Until the Harvest

by Sarah Loudin Thomas

  “I’m sure she does.” For a moment Margaret had the urge to take Henry’s hand and walk with him back to the house, but she caught herself before she did. Had he been reaching for her hand? Or was that her imagination?

  She heard a sound behind her—kind of like a kitten mewling—and even as she turned, she saw Mayfair falling.

  “Get some juice. Now.”

  Before she finished speaking, Margaret was on the ground cradling her sister’s head as the girl’s body stiffened and quivered. Saliva ran from the corner of her mouth, and Margaret wiped it away with her shirttail. Henry reappeared with a glass of Tang and helped Margaret get Mayfair to a sitting position. Together they held her while Margaret pressed the glass to her lips. At first she didn’t think the child could swallow, and liquid ran down her chin. Mayfair’s eyes were fixed and glassy. Panic began to rise in Margaret, but then Mayfair swallowed convulsively, taking juice down and coughing.

  “Good girl. Try some more.” Margaret could hear the pleading in her own voice.

  Mayfair swallowed again, and this time it seemed to help. She relaxed a bit and was able to finish the juice. Henry’s eyes met Margaret’s over Mayfair’s head. The tenderness she saw there let her know he hadn’t meant anything he’d said or done that morning. Except maybe what he meant to tell her now. And she was too frightened to interpret exactly what that was.

  20

  HENRY COULD SEE HIS MOTHER sitting on the sofa reading a novel. Talking to her about his problem had been at the bottom of his list, but somehow after seeing Mayfair suffer a seizure and the way Margaret handled it, well, he wanted his family.

  She looked up as he came inside and let the book drop. “Henry, Emily called to let me know what happened. Is Mayfair all right?”

  “She’s better now. But I think Margaret is really worried. She said something about how these seizures or whatever are happening more often.”

  “Poor child. I tend to think she should be home with her mother, but then I remember what Lenore Hoffman is like.” She shook her head. “Sometimes life isn’t fair, but God can use everything, if you let Him.”

  “Everything?” Henry flopped down in a rocking chair and kicked off his boots.

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’ve got a problem, Mom.” Henry ran a hand through his hair until he felt like it must be standing on end.

  “I’ll help if I can,” she said, folding her hands over the book in her lap.

  “There’s this girl.”

  His mother smiled and smoothed her skirt over her knees. “It’s about time.”

  “Not like this.” Henry hung his head. “I . . . she . . . I don’t even remember, and it was only that once . . .”

  “What is it, Henry?”

  “She’s pregnant.” He snuck a look at her face. It was definitely a shade paler than it had been.

  “Pregnant. Who is she?”

  “Her name is Barbara. I don’t think you’d know her.” He peeked again. Was that relief? Surely not.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” Henry threw his hands up in the air and began jiggling his knee. “I was hoping you could . . . advise me. Frank thought maybe you could.”

  His mother leaned her head back against the sofa and tapped her folded hands against her mouth. She closed her eyes and seemed lost for a moment.

  “What does Barbara want?”

  Henry winced. “I guess she wants help. Maybe money to take care of the baby. She didn’t say anything about getting married.” He jiggled both knees. “I guess she doesn’t have anybody to help her, really.”

  “She didn’t say anything about getting rid of the baby?”

  Henry’s eyes flew to his mother’s face. “No. As a matter of fact, she seems anxious to take good care of it.”

  “Good. I’m glad of that.” Mom seemed to fall deep into thought again. “Ask her if she’ll come stay here.”

  “What?” Henry wanted to rub his ears to make sure they were clear.

  “She needs help. She needs to eat the right food and drink plenty of milk. She needs someone to make sure that baby is born healthy and into a home where people will love it.”

  “But, what if she thinks . . . I mean are you saying I should . . . you know . . . marry her?”

  “No. I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying there’s a young woman out there who’s pregnant and scared, and even if you weren’t responsible, we’d have a duty to help her as best we could.” She looked around the room. “This house is too quiet and too empty with your father gone. If she wants to come here, she’s more than welcome.”

