust of wind roared, slapping the branches of the weeping willow hard against the wood siding. When she was a little girl, maybe ten or eleven years old, Anna Mae had asked her mother how she could be so certain God was there. Her mother had smiled softly, taken her by the hand, and led her to the willow tree. Her sweet reply, using the willow as a living example of her words, had given Anna Mae all the security she’d needed to trust completely that God was there and that He cared.

The branches slashed again, more fiercely this time. Marjorie, eyes wide, reached for her mama. Anna Mae scooped her up, cradling the wet baby against her breast, and soothed, ‘‘It’s okay, angel-baby. That was just God’s way of reminding me He’s listening.’’

Dorothy scrunched her face in puzzlement. ‘‘Huh?’’

Anna Mae smiled. ‘‘You see, darlin’, the roots on a willow tree run deep, clear under the ground to the source of water. That’s what keeps it alive even when everything around it is drying out. Faith works the same way. It runs way down deep through our souls to the Source—to God—and keeps us going when things get hard.’’

Anna Mae could tell by the look on Dorothy’s face that she didn’t understand what her mama had said. But it didn’t matter. Anna Mae understood, and that was enough. Reaching for a towel, she said, ‘‘You two are going to look like little prunes if you don’t get out. Let’s dry off and have some lunch now, okay?’’

Dorothy grumbled, but she stood and took the towel. Anna Mae struggled to her feet, wrapped a towel around Marjorie, and headed to the bedroom to dress the baby. Another slap on the siding made her smile.

‘‘When do you think it’ll stop?’’

Harley shot an impatient look in Dirk’s direction. He squelched a sharp retort. This wind and heat were making him cranky. No need to take it out on Dirk. ‘‘Don’t rightly know. I hope soon.’’

‘‘Yeah.’’ Dirk closed the shed door against the blowing dust. ‘‘Me too. Don’t much like being cooped up in here.’’

Harley didn’t, either. He felt trapped, like a chicken in a crate. They had to keep the door closed so they wouldn’t suffocate from breathing dust, but with the shed closed up, they nearly suffocated from the heat. The small building had no windows, so the only light sneaked through cracks between the weathered boards. Dust motes swam on slivers of light, and just watching them made Harley want to sneeze.

They’d been stuck in this shed for two days now. The wind blew so much dust, a person could hardly see his hand in front of his face. Mr. Peterson had decided it was too dangerous to work the machinery when visibility was so poor, so he’d brought the project to a halt until this dust storm passed. Harley worried about home. What kind of soil would he have to work with when winter passed and he was ready to plant again? Surely the wind had carried away every bit of fertile topsoil by now.

Dirk had been praying for their farms and for the windstorm to pass quickly, and Harley had caught himself echoing Dirk’s words in his heart. Took him by surprise, because it was mighty close to talking to God. Funny how Dirk’s habit of prayer was rubbing off on him when Annie’s never had. He pondered the reason for this, and even though he couldn’t come up with a solid reason, he suspected it had to do with strength.

Annie was a female. Strong in spirit, perhaps, but weak in body. A weak body needed to rely on someone else’s strength. But Dirk wasn’t weak—not in spirit or in body. Yet he leaned into the strength of a higher power. Seeing the strong man on his knees in prayer humbled Harley—made him realize that maybe sometimes a man could benefit from a little bolstering.

Dirk returned to his cot, sat down, and picked up his Bible. Seemed like all Dirk had done for the past two days was read that book. Sometimes he read out loud in his halting speech, stumbling now and then with the
thee
s and
therefore
s. At first Harley had prickled—too much like sitting in church—but at least it had been something to do. And some of it . . . Harley scratched his head. Well, some of it sounded kind of good and reminded him of things Annie’d said in the past.

He’d liked the reminder of Annie.

He lay back on his own cot, the canvas squeaking with his weight, and closed his eyes for a moment, allowing pictures of Annie to fill his head. Less than two more months and he’d be seeing her again. Peterson predicted they’d be done with the castle by mid-October. He’d be home even before the snow flew. Peterson would be moving farther west in the county to put up some bridges, and he’d invited Dirk and Harley to go with the crew. Dirk was planning to go, but Harley just figured on going home.

They’d have to pinch their pennies to get through the winter, but if the rains came back by springtime, and if the bank would loan him money for seed, and if the depression would lift, then things would go back to normal. He chuckled to himself. That was a lot of
if
s. Ask Dirk, and he’d say God could take on those
if
s. Harley wouldn’t ask Dirk.