Dorothy Garlock (43 page)
Authors: More Than Memory
“I can’t believe that. I’m not suited for your kind of life. You told me that the night of the ice storm and several times since. No matter how hard I would try, you would be there just waiting for me to fail, waiting for me to give up. You’ll never forgive me for letting my father throw you out after our wedding.”
“We’re not kids anymore, sweetheart,” he said quietly.
“Please go,” she whispered again.
“No. I’ll not leave you to have our baby alone. You had Becky alone. I never got to see you big with our baby. I didn’t even know when my little girl was born. This time it will be different.”
He was behind her pulling her back against him. It was his warm hard chest, covered only by a shirt, that she felt. She could feel his lips in her hair.
“We don’t have to live on the farm, honey. We’ll live wherever you’ll be happy. Even Chicago, if that’s what you want. I love you so damn much!” There was desperation in his voice. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you.”
“You’re just saying that because of the baby. How can you be sure it’s yours?” she protested feebly, no longer certain what she was fighting.
He turned her in his arms. She could see the shadow of pain in his eyes. He had lost weight, and his leaner face was more forceful than ever.
“There’s not a doubt in my mind that we made this baby the night of the ice storm. I was wild for you and thanked God over and over for the storm that gave me the excuse to be there with you. I’ll always consider that one of the most wonderful nights of my life. I held you in my arms all night and you were as eager for me as I was for you.”
“But you said—”
“About the stallion and the mare? Lord, I was so scared that you’d leave. It was a dumb thing to say. My only excuse is that I was trying to build up a shield to protect myself.”
“It hurt . . . so bad—”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry. Our baby needs two parents. You and me. I need my mop-head, and I hope you need me.”
“I’ve . . . been so . . . scared.” A dam broke inside her, and she began crying uncontrollably. She did need him, desperately, and yet she was frightened of the future.
His arms enfolded her slowly, as if he was afraid she would push him away. She turned her face into his shoulder and leaned against him wearily. His arms tightened and they stood there, pressed together, not speaking, merely drinking in the closeness of each other’s bodies. She put her arms around him, her hands feeling his comforting strength. He buried his face in her hair, kissing it, murmuring her name softly.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered, still unable to believe that he was here, that he still loved her and wanted her and the baby.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been through hell and back
these past few months. When you began to look so tired and had big circles under you eyes, I couldn’t get it out of my head that you had some dreadful sickness, and I was losing you. I let you get away from me once. It’ll never happen again,” he told her huskily.
these past few months. When you began to look so tired and had big circles under you eyes, I couldn’t get it out of my head that you had some dreadful sickness, and I was losing you. I let you get away from me once. It’ll never happen again,” he told her huskily.
“I couldn’t just come to you and say, ‘Look, we’ve done it again.’ I knew you’d want to marry me, and I couldn’t have lived with knowing that the reason we’d married was because I was pregnant again.”
“Silly woman! I want to marry you more than anything in the world. I wanted to before I knew that you were pregnant. I came here to bring you this.” He eased her away enough to produce a small box from his pocket.
Then his mouth closed over hers gently and Nelda stopped smiling, but inside her the laughter spread out, dancing through her blood. The kiss was long and sweet and conveyed a meaning far too poignant for mere words. Still holding her in a kiss, he backed up and sat down in a big, easy chair, settled her on his lap, his hands roughly tender. He leaned back, cuddled her against him, and lifted her arm to encircle his neck.
“I love you, Nelda Hanson with an
o
. I’ve loved it that you’ve had my name all these years.” He looked deeply into her eyes. His own were unexpectedly vulnerable, and they melted her heart.
o
. I’ve loved it that you’ve had my name all these years.” He looked deeply into her eyes. His own were unexpectedly vulnerable, and they melted her heart.
“Aren’t you going to open the box?” he prompted. “It’s the wedding ring I didn’t have a
chance to give you nine years ago,” he whispered, his voice deep with emotion.
chance to give you nine years ago,” he whispered, his voice deep with emotion.
Through misty eyes she saw nestled in a nest of cotton, the small gold band identical to the one Lute had worn all these years. She took it out of the box and Lute slipped it on her finger.
“When we get married I’ll get you an engagement ring and another wedding ring if you want one.”
“I don’t want an engagement ring or any ring but this one. This is the ring the boy I fell in love with bought for me. He grew up to be a wonderful man.”
“We can never replace the years we lost,” he said sadly. “When I came home from the Navy, I thought about looking for you just to see what you were doing, but I was afraid that, like your dad, you might be ashamed of what I was . . . a farmer. So I worked my ass off to be the best farmer I could be. Then one day you came back, and my stupid pride made me act the fool.”
“I’m proud of you. I wanted you to have Grandpa’s farm.”
“That reminds me, I’ve got papers for you to sign.” He reached for his jacket and took a thick envelope from the pocket. Keeping her on his lap, he folded back a thick sheaf of papers. “Sign on the bottom where it says Nelda Hanson.”
“Why . . . is it made out to Nelda Hanson and Lute Hanson?”
“Because, sweetheart, I knew how you loved that farm and I was not going to take it from you. Lute
Hanson and Nelda Hanson would be equal partners even if you didn’t want me as your husband.”
Hanson and Nelda Hanson would be equal partners even if you didn’t want me as your husband.”
“But . . . what’s mine is yours . . . now.”
“And what’s mine is yours. We’ll incorporate. Hanson and Hanson Farms. How does that sound?”
“Better than Lute and Meredith Farms.”
“There was never any danger of that. I never slept with her regardless of what she told around.”
“I might cry again.”
“No. Don’t do that. The baby might think I’m hurting you. Can I touch him?”
