Free Where Willows Grow by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

He’s the one thought up all these programs to help us out.’’
    ‘‘But I wouldn’t’ve known about it except for you. I figure God sent you along just at the time we needed the idea. Pa’s been praying. God answered with you.’’
    Harley pushed his hat brim upward and swiped at the sweat that dribbled toward his eyes. ‘‘You go ahead and believe what you want to, Dirk, an’ let me believe what I want to. Long as we can agree to disagree, we’ll get along fine.’’
    Just like me and Annie .

9
    ‘‘I’ M TIRED OF STANDING HERE . When’re they coming, Mama?’’
    Anna Mae reached out and stroked Dorothy’s blond curls. The little girl was always cranky on Sunday mornings. Anna Mae didn’t mind Dorothy’s straight, untamed hair on the weekdays, but she insisted on curls for Sunday morning church. Dorothy, however, hated sleeping on the lumpy wads of rags the night before and made sure her mother knew it.
    ‘‘They’ll be here soon, darlin’.’’ Anna Mae gave her daughter a smile even though her stomach trembled. She had resigned herself to Jack Berkley’s help with chores—she couldn’t let her pride allow the precious milk to spoil in the cellar. But having that man march around in her yard and barn was one thing—riding in his Model T Ford as he and his father escorted her and the girls to church was another. Still, she comforted herself, having Mr. Berkley with them would keep things seemly.
    ‘‘Wish they’d hurry. It’s hot out here.’’ Dorothy flapped her skirt with one hand and held her shoes in the other. Anna Mae hoped she’d be able to buy Dorothy some new shoes with Harley’s first paycheck.
    Anna Mae jiggled Marjorie, who fussed in her mother’s arms. Both girls were irritable this morning. Anna Mae could hardly blame them. Between the heat, the wind, the dust, and no daddy to play with in the evenings, there wasn’t much worth being smiley about.
    ‘‘Complaining won’t speed him up,’’ Anna Mae reminded Dorothy.
    The little girl scowled in reply. Then her expression turned puzzled. ‘‘Why aren’tcha wearing the hat Daddy bought you? He said it was for Sundays.’’
    ‘‘It’s too pretty to wear with my old dress,’’ Anna Mae answered. Truth was, she had taken the hat out this morning and placed it on her head. A glance in the mirror confirmed it was a perfect hat for her cream-colored blouse and simple tan skirt. Yet she couldn’t make herself keep it on. When she’d looked at the hat, she’d thought of the sold mules and the fact that Harley was halfway across Kansas. She hadn’t liked the reminder. So she’d put the hat back on the closet shelf.
    Anna Mae sighed and aimed her gaze toward the road. She absently smoothed a hand over her hair, which she had twisted into a knot at the back of her head. She hoped the hairpins wouldn’t rattle loose on the way to church. Already the wind had pulled a few strands from their moorings, forcing her to tuck them behind her ears. Dorothy’s curls looked tangled, too, and the bow Anna Mae had tied into the little girl’s hair appeared bedraggled. Another sigh escaped her lips. Couldn’t they at least look nice until they got to church?
    A chugga-chugga captured Anna Mae’s attention. Dorothy stood on tiptoes, watching. ‘‘There it comes!’’ Dorothy pointed to the Model T that turned in at the gate. She bounced off the porch and raced toward it.
    ‘‘Dorothy, slow down!’’ Anna Mae admonished. She understood the child’s excitement at the chance to ride in a real automobile. Truth be known, Anna Mae looked forward to it, too. Her family had never owned an automobile. If only Jack Berkley wasn’t the driver . . .
    ‘‘Hey there, Dorothy.’’ Jack smiled as he stepped out of the vehicle. ‘‘You look real pretty this morning.’’
    Anna Mae’s mother-pride welled up at Jack’s comment. Dorothy was pretty, even in her flour-sack dress and bare feet. She watched the little girl clamber