Dakota Born

  Lindsay shrugged. “I heard it was a bumper year for corn.” When she did turn on the radio, she noticed that the conversation generally centered on crops. There was a lot of talk about options and pork bellies and other subjects that didn’t affect her one way or another. At least that was what she’d naively assumed.

  “A bumper corn crop is right. Problem is, no one’s willing to pay a man a decent wage for his efforts.” This came from Stan Muller, a freshman who was obviously parroting his father’s comment.

  “My mom was crying when I left for school,” Jessica said. “She didn’t want us kids to know, but it wasn’t like she could hide it. It means another year of doing without, and we need so much.” She sounded close to tears herself. “My dad said I can forget about college when I graduate.”

  “It was bad enough that the wheat prices were lower than expected, but corn, too. It just isn’t fair.”

  “Gage was pretty upset,” Kevin volunteered. “Mom told him the Lord would provide and Gage said he didn’t think the Lord was listening. We’re going to need all the help we can get if we’re going to make it through the year.”

  One by one, her students relayed the effects the devastating news was having on their families. Even the kids who lived in town took the news hard, and so did those involved with ranching, although there were more farms in the vicinity than cattle ranches. Lindsay supposed that was what community meant—you cared what happened to your neighbors.

  She ran into Gage in town that afternoon. She’d seen him only once since the kissing episode on her front porch. That had been a week earlier, when they’d met on the sidewalk outside the post office. Gage had taken delight in getting a rise out of her, telling Lindsay that he was waiting for her to invite him for a beer. Flustered, she’d hurried on, certain that at least four people had overheard the comment. The sound of his laughter had followed her.

  Thursday afternoon she caught sight of him outside Buffalo Bob’s. This time, she was the one to seek him out. “Gage,” she called, raising her hand to get his attention.

  He waited while she crossed the street. He wasn’t smiling. “I wanted to remind you about the sixth,” she said.

  His stare was blank.

  “I have you down to talk to the high-schoolers about honeybees.”

  “Right.”

  His eyes, which she’d thought of as beautiful, seemed cold and lifeless just then. Lindsay didn’t know what to say or how to say it, but she couldn’t let the moment pass without some word of encouragement.

  “The kids told me about the corn and grain prices. I’m so sorry, Gage.” She placed her hand on his forearm and he stared at it for a moment.

  “So am I,” he said, and with that he headed into Buffalo Bob’s, as though standing on the sidewalk making polite conversation was beyond him. Lindsay felt Gage’s barely restrained anger and suspected that his frustration had reached a breaking point. She fought the urge to follow, to sit and talk with him. If nothing else, she could listen, but he wasn’t looking for someone to share his worries and he’d made it plain that he didn’t welcome her company.

  The next person Lindsay talked to was Rachel Fischer inside Hansen’s Grocery. She’d dropped in to pick up a few necessities for the week. “You heard?” Rachel asked when they saw each other at the produce counter.

  Lindsay nodded. “I didn’t realize how important…It was naive of me, I suppose.”

  “You can’t know until you’ve lived it.”

  “Are you worried?” Lindsay asked. Rachel had wagered her future on her fledgling pizza business, and it would be a shame if it went under without having had a chance to get off the ground.

  “Damn straight I’m worried,” Rachel confessed. “Pizza’s a luxury item and farmers around here were counting on grain prices being good this year. It’s a blow to everyone.”

  “Is there anything anyone can do?”

  “That hasn’t already been tried, you mean?”

  “But the government—”

  Rachel shook her head. “Farmers feel like the government’s sold them down the river. It’s tragic—America’s small farmers are being destroyed. A lot of people won’t make it through the winter now.”

  Lindsay realized she still had a great deal to learn. “What’s going to happen?”

  Rachel looked away, as though even speaking the words brought her pain. “The bank won’t have any option but to foreclose on mortgages and debts. Some people will be lucky enough to sell their land, and others—others will simply walk away with nothing to show for their blood, sweat and tears. Nothing but crippling debt.

  “Some of the farming families in this area have held on to the land for three and four generations, only to lose it all now. It breaks my heart. Imagine—to survive the Great Depression, the dust bowl years and everything else and have to sell out now.” She paused. “It does something to a man’s pride when he can’t support his family. He feels cheated and angry. People here have always had a strong work ethic.”

  Lindsay nodded; she’d certainly noticed that. “I wish there was something I could do.” For years, she’d heard about the plight of America’s farmers but she’d never fully understood their problems.

  “We’re going to lose more people this year, and the town’s already half the size it was while I was growing up.”

  Marta Hansen saw them talking and walked over to join them. “This is the final straw,” she announced. “I told Jacob this morning that we should sell out while we can.”

  “Mrs. Hansen,” Rachel said gently, “things will get better.”

  Marta shook her head. “People have been saying that for years, and it only gets worse.”

  “You’re not leaving Buffalo Valley, are you?” Lindsay asked.

  “Jacob doesn’t like to listen to my talk about leaving, but this morning when he heard the corn prices, after what happened with the wheat, he just shook his head. He agrees we can’t stay any longer.”

  “You’re not going to close the store, are you?” Alarm made Lindsay’s voice unnaturally high.

