Where Willows Grow (32 page)
‘‘So adjust mine,’’ Jack said. ‘‘Can’t be that hard to change a number. Land still gets sold, which is what you want. Who’s it gonna hurt?’’
Syler shook his head. ‘‘I can’t do that. Others have seen these bids. There’s not a thing I can do to reverse it now.’’
‘‘Switch the names!’’ Jack grated the command. ‘‘Put my name on his bid and his on mine. Who’s gonna remember who bid what? I’ll pay the higher bid, whatever it is. I’ve got to have that land!’’
Taking a step backward, Syler lowered the file to his side. ‘‘Can’t do that. I don’t know what your interest is in this deal, but I won’t put my job and reputation on the line for you.’’ He raised his voice so it carried throughout the office. ‘‘What you’ll have to do is wait until the new owner takes control of the property. Then you can talk to him about buying it. There’s nothing more I can do.’’
Jack smacked the counter with his fist. ‘‘Fine. Just fine. But when elections come around again, don’t be countin’ on my vote.’’
Syler didn’t reply, raising Jack’s ire. He spun from the counter and stomped down the hallway, his steps echoing in his ears. Couldn’t trust anybody these days. The man had told him not to worry, no one else was interested in the land. Just hold tight until the first of October and it would be his. And Jack had believed him.
He reached the lobby. Ramming both palms against the outside door, he swung it wide and stormed through. Warm air smacked him, and he paused on the steps, catching his breath.
Now what? He’d counted on being the new owner of that land. On showing Anna Mae the title, offering it along with his marriage proposal and using it as proof of how he was taking care of her. The loss of that bid ruined everything!
He thumped down the concrete steps, his scowl so tight his forehead hurt. By the time he’d reached his Model T, he’d come to some conclusions. So he couldn’t keep her land and the money from the oil being pumped there. But that didn’t mean he was licked. Somebody had bought the property, so Anna Mae was going to have to vacate the land now. She had no place to go. He could at least take care of that.
And he might as well run that other errand he’d planned. He’d promised her a surprise, and despite that backstabbing county treasurer, she’d have one. It wouldn’t be the title to her land, but it was better. He’d give her the title to his heart.
Harley scrawled his signature on the bottom of the letter, placed the pencil on the bedside table, and leaned back against his pillows with a smile. He glanced at the pages in his lap. Longest letter he’d ever written. A chuckle sounded as he clenched and unclenched his fist, working his fingers. He’d probably have a cramp in his hand tomorrow, but it had been worth it to get all those thoughts down.
There was so much Anna Mae needed to know. What would she think, having a husband who drew plans for buildings? Would it make her proud to have Harley get some schooling? He hoped so—he wanted her to be proud of him.
In his letter, he’d told Anna Mae about trusting God to find a way for him to provide for his family, about trusting God to take care of her and the girls until he got back. He knew whatever anger she might still harbor would wash away when she read about how he was trusting God. She’d wanted that for so long.
Regret struck. Harley’d wasted so much time fighting through life on his own strength. He wished it hadn’t taken something so hard—Dirk’s death—to awaken him to the reality of God’s love. He shook his head, forcing away the thought. He couldn’t go backward; he could only move forward. And he’d make sure all of his tomorrows included leaning on God’s strength.
‘‘Well, did you get your letter all finished?’’ The nurse bustled in, lunch tray in hand.
Harley shifted a bit, moving the letter to the table. ‘‘Yes, ma’am. It’s ready for an envelope.’’
‘‘I’ll get one for you right after you eat.’’ She settled the tray across his lap. ‘‘And then the doctor is coming in with your crutches. We’ll see how good you are on three legs.’’
Harley laughed. ‘‘I was plenty clumsy on two. Three oughta be downright ridiculous.’’
The nurse grinned. ‘‘Enjoy your meal.’’ She left.
Harley bowed his head. ‘‘Thank you for this food, Lord. May it nourish my body so I can be strong enough to do your will. Amen.’’
The food tasted no better than it had the first days of his hospitalization, but he ate without complaint. If he ate, he’d gain strength. If he gained strength, he’d heal. If he healed, he could go home.
A
LIGHT TAP AT THE BACK DOOR
roused Anna Mae. She stretched, trying to wake herself. In the last weeks of her pregnancy, she often grew tired midafternoon. She tried to nap when Marjorie napped, catching a few minutes of rest in the big, overstuffed chair that had been her daddy’s. Pushing herself clumsily to her feet, she plodded through the parlor to the kitchen and to the back porch. Her heart lifted when she spotted Mr. Berkley waiting on the small stoop.
