The Road to Love (7 page)

“I am at that.” He kept his face turned away. “Whose your friend?” Better an enemy you knew than one you didn't. Not that he thought the boy posed any real danger. But the boy had parents, protective, no doubt of their son, and likely to ask questions even as Kate had. Less likely to allow him to ignore them.

“This is Tommy.”

“Where are you from, Tommy?” How close by did the curious adults live?

“T'other side of town.”

Not close enough to run back and forth daily. He tipped the jar up and drained the contents down his parched throat.

“My momma and Dougie's momma are real good friends,” Tommy said.

“Huh. I guess they see each other in town or at church.”

“Yup. We always sit together. And do other things together. Me and Dougie like picnics the best. Or the ball games and—”

“Uh-uh.” Dougie shoved his face into Tommy's line of vision. “I like it best when you come here and we play in the barn.”

“Me, too. Race ya there.”

The two scampered off, leaving Hatcher holding the empty jar and the knowledge it might prove harder to avoid the neighbors than he anticipated.

“W
ho's driving your tractor?” Sally asked, her nose practically pressed to the window as she watched the boys hand Hatcher the container of water.

Kate stood at her friend's side. Her worry about the crop had been like a heavy necklace—a thing supposedly of adornment and pleasure, grown to be, if not resented then something first cousin to it, and now it'd been removed. She felt airy; her feet could barely stay still. “A hobo I hired to put in the crop.”

Sally spun around. “He's one of those filthy, shiftless men?” She turned back to the window, straining for a better look. “Look how dirty he is. His hair sticks out around his hat. He needs a haircut. I don't know how you can stand there so calm about having a man like him just a few feet away. And to think you invited him to stay here? You might as well invite a rabid dog into your home. Kate, have you taken leave of your senses?”

Sally's reaction stole Kate's smile, killed thoughts of a happy dance. “Of course he's dirty. He's working in the field and I haven't invited him into my house. He's staying in the shanty. Besides, don't you think you're being a little dramatic?”

Sally shook her head. “I think you're being stubborn. Acting unwisely just to prove a point.”

Kate spared her a warning glance that Sally missed as she concentrated on the activity in the field. There was nothing to see except the cloud of dust. “And what would that point be?”

“That you can manage on your own. I don't understand why you want to keep this farm. It's way too much work for you. You could live in the best house in town and have a maid to help with the housework yet you stubbornly hang on to this dried-out piece of land. Kate, give it up. Let it go.”

Kate turned from the window, all pleasure in seeing her land being tilled lost by her friend's comments. Sally could not now or ever understand Kate's need for permanency and security. She'd always had a solid home, first with her parents and now with Frank. “You don't know what it's like. You've never been without a home.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Kate, what are you thinking? Doyle will give you a house.”

The same question twisted through Kate's thoughts often. Why didn't she accept Doyle's offer of marriage? Why did it scare her to think of letting the farm go? “This is mine. I own it. No one can take it from me.”

“What? You think Doyle wouldn't give you whatever you want. If his house isn't good enough, he'll buy another. What's the point in hanging on to the farm especially when you have to resort to hiring men like that?” She nodded toward the window where Hatcher worked.

Dougie and Tommy disappeared into the barn where they could play for hours. Mary sat under the spreading cottonwood tree Jeremiah had planted years ago, probably before Kate was born. It was one of Mary's favorite spots. She liked to read there or play with her dolls. Right now her two dolls sat on the ground facing her and Mary leaned forward, talking seriously to them. Such an intent child.

“Sally, let's have tea.” She poured boiling water over the tea leaves and as it steeped set out a plate of cookies. She longed for her friend to understand her need for a home she actually owned, or if unable to understand, at least to support her. She waited until they both had full cups and each held a cookie before she broached the subject again.

“You've been my best friend since my family showed up in town, probably as dirty and suspicious looking as you think Hatcher is but…”

“Hatcher? That his first or last name?”

“Hatcher Jones.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“He knows how to keep the tractor running and how to milk a cow so she won't go dry.”

