Where Willows Grow (12 page)
‘‘Papa Berkley . . .’’ Dorothy seemed to test the name. She broke into a smile. ‘‘Okay.’’
‘‘Good.’’ Mr. Berkley pushed his hands into his jacket pockets and smiled at Anna Mae. The fondness in his eyes was exactly the same as it had been when she was growing up. ‘‘Papa Berkley it is.’’
Papa Berkley? If she and Jack had married, that might have been what their children called Ern Berkley. Anna Mae felt as if a cord had tangled around her heart; it was suddenly hard to breathe. She should protest the title, yet how could she do so graciously?
Dorothy skipped toward the porch, waving over her shoulder. ‘‘Bye, Papa Berkley! Bye, Mr. Berkley!’’
‘‘Good-bye, child.’’ Mr. Berkley sat in the Model T’s seat but left the door open.
‘‘Bye, Dorothy.’’ Jack’s lips twitched into a smirk. ‘‘Think up some questions for your mama this afternoon, okay?’’
‘‘Okay!’’ The child stepped through the porch and disappeared into the house.
Jack chuckled. ‘‘She’s somethin’ else.’’
Anna Mae managed a brusque nod. ‘‘Yes, she is. Thanks for the ride, Jack.’’ Eager to separate herself from the odd feelings churning through her middle, she headed toward the house.
‘‘Anna Mae, wait a minute.’’
She turned back impatiently. ‘‘What?’’
‘‘It’s Marjorie’s birthday this week, isn’t it?’’ He touched the sleeping baby’s soft curls.
Jack’s hand on Marjorie’s head increased the discomfort in Anna Mae’s stomach. She took one sideways step to put some distance between them. ‘‘That’s right.’’
Jack shifted his weight to one hip and scratched his left ear. ‘‘Well, I was thinking. The Fox Theatre is showing a movie your girls might like—called
Dimples
with that little girl, Shirley Temple. You could come, too.’’
Anna Mae felt her hackles rising. ‘‘Jack Berkley, Harley might have asked you to look out for the farm, but that doesn’t include taking his wife on dates!’’
‘‘Whoa! Hold on!’’ Jack’s indignant tone stopped her short. ‘‘I’m not taking you on a date. I’m taking the girls for a movie ’cause it’s a special day and I thought they’d like it. Don’t turn it into something it isn’t.’’
Anna Mae eyed him suspiciously.
Jack tipped toward her, his hands held out in supplication. ‘‘If Harley were here, wouldn’t you do something special?’’
Anna Mae disliked the niggle of guilt his question raised. Was it fair to Marjorie to do nothing just because her daddy wasn’t here? ‘‘I’d want to do something special, I suppose. But all the way to Hutchinson . . .’’ Marjorie stirred, and Anna Mae automatically rocked back and forth.
‘‘It’s the closest theater,’’ Jack pointed out. ‘‘And I bet Dorothy’s never been. I’ll spring for popcorn and soda pop, too. What do you say? We’ll make an afternoon of it for the kids—give them a time to remember.’’
Anna Mae had a hard time meeting his earnest expression. Was he truly sincere in wanting to provide a good time for the girls, or was his motivation less pure? Or was it only her own uneasy feelings creating this wariness of Jack’s motives? ‘‘I don’t know, Jack. . . .’’
‘‘What if,’’ came Mr. Berkley’s voice, ‘‘I went along, too?’’
Both Jack and Anna Mae looked toward the Model T.
Mr. Berkley sat with his legs out of the vehicle, hands propped on knees. ‘‘Been a long time since I’ve seen a moving picture. I wouldn’t mind a trip into Hutchinson myself.’’
Anna Mae considered the situation. If Jack’s father went along, no one could cast aspersions at her being with Jack. Jack couldn’t pull any of his shenanigans, either, with his father looking on. She’d never been to the picture show, and a desire to see the movie Jack mentioned created a strong pull. Still, she hesitated. What would Harley think?
‘‘Mama!’’ Dorothy’s cranky voice carried across the yard. Anna Mae turned her gaze to spot the child pressing her nose against the porch screen. ‘‘I’m hungry.’’
Jack cupped his mouth and called, ‘‘Dorothy, you want to go see
Dimples
at the picture show?’’
Dorothy jumped up and down and clapped her hands. ‘‘Yes! Yes!’’
Jack gave Anna Mae a smug look. ‘‘Say no now, Mama.’’
‘‘That was underhanded,’’ she accused. Now she had no choice except to agree to Jack’s invitation. She couldn’t disappoint Dorothy.
Jack grinned and rounded the Model T as his father pulled his legs back inside. Jack looked at her across the top of the car. ‘‘We’ll swing by on Friday around noon and pick you up.’’ He slid into the vehicle and reversed down the lane to the road. With a grinding of gears, the Model T hop-skipped in a forward motion, then Jack waved out the open window as the car chugged down the road.
