Dakota Home (5 page)

While they were separated, Joanie learned that she genuinely loved her husband, but at the same time she couldn't go back to the farmhouse, fearing they'd slide into their old destructive patterns.

After Jason's birth, they decided that Joanie and the kids would return to Buffalo Valley. Only they'd rent a house in town while Brandon continued to live on the farm. So far, things had fallen into place even better than they'd hoped. The house on Willow Street had belonged to an uncle of Brandon's who'd left town when the equipment dealership closed. The house, like so many others, had sat empty for five years. He'd been willing to let them use it free of cost, preferring that someone live there rather than leave it empty any longer.

Sage and Stevie were pleased to be back in school with their friends. Despite several visits home, both had missed their father dreadfully during the months away. The situation now wasn't ideal, but Joanie saw real hope for her marriage.

Calla Stern arrived five minutes before Brandon was due to pick up Joanie. With shrieks of delight, Sage and Stevie raced toward the teenager. This evening out was as much a treat for her children as it was for her. Jason, however, would travel with her and Brandon—first to dinner, then to the counseling session in Grand Forks. He was too young to be left with anyone else for more than an hour or so.

Brandon was right on time.

“Hi,” Joanie greeted him as he waited in the hallway, thinking it was a little silly to be this shy around the man who'd fathered her three children. After nine months apart, plus two months of counseling, they were still a bit awkward with each other. A bit unsure.

“Daddy!” Sage dashed in from the living room. The nine-year-old threw herself into her father's arms.

Stevie followed. Brandon crouched down and hugged his older children. “You be good for Calla now, understand?”

Sage nodded.

“Do we
have
to?” Stevie asked, laughing at his own humor.

“Yes, you do,” Calla answered. “Otherwise you know what'll happen.” She grabbed the boy and wrapped her arm around his neck, rubbing her knuckles over the top of his head. Stevie gave out a shriek of mock terror and promised, between giggles, to be a model child.

Joanie was smiling as Brandon led her to the truck parked at the curb. He hadn't even started the engine when he asked, “How much longer are we going to have to see the counselor?”

“Are you complaining already?” she asked.

“Joanie, I'm serious.”

“So am I,” she insisted. “We've only been to six sessions. I've found Dr. Geist to be very helpful, haven't you?”

After a moment's silence, he said, “Not particularly.”

This was news to Joanie. “Why not?”

He took even longer to answer this time, long enough to drive through town and turn onto the highway, heading east to Grand Forks. “Dr. Geist is a woman,” he muttered.

“What's that got to do with anything?” Joanie demanded, unable to hide her annoyance.

“Plenty,” he shouted, just as angry. “She thinks the same way you do. The only reason I agreed to these sessions was so we could get back together. I didn't know I was going to be expected to sit there for an hour every week to have my ego demolished.”

Joanie felt shocked by what she was hearing. “No one's bashing you.”

“Then tell me why I come out of these sessions feeling like a big pile of horse manure.” His hands were tight on the steering wheel. “You want me to tell the world I'm a terrible husband? I admitted it once already. Wasn't that enough for you?”

“I never said you were a bad husband, and besides, that's in the past. All I want to do is build a better future for us both.” The tension between them grew, and sensing it, the baby started to fuss and then cry. Nothing Joanie did could quiet him.

“Now look what you've done,” she snapped, and even as she said it, she realized how unfair she was being.

“When the baby cries, it's my fault now, along with everything else.”

Joanie ignored him while she struggled to comfort their son. Jason rested in the car seat between them, but everything she tried seemed to irritate him. With the baby's wailing, plus the horrible tension between her and Brandon, Joanie soon felt like crying herself.

“I want you and the kids back home,” Brandon said, shouting to be heard above the baby. “I'd feel a lot better about everything if you were living on the farm.”

“It's too soon,” Joanie muttered.

“Are you planning to walk out on me again?”

“I didn't walk out on you the first time.”

