Where Willows Grow by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

what he had seen?
    Anna Mae rose from the table, carrying her half-full plate to the counter. She scraped the food into the slop pail as she said, ‘‘That’s not hiding, Dorothy. I just have no reason to talk to Mr. Berkley. He comes to get the milk, cream, and extra eggs. He doesn’t come for conversation.’’
    Dorothy released a long sigh, her chin in her hand. ‘‘I like talking to him. He’s nice, Mama.’’
    Anna Mae closed her eyes for a moment. Yes, she remembered when she thought Jack was nice. Oh, the fun they’d had growing up together. . . . But that was before he’d turned serious and scared her with his talk of how she had to be his or he’d never survive. Nobody should ever need somebody that much.
    She opened her eyes and used her fork to give the plate one more whack before dropping the plate and fork into the dishpan. ‘‘Well, you enjoy talking to him, then, but you don’t need to talk about me.’’
    Tears appeared in the corners of Dorothy’s eyes.
    Anna Mae sighed. She hadn’t intended to be so harsh. Crossing back to the table, she gave the end of Dorothy’s nose a light tap with one finger. ‘‘Surely you can find more interesting things to talk about, can’t you? Like how fast does an inchworm crawl, or why do puppy dogs wag their tails?’’ Anna Mae deliberately chose questions Dorothy had asked in the past.
    The little girl’s grin returned. ‘‘You think he might know?’’
    Anna Mae shrugged. ‘‘You never know until you ask.’’
    Dorothy bounced up from the table, her ponytail waving. ‘‘I’ll ask him when he comes today.’’
    ‘‘You do that.’’ Anna Mae used a rag to clean Marjorie’s hands as Dorothy headed toward the porch. ‘‘Before you scamper off to play, Dorothy, we need to water the garden. Get the bucket for Mama, please, and I’ll come fill it.’’
    Dorothy’s shoulders drooped for a moment, but she didn’t argue.
    Anna Mae met Dorothy at the water pump and pumped water into the bucket. Then, with Marjorie on one hip and the bucket in her free hand, she walked Dorothy to the garden, where Dorothy began her watering chores. Still hanging on to Marjorie, who attempted to eat dirt, Anna Mae knelt down and plucked weeds from between the shoots of green that she knew would one day bear vegetables.
    Satisfaction filled Anna Mae’s chest as she looked across the neat garden. Despite the lack of rain, despite the lack of Harley’s assistance, the tiny plants flourished beneath the Kansas sun. In another couple weeks she’d drop the seeds for beans, peas, tomatoes, and corn into their waiting rows. Her mouth watered as she imagined the first taste of fresh green beans cooked with bacon and onion. At least her family wouldn’t go hungry.
    Dorothy splashed a dipperful of water onto the nearest cabbage plant, spattering her mother’s knee. Anna Mae squealed and reached to tickle the child, and Dorothy scampered away, giggling.
    Anna Mae shielded her eyes and watched Dorothy for a few minutes, sending up a silent thank-you for the little girl’s willingness to help. Marjorie clunked her mother on the side of the head, and Anna Mae grabbed the baby’s hand to give it a kiss. She glanced around the area where she’d been seated and said, ‘‘Well, baby girl, we’ve got the weeds pulled here. Let’s move on.’’
    As she struggled to her feet, she heard the familiar clip-clop signaling Jack’s approach. Her stomach clenched, remembering Dorothy’s comment from breakfast. Although she had refuted it, she knew Dorothy was right—she had been hiding. The urge to race into the house was strong.
    Dorothy skipped across the garden and waved as the wagon rolled to a halt between the house and barn. ‘‘Hi, Mr. Berkley!’’ She returned to the bucket, humming.
    ‘‘Hello there, Dorothy,’’ Jack greeted as he jumped down. He ambled toward the garden.
    Anna Mae watched him out of the corner of her eye as she rounded the row of scrawny