Authors: More Than Memory
Dorothy Garlock (16 page)
“How’er you doin’, fella? Cold enough for you?”
“He’s stayed on his bed all day. He doesn’t like the cold floor.”
“Can you spare water for me to wash?” He looked tired, she thought.
“Right this way.” Nelda dipped water into the wash dish from the pan on the counter and added hot water to it from the teakettle. “There are soap and towels in the bathroom. Also a candle.”
“All the modern conveniences.” He grinned at her, lifted the pan, and disappeared into the bathroom.
Doing this small thing for him made her almost stupidly giddy. Unable to keep the smile off her face, she moved the oil lamp to the table and set places for two. She brought out bread, butter, peanut butter, and jam. After moving the coffeepot to a hot spot on the stove, she lifted the lid and stirred the stew.
Lute came out of the bathroom and stood for a moment watching her. He was struck with the thought
that he was asking for a million heartaches. She turned, smiled, and he forgot about everything except that he was here with her now. He said the first thing that came to his mind.
that he was asking for a million heartaches. She turned, smiled, and he forgot about everything except that he was here with her now. He said the first thing that came to his mind.
“I flushed the toilet with the water from the wash dish.”
She averted her eyes and turned away quickly. He went to her and his hands gripped her shoulders.
“I’m sorry I embarrassed you. I forgot that you’re not used to the earthy ways of a farmer.” His mouth was close to her ear.
“I’m not . . . embarrassed.”
“Liar,” he whispered and moved away. “I hope you’ve cooked plenty. I’m starved.”
“I have, and I’ve made strong coffee.”
“Strong enough to float a horseshoe?” he teased.
“I don’t know if it’s that strong.”
“Why don’t we set the stewpot on the table?”
“Good idea. I don’t think the Queen of England is coming to dinner tonight. I’ll get something to set it on. I wish I’d thought of making corn bread. I could have baked it in the oven.”
As they ate, they talked about the events of the day. She realized that there was a great deal more to this grown-up Lute than good looks. He was a kind, strong, hardworking man who loved the land, his animals, and even the challenge of the weather.
“Do you suppose Ervin made his rounds today?” Nelda asked with a smile.
“Believe it or not, I did see his truck on the road.”
“I wouldn’t have gone out if he had stopped here.
Both times I let Kelly out he fell on the ice. I tried not to laugh, but each of his four legs went in a different direction. Before you put the sand on the steps I had to grab his collar and help him up onto the porch. He didn’t like it out there one bit. He came in and curled up on his bed.”
Both times I let Kelly out he fell on the ice. I tried not to laugh, but each of his four legs went in a different direction. Before you put the sand on the steps I had to grab his collar and help him up onto the porch. He didn’t like it out there one bit. He came in and curled up on his bed.”
Nelda hoped that she wasn’t talking too much. But it was so wonderful having him here, relaxed and hungrily eating the meal she had prepared. She wanted to prolong this wonderful time with him for as long as possible because he might leave as soon he finished.
But when they were done eating, he surprised her by adding a large stick of wood to the firebox, then sitting down on the end of the couch. He pulled off his boots, propped his feet up on the oven door, and lit the pipe he had taken from his coat pocket.
“This couch is like one of those old settle chairs the pioneers used to use. The high back keeps the heat from spreading out.”
“That pipe smells good.” Nelda cleared the table and stacked the dinner dishes in the sink. She couldn’t spare the water to wash them. “Grandpa used to put his feet on the oven door and smoke his pipe while Grandma did the dishes.”
“Did you listen to the radio today?”
“I turned it on a couple of times. One time I heard President Eisenhower talking about the formal declaration of statehood for Alaska. I tried to get the weather report, but all I heard was about school closings. No school anywhere in north Iowa tomorrow.”
“We’ll wait and listen to the ten o’clock.”
He was staying until then?
She kept her face turned away from him for fear that he would see the elation she was feeling.
She kept her face turned away from him for fear that he would see the elation she was feeling.
“I did hear the news that the trial of Caril Ann Fugate is over. She was the girl traveling with Charles Starkweather when he went on the killing spree through Nebraska last year and killed eleven people. The jury gave her life in prison.”
“I guess that’s fair. She was with him, but she didn’t pull the trigger.” Lute picked up the heavy picture album she had left on the end of the counter. “What’s this?”
