In the Fields

by Willow Aster

  The girl lights up when she sees me walk in. “Hello! I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay. Would you like some breakfast?”

  She leads me into the side room and there’s a small kitchen with a bar and stools. I sit down on one of the stools and watch her work. She’s so happy to have a guest that she chats the entire time she prepares the food.

  “How long are you in town?” She uncovers a pan that has rising biscuit dough.

  “I’m not really sure.” I watch as she places the biscuits in the oven and stirs the sausage gravy on the stove.

  “Oh well, where are you headed?”

  “I’m not sure of that either.”

  “Oh…” Unsure of where to go next with this one-sided conversation, she doesn’t let that stop her for long.

  A few minutes later, she pipes up, “Well, Bardstown is a very nice place to live. It’s beautiful here. We just need a few more young people.”

  She laughs and her eyes disappear. She cracks two eggs into a frying pan and I watch the bacon grease sizzle around the eggs.

  I wonder how old she is. She looks young—my age, maybe even younger. It’s hard to tell though, if she might just be trying hard to look older. She’s petite and has her blonde hair sitting on top of her head. Her nails are painted red and she has blue eye shadow piled on thick.

  I decide to jump in since she’s trying so hard. And I’m curious. “Have you always lived here?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I was born and bred right here. My family opened this motel twenty-five years ago and we’ve grown up running this place. Wantin’ to turn it into apartments to have something steadier, but…we’ll see. My sister ran off to Louisville a year ago and I’ve been working in here full time since then.” Her voice softens and she reaches across the counter and hands me a plate of eggs and biscuits and gravy. “My dad passed away five years ago and my mama hasn’t been well for a while now.”

  She turns around and begins filling the sink with soapy water.

  “This looks delicious, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome! I love it when we have someone staying here. It gets lonely sometimes. Sure don’t see girls your age around here very often.”

  I take a bite of biscuit and it’s just right. “Mmm…so good.”

  “I’m glad you like it. My mama is the best cook this side of Kentucky. She wouldn’t let me do it any way but good.” She pauses a minute. “So where are you from?”

  I hesitate before answering. “A really small town in Tennessee—Tulma?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Never heard of it, but that don’t mean much. I don’t get out any.”

  I blink back the tears that threaten to start. The lump in my throat grows with her simple kindness. I concentrate on the food and try to swallow the ache away.

  “Sure would be nice if you’d stay a while,” she says shyly.

  Before I have a chance to think about it, the words are coming out of me. “Well, I think I might. You don’t know of any work available around here, do you?”

  Her ears move up, she smiles so big. “I sure do. Just yesterday, Shelby, from across the street,” she points out the window and I turn around to see a small restaurant, “tried to convince me to come cook for her. I told her I had my hands full running this place, but she’s been runnin’ all over hell’s half-acre.”

  I smile at the expression. Nellie used to say that.

  “Shelby stays busy, a lot busier than us.” She bites her lip as she finishes the last swipe of the counter and pauses before setting the rag down. “And I’d be willin’ to give you a good deal on a little bigger room that you could stay in as long as you needed.”

  I think about this and nod my head. “Thank you. I think I’ll go over and talk to her in a little while and then I’ll let you know if I’ll need that room. Shelby, you said?”

  “Yes. Tell her Brenda sent you.” She smiles then and holds out her hand. “I’m Brenda, nice to meet you.”

  “Caroline. It’s nice to meet you too.” We shake on it.

  I START WORKING at Shelby’s the next week and my days fall into a routine that isn’t too different from Harriet’s, except now I’m doing a lot of the cooking, as well as waitressing. Fortunately, I spent so much time watching Ruby as she cooked for me, I’m able to catch on to the cooking quickly. She’d be proud.

  Brenda and I have gotten surprisingly close in the short amount of time I’ve been here. I did change to a larger room that has a kitchen, but I’m hardly ever in there. I eat with Brenda or at the restaurant and stay busy until I fall into bed at night.