“The hell you didn't.”

He was speeding now, letting his anger affect his driving.

“Slow down!” she yelled. “You're driving too fast.”

“So you intend to tell me how to drive, too! You're trying to manipulate me and tell me how to live my life. You don't want a husband, you want a whipping boy.”

“That's not true, dammit!” She couldn't believe he was doing this. Only minutes earlier, she'd been looking forward to this evening out. This was their weekly date, their time away from the kids, their chance to rebuild the foundation of their marriage. Her hope was that through these sessions with the counselor, they would rediscover one another and rekindle the desire that had once been so strong between them.

Brandon slowed down, and neither of them said a word. The baby eventually fell into a restless sleep, but the air throbbed with tension for the remainder of the drive into Grand Forks.

As they arrived at the outskirts, Joanie said, “Let's just skip dinner, okay? I'm not hungry.” She couldn't possibly relax and enjoy a meal with her husband now.

“Fine,” he said, his voice expressionless. “Whatever.”

Dr. Geist ushered them into her office soon after they entered the clinic. “Hello, Joanie,” she said, then smiled at Brandon. “Welcome, Brandon.”

She was a tall woman, thin as a sapling, with short white hair. The doctor at the pregnancy clinic in Fargo had given Joanie Dr. Geist's name, and after a short interview by phone, Joanie had felt optimistic about the three of them working together.

“How was your week?” Dr. Geist asked, after they'd all had a chance to sit down.

Brandon looked down at his hands, so Joanie answered. “Good.”

“Fine,” Brandon muttered with little interest.

“Did you complete the homework assignment I gave you?”

“I did,” Joanie said, and reached for the diaper bag where she'd stuffed the folded sheet. Dr. Geist had asked them each to compile a list of strengths and an equal number of weaknesses.

“Brandon?”

He shook his head.

“Did the dog eat it?” Dr. Geist asked, giving him a humorous excuse.

“No,” he said flatly, “I didn't do it. As far as I was concerned, it was a complete waste of my time and energy. I want my wife and family back. I'm not here to learn about my flaws and what a rotten husband I am.”

“No one's—”

Brandon didn't allow Dr. Geist to finish. “I want my wife back,” he said angrily. “I'm tired of living in an empty house. It's been nearly twelve months since we made love. Condemn me if you want—”

“In other words, you just want me for sex?” Joanie asked through gritted teeth.

“No,” Brandon shouted, then changed his mind. “I wouldn't object to us sleeping together, Joanie. In my opinion, these counseling sessions are useless.” He glared at Dr. Geist. “You want us to make lists? Fine, I'll give you one. Ten reasons my wife and children belong with me. That's the only kind of list you're going to get.”

“Joanie,” Dr. Geist said calmly. “Are you ready to sleep with your husband?”

“No,” she said immediately. She wanted to rekindle more than desire. Yet sex seemed all Brandon wanted from her.

As far as she could see, he wasn't really trying, wasn't willing to do even the basic assignments Dr. Geist had charted out for them. He wanted everything, but was willing to give nothing.

“I've sacrificed a lot in order to save this marriage,” Brandon announced. “Nothing makes Joanie happy. It isn't enough that she brought me to my knees, now she wants to walk all over me.”

“That's not true,” she said, flushed with anger. “
I've
sacrificed, too.”

The entire session ended up being a shouting match between them. Joanie felt sick to her stomach by the time the hour was over.

As verbal as they'd been during the session, neither said a word on the ride home. What remained unspoken seemed louder than any disagreement they'd ever had. When he pulled into Buffalo Valley, Brandon didn't get out of the truck to help her with the baby or see her to the house.

Joanie paused at the curb, but knew she'd only do more damage if she said anything now. Brandon was determined to misread any comment she made. The second she'd stepped away from the truck, he drove off, tires squealing as he rounded the corner.

