Page 13 of Homestead

Not that she says so. That evening she acts all sweet and excited about my change in circumstance, but I know she doesn’t mean it.

She wanted it to be her.

I can hardly blame her for being disappointed. If I’m reading this small community correctly, Jimmy is the only single man with stability and his own home. There are several other strays like me—men of various ages who live and work on the farms. One of them even made a move on me the third day I arrived, but I told him, no, thank you and avoided him after that.

Laura is not going to want to pair up with someone without his own home and means of providing for her, so she had her sights set on Jimmy.

I can almost—almost—sympathize. It doesn’t take too much mental stretching to imagine how she must feel. She’s been here for years and known these people since childhood. She clearly had hopes where Jimmy was concerned and probably poured a lot of herself into those dreams. Then I show up and less than a month later get what she was wanting.

Or at least something of what she wanted.

She was probably daydreaming about romance and marriage with him. Obviously that’s not what he’s offering me. Ours will be a practical arrangement that benefits both of us.

I have absolutely no fantasies about romance. It hasn’t factored into any of my future plans for years.

Years.

So I feel just a little bit bad for Laura even as I’m annoyed by her backhanded comments, and I don’t let myself get angry.

I can’t get angry—at least I can’t show it. My position is far too tenuous here.

From this point on, my primary goals are as follows. Make Jimmy happy to the best of my ability. Secure a safe and mostly comfortable space for myself in the world. And not get on anyone’s bad side who might be in the position to affect my first two goals.

That includes Laura. So I’m nice to her that evening and pretend I believe her congratulations are genuine.

Jimmy insists I come in and eat dinner with everyone else, but afterward I have to finish the laundry. He tries to help, but I don’t let him. It’s my job. Not his. And accepting assistance on one of my chores is not a good start to our relationship. So while the rest of the group hangs out after dinner—the Carlsons, those who live and work on the farm, and a bunch of their neighbors—I leave to finish doing the laundry on the sun porch.

The clothes I hung up earlier this afternoon are almost dry from the heat of the big central fireplace in the house, but the shirts and underwear from before dinner are still wet, and half a basket hasn’t even been washed yet.

I’m so tired when I’m finally done that I can barely keep my eyes open. I should join the others now and smile and laugh and make small talk, but all my mental energy has drained away with the fatigue of my body. And for some reason, the cozy, cheerful scene makes me feel lonely.

Like I’m not a part of it and never really will be.

Despite my good news today—better news than I could ever have imagined for myself—the loneliness makes me want to cry.

I lost my parents. My school friends. Grandpa. And my best hope for myself now is living with a strange, grumpy man and trying to please him.

Since I’m on the verge of tears, I can’t risk hanging out with the others. I stop by the living room to let Greta know I’ve finished the laundry, to thank her for dinner, and to say good night to the rest of the people gathered there.

Jimmy jumps up as soon as I make an appearance, and he walks down the hall with me when I head toward my bedroom.

I have no idea why he’s here. He was comfortable in there. He was playing an old guitar, and they’d started to sing some old country songs. He was probably enjoying it.

But he walks with me silently until I reach the bedroom door.

“Okay,” I say, peeking up at him and trying to figure out what the sober frown on his face might mean. Surely he’s not having second thoughts just because I’m not social enough today. “I’m sorry I’m not hanging out with everyone tonight. Normally I will.”

“You feelin’ okay?” He’s peering at me with those dark brown eyes like he’s looking for clues on my face.

“Yeah. I’m really just tired. I’m glad about your offer. Thank you for… for thinking of me.”

“Course.” His frown deepens. “You feel weird about it? ’Cause we don’t have to do anythin’ right aw?—”

“No, no! I’m not weird about it at all. I’m excited. I’ll try to do a good job.”

“Okay then.” He’s still frowning, and I finally give up trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

“Okay.” I gulp and drop my head, wishing my hair was loose so it would cover my face. But it’s pulled back in the high ponytail I always wear. “Good night.”

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