May 12, 1944
Friday afternoon Anna glanced back at the Wisdoms’ home before inching inside Dottie’s car. She tossed her bag into the backseat and collapsed next to her friend.
“Ready for another weekend?” Dottie’s grin tipped to one side.
“At home? Have I ever?” Anna flipped her blonde, bobbed curls behind her ears. “I wonder what crisis Papa will create.”
“He only wants to keep you home.”
Anna stared out the window and watched Kearney slip behind them. Part of her understood that’s what Papa wanted. Her at home. All the time. But the thought of staying in that too-quiet farmhouse pulled the air from her lungs. And they couldn’t sacrifice her income, could they? Without it, there was never enough money on the farm. Much as Papa might want to avoid the reality, cash remained a necessity.
So she’d balance her job at the factory and helping at the farm. Though the image of the crooked rows of corn made her wonder if twenty-four hours a day, each day of the week would be enough time. Too much work existed for two people who gave their all, let alone two fragmented people.
She had to pull Papa out of his depression. Keep him out of the bottles that had turned into his only friends. Somehow. The miles rolled by in silence as Anna’s thoughts flitted from idea to idea.
Dottie turned the car off the highway and onto the rutted driveway leading to the farm long before Anna had a plan or felt ready. Dottie turned toward Anna. “You know how to reach me if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” The town girl forgot that, to reach her, Anna had to walk to the neighbor’s farm to use the phone. “See you Sunday.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Anna grabbed her bag and slipped from the car. The house looked desolate with light shining from a single window. She squared her shoulders and marched to the door. Ready or not, another two days at the farm awaited her.
“Who’s there?” Papa stumbled through the kitchen. “Annie, that you?”
“Yes, Papa. I’m home.”
“Harrumph. About time. I’m tired of eating scrambled eggs three meals a day. The chores need you, too.”
Welcome home. Anna stilled the words that wanted to explode from her mouth. Every lesson she’d ever heard about honoring her parents raced through her mind. She unclenched her hands and forced a smile on her lips. “Let me drop my bag. Then I’ll get started.”
He grunted and turned back to the kitchen radio and his chair.
Anna threw her bag on her bed and sank on to her mattress. The twin frame creaked in protest. She held her head in her hands. She’d spent the week working full days at the airfield, sewing and packing parachutes and patching airplane wings. Long twelve-hour days. Exhaustion tempted her to lay down, rest for just a moment. But if she allowed herself to relax, she doubted she’d get up before morning. And then what would the poor cow do as her udder threatened to explode?
With a groan, Anna pulled herself off the bed and pasted a smile on her face.
“Anna?” Papa’s voice bellowed down the hallway. “Where’d you go, girl? Time’s wasting. Where’s my dinner?”
She headed toward his voice, the knot in her stomach tightening. She had to survive … somehow. She’d make sure there was a farm left for Brent to come home to if it killed her. As Papa continued to yell, she braced against the thought that it might.
Sid shrugged out of his jacket, keeping one hand on the wheel, and threw his jacket on the truck seat next to him. The truck slid around a large pothole as he traveled the back highway toward the Goodman farm. The week had been jammed with activity. He hadn’t swung by and checked on the fields as promised. That inability to follow through grated on him. The moment his duties ended Friday afternoon, he’d known exactly where he needed to go.
Now he neared the farm. Compared to the other fields lining the county roads, Goodman’s acres showed neglect. Enough neglect to make him wonder how on earth the spitfire from last week thought she could handle the land alone.
Maybe Anna had a hidden solution, but he doubted it.
The image of Mr. Goodman’s face flashed through Sid’s mind. He’d only interacted with the man once, but his features had twisted into a mask of bitterness. He’d argued with the county extension agent in charge of assigning prisoners to work groups that he must have help. No one had stuck around on the farm, and he couldn’t maintain the three hundred acres on his own. Sid had hustled his team to the farm, only to have Mr. Goodman refuse to open his door or leave his house.
The man seemed filled with contradictions. Griping passionately for help one day, and ignoring the same the next.
Sid pulled down the narrow lane that led to the farmhouse and barn. If Anna’d come home tonight, her sharp tongue would make it interesting. He’d been serious when he told her he’d keep an eye on the place. Someone needed to. She reminded him so much of Pattie before she married Peter and he sucked the spark of life from her. The similarities hurt.
He stopped the truck in front of the barn. He walked to the house and banged on the back door. A shuffling sound neared the door. The curtain on the door’s window swept to the side, and Mr. Goodman peered out. He cracked the door.
“What you need, boy?” The hint of something sour carried on his breath.
“Wanted you to know I’m here checking the fields.”