  She knocks on my door one night before I go to bed and when I open the door, she has a bag. I let her in and take the bag—it looks almost as big as her—and is as heavy as all get out.

  “Whatcha got in here?” I ask and look down in the bag. There are tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and peppers filled to the brim.

  “I thought you might like some fresh vegetables. Picked a bunch from the garden today and have so much, I don’t know what to do with it all.” Brenda stretches and grins. The girl is always happy.

  “Thank you. I’d love it. My grandma puts cucumbers, onions and peppers in vinegar and eats it with everything. I’ve been missing that. I’ll get some vinegar and make it tomorrow.”

  “Good! I hoped you could find a use for it all.” Brenda plops down on one of the two chairs in the room. “Wanna watch something on TV?”

  “Sure.” I turn it on and sit in the other chair.

  The Waltons’ theme song is just starting and Brenda sits up taller.

  “I love this show. John Boy is so cute!”

  I smile and keep my thoughts to myself. He doesn’t do a thing for me. I like that he’s a writer, but that’s about it.

  We get lost in the show. It’s a nice break to see how problems are resolved in less than an hour. I wish real life were so simple. I think Brenda probably wishes the same thing.

  “How old are you, Brenda?”

  “I’m eighteen. How old are you?”

  I’m caught by surprise—she looks way younger.

  I hesitate before answering. Should I tell her the truth? “I’m fifteen.”

  The shock sets in before she can hide it.

  “Fifteen?” she sputters. “But you look so much older! What are you doing on your own?” Her face flushes and she looks more serious than I’ve seen her yet. “Caroline, are you a runaway?”

  “Well, not exactly. It’s kinda complicated, I guess.”

  She looks so concerned and interested that I can’t help it—I start talking, and once I start, I can’t stop. I tell her everything. I figure I must need to get it out to someone, but when I finish, I’m embarrassed beyond belief.

  Brenda sits quietly when I’m done. She’s cried, held my hand, curled up into her chair with her hands on her knees—I thought I might see judgment in her eyes when I told her about Isaiah. And waited for it again, when I told her about Leroy and Les. But it never comes.

  She clears her throat and leans forward to take my hand in hers. “Thanks for tellin’ me your story, Caroline. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone as brave as you. If my mama ever…well, I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been alone the way you have. I’m just glad God saw fit to lead you here. I don’t never get to church like I ought to, but I know the Lord understands. He knew that we needed each other.” Tears roll down her cheeks and the tears start rolling down mine too.

  I hug her and when we’re wiping our faces a few minutes later, I say, “I’m a little confused about God right now, to tell you the truth. But there have been some people in my life that have seemed almost better than God has ever been to me. Or maybe if there is a God, he’s sent them my way. Sadie, Isaiah’s mother…Ruby and Miss Greener—good people who have been better to me than my own family. And now you. I guess I have to believe someone might be watching out for me after all.”

  “Well, I needed you just as much. I’ve wished for a friend for such a long time.�
� She smiles and gives me another hug. “And I feel like I’ve known you forever.”

  She stays until we’re both yawning and struggling to stay awake.

  “Well, I better get to bed. I’ll see you in the morning? You workin’ tomorrow?”

  “I have a later shift, so I’ll come see you at breakfast.”

  I watch her walk toward her apartment in the back of the motel. She gives me a wave and blinks the outside light a few times to let me know she’s in safely.

  When I go to bed, my heart feels just a little less empty.

  THE MILES BACK to Tulma are endless. Driving to Memphis, I’d driven as fast as I could go, knowing the sooner I saw her, the sooner I’d be complete. I’d eavesdropped on Caroline’s mom when I saw that she was back in town and heard her tell one of the other tellers at the bank that she’d been to Memphis. I was glad that her plans must have changed about San Antonio, otherwise, I could have been searching for Caroline forever. I immediately went home and told Mama that I needed to go find her in Memphis. Caroline needed to know about Leroy and Les, and she needed to be back home. I would bring her back home and we’d be happy.