Swallowing the hurt, Joanie walked slowly toward the house, afraid it was too late for them both.

H
assie Knight knew she was an old woman, but she'd never let that stand in her way. For years people had been telling her that someone her age was supposed to retire, to rest and take it easy. She'd always refused to listen. Until recently.

Last February she'd suffered a heart attack that had left her weak as a newborn. Too weak to undergo open-heart surgery like those fancy doctors wanted. When they'd first suggested she stay in the nursing home, Hassie was convinced it would've been better had she died. But life was full of surprises, and she'd actually enjoyed the rest and made several new friends.

Then, a couple of months later, her strength restored, she'd had the needed surgery; she'd even let her daughter fly in from Hawaii to fuss over her. By July, she was well enough to attend Gage Sinclair's wedding to Lindsay Snyder.

It'd been the most memorable summer in more years than she wanted to count. She was back, working at the pharmacy part-time—or at least that was what she let everyone think. Only Leta knew she spent as many hours at the store as she always had.

Leta Betts was her best friend, and now, since Hassie's heart attack, Leta was her employee, too. Although it was difficult to think of Leta in those terms. Seemed they had far too good a time for this to be considered work.

This particular Friday was a good example. Leta had spent the entire morning mounting a display of different-sized tissue boxes in the front of the store. That woman was more creative than Hassie had realized. Leta had carefully stacked the boxes into the shape of the Eiffel Tower. When she saw what her friend had done, Hassie laughed until her sides hurt. A replica of the Eiffel Tower in Buffalo Valley. My, it was enough to bring on the giggles every time she thought of it.

“I'm going to the post office,” Leta called.

“You already heard from Kevin this week,” Hassie reminded her, knowing her friend was hoping for a letter from her youngest son.

Leta looked a bit sheepish as she headed out the door. Kevin was attending art school in Chicago, on a full scholarship. It was the first time he'd been away from home, and poor Leta was having trouble letting the boy go. Hassie understood. Years earlier, she'd found herself constantly watching the mailbox when Vaughn had gone off to Vietnam. Her son had never been much of a writer, and she'd treasured every letter. Had them still, and reread them at least once a year, around Veterans Day.

Oh, yes, Hassie understood Leta's apprehensions about her child. Kevin might be eighteen and legally an adult, but he would always remain Leta's child, the way Vaughn would remain hers.

“I got a letter,” Leta shouted triumphantly five minutes later.

“What's he say?” Hassie asked, as eager to hear the news as his own mother.

“Give me a minute and I'll let you know,” Leta said, tearing into the envelope. “Look,” she cried, waving a sheet of paper at Hassie. “He drew me a picture of his dorm and his roommate.” She cupped her hand over her mouth to hide her giggles.

She handed the sheet to Hassie, who took one look and burst into peals of laughter. Kevin had drawn a room, no bigger than a closet, with his own things stacked in a neat, orderly fashion. His roommate, who resembled reggae singer Bob Marley, had his clothes hanging from the light fixtures and spilling out over the windowsill.

“Oh, dear, I'd say poor Kevin is in for an education,” Hassie said, returning the picture.

The door opened and Lindsay walked in, then came to a full stop in front of the tissue display and slowly shook her head.

“Wait until you see what she's going to make next—London Bridge constructed out of Pepto-Bismol bottles,” Hassie told her.

Lindsay laughed outright at that. “I want to keep a photographic record of these works of art. I'll come by with my camera.”

“Speaking of art, Kevin sent us a drawing of his roommate,” Leta said, reaching for the envelope tucked inside her apron pocket.

Lindsay unfolded the letter and started laughing again.

Hassie felt downright encouraged by the way Leta and Lindsay loved each other. She was proud of Leta for opening her heart to her new daughter-in-law. Not once since Leta had moved off the farm and into town had she complained, although it couldn't have been easy for her. She was a widow twice over, and during the course of the summer, she'd lost both her sons—one to college and the other to marriage—as well as her home.

