Where Willows Grow (7 page)

‘‘You shouldn’t be lifting things like that,’’ he scolded. ‘‘Let me do it.’’

Anna Mae didn’t have much choice except to let go. Jack was stronger, and a tussle over the bucket would only spill the milk. But she seethed with resentment. Who did he think he was, telling her what she could and couldn’t do? There had been a time, maybe, when he could have demanded the right, but not now. Not anymore.

She plunked her hands on her hips and glowered at him. ‘‘Jack Berkley, I am not helpless. I am capable of carrying that bucket of milk to my kitchen.’’

Jack flashed a sardonic grin that brought back a rush of memories. ‘‘Feisty first thing in the morning, aren’t you? Well, Harley told me you’d probably resist my help. But you shouldn’t be overdoing. So . . . whether you like it or not, Anna Mae, I’m gonna be around to help.’’

He turned and headed toward the house. Anna Mae followed as far as the barn door, then stood, glaring at his back, until he reached the screened porch. When he stretched out his hand for the porch door, she released a squawk and raced across the ground to tug his sleeve.

‘‘You don’t just go walking into my house without permission!’’ He quirked one eyebrow at her. His expression taunted her with the reminder that he’d come and gone freely through this door without knocking all through their growing-up years. Without a word, he opened the screen door, placed the bucket on the porch floor, then stepped back and allowed the door to slam shut. The door bounced twice in its frame before settling. Immediately, from inside, a baby began to wail.

Anna Mae stomped her foot against the ground. ‘‘And now you woke up Marjorie.’’ She pointed to the road. ‘‘I know what Harley told you, but you can just listen to me! I don’t need your help. I don’t
want
your help. I’m a grown woman, and I can handle this farm on my own. Get out of here, Jack Berkley, and don’t come back!’’

Jack chuckled as he turned his team toward his own home. Marriage hadn’t tamed Anna Mae one little bit. She was just as spunky and independent as she’d always been. With those snapping eyes, pert chin, and yellow hair that tumbled around her shoulders, she was every bit as appealing in womanhood as she’d been as a teenager. That Harley was a lucky man, being able to call Anna Mae his wife.

Even after all these years, Jack still carried a regret that he hadn’t been able to win Anna Mae’s heart. Oh, he’d tried. But somehow she’d never been able to stop seeing him as her playmate—another brother to chase and tease, a friend to laugh with and dream with. He’d been privy to all her secrets, and he’d foolishly thought that meant she loved him. But he’d found out differently when he’d asked her to marry him and she told him she’d fallen in love with her daddy’s hired hand.

Jack snorted, remembering how he’d tried to talk her out of it. Harley was just a drifter, probably only wanting her daddy’s land, he’d told her. And how she had argued! After that, she didn’t talk to him for weeks. Not until her wedding day, when she’d thanked him for coming as impersonally as she’d greet some long-distance cousin. If she’d seen how his heart was breaking, she’d given no sign of it.

He snapped the reins, urging the team to hurry up.
She proved
me wrong on Harley, that’s for sure
. The man had turned out to be trustworthy. Jack couldn’t fault him for the way he cared for the farm, cared for Anna Mae, and cared for those two little girls. But now Harley had up and left and entrusted his most precious possessions to Jack’s care.

And boy, he’d enjoy having the excuse to see Anna Mae every day. Sure, she’d chased him off this morning, but that wouldn’t stop him. He’d give her a couple of hours to cool off, to get today’s milk ready to go, then he’d head back. She’d be more agreeable after she got the sleep washed from her eyes.

A wry chuckle found its way from his chest. Well,
maybe
she’d be more agreeable. But whether she was or not, he’d told Harley he’d help out. So he would. And Miz Anna Mae Phipps better just get used to it.

Bang!

Harley bolted upright, his feet flying from the hay with the shock of waking so abruptly. Pink morning light poured through the open doorway of the barn, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to orient himself. When he removed his hands, he got a second surprise. Directly in front of him stood a tall, husky, overall-clad man with the biggest grin Harley had ever seen. To Harley’s sleep-fuzzy brain, the man appeared to be Li’l Abner, the character in a cartoon strip from the newspaper, come to life. Was he dreaming?

‘‘Morning, mister. Sorry I woke you. The wind tore that barn door right outta my hands and slammed it against the wall.’’ He stuck out a huge, beefy hand. ‘‘Grab hold and I’ll help you up.’’

Harley followed the direction. The other man gave a yank that had Harley on his feet before he knew he was moving.

‘‘Name’s Dirk Farley.’’ The man’s smile stretched from ear to ear.