The screen door slammed and Dorothy joined her mother in the yard. Together they watched the vehicle round the bend.
Dorothy peered up at Anna Mae. ‘‘Mama, what’s ‘dimples at the picture show’?’’
Anna Mae frowned. ‘‘A whole lot of trouble, that’s what.’’
‘‘Son?’’
Jack barely heard his father over the chug of the Model T’s engine. ‘‘You say something?’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ Pop cleared his throat and spoke louder. ‘‘You sure you know what you’re doing?’’
Jack clenched the steering wheel as he guided the automobile around a large pothole in the road. He knew what his father meant, but he feigned ignorance. ‘‘Doing with what?’’
His father shook his head. ‘‘Squiring Anna Mae and her girls to church is one thing—a person could see it as a Christian act of kindness. But to the picture show? Can’t hardly call that a Christian act. That’s purely personal.’’
Jack swallowed hard but didn’t answer.
‘‘You sure you’re using good sense? There’s a lot of history between you and Anna Mae Phipps.’’
Jack forced a laugh. ‘‘Listen, Pop, it’s all under control. Sure there’s history between Anna Mae and me, like you said. But history’s in the past. So are those feelings.’’
Pop nibbled his mustache, his expression pensive. ‘‘Oh yeah? Then how come you haven’t so much as looked at another woman since the day Harley escorted Anna Mae out of the Countryside Church?’’
Jack winced. He’d lost out that day, there was no doubt about it. And losing didn’t come easy. Concentrating on driving, he slowed the acceleration and adjusted the clutch as he angled the Model T into their drive. He coasted to a stop by the back porch and waited, but Pop didn’t get out.
‘‘Jack, I’m worried about you.’’
Although he would have preferred to ignore his father’s words, he knew his pop was stubborn enough to wait until doomsday for a reply. He took a deep breath and finally faced his father. ‘‘Look, Pop, Anna Mae never saw me as more than a replacement for the brother she lost. You think I can change that now?’’
Pop lifted his shoulders in a shrug. ‘‘I’m just saying that woman and her two little girls make a pleasing package. And you seem awfully eager to claim it as your own.’’
‘‘It’s a package already claimed,’’ Jack said forcefully. The truth of his words smacked him hard. ‘‘Now, are you going to get out and put our lunch on the table before it’s time for evening chores?’’ He affected a teasing grin.
Pop sighed. ‘‘Okay, okay. Just . . .’’ He shook his head again. ‘‘Never mind. You’re a grown man. Can’t tell you what to do.’’ As he mumbled, he opened the door and climbed out.
Jack put the Model T into gear and pulled it behind the barn. He killed the engine, then rested his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, gaining control of his racing heart. It was easy to tell Pop he had no feelings for Anna Mae—it was another thing to mean it.
Pop was right—Jack had never looked beyond Anna Mae. No other female had ever measured up. Physically speaking, she painted a pleasing picture. Intellectually, she could match wits with anyone. She was spunky and funny and determined. Everything a man could want in a wife, Anna Mae Elliott had it. And then, of course, there was the fact that she lived right next door to his property. Together they could have created a dairy farm to best any of them. They were a perfect match.
Pop was right about all that history between him and Anna Mae. They had a connection that went back to the days of their babyhood. A person couldn’t rewrite history. Jack had proposed to her, offered her the moon and stars and a fancy jar to keep them in, but she went and married Harley Phipps, son of a sharecropper who didn’t own much more than the worn-out clothes on his back. What in the world had she seen in Harley?
Nope, a person couldn’t rewrite history. What was past, was past. But as for the future. . . ? That was a clean slate, and Jack had a pencil ready to write things the way he had wanted them all along.
D
IRK LEANED BACK IN HIS CHAIR
and released a long, satisfied sigh. ‘‘That was good grub. Not as good as Ma’s, but good.’’ He pushed his empty plate away from the edge of the table.
Harley rubbed his stomach. ‘‘Not as good as my Annie’s cooking, either, but a whole lot better than the beans we’ve been eating.’’
Dirk laughed, the sound carrying above the clatter of other café noise. ‘‘Well, you gotta admit, beans’re filling, at least. Lots of people right now would appreciate even a meal of beans every day.’’
‘‘I s’pose you’re right about that.’’ Harley thought about the newspaper reports of farmers protesting low prices by dumping milk on the ground or slaughtering their livestock rather than selling it to be butchered. That translated into children going hungry.
As always, thoughts of children brought an immediate rush of desire to see his own little girls. He knew Dottie and Margie were at least well fed, and with this first paycheck going home, Annie would be able to buy Dottie some new shoes. He hoped they wouldn’t give her blisters.