  Henry felt his mouth drop open and snapped it shut. He was too shocked to say much of anything. He stared at his mother as she picked up a notepad and pen from the end table and began making a list. She looked up at him and tapped the pen against her lower lip.

  “No matter what has happened between the two of you, I don’t think it would be appropriate for you to stay in the same house with Barbara unless . . . well, it wouldn’t be right. You call your grandmother, and see if you can stay with her for the time being.”

  Henry felt his blood run cold. While he was glad his mother wanted to help, he hadn’t really thought about other people knowing. But of course they’d know. Grandma and Margaret and Mayfair would all find out in short order. He hung his head. In spite of how Margaret could get on his last nerve, he liked her—more and more lately. And although he’d given up on the idea that she might fit into his future as soon as he found out about Barbara, he’d still rather she didn’t know.

  And now she’d be sure to encounter the girl who carried his child. Henry wished he could throw up. He wished he could honestly claim the child couldn’t be his. He wished he could remember that night, but then again, maybe it was just as well.

  He stood. “I’ll head on over to Grandma’s and talk to her.”

  Mom smiled. “I’m glad. It’s the kind of conversation you should have in person. Are you going to call Barbara from there?”

  “No. She said she’ll call me. Tomorrow. I don’t have her number.”

  His mother’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t criticize. “Let me know what she says as soon as you can. I’ll need to get ready for her.”

  Henry started to say maybe she wouldn’t want to come, but that was just wishful thinking. She’d be a fool to turn this offer down, and he suspected Barbara was nobody’s fool.

  Henry thought his grandmother might send him out back to cut a switch. When he told her about Barbara, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot at him. She didn’t say anything at first, but the disapproval radiating from her was worse than words. When he ran out of steam, he stood, head hanging, awaiting the verdict.

  “Of course you can stay here. But, Henry, this is a terrible trial for your mother, and I’m so very disappointed in you. Your father—well, no need to rub salt in the wound. I suspect you know what your father would think.” She dropped her arms and headed down the hall. “Although maybe not everything he’d be thinking.”

  When the phone rang the next day, Henry dove for it, speaking almost before the first ring faded away. It was Barbara. Henry explained his mother’s offer, adding that he’d be living with his grandmother for the duration of her stay. Barbara hesitated.

  “What’s the catch?” she asked.

  “No catch. My mom seems to want to take care of you.”

  “Does she think she gets to keep the baby? I haven’t decided what to do for sure.”

  Henry bristled. “Seems to me if that baby’s half mine I should have some say, too.”

  Barbara was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so. We can talk about that later.”

  “Hey, when is the . . . ah . . . baby supposed to arrive?”

  “Not for a while yet. We’ve got time to figure this out.”

  Henry wrinkled his brow. Why did he feel Barbara wasn’t really including him when she said, “We”? He shook off the feeling. This was new terr
itory, and he had no idea what to expect.

  He arranged to pick Barbara up at Jack’s barn. He offered to come to her house, but she said the barn would be better. By nightfall his mother would have a new tenant, and he suspected by lunchtime the following day most of the people in Wise would know why. Including Margaret and Mayfair. He told himself he didn’t care, but his stomach hurt and he felt tired to his bones.

  When Margaret and Mayfair opened Emily’s front door, Henry was already there, and the milking was done. Margaret glanced at the clock. He seemed early. She noticed two of his jackets on the coatrack near the door—his work coat and a nicer one for going to town or church. And there was an extra pair of shoes next to his boots.

  “You moving in?” she asked with a laugh.

  Henry slurped his coffee and shoved the last bite of a biscuit in his mouth. “Glmph, mmfth humph.”

  “What did you say?” She hung her own coat next to Henry’s. She kind of liked seeing them there, side by side.

  Henry swallowed. “I’m, uh, staying here with Grandma for a while.”