“Why waste your time?” Mr. Goodman’s face twisted.
“The Army intends to fulfill its contract with you.” Sid tried to peer around him to see if Anna’d made it home. He stepped back when it became clear Mr. Goodman wouldn’t invite him in. “Good night.”
The door slammed in his face. “All right.” Sid spun on his heel. He walked the edge of the nearest field and started to cut through it. The sound of a booming voice carrying on the wind through a window halted his progress. He strained to hear the words.
“Girl, you’re one to sass me. Home an hour, and I get nothing but disrespect. Get over here and clean up this mess.”
The yelling tapered off, and Sid hesitated. The cause wasn’t his business. Maybe the man lived life angry. That would explain why everyone had left. Which developed first? The leaving, the anger, or the drinking?
The thought of his brother-in-law and the way he harangued Pattie left Sid’s blood boiling. He couldn’t protect Pattie across the miles, but he refused to let anyone treat another woman that way. He started across the yard to the house.
A door bounced open and then slammed shut. Sid looked toward the sound and saw Anna leave the house, muttering under her breath. Her head was down, shoulders hunched as if protecting herself from the next shell her father would lob.
She scooped up a bucket, where it listed against the side of the house, and hurried toward the barn. Headed to do chores? Her face looked pale with splotches of color in the middle of her cheeks. He followed in case she needed help. Though he could imagine her response. He surveyed the fields. There wasn’t much he could do about them until he returned with his group of POWs.
Anna disappeared around the corner of the barn, and he picked up his pace. A small shack stood tucked in its shadow. The cacophony coming from the ramshackle hut indicated it was a chicken coop. Her steps slowed as she neared the door, then slipped inside.
Five minutes later Sid lounged against the side of the barn when she stepped outside. “Need help with the chores?”
She startled and juggled the basket, mouth open as she stared at him. “What are you doing here?”
A lazy grin creased his face. “I told you I’d keep an eye on the farm. I’m a man of my word.”
“We can’t pay. Anything.”
“The United States Army takes care of my pay, ma’am.”
The tightness around her eyes eased, and the redness to her eyes almost disappeared in the tinge of laughter. “So they have. I imagine you have other tasks than keeping an eye on a failing farm.”
“Not once my prisoners are assigned.” He reached for the basket, and their fingers brushed. Electricity flowed between them, and he swallowed hard. “Let me help you with that, then we can get to anything else that needs to be done.”
She chewed on her lower lip as her glance darted toward the house then around the yard. She seemed determined to look anywhere but at him. Finally, her gaze landed on him, and she squared her shoulders as if reaching a decision. “I’d like that, but only if you quit calling me ma’am.”
He dipped his head. “All right.” He considered her a moment. “Who does the work when you aren’t here?”
“I don’t know. Papa must drag himself out of the house most days. But sometimes when I get here, the poor cow looks so miserable I wonder when he milked her last.” She pushed a blonde curl behind her ear, but it refused to stay in place. His fingers itched to reach out and brush it back. “He milks and does the other chores when he gets thirsty or hungry. He wasn’t always like this. But now he’s unbearable. I dread coming home but feel like I have to or there won’t be anything for my brother to return to when this war finally ends.” Her hand covered her mouth probably to stop more from escaping.
Sid slipped a hand into a pocket and rocked back on his heels. “Look, instead of standing here in the yard, let me take you to dinner. Give you a break for a bit.” Her forehead crinkled as she frowned at him. “Think of it as a chance to educate me about the farm. What works best. What to avoid. Between us we’ll keep the farm running.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. “There’s a lot to do, and I only have until Sunday.”
“All the more reason to accept my offer. And give me some way to contact you during the week if I have a question.” He quirked an eyebrow at her in his best Clark Gable impression and waited.
“What’s keeping you, girl? I’m starving in here.” The bellowing carried from the house to their position. Anna squared her shoulders and set her chin.
“I accept. But on one condition.”
“What?”
“You milk the cow while I make a quick supper for Papa. I need to know he gets at least three days of good meals a week.” She hurried toward the house before he could stop her or claim that contact information.
He entered the barn’s interior and waited for his eyes to adjust. He eased down the aisle toward the cow standing in her pen. He stared at the large animal, then swallowed when he spied her bulging udder. Was now a good time to mention he didn’t know the first thing about milking a cow? Guess he’d learn the old-fashioned way, good ol’ trial and error. If he was lucky, he might just have the task completed before Anna joined him.
He grabbed the empty pail he’d carried in and eased into the stall. The cow stamped her feet impatiently and kept her eyes on him.
Then again, he might be branded by the cow’s hoof.