Kate drank again of the cold refreshing water. If only she could be as relaxed as Hatcher about home and belonging and safety and all the things this farm meant to her and her children. “I know I should trust God more. He’s promised to meet all my needs. Yet, I can’t let go of what this farm is. You know what I mean?”
Hatcher hung the dipper and wiped his mouth. “Sort of.”
He met her eyes. A flash of pain, dark and heavy filled them. She knew then they shared the same weight of disappointment and hardship. She couldn’t guess the source of his, but in that moment, before he lowered his eyes, she felt a connection, a kinship. She wondered if he realized how much he’d revealed in those fleeting seconds.
She jerked her head up and stared across the familiar yard, startled to realize she’d told him more about her farm, her dreams and her fears than she’d shared with anyone. More than she’d ever admitted to Sally and certainly more than Doyle knew or cared to know.
“So you once had the same thing—farm, home, belonging. What happened, Hatcher? How did you lose it?”
“I didn’t.” He touched the brim of his hat, avoided meeting her gaze and headed for the tractor. He didn’t appear to hurry yet his strides ate up the distance and within minutes he headed for the field.
What secrets hid behind his words, his withdrawal? Perhaps she would never know. He was here such a short time. She crossed her arms over her stomach and tried not to think how alone she would be when he left. Even worse than before, because until he came she’d never really had anyone to share her thoughts with.
She rubbed at her jaw. She would not allow herself to think about it.
She watched for a while, smiling as he planted her crop. Her gaze shifted from watching the furrows behind the drill, to the mysterious man driving the tractor. Both Sally and Doyle had warned her of the dangers of associating with a hobo but she’d seen enough to be convinced of a number of things:
He knew farmwork, seemed as familiar with it as if raised on a farm.
He was honest. If he’d wanted to steal anything, he could. She never locked anything up.
He was gentle and kind with both her children.
And if someone asked, and she answered truthfully, she’d have to admit his quiet strength meant something to her.
She snorted. Some would say she exhibited signs of a lonely widow woman, looking for manly attention that didn’t exist simply to persuade herself she might yet find another man to marry.
For another moment, she watched Hatcher, relaxed looking despite the bounce of the tractor. Yearning filled her soul. She didn’t want a man just to have a man. But she ached to share with someone. Be able to reveal her deepest feelings without fear of ridicule or condemnation. Hatcher, with his quiet patience, had allowed her that if only for brief periods.
* * *
For several days, Hatcher seeded wheat. Kate rejoiced in every acre planted and continued to pray for the desperately needed rain.
Today they were going to plant corn. First, they had to go to the Sandstrums and pick up the seed she’d traded some seed wheat for.
She let Hatcher get behind the wheel of the truck. She settled on the stiff seat beside him. He had long fingers, as brown as the soil of her farm, yet his nails were neatly trimmed and surprisingly clean.
She forced her gaze straight ahead and pointed him in the right direction.
Mr. Sandstrum, out seeding, saw them approach, stopped the tractor and crossed the field to greet them as they pulled up to the bin where Kate knew he kept his corn.
“Kate, I been wondering when you’d come.”
“Mr. Sandstrum. This is Hatcher Jones. He’s putting in my crop for me.”
The men shook hands. Mr. Sandstrum pushed his dusty hat back on his head, revealing a white forehead as he gave Hatcher a long, hard look then nodded.
Kate wondered if that signified approval.
“’Bout time you found help.” He threw open a bin. “It’s bagged and ready to go.”
Kate stood by, wanting to help, but Mr. Sandstrum waved her toward the house.
“Not woman’s work. You go visit the missus.”
She wanted to argue but caught a sudden flash of a smile on Hatcher’s lips. “We’ll manage,” he murmured.
Knowing they would and she would only be in the way, she nodded. She’d wanted to see Alice and the new baby anyway.
At her knock, Alice called for her to enter. Alice sat in the kitchen, her blond hair in tangled disarray, her hands hanging limp at her side. Unwashed dishes stood on the table, the floor was unswept and dirty.
