Until the Harvest

by Sarah Loudin Thomas

  Mayfair smiled a brilliant though slightly crooked smile and took a step toward Barbara, but her left foot stuck. Margaret took the chance to move into the gap. She took Barbara’s hand and pulled her toward the table.

  “We’re so glad you came. These folks are known for taking in people who need a family. I’m glad they included you. We can’t have too many people celebrating Mayfair’s return home.”

  Barbara’s chin quivered, but she seemed to gather herself. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “Let’s bless this food and eat,” Emily said. “Before it gets cold.”

  Henry thought Margaret was magnificent the way she pulled Barbara in and made her feel part of the group. He’d been trying to warm up to Barbara in case she decided to marry him. He wished she’d decide one way or the other, but any affection he’d managed to dredge up was eclipsed by what he felt for Margaret just then. He was still trying to figure out his purpose, but whatever it was, he had a strong feeling Margaret was part of it. He suddenly understood how Esau must have felt when the reality of giving up his birthright came home. What had he thrown away?

  Henry tried to eat, but the food stuck in his throat. He was so glad to see Mayfair at home, laughing and talking and smiling, but the reality of his mistakes was becoming all too real to him. What if he’d gone back to school? He could’ve written Margaret long letters and then spent time with her when he came home on break. He would have had the satisfaction of knowing she was with his grandmother while he was away. Once he had his degree, they would have gotten married and run the farm together—with a room for Mayfair. Something broke open in Henry, and it was all he could do not to cry right there in that room full of laughter.

  His father had felt this for his mother. This is what had been lost when his dad died. The memory of love had to be what his mom carried in her heart even now, a memory that clearly sustained her. Henry had vowed never to love anyone the way he loved his father. What he had failed to do was vow never to love anyone the way his father loved his mother. He thought he might die, but instead, did his best to choke down a slice of coconut cake.

  27

  MARGARET TRIED NOT TO FUSS over Mayfair too much. Their routine had more or less returned to what it had been before the trip to the hospital. When Mayfair wasn’t in school, they spent their time with Emily, and Mayfair was taking more of an interest in the garden. She and Henry pored over seed catalogs, planning rows of corn, tomatoes, beans, lettuce, carrots, squash, and she didn’t know what all. Mayfair had her heart set on growing watermelon, and although Henry said he thought they might be too far north, Margaret could see Mayfair would get her way.

  Their parents seemed content with a weekly phone call, and already Margaret could sense that soon, calling once a month would be more than enough.

  It was a rare Sunday at home when Mayfair began talking about Beulah, whom they’d visited the day before. “She’s not going to live much longer, I think.”

  Margaret looked up from where she’d been darning one of Henry’s socks. He didn’t know she had his socks, but when she saw the raggedy pair in the laundry room at Emily’s, she decided to repair them.

  “What are you talking about? I thought you—” She’d never really talked to Mayfair about healing people.

  “You thought I healed her?”

  “Well, people do sometimes seem to get better when you’re around.” Margaret flushed and bent back over the sock with a light bulb stuck inside to fill it out. She liked the tick, tick of the needle against the glass.

  “It isn’t me. It’s just that sometimes I think about Jesus, and it seems to rub off on people.”

  Margaret tilted her head so she could see her sister. She wanted to ask what in the world Mayfair was talking about but bit her lip and waited instead.

  “It’s like Jesus’ name inside my head makes things, people . . . smoother. Makes them fit.”

  “Then why do you think Beulah is going to die?”

  “Her body isn’t what needed smoothing out. It was inside—the real her. And now she’s smooth.” Mayfair smiled as though she had explained it all and it was the most wonderful thing ever. Then the smile faded. “But Clint isn’t all the way smooth yet. He’ll be sad when she dies.”

  Something struck Margaret. “Can you tell whether or not anyone is . . . rough, I guess? I mean, like me? Or Mom and Dad?”

  “Sometimes it’s harder when I really love someone.”

  “So you couldn’t help me if I were sick? Or . . . rough?”

  Mayfair shrugged. “I don’t know. But Jesus could, and that’s the main thing.”

  “But what about Mom and Dad? Seems like you could smooth them out a bit.”

  “You have to want to be better.” Mayfair yawned. “Can we have waffles for breakfast in the morning?”

  “Sure,” Margaret answered.

