Free Where Willows Grow by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page A

had agreed with Harley about following tracks rather than the road. He’d also agreed about not hitching a free ride in a boxcar.
    ‘‘Be kind of like stealing, wouldn’t it?’’ Dirk winked. ‘‘Don’t know about your mama, but mine never was one for lettin’ me take somethin’ that didn’t belong to me.’’
    Harley released a brief laugh. ‘‘Your mama an’ my wife would get along real good, what with reading the Bible every day and speaking out against stealing. Annie’s got real strong ideas about right and wrong.’’
    ‘‘Annie? That your wife?’’
    Harley’s heart expanded as he thought about his Annie. Prettiest girl in Spencer—easily the prettiest in all of Reno County. And she’d married Harley Phipps, a drifter from Mississippi who’d hardly had two pennies to his name. ‘‘Yep. Anna Mae, but I call her Annie.’’ He chuckled. ‘‘She doesn’t much care for it, but somehow wrapping my tongue around Anna Mae just ain’t easy.’’
    Dirk nodded. ‘‘And she’s a God-fearing woman?’’
    ‘‘Bible reading every day, church every Sunday, prayers all the time. Yep, she’s God-fearing.’’ Harley scowled. ‘‘For what good it does her.’’
    ‘‘What you mean by that?’’
    Harley sneaked a glance in Dirk’s direction. For the first time, the big man’s face wore no easy smile. He seemed genuinely interested in Harley’s answer.
    ‘‘All that prayin’ . . . Asking God to bless the food, to bless the land, to bring us rain.’’ He snorted. ‘‘Rain. Ha! Look at that sky.’’ He flung his arm outward, gesturing toward the expanse of shimmering blue overhead. ‘‘Not so much as a cloud anywhere. See how much good her praying does?’’
    Dirk shrugged, shifting his pack higher on his shoulder. ‘‘Must do some good, or she wouldn’t keep prayin’.’’
    ‘‘But nobody answers!’’ Harley surprised himself with his vehemence.
    Dirk raised one eyebrow. ‘‘Listen, Harley, I don’t know how you was raised, but my ma and pa taught me that God loves me. Loves me so much He sent His Son to die on a cross just so I could have my sins forgiven. I figure a God who loves me that much has the right to decide what I need and when I need it. Sure, I’d like it to rain, too—hurts me to see plants all shriveled up and my pa watching the farm he’s worked so hard on just fallin’ apart.’’
    Harley saw tears glint in the big man’s eyes, and he turned away from the sight. Men and tears didn’t mix. Especially not with a man the size of Dirk. Those tears gave Harley a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach.
    ‘‘But seein’ all that don’t keep me from praying. Praying’s not just to get something, Harley—praying’s for what it does for you. Connects you with your Maker. Keeps you in touch. You figure your relationship with your Annie would be worth anything if you never talked to her?’’ He poked Harley with his elbow.
    Harley grimaced but didn’t reply. His and Annie’s talking had slowed down too much, and Harley knew it.
    Dirk chuckled. ‘‘Yep, gotta talk to keep a relationship goin’. So I talk to God. Then I trust Him to take care of me in the way that’s best.’’
    Harley couldn’t stay silent. ‘‘An’ you figure this drought is what’s best?’’
    ‘‘My ways ain’t God’s ways.’’ Dirk poked out his lips in thought for a moment. ‘‘In the Bible, God lets hardship bring folks around to Him. Funny how some folks keep their distance ’til they really need Him.’’
    Harley kicked at a dirt clod.
    ‘‘In the meantime,’’ Dirk continued, seemingly oblivious to Harley’s churning temper, ‘‘I’m mighty thankful for this job opportunity. Thankful to you, too, for mentionin’ it. I figure you’re God’s messenger, Harley.’’
    Harley nearly laughed out loud. Him? God’s messenger? ‘‘You’re thankin’ the wrong person. I don’t have nothin’ to do with that job—thank President Roosevelt.