The Road to Love (11 page)

“Believing isn't the same as feeling. Even if you believe, you can have all sorts of feelings, including hunger and cold. Don't change who God is.”

She stared at him, her eyes revealing her struggle with his words. “‘Believing isn't the same as feeling.' I like that.” Suddenly, the inner light returned to her eyes, leaving him relieved almost to the point of silliness.

He wanted to click his heels together and salute the heavens. He did neither. Just grabbed the empty pails and stowed them in the granary.

“Yes, I like that,” she murmured again, her smile as bright as the sunlit sky.

The drill box was full, ready to go.

“I'm thirsty,” she said. They both headed toward the well for a drink.

“Don't you ever get lonely?” she asked, as she wiped the trail of water from her mouth.

Her words shocked him as if he'd fallen into the trough full of cold water. His gut twisted like a summer tornado, a tumult of emotions. He steadied his hand, stifled his thoughts as he filled the dipper and tipped his head back to drink.

He wouldn't tell of the nights he lay awake staring up at the stars. He wouldn't even allow himself to think about them. Or how he wondered what his life would be in another ten years. Would he still be alive? Would he be someone normal people ran away from? Like the man in the Bible who inhabited the tombs?

A person couldn't think too far ahead. It might drive him to desperation.

“‘God is our refuge and strength; a very present help in trouble.' Psalm forty-six, verse one.” Now why had he said that verse? Made it sound like he needed to be comforted. Feared danger. He tried to think of a more reassuring verse.

“‘I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.' Matthew twenty-eight, verse twenty.”

She rocked her head back and forth. “I wish I had your faith. Then maybe I wouldn't find it so hard to think of letting the farm go. I wouldn't be so afraid of being homeless.”

Hatcher didn't argue. She had it wrong, though. His faith sustained him but it was his fear that kept him homeless.

K
ate drank again of the cold refreshing water. If only she could be as relaxed as Hatcher about home and belonging and safety and all the things this farm meant to her and her children. “I know I should trust God more. He's promised to meet all my needs. Yet, I can't let go of what this farm is. You know what I mean?”

Hatcher hung the dipper and wiped his mouth. “Sort of.”

He met her eyes. A flash of pain, dark and heavy filled them. She knew then they shared the same weight of disappointment and hardship. She couldn't guess the source of his, but in that moment, before he lowered his eyes, she felt a connection, a kinship. She wondered if he realized how much he'd revealed in those fleeting seconds.

She jerked her head up and stared across the familiar yard, startled to realize she'd told him more about her farm, her dreams and her fears than she'd shared with anyone. More than she'd ever admitted to Sally and certainly more than Doyle knew or cared to know.

“So you once had the same thing—farm, home, belonging. What happened, Hatcher? How did you lose it?”

“I didn't.” He touched the brim of his hat, avoided meeting her gaze and headed for the tractor. He didn't appear to hurry yet his strides ate up the distance and within minutes he headed for the field.

What secrets hid behind his words, his withdrawal? Perhaps she would never know. He was here such a short time. She crossed her arms over her stomach and tried not to think how alone she would be when he left. Even worse than before, because until he came she'd never really had anyone to share her thoughts with.

She rubbed at her jaw. She would not allow herself to think about it.

She watched for a while, smiling as he planted her crop. Her gaze shifted from watching the furrows behind the drill, to the mysterious man driving the tractor. Both Sally and Doyle had warned her of the dangers of associating with a hobo but she'd seen enough to be convinced of a number of things:

He knew farmwork, seemed as familiar with it as if raised on a farm.

He was honest. If he'd wanted to steal anything, he could. She never locked anything up.

He was gentle and kind with both her children.

And if someone asked, and she answered truthfully, she'd have to admit his quiet strength meant something to her.

She snorted. Some would say she exhibited signs of a lonely widow woman, looking for manly attention that didn't exist simply to persuade herself she might yet find another man to marry.

For another moment, she watched Hatcher, relaxed looking despite the bounce of the tractor. Yearning filled her soul. She didn't want a man just to have a man. But she ached to share with someone. Be able to reveal her deepest feelings without fear of ridicule or condemnation. Hatcher, with his quiet patience, had allowed her that if only for brief periods.

 

For several days, Hatcher seeded wheat. Kate rejoiced in every acre planted and continued to pray for the desperately needed rain.

Today they were going to plant corn. First, they had to go to the Sandstrums and pick up the seed she'd traded some seed wheat for.

She let Hatcher get behind the wheel of the truck. She settled on the stiff seat beside him. He had long fingers, as brown as the soil of her farm, yet his nails were neatly trimmed and surprisingly clean.