If anything, Leta appeared to take real pride in getting Lindsay and Gage together, a pride Hassie shared. She was firmly convinced that if it hadn't been for their efforts in guiding the young couple, Gage and Lindsay might never have figured out what Hassie and Leta had seen right off—they were meant to be together.

Hassie wouldn't want to take bets on who was the more stubborn, Lindsay or Gage. They seemed equally matched in that regard, as in so many others. At their wedding, Hassie had shed a few tears. Leta, too.

“Kevin seems happy,” Lindsay said, studying the drawing.

Lindsay had been responsible for finding Kevin the opportunity to attend art school. His going had been the source of a major disagreement between her and Gage.

It had been a brave thing for Kevin to stand up to his family and tell them he didn't want to be a farmer, he wanted to study art. Technically, the land Gage farmed belonged to his half brother, but Kevin had no interest in living the life of a farmer. It was Gage who loved the land, who'd worked it and paid off the debts incurred by Kevin's well-meaning but financially irresponsible father. In Kevin's view, the land
didn't
belong to him; he considered it more burden than blessing, and so he'd deeded the family farm to Gage. His older half brother had earned it. Then, with a wisdom and maturity beyond his years, he'd announced that he had his own path to follow. Hassie had rarely seen more courage in a boy of that age.

“I think he's happier now than at any time in his life,” Leta said, and her eyes shone with pride and perhaps the sheen of tears. “Thank you, Lindsay.” Leta hugged her and Hassie reached for her kerchief, blowing hard.

“You ready for one of those home pregnancy test kits yet?” Hassie asked.

Lindsay blushed.

“Hassie,” Leta chastised. “They're newlyweds.”

“So? Doesn't mean Lindsay can't get pregnant now if that's what she wants.”

“I don't need any home pregnancy kits,” Lindsay told her, and then winked. “At least not yet.”

 

Saturday morning, with her weekly shopping list in hand, Lindsay left her husband winterizing the farm equipment and drove to town. As she neared Buffalo Valley, she reflected on her own happiness, the deep contentment she felt these days. She'd made the transition to married life with hardly a pause. At thirty, she'd been ready for marriage and prepared, mentally and emotionally, to start her family.

Only yesterday, Hassie had teased her about being a newlywed. Marrying Gage was the best thing she'd ever done. Never in her life had she been this certain about any decision. A hundred times a day she sent up a prayer of thanks that she'd moved to Buffalo Valley and met Gage—and that she hadn't made the mistake of marrying a vain, self-centered man like Monte Turner. It astonished her now that she'd been so blind about Monte all those years. Gage was everything she could have wanted in a husband, and their being together was a gift both refused to take for granted. She could hardly believe that her heart could hold this much love.

The fact that Maddy had purchased Hansen's Grocery was a bonus that brought Lindsay a twinge of joy every time she thought about it. They'd been best friends their whole lives, sharing more than some sisters did. When she'd first moved to Buffalo Valley, Lindsay had poured out her heart in lengthy, emotion-filled letters to Maddy. And they spoke frequently—her long-distance phone bills last winter were as high as the heating bills.

Maddy, who'd always been intuitive, had realized the potential in Buffalo Valley long before Lindsay had seen it herself. Without her friend's encouragement, Lindsay didn't know if she would ever have found the courage to leave Savannah and her dead-end relationship with Monte.

Then, right after the wedding, everyone had been stunned when Maddy announced she was buying the grocery store and moving to Buffalo Valley, too. Everyone but Lindsay. From the moment Maddy arrived for the wedding, Lindsay sensed that her friend had come to stay.

When she returned to Savannah to pack her things, Maddy's mother had tried desperately to change her daughter's mind. Lindsay had said nothing one way or the other; the decision rested entirely with Maddy. She'd known for a long time, though, that her friend was unhappy with her job. Unhappy, overworked and underpaid. Maddy needed an out, and Buffalo Valley needed
her
.

