Where Willows Grow (3 page)

He released a huff of aggravation. ‘‘No, it can’t.’’ In two long strides he was at her side. He caught her arm and made her look at him. ‘‘You can’t keep ignorin’ me. Don’t make problems go away, pretendin’ they ain’t there.’’

She jerked her arm free and dumped a stack of plates into the sudsy water. ‘‘I’m not pretending. My problem right now is I’ve got an hour—maybe two—to get lunch dishes out of the way and supper started. I don’t have time to go wandering out to the barn for a chat.’’

He leaned against the edge of the counter and crossed his arms. Annie had always been a stubborn woman. Once, when they’d only been married a few months, her stubbornness had gotten the best of him. He’d taken hold of her shoulders and shaken her good and hard. Scared her pretty good. Scared himself, too. He hadn’t realized he had that much of his pa in him. He’d vowed to never again lay a hand on her in anger, but right now he was tempted to break that promise.

‘‘Annie.’’ He kept his voice low. ‘‘I reckon we can talk in here, but—’’

‘‘Harley—’’ she stared out the open window above the sink, her brow puckered up—‘‘do you ever wonder how things would be different if Ben, Jr., hadn’t died over in Europe?’’

This sudden mention of her brother—a brother Harley had never met—caught him by surprise. He shook his head. ‘‘No. Can’t say as I do.’’

‘‘I do.’’ Her hands stilled in the dishwater, and she continued to look out the window. ‘‘If Ben, Jr., hadn’t been killed in the war, he would’ve come home. He would’ve taken over the farm when Daddy died. That’s what Daddy had really wanted—for his son to have this farm, and for his daughter . . .’’ Finally she turned to face him. That disillusioned look was back in her eyes. ‘‘If Ben, Jr., had the farm, where would we be?’’

He shrugged. In truth, if Annie’s brother had lived, Harley probably never would have gotten a job on Ben Elliott’s farm; he wouldn’t have been needed. And he never would have met Annie.

She suddenly seemed to realize she was supposed to be washing dishes. Her hands got busy swishing a soapy cloth over one dirty plate. ‘‘Know what I miss, Harley?’’

He shook his head.

She brought her elbow up to push her hair from her eyes. ‘‘The scent of rain. It’s been dry for so long, I’ve almost forgotten what rain smells like.’’ She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. ‘‘Fresh, clean, burgeoning with new life.’’ Her shoulders wilted. ‘‘Sometimes it feels like there’ll never be new life around here again.’’ Then her face pinched, and she scrubbed at the plate in her hand.

Harley stood still with his arms crossed, sorting out what she’d said. He latched on to one word:
burgeoning
. He hated it when she used fancy words like that. Sometimes he thought she did it to remind him she had more education than he did. This time, though, she seemed pretty caught up in thought.

And she was sure right about that scent of rain. More than two years had passed without a decent rainfall. If it kept up much longer, the farm wouldn’t be worth keeping. Land wasn’t worth plowing anymore, what with the topsoil blown into Oklahoma or Nebraska, depending on the direction of the wind. If he had to water the fields from their well, there might not be drinking water left for them. So it hadn’t been foolish to sell those mules, after all, when you reasoned it all out.

‘‘Don’t know that I can do anything about rain,’’ he finally said.

Her disappointed gaze turned in his direction for just a moment before going back to the basin of water. ‘‘I didn’t expect you could. Only one who can do anything about the rain is God.’’

Harley scowled. ‘‘Don’t bring religion into it again, Annie. Haven’t you been prayin’ for two years for rain? An’ has anybody listened? No. No rain. Maybe that should tell you something.’’

Annie frowned at him. He knew she didn’t like him talking about God as if He didn’t exist. But what else could he do? Nobody had ever proved God’s existence to him. His ma and pa lived on the same patch of ground, made the same scarce living, for fifteen years before his birth and then died early from hard work twenty years after. If there was a God, surely He could have made life easier for them in the Mississippi flatlands.

If God was as powerful as Annie liked to think, God could’ve kept his pa from being hateful. But God was absent during his growing-up years, and Harley saw no need to go looking for Him now that he was full grown and capable of taking care of himself.

‘‘God has His own reasons for doing what He does, Harley. And just because He hasn’t answered the way we want Him to doesn’t mean He hasn’t been listening. We don’t have any right to think He’s handling things wrong just because we think a different way.’’