  I couldn’t believe it when I spotted their car in front of the motel. I looked inside and saw one of Caroline’s pencils—she likes to write in her journal with pink pencils—and knew I’d found her. I didn’t even have to wait long before I saw her crossing the street toward me.

  I’m still in shock that everything went so wrong. When Caroline left Tulma, I thought I’d die from the heartache. It was nothing compared to what I feel now.

  Now I think I really won’t ever see her again and the thought fills me with such panic and despair, I briefly consider driving off a bridge somewhere and ending my misery. The thought that I just have to find her again spurs me on. I can’t give up.

  The nights we spent together were better than anything I could have imagined. Her silky skin, her beautiful hair, her mouth. Her love staring back at me. God, I love her more than life. She is my life. I don’t think I can live without her. The lump in my throat feels permanently lodged, choking the life right out of me.

  I pound on the steering wheel. I never dreamed she’d leave. After finally feeling like we were going to survive, she’d given up. Searching all over Memphis, hours of driving through the streets surrounding the motel—I even went back in the restaurant and demanded to know if she’d been back in there. They threw me out and threatened to call the police, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to find her.

  The note is crumpled and smoothed back out. It sits on the seat next to me. I stare at it with contempt and try to be mad at Caroline. But I can’t. I know what she did was out of love. After all, I did the same thing to her not too long ago. But I will pay for that mistake for the rest of my life.

  I have to find her and make her see that we can’t fight it any more. We deserve a chance like anyone else.

  When I pull into my driveway, Mama runs out and without a word, she hugs me and helps me inside. It feels like I’m sleepwalking into the house. She prepares hot milk with butter and honey, but I can’t touch it. I know she wants to hear what happened, but I can’t get the words out just yet. Too exhausted. I lean over and kiss her cheek and head to my bedroom. I crawl into my bed and try to figure out what to do next. Where do I even start to look for her?

  OVER THE NEXT several months, I make multiple attempts, driving to places we’d talked about together. I go to Memphis four times. I hide outside her house, hoping she’ll sneak back. Look in her mailbox to see if there’s a message for me. Stalk her grandparents, her mother, even Thomas…nothing. Ashamed of my behavior, I still can’t seem to stop myself.

  My uncles threaten to fire me if I don’t get my head on straight. The thought of Caroline coming back one day and me not having anything to offer her scares me into holding onto my job.

  “Son, you’re gonna have to let her go,” Mama says one afternoon when she catches me staring into space yet again.

  “I can’t, Mama-” I give up trying to explain my feelings and put my head in my hands.

  “She’s gonna have to come back on her own, Isaiah, and I don’t really see her ever doing that. Unless you hear from her, which for your sake now, I hope you do. I just don’t see how you’re gonna find her.”

  I know she’s right, but I don’t want to hear it. Without Caroline, my life feels worthless.

  There has never been any doubt in my mind that I’m in love with Caroline Carson. I was sure as a boy, and when I made love to her, I was even more sure as a man.

  Finally, I do something I should have done as soon as I realized she’d left. I go back to Memphis and begin the search for her father. Caroline told me all about seeing her dad and what bad shape he’d been in. I don’t know if she’ll be with him or not. I kinda doubt it, but I have to try. Looking through the phone book to see if I can remember the name of the apartments, I pray that if I do ever find it, Mr. Carson will still be there.

  Amsterdam Villas…that jogs a memory. It’s worth a try. It’s a little off the beaten path, but I find it. The mailboxes have the last names matched with the right box. There he is. I run to the right building and pound on the door. No one answers, so I sit out there, hoping to catch Mr. Carson coming in. I have to wait quite a while.

  MR. CARSON WALKS by, weaving and smelling strong of liquor. He doesn’t notice me sitting there in his hall and jumps a mile high when I speak.