Harley cleared his throat. ‘‘I’m Harley—Harley Phipps.’’

Dirk Farley threw back his head and laughed. The cows shifted in their stalls at the raucous sound. ‘‘Well, ain’t we a pair—Harley and Farley. That’s pretty funny.’’

Harley quirked one brow. Was the man simpleminded?

‘‘Well, c’mon, Harley.’’ Dirk gave Harley a firm slap on the shoulder that sent him forward two feet. ‘‘Ma tells me you’re willing to chore for breakfast, so I’m gonna let you do some milkin’. But first, let’s splash some water on your face. You don’t look full awake yet.’’

Harley’s muscles complained as he followed the large man into the morning sunlight. He squinted into Dirk’s smiling face. Outside, it became clear the man was little more than a boy—although a very large boy. Dirk couldn’t be more than twenty years old. He pointed to a pump and invited, ‘‘Go splash yourself good. Get rid of the travel grit. Water’ll be cold, but hard work will warm you soon enough. I’ll be inside getting started on the milking.’’ He turned and ambled back into the barn.

Harley pumped the handle on the hydrant until a steady stream of water splattered out. He stuck his head under the flow, shivering as the icy water spilled down the back of his shirt. But it felt good to get rid of the sweat and grime of yesterday’s long trek.

He pushed up his shirt-sleeves and washed his arms and then stuck his feet under the water. The cold water soothed the blisters that looked angry and raw this morning. Dirk came out as Harley plunked down on the ground to tug on his socks and boots.

‘‘Hoo-ey, Harley, those’re some bad-looking sores.’’ Sympathy underscored the overgrown boy’s deep tone. ‘‘Ma’s got some healing ointment you could put on them. She’d probably also give you some old sheeting to keep ’em covered so they don’t get any worse.’’ He crouched next to Harley and picked up one of his boots. ‘‘New boots?’’

Harley nodded.

Dirk whistled through his teeth as he examined the boot, turning it this way and that. ‘‘Haven’t seen new boots in . . . well, a coon’s age, I reckon. You’re a lucky man to own new boots.’’ He grinned, handing the boot back to Harley. ‘‘Although blisters’re hardly considered lucky, huh?’’

Harley agreed with that. ‘‘I’d appreciate the ointment,’’ he admitted.

‘‘Well, head on to the back door and give a knock. Let Ma fix you up before you start that milkin’. The cows’ll keep for a while yet, but those feet of yours . . .’’ Dirk scratched his head. ‘‘Don’t know how you made it walking yesterday.’’

‘‘Made it ’cause I had to.’’ Harley pushed to his feet. ‘‘And I can milk a cow in my bare feet. I’d rather get the work done before I trouble your mother for anything.’’

Dirk shrugged his massive shoulders and straightened to his feet. Harley followed him into the barn. Three cows with full udders waited. Dirk pointed to the middle stall, and Harley found clean pails and a bucket of soapy water with a rag slung over its side. After cleaning the cow’s udder, he grabbed a pail, straddled a small stool, and got busy. Dirk finished his cow first, then moved to the third stall. Harley finished midway through Dirk’s second milking. He picked up both his and Dirk’s full pails of milk. ‘‘I’ll take these in,’’ he said.

Dirk gave a nod in return, and Harley headed toward the house on bare feet, taking care not to spill a drop of milk. His thoughts drifted back to his own little farm outside of Spencer. Was Annie milking right about now? Or had Jack taken over the task? He hoped Annie wasn’t so stubborn she refused Jack’s help. Then again, Jack was plenty stubborn, too. He released a light chuckle, imagining the battle of wills no doubt taking place between his wife and their closest neighbor.

Harley set down one pail to knock on the back door. In a few seconds the door opened, and the smiling face Harley remembered from the night before greeted him.

‘‘Why, come right on in, young man, and set those pails on the table there.’’ She pointed to a scarred table that stood in the middle of the large kitchen. ‘‘Did you sleep well?’’

Harley hefted the pails to the table before turning to nod at the woman. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. Real well. I was pretty tired. Probably could’ve slept on a bed of rocks.’’ Then, concerned he might sound ungrateful, he added, ‘‘But I appreciate the soft hay.’’

‘‘Oh, you’re welcome.’’ She bustled back to the stove and pushed a wooden spoon around in an iron skillet. An enticing aroma filled Harley’s nostrils, making his stomach lurch with desire. ‘‘Got some potatoes with ham and onions cooking here, and soon as Dirk’s done with the milking, he’ll bring in the eggs. They’ll be fried up in no time. How many eggs can you eat at a sitting?’’

