Where Willows Grow by Kim Vogel Sawyer Page B

crank.
    He had to stand to reach the throttle, and he pushed the lever down about one-third before yanking the hand brake lever to its farthest position to ensure no forward motion when the engine sparked to life. Those things accomplished, he strode to the front of the Model T and curled his hand around the crank, keeping his thumb tucked up out of the way. After two controlled forward jerks, followed by a hard shove to set the crank spinning, the auto rewarded him by roaring like a mad bull.
    Quickly, he jumped inside the car and adjusted the throttle to bring the kicking and heaving under control. Once the machine reached a dull roar, he tweaked the carburetor until the roar turned into a lion’s purr. Only then did he slam his door shut, release the brake, put the vehicle into reverse, and pull out of the churchyard.
    On the road, dust rolling behind them, Anna Mae shook her head, her eyes wide. ‘‘You have to go through all that every time you want to drive this thing?’’
    Jack grinned. ‘‘Yep.’’
    ‘‘It’s a whole lot less work to hitch a horse to a buggy.’’ She tightened her arms around a squirming Marjorie as the Model T bounced through a rut.
    ‘‘That could be,’’ Jack said, patting the steering wheel, ‘‘but it’s not nearly as much fun.’’ He glanced in the back, where Dorothy sat on her knees, bobbing up and down with the car’s movements. ‘‘Right, Dorothy?’’
    ‘‘Right!’’
    Anna Mae peeked into the back, a scowl on her face. ‘‘Dorothy Mae Phipps, sit on your bottom.’’
    ‘‘But, Mama, my feet hang!’’
    Anna Mae opened her mouth, but Jack intervened. ‘‘You can sit cross-legged in here, Dorothy. Won’t hurt a thing.’’
    With a triumphant grin, the little girl followed Jack’s instruction. Sitting like a little Indian in front of a campfire, she craned her neck to peer out the window.
    Anna Mae shot Jack a scathing look. ‘‘Don’t interfere when I correct my daughter, Jack.’’
    He shrugged. ‘‘It’s my car, and her feet on the seat don’t bother me a bit.’’
    Anna Mae pinched her lips together and didn’t say another word the rest of the way to her house. Jack let the car idle as he ran around to open the door for her. She pulled away from his hand when he reached to help her, turning her back on him the minute she was out.
    ‘‘Come on, Dorothy, hurry up,’’ she prodded as Dorothy took her time scooting across the seat. When Dorothy emerged, Anna Mae took her by the hand and headed for the house. She offered neither a thank-you nor a fare-thee-well in parting.
    Dorothy peeked back at him from around Anna Mae’s skirt as they rounded the porch, and Jack offered a smile and wave that the child returned. Then Anna Mae ushered her through the door, and the door closed with an audible whump .
    He shook his head, unable to stop smiling. She might think she was dissuading him with her snooty attitude, but she’d forgotten just how persistent he could be. Didn’t she remember that he liked a good challenge? Well, he’d just have to remind her.
    Swinging back into his vehicle, he gave his door a solid yank and set the vehicle in motion. He’d be back. Not today—no reason to come back today since the milk truck didn’t run on Sundays—but he’d be back. Full of smiles, helpfulness, and cheery words—and one other thing he’d noticed she needed. He’d get a thank-you out of her tomorrow for sure.

10
    M WAAAAAAH .
    Anna Mae waved her hand, trying to push away the intruding noise.
    MwaaaAAAaaah .
    It came again, more insistently. She opened her eyes, then slammed them shut against the light. Her heart lodged in her throat—the sun was up! How could she have slept so late? The poor cow must be miserable. She forced her eyes open as she threw back the sheets and leaped from the bed. The floor seemed to tilt. She grasped the iron bedpost with both hands and held on until she gained her bearings.
    Mwaaaaaah .
    The animal’s cry