Hideaway Home. Hannah Alexander

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      Joseph had always seemed partial to Red, and taught him a lot about being the man of the house, looking out for his mother, taking on a lot of the workload. He’d shown Red everything from stacking firewood the right way to handling newborn calves to plantin’ a garden.

      Joseph had also written to Red at least twice a month all the time he was in Europe. Nobody would take Pa’s place, of course, but Joseph Moennig came the closest. He had to be lonely with Bertie out in California.

      Red cast another curious glance at his mother. Well, maybe Joseph wasn’t always lonely. Ma would see to that. And it didn’t seem she’d mind all that much.

      “I can’t do much right now to help him on the farm,” Red warned her.

      “He won’t care none about that, he’ll be worried about you.” She sighed and shook her head. “Can’t deny it’ll be a relief to share the load a little.”

      “What load’s that?” Red asked.

      She jerked her head toward his leg. “Since you didn’t want Bertie to know about your injury, I couldn’t tell nobody about it. Somebody’d have blabbed for sure. You’re gonna be a shock to all our Hideaway friends, Red. Nobody even knows you got shot.”

      He nearly groaned aloud. Why had he done that to his poor mother? “I didn’t get shot. I got hit by shrapnel. They’ll know soon enough.”

      “Guess that means you need to have a talk with Bertie before long, because you’re sure not going to keep this thing a secret now. You’re back in the States, you can pick up a phone and call her. She’s really gonna be hurt you didn’t tell her about this right off.”

      “I couldn’t, Ma. I didn’t know how it’d all work out, and you know how she worries.”

      “You can tell her now.”

      Red nodded. “Guess I could.”

      “You know, I never did like keepin’ this thing a secret from her, especially when she asked about you time and time again.”

      “I know, and I’m sorry.”

      “I’ve never been a liar, and keeping this from her felt like I was lyin’.”

      He sighed. “I know, Ma. I know.”

      “And you never did tell me why you did it.”

      “She’s gone through a lot, Ma. Her brother moved away, then the war hit, then her mother died. And now she’s all alone in California without any kin nearby.”

      “And now her beau’s stopped writing to her,” his mother said, giving him a pointed look.

      “I’d rather have her wonder about a few missed letters than know about this.” He tapped his leg.

      “It’s gonna heal fine,” Ma said.

      Red didn’t argue, but he couldn’t agree, either. That’d be lying. For the past few weeks, he hadn’t believed anything would be fine again. But no reason to try to tell his mother that.

      Still, she was right. He had to tell Bertie about this leg. He dreaded doin’ it, because it would change everything. Could be that was why he hadn’t said anything about it yet—pure selfishness. As long as Bertie didn’t know there was anything wrong, in her mind, at least, they were still together at heart.

      But when he told her about the leg, he’d also have to tell her his decision about the two of them. He still didn’t know how he could bear it.

      “So you might as well get it over with,” Ma said. “She’s hurtin’ out there in no-man’s-land, all alone, thinkin’ her man’s done dropped her like a hot biscuit.”

      Red started to speak, and he couldn’t. He swallowed hard, feeling his mother’s sharp gaze. “I will, Ma. Soon as she’s had time to get home from work tonight, I’ll call her and tell her all about it.”

      From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother nod, saw her mouth open to speak, and he cut her off.

      “I heard tell you’ve cooked Joseph a meal or two lately.” He hoped she would let him change the subject.

      When he glanced at her, his eyebrows nearly met his hairline at the sight of the blush that tinted her face.

      “Bertie tell you that?” she asked.

      Red nodded. Bertie had written a lot of things in her letters that he’d never realized before—about her dreams of living on a farm and having kids, of maybe someday having her own guesthouse like his mother’s.

      He’d also learned how much Bertie admired Lilly—and Red. It was a funny thing about Bertie—when they were growing up, Red had treated her about the same way he treated all his buddies. Like a guy. Never took much notice of her any other way until they were nearin’ high school. Then he’d struggled for years to come to terms with his feelings.

      Even when the war hit, spurring him to finally ask her out on a real date, they’d never talked about feelings and such, not the way she wrote about them now. They’d talked baseball scores and fishing, and, of course, they’d talked about the war.

      “Joseph never says anything about how he’s doin’ alone out on the farm,” Lilly said. “Used to be he wouldn’t even let me bake him a pie, but lately, he’s helped me out with a few things—like when Mildred got lost—and he hasn’t minded when I cooked a few things up. He’s still as stubborn as a mule.”

      “His daughter has some of his stubbornness,” Red said, unable to keep his thoughts from settling on Bertie, same as they’d done throughout the war—same as they’d done for nigh on twelve years or so.

      “Soon as he heard about the brick in the window, he came to town and helped shore up the hole,” Ma said. “Then he went looking for signs of the scoundrels.”

      “Maybe he’s figured something out by now,” Red said.

      “Could be the two of you need to put your heads together.” She nudged him. “Seeing as how he’s practically your father-in-law.”

      Red noticed that his mother’s teasing grin didn’t reach her eyes. She was worried about that, he could tell, and he could almost hear her unasked question.

      Joseph Moennig and his daughter weren’t the only stubborn ones. Ma could be hard to live with when she wanted something she couldn’t get. Like a certain young lady for a daughter-in-law.

      Also, that brick and the missing cow had scared Ma worse than she would let on, but Red knew if he pushed, she’d clam up. Best to talk about other things for a while. And so they did, throughout the hour-long ride back to Hideaway.

      Chapter Seven

      The dirt road to Hideaway from Hollister skirted the southern ridge of hills that formed bluffs above the James River. Simply named the Hideaway Road, it continued on from Hideaway to Cape Fair, where it was called the Cape Fair Road. The Moennig farm was barely a quarter mile from Hideaway.

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