  “Mr. Carson!”

  “Oh, goodness sakes, son,” he slurs. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

  “We’ll see. For now, no,” I joke back, then quickly hold my hand out and introduce myself, so he knows I’m really not trying to mess with him.

  “Whatcha doin’ all the way from Tulma?” he asks.

  “Lookin’ for Caroline.”

  That gets his attention. He stands up tall and gets serious. Mentioning Caroline was like an instant cup of coffee dousing his system.

  He leads me to his apartment and I cringe when I walk inside. Caroline would be mortified at the shape his place is in. Seeing the mess, I know for sure she’s not here. I step over the bottles and dishes. It smells to high heaven. It’s sad to see what he’s done to himself. I hope I can get some answers from him, but as soon as we sit down to talk, he’s opening another bottle.

  ANOTHER MONTH DRAGS by. At first, I’m looking over my shoulder, halfway expecting Isaiah to miraculously find me again, but he doesn’t. Things are going fairly well, until I get sick. For weeks, I can’t keep any food down. Dark shadows circle my eyes. I think about sleep a lot and even when I get plenty, it doesn’t feel like enough.

  Brenda invites me over for Sunday dinner right before Thanksgiving. Her mom has gone to visit her sister, so it will just be the two of us. Brenda goes to church and I enjoy a leisurely morning off of work. As I walk to her place, my stomach lets out a huge growl. I think I might be able to eat this time without losing it. I’m feeling a little better. Until she opens the door and I catch a whiff of the turnip greens. I barely make it through the door and I’m running to the bathroom. Maybe all my wishes of dying are coming true, I think with some optimism.

  “Caroline? You all right?”

  I rinse out my mouth and open the door. Brenda stands there looking so concerned, I try to give her a reassuring smile.

  The smell wafts through again and I close my eyes, willing myself to not throw up again.

  “Do you mind if we eat outside?” I ask, leaning against the wall.

  “Sure, we can eat at the picnic table. Are you up to eating?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m starving.”

  Brenda studies me as we dish up our plates. I don’t make any apologies for passing on the turnip greens. It’s my fervent hope that I never have to see or smell them ever again.

  The weather is stubbornly warm; the fall leaves haven’t even fully come out yet.

  Brenda says the blessing and we eat. Conversation between us has become so comfortable that usually there is never a
lull in topics. She’s quieter than usual today, though. When two minutes go by without her saying anything, which is highly unlike her, I set down my fork.

  “You sure are quiet today. Everything all right?” I ask.

  She finishes her bite of mashed potatoes, licks her lips, and takes a sip of sweet tea. When she sets her glass down, she looks at me, so serious it scares me.

  “Caroline, I’ve just been thinking about you and how sick you’ve been. Have you thought that maybe you might be—pregnant?”

  I choke on my tea and dab my mouth before it drips onto my skirt. No. No, I hadn’t thought of that. At all.

  “I-no. It never crossed my mind even once that I could be. I don’t know why. My-my monthly is never regular, never has been.” I lean my head into my hands and think about how long I’ve felt off. Somehow, I just know that it’s true. “Oh, Lord have mercy. Why didn’t I think of this? Good grief, how dumb am I? What am I gonna do?” My voice becomes higher pitched with each question.

  This time I don’t think it’s the greens that makes me lose my lunch.

  I LIVE IN the land of denial for the next few weeks. It isn’t like I’m not aware of what’s happening every day with morning sickness. Or when my clothes suddenly become too tight, even when I’m still getting sick at least a few times a week.

  Brenda and I haven’t talked about it. She just seems to know I haven’t been able to yet. But when we get together on one of our Saturdays off and I ask if she’d like to go clothes shopping, her eyes do a sweep over my body. She clears her throat and I know it’s coming.

  “We need to get you to a doctor, Caroline. See how far along you might be-”

  “I’m afraid once people find out, I’ll have to leave. I might lose my job at Shelby’s.”