Kate rushed forward. “Alice, you look ill. What’s wrong?”
Alice swung her gaze toward Kate, stared without recognition then blinked her eyes into focus. “It’s not me. It’s the baby. She never stops fussing.”
Kate heard a weak mewling from the other room and hurried to get the baby. The infant needed clean diapers. Her little bottom was red and sore, her legs so thin tears stung Kate’s eyes. She cleaned up the baby and took her to Alice. “Are you nursing?”
“Trying.” As soon Alice put the baby to her breast, Kate knew what the problem was. Alice had no milk.
“Alice, you have to give the baby a bottle. Do you have any cow’s milk?”
“Axel let the cows go dry.”
“I’ll bring some from home.” When she did, she’d come prepared to spend the day. Let Alice sleep a few hours while she cleaned the house and bathed the poor wee mite of a baby.
While she waited for Hatcher to load the corn, she boiled water and washed dishes.
“I’ll return,” she told Alice as she heard the truck approach.
Alice nodded wearily, too exhausted Kate knew, to care about anything. Even her baby.
“I have to get right back,” she said to Hatcher as soon as she closed the truck door behind her. “The Sandstrums have an eight-week-old baby who’s starving to death. I’m going to take milk over. And I’m going to stay to help. You don’t need me anyway.”
Hatcher grunted. “Think I can figure out what end of the seed to plant first.”
“You don’t have—” She broke off, knowing he was teasing her, and laughed. “I’m sure you can.”
“Will the little one be all right?”
“I hope so. She’s awfully weak. I just hope I can get her to take a bottle. I’ll need to pray really hard. Will you, too?”
“Certainly.”
“Right now? I’m afraid it’s almost too late for the baby.”
Hatcher looked startled, surprised, uncomfortable then resigned as if he couldn’t be bothered to argue with her. They approached the driveway to her farm. “Okay if I drive to the house first?”
She laughed, felt a quick release of the tension knotting her stomach since she’d seen the sickly baby.
He stopped the truck in front of the house.
Neither of them moved. She could hear his breath rasp in and out.
The silence between them grew awkward.
She stared out the window. She couldn’t believe she’d asked him to pray with her. She hadn’t prayed aloud with anyone in her entire life. For one shaky moment, she thought to withdraw her request. Then she remembered how weak the infant was, faced him and grabbed his hand. “I’m really worried about the baby. I need some of your strength to go back and care for her.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m afraid the wee thing will die. Please pray I’ll know what to do and the baby will live.”
He hesitated, a hard, unreadable expression on his face. Was he uncomfortable praying aloud? But she knew he was a Christian; he must have been called upon to pray aloud before this. Was he embarrassed to pray for a tiny baby? Somehow she didn’t think that could be the reason. Perhaps it was simply because they didn’t know each other well.
He slowly bowed his head.
Relieved to see he meant to comply with her request, she did the same.
“Heavenly Father,” he said, his voice thick. “Touch the Sandstrum baby and make her well. Amen.”
Kate took a deep breath. “Lord, don’t let it be too late. Please. And help me know what to do. Amen.”
His hand lay warm beneath her palm, his fingers curled away in a hard fist.
She jerked away, heat stinging her cheeks at her boldness. Immediately she missed the contact. Felt an emptiness that knew no beginning, no end.
He shifted, slipped his arm up the steering wheel as if to make sure it was out of her reach.
At his obvious withdrawal, tears stung Kate’s eyes. She grabbed for the door, intent on escape. What had she expected? That he’d protest and reach for her hand again? Of course not. She sucked in a calming breath. It would not be good, she warned herself, to get used to sharing her burdens with a man who couldn’t wait to leave.
Shoving stubborn resolve down her limbs, she looked in the window. “I’ll get things ready—” she said, her voice mercifully calm “—while you unload the corn.”
He sent her a quick smile. “I’ve no doubt you’ll know how to handle things.”