‘‘Mr. Berkley.’’ She pushed the screen open. ‘‘Come in. Dorothy will be so pleased to see you.’’
He grinned and stepped through, sweeping off his hat as he crossed the threshold. ‘‘I made watermelon-rind pickles and thought you might like some.’’
Anna Mae took the jar of jewel-toned rinds. ‘‘Why, thank you. What a treat!’’ Anna Mae suddenly felt the desire to recall things from the past, knowing that soon she would be far away from this home. Pausing in the porch, she shared, ‘‘I remember Mama used to make these before Ben, Jr., left. After he died, though, we never grew melons.’’
He gave a solemn nod. ‘‘Yes, honey. I know.’’
She smiled fondly. Of course he knew. He knew most everything about her family. With a smile, she headed into the kitchen.
He followed her. ‘‘Girls napping?’’
‘‘Marjorie is. Dorothy’s out in the barn, playing with Ol’ Smokey.’’ She laughed lightly. ‘‘I wanted her to nap, but she’s watching for Jack. He promised a surprise earlier today, and she’s waiting for it.’’
Mr. Berkley didn’t smile. ‘‘A surprise?’’
Anna Mae nodded. ‘‘Yes. He was in a good mood this morning. Came right in the house and visited with me for the first time in . . . well, a while. I’m glad.’’ She remembered the kiss, and she frowned briefly. Then, seeing Mr. Berkley’s concerned expression, she forced a smile to her lips. ‘‘I’m sure he’ll be by here before too much longer. Do you want to have some coffee and visit with me while we wait for the surprise?’’
Mr. Berkley seated himself. ‘‘That sounds good. I’m curious about this surprise, too.’’
They chatted amiably while sipping coffee, and Anna Mae laughed at the stories he recalled about her little-girl years. Listening to him reminded her of listening to her own parents reminisce, and she made a determination that, no matter where she and the girls ended up in the next months, they would not lose contact with Ern Berkley.
As Anna Mae rose to fill his cup, the wheeze of the Model T intruded. She peeked out the window in time to see the car heave to a halt beside the house. Dorothy ran from the barn to greet Jack.
‘‘Jack’s here,’’ Anna Mae said, but Mr. Berkley was already out the porch door and heading around the corner.
Anna Mae watched Jack give Dorothy a large picture book. Her own heart lifted as the child’s face lit with pleasure. Immediately the little girl grabbed Mr. Berkley’s hand and tugged, pulling him toward the house. In moments the three of them came through the back porch, Dorothy calling, ‘‘Mama! Mama!’’
‘‘Shh!’’ Anna Mae stooped over and touched Dorothy’s lips with her fingers. ‘‘Your sister is sleeping. Don’t wake her.’’
‘‘Mama.’’ Dorothy lowered her voice to an excited whisper. ‘‘Look what Mr. Berkley got me.
The House That Jack Built
. See?’’
Anna Mae took the book and admired it for a moment, flashing a quick smile in Jack’s direction. ‘‘Oh, lucky you. Do you want to go read it now?’’
Dorothy took the book and sent Ern Berkley a hopeful look. ‘‘Papa Berkley, will you read it to me? Please?’’
The old man’s eyes crinkled with his grin. ‘‘I’d be glad to, honey. Want to go outside and sit under the tree?’’
‘‘Yes!’’ The child danced to the door. ‘‘C’mon! C’mon!’’
With a chuckle, Mr. Berkley followed her. He glanced back at Anna Mae and Jack. ‘‘I’ll be out here with Dorothy if you need me.’’
Anna Mae noticed Jack’s face crease into a brief scowl, but when he caught her looking, the scowl faded. He pointed to the parlor doorway. ‘‘Shall we go sit, too? Dorothy got her surprise. Now it’s your turn.’’
Remembering the way he had caught her off guard with that kiss this morning, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone in the parlor with Jack. But Mr. Berkley was right outside. Surely Jack would behave. She nodded. ‘‘All right.’’
Choosing the overstuffed chair, she lowered herself awkwardly onto the soft cushion. Jack stood in the middle of the floor for a moment, sending her an odd look, before crossing to the sofa and sitting on the end closest to her. The silence turned tense while she waited for him to speak, reminding her of times when she and Harley had been at an impasse. The thought brought a rush of sadness and loneliness, and she ducked her head, curving her hands around her extended belly.
‘‘Anna Mae?’’
Jack’s soft voice brought her head up. ‘‘Yes?’’
He sighed. ‘‘I’ve waited for you to come let me know if you were ready for my help. You haven’t come.’’
She nodded slowly. ‘‘I know. I . . . I haven’t known what to say.’’
