The Cherry Harvest (28 page)

“Sure took your sweet time about it.”

“Ben?” Kate hurried to the table.

Clay glanced at Kate. “Better get going. It's a long drive.”

“But you just got here!” Kate panicked.

“Let him go!” Ben shouted. “Back to his . . . his country club.”

Clay turned away and headed for his car.

“Clay!” Kate rushed after him. “You need to understand. Ben . . . he's not . . . it's just that . . .”

Clay got into the car and looked up at her. “He doesn't want me here right now.” He started the engine.

“But
I
do! I don't want to lose you—”

He took her hand, kissed her fingers. “You'll never lose me. You and me in the cottage last night. That's what I'll be thinking about.” He let go of her hand. His tires crunched forward on the gravel. Kate watched his taillights trail off down County Trunk Q, smaller and smaller, until they disappeared.

“Oh!” Kate whirled toward Ben. “Look what you've done! Clay is a good person.”

“Is this what you call taking care of things?” Ben was breathing
hard. “We're over there fighting and this . . . this pretty boy's driving around in his fancy car . . . impressing all the girls . . .” Ben banged on his left thigh. “I can't believe I lost this for the likes of him!”

“You don't understand—”

He grabbed her wrist. “You think a rich guy like that is serious about a simple farm girl like you?”

“You're hurting me . . .”

“Damn fucking officer! He'll never see action.” Ben's grip tightened on her wrist. “Guys like him are why enlisted men get ‘Dear John' letters. Know what that means?”

Kate twisted from his grip. He grabbed for her again, but she ducked away. “What's the matter with you!” she shouted. “What did you do with my brother?”

“Damn OCS brat. He's a sonofabitch! You stay away from the likes of him.” Ben swung his arm, nearly lost his balance, righted himself. “From all of 'em, ya hear?”

He's possessed. That's what it is. Possessed by war ghosts
.

“You hear me, farm girl?”

Kate slapped his face hard and watched him wobble with the shock of the blow. Never had she hit anyone, let alone her brother, but no one had ever been so cruel. He caught himself and put a hand to his cheek, his eyes wide.

A car rolled onto the gravel. Kate turned toward the stand, her palm burning.

The couple wanted to know the prices of everything and sample every kind of cherry. Kate's hands shook as she picked up their coins from the counter. Surely they saw she was crying. When they finally left, Kate went outside. Ben was far down the lane, hobbling toward the house.

“Good. Hobble away,” she said under her breath. Maybe I am a simple farm girl, but Clay wants to be with me. He could be with any old prissy debutante, but he wants me. She rubbed her wrist. He
wants to read my stories. Like Father, and Miss Fleming. He appreciates me. “Barefoot and all,” she said aloud.

Kate brought the
OPEN
sign into the shack and pulled the shutters closed. She got on her bicycle and pedaled north along County Trunk Q.

At Island Road, she veered down toward the lighthouse and rode to the end, set her bicycle against the tree, and waded across the channel.

Josie was at the edge of the woods picking wildflowers.

“I have to talk with you,” Kate said.

They sat on the grass in a patch of sunlight, and Kate told Josie what had happened. “Would you please speak with Ben about Clay? Ben always listens to you.”

Josie frowned. “He's different now.”

Kate froze. “Of course he is. Think what he's been through. He did his duty, now we—”

“I know, I know. I feel terrible! A coward, a traitor . . .” Tears streamed down Josie's face. “He was romantic and considerate and fun and happy and . . . Mama asked me how he could possibly run the farm now.”

“He'll get a new leg, and—”

“It's not that . . . well, not only that . . .” Josie wiped her cheeks. “I loved him the way he was. I loved him
so much
!”

“I know.” Kate took Josie's hand.

“But now . . . he's so bitter. Mean. I don't know what to say, how to act. I can't even be myself around him.”

“Josie, we have to give him time. That's what Father says. He'll be fine.”

“When?” She pulled away. “When will he be fine? How long does it take?”

She lay down on the lawn and curled into herself. Ringlets of dark hair fell against her pale skin. Her tears rolled sideways down her cheeks. Her full breasts heaved against her white cotton blouse. She was so pretty, any boy would choose her.

“C'mon, Josie.” Kate bent forward and stroked her friend's hair. “You should have seen the way Ben perked up when Craig visited. That's what he needs. To talk with the other boys who've come back.”

Josie moaned. “I love being with him, in his arms. He's the only one I ever . . . we were meant to be together.” Josie sat up and pulled out a hankie and wiped her face. Her white blouse was grass-stained, but she didn't seem to mind.

“I'm leaving end of August,” Kate said. “If you want me to help you with your wedding dress, we better get started. A summer wedding.” Kate recalled Josie's excitement whenever she spoke of the wedding. Dancing with Ben. Well, there'd be no dancing now. “Let's go up to your room and look at that
Bride's Magazine
with the dress you like.”

Josie turned away. “Maybe later . . .”

“And those kitchen curtains. White lace, right?”

“I haven't decided.”

“Decided?” Kate repeated. “Look, we'll go to Mrs. J's together and pick out the fabric. We could go now.”

“Stop!” Josie put her hands to her ears.

“What's wrong?” Kate's words felt hollow as soon as they left her lips. Hadn't she just slapped her own brother? Everything was wrong.

“It's not his fault, I know. It's not fair. Not fair for either of us.” She was sobbing now, shaking with sobs. “I feel so . . . so guilty! I told him I'd marry him. I love him, I really do. But I loved the
other
Ben!”

Everyone loved the other Ben,
Kate thought miserably.

“He did his duty, and I should do mine. If I only knew whether he'd ever be the same again. If I knew that . . .” Josie blew her nose. “I've been waiting for him, and I'm older now, and all the boys are gone . . . and I don't want to lose you either!”

