Where Willows Grow (33 page)

‘‘See what you made me do!’’ Immediately his expression became concerned as he put an arm around Anna Mae’s waist and guided her toward the sofa. ‘‘Are you all right, honey? Here, sit down.’’ He pressed her into the middle cushion and then sat beside her, holding her hand.

Mr. Berkley, shaking his head, looked on. ‘‘You’re not gonna get away with it, son. I couldn’t let you continue in your sin.’’

Jack scowled fiercely at him. ‘‘Takin’ care of Anna Mae? That’s sinful?’’

‘‘Yes, it is, the way you been doin’ it. Sneakin’ around, tellin’ her lies, makin’ her believe her husband abandoned her while all the while you was—’’

Jack was on his feet and across the room before Anna Mae could release a breath. ‘‘You better keep silent, old man!’’

But Mr. Berkley raised his chin a notch and glared back, equally fierce. ‘‘Or what, Jack? What’ll you do? Can’t be nothin’ worse than I’ve wanted to do to myself, standing aside and letting you go on deceiving her. But no more. I won’t be a party to it no more.’’

Pushing past his son, he crossed the room to stand, shamefaced, before Anna Mae. ‘‘I bought your land, Anna Mae, but I don’t intend to keep it. Soon as I have the title in hand, I’ll sign it right back over to you. Shouldn’t have been taken in the first place, and it wouldn’t’ve been had Harley’s checks got through to you. So your land—that’s my first gift to you. As for the second . . .’’ He reached behind his back and then brought his hand around. He offered her a cluster of envelopes, tied together with dirty white string.

Anna Mae reached for the packet, her hands trembling. When she realized what she held, her jaw dropped open, but she was too stunned for words.

Mr. Berkley nodded, his expression grim. ‘‘The letters you sent to Harley and the letters he sent to you—far as I know, they’re all in there.’’ He glanced over his shoulder at Jack, who remained in the middle of the floor, his expression still angry, but also defeated. ‘‘Found ’em in Jack’s bureau drawer. He’s been keepin’ ’em from you. He oughta be the one to tell you why, but he probably won’t do it. So . . . I’ll try. And when I’m done, I hope you’ll forgive me.’’

33

T
HE VEINS IN
J
ACK’S TEMPLES
throbbed visibly. With his gaze aimed through the parlor doorway, he remained stubbornly silent.

Watching his son, Ern took a deep breath. ‘‘Well, at least tell Anna Mae how much that oil from her property has made and promise to pay her back.’’

Jack spun toward him, his eyes narrowed to slits. ‘‘I never touched one penny of that money! It’s all set aside. I never planned to keep it!’’

‘‘Good. That’s one small right in a heap o’ wrongs. And I intend for Anna Mae to know every one of those wrongs done.’’ Ern crossed his arms. ‘‘You planning to stick around while I tell her?’’

With a thrust of his jaw, Jack made his answer clear.

‘‘Fine, then. Go get her money and bring it over here. I oughta be done by the time you get back.’’

Jack stormed through the parlor door. In seconds, the slam of the kitchen door signaled his departure. Ern sighed, his heart heavy. He turned slowly to face Anna Mae, who sat white-faced and silent in the middle of the sofa where Jack had left her. Ern’s knees felt suddenly weak, and he sank down next to her, allowing his head to droop low.

He sighed. ‘‘Where to begin?’’

Anna Mae touched his knee. Her fingers trembled. ‘‘Maybe start with these letters . . . and how they didn’t reach their destinations.’’

Ern nodded. He started with the letters, telling how Jack apparently took them and hoarded them in his bureau drawer. Next he shared how Jack convinced the oilmen to place that pump on her property by assuring them the land would be his in a few more weeks. He finished by telling her about Jack bidding on her land. ‘‘And, honey, I suspect he wasn’t planning to tell you he’d bought it—at least, not at first. I think he really wanted you to have to lean on him.’’ Ern felt worn out by the time he had laid everything out. His heart ached for his son’s deceitfulness.

Anna Mae shook her head. ‘‘I really feared Harley had just
left
, and all that time . . .’’ She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly, still shaking her head in disbelief. ‘‘There were moments when I would get a feeling . . . I can’t describe it, but I told myself I was being silly—that Jack would never do anything to hurt me.’’

Ern took her hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘‘Jack did lots of things wrong in the past months, that’s for sure. Hurtful, selfish things.’’

‘‘But why?’’ Anna Mae’s forehead crinkled. ‘‘He told me over and over again that he cares for me. Why would he do all that sneaking around, things he knew would be hurtful, if he cares for me?’’

