Janet Tronstad - Dry Creek Daddy

The woman stepped into the room and then came out.

“You can go in,” she said. “The nurse inside will help you.”

“Thank you,” Hannah whispered.

Light green walls reflected the strong florescent lights. A grunt came from the elevated bed in the middle of the room.

“What took you so long?” a man’s querulous voice accused her from where he lay. Blankets partially hid his face, but she knew him.

Hannah stopped in midstride. Her father had barely greeted her when she drove in last night, saying little beyond directing her to set herself up in the small house near the barn. That’s where the farmhands had stayed when there were any. It was drafty and dusty. It hadn’t been used in years. Her father had no reason to expect to see her standing here now.

“You can’t talk to Hannah that way,” Mark said before Hannah could answer. “You didn’t call and tell her what happened. She didn’t need to come to the hospital at all.”

“It’s okay,” Hannah whispered. She was embarrassed at the gulf between her and her father. But she hadn’t moved back under any illusion that he’d give her a warm welcome.

She’d come because she had no other home. And the part-time job in the café gave her time off so she could take Jeremy to his doctor’s appointments. She’d still be able to work enough hours to buy groceries and, if necessary, pay rent. She reminded herself she needed to find out exactly what her father wanted in payment for use of that run-down house. She prayed it wouldn’t be much; she didn’t know what the copays would be on Jeremy’s treatment yet—or even if their insurance would cover it at all. She’d find out on Wednesday when she took him to meet the physician who’d be treating him.

“No need to be touchy,” her father said, glaring at Mark. “I—”

“We need to decide what to do,” Hannah interrupted matter-of-factly as she stepped closer to her father’s bed. She didn’t have time in her life for this kind of drama. The nurse, on the other side of her father, was setting a glass of water on his table.

Hannah continued, “First off, you were in an accident.”

“I know what happened,” her father snapped. “My brain works just fine—” He looked over at Mark and glared. “Not like some I could mention.”

“That remark is not necessary.” Hannah was appalled at what he’d said. Her father never had approved of her spending time with Mark, but he’d usually avoided outright rudeness. “You should be grateful Mark drove me here.”

She did not know what her father had against the Nelson family, but she wasn’t going to let him make a scene. She stepped even closer to the hospital bed, thinking her father might lower his voice if she did so. The door was still open and she did not want the whole floor to hear him.

He just grimaced at her. “I don’t need anyone hovering over me.”

“Yes, you do,” the nurse informed him briskly. “The doctor means it when he says you need to be watched for at least twenty-four hours. You’ve got a concussion and cracked ribs.”

“I can’t worry about any of that,” he protested indignantly. “I have to get my wheat harvested. It’s going to rain and I’ll lose the whole crop if I don’t get it in. Then how will I pay my taxes?”

“The doctor knows his medicine,” the nurse said with even greater emphasis. “He won’t release you if you’re going to bounce around on farm equipment and do your head more harm.”

“A rancher can’t just ignore his crops,” her father said. “He’ll end up broke.”

“The doctor thinks your health is more important than your crops.”

“It’s my livelihood,” her father persisted.

“And this is your life,” the nurse countered.

The room was silent for a minute while her father tried to stare down the nurse. He didn’t succeed.

“I’ll do the harvesting,” Hannah finally said. “At least today and tomorrow.”

She’d need to be free on Wednesday to take Jeremy to his initial consultation with the new doctor. But she could run the combine tomorrow. She’d helped her father with the farmwork the summer her mother had been so ill. He hadn’t cared about the crops then. He’d sat in the back bedroom by her mother’s side for days.

“You?” her father demanded incredulously. “You can’t run that combine by yourself! Besides, you’d lose that job of yours at the café, and then what would you do? I can’t be supporting you and that sick boy of yours all winter long.”

The silence went even deeper. In the phone call she’d made last week, Hannah hadn’t told her father about the leukemia; she had only said Jeremy was sick. Apparently that had been enough to put him off, though.

“I won’t lose my job,” Hannah said, praying it was true. “Maybe I can start in the fields before it’s light in the morning—”

Mark interrupted, “Jeremy’s sick?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Hannah said.

“Of course the boy’s sick,” her father muttered flatly. “What do you expect?”

It took Hannah a minute to realize what her father meant. “What are you saying? That it’s my fault Jeremy’s sick? Because I wasn’t married?”

She knew how the old man thought. He didn’t answer.

Hannah turned to Mark. “Let’s go. He can stay here for all I care.”

Her father’s attitude reminded her of why she’d felt she needed to sneak away from his house. No one at the home for unwed mothers was even pretending to be part of her family. And that meant they didn’t feel they had the right to condemn her, either.

She started walking to the door when she heard Mark speak.

“I’ll run the combine,” he announced quietly.

Hannah went back into the room.

“You?” her father sounded even more agitated as he stared at Mark. “Why, I can’t let a Nelson—”

Hannah stared at the man who had been the only father she’d ever known. She wasn’t the only one he disliked. He wouldn’t ask for help from anyone. He’d locked eyes with Mark and was starting to sit up as though that would prove something.

“You need to get that wheat in a granary soon or you won’t have a crop at all,” Mark said, his voice not rising. “You should have let me help you last week when I offered.”

“You already said you’d help him?” Hannah squeaked, staring at Mark. She could not believe this.

He nodded. “And got cussed out for the effort.”

Hannah glanced over to her father and saw him looking sheepish.

“You refused to let him help you?” she asked. “Why?”

Her father might not ask for assistance, but she hadn’t expected he would turn it down.

“I don’t need him to do anything.” Then, looking belligerent, her father added, “And don’t think I’m going to pay overtime for any twelve-hour days.”

“It’ll be more like sixteen-hour days since you let it go so late, and I’ll not be charging you a penny, you old fool,” Mark said. “You treat Hannah better and don’t say a bad word about Jeremy and we’ll consider ourselves even.”

Hannah smiled slightly. Her father glowered at everyone, but he kept his mouth shut. He was apparently willing to accept help when it was free.

“You’ll keep him quiet and resting?” the nurse asked Hannah. “For at least a full day?”

She nodded.

“I’ll get the doctor, then,” the nurse said. “It’ll take a few minutes to get him ready to leave.”

“My pickup is busted up, too,” her father mumbled as the nurse left the room.

“I’ve got mine outside,” Mark said. “Do we need to call a tow truck for yours?”

Hannah’s father shook his head. “The repair shop has it. I’ll come back and get it next week. In the meantime, we need to take this back with us.”