Tracie Peterson (7 page)

“It’s held up well, along with the other two you made for me. Now I can have my tools close to where I need them most—not in some storage shed half a mile away.”

Harry nodded as the wind picked up again. Mattie noted that he gave up trying to keep his cap secure and instead stuffed it into his back pocket and let the breeze blow through his hair. Kansas was well known for its hearty breezes, and today seemed to be no exception. It was little wonder that the vast prairie farmlands were dotted with windmills. Mattie could remember her beloved Edgar saying that windmills should be assigned the honor of official state symbol.

“I see you have that north bed weeded and replanted,” Harry said as they made their way up to the house.

“The ground is warming up fast,” Mattie admitted. “But you already know that. How’re the fields coming along?”

Harry beamed proudly. “I’ve got it plowed up, thanks to that new tandem disc I bought myself for Christmas last year. I’m ready to put in the corn as soon as I’m convinced the weather’s going to stay warm.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you could start planting in the next week or two. The spring’s been unseasonably warm, and I haven’t heard any talk of it changing. ’Course,” she said, pulling open the screen door, “I wouldn’t want you to risk a crop on my say-so.”

The door creaked as she opened it wide. Mattie thought it gave the house character, although Harry had offered a hundred times to oil it and see if he couldn’t make it a little more quiet. Mattie loved her farmhouse with all its idiosyncrasies and faults. She didn’t mind the kitchen sink dripping with a steady rhythm that mimicked the grandfather clock in the hall. Neither did she mind the way the wind whistled in the chimney. They were little personality features that made the Mitchell farm something personable—something more than just an old house with new additions.

They walked through the sun porch to the kitchen door, and as soon as Mattie opened it, the warm scented air hit them full in the
face. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and the aroma of freshly baked cake made a delicious welcoming committee.

“Smells good in here,” Harry said, tossing his cap aside. “You must have just made that coffee cake this morning.”

Mattie washed the dirt from her hands and went to the coffee maker. “I figured you might come around. I bet Sarah Hooper has something to do with my lack of company lately, though.” Harry blushed and Mattie laughed. “So you’ve cast me aside for a younger woman, eh?”

“You know how it is to plan a wedding. I suggested to Sarah we just elope, but she has in mind to invite half the county.”

“Only half? I figured since that girl waited so long to pick a husband, she’d invite all of the county and good portions of those surrounding us.”

Mattie saw the way Harry fidgeted at her words. He reminded her of a little boy forced to recite from memory a Bible verse he didn’t know. Harry always looked rather uncomfortable when discussing his fall wedding. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem to care greatly for Sarah, but the entire matter just seemed to take a toll on his peace of mind. Pouring a cup of coffee into a thick white porcelain mug, Mattie almost felt sorry for the grown man. He seemed so completely out of touch with the things that women deemed important in their lives. He had no sisters and his mother had been a farmer’s wife, and while that didn’t mean that Thelma Jensen didn’t think and reason as a woman, she was by her own choice a confirmed tomboy. It was Thelma who had ridden in rodeos as a teenager and who thought nothing of donning a pair of overalls to join her husband in roofing the barn.

Of course, there were Mattie’s girls. But Harry had been a good five years older than the twins and as much as ten years older than Erica, the baby of the family. Once the girls were old enough to be interesting, Harry was off to college or so closely wrapped up in the farm that he seldom had time for anything else. Mattie supposed his experience didn’t allow for much of an education in what women
were truly like. Maybe that was why he and Ashley hadn’t been able to stay together.

“The winter wheat looks good,” Harry offered as a means to change the subject. “After the heavy snow coverage we had this winter, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t turn out to be a bumper crop.”

“I love the color of it when it’s about ankle high,” Mattie said, bringing the cake to the table. She cut a generous slice for Harry and a smaller one for herself. “It’s such a bright emerald color and the fields look so soft you just want to run barefooted through it.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that to my wheat,” Harry chided. He took the offered plate and fork and immediately dug into the treat. “Mmm, good as always.”

“You know, I could teach you to make it.”

Harry looked at her almost indignantly. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Never,” replied Mattie with the slightest shake of her head. “I cherish the company. But, you know, Sarah will probably want to keep you close to home. At least these first few years. I suppose I could just share the recipe with her.”

Harry’s expression changed again, and this time he looked almost perplexed. “I suppose.”

“What is it, Harry?” Mattie asked in a motherly fashion. “Every time I mention the wedding or Sarah, you look like you just swallowed a June bug. Are you getting cold feet?”

“I don’t know if it’s cold feet or not, but I guess that’s as good a thing to call it as any,” he admitted. He took a long drink of the steaming coffee before continuing. “I guess it’s just all a bit overwhelming. I’ve got my mind on getting the crops in and she’s throwing brochures about trips to the Bahamas in my face.”

“I take it you don’t want to go to the Bahamas?”

He shrugged. “I guess it doesn’t matter. You know me. I don’t mind traveling a bit—in fact, I enjoy it a great deal. I guess I just didn’t expect to be flying off that far away.”

“Poor Harry.”

“Aw, don’t go throwing pity at me, Mattie. I’ll be fine,” he said casually, as though the matter meant nothing to him. He finished off the cake and waved her away when Mattie offered him seconds. “Nah, I have to get going. I didn’t realize it was getting so late.”

“Trying to duck out before you have to deal with us?” Connie asked as she bounded into the room.

She had tied a pink robe around her, and without her makeup and perfectly styled hair, Mattie thought she looked like a teenager again. “I was beginning to wonder if you girls were going to sleep away the entire day.”