Ern closed his eyes for a moment and prayed for guidance. Father-instinct made him want to defend Jack, yet he knew he needed to be honest. Meeting Anna Mae’s gaze, he formed his answer. ‘‘Honey, I believe deep down Jack does care for you. You were his first love, and he’s never really let it go. When he saw the chance to have you in his life, he set all reason aside and went after you. It didn’t matter if it was God’s will, or if it was best for you, he just wanted what he thought was best for himself.’’ He paused, swallowed, and finished quietly. ‘‘Jack convinced himself he was doin’ all this for your own good, but it wasn’t. It was for
his
own good. A body should never get so self-focused that others and their feelings cease to matter.’’

Anna Mae nodded, a pensive look on her face. Her hand still in his, she asked, ‘‘But you bought my land instead?’’

‘‘Yes, I did. Couldn’t let Jack get it. I had to disrupt his plans somehow, and it was the only thing I could think of.’’

‘‘But where did you get the money? I thought Jack owned your property now.’’

Ern allowed a small smile to creep up his cheeks. ‘‘Well, Jack has title to the land, that’s true. But I own the cows.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘I sold off some of my stock to a dairyman from eastern Oklahoma. Enough, at least, to put in a good bid for your place.’’ Her look of dismay brought a chuckle from his throat. ‘‘Now, honey, don’t look so stricken. Old man like me doesn’t need a big ol’ herd mooin’ around, takin’ up his time.’’ He walked to the front door and peered down the road. ‘‘Jack’s been gone more’n long enough to fetch that oil money. I wonder what’s keeping him.’’

Anna Mae pushed to her feet. It looked like it took some effort, with her extra bulk out front. She stood beside him. ‘‘Do you want to go check on him?’’

He frowned. ‘‘I don’t want to leave you right now. You just got quite a shock.’’

‘‘I’m fine.’’ She touched his arm. ‘‘Really, Mr. Berkley. Go check on Jack. He—he may need you right now.’’

Ern gave Anna Mae a gentle hug, his throat convulsing. ‘‘You’re a good girl, Anna Mae.’’ He grasped her shoulders. ‘‘And don’t you worry. I know I’m old, but I’ll do what I can to help you out around here. You won’t be left unattended.’’

Her quavering smile cheered him. ‘‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned since Harley left for that castle site, it’s that I’m never alone. God’s always with me, and He’ll meet my needs.’’

He wrapped her in one more quick hug before heading to the back door. He called a good-bye to Dorothy, waved once more to Anna Mae, and then cut across the pasture toward his home. His heart pounded harder the nearer he got to his old farmhouse. He didn’t know what would happen when he faced Jack. He prayed Jack would ask forgiveness and work to make things right with both Anna Mae and his father.

Jack threw the third suitcase into the backseat of the Model T and slammed the door. He still wasn’t sure where he was going, he just knew he couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t face Anna Mae again, and he had no desire to speak to his father.

As he stomped around the hood of the car, his gaze swept across the pasture, the barn, and the contented cows. For a moment he faltered, his steps slowing. How would Pop get the milking done when his rheumatism acted up? He hadn’t been fully in charge of the chores for over five years. But then Jack set his jaw and hurried the final few feet to the driver’s door.

Going through the necessary motions to get the vehicle running, Jack kept a one-sided conversation going with himself.
Pop
should’ve thought of all that before he humiliated me in front of Anna
Mae. If Pop had just kept his mouth shut, I could’ve stayed. I
could’ve married Anna Mae and given him grandchildren. Everything would’ve been fine. Pop did this to himself
.

By the time the Model T chugged to life, Jack had himself convinced.

He backed up the car and yanked the wheel to turn toward the road, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted Pop stepping from the windbreak between the Phipps and Berkley properties. Pop raised both hands and waved, trotting across the brown grass toward the car.

Jack’s hands twitched, ready to barrel out of the yard, but the look on his father’s face—combined panic and yearning—gave him pause. Pop stopped outside the passenger door and swung it open. He didn’t slide in, but he bent down and put his head into the car. His gaze flitted to the backseat, and his face twisted in disappointment. ‘‘Son, what’re you doin’?’’

‘‘What does it look like? I’m headin’ out. Leavin’.’’

Tears glittered in Pop’s eyes. ‘‘You don’t have to do that.’’

Jack forced out a harsh snort of laughter. ‘‘Oh yes, I do. You made sure of that.’’