Kate put an arm around her friend's shoulders.

“I'm afraid of him,” Josie whispered.

Kate rubbed her wrist where Ben had grabbed her. “Oh, Josie!” Ben needed Josie. If she were to leave him . . . “Let's give him a chance.”

Josie sniffled. “What if Clay comes back angry like Ben? What will you do then?”

Kate stiffened. Oh, why had she goaded Clay into joining up?

Josie's mother called from the house.

Josie let out a ragged breath and wiped her nose. “C'mon.” They walked arm-in-arm to where Josie's mother waited.

Kate greeted her. “Hello, Mrs. Lapointe.”

“Josie has things to do,” Mrs. Lapointe said sternly. “Come along, Josie.”

“We'll talk more later,” Josie said over her shoulder.

CHARLOTTE HAD CARRIED
her heirloom seeds forward year to year, and now, standing amid the bounty of her garden, she examined the ripe tomatoes in the morning sun. She picked a plump one from the vine and bit into it, dribbling sweet juices onto her chin and apron. She closed her eyes and savored the rich flavor, a guilty pleasure, then filled a bushel basket with the ripest ones to blanch for canning.

Walking to the kitchen, Charlotte looked off toward the orchard. The men were working near the house. She hadn't seen Karl since the night of the telegram. She had been so focused on Ben. Yet thoughts of the root cellar would flit across her mind like afternoon shadows, and tactile memories would glide across her skin. Now, in the warm summer breeze, there he was, his good strong body.

No! It was over with Karl. It had to be over
.

STEAM ROSE FROM THE POT
. Charlotte was about to dump tomatoes into the boiling water when she heard the thumping of Ben's
crutches on the wooden porch steps. The door opened. He seemed agitated. She pulled the pot from the burner.

“What is it, Ben?”

“Damn Nazis all over the place! Can't stand to hear that fucking German talk!” He put his hands to his ears. He hadn't said anything about the prisoners since his return, perhaps because he hadn't come in contact with them. But now they were in the trees just beyond the back porch.

Charlotte ignored his swearing. “They'll be gone soon.”

“Now is not soon enough.” His eyes bored into hers. “Where's the one you let into the house? Which one is he?”

“It's over, Ben. Kate's tutoring is done.” Charlotte touched his arm. “I have hot water here. Would you like me to pour it into the tub for you? A good warm bath before dinner. Some mint tea—”

He pushed away. “A bath? Mint tea? What the . . . Didn't you hear what I said?” His eyes flashed at her as he grasped his crutches and swung away down the hall. Soon she heard him thudding up the stairs, one step at a time.

Charlotte went out and scanned the orchard. There he was, up on that sorry tractor, picking up lugs. She walked to the end of the row where he was riding and stood, waiting for him to see her. When he reached her, he pulled on the brake and climbed down off the metal seat, leaving the engine rattling.

She had to shout for him to hear. “Thomas, we need to send the prisoners away as soon as they're done with the cherries.”

“I've committed to housing them through the apple harvest.”

“Well, uncommit!” she yelled.

Thomas reached up and switched off the tractor. “What is it, Charlotte?” He took her shoulders, concern in his eyes.

“It's Ben,” she said. “He can't bear to see the prisoners . . .”

“They'll be away from the house tomorrow—”

“Thomas, he's agitated, angry. He wants to know which one came into the house.”

“Oh, Charlotte. You didn't tell him—”

“Of course not.” She took his arm. “Thomas, things have changed since you made that commitment. Your son is home. Isn't he more important than the apple farmers?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Thomas glanced toward the PWs. “When we're done here today, I'll go down to Gus's farm and let him know. We'll find them another place.”

“Thank you, Thomas.” Charlotte touched his cheek.

He pulled off a glove and put a warm hand on hers.

“Thank you,” she said again.

ON HER WAY BACK TO THE HOUSE
, Charlotte sensed someone following her. “Karl! Get away!”

When he stopped, she looked into his wide eyes and mouthed out,
Root cellar
.

Karl's dimples deepened. He headed in the direction of the barn. Charlotte stood on the porch and watched as Thomas disappeared down the row on his noisy tractor. The PWs had moved further on as well. Charlotte crept around to the root cellar, down the stairs, and lit the kerosene lamp. Soon Karl appeared.

“Charlotte, I am sorry for your son.” He took her shoulders. “That we . . . a German soldier did that.”

“It wasn't you, Karl.”

“No, not me . . .” He hugged her. “I want to meet your Ben.”

“No, no. That cannot happen.” Charlotte backed away. “Karl, you'll be leaving sooner than you thought. As soon as the cherry harvest is done.”

“But I will stay here, close to you—”

“What?”

“My beautiful Charlotte!” He pulled her in and kissed her mouth. Suddenly his hands were on her breasts. She hummed with desire as he unbuttoned her dress and cupped her breasts and kissed
the nipples. “Charlotte, we can save each other.” He surrounded her with warmth.

“Save each other?” she breathed.

“We go together. We take your boat.” He kissed her neck. “I will hide here until you are ready, with enough gasoline.” He grabbed a blanket from the barrel.

“No, no, no.” She had never thought of leaving, not really. This was her home. Her family needed her. She would never leave.

He kissed her again, and she sighed and lost all thought, and soon he was inside her. Leaving, leaving. Her hips pumped up with the knowledge of his leaving. And when he collapsed and rolled next to her on the blanket, he breathed into her ear, “Come with me.”

“No, Karl.”

As she lay there, facing him, he slid his hand along the side of her body. Gentle.

“Karl . . .”

He pulled her to him, hard and forceful. She shook her head and pushed away, rising and straightening her clothes.
What was I thinking?

“I can't.”