The waitress stopped by their booth to take their empty plates. ‘‘You fellas want some pie or cake for dessert? Got peach or apple pie, and a tall chocolate cake with cherries.’’
Dirk’s eyebrows shot up. ‘‘Chocolate cake with cherries for me. How ’bout you, Harley?’’
Harley smiled, remembering how Annie had asked for a hat with cherries on it.
‘‘That’ll be two chocolate cakes, coming right up.’’ The waitress hurried off.
Harley looked at Dirk. ‘‘Did I ask for cake?’’
‘‘Nope, but your smile did.’’
With a shrug, Harley admitted, ‘‘I can eat a piece of cake with no trouble.’’
‘‘Whadja think of the sermon?’’ Dirk leaned his elbows on the table. ‘‘Bein’ a farmer, I ’specially liked the part about the sower of the seeds. Used to like that story when I was little, too.’’
Harley gave a brief chuckle. ‘‘I can’t imagine you ever being little.’’
Dirk grinned. ‘‘Don’t guess I ever really was. Not like most boys, anyway.’’
Harley frowned. ‘‘And how’d you get so big anyhow? Neither of your parents are big like you.’’
Dirk offered a slow shrug. ‘‘ ’Cause they ain’t my real parents. They took me in when I was three or four—picked me out at an orphanage in Topeka.’’
‘‘You’re adopted?’’ That explained the difference in size and appearance between the boy and his parents.
‘‘Yep.’’ The smile reappeared on Dirk’s wide face. ‘‘Been adopted twice. Once by my ma and pa, and once by my heavenly Father.’’
Harley knew Dirk wanted him to question his final statement, but he remained stubbornly silent, and finally Dirk spoke again.
‘‘You didn’t answer my question about the sermon.’’
Harley knew that. The truth was, he’d gone to church with Dirk just so the man wouldn’t have to go alone. Harley felt sorry for Dirk, going to the church all by himself, so he’d gone along out of respect for him. But he hadn’t really listened to the sermon.
‘‘Didja understand the meaning behind the story?’’
Harley looked sharply into Dirk’s face. Was Dirk trying to make him feel stupid? The big man blinked in innocence. Harley pushed his temper down. Dirk wasn’t capable of intentional cruelty. And that made him determined not to hurt his friend’s feelings.
Keeping his voice low, he admitted, ‘‘To be honest, I didn’t listen all that close. So . . . no, I s’pose I didn’t understand.’’ Dirk opened his mouth, and Harley headed him off before he could speak. ‘‘And that’s okay with me. I mean, I only went ’cause you were going and I didn’t want you to be alone. I didn’t go to learn anything.’’
Dirk’s eyes looked sad, but the big man chuckled softly. ‘‘That’s funny, Harley—you didn’t go to learn anything. Guess that makes you kind of like the seed that fell on the hard ground. You received the truth, but you chose to do nothin’ with it.’’
Harley scowled. ‘‘Don’t preach to me, Dirk.’’
‘‘I’m not preachin’. I’m just telling you what I think.’’
‘‘Well, quit thinking.’’
Dirk laughed loudly at that. ‘‘Ah, Harley, what I’m thinking right now is your wife would be awful happy to know you went to church with me this mornin’, even if you didn’t go to learn anything.’’
The waitress plopped two saucers, each holding a man-sized wedge of dark chocolate cake oozing with thick frosting and plump red cherries, on the table before rushing off again. Harley welcomed the intrusion. He picked up his fork and eagerly stabbed into his piece. Dirk did likewise, and the two ate without any conversation until every crumb was gone. The waitress brought their bill, and Dirk snatched it up.
‘‘Lunch is on me.’’
Harley held out his hand. ‘‘No, Dirk. I’ll pay my own tab.’’
But Dirk shook his head. ‘‘Nope. You favored me by goin’ to church with me when you weren’t truly interested. Let me favor you now by payin’ for your lunch.’’ He grinned. ‘‘Besides, don’t you got a birthday present to buy with your spendin’ money?’’
Harley acknowledged the extra money would be helpful in finding something nice for Marjorie’s first birthday. Yet it rubbed him the wrong way to have Dirk’s charity. ‘‘Yeah, I do, but—’’
‘‘Then let me take care o’ lunch.’’
Harley blew out a breath of pure aggravation. Would he ever win an argument with Dirk? ‘‘All right,’’ he groused. ‘‘Let’s get moving.’’
In a few minutes, they were ambling down the sidewalk to peer through windows. Lindsborg wasn’t large, but it was neat, and it had nearly everything a body could want in the way of goods. Unfortunately, it being Sunday, nothing was open. But, as Dirk pointed out, Harley could find something he wanted to purchase for Marjorie’s birthday and come back one evening next week to get it.