chickens mash?”
“Hens, baby, hens,” he drawled, slowing down their walk.
She giggled.
“You got a lot to learn about being a farmer’s wife.”
Madeline’s heart started to thud again. It seemed like a question, like a hint, but she wasn’t going to acknowledge it, not until he asked her outright.
Because she wasn’t ready to make a decision, not yet.
“Have you given that boy an answer?”
Madeline turned her eyes back into the house. She had been gnawing on a piece of toast and gazing out the window.
Her father looked up over his glasses, newspaper held down so he could see her.
“I haven’t been asked.”
She’d always been honest with her father, but it was awkward talking about Roy. They normally chatted about books and happenings, about her friends, about the butcher shop, but never about boys. She’d never had a boy to talk about.
“He’ll be asking you soon.”
Her father went back to reading the paper, but she didn’t look away. Was he saying it was all right to say yes? Did he want her to say yes? She was the last of his four daughters to be at home. The youngest, but still the last. Her sisters had married young, had children of their own already.
She watched her mother fuss in the kitchen as she always did, listened to the shuffle of paper as her father turned the page. It was all so familiar, yet one day she’d have to leave it behind. But to think about not hearing or seeing them go about their daily routine scared her.
“You’re not still thinking about him are you?”
Her father hadn’t even dropped the paper this time. She glared at the newsprint but it was hard not to smile.
“Of course not, Daddy.”
She heard him chuckle.
“I’ll bring you home,” he said.
Her mother dropped something metal into the sink. The clang echoed.
He folded up the paper and placed both hands on the table, before stretching to stand up.
“If you marry the boy and it’s that bad over there, I’ll bring you home.”
“Harold!” Her mother’s face was bright red. “We haven’t the money to bring her home if she takes a fancy on coming back.”
He swatted behind him without even looking – a wave of the hand as if to silence her. Madeline kept her eyes on him, trying to stop the tears in her own.
“She’s my youngest daughter, Sylvia. If Madeline roughs it out over there and the boy doesn’t treat her right, or something happens, I’d sell everything we have if need be to bring her home.”
He walked the two steps around the table and stamped a kiss on her head.
“I don’t want you to, girl. But if you love him, you say yes to the boy when he asks.”
Tears tickled her eyes, but she fought to keep the smile on her face until her father had turned away. She loved her mother, but she adored her father. And if she had his blessing, and Roy asked her, she would go.
She wouldn’t want her father spending all his pennies on bringing her home, but if it was that bad over there, at least she knew she was wanted here. Even if it did mean coming home a woman no one else would ever be interested in.
Her father loved her and that was what counted.
The days seemed to drag by. Every time she saw another couple holding hands, every time she listened to her friends talking about their sweethearts, every time she so much as breathed, her heart felt like it could burst and explode into hundreds of tiny shards. The weight that seemed to press down her chest made her feel like she was suffocating. And the thought of what she was going to leave behind made her want to retch.
“Hens, baby, hens,” he drawled, slowing down their walk.
She giggled.
“You got a lot to learn about being a farmer’s wife.”
Madeline’s heart started to thud again. It seemed like a question, like a hint, but she wasn’t going to acknowledge it, not until he asked her outright.
Because she wasn’t ready to make a decision, not yet.
“Have you given that boy an answer?”
Madeline turned her eyes back into the house. She had been gnawing on a piece of toast and gazing out the window.
Her father looked up over his glasses, newspaper held down so he could see her.
“I haven’t been asked.”
She’d always been honest with her father, but it was awkward talking about Roy. They normally chatted about books and happenings, about her friends, about the butcher shop, but never about boys. She’d never had a boy to talk about.
“He’ll be asking you soon.”
Her father went back to reading the paper, but she didn’t look away. Was he saying it was all right to say yes? Did he want her to say yes? She was the last of his four daughters to be at home. The youngest, but still the last. Her sisters had married young, had children of their own already.
She watched her mother fuss in the kitchen as she always did, listened to the shuffle of paper as her father turned the page. It was all so familiar, yet one day she’d have to leave it behind. But to think about not hearing or seeing them go about their daily routine scared her.
“You’re not still thinking about him are you?”
Her father hadn’t even dropped the paper this time. She glared at the newsprint but it was hard not to smile.
“Of course not, Daddy.”
She heard him chuckle.
“I’ll bring you home,” he said.
Her mother dropped something metal into the sink. The clang echoed.
He folded up the paper and placed both hands on the table, before stretching to stand up.
“If you marry the boy and it’s that bad over there, I’ll bring you home.”
“Harold!” Her mother’s face was bright red. “We haven’t the money to bring her home if she takes a fancy on coming back.”
He swatted behind him without even looking – a wave of the hand as if to silence her. Madeline kept her eyes on him, trying to stop the tears in her own.
“She’s my youngest daughter, Sylvia. If Madeline roughs it out over there and the boy doesn’t treat her right, or something happens, I’d sell everything we have if need be to bring her home.”
He walked the two steps around the table and stamped a kiss on her head.
“I don’t want you to, girl. But if you love him, you say yes to the boy when he asks.”
Tears tickled her eyes, but she fought to keep the smile on her face until her father had turned away. She loved her mother, but she adored her father. And if she had his blessing, and Roy asked her, she would go.
She wouldn’t want her father spending all his pennies on bringing her home, but if it was that bad over there, at least she knew she was wanted here. Even if it did mean coming home a woman no one else would ever be interested in.
Her father loved her and that was what counted.
The days seemed to drag by. Every time she saw another couple holding hands, every time she listened to her friends talking about their sweethearts, every time she so much as breathed, her heart felt like it could burst and explode into hundreds of tiny shards. The weight that seemed to press down her chest made her feel like she was suffocating. And the thought of what she was going to leave behind made her want to retch.
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