Where Willows Grow (13 page)
The men paused to cup their hands beside their faces and look through each store’s front window, but it wasn’t until they encountered a clothier’s display that Harley saw something that interested him. ‘‘Dirk, lookee there.’’ He shoved his finger against the glass, pointing at a frilly little dress of white covered all over with red dots. It made Harley think of cherries swimming in cream. A little red bow rested below the lacy collar, and more red bows decorated the puffy sleeves. ‘‘Margie’s never had a store-bought dress—Annie makes all the girls’ clothes. My baby girl would look sweet as sugar in that dress.’’
Dirk pressed his nose to the glass, squinting. ‘‘Price tag says three dollars and twenty-five cents.’’
Harley reared back. ‘‘That much?’’
Dirk lifted his shoulders, his forehead creasing. ‘‘It’s a lot.’’
Harley looked back at the little dress. Three dollars was half his month’s spending money. As much as he wanted it, he couldn’t justify paying that much for a dress that would be outgrown in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. He turned from the window, regret churning through his middle. How it stung to be unable to buy something special for Margie. A baby ought to have something special for her first birthday.
‘‘There’re other stores, Harley.’’ Dirk nudged his arm. ‘‘C’mon, let’s look some more.’’
Harley shook his head, defeated. ‘‘Nah. I don’t much feel like it anymore. Let’s . . . let’s just head back.’’
They turned toward the street leading to the Petersons’ place on the edge of town. For long minutes they walked without talking, although Dirk whistled softly between his teeth. Harley ignored the tune and thought about that little dress and how sweet Margie would look in it. Maybe he should get it, even if it did cost so dear. But no, that much money could buy a week’s worth of groceries—wasn’t worth the expense.
His thoughts tumbled and churned until he’d worked himself into a fine temper. He kicked a rock, zinging it into the brush at the side of the street. Two birds took flight at the sudden intrusion.
Dirk sent him a sidelong glance. His whistling ended. ‘‘You mad at somebody, Harley?’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ Harley growled the word. ‘‘I’m mad at me. Mad at me ’cause I can’t even afford to buy my baby girl a decent present for her birthday. Mad at me ’cause I’m far from home—won’t even be there to give her a birthday kiss or watch her bite into her first cake. Mad at me ’cause’’—he gave another rock a vicious kick that left a scuff on the toe of his new boot—‘‘nothin’ ever goes right in this life.’’
Dirk came to a halt, but Harley marched another dozen feet before he stopped and whirled around, hands balled into fists. ‘‘Well? Are you comin’ or not?’’
Dirk shook his head sadly. ‘‘You’re lookin’ at things all backward, Harley. How can you say nothin’ ever goes right? You got a wife and two little girls to love. Reckon they love you back, too. Those’re sure things that are right. You got a home and a farm waitin’ for you. Lots of men’ve lost theirs already, what with that Stock Market crash. That’s somethin’ else gone right. And what about this job you an’ me are on? A steady paycheck, a way to take care of our families even if we do have to be away from ’em. I’d say that’s three things gone right.’’
Harley stood silently in the middle of the road, the sun beating down on his head, his anger burning as hotly as the fireball in the sky.
Dirk walked up and put his big hand on Harley’s shoulder. ‘‘You gotta count your blessings, Harley, ’stead of always seeing the sad side of things. You’ll never be happy until you do that.’’
Harley resisted throwing Dirk’s hand away. Gritting his teeth, he admitted, ‘‘I’m not so good at counting blessings.’’
A sad smile played at the corners of Dirk’s lips. ‘‘I know. But you won’t get good at it unless you try.’’
Harley shook his head. Dirk was such a child at times. Counting blessings, ha! Dirk didn’t know how few blessings had been in Harley’s life until he met Annie and the girls were born. Then it had stopped raining, and he and Annie had grown distant, and now he was away from her. Where was the blessing in that?
Dirk gave Harley a brisk pat that set him into motion. The two walked several more yards before Dirk spoke again. ‘‘Guess I’m gonna hafta up my prayers for you, my friend. Good thing I’m on such good terms with that Sower of the Seeds. I know He’ll hear me when I pray for you.’’
Harley snorted in response, but inwardly a little part of him hoped Dirk was right.
Ga-ooooo-gah!
Dorothy skittered to the window and peeked out. She spun back to face Anna Mae and crowed, ‘‘They’re here, Mama! They’re here!’’
‘‘Well, come back and let me tie your bow,’’ Anna Mae scolded. Her fretful tone told of her inner confusion. Should she be going into Hutchinson with Jack Berkley and his father? Her hands automatically twisted the ties on Dorothy’s dress into a neat bow at the base of her spine. ‘‘Now let me look at you.’’
