Free Mackinnons #02 For All the Right Reasons by Elaine Coffman

velvet, or the hair-infested droppings of a bobcat. It was where he had lain in a meadow of sweet clover and studied clouds and funguses on stumps and been amazed at their caricatures. It was where he learned to ride like an Indian, swim like a fish, work like the devil, and say, in spite of all life threw at him, he’d do it all again in a minute, if he had the chance.
    Of all the memories that called out to him from this place, none were as strong as the memory of Karin. Karin with the brightest blue eyes this side of heaven. Karin with hair as cool and pale as a moonbeam. Karin, so lovely, so misunderstood. Sometimes he felt as if he were the only person in the world who understood her and her often prissy, determined ways. He couldn’t fault her for wanting more than life had seen fit to give her so far. There was no harm in that. Folks who didn’t know her thought her to be selfish and vain, but she was hardworking and frugal, and she knew what she wanted. There were times he felt as if some of her ambition, her desire to better herself had rubbed off on him, for the poverty he had left behind held no appeal for him, and like Karin, he wanted something more. Only one really big difference that he knew of stood between them. He loved the land, and drew his strength from it. Karin saw it as something you walked on. “For God’s sake, Alex. It’s only dirt!”
    He shook his head at the memory and almost laughed. How many times had he heard her say that? And how many times had he taken her in his arms and kissed her, saying, “Sweetheart, this dirt is going to give you everything you ever wanted, everything your adorable heart desires.”
    Karin was too practical to be taken in by visionary dreams. “I don’t survive on fairy tales,” she had said. “I don’t soar on imaginary wings. Life isn’t a dream. It’s fact, Alex. Cold, hard, cruel fact.”
    “Why are you so unhappy with your life, with what you have?”
    “Because I have to be, don’t you see that?”
    “No, I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to do my best to give you the things you want. This land, this soil that I love will make me a wealthy man one day.”
    “And if it doesn’t?”
    “Then we’ll still have each other.”
    “It isn’t enough, Alex. I love you, but it isn’t enough.” She had turned the loveliest, tear-filled eyes up at him. “I read something once, something St. Augustine said. I wasn’t much more than twelve or so at the time, but it struck me so hard, I never forgot it. A year or so later, I came across it again, and this time I copied it down and hung it over my bed. I read it every night and every morning: What you are must always displease you, if you would attain to that which you are not. That’s why I’m unhappy with who I am and what I have. It isn’t because I look down my nose at others, or that I think I’m a little better than anyone else. I simply detest this life, this existence, this groveling in the dirt for a few measly potatoes. I want to wear beautiful gowns and eat at places I can’t even pronounce the name of. I want to be able to walk into a fine store and buy anything I want, without having to ask the price and listen to the snickers of others when I put it back. I know you don’t understand, Alex, and I don’t know what to say or how to explain it so that you will.” She had laughed a little—a dry, sad sound. “I understand that you don’t follow what I’m saying, for God knows I don’t always understand it myself. I only know it’s something I want above all things, something I will stretch and claw and reach for until I get it.”
    “There’s always a chance you won’t.”
    “Then I’d rather be dead.”
    “I don’t know how you can say that. Only a fool talks that way.”
    “I can say it, because it’s true. If I thought this,” she looked around her and indicated the house with a wave of her hand, “was all that I would ever have, I would take Pa’s