  “It’s for sale,” Marta said. “We’re getting out while we can.”

  Dinner was miserable for Joanie. The grain prices had been released that morning, and Brandon had disappeared for most of the afternoon. She almost always knew where to find him, but not today. It was as if her husband had wanted to hide from the world. And from his family. He’d closed himself off, didn’t want to talk to anyone, not even Joanie.

  The kids sat around the dinner table, barely touching their meal, while Joanie made an effort at conversation.

  “How was school today?” she asked Sage.

  “Fine.”

  “It was okay,” Stevie said with a shrug. Joanie wasn’t sure her six-year-old son understood the significance of what was taking place, but he appeared to realize that whatever had happened was bad.

  Brandon picked at his dinner, despite the trouble Joanie had taken to make lasagna, one of his favorite dishes. She wished he’d talk to her. They were partners in the farm, a team. She felt hurt that he’d shut her out now, especially since they’d made some real progress lately.

  After dinner, the kids went up to their rooms to do their homework, and Brandon sat in front of the television, staring at the set. He hadn’t spoken more than a few words all day.

  “I talked to Heath Quantrill this afternoon,” she said, joining her husband.

  That got Brandon’s attention. “About what?”

  “A part-time job, remember?”

  Brandon’s eyes flared with anger. “Forget it, Joanie. You call him back first thing tomorrow morning and tell him the whole thing is off.”

  Joanie’s heart stopped at the hard edge in his voice. It took great strength of character and her love for her husband not to react with anger herself. “We talked about my getting a part-time job a few weeks back. Don’t you remember?”

  “And you chose today of all days to apply?”

  Actually she’d submitt
ed her application earlier in the week. “Why does it matter what day I spoke to Heath?”

  His gaze narrowed. “It matters.”

  “But—”

  “I support this family.”

  “Brandon, it doesn’t have anything to do with that. We already discussed this, remember?”

  He didn’t answer her. Instead, he bolted up from his chair and headed out the door. Joanie wasn’t going to let him walk away from her. Not this time. Too often in the past she’d sat by and silently swallowed her pride, but no more.

  “Brandon, wait up!” She raced out of the house after him.

  Halfway across the yard he came to an abrupt halt. “What?” he demanded.

  She wanted to remind him that the grain prices were as much a disappointment to her as they were to him. What happened to him, happened to her. She drew in a deep breath and said, “We’re going to be all right.”

  The distant look in his eyes told her he didn’t want to hear any cheerful optimism. Nevertheless, she continued, “We’ve made it through hard times before and we will again.”

  “That’s what our marriage is to you, isn’t it? Hard times.”

  Sometimes he made everything so difficult. “You know that isn’t true.”

  “But you’ve suffered,” he said with heavy sarcasm.

  “Stop it. I know you’re disappointed, but so am I. Is lashing out at me going to make you feel better?” She clenched her fists at her sides. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “By applying for a job at the bank?”

  “Yes—no. I’m trying to support the family because you can’t.” It wasn’t what she’d meant to say and she could tell that her careless words were like throwing gasoline on a lit fire.

  “This wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t for you,” he shouted.

  “Now you’re saying this is my fault?” Her husband had lost all reason. “You’re blaming me for the low price of grain?” Her voice cracked. How could he even suggest such a thing? “Do you have any idea how ludicrous that sounds?”

  “Not the grain prices, dammit! That washing machine you couldn’t live without.”

  “What does the washing machine have to do with anything?”

  “I got a loan to buy the damned thing, figuring I’d be able to pay it off once we sold the corn.”

  It made sense to Joanie now. He’d taken out a loan for the appliances, adding the dryer when all she’d asked for was a new washer. With the payments to his parents, taxes, payments on the combine and health insurance premiums—plus living expenses—they were always strapped for cash. Now he’d added another payment they couldn’t afford.

  “I should’ve known,” he spat. “I should’ve known.”

  Joanie felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “I didn’t realize—”

  He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Now you do.”

  “It’s only been a month. Maybe we could take them back. Maybe we could talk to—”

  “No.”

  Her lower lip trembled with the effort to hold back tears.

  “Do you have any other brilliant ideas?”

  Joanie had nothing to say and ran back to the house. Sitting at the kitchen table, she buried her face in her hands. She knew Brandon wasn’t really angry with her. He was reacting to the unfairness of their lives, everything he’d invested of himself in his fields. He’d lashed out at her because she was there. That was what her head told her, but her heart hurt too much to listen.

  A few weeks ago Joanie would have expected this, but since the night of their anniversary, things had been much better. They seemed to have recaptured the closeness they used to share. The first day the kids were both in school, Brandon had taken her with him on the tractor and they’d ridden across the fields, laughing and teasing one another, like in the old days.

  The following Sunday, he’d attended church with her and the children for the first time in months. Since their anniversary they’d both made an effort to establish time for intimacy and lovemaking, refusing to put it off with a list of excuses.

  Today the low grain prices had hit, and now Joanie wondered if they’d ever recover.

  “Mommy.”

  At the soft whisper, she glanced up to find Sage standing next to the table, frowning. “Are you crying?”