Dorothy obediently stood in front of her mother, her arms held outward, a beaming smile on her pixie face. Anna Mae sighed. The dress was really too short, but it was the little girl’s nicest—buttery yellow organza, full-skirted, with a peep of lace around the collar and cuffs. The short skirt showed Dorothy’s scuffed knees and sagging anklets, giving her a waifish appearance that only endeared the little girl more to her mama.
‘‘How do I look?’’
Anna Mae gave Dorothy a quick hug. ‘‘You look beautiful, darlin’. Now run out and tell Mr. Berkley I’ll be right there. I want to tuck an extra diaper into my purse for Marjorie.’’
Dorothy dashed out the door, and the child’s excited chatter came through the open window. Anna Mae stood and smoothed her hands over the front of her own good Sunday skirt. It fit tightly now, uncomfortably so. The new baby was already making its presence known. It wouldn’t be long and she’d need to get the maternity clothes from the box in the attic. Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed them against the gentle mound. Closing her eyes, she tried to envision the tiny babe within. No image would come.
A burst of laughter sounded from outside, deep and thunderous. Jack’s. The sound sent her stomach churning with nervousness. What did she think she was doing, putting on her best dress and driving clear into Hutchinson with the man who’d proposed to her on her eighteenth birthday?
Oh, Harley, I wish you were here
. If Harley were here, there’d be no need to celebrate Marjorie’s first birthday with a trip into town. If Harley were here, she’d just bake a cake. They’d watch the baby shove her little fists into the mounds of icing and laugh when she coated herself with gooey chocolate, just as they had with Dorothy.
But Harley wasn’t here.
Jack was. And he was waiting.
With a resigned sigh, she stuffed another diaper into the depths of her bag, then lifted Marjorie from the high chair. She’d dressed the baby in a pink gingham sunsuit and put a little bow in the wisps of hair on the top of her head. Brown sandals covered her pudgy feet.
‘‘I guess you’ll do, too, little darlin’.’’ She kissed Marjorie’s round cheek as she headed outside.
Jack met them in the middle of the yard, and Marjorie offered a dimpled smile, waving her chubby fists in excitement. Over the weeks, the girls had become so accustomed to Jack, the baby didn’t count him a stranger. Anna Mae didn’t know if she considered that a good thing or an annoyance.
Jack laughed and reached for Marjorie. The baby tumbled into his arms as readily as she would have her daddy’s. Anna Mae’s stomach gave another jump. She turned her attention to Jack’s father, who waited beside the Model T.
‘‘Well, Miss Dimples,’’ Mr. Berkley said, watching Jack bounce Marjorie on his broad arm, ‘‘we could save some gas and pocket change by just staying here and looking at you, couldn’t we?’’ His gaze swept to include Dorothy. ‘‘Can’t imagine Shirley Temple is any prettier than these two little girls.’’
Dorothy giggled. She twirled, making the skirt of her dress flare out. ‘‘Papa Berkley says we’re pretty, Mama!’’
Anna Mae stopped Dorothy’s dance with a hand on her head. ‘‘Yes, he did, but pretty is as pretty does. Behave like a lady, please.’’
The little girl sighed, then skipped to the car and climbed in. Mr. Berkley got in with her.
As Anna Mae followed Jack, she asked, ‘‘Is this outing a hardship?’’
He looked at her over his shoulder. His lips quirked into a one-sided grin. ‘‘A hardship? What do you mean?’’
She paused beside the open car door. ‘‘Well, paying for gasoline to get us to Hutchinson, then movie tickets, and Dorothy will beg for popcorn . . . Are you sure this isn’t too much?’’
He shook his head. ‘‘No. I’ve been to several shows already at the Fox. I know exactly what I’m getting myself into, and I’m ready for it.’’ A full grin lit his face. ‘‘But thanks for being concerned. Now get in.’’
‘‘G
OD, PLEASE PROTECT ME
and those with me as we travel the road to Hutchinson. Give us a pleasant day. Amen.’’ With a smile, Jack called over his shoulder, ‘‘Hold on, Dorothy! Off we go to the picture show!’’
Dorothy squealed with excitement as the car headed through the gate.
For the first several miles, Anna Mae sat, stunned, unable to think of anything except the simple prayer Jack had offered for travel safety. To her shame, she realized not once had she petitioned her Father on how to respond to Jack’s invitation. Thinking back, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d prayed—really prayed—since Harley had left. Her mind had been so caught up in taking care of the house, taking care of the garden, taking care of the girls—and spatting with Jack—that her deep, daily communion with God had turned into snatches of time wedged between other concerns.