“It’s Grandma’s. I was thumbing through it this afternoon.”
When Lute opened it to look at the pictures, Nelda moved the oil lamp over to the counter.
“This is the house when it was first built in 1879. It didn’t have the porches. My great-grandfather built it. Grandma and Grandpa were married in 1894 and lived here with his parents. They did that in those days.”
“Come sit down and tell me who these people are.”
Nelda sat down on the sofa and leaned over, trying to see where his finger was pointing.
“That’s . . . that’s—”
“Move over. I’m not going to bite you. Put your feet on the oven door.”
“They don’t reach that far.”
Lute set the album aside, picked up her feet and pulled off her shoes. He rubbed her feet, then turned to frown at her.
“They’re like two chunks of ice. Don’t you have wool socks?” She shook her head. “I’ll bring you some tomorrow.” He pulled her close to him and propped her feet on his legs near the open oven. “Can you feel the heat?” he asked when he felt her shiver.
“Uh-huh.” The chill that had shaken her was only partly due to the cold. She gave him a shaky, but happy smile.
Her shoulder was tucked behind his, her hip and thigh tight against his. He reached for her hand and pulled it through his arm, then opened the album again.
“Now, who are they?”
“Grandma’s mother and father.”
“They both look mad enough to bite a nail in two.”
“People didn’t smile in pictures in those days.”
Nelda tried to keep her mind on the photographs, but the feel of him overwhelmed all thought. The smell of him was so totally male with its overtones of tobacco smoke. She wanted desperately to lay her head against his shoulder and press her lips to his neck.
When they came to a picture of a man in overalls and a woman in a cotton dress with a small boy between them, Nelda said, “That’s my dad, with Grandma and Grandpa.”
Lute turned the page without commenting. The next dozen pages showed Donald Hansen at country school, then school in town. There were pictures of him in his first suit, and one of him standing beside his first car. There was only one college picture. In
that one he was wearing a straw skimmer and smoking a cigarette in a long holder.
that one he was wearing a straw skimmer and smoking a cigarette in a long holder.
“Regular jelly bean,” Lute murmured, then turned the page.
Next came photos of a very young Nelda with her mother, after that several pages of Nelda as she grew up.
“You had that mop of curly hair even then,” Lute teased. “When I first saw you, I thought you’d had one of those frizzy permanent waves.”
“Was it that bad?”
His answer was a chuckle.
Nelda knew what was coming next because she had looked at the picture for a long time today. Lute turned the page and found the photo of the two of them. It had been taken with a regular camera and enlarged. It was the only picture on the page. They were standing beside Lute’s old truck. Lute had one leg bent back, his heel hooked on the fender. His arm was around Nelda.
Nelda held her breath while waiting to see what he would say. He chuckled . . . a little.
“I remember that day. You were wearing the new skirt your grandma had made. She wanted a picture. You fooled around fixing your hair, and I was late getting out to Kennedy’s, where I had a job topping sugar beets after school.”
“I don’t remember that part of it. Did you get fired?”
“No, I lost a couple hours’ work.” Still looking at the picture, he said, “Gee, we were young.”
He reluctantly turned the page to find a few more
photos of them together. The first picture of Rebecca was one of the ones taken at the hospital the day after she was born. Frances, Nelda’s stepmother, had taken it. The next one was of the baby lying in the crook of Nelda’s arm. Tears came to her eyes and, without realizing it, she sniffed back tears.
photos of them together. The first picture of Rebecca was one of the ones taken at the hospital the day after she was born. Frances, Nelda’s stepmother, had taken it. The next one was of the baby lying in the crook of Nelda’s arm. Tears came to her eyes and, without realizing it, she sniffed back tears.
Lute looked down at her and looped his arm over her head and pulled her close to him. Nelda laid her cheek against his shoulder and, through misty eyes, watched as he slowly turned the pages that followed. The final photos were of Rebecca when Nelda brought her back to the farm, where she had lived for one short month. She was sitting up alone then. Nelda had pulled up a sprig of her hair and tied it with a little bow.
“This is the only picture I have of her,” Lute said. “Your grandma gave the negative to Mom.”
Nelda leaned back and looked into his face. “I’m sorry. I’ll share with you what I have.”
Lute closed the album and lowered it to the floor beside the couch. He leaned back and, holding Nelda tightly to his side, reached and pulled her knees up onto his thigh.
