Authors: Linda Ford
She leaped to her feet, a boundless energy begging for release. “Let's play tag,” she called. “Not it.”
The children quickly called “Not it” and danced away from Hatcher. His expression shiftedâsurprise, refusal and then mischief. He turned away to stare down the coulee. “Who said I wanted to play?”
Dougie sidled up to him. “Aww, come on. Play with us.”
Kate saw it coming and laughed as Hatcher spun around and tagged Dougie. “You're it.”
Dougie looked surprised, swallowed hard then headed for his sister but Mary had guessed what was coming and raced away, then turned and headed toward Kate. Squealing, Kate broke into a run, Dougie hot on her heels. When had her son learned to run so fast?
He tagged her easily.
She leaned over her knees, catching her breath. Waiting until they all moved in, teasing and taunting her. She continued to pretend to be out of breath until she saw Hatcher out of the corner of her eye. She waited, gauged the distance then sprang at him. He leaped away but she tagged his elbow. “You're it,” she gloated.
“Cheater,” he growled. “You were faking.”
“Part of the game.”
Hatcher headed for Mary, who screamed and took off at an incredible pace. Kate shook her head. Both her children had grown so much and she'd hardly noticed except to buy new clothes. Dougie bounced around at what he considered a safe distance but suddenly Hatcher veered to his right and lunged at the boy, tagging him before he could escape.
They played until, breathless from running and weak from laughing, Kate called a halt. “I'm going to melt into a little puddle soon.” She flopped on her back. “Wish we'd brought some water.”
The children joined her, one on each side and Hatcher sat a foot away, his arms draped over his bent legs.
“We should take more holidays,” Dougie declared.
“You are absolutely right.” Kate promised herself she wouldn't let so much time pass before she played with her children again. She blew out a sigh. “I suppose it's time to go home.”
“Aww,” the children chorused.
“Soon,” Kate said, as reluctant to end the day as they. She sat up. “Days like this remind me why I like the prairie.”
“I hate the wind,” Mary murmured.
“It's okay as long as it isn't blowing all the dirt around,” Dougie said.
Kate glanced at Hatcher. Saw her worry reflected in his eyes. It hadn't rained for days. And then barely enough to settle the surface. All it needed for a dust storm was a hot dry wind. Her hair tugged at her scalp. Had the wind increased as they enjoyed the spring day?
She pushed to her feet. “We better go.”
Before they reached the shelter of the farm, a black cloud appeared in the south. Mary started to cry. Kate grabbed Dougie's hand; Hatcher grabbed Mary's and they broke into a hard run. Dust stung their eyes as they raced for home. They veered around the barn, found a pocket of wind-free shelter, took in a deep breath and made the last dash for the house. They burst in, pushing the door closed behind them.
Kate didn't slow down. “I have to plug the holes.” She grabbed the pail of rags and began dampening them, stuffing them around the window frames. “Here.” She tossed Hatcher a thick rug. “Put this under the door.”
He looked at the rug, looked at the door, looked at her. “I should go.”
“Not in this.” The room darkened. The wind screamed like a demented animal. Dirt rattled against the window like a black snowstorm.
Mary huddled on the chair farthest from the window and sobbed. Kate didn't have time to deal with her right now.
Hatcher took a deep breath, glanced around the room as if he thought he'd find some other means of leaving then dropped to his knees and started pushing the rug under the door where fine, brown dirt already made its way in, sweeping across the floor like a stain. “Can't seem to get it in right. Mary, do you know how to do it?”
Kate, busy trying to stop the dirt from finding a way in, spared little attention for the others but turned at his request.
Mary hesitated then slowly went to his side. “It's easy. Like this.” She knelt beside Hatcher showing him how to push the rug under the door.
Hatcher glanced up, caught Kate's gaze on him and managed to look embarrassed and triumphant at the same time.
She mouthed the words,
thank you
.
He shrugged.
The children would miss him when he left.
Her eyes stung and she turned away to hide the heat of her love.
Kate finished and looked around. “It's the best we can do.” Still dirt sifted across the floor. She would find it in her cupboards, her closet, her shoes.
Hatcher stood with his back to the door. He twisted his hands, his eyes darted from object to object, everywhere but directly at her.
“Hatcher.” She kept her voice calm and low. “You'll stay here until the storm is over.”
At the reminder of the weather, Mary sobbed.
Kate grabbed the lantern. “No point in sitting in the gloom. Who wants to play a game?”
Dougie, at least, looked interested.
“Do you remember how to play Snakes and Ladders?” Dougie shook his head. Had it been that long since they'd played games together?
“I do,” Mary said, her tears gone. “Poppa used to play it with us.”
“That's right. Your father loved to play games of any sort. It's still in the hall cupboard.” She went to the hall and found it under layers of coats and blankets. She pressed the box to her nose, remembering Jeremiah's smell, his delight in games, his competitiveness. She could never beat him and if, occasionally, she did, he insisted on a rematch. She soon learned to let him win so they could go to bed.
She carried the game to the kitchen table and opened it. “Come on, Hatcher. Join us.”
He hovered at the door.
Dougie pushed a fourth chair to the table. “You can sit by me.”
Hatcher hesitated then hung his hat on a nail and shuffled over.
Kate stifled a smile, amused at his inability to refuse any reasonable request from the children, rejoicing to have him at her table, if only briefly. She'd have the scene to help sustain her in the future. She handed him a game piece and they began.
