Go Away Home Read online

  Amelia didn’t look up. “The heat.”

  “Don’t fret your sister,” Margretta said. “She’s going to lie down a bit.”

  “It was the heat,” Amelia insisted. She took the cloth from the back of her neck, dipped it in the bucket, and wiped it across her forehead. “See? I’m better now.” As she pushed herself upright, she wobbled and had to grip the handrail to steady herself.

  The three women watched in silence as Amelia made her way up the porch steps and into the house.

  “What’s wrong with her, Mama?” Liddie asked. She’d never known her sister to be ill, though lately she’d taken to bed with headaches.

  Margretta shook her head. “I feared this,” she muttered. She handed the cup to Liddie. “Put that back. Then get the basket from the garden. And take water to your father and the boys.” She motioned for Kate to follow her up the porch steps, her shoulders bowed as though carrying a heavy weight.

  Kate’s lips creased in a tight line. “You better check on that bread, too, Liddie. It’ll be ready to punch down soon.”

  Liddie frowned. She wanted to know about Amelia. She wanted to say she didn’t need to be reminded about the bread. They were keeping something from her; that was certain. She felt shut out, but out of what, she didn’t know.

  Chapter 2

  Once she returned from taking water to the men and put the bread in the oven, Liddie settled herself on the porch swing, her sewing basket beside her, a shirt on her lap. Finally, she had time to finish the monogram. Her father’s full name was George William Treadway, though everyone, even her mother, called him G. W. Liddie thought it a distinguished name. GWT—blue on blue, on the breast pocket. So subtle. He would know. She would know. But unless someone looked closely, it wouldn’t be apparent to anyone else.

  The first time she’d presented him a handkerchief she’d hemmed, he’d picked her up and twirled her around the parlor, planting a warm kiss on her forehead and whispering “Thank you, princess” in her ear when he landed her gently back on her feet. Though she’d outgrown being twirled around, she hadn’t outgrown the enjoyment she felt from pleasing him with her sewing. She cut a length of embroidery floss, separated two strands, and threaded them through the eye of a fine needle.

  Her mother had put fabric in Liddie’s hands as soon as she could hold a needle. Even at five years old, Liddie had shown an unusual willingness to sit quietly and stitch. By the time she was ten, her stitching had far eclipsed Amelia’s skills. The more her mother taught her, the more she wanted to learn. After making quick work of hems and tears and other everyday sewing tasks, she moved on to the fancier work she enjoyed.

  Recently, she had taken to cutting blue printed fabric into an oak leaf and reel pattern, then appliquéing it onto muslin squares. Her aim was twenty eighteen-by-eighteen-inch squares. Enough for a quilt. Each time she picked up a square, the oak leaf and reel pattern reminded her of fall and how much she enjoyed walking in the hills, hearing the fallen leaves crunch under her boots. It had taken months to complete the first square, and she’d begun a second.

  Liddie’s sewing basket always held projects she was making for others. She embroidered the recipient’s initials on a cuff or a pocket. Then she stitched her own initials in some hidden spot—the interior of the placket, the yoke just below the collar, a cuff. It took a little extra time, and although some—her brother, Vern, for instance, or their hired man, Joe—were unaware the initials were even there, she drew pleasure from putting some reminder of herself on each item she made.

  She patterned doll dresses she sewed for friends after fancy designs she’d have no occasion to wear herself. Sometimes, she worked to duplicate the dresses she saw in Aunt Kate’s magazines. Other times, she combined features from many dresses.

  As the yeasty smell of baking bread wafted out to the porch, she tied off the embroidery thread and snipped the ends.

  “There,” she said, smoothing the front of the shirt. “Ready.” She folded the shirt and went inside to set the table for supper.

  “Are you all right?” she asked when Amelia came downstairs. “You really gave us a turn. In my life, I don’t ever remember you being ill. Why don’t you sit awhile yet. I can get supper ready.”

  “I’m fine.” Amelia took the silverware out of Liddie’s hands. “I’ll set the table.”