She took his hand and pressed it to her abdomen.
“I want to do this—” he whispered, and moved his hand up under her nightdress and gently stroked the stretched skin of her swollen stomach. “Ah . . . what’s that?”
“He’s active. The doctor says he’s healthy and doing just what he should be at this time.”
Lute’s smile lit up his face. “Little fella is strong. He’s kicking me! Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s a wonderful feeling.”
“When is he due?”
“Last of July or the first of August.” Laughter bubbled up within her, and, putting both arms around his neck, she pressed her parted lips to his. “I never thought that I would be this happy again.”
“Me, either, sweetheart. When I saw your dad I wanted to tear him apart for what he did to us. Did I tell you how shocked he was that day when he came to the farm and I told him that my
wife
would be back soon? I couldn’t resist, and I was hoping you’d not give me away.”
wife
would be back soon? I couldn’t resist, and I was hoping you’d not give me away.”
“I’m glad you hit him. I wanted to do it myself.”
“We’ve got eight years to make up.” He ran his fingers through her dark curls to the nape of her neck and gently massaged it.
“Are you staying all night?” she asked boldly.
“Tonight, tomorrow night, and every night for the rest of our lives. I’m taking you home. We’ll be married as soon as I can arrange it.”
“Do you mind if we stay in Grandma’s house for a while?”
“We’ll stay wherever you want. If you don’t want to live on the farm, we’ll live in town.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“I’ll do anything that will keep you with me.”
“I love the farm . . . as inadequate as I am. I want to live there, if you’ll put up with me.”
“Sweetheart, we’ll fix up a studio where you can work on your projects.” His hand was massaging her aching spine.
“That feels so good,” she murmured.
“Lie down, and I’ll rub your back,” he whispered in her ear. “I want to do everything I didn’t get to do before.”
Kelly came and laid his jowls on Nelda’s thigh. She patted his head.
“We’re going back to the farm, Kelly. You’ll be able to run and chase . . . ra . . . bbits. What do you think about that?” Her voice was shaky.
“Arrr-woof—”
Epilogue
Thanksgiving 1959
L
UTE
,
HAVING KICKED OFF HIS BOOTS AT THE KITCHEN
door, came into the long living room with an armful of wood for the fireplace. After standing it upright in an old copper boiler beside the hearth, he knelt and added several more logs to the fire.
UTE
,
HAVING KICKED OFF HIS BOOTS AT THE KITCHEN
door, came into the long living room with an armful of wood for the fireplace. After standing it upright in an old copper boiler beside the hearth, he knelt and added several more logs to the fire.
“It’s really coming down now. We could be snowed in by morning.”
“Will Norris and Marlene be able to get out here?”
“It isn’t that bad yet.” Lute removed his leather gloves and came to squat down beside the couch where Nelda was nursing their four-month-old son. “Greedy little fella, isn’t he?” His eyes were smiling into Nelda’s. She reached out and caressed his cheek.
“He’s a growing boy and has a big appetite. You’re so cold your nose is red.” She placed the palm of her hand over his nose. He moved it down to his mouth and kissed it.
“I can smell the turkey. Remember last Thanksgiving?” Lute stood and removed his coat.
“How could I forget? I had morning sickness and the flu all at the same time.”
“—And as independent as a hog on ice. You didn’t need anyone to take care of you,” he teased.
“I loved having you take care of me, but I wasn’t going to let you know it. Your head was big enough as it was.”
Lute rubbed his hands to warm them and then held them to the fire. He smiled down at his wife and son. He seemed to be always smiling these days.
“Want me to hold Chris while you see about the turkey?”
“Are your hands warm?”
He leered at her. “I know a place where I could get them warm in a hurry.”
“I just bet you do!”
He sat down on the couch, put his arm around her, and pulled her and the baby close. His forefinger gently stroked the baby’s head. Lute Christopher Hanson, Jr., looked up at his father and smiled, his mouth leaving his mother’s nipple momentarily. Nelda shook him gently.
“Get busy, young man. I’ve got a Thanksgiving dinner to put on the table.”
“Sometimes I have to pinch myself to see if I’m dreaming. I really do have you and this little bit of both of us,” Lute said with wonderment in his voice. “Lord. This time last year I was so miserable.” He hugged her to him and held her with a fierce possession that was tempered by gentleness.
“No more so than I,” she said, and returned his kiss.
The first month after they’d remarried, they had lived in Nelda’s grandparents’ old farmhouse. Then Lute’s mother wrote that she had met someone special and had decided to stay in California. She would bring him to Iowa to meet her family after her grandchild was born. Lute was delighted that his mother, widowed for so long, had found someone to share her life.
Lute and Nelda moved into Lute’s big house and prepared a room for the baby. They exchanged some of the furniture in Lute’s house for some of her grandmother’s and converted a large attic room into a studio, where Nelda could work on her fabric designs.
The women in the neighborhood accepted Nelda as if she had been born on the farm and invited her to join both the Lake View Club and the Busy Bees. She declined both invitations until a later time.
When the baby finished nursing, Nelda slipped her breast inside her blouse, but not before Lute bent his head and kissed it.
“No time for monkey business, Mr. Hanson with an
o
,” she chided. “I’ve got things to do before the company gets here. This is my first Thanksgiving in my new home, and it’s going to be . . . perfect.”
o
,” she chided. “I’ve got things to do before the company gets here. This is my first Thanksgiving in my new home, and it’s going to be . . . perfect.”
“Come to Daddy, Chris. You’re mama is neglecting us. She’d rather fool around with a dumb old turkey than sit here and cuddle with us.”
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