Asked For by Colleen L. Donnelly Page A

another man. The tallest form moved away. A door opened and closed. The two remaining shadows moved close together and stayed at her side. The bundle began to cry, and her heart came alive.

Chapter 11
    Lana 1933
    Carl’s truck rumbled slowly up the lane. Lana listened from her chair near the table, the motor much smoother than the one in Cletus’ truck. Carl was here to pick up Ella, just like he did at the end of almost every day. Lana sighed. She was ashamed things had to be this way, but she was too weak to change them. The aroma of roast wafted from the kitchen, where Ella worked to complete another meal. On occasion Lana was strong enough to cook on her own, but most of the time she couldn’t. Growing new blood was a slow process, and that’s what the doctor said she needed to do. Alex had torn away at her insides too much, his birth almost violent. So violent that Ella’s face turned white when Lana asked her about the two days she couldn’t remember.
    “Carl’s here,” Lana called into the kitchen. Magdalena romped by, riding an invisible horse. “Go tell Ella Carl’s here,” Lana said to her daughter. Magdalena galloped away, bounding over her little brother, Harold, who was crawling across the floor. Harold didn’t flinch. He was peaceful, like Betsy, just not withdrawn. He was a combination of Lana and Cletus, the best of both. Harold would make a fine man someday.
    “Call’s here,” Magdalena’s small voice piped from the other room. Then the beat of her little feet could be heard as she spun her horse around and galloped away, making another circuit through the house. Alex was propped with his back against Lana’s stomach, the two of them slouched in the chair. His eyes were pinned on his sister. He had spunk, just like she did. His legs stiffened and kicked. If he could figure out how to use them, he’d gallop after her, a mini Magdalena, racing from room to room.
    Ella stepped from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Supper’s done,” she said.
    “You make enough for you and Carl too?” Lana asked. It was their arrangement. If Ella cooked here to help Lana, she took enough food home for herself and Carl. It was a battle every evening, who would give and who would receive. Lana knew it was her weakness that was her strength. She won these tussles because Ella watched her as they bickered, Lana’s skin turning cooler, and no doubt paler, whenever they locked horns.
    Ella studied her as she gauged the battle, drying her hands far more than they needed. She nodded then, her jaw set and her lips in a thin line as she retreated to the kitchen. Lana smiled, victorious. She must look especially bad this evening.
    Another truck rumbled in the distance, rougher and growing stronger as it approached. Harold stopped crawling and rolled onto his bottom. He sat up and listened to the sound he recognized as Pop’s. Magdalena rode harder. Lana lifted a hand, ran it over her own head to straighten her hair as she listened to her daughter slap her hip, urging the horse to go farther and faster.
    Cletus’ truck pulled into the lane. Carl would stay outside, now. Sometimes he came in and played with the kids while Ella finished up. But he wouldn’t when Cletus was here. They would stay out, Carl helping Cletus with the chores. Ella stepped once again from the kitchen and glanced the direction the men would be.
    “Guess I got a few more minutes,” she said, looking back at Lana. “What else you want me to do?”
    “Sit,” Lana said. “Pull up a chair and sit with me for awhile.”
    Ella hesitated, then waddled over, lifted Alex off Lana’s lap, and took the chair next to her. “Cow’s milk isn’t hurting him any, is it?”
    Alex looked far healthier than Lana felt. He was rounding out and rambunctious. She envied him, wished she had his strength so she could get back to being wife and mother the way she was supposed to. Nursing Alex what little she could helped him get a good start, but