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JACK BARNES WAS THE first to rise each morning. He lit his lantern and limped across the Armstrong property, leaving the cozy quarters built for him onto the back of the main house, and headed toward the barn. Ken and Evelyn Armstrong were the only people willing to take a chance on him, and Jack was grateful for the opportunity to prove himself.
He set his lantern on the bench, freeing up a hand to open the barn door. Leaning on his cane, he gave the door a tug and was met by the smell of warm animal bodies and not-so-fresh hay.
“Good morning,” he called out. Still groggy with sleep, the animals shuffled in their stalls.
He hung his lantern from a hook, grabbed a bucket, and lowered himself with a groan onto the three-legged milking stool next to Daisy. Rubbing his thigh, he shifted to a more comfortable position. The cumbersome leg brace made everything a little more difficult. With every stiff muscle, every twinge or stumble, Jack was reminded of the life-changing day ten years ago.
Always one to try and out-do his over-achieving big brother, he climbed higher than he knew was safe in the old oak tree in their front yard. He was nine. Harry was ten.
“You better come down,” Harry had yelled up to him. “You’re too high.”
Jack kept climbing. “You went higher.”
“Yeah, but I’m older. Father will tan my backside if you fall and hurt yourself.”
Jack laughed at the idea. “No, he won’t.” Harry was never punished for anything. Jack pulled himself up one more limb, just high enough to beat Harry’s record.
There was no time between the first crack and the limb tearing free for Jack to grab another branch. He woke up in Doc Peterson’s surgery, his left leg encased in plaster and hanging from a make-shift pully. Their mother was crying, and Doc was explaining to their father why Jack would be a cripple. Doc never actually used the word cripple, but Jack knew what he meant.
Meanwhile, Harry stood quietly sniffing in the corner, staring at his feet. Jack learned later Harry received quite a tongue-lashing from their mother all the way into town, and after they got home their father did, indeed, tan his backside. Then Father made Harry help their hired man cut down the tree. It would be the first and last time Harry suffered a punishment for his misdeeds. Ironically, it was the one time it wasn’t his fault.
Done milking Daisy, Jack moved on to Rosebud. He stroked her side to still her anxious hooves.
“Would you believe one time I actually tied a brick around my ankle and tried hanging from a limb on a different tree?”
Rosebud turned her head toward him and bellowed.
“Did it work, you ask? If it worked, would I still be using a cane and wearing this blasted thing?” He slapped the brace and laughed. “All that stunt got me was a fresh break and a lot of pain.”
When he first came to work on the Armstrong farm, Ken Armstrong, the school principal, kept only enough animals to suit his family’s needs. Evelyn Armstrong was the school music teacher. She kept chickens, gardened, and taught piano. But when they heard of Jack’s dream to one day buy a farm of his own, they offered him the chance to turn their small farm into a profitable operation, while earning the money he’d need for a down payment. In the year he’d been there, he’d already doubled the number of animals and the size of the garden. Plans were in place to plant their first corn crop the next spring.
By the time he finished the milking, the sun was streaming in through the double front doors. He put out the lantern, dragged fresh bales of hay into the fenced cows’ yard, and filled their water trough. Once they were secured outside for the day, he did the same for the horses then slopped the pigs.
Mopping sweat from his face with the kerchief he kept tucked in his back pocket, he leaned against the side of the barn and watched the horses. He used the quiet moment to catch his breath and enjoy the solitude. Not a cloud broke the sky, barely a breeze rustled the leaves. Cicadas buzzed and the mourning doves called out from their perches high in the barn rafters. It was going to be a hot one. He’d have to pace himself if he was to get all his work done without falling prey to heat stroke.
“Another beautiful day,” a soft voice said from behind him.
Jack jumped, knocking his cane to the ground.
Alice bent over to retrieve it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He took it from her. Their hands brushed sending sparks, like heat lightening, flashing through his veins. “Thanks,” he stammered. “I was so busy watching Sugar and Molasses chase each other around the corral, I didn’t hear you.” Alice laughed at the horses’ antics. To Jack, her laughter sounded like church bells ringing on a Sunday morning.
Jack returned to his chores, picking up the pitchfork to clean the stalls. “Did you girls enjoy the lake yesterday?”
Alice followed him. “We did.” She held up her basket. “Mom sent me out to collect eggs and tell you to wash up, breakfast is almost ready.”
“You can tell her I’ll be in presently.”
Alice turned to leave then stopped. “Jack, when was the last time you heard from Harry? Lizzie got a letter from Fin a couple weeks ago saying he was coming home, but he didn’t say a word about Harry. I haven’t heard from him since before Easter.”
Jack let his hand rest on the pocket holding his brother’s most recent letter. He knew when Alice didn’t say anything about Harry’s homecoming, she hadn’t received a letter of her own. When he suggested to his father, the almighty Harold Barnes, Sr., they should show it to her, that she had a right to know, his father’s reply was, When Harry wants her to know, Harry will tell her. Alice doesn’t have a right to know anything unless Harry says she does. Jack tried to talk to his mother but, like always, she sided with her husband. So, Jack took the matter into his own hands and pocketed the letter when no one was looking.