  Margaret felt her cheeks pink and told herself it was the warmth of the house after the coolness outside and not the thought that she’d be seeing even more of Henry. “Really? She’ll like that.”

  “Who will like what?” Emily walked into the room.

  “Henry staying with you. Guess he’s going to knock me out of a job milking the cow.” She wagged a finger at Henry. “I want to milk her at least three times a week. I need to keep in practice.”

  Henry got to his feet. “Sure. I need to . . . uh, run an errand.” He nodded at Margaret, gave his grandmother a borderline guilty look, and bolted for the door.

  Margaret looked after him and then turned to Emily. “He’s a bit off this morning.”

  Emily sighed. “Yes, I suppose he would be. Margaret, come sit down a minute.”

  “I was going to get after cleaning the bathtub.”

  “That can wait a little. I’d like to tell you something.”

  Margaret felt dread well up inside her. Was Emily going to ask her to leave the gray house? Did she want to move Henry in there? Is that what all this was leading up to? She pasted a smile on her face and sat, bracing for the worst.

  After dropping Barbara off with his mother and suffering the most awkward twenty minutes of his life, Henry drove to the Simmonses like he was trying to see how slow he could go without stalling the truck. He’d taken Frank’s advice about talking to his mother, and he guessed that had worked out. Not exactly how he wanted, but at least it wasn’t weighing on him like it had been. So maybe confronting Clint would work, too.

  Henry knocked on the front door. It was beginning to feel like spring might come after all, but it was still plenty cold standing in the shade of the porch with a March breeze blowing. He stomped his feet and blew into his hands, then knocked again.

  Clint opened the door and looked Henry up and down like he was a beggar come for a handout. “What do you want?”

  “I need to talk to you a minute.”

  Clint hung his head and stepped back. “Come on in here. Beulah’s resting, so keep it down.”

  Henry was surprised. He didn’t expect Clint to have that kind of consideration for his wife. Maybe the old coot wasn’t as mean as he made out. Henry guessed he was about to learn the truth of that.

  Clint pulled the bedroom door almost shut and then stood in front of the smoky fireplace with his arms crossed, looking expectant. Henry debated sitting, but figured he’d better stand as long as Clint did. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he shoved them into the pockets of his barn coat and rocked back and forth on his heels.

  “I want out,” he said.

  “Door’s right there.” Clint had a gleam in his eye.

  “Of the moonshine business. I don’t want to run ’shine for you anymore.”

  “I ain’t asked you to lately.”

  “But Charlie—” Henry bit off the words. Clint didn’t want to hear logic. “What I mean to say is, I’d be glad if you didn’t ask me again.”

  “All right.” Clint reached down a tin of tobacco from the mantel and rolled a cigarette. Hardly anyone rolled their own anymore, but of course Clint would.

  “All right?”

  “Yeah. You act like you thought I’d make you do it. Course, I find out you told anyone anything that might get me or mine into trouble with the law, I’ll skin you alive.”

  Henry had a picture of a much younger Clint holding a knife to his father’s face. He felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

  “I guess I know better than to do anything like that.”

  “Guess you do.”

  Henry wondered if the discussion was over. “I’ll be heading on now,” he said.

  Clint nodded and turned toward the fireplace. He leaned against the mantel and flicked most of his cigarette into the flames. Henry hesitated for a moment. It was the strangest thing, but Clint actually looked sad. He shook off the image of the man and the smoky fire and headed outside.

  Before he reached his truck, Charlie intercepted him.

  “What’re you and the old man talking about?”

  “I quit the moonshine business. Guess I won’t be seeing you much anymore.”

  Charlie pulled at his chin. “He just up and let you quit? I knew he was getting soft. Makes me wonder . . .”

  “I’d best be getting on.” Henry didn’t feel like messing around with Charlie. He seemed to get into trouble every time they were together.

  “Hey, did I hear your ma took in that girl from out at Jack’s?”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Word gets around. You know how it is.”