The threatening tears of a moment ago turned to liquid surprise. She dashed at her eyes with fingers that seemed suddenly stronger. How long had it been since anyone believed in her?
She hoped her eyes wouldn’t reveal her gratitude and longing and aching. “Thank you.”
She studied his strong, calm face, felt a sudden urge to kiss him, she was that grateful. She hurried to the house before she made a fool of herself and concentrated on the tasks she must complete.
She made enough sandwiches for Hatcher and the Sandstrums, noted she’d have to mix up more bread when she got home, gathered together supplies for the baby and a clean towel for the poor little thing’s bath.
Hatcher brought the truck to the house and she handed him his lunch. Thankfully, he seemed oblivious to her weakness of a few minutes ago in the truck. Or else, she suspected, more likely he chose to ignore it.
He helped her carry the supplies to the truck.
She paused before she got behind the wheel. “Please continue to pray. I’ll be back when the children get home from school. Or as soon as possible.” She hesitated. Would the children be all right if she happened to be late?
“I’ll watch for them,” Hatcher said.
Knowing he’d be here, she gladly let that worry go.
Axel Sandstrum was working out in the field when she returned. Kate wondered if he’d given the baby or his wife more than a glimpse. Surely if he did, he’d be in the house tending them instead of his fields.
But she didn’t have time to wonder about his lack of concern. She pushed into the house without knocking.
Alice slumped in the same chair, in the same position as when Kate left, her cheeks pale hollows, dark shadows circling her eyes. Kate wondered if the woman was more than just tired and touched her brow. She didn’t seem feverish.
“Alice, honey, go rest. I’m going to feed the baby and take care of things for a while.”
Alice stared at her.
“Come on.” Kate helped her to her feet and urged her toward the bedroom. She edged her to the side of the bed where Alice collapsed. Kate helped her stretch out, covered her with a quilt and left.
She prepared a bottle of milk and went to the cradle where the baby lay motionless, her eyes wide. It frightened Kate that the baby didn’t cry or respond when Kate bent over and cooed at her. She scooped up the infant, checked her diaper, found it still dry. Knew that wasn’t a good sign. She wrapped a tiny blanket around the little thing and cuddled her close.
“Come on, baby, you have to eat.” She edged the nipple into the tiny mouth. The baby made no effort to suck and when milk dripped out of the nipple it ran out the sides of the pink mouth. The baby never even tried to swallow.
Axel stomped into the house. “Where’s Alice? Where’s my dinner?”
“Alice is resting. I brought some sandwiches.” She pointed to them. “I’m going to stay and help Alice this afternoon. She’s wore right out.”
“The baby’s been real fussy.”
The baby didn’t have the strength to cry. Pity and anger mingled that her father hadn’t noticed. “The baby is starving. You need to get a milk cow. I can bring milk over for a few days until you do.” Kate refrained from saying what was uppermost in her mind. If this little bitty girl didn’t start eating, the Sandstrums wouldn’t need a cow. Please, God, help her swallow. Don’t let me be too late.
Mr. Sandstrum glanced at the baby in Kate’s arms. “Not a hearty baby.”
“She’s starving. You’ll be surprised at the difference if we can get her to take this milk.” But instead of sucking, the baby fell asleep in her arms.
Kate sat in the wooden rocking chair in the tiny living room and swayed back and forth. The chair listed to one side but she ignored it and sang every lullaby she knew as the baby slept.
An hour later the baby stirred and Kate prodded her awake, tried again to get her to swallow and suck. The infant lay practically lifeless. “Come on, baby,” she whispered, wishing she could remember the little girl’s name. “You have to fight. You don’t want to give up. There are too many delights in this world to leave it without enjoying them. You’ll get so much fun out of discovering how soft a kitten is, hearing a bird sing, watching it fly from branch to branch, seeing your first newborn calf, learning to read and write and sing. Come on, baby.” As she murmured to the baby, she silently prayed. And then her prayers and baby conversation twisted together. “Come on, baby. Please, God, give her the strength to suck. One of these days you’ll fill your hands with dandelions and bring them to your momma. Please, God, don’t let this precious baby die. All it takes is for you to start eating. Just one swallow, God. I’m sure once she starts she’ll be on her way. You’ll learn about God and His love. God, I know You love her but it’s too soon to take her back into Your arms. Alice needs her. Restore Alice’s strength, too, please, God.
