“I know I’m the proper person to attend, but if I have to go, I’d rather not bunk at Priscilla’s relations. Won’t that be awkward, staying with strangers, especially her family?” Guilt over her pettiness gnawed.
“She’s not your cup of tea, is she?”
“I’ll put it this way—I drink mine straight, and she’s like three lumps of sugar.” But Priscilla’s sweetness was superficial, at best.
“You both held a sweet spot for Arno once upon a time.”
Why she and Priscilla had gravitated toward the same man was a head-scratcher, a mystery for the ages. Or, at least, for this minute in time. “The most important part of your sentence is the ending.”
“If you two were china patterns, she’d be a hodgepodge of colorful swirls, and you’d be a simple white with a golden rim.”
Hattie rolled her eyes.
“And if you were dogs, she’d be a—”
“For the love of all that is good and decent,” Hattie forced a loud sigh, “I’m begging you to stop with the comparisons.”
“Duly noted, but there’s one more thing I need to say.”
Hattie let her shoulders sag. “Let’s hear it.”
Lena bounced onto the tips of her pointy Mary Janes with a squeal. “We’re going to Des Moines!”
“Get into the auto, or I’ll leave you behind.” Of course, she’d never follow-through, but the idea tempted her now and again.
Two nights later, Hattie lowered a piping hot bowl of chicken and dumplings onto the table. The meat juices perfumed the kitchen. “Dinner is served.”
“Smells just like Mama’s.” Jeb slid into his chair, same as Daddy, Hawk, and Wilhelm—a frequent guest during corn-picking season.
“Thank you for the high praise.” Hattie smiled at her brother.
“Are you going to the dance tomorrow night, or do you need more time to ruminate over your answer?” With his sleeve, Jeb brushed grime from his chin.
“Ruminate?” Daddy asked. “That’s a fifty-cent word.”
Hattie gathered the side dishes and hunted for a fresh topic. “Who thinks we’ll finish corn picking soon?”
Jeb predicted ten days, and Daddy surmised a couple of weeks, while Hattie examined the fine cuts on her hands from the corn leaves.
“Everything smells delicious, especially the pecan pie.” Wilhelm’s deep voice broke into the corn discussion. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“It’s plain and simple.” Daddy rested his toothpick onto the lip of his plate. “You work our fields, you eat our supper.”
Hattie carried a bowl of turnips in one hand and boiled potatoes in the other. She made space for the vegetables on the table and then wriggled her way to a chair squashed between the rectangular table and the kitchen wall. “I cooked plenty. You can take a plate home for your pa, Will.”
If her night proceeded as planned, they’d polish off the meal lickety-split, she’d breeze through cleanup, and soon tuck Hawk into bed. Other than Sundays and a few stolen hours here and there, they’d toiled in the fields for a string of days, hurrying with the harvest, which meant everyone needed a good night’s sleep.
Daddy blessed the meal, followed by the clink of cutlery.
“Will you help me with my spelling list after supper, Hattie?” Hawk speared a potato and then proceeded to eat it like a candied apple.
She released a ragged sigh. The boy needed an updated etiquette lesson. “I suppose.”
“Can you help me finish my arithmetic too? It’s subtraction. Yuck!”
“Close your mouth while you eat.” Halfway through her reprimand, Hattie realized she’d committed the same sin and gulped her mouthful.
“Aye, aye, captain.” The boy saluted with his fork, pitching the tuber onto the floor. He scrambled to retrieve it.
“When you’re done helping Hawk, I’d like you to take a gander at my ledger.” Daddy scratched his scalp with the handle of his fork. “For some doggone reason, my figures don’t line up. I’ve checked ’em three times.”
When Jeb raised his spoon in the air, Hattie eyed him with suspicion. “My gray shirt is missing a button. Can you fix it?”
She rolled her eyes. “What about you, Wilhelm? Do you have a special request? There’s a vacant half hour between eleven-thirty and midnight.”
“I do.”
She dropped her chin to her chest.
“Why don’t you come with us tomorrow night? Lena is.”
Daddy plunked both elbows onto the table and eyed his daughter.
“There’s little time for dancing these days.” She stabbed the bitter turnip on her plate. “I’ll travel to Des Moines soon. Between now and then, there’s corn picking and cleaning. My stack of mending is sky-high.”
Should she stop rambling or plow forward? “I plan to cut a new pattern for a dress tomorrow night. I’m not about to present myself at the state Brigade meeting looking like a ragamuffin. I have no time for dances.”
“Nor the inclination, I wager.” Jeb shoved back his chair and crossed his ankles. “If you’re not careful, little sister, you’ll wind up an old maid.”
“There are worse things. I’d read a million books.”
“I’m gonna be an old maid too.” Hawk licked the length of his knife.
Hattie tugged it from his hand. Everyone chuckled, especially Jeb.
“Time will tell.” Daddy finished his bite and wagged his fork toward his youngest. “And, son, they call unmarried men bachelors.”
With deliberate movements, Hawk stared at each male at the table in turn. “I’ll be jiggered. We’re four bachelors.”
Laughter spilled.
Daddy peered over his spectacles at Hattie. “I don’t recall the last time you attended one of them dances in town.”
“It was the night good old Delwyn Nordeen paid a call over a year ago. Ain’t that right, Hattie?” Jeb considered not teasing his sister a sin. A popular topic—her dreary dating life, not that he had room to boast.
Although she’d grown accustomed to his taunts, she still bristled around the edges. Forced to choose the most horrific night of her life, she’d rank the Delwyn date second worst, Mama’s death the first. She’d sown the perfect dress out of a sheeny, striped fabric of blue and gold. A lace collar and cuffs had completed the frock. She’d stroked her hair one hundred times before twisting the tresses into a stylish chignon. The final touch—a black felt hat with a tasteful purple wildflower pinned to the brim. Too bad her escort dimmed in comparison.
Lena’s cousin had arrived with gravy stains on his shirt and a horse he expected Hattie to ride. In her Sunday best. Daddy had hitched the mangy animal to their cart instead. The young farmer had yapped nonstop about hogs for the entire drive. All in all, that had been the shiniest part of the evening.
“Why haven’t you gone again?” Wilhelm sliced his meat with a fork. “Did he stomp on your toes?”
“Delwyn dumped me for Priscilla two minutes after arriving. The worst part of the evening occurred later. A band member, someone who’d once heard me sing at a church social, convinced me to join him on stage.”