Tears pressed behind her lids. What was happening to her? The drought had already taken so many precious things—the crops, the mules, Harley. Would it steal the joy of her relationship with God, as well? Her heart pounded hard. She couldn’t let that happen!
‘‘Mama, look at the cows!’’ Dorothy’s excited voice pulled Anna Mae from her thoughts.
She looked out the window. ‘‘Yes, I see them. Can you count them?’’
‘‘One, two, three . . .’’ Dorothy counted loudly, giggling between numbers.
Anna Mae’s heart lifted. Even if she hadn’t prayed about this outing, Dorothy’s pleasure at rolling across the countryside on a spring day made it all worthwhile. She leaned back in the seat, determined to enjoy this birthday celebration.
It turned out to be a pleasant ride with the windows down. A steady breeze kept the passengers comfortable, although Dorothy’s hair and Marjorie’s ribbon were both wild by the time they reached Hutchinson. Jack parked the Model T along Main Street, and they walked around the corner to the theater. Anna Mae imagined what they must look like to the passersby on the street—a complete family with grandfather, father, mother, and children. Despite her earlier decision to simply enjoy the day, the churning began again in her stomach.
Jack stepped up to the cast-iron ticket booth, his father at his elbow, watching the transaction. Dorothy pranced in place while Anna Mae tried to finger comb the child’s hair back into her ponytail. The moment Jack turned, tickets in hand, Dorothy pulled away from her mother to grab Jack’s hand. Anna Mae’s stomach rose into her throat at the sight.
‘‘Dorothy, get over here with me,’’ she ordered.
Dorothy’s face puckered with hurt, but she released Jack’s hand and returned to her mother. Anna Mae made a show of fussing with the child’s hair some more. ‘‘Now, stay with me, and don’t touch anything.’’
Holding Dorothy’s hand and balancing Marjorie on her other arm, Anna Mae turned toward the theater doors. Jack opened the door, Mr. Berkley gestured for her to enter, and she stepped into another world.
Dorothy’s mouth formed a perfect
O
as she stared in wonder at the spacious foyer with its geometric-patterned carpet and curving staircase that led to a gold-railed balcony overhead. The little girl’s head turned this way and that, trying to take in everything at once. When her gaze bounced upward, she exclaimed, ‘‘Mama, there’s stars on the ceiling!’’
Anna Mae’s gaze followed her daughter’s pointing finger, and she gasped. ‘‘Oh my!’’ The ceiling, set with some sort of gold triangular plates, did give the appearance of stars set side-by-side. ‘‘That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.’’
Then she had to rethink her statement as she examined the sparkling chandelier that sent out beams of golden light. ‘‘That thing’s bigger than one of our mules!’’ She heard the wonder in her own tone and, for a moment, felt embarrassed by her childish exclamation, but Mr. Berkley’s gentle smile eased her discomfiture. His eyes seemed to tell her to relax and enjoy, so she did.
She and Dorothy exclaimed over the gilt carvings above door openings and impossibly large, gilt-framed mirrors that hung on peach-painted walls. Dorothy skipped to the wide staircase and balanced on the first riser, resting her chin on the polished wood handrail of the gold metal railing. ‘‘Mr. Berkley, what’s up there?’’ She pointed to the top of the stairs.
Jack crossed the floor to place his hand on Dorothy’s straggly hair. ‘‘The balcony, honey. People can sit in seats up there to watch the show.’’
‘‘Can we?’’ Dorothy’s eyes sparkled with desire.
Jack shook his head. ‘‘I’m sorry, Dorothy, but warm air rises, and it’d be too hot up there today. The balcony’s best for wintertime.’’
Dorothy’s face drooped into a pout.
‘‘But if it’s okay with your mama,’’ Jack compromised, ‘‘I can take you up and let you look down at the main floor. There’s a railing up there, so you can wave down at her. How would that be?’’
Dorothy’s smile immediately returned. ‘‘Can I, Mama?’’
Anna Mae nodded, then watched Jack and Dorothy climb the stairs together. Dorothy’s small hand stayed on the handrail all the way up. When they reached the landing, Jack looked back and teased, ‘‘Well, if we’re going to wave at you, you better go on in.’’
Anna Mae giggled self-consciously.
‘‘C’mon,’’ Mr. Berkley encouraged, putting his hand on the small of her back.
They walked past two uniformed, smiling young men, and entered the theater. Electric sconces along each wall gave the large room a homey glow, illuminating more gilded carvings and cream-and-peach-striped walls. Anna Mae heard Dorothy call, ‘‘Mama? Mama?’’