Harley didn’t care for the tone she used—the tone that said she knew more than he did. He uncrossed his arms and pressed his hands onto the worn countertop, his elbows splayed outward. ‘‘You believe your way, an’ I’ll believe mine. We’ve got along fine just lettin’ one another be on that subject.’’

She pursed her lips and said nothing, but he could tell by her downturned mouth that she didn’t like letting it go.

‘‘I know I can’t make it rain for you, but I figure I can do something about the lack of money comin’ in here.’’

‘‘What, Harley?’’ She sounded bitter. ‘‘What are you going to sell now?’’

‘‘Not selling anything.’’ He took a deep breath, threw back his shoulders, and announced firmly, ‘‘But I ain’t gonna stick around here and try to coax that ground to bring up corn that sells so low I might as well give it away. I’m leavin’, Annie.’’

3

L
EAVING
? H
E WAS LEAVING HER
? Anna Mae dropped the plate into the dishpan. Water and suds spattered her front. A few droplets even caught Harley on the arm. She grabbed her apron and reached to dry his shirt-sleeve.

He caught her wrist. ‘‘Annie, look at me.’’

But she wouldn’t. As angry as she’d been at his decision to sell those mules, she hadn’t meant to make him go away. If she looked at him, he’d read the begging of her heart—
Don’t go!
Don’t go!
And she couldn’t let him see that before he walked out the door.

‘‘Annie!’’ His voice became insistent, although he kept it low. He released her wrist to grasp her chin between his finger and thumb and turn her face upward. But she kept her eyes averted. ‘‘Listen to me, Annie. The WPA is hiring men to build a castle over near Lindsborg. Martin at the store told me that’s in Saline County—only a few hours away. The WPA pays good wages, all things considered. According to Martin, I’d qualify since the farm hasn’t produced enough worth claimin’ for the past two years. He says they might even put me up and feed me, an’ I’d be able to send home maybe twenty-five, thirty dollars a month.’’

Anna Mae processed what he’d said. He wasn’t leaving for good—just for a while, to take a job. At least, that was what he was telling her . . .

‘‘Twenty-five dollars or more a month, Annie!’’ He gave her chin a little jerk that forced her gaze to meet his. His blue eyes—blue as the Kansas sky—captured her heart once more. ‘‘That’d see to you an’ the girls’ needs and then some, what with the egg and milk money that drizzles in. It’d be something to keep us going until farm prices go up again.’’

Anna Mae pulled loose and busied herself swiping a cloth across the cracked linoleum countertop. ‘‘A . . . a castle?’’ It didn’t seem realistic, to build a castle in the middle of Kansas. Maybe he was making all this up—just a story to give him a reason to leave like so many other men across the country were doing.

‘‘Yeah. Martin says it’s supposed to do with some explorer that came through looking for gold.’’

Anna Mae glanced at him. ‘‘Coronado?’’ Maybe Harley was telling the truth. ‘‘Coronado was looking for a lost city of gold.’’ She frowned, realizing the futility of that search. ‘‘No gold in Kansas, not even in corn or wheat anymore.’’

‘‘An’ that’s all the more reason for me to go—to take this job.’’ Harley grabbed her wrist again. The damp cloth hung from her fingers, dripping on the spot of floor between their feet. ‘‘You could see to things here for a few months, Annie. The garden chores, the chickens, and the cow—that’s all that needs tendin’. Dottie’s big enough now to help in the garden and do the egg gatherin’. I could see if Jack Berkley would take the eggs and milk into town, since pullin’ the coaster wagon would be too much for you. You could give him . . . maybe ten percent of the money for doin’ that for you. Jack’d probably even haul you to church on Sundays, if I asked.’’

Anna Mae swallowed. Jack would do it—she knew that. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him three or four times a week, even just for picking up their extras. Long-buried memories tried to break free, and she covered her cheeks with her hands, determined to hold them back.

‘‘So what’cha think?’’

He had it all worked out. It hurt that he hadn’t thought to ask her what she thought about any of this before making his decision. It also troubled her conscience—shouldn’t they pray together about such big decisions? Shouldn’t they seek the Lord’s will together, the way her mama and daddy had always done? But it was typical of Harley—forge ahead, never stop to consider that she had ideas. Or that God had plans for them, too.

‘‘Annie?’’

She released a sigh. ‘‘Does it really matter what I think, Harley?’’