  “Well, not that it’s any business of yours, but yeah.” Henry opened the truck door.

  “Knocked her up, did ya?” Charlie snickered. “I’d have bet you didn’t have it in you.”

  Henry gripped the door handle harder. Charlie wasn’t worth his time or effort. “I guess the main thing is having the guts to do something about it now.”

  “What? You gonna marry her? That’ll be the day.” Charlie laughed again, and it didn’t sound pleasant.

  “Maybe I will.” Henry got in the truck, started the engine, and pulled away. He glanced in the rearview mirror, and the look on Charlie’s face was worth it. A mixture of shock and . . . what? Fear? Surely not. What did that boy have to be afraid of other than his own father?

  21

  MARGARET LACED HER FINGERS TOGETHER, then alternated the grip. It always seemed funny that when the left thumb was on top, the grip felt natural, but when she switched to the right thumb, everything felt out of kilter. Kind of the way she felt waiting for Emily to say whatever awful thing she had to say. And Margaret had a feeling it was going to be truly awful.

  “Margaret, I’m going to tell you this straight out.” Emily folded her hands on the kitchen table and leaned forward. “Henry’s gotten a girl into trouble, and she’s staying with his mother for the time being. Henry will live here while Barbara is with Perla.”

  Margaret furrowed her brow. “Into trouble? Who’s Barbara?”

  “She’s a girl he met, well, I’m not entirely sure where it was, but it was somewhere he shouldn’t have been. And now she’s pregnant.”

  Margaret shot to her feet without knowing she was going to. “Pregnant? She’s going to have a baby? Henry’s baby?”

  Emily reached out a hand and motioned for Margaret to sit. “I know it’s a shock. But I’m glad he wants to do right by this girl.”

  “Do right? Is he going to marry her?” Margaret felt like a swarm of bees was loose inside her skull. She plopped back down for fear she might fall over.

  “That I don’t know. But he—we—are going to see that this child is taken care of. I guess that baby will be a Phillips, and we’re going to make sure it has a family.”

  Margaret popped up again like a jack-in-the-box. “I’m going to get after that tub. I appreciate you le
tting me know about . . . everything.”

  She rushed to the bathroom, plopped down on the toilet lid, and buried her face in her hands. Henry was lost to her. She told herself there had never been a chance. She told herself she didn’t really even like him. She told herself it had been nothing more than an idle daydream and he never would have made her happy anyway.

  Hot tears spilled onto her fingers, and she wiped her hands on her slacks. She dug out cleaning supplies and a scrub brush. Henry Phillips wasn’t worth caring about. He was a low-down womanizer who didn’t care about people. She spilled cleanser into the tub and began scrubbing like she would if she thought she could scrub Emily’s words out of her head. Tears mixed with the cleanser, and Margaret vowed to keep lying to herself until it didn’t hurt anymore.

  Henry didn’t know where to go when he left Clint’s. He had no desire to go to his mother’s, where Barbara would be settling into his bedroom and making it her own. And he didn’t want to go to his grandmother’s, where Margaret surely knew everything by now. He almost wished he could go back to school.

  Instead, he drove to the Talbots’. He guessed it should be the Posts’ now that Frank was the man of the house, but it would take the community of Wise a long time to get over using the name that had fit that land for the past hundred years or so.

  The late March afternoon had warmed nicely, and Frank and Angie were sitting in a porch swing soaking up the sun. They both waved as he pulled into the yard.

  “Howdy, Henry. Come and sit a spell,” Frank said.

  Henry walked over and sat on the edge of the porch near the couple. “Fine day for sitting in the sun,” he said.

  “Fine day for just about anything—or nothing, so long as you can do it with your sweetheart.”

  Frank wrapped an arm around Angie and kissed her forehead. She swatted at him, but Henry could tell she liked it. He wondered if he’d have anyone to sit in a swing with when he was ninety. If he lived that long.

  “You just visiting, or you got something on your mind?”