She forced her gaze straight ahead and pointed him in the right direction.

Mr. Sandstrum, out seeding, saw them approach, stopped the tractor and crossed the field to greet them as they pulled up to the bin where Kate knew he kept his corn.

“Kate, I been wondering when you'd come.”

“Mr. Sandstrum. This is Hatcher Jones. He's putting in my crop for me.”

The men shook hands. Mr. Sandstrum pushed his dusty hat back on his head, revealing a white forehead as he gave Hatcher a long, hard look then nodded.

Kate wondered if that signified approval.

“'Bout time you found help.” He threw open a bin. “It's bagged and ready to go.”

Kate stood by, wanting to help, but Mr. Sandstrum waved her toward the house.

“Not woman's work. You go visit the missus.”

She wanted to argue but caught a sudden flash of a smile on Hatcher's lips. “We'll manage,” he murmured.

Knowing they would and she would only be in the way, she nodded. She'd wanted to see Alice and the new baby anyway.

At her knock, Alice called for her to enter. Alice sat in the kitchen, her blond hair in tangled disarray, her hands hanging limp at her side. Unwashed dishes stood on the table, the floor was unswept and dirty.

Kate rushed forward. “Alice, you look ill. What's wrong?”

Alice swung her gaze toward Kate, stared without recognition then blinked her eyes into focus. “It's not me. It's the baby. She never stops fussing.”

Kate heard a weak mewling from the other room and hurried to get the baby. The infant needed clean diapers. Her little bottom was red and sore, her legs so thin tears stung Kate's eyes. She cleaned up the baby and took her to Alice. “Are you nursing?”

“Trying.” As soon Alice put the baby to her breast, Kate knew what the problem was. Alice had no milk.

“Alice, you have to give the baby a bottle. Do you have any cow's milk?”

“Axel let the cows go dry.”

“I'll bring some from home.” When she did, she'd come prepared to spend the day. Let Alice sleep a few hours while she cleaned the house and bathed the poor wee mite of a baby.

While she waited for Hatcher to load the corn, she boiled water and washed dishes.

“I'll return,” she told Alice as she heard the truck approach.

Alice nodded wearily, too exhausted Kate knew, to care about anything. Even her baby.

“I have to get right back,” she said to Hatcher as soon as she closed the truck door behind her. “The Sandstrums have an eight-week-old baby who's starving to death. I'm going to take milk over. And I'm going to stay to help. You don't need me anyway.”

Hatcher grunted. “Think I can figure out what end of the seed to plant first.”

“You don't have—” She broke off, knowing he was teasing her, and laughed. “I'm sure you can.”

“Will the little one be all right?”

“I hope so. She's awfully weak. I just hope I can get her to take a bottle. I'll need to pray really hard. Will you, too?”

“Certainly.”

“Right now? I'm afraid it's almost too late for the baby.”

Hatcher looked startled, surprised, uncomfortable then resigned as if he couldn't be bothered to argue with her. They approached the driveway to her farm. “Okay if I drive to the house first?”

She laughed, felt a quick release of the tension knotting her stomach since she'd seen the sickly baby.

He stopped the truck in front of the house.

Neither of them moved. She could hear his breath rasp in and out.

The silence between them grew awkward.

She stared out the window. She couldn't believe she'd asked him to pray with her. She hadn't prayed aloud with anyone in her entire life. For one shaky moment, she thought to withdraw her request. Then she remembered how weak the infant was, faced him and grabbed his hand. “I'm really worried about the baby. I need some of your strength to go back and care for her.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I'm afraid the wee thing will die. Please pray I'll know what to do and the baby will live.”

He hesitated, a hard, unreadable expression on his face. Was he uncomfortable praying aloud? But she knew he was a Christian; he must have been called upon to pray aloud before this. Was he embarrassed to pray for a tiny baby? Somehow she didn't think that could be the reason. Perhaps it was simply because they didn't know each other well.

He slowly bowed his head.

Relieved to see he meant to comply with her request, she did the same.

“Heavenly Father,” he said, his voice thick. “Touch the Sandstrum baby and make her well. Amen.”

Kate took a deep breath. “Lord, don't let it be too late. Please. And help me know what to do. Amen.”

His hand lay warm beneath her palm, his fingers curled away in a hard fist.

She jerked away, heat stinging her cheeks at her boldness. Immediately she missed the contact. Felt an emptiness that knew no beginning, no end.

He shifted, slipped his arm up the steering wheel as if to make sure it was out of her reach.

At his obvious withdrawal, tears stung Kate's eyes. She grabbed for the door, intent on escape. What had she expected? That he'd protest and reach for her hand again? Of course not. She sucked in a calming breath. It would not be good, she warned herself, to get used to sharing her burdens with a man who couldn't wait to leave.