  Her darning lay forgotten in her lap. Did she have rough edges that needed smoothing out? She’d always been healthy, except that time she thought she had appendicitis, but could she be like Beulah and need healing somewhere inside? And if she needed it, did she want it? She went into the kitchen to gather what she would need for breakfast in the morning, then fell into bed troubled over her own rough edges.

  Barbara’s belly seemed to grow rounder by the minute. Henry wanted to press her for an answer to his proposal but was afraid she might see that as enthusiasm on his part, and he’d lost even the little enthusiasm he’d once mustered. After plowing his mother’s garden for the second time, he watched Barbara waddle onto the porch to sit in the sun, her hand pressed into the small of her back. Since the night she was included in Mayfair’s homecoming, she’d been quieter, more helpful around the house. He thought his mom was beginning to think of her as another daughter. Sadie called once a month and wrote a letter each week, but having someone around to take care of seemed to make Mom happy.

  “Henry, call Barbara in for supper,” his mother hollered from the kitchen. The weather was so mild, she’d left the door open.

  Barbara heard and stood with a grunt, then shot him an embarrassed look.

  “Not too graceful these days,” she said.

  “When’s that baby coming, you reckon?”

  She looked at the floor. “Guess it might be earlier than I expected. You never know about these things.”

  Henry thought he did know and decided to offer a jab. “By my count you should have a ways to go yet.”

  Her color deepened, and she looked like she might turn and run. He immediately felt bad, but if this baby really wasn’t his, he might like to hang his hat somewhere else. He thought about how Mayfair healed his hand and wished she could heal something like this. He took a step toward Barbara, hand extended.

  “Don’t you lay a finger on her, Henry Phillips, or I’ll cut it off.”

  Henry whirled toward the voice and saw Charlie coming around the corner of the house. “She’s my woman. You back on off.”

  Charlie steamed up onto the porch and planted himself in front of a shocked-looking Barbara. He spread his legs and stood with hands on hips. “I’m claiming what’s mine.”

  “What are you talking about?” Henry asked. Mom appeared in the doorway but didn’t interfere.

  Charlie half turned toward Barbara and looked at her belly, then into her eyes. Hope bloomed there as Charlie took her hand.

  “Baby’s mine. We thought, well, the plan was—”

  Barbara cut in. “I was already pregnant that night, Henry.” She glanced at Charlie. “With his baby, but he wasn’t in a position to do right by me, so we figured on getting someone . . . upstanding to step in.” She lowered her eyes. “I did my best to get you into bed with me that night so you’d think the baby was yours.”

  A wave of relief washed over Henry, and he felt his knees go weak. He sat down hard in the porch swing.

  Charlie took over again. “We figured you’d marry her, or at least give her some money. Then she could run off with me.” He scuffed his boot. �
�Except I got arrested trying to raise the money to run off.” He brightened again. “But since Pa sorta encouraged me to turn in the guys running the dope, all I have to do is testify against them and do some community service.”

  “You kids come in here and eat,” Mom said through the screen door. “It’s getting chilly.”

  Charlie jumped. Henry guessed he hadn’t seen her there. “Eat? You want us to eat with you?”

  “If you don’t, I’m going to have a whole bunch of food going to waste. Get on in here.”

  Charlie looked at Barbara, and she shrugged. “They’re nice. That’s why I haven’t married Henry. I felt bad ’cause he was so nice to me. I hated to do it to him.” She glanced toward the door. “To them.”

  Henry felt like whooping for joy. Being nice had finally paid off. “Come on in here,” he said, grinning. “I guess we all need to do a little repenting today, and it’s easier done on a full belly.”

  Two days later Henry realized that his knowing Barbara’s child belonged to Charlie and the rest of the world knowing it—namely Margaret—were two different things. How did you go about telling the girl you loved you weren’t going to be a daddy? Especially when you’d been in a position to believe you might be? He still wasn’t sure he’d actually, well, you know, with Barbara, and he didn’t have the guts to ask her. Somehow it didn’t seem like polite conversation.

  Henry decided to go see Frank. The old man had proven to be a good source of advice in the past, and what would it hurt now? He needed someone else’s opinion. Someone not his mother or grandmother.

  Charlie and Barbara were planning to get married down at the courthouse and then they’d head for Detroit. Charlie seemed to think he could get a job in a car plant, and Barbara thought she’d make a fine waitress until the baby came. Besides, Charlie didn’t want to be around after he gave evidence against the guys running drugs. Henry marveled that they really and truly seemed to love each other. Who would have guessed?