“Jack?”
He hated being the one to tell her. He reluctantly held it out for her to read. He knew when she got to the part about Harry’s injuries. A trembling hand went to her mouth to muffle a little cry. He took the letter from her before she dropped it in the mud and muck.
“They didn’t tell me, either. I found my parents’ letter quite by accident after dinner last Sunday.” Jack waited for Alice to say something, anything. “Harry should have told you himself. Don’t know why he didn’t.”
Alice took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. “But . . .” Her voice cracked. “Blind?” She dropped down onto a hay bale.
“Only the one eye.” He handed her his handkerchief. He had to admit it wasn’t much consolation when the news was still so fresh and raw. “And, knowing Harry, an eye patch will make him twice as handsome to the girls and twice the hero to the men.” He regretted saying that as soon as it left his mouth. He’d meant it as a joke to make her smile. He hated seeing her upset.
She chuckled. “Kind of like a pirate.”
“And did you see the part at the end where he says he’ll be home, both him and Fin, on next Monday’s train?”
“I did.” The spark returned to her eyes, the glow to her cheeks. She wiped her nose one last time and stood. “I’ll wash this and return it to you.” She tucked his soggy and rumpled handkerchief into her apron pocket.
“No rush. I have others.”
She nodded. “Thank you for telling me about Harry.”
“Mother and Aunt Caroline are planning on cooking the fatted calf in celebration, and I know they’ll expect you there.” Well, at least Aunt Caroline will. His mother was going to need to learn to accept that Harry loved Alice. They were to be married. If he could, so could she.
“I’ll bake a chocolate cake. Harry loves my chocolate cake. I think it’ll be all right to bend the rationing rules this one time. After all, we’re supposed to be saving food supplies for our fighting men, and that’s our Harry.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You’ll tell them for me, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
Alice held up her empty egg basket. “I’d better get to it. Mom’s waiting for me.”
Alice unlatched the gate to the chicken yard and disappeared into the coop. For Jack, being close to Alice was the best part of working for the Armstrongs.
He knew she was promised to Harry. When his brother returned from the war, they would marry, and she would become his sister. But at least he could be near her for the time being. Every morning as he went about his work, the light from his lantern swinging at his side, he’d see Alice and her mother through the kitchen window preparing breakfast. And every day, he wished she was his.
She hurried to the house with her full basket of eggs, leaving Jack to worry how he was going to tell his parents he’d gone against their, and apparently his brother’s wishes.
He washed his face and hands in the water trough, wet back his hair, and went into the house for breakfast.
* * *
JACK REMOVED HIS HAT and knocked on the screen door before entering. The kitchen was buzzing with the news of Harry’s return.
“Sit down, Jack.” Ken Armstrong pointed to the empty chair across from him. “Your parents must be excited about Harry. Shame about his eye, but things could be much worse.”
Alice handed her father a cup of coffee. Jack never ceased to be amazed at how gently Mr. Armstrong held his wife’s tiny porcelain cups. His fingers, while not large by other men’s standards, appeared massive when he gripped the delicate handle. Alice once told him the cups had belonged to her grandmother and how much she loved the delicate pink roses and gold edging. The cups were definitely better suited to Jack’s mother’s social circle than the Armstrong farm kitchen. Still, they seemed right.
Alice filled an identical cup and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” He took a sip and carefully set it down on the table. “Yes, sir, Mother’s anxious to have him home.”
Evelyn Armstrong set a sizzling skillet brimming with scrambled eggs on a towel in the center of the table, alongside a pot of oatmeal and a plate piled with biscuits still hot from the oven. There was no butter, but plenty of honey to sweeten their meal. She drizzled some on her biscuit and handed the honeypot to Jack. “What I don’t understand is why they didn’t tell Alice. She and Harry are to be married.”
“I think they didn’t want to worry her.”
Alice’s father smiled at his daughter. “Of course, that’s why. Harry probably wanted to surprise you and to be able to show you himself that everything is fine without all the worrying and wondering.”
Mr. Armstrong doted on his only child and Jack couldn’t blame him. Alice was a light in the darkness. Always there to help in any way needed, always with a kind word.
“I’m certain you’re right, Dad. More coffee?” She brought over the big pot. “Jack?” She filled his next and returned the pot to the back burner.
Jack wondered if Mr. Armstrong knew how much his parents disapproved of Alice for a daughter-in-law. They were never convinced Alice was the right choice for their prized eldest son. She wasn’t a bad choice, just not the best choice. Harry was set to take over the bank. He was the local football star, basketball star, baseball star, and now a war hero. He was their golden child.
What Jack couldn’t understand was why Harry didn’t tell her about his injuries and imminent return himself. He was supposed to be in love with her.