  “Where are Mama and Aunt Kate?”

  Amelia shrugged.

  “I hope Aunt Kate is talking to her about me.”

  “I hope so, too,” Amelia said.

  Amelia’s voice sounded so oddly hopeful that Liddie looked at her. Since Amelia didn’t say more, she went on: “Do you think Papa will say yes?”

  “I have no idea. Now don’t be wasting time talking. Papa and the boys will be in soon.”

  Liddie drew back from her sister’s sharp tone as if she’d been slapped. “What did I do?”

  Amelia didn’t answer. Instead, she dropped the silverware on the table with rattling force and ran out of the room.

  For the second time that day, Liddie was left looking at someone’s retreating back.

  “You still planning to go into town tonight?” G. W. asked Joe over supper.

  Joe nodded. “Catherine’s making dessert.”

  Vern snickered.

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “I’m thinking you’re sweeter on her than that cake she’s making.”

  Joe elbowed him. “Maybe someday you’ll be so lucky.”

  Joe had come to live with them four years ago after his father died, leaving him the only member of his family still in Iowa. G. W. had said he could use another hand, so Joe moved in.

  Liddie had been twelve, and she remembered well those first days after Joe arrived. Her mother had sent her with sheets to fix a bed in the tack room for the new hired hand. She’d expected a man and had been surprised to find a thin boy sitting on the edge of the bunk.

  “Hi,” she’d said. “I’m Liddie.”

  He stood at once, extending a hand to shake hers. “I’m Josef—Joe—Bauer.”

  She shifted the bedding to her left arm and reached for his hand, a strong hand, rough with callouses. Hardly ever did anyone shake her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you, Josef.”

  “Joe.” He reached for the bedding. “I’ll take that.”

  “No bother. I’ll do it.” She slipped past him and began to unfold a sheet.

  He caught the loose corners. “I’ll help.”

  Between them, they flicked the sheet out so it billowed over the bed. Pulling it taut, he tucked the sheet around the mattress, deftly mitering the corners the way she’d learned to do it.

  He straightened up when he saw her looking at him and raked thick, dark hair away from deep-set hazel eyes. “My ma taught me.”

  Liddie had liked him at once.

  A month later, Joe had run off.

  “Where is he?” Margretta had asked when Joe didn’t come in for supper.

  “Did he say anything, Vern?” G. W. asked. A tall man with even taller expectations, G. W. carried himself with the confidence of earned success. Investments in sound livestock—particularly the sows that sent a steady stream of pigs to market each year—had allowed him to retire the mortgage ahead of schedule and build a tidy savings. Though not a churchgoing man, he made regular contributions to the Union Methodist church because his wife attended and because he agreed with the church’s values of hard work, honesty, and neighborliness. It was also his belief that both livestock and children benefited from a firm, gentle hand and clear expectations.

  Vern simply shrugged. He forked potatoes into his mouth without looking up.

  Liddie looked at him in surprise. On a regular day, Vern conserved words as though they were drops of rain in a drought, but she’d always known him to answer a direct question.

  “Vern.” Her father’s tone made
Liddie stiffen in her chair.

  Vern went to set his fork on the edge of his plate, but his hand shook and the fork tipped, flipping peas around the table. As he grabbed for the fork, his hand knocked against his glass, splashing milk. Vern’s neck flushed red as he clenched his hands in tight fists.

  Liddie clapped a hand over her mouth to hide a laugh. At fifteen, Vern was as clumsy as a newborn calf.

  “Did you boys get into it?” G. W. asked.

  “Oh, Vern,” Margretta said. “You didn’t fight!”

  G. W. lifted his hand and she fell quiet. “Tell me what happened, Vern.”

  “He acts like he knows everything.” Vern’s eyes darted between his parents and wound up focused on his plate. “Just because he could break that horse.”

  G. W. regarded his son. “Vern, every man has his own talents. Joe has a way with horses like you have a way with building things. It takes all of us to run this place.”

