Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 34

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  Rest in peace, Robin Twist. You will be missed. xx

TWITTER: @styles_orama

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Oh, when we started -
two hearts in one home
It's hard when we argue
We're both stubborn I know,
but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature
Wherever I go, you bring me home
Sweet creature, sweet creature
When I run out of road, you bring me home.
                -Harry Styles

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FRANKIE:

"That piece of shit!" Harry turns to go beat on Zayn some more, but I stop him.

"Harry, please don't. Please."

I start bawlin' fresh tears all of a sudden, and Harry's there in two strides swoopin' me up in his arms, huggin' me so tight my feet don't even touch the ground.

After a minute, Harry sets me back down, walks 'round to the back of Malik's wagon and pulls out my suitcase. "We gotta get back home quick. A storm worse than this one is comin'."

*****

FRANKIE:

I bustle about the cabin collectin' supplies for the storm, as well as things that need safe-keepin', and I start throwin' everything down into the root cellar.

The weather had turned on us real quick, and the ride home from Cider Creek was rough. One of the wheels got stuck in the mud, and Harry had to put some cedar planks 'neath it and give it a good shove, while I drove the horses and prayed to God to get us out of the muck.

Dear Lord, I'm sorry I ran away from Harry like I didn't have the sense my mama gave me. Now he's out there getting soaked to the bone on account of me. Please help us get back to the cabin before a tornado whips the tar out of us, or we end up struck dead by lightnin'. I promise I will act right from now on. I promise I will. Amen.

Harry proposed to me and I ran away. What on earth was I thinkin'? I know it's kinda quick and all, but somethin' about him — about us — just feels right. The thought of tellin' him about my past makes me queasy as all get-out, but if there's even a small chance that he'll want me anyway . . .

Talkin' on the ride home was impossible on account of the rain, which was fine by me, 'cause the time for questions would be here soon enough. We were both wetter than drowned rats as we entered the cabin, and when I saw the folded paper on the kitchen table, I knew he'd found the note I'd left upstairs.

Harry was movin' faster than I'd ever seen him before – he tossed my bags in the cabin, barked some orders, and ran out to put the wagon in the barn and see to the animals. I wasn't sure if he was mad, or just tryin' to hurry and get shit done.

Down in the root cellar, I'm straightenin' up all the things I'd drug down here and takin' a mental inventory, while a nervous and whimperin' Duke circles my feet, both of us worryin' about his master outside. I have blankets, food (most of which is stored down here anyway), lanterns, our nightclothes, Harry's rifle, empty buckets, and two full buckets I'd fetched from the porch that are full of rainwater.

I climb back up to the kitchen real fast, and as my head clears the threshold, I'm surprised to see Harry's dirt-smudged face peerin' into a pot on the stovetop. He sniffs the contents. My feet still, and I pause to look him over. His boots are muddy, and the meanderin' path he took to the kitchen is marked by pigeon-toed footprints and water puddles of different sizes. Harry grabs the ladle and stirs the pot, taking a quick taste. Two slurps satisfy him. A quick nod of his head sends a few drops of rainwater from the brim of his hat into our dinner. For a second, I forget the evenin's troubles and stifle a giggle, thankful Harry can't hear cause of the intensity of the storm. But his sixth sense must feel me watchin', 'cause his eyes dart my direction anyway.

"Did you get everythin' I told ya to?"

"Believe so," I nod. "Yep."

"Good," Harry responds, picking up the pot carefully with a dishtowel and coming to hand it down to me. "Be careful, hon - the pot itself is still hot."

Hearin' Harry call me "hon" sets off the butterflies in my stomach, and when I raise my eyes to meet his, there is a knowing in them that wasn't there before. Gentle, yet firm - although the winds whistle through the crevices and threaten our little cabin, it is as clear as a summer's day that I am his. The ugliness of my past doesn't stand a chance against Harry Styles.

As he transfers the pot from his care to mine, the accidental brush of his hand sends a thunderbolt that jolts my secret garden in such a way that I have to bite my bottom lip to stop myself from crying out. Did he feel that too?

Harry stutters, "L-Lemme bar the door and latch the shutters, and I'll be down right quick." Yep, I think he did.

Soon enough I hear a ruckus up above and Harry hollers down tellin' me to stay outta the way. He says he's gonna wait for my "all clear," and then shove somethin' through the cellar openin'. I do, and he does, or he tries — and pretty soon there's a folded mattress cloggin' the cellar hole and there's a lot of muffled gruntin' from upstairs that includes several "damns," "goddammits," and "sonofabitches."

Grabbin' onto the mattress from below, I yell up, "I'm gonna try and pull it through from down here, 'kay?" I tug on it as best I can, tryin' to wiggle it through. "Be careful you don't fall through the hole when it gives way."

"What?" Harry grunts from above.

"Be careful you don't —"

Then everything's happening at once. I feel the give of the mattress and hear the beginnings of an "oh shit," and scramble for safety as the mattress clears the opening, unfolds on the cellar floor, and Harry's "oh shit" turns into a very loud "oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit" as he tumbles through the opening behind it. There's not a moment to spare so I can pray for Harry's safety, and after a quick once-over, it appears I didn't need to, as he's without injury other than the loss of his hat which had come to settle near Duke..

"Are you alright?" I ask, noticing he'd tucked the note I'd left in his front shirt pocket.  "Why do you have that?"

He takes a moment to get his bearings. "Huh?" Have what??"

I point to the letter.

"Oh. Um, for safekeeping," he replies. Uh-oh.

"Why on earth would you wanna keep that?"

The hint of a blush pinkens his cheeks. "Because you wrote that you loved me."

Now it's my cheeks that are doing the pinkening.

"Do you mean it?" Still sittin' on the mattress, curls wet and unruly, mud smudges on his flushed cheeks, green eyes await the answer I feel floodin' through me.

"Yes." I'm breathless and from what exactly, I don't know. "Yes, Harry. I do."