Where Willows Grow Read Online Free Page A

the egg gatherin’. I could see if Jack Berkley would take the eggs and milk into town, since pullin’ the coaster wagon would be too much for you. You could give him . . . maybe ten percent of the money for doin’ that for you. Jack’d probably even haul you to church on Sundays, if I asked.’’
    Anna Mae swallowed. Jack would do it—she knew that. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to see him three or four times a week, even just for picking up their extras. Long-buried memories tried to break free, and she covered her cheeks with her hands, determined to hold them back.
    ‘‘So what’cha think?’’
    He had it all worked out. It hurt that he hadn’t thought to ask her what she thought about any of this before making his decision. It also troubled her conscience—shouldn’t they pray together about such big decisions? Shouldn’t they seek the Lord’s will together, the way her mama and daddy had always done? But it was typical of Harley—forge ahead, never stop to consider that she had ideas. Or that God had plans for them, too.
    ‘‘Annie?’’
    She released a sigh. ‘‘Does it really matter what I think, Harley?’’
    He reared back, his jaw tightening. ‘‘ ’Course it does.’’
    How could he say that when it was obvious it wasn’t true? She shook her head. ‘‘Well, I think you’ve made up your mind, so I just as well oughta start putting your bag together. You might want to take some of the mule money, if there’s any left’’—she emphasized the last four words, making sure he knew he’d left her out of that transaction, too—‘‘and buy yourself some decent work boots. Your old ones won’t make it clear across Kansas.’’
    She turned her back, took up the cloth, and returned to her dishwashing. Harley stood at the counter for several long seconds, watching her. She could feel his hard stare boring into her, but she refused to look at him. Finally he let out a huff of aggravation, pushed off from the counter, and stomped out the door.
    Lowering her head over the tepid dishwater, she felt the sting of tears. Well, he was right about her being able to handle the farm. She’d grown up on it, had been doing chores from the time she was no bigger than Dorothy. After Ben, Jr., marched off to war, she’d been Daddy’s only helper until Harley wandered along. She knew what needed done. It wouldn’t be easy, with Marjorie still so little and a new one on the way, but she could do it.
    Except she didn’t want to do it—not on her own. She wanted her husband working with her instead of just alongside her. Why couldn’t she and Harley have what her mama and daddy had modeled—a partnership? Even though her daddy was a strong man, he hadn’t been bothered by asking for Mama’s thoughts on things. And when Mama talked, he listened. Why, how many times had she peeked through her parents’ doorway and seen them side-by-side on their knees, praying together?
    A lump formed in Anna Mae’s throat. She closed her eyes and whispered, ‘‘Lord, I’ve prayed so hard for Harley to come to you, so we could have what Mama and Daddy had. But he still fights you. Please, Lord, please reveal yourself to Harley. Whatever it takes . . .’’
    A heavy sigh ended the prayer. She glanced out the window again, looking across the open expanse of prairie that seemed to stretch forever. Suddenly it felt as though the little house where she’d grown up was the only house in the world, and she the only person. Responsibility bore down on her, slumping her shoulders for a moment. Then resolve made her stand straight. She could manage things while Harley was off building his castle. Sure she could.
    ‘‘As Mama always said,’’ she told herself, turning her attention back to the dishpan to scrub at dried egg yolk on the last plate, ‘‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’’ She looked toward the ceiling and released another sigh. ‘‘I’m counting on that promise, God.