Pop shook his head. The old man seemed to grow older with each passing minute. ‘‘I know you’re angry at me, but—’’

‘‘Angry?’’ Jack slapped the steering wheel. ‘‘Angry, Pop? You took my chance for happiness—the chance that got stolen from me by Harley Phipps years ago—and you trampled it into the ground. Anna Mae’ll never accept me now. She’ll never understand that I did all that to protect her!’’

Pop’s forehead turned into a series of deep wrinkles. ‘‘You really believe that, son?’’

Jack clenched his jaw and jerked his gaze forward. There was no reasoning with Pop. Jack shifted gears. ‘‘I left Anna Mae’s oil money on the table. Money from cashing Harley’s checks is there, too. Left the name of the surveyor who came out so she can contact him about puttin’ up more pumps. Likely she’ll need the income since
I
won’t be taking care of her.’’ He risked a quick glance at Pop. The look of intense sorrow in his father’s eyes made something hot and heavy press Jack’s middle. ‘‘I gotta go.’’

But Pop didn’t back out, didn’t close the door. Instead, he leaned a little farther in and put his hand on Jack’s arm. The weathered hand, warm and familiar, burned Jack’s skin. ‘‘Back door’ll always be open.’’ The words came out in a pained whisper.

A lump filled Jack’s throat. He knew he wouldn’t be able to answer. He jerked his head up and down in a quick nod of acknowledgment, and finally Pop backed out. The moment he slammed the door, Jack popped the clutch and the Model T hopped forward.

Jack gripped the steering wheel and brought the car under control, slowing it to make the turn onto the road. As he yanked the wheel to the right, he glanced in the little mirror above the dashboard and got a brief glimpse of Pop, still in the middle of the smooth driveway, hand lifted in good-bye, tears running in rivulets down his age-wrinkled cheeks.

Jack wished he hadn’t looked back. He feared that image of his father would be pressed in his memory for the rest of his life.

Anna Mae, holding Marjorie’s hand, walked to the storage shed. She hoped she’d be able to locate the basket they’d used as a bassinet when the girls were tiny. Her fingers itched to create little sheets and flannel blankets for the new baby, but she couldn’t remember the exact size of the basket.

‘‘I hope no mousie has decided to make a home out of that thing,’’ she told Marjorie. If Harley had wrapped it good in burlap and hung it up high, it might have been safe from any little critters.

Marjorie looked upward and blinked, her long eyelashes throwing a shadow across her round cheeks. ‘‘No moufie,’’ she repeated.

Anna Mae laughed. ‘‘That’s right. No mousie.’’

A rumble intruded, and for a moment she froze, remembering the earthquake. But then she recognized the sound—the motor on Jack’s Model T. She spun to face the road, her gaze pinned on the opening of the drive to the house, anticipation rising in her chest. She wasn’t sure what she would say to Jack when she saw him, but the need to see him, to settle things between them, was strong.

The Model T roared past the drive without stopping.

Anna Mae’s shoulders slumped.

Dorothy ran up beside her. ‘‘Mama, was that Mr. Berkley?’’

Anna Mae nodded, numb. Her knees felt weak. That odd sensation was back, and she feared she’d just seen Jack for the last time. Despite his duplicity, she mourned for him.

‘‘How come he didn’t stop?’’ Dorothy’s tone reflected her hurt feelings.

Anna Mae took Marjorie’s hand again and forced a smile. ‘‘I don’t know, darlin’. He must have been in a hurry.’’

Anna Mae watched Dorothy for a moment, her heart heavy. If what she suspected was true, and Jack didn’t return, it would be one more loss for Dorothy. The little girl adored Jack. Even with all the wrong things he’d done, he’d been good to the child. Anna Mae’s mother-heart ached for the unhappy confusion Jack’s departure would create for her daughter.

With a sigh, she said, ‘‘Come on, Marjorie.’’ She located the basket, freed it of its covering of burlap held in place with thick strands of rope—Harley had made it a real challenge for a mouse to break through—and carried it to the back porch. Marjorie and Dorothy trailed behind her. She left the basket on the porch while she fixed supper, and not until the girls had been tucked into bed did she haul it into the house.

Placing it on the table, she dipped a rag in a bowl filled with soapy water and gave the basket a thorough wash. It was a mindless, automatic task, and her mind wandered as she ran the rag over the woven strips of painted wood. What a day of discovery it had been. Jack’s marriage proposal followed by Mr. Berkley’s revelations, the fear of losing her home erased by Mr. Berkley’s sacrifice, being given letters penned by Harley. After pining for word from her husband, she hadn’t been able to make herself read the letters. She had, instead, placed them in a trunk in her room with other precious keepsakes. Someday soon she would take them out and read them carefully, but for some reason she didn’t clearly understand, she needed to wait.