He reared back, his jaw tightening. ‘‘ ’Course it does.’’

How could he say that when it was obvious it wasn’t true? She shook her head. ‘‘Well, I think you’ve made up your mind, so I just as well oughta start putting your bag together. You might want to take some of the mule money, if there’s any left’’—she emphasized the last four words, making sure he knew he’d left her out of that transaction, too—‘‘and buy yourself some decent work boots. Your old ones won’t make it clear across Kansas.’’

She turned her back, took up the cloth, and returned to her dishwashing. Harley stood at the counter for several long seconds, watching her. She could feel his hard stare boring into her, but she refused to look at him. Finally he let out a huff of aggravation, pushed off from the counter, and stomped out the door.

Lowering her head over the tepid dishwater, she felt the sting of tears. Well, he was right about her being able to handle the farm. She’d grown up on it, had been doing chores from the time she was no bigger than Dorothy. After Ben, Jr., marched off to war, she’d been Daddy’s only helper until Harley wandered along. She knew what needed done. It wouldn’t be easy, with Marjorie still so little and a new one on the way, but she could do it.

Except she didn’t want to do it—not on her own. She wanted her husband working
with
her instead of just
alongside
her. Why couldn’t she and Harley have what her mama and daddy had modeled—a partnership? Even though her daddy was a strong man, he hadn’t been bothered by asking for Mama’s thoughts on things. And when Mama talked, he listened. Why, how many times had she peeked through her parents’ doorway and seen them side-by-side on their knees, praying together?

A lump formed in Anna Mae’s throat. She closed her eyes and whispered, ‘‘Lord, I’ve prayed so hard for Harley to come to you, so we could have what Mama and Daddy had. But he still fights you. Please, Lord, please reveal yourself to Harley. Whatever it takes . . .’’

A heavy sigh ended the prayer. She glanced out the window again, looking across the open expanse of prairie that seemed to stretch forever. Suddenly it felt as though the little house where she’d grown up was the only house in the world, and she the only person. Responsibility bore down on her, slumping her shoulders for a moment. Then resolve made her stand straight. She could manage things while Harley was off building his castle. Sure she could.

‘‘As Mama always said,’’ she told herself, turning her attention back to the dishpan to scrub at dried egg yolk on the last plate, ‘‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’’ She looked toward the ceiling and released another sigh. ‘‘I’m counting on that promise, God. Because right now I feel about as strong as a newly hatched chick.’’

Harley stood beside the gate leading to the Berkley dairy farm, his forearm resting on the gate post. He sucked in breaths of hot air meant to calm him before he approached his neighbor. If a man was going to ask a favor, he shouldn’t have anger in his voice when he did it. He’d done a pretty good job of learning to control his temper since he’d married Annie, but today she’d surely tried his patience.

Couldn’t she see he was only doing what he had to do to keep her farm in the family? For more than two years they’d been scratching by on next to nothing. No point in putting in a crop this year, knowing the ground wouldn’t produce. But with that WPA job, he had the chance to have a steady paycheck, get the girls the things they needed, and make sure the farm would be there when the rains finally fell again so crops could grow. Why’d she have to make it so doggone difficult?

‘‘You need Jack’s help,’’ he told himself, ‘‘so put on a smile and be friendly.’’ He pushed off from the post and ambled across the yard, his gaze sweeping the neat grounds and freshly whitewashed outbuildings. Harley experienced the same slap of envy he always did when visiting the Berkleys. The dairy had been in Jack’s family for three generations—just got handed to Jack when his pa turned sixty last year. It didn’t seem fair that some people got things so easy and others had to work so hard to gain what little bit they owned.

Harley remembered working side-by-side with Annie’s father, never slacking, always willing to do whatever he was asked so the old man would trust him with the farm when the time came. Ben Elliott might’ve left it to Annie, but in Harley’s heart the farm was his. He’d work his heart out to keep it, too, even if he had to leave it and work someplace else for a while. It would be here, waiting for his return. And someday he’d give it to his girls, just like Jack’s pa gave his land to Jack.

He stood between the house and the fenced pasture where cows, their udders hanging half full, stood in small clusters and eyed him with idle curiosity. He swung his gaze back and forth, seeking Jack, and suddenly from behind the barn a big border collie charged at Harley. The dog’s tail wagged like a flag as the beast barked out a greeting.