She stroked the baby’s cheek trying to trigger the sucking reflex. She lost track of how long she sat there praying and trying to get the baby to swallow. She grew weary, discouraged, thought of admitting defeat, then remembered Hatcher’s promise to pray, felt his quiet strength uphold her.
The sun came around and shone in the west window, falling across the baby’s face. The infant blinked, sneezed and swallowed. Her eyes widened as the milk slid down her throat and warmed her empty stomach. She drew her cheeks in and tried to suck. Slowly, she managed to down two ounces then fell asleep.
“Thank you, God. Thank you.” Tears streamed down Kate’s face. She held the baby longingly. But the afternoon was slipping away and she had much to do. She put the baby in the cradle, covered her warmly and headed to the kitchen. She swept the floor and washed it, changing the water twice before she got to the end of the room.
The baby needed to be fed every two hours until she gained strength. Kate put away the cleaning supplies and prepared another bottle. This time the baby knew what to do when the bottle went into her mouth. Again, she fell asleep after two ounces. She had wanted to bathe the baby but feared she was too weak. Far more important to get her to eat and gain some strength.
Kate glanced at the clock. She needed to get home to her children. But she didn’t want to leave the baby until Alice woke up. She tiptoed into the bedroom. Alice looked so peaceful. So thin. She hated to wake her but Dougie and Mary could not be left alone.
“Alice.” She touched the woman’s shoulder. “Alice, wake up.”
Alice dragged herself from sleep and stared at Kate. She struggled to sit up. “How long did I sleep?”
“All afternoon. Are you feeling better?”
“I think so. Where’s Annie? I don’t hear her.” She scrambled to her feet and swayed.
“Annie’s just fine.” The perfect name for such a fragile baby. “I got her to take a bottle. You keep her on cow’s milk and I expect she’ll do fine.”
Kate made Alice tea and left with instruction to feed the baby every two hours. And then she hurried home, already late.
She didn’t see the children as she pulled to a halt before the house. The tractor stood idle at the edge of the field. She raced into the house. “Dougie. Mary.” Nothing but nerve-scratching silence.
She dashed outside, headed for the barn, spared a glance at the windmill ladder as she ran past. Thankfully no children clung to its rungs.
She called their names in the musty silence of the barn and got only the rustling of mice overhead for answer.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. She struggled to fill her bursting lungs as she raced from the barn. The cows grazed placidly in the pasture.
“Dougie. Mary,” she called.
“Over here.” It was not a child’s voice. She turned toward the sound and hurried past the corrals. Hatcher and the children hunkered down in a tight circle.
“Momma, we found a baby rabbit,” Dougie called.
“I didn’t know where you were. You should have stayed where I could find you.” She scowled at Hatcher. Her fear and frustration made her sound cross. Well, she was. It had been downright frightening to have her children missing if only for a few minutes. After an afternoon spent fearing baby Annie would die in her arms, she’d panicked. “What was I to think?”
Hatcher pushed to his feet, dusted his knees and straightened. “Thought it best to keep them occupied until you got home. How’s the baby?”
“She started to suck. I think she’ll make it.”
With a quick nod, Hatcher headed for the tractor.
Kate thought to call him back, tell him more about the baby, thank him for watching the children, but she sensed from the set of his shoulders that he didn’t want to listen to her chatter at this moment.
“Look, Momma,” Mary said.
Kate stared at her daughter holding the tiny rabbit. “You aren’t afraid of it?”
“No, Hatcher said it was scared so I needed to calm it down.”
“Can we keep it?” Dougie asked.
“Wild young things don’t like to be caged up.”
“But Momma,” Dougie pleaded. “If we let it go who will take care of it? It’s just a baby.”