He sucked in his lips, his brows crunching downward. Finally he nodded. ‘‘I know. I was hard on you. But you have to know I didn’t do it to hurt you.’’ He scooted forward to the edge of the cushion and stretched out his hand. His fingertips brushed her arm. ‘‘Do you believe me?’’
She really wasn’t sure if she believed him or not. Jack had become so unpredictable. She offered no reply. Several seconds ticked by, and he removed his hand, clamping it over his own knee.
‘‘I was hopin’, when I left here this morning, that I’d have some good news when I returned.’’ His voice sounded tight, underscored with frustration. ‘‘You see, I went to Hutchinson to the courthouse. I planned to take ownership of your property.’’
Anna Mae’s eyes widened. ‘‘You put a bid on my land?’’
‘‘Yep. I did.’’ He rubbed the underside of his nose and sniffed. ‘‘I wanted to offer it to you . . . along with me.’’ His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, and when he pulled it out, he held something in his fist. ‘‘I hoped we could combine our properties, put up more oil pumps—the surveyors figure there’s more oil under the ground—and . . . well, combine our lives, Anna Mae.’’
Slipping from the sofa, he knelt before her. ‘‘You know I love you. I’ve said all along I’d take care of you. Will you let me, Anna Mae? I can’t give you back your land, but I can offer you my home and my heart.’’ He uncurled his fingers. A small box rested on his palm.
Anna Mae stared at the box. The gold ring on her finger seemed to tighten as she stared at the box Jack held. How could Jack do this now, with Harley dead less than a month and her belly swollen with Harley’s child? Couldn’t he see how hurtful it was to think she could replace her husband so quickly? Her heart pounded, nearly covering the sound of Jack’s voice.
‘‘I know you’re still mourning Harley, but circumstances bein’ what they are, we can’t wait. You’re losin’ your home. You’ve got no place to go. But if you say yes, you can move in with me and Pop. You and your girls, you’ll be cared for.’’
‘‘You—you really tried to buy my land . . . for me?’’ Anna Mae struggled to make sense of everything Jack had said.
‘‘I tried, but someone outbid me.’’ Jack’s face twisted into a horrible scowl, and for a moment he tightened his fist around the ring box.
Anna Mae thought of the cheerful morning she’d shared with the girls. A lump formed in her throat. Soon someone else would be building memories in her house. ‘‘Do you know who?’’
‘‘I can tell you who bought the place.’’
Jack jerked to his feet and spun toward the parlor doorway. Mr. Berkley stood in the arched opening, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his faded overalls, his weathered face stoic.
‘‘Where’s Dorothy?’’ Jack asked.
Mr. Berkley poked his elbow toward the outside. ‘‘Still under the tree, readin’ her new storybook to that big ol’ gray cat. She’ll be busy for a while.’’ He took a forward step. ‘‘So we can talk freely.’’ When his gaze settled on Anna Mae, she detected a deep sorrow that made her heartbeat pick up in sudden worry. ‘‘You want to know who bought your land, Anna Mae?’’
She licked her lips and gave a hesitant nod.
‘‘I did.’’
Jack’s face turned bright red, and his neck muscles bulged. ‘‘You, Pop? Why would you do that to me? Betray me like that?’’
‘‘Betray you?’’ Mr. Berkley removed his hands from his pockets and took another step into the room, the color in his cheeks rising. ‘‘You’re a fine one to talk betrayal. Why don’t you tell Anna Mae here why she never got any more letters or money from Harley?’’
‘‘Pop . . .’’
The word held an undercurrent of warning that prickled the hairs on Anna Mae’s neck. She struggled to her feet, her gaze on Jack, her heart pounding with trepidation. ‘‘Jack? What’s he talking about?’’
‘‘Nothing.’’ Jack snapped out the word and then grasped Anna Mae by the upper arm. ‘‘Come on. He’s getting old, goin’ over the edge. Let’s get out of here where we can talk in private.’’
Mr. Berkley stepped into Jack’s pathway, his palm against his son’s shirt front. ‘‘You aren’t going anyplace, son, until you’ve told her the truth.’’
The hold on Anna Mae’s arm constricted painfully. She wrenched herself free.
Jack slapped his father’s hand down and growled, ‘‘I’m warning you, Pop.’’
‘‘No, I’m warning
you
, son. I got the evidence in my back pocket right now.’’
Jack bristled, straining toward his father, his fist clenched. Anna Mae stepped between them, one hand raised to each man. ‘‘Please. I don’t know what this is all about, but I don’t want you fighting with each other. Please just calm down and—’’
Jack grabbed her again and pushed her aside. She cried out, grabbing her belly as a cramp caught her low on the left. Jack whirled on his father.