“Oh, Grammy, it’s only eight-thirty. Even I wouldn’t be up if it weren’t for the way my internal clock runs. I guess it’s part of being a gym teacher. I’m trained to the clock.” She plopped down on a kitchen chair and smiled at Harry. “So how are the affairs of the Kansas farmer these days? Wheat selling for a good price? Drought worries cleared up?”

Harry gave her a kind of lopsided smile. “You know farming as well as most.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Now, Harry, you know full well that things have perked up a bit,” Mattie threw in as she poured Connie a cup of coffee.

“What’s perked up?” Deirdre asked, yawning sleepily.

“Well, it certainly isn’t you,” Connie teased. “We were just discussing the future of farming in Kansas.”

Deirdre yawned again and took a seat beside Connie. “Dave says the days of individual farms are pretty much passé. Corporations are buying up farmland and making business ventures out of it. Did you know that Arabs own a good portion of land in Kansas?”

“I can’t say that it surprises me,” Harry admitted. “And you’re right. Individual farms are having a tough go these days.”

“So why do you do it?” Deirdre questioned.

“That’s easy. I love it. I can’t imagine doing anything else,” Harry admitted.

“I thought I heard voices,” Erica said, bounding into the room
fully dressed and ready for the day. “I thought maybe we’d been overrun by the media.” She kissed Mattie on the cheek and poured her own coffee.

Mattie liked the comfortable way everyone just sort of gathered in the kitchen. She reached into the cupboard and brought out more plates for the coffee cake just as Brook joined the festivities.

“What’s that about the media?” Brook asked, then added, “Morning, Grammy.”

“Morning,” Mattie said, returning to the table with the plates. “Erica was just commenting on the noise of our breakfast gathering. Thought we’d been overrun by those media folks.”

“I haven’t seen that much commotion in Council Grove since the year Ashley and Brook graduated,” Deirdre teased.

“You mean that ruckus the Grover boys started?” Harry questioned, raising his eyebrows.

“The boys were only half the problem. The Grover girls were just as rowdy,” Brook said with a grin.

“They took after their mother,” Mattie added, enjoying the memory every bit as much as her granddaughters.

“I always thought she was their sister,” Harry admitted.

“Orneriness just seemed to run naturally in that family,” Mattie said. “They were good folk. Good as they come, but my, oh my, they could think up more rowdiness.”

“I never knew you could get that many steers inside a jail cell,” Deirdre said, her laughter becoming contagious. “Who would have guessed it would bring television crews from Topeka?”

Erica giggled, then laughed out loud. “I remember how they took that one steer’s picture and their cousin made a Wanted poster out of it.”

“We had . . . those things . . . all over town,” Mattie said, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out. “They turned up in… the strangest places.” She had tears in her eyes now. “For weeks afterward.”

“A talented group, those Grovers.”

By now all of them were laughing so hard that no one noticed Ashley watching from the doorway.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

Mattie dried her eyes and smiled. “Life,” she replied. Though she had buried her daughter the day before, Mattie was thankful she could enjoy these moments of laughter with her granddaughters.

Ashley eyed the group suspiciously, as if they were holding out on her, then nodded. “I suppose that should be our family motto—life is funny.”

Mattie nodded, smiling. “Far better than the alternative.”

Chapter 7

Against the backdrop of the setting sun, the lake looked like shimmering glass. Overhead, a flock of ducks broke the silence as they squawked noisily. The sound faded, however, as they made their way to the far side of the one-hundred-acre lake. There, the undisturbed marshlands made the perfect place for their habitats.

The day had really been very pleasant, at least physically. The humidity was low and the skies were a powdery blue with wispy white lace for clouds. Emotionally, Ashley thought the day to be most trying, but she tried not to let it ruin the time she had left on the farm. Denver awaited her, and by the weekend she would return to meticulously ordered schedules and demanding social obligations. But for now, Grammy’s farm offered her a much needed respite.

“This is so refreshing,” Brook said, leaning back on her hands. Her long, slender legs were positioned in front of her.

“You look awfully thin, Brook. Are you sure you’re eating okay?”

Brook looked at Ashley with a frown. “Are you afraid I have some eating disorder?”

“I just know what a focus weight can be in your career. I don’t want to see you getting into one of those bingeing and purging situations.”

“Well, sometimes I do throw up,” Brook admitted. “But not on purpose. If I get all stressed out, my body reacts that way. But I swear to you that I’m not doing anything on purpose. I think my high level of energy and activity keep the calories from going to fat.”

“I’m probably just as busy as you are,” Ashley said with a hint of
a smile. “And while I know it’s not the same kind of busyness, I feel I am probably just as much on the run as you are. But I have to watch everything I eat.”

Ashley stared out across the lake, knowing that the shoreline on the opposite side belonged to Harry. “It was strange seeing him again,” she said without needing to give Brook any explanation.

“He could tell us apart right away. Just like the old days,” Brook countered. “Even though we were dressed alike at the funeral, he came right up and called me by name. I didn’t say much at all, and still he knew.”

“Of course he knew. You don’t have that haggard look of running after children,” Ashley said. She gave a nervous sort of laugh that wasn’t at all in keeping with her reserved nature.

“Does it bother you?” Brook questioned, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder as she studied her sister for a response.

“Not like I thought it might,” Ashley replied. “But it does bother me in some ways.”

“Such as?”

Ashley shrugged and rubbed her hands against her bare arms. With the sun continuing its descent, the evening was turning chilly. “I suppose it bothers me in the sense that it takes me back in time. And that bothers me because it shows me how much time I’ve let slip away from me. There’s so much I still want to do with my life.”

Brook nodded. “I know what you mean. I suppose Grammy would say, ‘Landsakes, child, you’re only thirty.’ But thirty is marriage and family and mortgages and trying to plan vacations around school schedules. And I have none of that.”