Mary quickly recalled how to play. Dougie needed a few instructions but the game was simple enough for even younger children.
Hatcher, at first, was quiet, stiff. But after he hit a snake and fell back three rows and Dougie laughed, he grew intense, acting like he had to win. She soon realized it was pretense. Mostly he tried to give the children a good time.
She loved him the more for his goodness to her son and daughter.
Mary forgot the dark sky, the sharp wind until something solid hit the wall. She jerked forward in her chair. “What was that?”
Hatcher shrugged. “Someone's outhouse?”
Kate laughed. “I hope it was unoccupied.”
Mary looked startled then offended before she laughed. “You're teasing me.”
“Might as well laugh as cry,” Hatcher said.
Mary blinked. “I guess I'll laugh then.” And she did.
It was Dougie's turn to play. He moved five places, hit a snake and returned to the start. “That's the third time I got sent back.” He leaned back and stuck out his lips.
“Be a good sport,” Kate said.
Hatcher's turn followed. He hit a snake and returned to the third square. He sat back on his chair. “I've been here three times already.” When he imitated Dougie's pout, Kate laughed.
Mary was next. She moved, hit a ladder, advanced three rows and smirked.
It was Kate's turn. She let out a huge sigh when she hit neither snake nor ladder.
Hatcher winked at Dougie. “Your turn. You've got nowhere to go but forward.”
Cheered by the idea, Dougie abandoned his pout.
They played for more than an hour while the storm continued. Finally Kate shoved away from the table. “I'll have to make supper.”
Hatcher jerked to his feet. “I'll go milk the cows.”
She stopped him with a hard look. “Wait until the storm ends. Besides the cows will have found shelter and will refuse to move even to get milked.”
She fried up potatoes and the last of the pork. Mr. Sandstrum had given her carrots from his root cellar in return for the milk she took over so they had cooked carrots. “Time to put the game away.”
Mary packed it away carefully then helped set the table.
Kate served up the meal, indicated Hatcher should remain where he was.
He looked ready to leap up and let the wind carry him away.
Happily, she'd stopped all the holes and he couldn't escape.
She sat down. “Will you say the blessing, Hatcher?”
He blinked, looked at each one around the table, then bowed his head and prayed. “Heavenly Father, thank You for Your many blessings and especially the gift of food. Amen.”
As he prayed, she imagined him at the head of her table, day after day, offering up prayers of gratitude, surrounding the family with love and support. Kate kept her head bowed a second after his “amen,” pulling her futile wishes into submission.
“Help yourself.” As she passed him the meat, their gazes connected.
“I should not be here.” He spoke softly as if he didn't want the children to hear.
She thought he meant because of what Doyle had said, the stigma of his past.
“You have neighbors,” he murmured.
Realizing what he meant, her eyes burned. People would consider Hatcher's presence inappropriate.
“I'd send neither man nor beast out in this weather. It will surely end soon, though I can't imagine how much damage it will have done. Last time we had a blow like this, it brought down the board fence next to the barn and the cows got out and moved with the storm. They ended up at the Olivers. They could have just as easily missed the barn and ended up in the next state. You never know with cows.” She clamped her mouth shut to stop her babbling and turned to serve Mary potatoes.
Not until Mary's protesting, “Momma,” did she stop.
“Oh dear.” She'd scooped half the bowl onto the child's plate. What was she thinking? She took most of it back.
She closed her eyes and filled her lungs slowly. There was no reason to be all twisted up inside. But she couldn't get Hatcher's presence out of her senses. People would certainly talk if they could read her mind and see how desperately she wanted him to stay.
“Momma, did I ever play Snakes and Ladders before?” Dougie asked.
Thankful for his distraction, Kate pondered his question a moment. “I don't suppose you did.”
“Hatcher, you ever play it before?” he asked the man.
Hatcher stared at his plate, the food untouched.
“Hatcher?” Dougie asked, puzzled that his question wasn't answer.
Hatcher shook his head. “Sorry. What did you say?”
Dougie repeated the question.
Hatcher picked up his fork. “Used to play it with my brother.” He put his fork down again and stuck his hands beneath the table.
“You have a brother?” Kate stared. It was the first bit of information Hatcher had ever revealed and she knew he hadn't intended to.
“Used to have.”
Mary gasped. “He's dead? Like my Poppa?”
Hatcher kept his head down. “Not so far as I know.”
“What happened to him?” Mary demanded.
Hatcher looked at the child, pointedly avoiding Kate's wide-eyed curiosity.
“Nothing. I expect he's fine. I just haven't seen him in a long time.”
“Why not?”
His shoulders crept toward his ears, his eyes grew dark. Kate felt sorry for him. The more he tried to extricate himself from the hole he'd stepped into, the deeper he got. She was every bit as curious as the children. She wanted to know more about this man.
“I haven't been home in a long time.”
Both children watched him now. Kate could feel their curiosity, their sadness that anyone should be away from home too long. She shared their concern. Home meant comfort and safety to her. But she wasn't sure what it meant to Hatcher. With the accusations he'd faced, perhaps home meant other things to him.
“Don't you want to go home?” Mary asked.
Hatcher's expression grew tighter with each passing moment. Kate couldn't stand any longer to witness his discomfort. “Children, enough questions. Eat your supper.”
He sent her a brief look of gratitude then turned his attention to the plate of food before him.
But Mary continued to stare at him, her blue eyes swimming in tears. “You can stay with us.”
Kate stared at her daughter. “Mary, what a thing to say.”