  “You act like he’s so special,” Vern muttered.

  “He’s had a hard time. We’re blessed to have a great deal. The least we can do is share it.” G. W. took his knife and cut into a pork chop. He looked at Vern before forking a bite into his mouth. “And be gracious about it.”

  It took a while before Vern was able to meet his father’s eyes. “I don’t know where he is, Pa. He headed south. Should I go after him?”

  “I expect he has things to work out. I’m thinking he’ll be back.”

  When Joe returned three days later, it looked as though he hadn’t eaten or washed since he left. G. W. met him on the porch steps. Liddie followed, but he waved her back, so she watched from inside the doorway.

  “I don’t know as how I belong here,” Joe said. He stood with his feet planted, shoulders squared. He clenched his hands into fists and then loosened them before finally shoving them into his back pockets. “I came back to get my things.”

  “Have we made you feel unwelcome?”

  “You and Mrs. Treadway have been good to me. I appreciate it.”

  “So this is about you and Vern?”

  Joe looked away. Liddie saw the muscles work in his cheeks and she wondered what he was fighting to say. Or not say. She strained to hear.

  “It’s just you aren’t my family.”

  “Every family has its own ways. Every man does, too. You can’t run off every time the going gets rough.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “You’re a good boy, Joe. You’ll be a man to make your folks proud.” G. W. put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “We’d like you to stay.”

  “You’d let me?” Surprise showed on Joe’s face.

  “As long as you want. We don’t abide fighting, though, so whatever’s going on between you and Vern, you better work it out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Another thing. You can’t run off like this. It upsets Mama too much.”

  Joe flushed. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “All right, then. Get cleaned up and come in to eat. This afternoon, you and Vern go hunting. Mama has a hankering for rabbit stew.”

  Vern and Joe had come back later that day with a brace of rabbits.

  Throughout that fall, Liddie had watched as the relationship between the two boys developed from tolerance to friendship. Farm chores like grubbing out tree stumps, making fences, and picking corn forced the two to work together. Beyond work, they discovered a common interest in card games—Joe had a mind for pinochle while Vern had the face for poker. Her father had been wise when he sent them out after rabbits that day. They both enjoyed the companionship of hunting.

  In those first weeks, Liddie grew a crush on Joe that embarrassed her to think of now. She’d followed him around like a puppy, trying to get his attention, abashed when she did.

  Her fascination began at a neighborhood barn party when he chose her as his partner for a square dance. With his arm around her waist during a promenade, she imagined herself a young woman with Joe as her beau.

  But the crush lasted only for the better part of a month, ending when Joe dashed her hopes by taking a neighbor girl to a dance.

  “I remember my first crush,” Amelia had said when she found Liddie lying on the bed, a pillow flattened against her chest, girlish tears wetting her cheeks. Amelia curled up next to her, stroking Liddie’s arm gently as she shared the story. “He was a hired man, too. Hank Thompson. Remember him?”

  Liddie shook her head.

  “He worked here one summer. He was so handsome.” She made a face. “He never looked my way.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Mooned around him like a sick calf.” Amelia laughed. “He left at the end of the summer. Joe will be gone by the time you grow up, too. You’ll get over it.”

  Another tear trickled down Liddie’s cheek. She doubted that could ever be true.

  But soon enough, Liddie’s interests had begun to move in the direction of suffragettes and sewing and careers and travel. And over the years, the only boy she’d ever taken such a shine to became more like a brother. He encouraged her to join him and Vern in games of catch, teaching her to throw the ball when Vern only laughed at her feeble first attempts. Joe defended her when Vern’s teasing brought tears to her eyes. Though she was so much younger, Joe told her of his dreams of having his own farm and listened with respect as she talked about her dreams of seeing the world.

  Now she was happy for Joe and Catherine. She expected he’d be happy for her, too, when he learned she was going to Maquoketa.