Sally shook her head. “Who cares about that?”

Kate refrained from saying she did.

Sally continued. “Where's he from? Why is he on the road? Does he have family? What sort of man is he? How can you be sure he can be trusted? What about the children? Are they safe with him?”

Kate had asked many of the same questions but only because she was curious about the man, not because she felt he needed references. He hadn't answered her, yet she wasn't afraid of him. She'd seen something in the man's eyes when they laughed together, felt something solid when they'd worked side by side. But Sally's suspicions scratched the surface of Kate's confidence making her wonder if she'd been too eager to have him stay. She didn't thank Sally for filling her with doubts about the safety of herself and the children. “Would you feel better if I asked him? Or perhaps you'd like to.”

“One of us should do it.”

Suddenly exasperated by Sally's interference, Kate put down her half-eaten cookie and looked hard at her friend. Her pretty blond hair hung loose around her face, her hazel eyes had a hard glint to them. “Sally, I prayed long and hard for someone to help me. Hatcher is an answer to my prayer. He's only staying long enough to put in the crop. That's all I need to know.”

Sally's look probed. “You're willing to do anything to keep this place, aren't you?”

Kate nodded. “So long as it isn't foolish, yes.”

Sally grunted and shifted so she could look out the window watching Hatcher.

Kate thought of introducing her friend to the man. But if she did, he'd have to stop the tractor. The sooner he finished, the sooner he'd be on his way and the better Sally would like it. It was her sole reason for not introducing them. Not her petty anger at Sally's refusal to rejoice over Kate's blessing.

“I've potatoes to peel.” Kate pushed away from the table and went to the basin Dougie had filled for her. She gripped the paring knife in her tight fist, ignoring the pain in her jaw she knew wouldn't go away until she relaxed. And she couldn't relax with resentment simmering inside her. Why couldn't Sally understand? “I remember when we came into town that night a dozen years ago. We'd been on the train three days and three nights. We hadn't been able to do more than wash our hands and face. The little boys had been sick all over Mother's dress. We were dirty, bedraggled and I'm sure most people looked at us with disgust and suspicion even though we were just good people looking for a kind word. Your mother took us in and cared for us. Have you forgotten? Did you feel the same about us as you do about that man out there?”

Sally jerked away from the window. “Of course not. But that was different.”

Kate refused to look at her, anger making every muscle in her body tighten. Her hand slipped. She barely managed to stop the knife before she sliced her finger. She stared at the blade. “How was it different?” She glared at Sally. They'd been friends since Sally's mother had taken care of them. They'd all been sick, one after another but the woman had never flinched at cleaning up after them, washing the bedding, making nourishing broth. She'd nursed them ten days before Father found a job and a little house for them all. During that time, she and Sally had become best friends.

She ploughed on with a whole lot more energy than she got from the old tractor. “Did we become friends just because your mother thrust us into your life? If she hadn't, would you have seen us a dirty, no-goods to shun?”

Sally gasped. “Katie, how can you even ask? You've been my dearest friend all these years.” Her voice broke. “I could never have survived losing my baby without your help. Just think, I might have had a child the same age as Mary.” She rushed to Kate's side and hugged her. “It's only because I care about you that I wonder about the man out there.”

Kate received her hug reluctantly, her anger still not spent. “If you care then you know I have to do what I have to do.”

Sally stepped back six inches and studied Kate. “Doyle has been more than patient with your putting him off. One of these days he's going to stop courting you. Then where would you be?”

“If Doyle isn't prepared to wait then he doesn't love me enough. And if he stops asking, I'll still have my farm. I'll still have my home.”

Sally shook her head. “There is absolutely no point in arguing with you, is there?”

Kate smiled past the pain in her jaw. “So why do you try?” She squeezed Sally's hand. “I don't expect you to understand what it's like not to have a place you can call home. But it's a feeling I will never again have as long as I have my farm.” Her resolve deepened. “My children will never know what it's like to be cold and dirty with no place to spend the night.”

Sally didn't respond for a moment. “Does Doyle know he's here?”