Shoving stubborn resolve down her limbs, she looked in the window. “I'll get things ready—” she said, her voice mercifully calm “—while you unload the corn.”

He sent her a quick smile. “I've no doubt you'll know how to handle things.”

The threatening tears of a moment ago turned to liquid surprise. She dashed at her eyes with fingers that seemed suddenly stronger. How long had it been since anyone believed in her?

She hoped her eyes wouldn't reveal her gratitude and longing and aching. “Thank you.”

She studied his strong, calm face, felt a sudden urge to kiss him, she was that grateful. She hurried to the house before she made a fool of herself and concentrated on the tasks she must complete.

She made enough sandwiches for Hatcher and the Sandstrums, noted she'd have to mix up more bread when she got home, gathered together supplies for the baby and a clean towel for the poor little thing's bath.

Hatcher brought the truck to the house and she handed him his lunch. Thankfully, he seemed oblivious to her weakness of a few minutes ago in the truck. Or else, she suspected, more likely he chose to ignore it.

He helped her carry the supplies to the truck.

She paused before she got behind the wheel. “Please continue to pray. I'll be back when the children get home from school. Or as soon as possible.” She hesitated. Would the children be all right if she happened to be late?

“I'll watch for them,” Hatcher said.

Knowing he'd be here, she gladly let that worry go.

Axel Sandstrum was working out in the field when she returned. Kate wondered if he'd given the baby or his wife more than a glimpse. Surely if he did, he'd be in the house tending them instead of his fields.

But she didn't have time to wonder about his lack of concern. She pushed into the house without knocking.

Alice slumped in the same chair, in the same position as when Kate left, her cheeks pale hollows, dark shadows circling her eyes. Kate wondered if the woman was more than just tired and touched her brow. She didn't seem feverish.

“Alice, honey, go rest. I'm going to feed the baby and take care of things for a while.”

Alice stared at her.

“Come on.” Kate helped her to her feet and urged her toward the bedroom. She edged her to the side of the bed where Alice collapsed. Kate helped her stretch out, covered her with a quilt and left.

She prepared a bottle of milk and went to the cradle where the baby lay motionless, her eyes wide. It frightened Kate that the baby didn't cry or respond when Kate bent over and cooed at her. She scooped up the infant, checked her diaper, found it still dry. Knew that wasn't a good sign. She wrapped a tiny blanket around the little thing and cuddled her close.

“Come on, baby, you have to eat.” She edged the nipple into the tiny mouth. The baby made no effort to suck and when milk dripped out of the nipple it ran out the sides of the pink mouth. The baby never even tried to swallow.

Axel stomped into the house. “Where's Alice? Where's my dinner?”

“Alice is resting. I brought some sandwiches.” She pointed to them. “I'm going to stay and help Alice this afternoon. She's wore right out.”

“The baby's been real fussy.”

The baby didn't have the strength to cry. Pity and anger mingled that her father hadn't noticed. “The baby is starving. You need to get a milk cow. I can bring milk over for a few days until you do.” Kate refrained from saying what was uppermost in her mind. If this little bitty girl didn't start eating, the Sandstrums wouldn't need a cow.
Please, God, help her swallow. Don't let me be too late
.

Mr. Sandstrum glanced at the baby in Kate's arms. “Not a hearty baby.”

“She's starving. You'll be surprised at the difference if we can get her to take this milk.” But instead of sucking, the baby fell asleep in her arms.

Kate sat in the wooden rocking chair in the tiny living room and swayed back and forth. The chair listed to one side but she ignored it and sang every lullaby she knew as the baby slept.

An hour later the baby stirred and Kate prodded her awake, tried again to get her to swallow and suck. The infant lay practically lifeless. “Come on, baby,” she whispered, wishing she could remember the little girl's name. “You have to fight. You don't want to give up. There are too many delights in this world to leave it without enjoying them. You'll get so much fun out of discovering how soft a kitten is, hearing a bird sing, watching it fly from branch to branch, seeing your first newborn calf, learning to read and write and sing. Come on, baby.” As she murmured to the baby, she silently prayed. And then her prayers and baby conversation twisted together. “Come on, baby.
Please, God, give her the strength to suck.
One of these days you'll fill your hands with dandelions and bring them to your momma.
Please, God, don't let this precious baby die.
All it takes is for you to start eating.
Just one swallow, God. I'm sure once she starts she'll be on her way.
You'll learn about God and His love.
God, I know You love her but it's too soon to take her back into Your arms. Alice needs her. Restore Alice's strength, too, please, God.