Now she was here, and pretty soon Maddy would be an integral part of the community. The people of Buffalo Valley would quickly see what a prize they had in Maddy Washburn, and they'd come to value her generosity, her sincerity and humor the same way Lindsay did.

When Lindsay had arrived a year earlier, Buffalo Valley was fast taking on the appearance of a ghost town. Only a handful of businesses had survived the farm crisis and those that had were hanging on by a thread. Joy had left the community; so had self-respect—and hope.

She'd had her students write about their families' histories in the area, and that was when she'd seen the first spark of rekindled pride. Those papers had given Lindsay an idea. With the support of the town council and the help of nearly everyone in Buffalo County, the high-schoolers had written a play entitled
Dakota Christmas.
It was no small undertaking, but together the entire community had renovated the town's old movie house for the performance.

People came from as far away as the Canadian border to see the play. Almost every family saw a part of its own history re-enacted. The play had been the highlight of that first year of teaching for Lindsay. In the months that followed, with the theater cleaned and repaired, the owners had decided to keep it open. Second-run—and occasionally brand-new—movies were regularly shown these days, to the delight of everyone in town and beyond.

That old theater was the only source of entertainment, other than taverns, in a fifty-mile radius, and it'd brought people back into Buffalo Valley once again. Buffalo Bob's 3 OF A KIND was thriving, thanks in part to the karaoke machine. Sarah Stern had recently rented a store for her quilting shop and was offering classes to local farm wives. Rachel Fischer's weekend pizza parlor was open five days a week now. It was encouraging to see the town slowly return to life, and Lindsay experienced a sense of elation as she parked the truck in front of the grocery.

Maddy was in the front, manning one of the two registers, when Lindsay walked in. Busy with customers, her friend took a quick moment to acknowledge her with a cheerful wave.

Lindsay reached for a cart and headed down the aisle, amazed once again at the difference in the store. Not that Maddy stocked anything the Hansens hadn't. The change was in the atmosphere, in the impression people got when they stepped inside.

The Hansens had lost heart. That had been apparent outwardly, in the carelessly arranged shelves, the lack of any interesting displays, the sometimes dirty floors. It was also revealed in the attitude the Hansens brought to their work. Whenever Lindsay had come into the store, she'd been subjected to a litany of everything that was wrong with the community, the country and the world in general. After five minutes of listening to doom and gloom, she always left feeling depressed and annoyed.

Maddy was lighthearted and friendly, and most people were drawn to her. Her beauty was undeniable, but she'd never bothered much with makeup or worried about style, which she thought of as trivial concerns. Once, in college, Lindsay had accused her of downplaying her attractiveness and Maddy had vehemently denied it. Not until years later did Lindsay really understand or appreciate her friend's uniqueness. Beauty, natural or otherwise, meant little to Maddy. She accepted people exactly as they were—herself included.

Lindsay hoped fervently that Maddy would find the same happiness she had. There'd never been a long-standing relationship for Maddy. Once she'd started her job as a social worker for the state, her clients had dominated her time and her life. There simply hadn't been room for a man.

Now that Maddy was living in Buffalo Valley, Lindsay felt confident all of that was about to change. The shortage of available women was at a record high. Apparently, Dave Stafford, a local farmer, had recently advertised for a wife—and found one. As soon as word got out about Maddy, she was sure to have more opportunities to date than at any time since she'd turned sixteen.

Lindsay glanced at her list. Almost finished. She grabbed a box of oatmeal and then a package of dog treats from the next aisle and steered her cart toward the check-out counter where Maddy waited. “I see you've been busy,” she told her friend. “That's great!”

Maddy nodded. “This week has been my best so far.”

Lindsay knew Maddy was determined to make this business a success. She'd invested everything she'd managed to save, plus a small inheritance she'd gotten from her grandfather's estate. This store, and its success or failure, was her future.