“It seems a long time ago, doesn’t it, mop-head?” he said tiredly.
Mop-head
. It’s what he had called her in high school.
. It’s what he had called her in high school.
“A lifetime ago,” she murmured.
They were silent for a while. He continued to hold her against him, his hand on her knees. He leaned his head against the high back of the couch.
“You didn’t get any sleep last night. I know
you’re tired. If you want to lie down here and sleep a while, I’ll keep the fire going.”
you’re tired. If you want to lie down here and sleep a while, I’ll keep the fire going.”
He wrapped his arms around her. “It’s tempting. But first I should tack one of those blankets over the door going into the other part of the house and hold the heat here in the kitchen. It’s going to be twenty-five below tonight.”
“I’ll help you. Let’s see what we can find in Grandpa’s ‘hell’ drawer. It’s got everything in it from nails to wire to hammer, pliers, pencils, and twine.”
A few minutes later the job was done, and Lute had brought in another armload of logs from the porch.
“I don’t think I can stay awake another hour to listen to the weather report.” He stretched out on the couch, and Nelda covered him with the blanket and the wool comforter. He took her hand before she could move away. “Blow out the lamp and lie down with me for a while.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
Her eyes met his. “There isn’t enough room.”
“Wanna bet?” He squeezed her hand.
Mindlessly she moved to the lamp and blew it out. The room was dark except for the light of the fire coming through the vents on the front of the firebox. Lute had folded back the blankets and turned on his side. She lay down beside him. His arms went around her and he pulled her hard against his chest until they lay spoon-fashion. He arranged the covers over them.
Her head was on his arm, her bottom pressed firmly against his crotch. Her senses took over, and
she refused to think about anything but the feel of him. She desperately wanted to turn and accept the touch of his lips on her face. She could feel them in the hair above her ear.
she refused to think about anything but the feel of him. She desperately wanted to turn and accept the touch of his lips on her face. She could feel them in the hair above her ear.
“There’s plenty of room. Are you warm?”
“Heavenly warm.”
“Go to sleep.”
“I’d better stay awake and watch the fire.”
“Go to sleep. We won’t have to add more wood for a while.”
His breathing was steady. She was almost breathless.
Nelda wondered if he could feel the thumping of her heart through two light sweaters and one thick one.
I’m really here with Lute
, she thought incredulously. Lute, the boy who had kissed her so awkwardly at first, until they learned together the joy of soft, tender, merging kisses, the boy who had trembled so violently when his fingers found their way into her blouse. She hadn’t pushed him away.
I’m really here with Lute
, she thought incredulously. Lute, the boy who had kissed her so awkwardly at first, until they learned together the joy of soft, tender, merging kisses, the boy who had trembled so violently when his fingers found their way into her blouse. She hadn’t pushed him away.
Together they had discovered the joy of uniting their bodies. Together they had made a child. Her father’s intervention had torn them apart. Lute’s desire to be his own man had led him to join the Navy. She had focused all her attention on Becky, then herself, unthinking, not realizing
his
need.
his
need.
Lute, darling. I can make it up to you. I know I can
.
.
She hadn’t wanted to sleep and miss one minute of being with him like this. She was so deliciously warm and comfortable and . . . happy, that she dozed.
“Honey,” Lute’s lips were against her ear. “I hate
to wake you, but I need to put more wood in the stove.”
to wake you, but I need to put more wood in the stove.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” she murmured, and sat up.
He laughed softly. “If you say so.” Lute swiftly filled the firebox and returned to the couch. “Come on. I need you to get me warm again.”
“What time is it?” She slid beneath the covers.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Turn over, honey.”
Nelda turned to face him, her face in the curve of his neck, her arm around him. With his hand on her bottom, he pulled her close and tucked her leg between his thighs.
Other books
All I Want for Christmas Is a Duke by Delilah Marvelle, Máire Claremont
A Sliver of Sun by Dianna Dorisi Winget
Awakening (The Magic of the Black Forest Book 2) by Macy Farmer
Be Were (Southern Shifters) by Gayle, Eliza
Crash by Lesley Choyce
Never Knowing by Stevens, Chevy
The Bachelorette Party by Karen McCullah Lutz
Always the Baker, Never the Bride by Sandra D. Bricker
My Hot Holiday by Kate Crown
Apportionment of Blame by Keith Redfern