  As she thought again of Maquoketa, Liddie’s attention returned to the supper table. She looked at her aunt, waiting with growing impatience for her to bring up the apprenticeship. Kate responded with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Liddie mouthed, What? Kate tilted her head toward Liddie’s mother. For the first time, Liddie noticed that her mother’s eyes were red and that she’d barely touched the food on her plate.

  “You got a good scald on the roast, Margretta,” G. W. said.

  Even the compliment didn’t bring a smile to her mother’s face. Anxiety gained traction in Liddie’s stomach. Had her mother changed her mind about the apprenticeship?

  “Pass the bread?” Joe asked.

  “At least you didn’t burn it this time.” Vern pointed the tip of his knife at Liddie.

  “No. I didn’t burn it this time. Or the last six times.” This was an old jibe, one Vern brought up too often. With heat radiating through her chest, Liddie gripped the edges of her chair and glared.

  “Let it rest,” Joe said to Vern. “That only happened once, and you know it.”

  “Aw, I was just joshing. Can’t she take a joke?” Vern looked at Liddie with a satisfied grin. “Got you again, didn’t I?”

  “Some joke.” Liddie frowned.

  Amelia squeezed Liddie’s hand under the table. Liddie tried to smile. Amelia supported her. With Amelia at home taking care of things, she could go to Maquoketa.

  “I can’t do this. Not tonight!” Margretta pushed back from the table, standing so abruptly the legs of her chair caught in the rug. The chair teetered and Kate reached out, grabbing it before it fell. Raspy sobs erupted from behind Margretta’s hankie as she ran out of the room.

  “What the . . . ?” G. W. looked bewildered.

  “I’ll go.” Kate left her napkin crumpled by her plate.

  Liddie’s mouth fell open. She turned to Amelia. “I didn’t mean—” She stopped. Amelia was crying, too.

  Later that night, Kate joined Liddie on the porch. Sinking heavily into the porch rocker, she spoke without preamble. “Your sister is pregnant.”

  “Pregnant!” Liddie felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. “Pregnant? How can Amelia be pregnant? She’s not married.”

  “Ah, Liddie.”

  Kate’s weary voice held disappointment, and Liddie realize
d just how naive her comment had been. The heat of embarrassment burned her cheeks.

  “It does happen. Unfortunately. But there are places for girls who get themselves in trouble.”

  “She’ll go away? But where? She can’t be alone.” A pang of fear for her sister pierced Liddie’s chest.

  Kate nodded. “In the morning, I’ll call a colleague to make arrangements. There’s a place in Des Moines where she can stay until it’s her time.”

  “But . . .” Liddie saw immediately that if Amelia was gone, not just away teaching during the days but really gone, there was no chance her parents could do without her on the farm.

  “It’s necessary. She won’t see anyone there who knows her or the family.” Kate had been sitting still; now she set the chair to rocking. “It’s a shame. She had such a promising future.”

  “Couldn’t she teach? After?”

  Kate shook her head. “Oh my, no. News like this has a way of getting around.”

  “But she’ll come back here, won’t she?”

  “I suppose she will. But this will hang over her the rest of her life.”

  “But she has to be here. She has to stay on the farm.” As the reality solidified in Liddie’s mind, so did desperation. “So I can go.”

  “We’ll have to see about that.”

  “But Mrs. Tinker needs an answer. You said so.”

  “It can’t be helped. Your parents cannot be bothered with that decision now.”

  Liddie’s eyes stung. “It’s not fair.”

  “That can often be said of life, dear.”

  When Liddie went to bed, she had the bedroom she shared with her sister to herself. Amelia was still with their parents.

  Sitting at the dressing table, she paid halfhearted attention to brushing her hair one hundred strokes as Amelia always said she should. Her eyes strayed around the room as her mind struggled to absorb a world that had gone topsy-turvy. The wallpaper covered with pink roses that made her feel as though she slept in a flower garden. The elaborately painted china teapot that had inspired bedtime stories when Liddie was little and then talks of dinner parties and guests as the girls grew older. The heavy, scrolled wrought iron headboard their father had painted white to appease his daughters’ pleas.