Page 46 of Hank and Elsie
Although tempted to let the man dangle in the girl’s clutches for a few more minutes—after all, he’d put up with two days of her chasing him—Hank took pity on his friend. With a chuckle, he moseyed over, thinking of how he could best pry Brian away from the young harpy.
He swept her a small mock bow. “If you’ll excuse Mr. Bly, Miss Henrietta, I need him to come see to my horse. This morning, I felt some heat on Chipper’s leg.”
The girl pouted at them. “Fine!” She removed her hand and flounced off.
Brian shook his head. “I still don’t have a plot for a story. But I’mdefinitelyputting that irritating girl into my next book.”
CHAPTER 17
When the work switched to the Bailey farm, luckily, the Smithson family traveled home before supper, tacitly acknowledging that they wouldn’t be as well fed if they’d stayed. But, at least, that meant everyone wrapped up the work earlier, which left a bit of time to socialize after the meal, before the seven of them went wearily to bed.
Once the womenfolk had washed and dried a multitude of pots, pans, and dishes, Hank and Elsie were allowed to sit outside on a strawbale set against the front of the small barn. The first evening, Hank sensed Elsie was too tired for much conversation, so they’d sat in companionable silence, with only the faint glow from the home’s windows lighting the darkness surrounding them. A cool breeze heralded the approach of autumn.
Today, without having to rise an hour earlier for the drive to the Smithson and go to bed later because of the trip home, Elsie seemed more like her lively self. She tilted back her head and gazed at the inky sky, the moon a mere sliver of crescent and a wash of silver stars pinpricking the black velvet. “I can see stars in town. But somehow, out here, they seem so vast.”
Hank wondered if he dared take Elsie’s hand. He debated for a few minutes and then, as he’d done several times over the summer, decided to wait for a sign she felt more comfortable with him. “It’s the extent of the horizon, I think, as far as our eyes can see. No trees or buildings or mountains.”
“This is the most beautiful part of living on the prairie, although we’re usually indoors at night, not looking toward the stars.” She let out a sigh. “Think we’ll finish tomorrow?”
“I’ll bet if we put our backs to it, we’ll finish up in a day and a half.”
“Good. No more Smithsons.”
“Not the most pleasant people, those neighbors of yours.”
“You’re so lucky with Torin and Jewel and Brian.”
“I’m not so sure about Brian,” he quipped.
“Oh, you.” She nudged his shoulder with hers. “He’s a good man and you know it.”
“A grumpy man.”
“A man carrying a lot of pain.”
Hank looked at her then, straining to make out her face in the darkness, but he could see only shadows. Her perception surprised him. He’d taken several years to come to the same conclusion.
Hank knew Brian had been keeping a skeptical eye on Elsie, searching for signs that she’d, indeed, be the type of woman who upset their peace.
He hoped his friend could see what he did, how Elsie remained cheerful in the midst of hard work. That she spoke to her siblings in kind tones. How she stepped in to help where needed, without being asked.Yes, I believe working here is probably reassuring Brian of her good character.
“Perhaps, instead of calling ourselves ‘The Bachelors of Three Bend Lake,’ we’re ‘The Misfits of Three Bend Lake.’”
“Not misfits,” Elsie said firmly. “Hermits.”
“Aren’t hermits misfits?”
“I’m not going to debate with you, Hank Canfield, she said with playful tartness. “You know what I mean.”
Smiling, he settled back against the wooden wall. “I’ve always felt the three of us were drawn to the place where we were meant to be.”
“I can see that.” She laid her head on his shoulder.
Hank didn’t dare move. Instead, he slowly inhaled and exhaled a feeling of contentment, unlike anything he’d ever felt before.
Elsie hadn’t knownhow laughter could lighten the burden of the tedious work of digging out potatoes. Nor how having a handsome man facing her only a few feet away would make her self-conscious about being covered with dirt and havingglowingskin—Miss Taylor having informed her that ladies didn’t sweat.
Far too often, she raised her eyes to watch Hank deftly pry out a spud and deposit it into his bucket. Then he’d find one with an odd shape and, like a puppet master, begin a fast-talking commentary, voice pitched to mimic whatever character the potato portrayed. Sometimes, he pulled off a glove to drape around the potato as a shawl or skirt or hat or, in case of one with four downward nubs, a horse’s saddle.