“You have to take care of babies,” Mary said in a voice wise beyond her years.
“Where would you keep it?” Kate asked, already half-swayed by their arguments.
“We could use one of the broody houses,” Mary said, speaking of the little houses where Kate put the hens with eggs to set. Two of them were in use right now but there was a third she didn’t need.
“I suppose you can if you both promise to make sure it always has feed and water.”
“We will,” they chorused.
Permission granted, they hurried to take care of the rabbit.
Kate stared at Hatcher on the tractor. She’d been rude to him when all he’d done was watch the children and she guessed her comments would feel like an attack on him.
She must apologize.
But when she waved at him to come in for supper, he circled his hand to indicate he’d make another round.
She dropped her hand and watched, a little worried she’d offended him so badly that he felt the need to avoid her.
She set aside a plate of food for him. She ate with the children, only half-aware of their conversation as she listened for the tractor to stop. They finished but still he didn’t come to the door.
She cleaned up the kitchen, paused several times to glance outside. He continued going round and round. Was he trying to finish the field, or trying to think up an excuse to explain how he had to leave?
She grabbed milk pails and headed for the barn. She’d apologize, explain her alarm over the children, make him see he didn’t deserve her anger.
She milked the cows to the rumble of the tractor. Did he plan to work right through till dark? She should be happy if he did. Glad her crops would soon be in the ground. Glad, however, was not how she felt.
She hurt for the unkindness she’d spoken, worried he might leave because of it.
She did not want him to leave. And it had nothing to do with her crop. He would go. She would stay. That was the plain and simple fact of it. She pressed her head into the cow’s warm flank and took calming breaths.
She carried the milk to the kitchen, left some not separated to take to baby Annie in the morning. Still the tractor growled on. Hatcher’s food grew cold and sticky on the plate.
The children hurried through their chores so they could spend time with their rabbit. She let them play later than usual.
The western sky streaked with orange and purple and gold then turned navy before the tractor finally stopped its incessant roar.
Kate scraped the food off the plate into a fry pan and set it to warm. Through the dusk, she saw Hatcher head to the pump where he drank deeply then splashed water over his head and scrubbed his hands and face. Sally had said hobos were dirty but Hatcher wasn’t. He was almost meticulous in washing before he ate. And each day he wore a clean shirt and trousers. He had a spare of each, which he washed out at night. He’d consistently refused her offer of Jeremiah’s things.
His meal warmed as he finished washing. She hung a towel outside the door for him and as he dried, she scooped the food back to the plate.
“It looked more appetizing a few hours ago,” she said as she handed it to him.
“Wanted to get in a few more rounds.”
“I appreciate it but you don’t have to work so hard.”
He sank to the step and ate with the dedication of a hungry man.
She sat on the step beside him. “Hatcher, I want to apologize for being cross when I got home this afternoon. I wasn’t angry at you. I appreciate that you kept an eye on the children until I got home. I was just worried about them. Truly, I’m sorry I spoke the way I did.”
“Not a problem.”
She settled into an uneasy silence. He’d readily, quickly accepted her apology. Almost dismissed it. What had she expected? She didn’t know, only knew she wanted more. So much more that it parched the inside of her stomach.
“Glad to hear the Sandstrum baby is doing better.”
“I couldn’t get her to suck for the longest time. I thought—” Her voice caught on unshed tears. “I thought she was going to die.” A sob escaped.
Hatcher put his empty plate down. “But she didn’t?” He smelled of good earth, the fumes from the tractor and the fried pork she’d cooked for him.
“No.” Suddenly she had to tell him about her afternoon. She began with her concern about Alice and continued until she shared her excitement when Annie started to swallow. “I prayed and prayed and finally she took a swallow and suddenly seemed to realize she was hungry. I think you must have been praying, too.”
She should go inside but she remained seated beside him. She wanted this moment of comfort to continue.
“I was praying.” His words were soft.
Shep sprang to his feet and barked.
