Where Willows Grow by Kim Vogel Sawyer Read Free Book Online Page B

want breakfast. I want Daddy.’’
    ‘‘Well, not eating doesn’t fix a thing, and it sure won’t bring your daddy back.’’ Anna Mae kept her tone matter-of-fact. ‘‘So come on, now. Might as well face the day.’’ She gave Dorothy a little push on the back of the head, and the child moved toward the bedroom. As Dorothy trudged away, Anna Mae’s gaze, as if by its own will, lifted to the window and looked once more toward the road.
    No sign of Harley at all.
    Harley paused, bending down on one knee to retie the lace on his left boot. He gave the laces a firm jerk. Rising, he pressed his hands to the small of his back and released a low groan. He’d left his old boots on the porch of Martin’s store after he’d bought this new pair. Still some wear in the old brown leathers—figured somebody could use them. Now he wished he’d brought them with him instead. These new ones were so stiff they’d rubbed blisters on both heels.
    ‘‘A blessin’ and a curse,’’ he muttered to himself. New shoes these days was a blessing, but those blisters . . . His mumbled comment reminded him of Annie’s pregnancy. Mixed emotions concerning the baby rolled through his gut. Guilt pressed at him for leaving her when she was sick with a pregnancy. ‘‘But,’’ he reasoned aloud, talking to himself for the lack of other company, ‘‘would it make sense to stay put and do chores and let my family starve? Can’t sacrifice it all for the sake of that baby, can I?’’
    He chose not to answer himself. Didn’t know what to say in response anyway. He massaged the aching muscles in his back as he scanned the horizon. Must be about eight o’clock, he figured. He’d need to find a place to hole up for the night pretty soon. He’d made good distance today, following the highway. According to Martin’s calculations, Lindsborg was a little less than one hundred miles northeast of Spencer. He’d walked farther in his lifetime. Of course, he’d been younger then. Seemed like the last two years, with the constant troubles, had turned him older than his twenty-nine years.
    A train whistle drifted across the quiet landscape. Harley grabbed up his poke and slung it over his shoulder. Forcing his tired feet to get moving, he considered that train. Following the railroad tracks might be easier going than roadways—more direct. But he’d only walk along the tracks. He wouldn’t hop the train. Although lots of fellas did that these days, he didn’t feel right about riding when he couldn’t pay. Plus it was too risky. Some railroad worker might catch him and clop him on the head.
    ‘‘But when I get that job an’ I’m makin’ some money’’—the sound of his own voice comforted him—‘‘I’ll buy me a ticket to go home on. It’ll be cold by then, probably. Don’t need to freeze my hide if I can avoid it.’’
    Ahead and to the right, he spotted a farmhouse with a large barn. Maybe the folks there would let him bed down in the hay. Better than sleeping on the hard ground. His stomach growled, reminding him he’d eaten everything he had packed. All this walking increased his appetite. Maybe he could work off the price of a dinner, too. Worth asking, he decided. He left the road and headed for the farm.
    Two large, speckled dogs greeted him with noisy barks as he entered the yard, but they didn’t seem fierce. Harley stuck out his hand and let them give him a good sniff. One ran back toward the house, but the second one trotted along beside Harley like a furry escort. By the time he reached the porch, a man stood outside, alerted by the dogs.
    ‘‘Howdy.’’ The unsmiling man looked Harley up and down as the dogs sat on their haunches at their master’s side.
    Harley gave a friendly nod. ‘‘Howdy. Name’s Harley Phipps. I’m headin’ for Lindsborg an’ need a place to sleep. Wonderin’ if you’d mind if I slept in your barn.’’
    ‘‘Yup. I mind.’’
    Harley pulled off his hat. ‘‘I’m