Where Willows Grow by Kim Vogel Sawyer Read Free Book Online

egg into small bites— clack! clack! clack! He was surprised the fork didn’t go clear through the table, as much pressure as she put behind it. And when she started shoving food into Margie’s mouth without saying her customary prayer, Harley knew without a doubt the intensity of her anger.
    She was in no mood to listen. Not to anybody. Not to anything.
    He turned back to the bedroom. Digging around in the closet, he unearthed an old pillowcase that could serve as a pack. Annie had done the laundry yesterday, so he tossed in all his clean drawers, three shirts, and two pairs of dungarees. He rummaged through his socks and packed all the ones he could find that didn’t have holes. He scratched his head, deciding what else he’d need, then rolled his worn jean jacket into a ball and pushed it underneath everything else. It was hotter’n blazes now, but who knew how long he’d be gone—he’d better be prepared for cooler days later.
    Using an old rawhide shoelace, he tied the pack closed, then sank onto the edge of the bed, the bulky bag in his lap, listening to the scrape of the fork against the plate, Margie’s jabber, and Annie’s low-pitched responses. When he was sure the baby had been fed, he heaved a sigh, lifted his pack, and headed to the kitchen.

6
    M ARGIE SAT IN HER HIGH CHAIR , gumming a cracker, and Annie stood at the sink, her hands on the edge of the counter, her gaze aimed out the window. When Harley cleared his throat, she jumped but didn’t turn around.
    Stubborn woman.
    ‘‘I was thinkin’ I’d take along some of those crackers, and maybe some cheese.’’
    Annie’s shoulders lifted and fell in a gesture of defeat. ‘‘Suit yourself. Cheese is in the icebox, crackers in the cupboard.’’
    But she didn’t say which cupboard, and he had to open three doors before he found them. Couldn’t she help just a little bit? He held his tongue as he wrapped the cheese and crackers in a square of waxed paper. He untied his bag and dropped in the food, then tied the thing shut again. Annie still hadn’t looked at him.
    Leaving the pack on the floor by the door, he crossed to the high chair and kissed Margie’s head. She reached her dimpled hand toward him, and he kissed her messy fingers. The back of his nose burned. She was still so little—not quite a year yet. Would she even know him when he came back? He gave her one more kiss and then straightened, his gaze sweeping around the room.
    ‘‘Where’d Dottie go?’’
    Annie dumped the breakfast dishes into the basin, still avoiding his gaze. ‘‘I imagine she’s hiding out. She’ll come in when she’s hungry.’’
    Harley watched Annie lean over the sink and scrub at a plate. She scrubbed and scrubbed. No way the plate could need that much scrubbing. A part of him wanted to walk up behind her, wrap his arms around her middle, and kiss her neck. But pride kept him beside the high chair. Still, he offered softly, ‘‘I’ll miss you, Annie.’’ You have no idea how much .
    She stiffened, her hands stilled, and her chin jerked upward. But she said nothing.
    ‘‘You’ll be okay?’’ He hadn’t meant to ask it. He’d meant to say it like he believed it.
    Her chin rose higher. ‘‘Of course I will.’’ Her voice sounded tight, like she was forcing the words past a mighty lump. ‘‘I’ve got plenty of starch in my spine.’’
    ‘‘And I’ll stop by Jack Berkley’s on my way out—remind him to check in on you.’’
    She swallowed audibly. ‘‘It’ll be nice, I suppose, to have someone check on us.’’
    Harley wasn’t stupid. He caught the barb. Spinning toward the door, he grated, ‘‘I gotta get goin’.’’ He snatched up his pack and slammed through the door. One hard smack sent the porch door flying. His boots hit the packed earth, sending up a cloud of dust that coated his pant legs as he clomped across the yard toward the driveway that led to the road.
    He heard the sound of pounding footsteps behind