Harley stood uncertainly on his dusty bare feet in the middle of the floor. He wanted to answer honestly, yet didn’t want to take advantage of this woman’s kindness. Scratching his whisker-covered chin, he answered, ‘‘Just one’ll be fine, ma’am.’’

She turned and looked at him with raised brows and pursed lips. ‘‘One? Just one? Now, young man, I can’t imagine you’ve limited yourself to one egg since you grew out of knee pants.’’

Harley couldn’t help it. A grin tugged at his cheeks. He pulled one finger along his lips to control the smile, but it kept growing.

The woman laughed. ‘‘Uh-huh, that’s what I thought.’’ She turned back to the stove. ‘‘Why don’t you head out and give Dirk a hand. Breakfast’ll be ready soon.’’

Twenty minutes later Harley sat down at the table with Dirk and his parents. The older man offered a brief prayer of thanks for the food, reminding Harley again of Annie and home. Homesickness created a hole in his middle. But fried eggs and a pile of potatoes seasoned well with ham and onions did an adequate job of filling the emptiness.

Halfway through the meal, the woman said, ‘‘So, Mr. Phipps, what kind of job do you have waiting in Lindsborg?’’

Harley swallowed the last bite before answering. ‘‘Building, ma’am. WPA group’s putting up a castle. I figure on helping.’’

‘‘A castle?’’ Dirk put down his fork and stared at Harley. ‘‘You’re funnin’ me.’’

Harley shook his head. ‘‘No. They’re hirin’ men with strong backs to build a castle and picnic grounds. Has something to do with an explorer named Coronado.’’

‘‘Coronado.’’ The woman looked pensively across the table. ‘‘Yes, I seem to recall seeing something about that in the newspaper a while back.’’

‘‘My farm’s not done too well the past couple years, what with the drought. Hardly any money comin’ in at all. That paycheck will be welcome to me and my family.’’

‘‘You have a family, Mr. Phipps?’’

A band of longing wrapped itself around Harley’s chest as he thought of Dottie and Margie. ‘‘Oh yes, ma’am. Got me two pretty little girls.’’ His lips quavered as he thought of Annie. Did she regret not seeing him off with a proper good-bye yesterday?

‘‘Ma,’’ Dirk interjected, ‘‘Harley’s got some blisters on his heels. Can you fix him up before he heads out again?’’

‘‘Why, sure I can!’’ She gave Harley another crinkling smile. ‘‘You just sit tight, Mr. Phipps. We’ll doctor those blisters for you, and I’ll pack you a lunch to take along. Something to tide you over ’til you can get another good meal.’’

‘‘Oh, but—’’

‘‘Don’t you argue with me, Mr. Phipps. The Good Book instructs us to love our neighbors as ourselves. Wouldn’t want my own boy here to go hungry.’’ She turned her back on Harley and headed to the sink.

Dirk grinned in Harley’s direction. ‘‘Don’t argue with Ma. You can’t win.’’

Harley shrugged. He started to answer, but the older man, who’d been silent since his prayer, interrupted.

‘‘Boy, you figure that crew of workers would have room for one more?’’

Harley turned in the older man’s direction. ‘‘I . . . I don’t know for sure, sir, but I don’t guess it would hurt to ask. Why?’’

The man rested his elbows on the table. ‘‘We been praying for a way to keep our farm going. Haven’t had a decent crop in three years. Don’t know what’ll happen in the next years, either, what with the topsoil blown to kingdom come. But Dirk here—he’s got a strong back and willin’ spirit. If that crew would take him, sure would help us out.’’

Dirk grinned widely. ‘‘Would you mind a travelin’ partner, Harley?’’

Harley looked from one man to the other. This was a strange turn of events. He offered another shrug. ‘‘I don’t mind. Less lonely, I reckon.’’

Dirk looked toward the sink, where the woman ladled steaming water from the stove’s reservoir into a dishpan. ‘‘Hey, Ma, when you pack Harley’s lunch here, pack one for me, too. I’m gonna go castle buildin’!’’

8

A
NNA
M
AE FED THE GIRLS
their breakfast, then tied a length of braided rags, strung with several small toys, to the high chair to entertain the baby. With Marjorie’s gurgling as an accompaniment, Anna Mae performed her morning household chores.

By ten o’clock, she had separated the cream from the milk and churned the cream into butter. She left a pitcher of milk in the icebox for their own drinking and cooking and hauled the extra to the cellar to join the can full from yesterday’s milking. She scowled for a moment at the row of milk cans, realizing the milk and cream would spoil if it wasn’t taken to town. ‘‘Jack’ll have to do it,’’ she muttered to herself, ‘‘but oh, how I hate letting him!’’