  Joanie answered with a weak smile and brushed the tears from her cheeks, unwilling to lie to her daughter.

  “Did you and Daddy have another fight?”

  Wrapping her arms around Sage’s small shoulders, Joanie tried to explain. “Daddy’s worried, and we both said some things we didn’t mean.”

  “I’m worried, too. Are we going to lose the farm?”

  “Of course not, sweetheart.”

  “At school today, Danny Hoffman said his family was going to sell their farm.”

  Joanie pressed Sage’s head against her shoulder. “We won’t have to sell, sweetheart.”

  “Danny doesn’t want to move to the city.”

  “I know.” It had to be heartbreaking for the Hoffmans. “You don’t need to worry, sweetheart. Everything’s fine with us.”

  “With you and Daddy, too?”

  Joanie held her daughter close. “With me and Daddy, too,” she said.

  Sage relaxed. “Good. I don’t want you to get a divorce.”

  “We aren’t going to get a divorce.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promised to love your daddy all my life, and I will. Now, are you finished with your homework?”

  Sage nodded. “Stevie’s playing with his trucks, but I read like you said I should.”

  “Good for you.” Joanie managed a small smile.

  It was almost midnight before Brandon finally returned to the house. Joanie lay in bed, unable to sleep, worrying about her husband. Yet when she heard the door open and he crept into their bedroom, she didn’t reveal that she was still awake.

  His silent undressing in the dark told her he didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t want to talk to her and, as she so often had before, Joanie pretended to be asleep.

  The mattress dipped as Brandon got into bed beside her. Even with her back turned, Joanie could smell the liquor on his breath.

  “Joanie,” he whispered, his voice husky and slurred, “are you asleep?”

  She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “No.”

  Brandon slipped behind her, cuddling her spoon fashion. His hands found her breasts.

  “Where were you?” she asked.

  “In the barn.”

  “You have a bottle out there?”

  “Don’t start, baby.”

  “Start what?” He couldn’t possibly believe he could steal into the house in the middle of the night and make love to her after the way he’d behaved.

  “Another fight.”

  “I suppose that would be my fault, too.”

  “Baby, don’t. Not tonight. Just once can’t you give me what I want without an argument?”

  The unfairness of what he said was more than she could take. “Give you what you want? And what exactly do you want from me?”

  He pressed his erection against her backside. “Should be obvious. Come on, honey, I’m sorry. Let’s put it behind us, all right? We’ve been doing so well lately.”

  “You said some horrible things to me.”

  “I know.”

  “You want to abuse me with your words and then use my body to relieve your frustrations. I love you, Brandon, and I’m your wife, but I won’t be used in that way.”

  He went still for an instant, then turned over with such violence that he nearly ripped the sheets off the bed. “Fine. Forget I asked. Trust me, it’ll be a hell of a long time before I do that again.”

  “Since I seem to be entirely responsible for the depression in farm prices, I’m shocked you even want to touch me.”

  Apparently he was either too drunk or too angry to get comfortable, and bunched up the pillow. “Listen, if you want to get a job with the bank,
that’s okay with me. If you feel you can support this family better than I can, go right ahead.”

  “Fine.”

  “Maybe Quantrill can deduct the loan payments from your wages.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me working at the bank.” She told him what he hadn’t taken time to listen to earlier. “Heath said he isn’t planning to hire another teller.”

  Brandon sounded downright cheered by the information. “Pity.”

  Whatever closeness they’d gained since their anniversary had been destroyed, she realized. And something else—Joanie’s hope of making her marriage what she’d always dreamed it would be. That, too, had been lost.

  Saturday night, Gage sat alone in Buffalo Bob’s, nursing a beer. He hadn’t driven into town looking for company, but he’d expected the bar to have a little more activity than this.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked when Bob delivered his second draft.

  “Not in here,” he muttered.

  It went without saying that the farmers would be tightfisted after the devastating news earlier in the week. Generally, Gage was careful with a dollar himself, but he couldn’t stand being in the house with his mother and brother, pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t. Neither of them seemed to appreciate the gravity of the situation. Then again, perhaps they did, and it worried them too much to dwell on what the future held. Either way, Gage needed an escape, so he’d driven into town.

  And naturally there was Lindsay Snyder. Without being obvious about it, he’d hoped they might run into each other again, as they had on Thursday afternoon.

  She couldn’t have any idea how that brief meeting had helped him. The concerned look in her eyes had touched him, and when she’d gently placed her hand on his arm, it’d demanded every shred of restraint not to haul her into his embrace. He’d wanted to shut out the world, use her warmth and caring as a shield. In that moment, he’d needed Lindsay.

  Unfortunately, she’d made it plain she wasn’t interested, which was fine by him. Well, not fine, but acceptable. He wasn’t going to press any unwanted advances on her.

  Gage wished to hell he’d never kissed her. Those kisses had been a mistake. The feel of her, the taste of her, had imprinted themselves on his subconscious. At the most inopportune moments, he found himself submerged by swells of desire, wishing he could block her from his overactive mind. It’d been like this from the minute they’d met. Thoughts of her tormented him, especially at night….