She stared down the road at an approaching vehicle. “Doyle,” she murmured. That put an end to a peaceful moment. “What’s got into him that suddenly he starts driving out here midweek?”
“Maybe afraid you’re managing too well without him.”
She snorted. “He’d like me to be the lady of his castle. He wants me to sell my farm.”
“Is that going to happen?”
Suddenly everything was clear as the sky above them. “No.” She was genuinely fond of Doyle but not so much as to give up the security and safety of her farm. If he would offer to let her keep it, perhaps let someone else run it... But for Doyle life fit into neat little cubbyholes. There was no slot for his wife owning a farm of her own.
Doyle stopped his car behind Kate’s truck and climbed out. “Isn’t this cozy?”
Hatcher and Kate pushed to their feet. “Hello to you, too, Doyle,” Kate said.
Hatcher started to leave. Doyle said, “Hatcher Jones, you should probably stick around for this.”
Kate’s spine stiffened at the way Doyle spoke to Hatcher but before she could protest, Doyle spoke again.
“I thought there was something familiar about you. You’re that man from Loggieville, aren’t you?”
Hatcher stared out at the seeded field.
“I remember the case well. Don’t suppose you thought it would catch up to you here. You didn’t take into account that lawyers all over the country watched the proceedings with keen interest. Would you get away with it or not? I didn’t think you would, but you certainly proved me wrong.”
Kate watched the stiffness return to Hatcher’s shoulders. She hadn’t even realized it was gone until now. “What’s this all about, Doyle?”
“Your hobo is a murderer.”
Anger bolted the full length of her body at Doyle’s cruel accusation. “If that’s the case, why is he walking around a free man? I thought there was a death penalty for murder.”
“He weaseled his way out of it.”
She ground her words past the anger twisting her throat. “I see. What you’re saying is a court of law found him not-guilty?”
“Couldn’t convict him when no one was willing to tell the truth. They were all afraid of him. Afraid he’d get to them and make them pay if they spoke out.”
“But, Doyle, you’re a lawyer. Don’t you believe in the justice of our legal system?”
Doyle laughed. “It has certain flaws.”
“Yes, but if he was convicted of murder, wouldn’t his accusers know they’d be safe? After all, he’d be dead.” She shuddered at the idea.
“Things can happen.”
“Men can be innocent.”
Doyle stepped closer to Kate. “Are you saying you believe he’s innocent? You don’t even know what happened?”
“I don’t need to. I’ve seen Hatcher.”
Doyle was inches away. “What has he done to you? Kate, you pack your things right now. And the children’s. You’re moving into town. You can sell the farm immediately. Just yesterday, someone was asking about land. Willing to pay handsomely for it. Hurry now. I’ll wait here.”
Kate crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m not going anyplace. I’m perfectly safe here. And it’s time you got it through your head that I do not intend to sell the farm. Ever.”
“Kate, be sensible. Now is not the time to be stubborn.”
She leaned forward. “Doyle, you picked the wrong time and the wrong place to order me about.”
Doyle backed up, held up his hands. “I guess I came on a bit strong. But I’m worried about you and the children. This man...” He turned to glower at Hatcher.
But Hatcher was gone. Kate caught a glimpse of him disappearing around the barn. “Hatcher,” she yelled. “I’ve got fifty acres to seed yet.” She started after him, needing to persuade him to stay but Doyle grabbed her elbow.
“He’ll be on his way now that I know who he is.”
Her anger seemed to know no bounds. It clawed at every muscle. Her legs vibrated as she spun around to face Doyle. “And where does that leave me? Having to find someone else to help? Is that what you want?” She watched a play of emotions across Doyle’s face. Triumph. Caution. And then his beguiling smile.
She did not smile back. “You’re hoping I can’t manage on my own. You think I’ll be forced to give up my farm.” She stared at him. “You did this for the sole reason of trying to make me marry you. Even knowing how much the farm means to me...” She couldn’t look at him anymore. Couldn’t believe his treachery. If Hatcher left...
Please God, make him stay. I need him.
She added, For the farm.