Kate knew she meant Hatcher. “Not yet.” Kate returned to the window to watch her land being prepared for planting.

“What will he say?”

For a moment she didn't answer then she smiled sheepishly at Sally. “Strange as it might seem, I never gave it a thought. But I suppose he'll be glad I have help.”

Sally sighed. “I hope so.”

Suddenly Kate had to get outside, touch the land that meant so much to her. “Come on.” She grabbed Sally's hand and dragged her outside. She didn't stop until she got to the edge of the field. “Take a deep breath.”

Sally did. “Now what?”

“Don't you smell it? The rich aroma of freshly worked soil? The heat rising from the ground, carrying with it all sorts of delicious scents—new grass, tiny flowers.”

“You sound like Frank. He can't stop telling me how good things will be once the drought ends. If it ever does.”

Kate laughed. “It will and the land will always be here no matter what.” She tipped her nose toward the trees. “Smell the leaves as they burst forth. All the signs and scents of spring. I love it.” She swung her arms wide. “I love my farm. It's mine, mine, mine.”

Sally laughed. “The smell of an overheated brain. The signs of rampant overimagination.”

Kate laughed, too. “At least you didn't say rampant insanity.”

“Doesn't mean I didn't think it.”

“You didn't.”

Sally looked away as if hiding her thoughts. “I'm not saying.”

Kate chuckled, unable to stay upset with this dear friend for more than two minutes at a time. “I'll show you my garden.”

“You've already got it planted?”

“No, but it's ready. I'll do it next week.” When Hatcher had seen her turning the soil last night, he'd reached for the shovel.

“I'll do that.”

She'd resisted. “I don't expect you to do everything around here.”

He kept his hand on the handle waiting for her to release it. “I'm sure you have other things to do.” His glance slid past her to the house.

Kate followed his gaze. Mary sat forlornly on the step. She'd asked Kate to help her with learning the names of the presidents. Kate explained she didn't have time but if she let Hatcher dig the garden she could help Mary. Yet she hesitated, found it hard to let go.

“I think someone needs her mother,” Hatcher said softly.

If he'd sounded critical or condemning, Kate would have refused his help. But he sounded sad and Kate suddenly ached for Mary's loneliness. She'd neglected the child so often since Jeremiah's death. At first, Kate couldn't cope with anything but survival, then Dougie had been sick all one winter, and always, forever the demands of the farm.

“Thank you.” She dropped her hands from the shovel and gave him a smile that quavered at the corners.

“My pleasure.” The late-afternoon sun slanted across his face, making her notice for the first time the solidness of his jaw. He smiled and something soft and gentle filled his eyes.

She hurried back to the house, feeling slightly off balance from his look. It was only her imagination but somehow she felt he'd seen and acknowledged the loneliness she never allowed herself to admit.

As she helped Mary recite names she watched Hatcher make quick work of digging the garden. Finished, he put the shovel away and without lifting his arm, raised his fingers in a quick goodbye. She waved once, feeling suddenly very alone.

She wouldn't tell Sally about that. No need to start up her worries again.

Sally left two hours later. Caught up visiting with her friend, Kate had neglected meal preparations and hurried to complete them. Sally's husband, Frank, sent over some fresh pork so they would have meat for supper.

The potatoes had just come to a boil when she heard Mary's thin screech. Now what? A grasshopper? The wind? The child overreacted to everything. When was she going to learn to ignore the little discomforts of farm life? At least Sally hadn't pointed out the benefits of town life for Mary. It was the one thing capable of making Kate feel guilty. Her daughter would be much happier in Doyle's big house.

When Mary let out another yell, Kate hurried to the window to check on her and sighed. Chickens pecked around the child. Dougie and Tommy must have carelessly left the gate open when she'd sent them to get the eggs.

“Dougie,” Kate called out the open window. No answer. And now he'd done a disappearing act, probably hoping to avoid a scolding. They had to get the chickens back in the pen before they wandered too far or laid their eggs in hiding spots. Kate needed every egg she could get.