  The upshot was, his mother acted like she was losing her last child. And she acted a little bit mad that Henry wasn’t giving her a grandchild after all. He shook his head. Life was confusing.

  When he arrived at the Talbots’—or Posts’—Frank and Angie were out in the side yard where a swing hung from a tree. Angie sat, holding the ropes tightly, while Frank pushed her forward ever so gently. She smiled at Henry as he approached.

  “When’s the last time you saw an old lady in a swing?” she asked.

  “I guess maybe never,” Henry said.

  “Get an eyeful while you can. Every time we come out here, I figure it’ll be the last time, but somehow Frank talks me into it again.”

  Frank laughed. “Keeps her young.” He stilled the swing. “But you probably didn’t come out here to watch us play.”

  Henry shrugged and squinted up at the sun that was warming the earth and coaxing green out everywhere. “Guess it’s as good a reason as any, but I was looking for a piece of advice.”

  “Well, now, that’s something we have a surplus of. Come on up here on the porch with us, and we’ll give you all you can carry,” Frank said with a wink.

  They settled onto the porch where the sun slanted under the roof. Henry breathed in the smell of damp moss and fresh dirt that always seemed to hail spring. He guessed Frank and Angie had traveled a lot of miles to get to this point, and he hoped he might be in the same position one day.

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Barbara is marrying Charlie Simmons. Guess that’s his baby she’s carrying.”

  Angie pursed her lips, and Frank nodded. “We might have heard something along those lines.”

  Henry was trusting the town gossips to have done their job. “So I’m free to, well, look elsewhere for a wife.”

  “You have anyone in mind?” Frank asked.

  “Could be. Could be. It’s just she’s probably not thinking too highly of me right now, what with this business of how I might’ve fathered the child.” Angie averted her eyes, and he flushed. “Anyhow, I’m trying to figure out how to change her opinion of me.”

  “What’s her opinion of you?” Frank asked.

  Henry stumbled over his answer. “Well, I guess she thinks I—that is, I don’t know exactly, but I guess it’s probably not good.”

  “You guess. Son, never guess where a woman is involved.” Frank made a face when Angie poked him in the ribs. “If you want to know what a woman’s thinking, you’ll have to ask her at least three times.”

  Angie huffed. “Don’t listen to his nonsense. He delights in it.” She glanced at her husband. “But he is right that the best way to know what a woman thinks or wants is to ask her. We don’t always know right off, but asking usually sets us to thinking.”

  Frank cut in. “And by the third time you ask her, she’ll have settled on something.”

  Henry smiled but didn’t think this was going to be much help.

  “Of course, there’s always the grand gesture,” Frank said.

  “The what?” Henry asked.

  “The grand gesture. When Casewell was courting Perla, he picked her a big bouquet of flowers and made homemade candy. It might not sound like much now, but for Casewell, it was an undertaking.”

  “And I heard he messed it up,” Angie said.

  Frank took his wife’s hand. “We men get things wrong sometimes, so you ladies can feel superior.”

  “Pshaw. Casewell was a lost sheep, and Perla rescued him. I don’t care how it seemed to anyone else, that’s how it was.”

  Henry wasn’t sure this was helping his problem, but he liked hearing about his parents. “After Dad made the grand gesture, did Mom marry him?”

  “Ha. She ran away right after that,” Angie said.

  Frank raised a finger in the air. “Which brings me to the real grand gesture. Casewell drove across the state of West Virginia to find your mother and bring her home.”

  “He did?”

  “Yup. Perla was riding the Greyhound bus to Ohio, and he managed to catch up with her and Sadie—who must’ve been five or so back then—and hauled ’em back. Didn’t give her another chance, either. They got hitched right after that.”

  “Oh, that was the loveliest wedding.” Angie sighed. “The way people turned out for it. I guess it was almost as nice as ours.”

  Frank pulled Angie closer. “But not quite.” They exchanged a look that made Henry feel like a third wheel.

  “So you’re saying I should ask Margaret how she feels, and if there’s any hope at all, come at her with some grand gesture?”

  Frank’s eyes twinkled. “Margaret, is it?”

  Henry felt stupid. “Oh, well, I—”

  “No, we won’t say anything. Just glad to see you’ve got some sense after all. You made us wonder a time or two. Guess you’re like your pa that way.”

  Henry stood. “Thanks for the advice. And the stories about Mom and Dad. If they turned out all right after a start like that . . . well, maybe there’s hope for me.”

  “Oh, Henry,” Angie said, leaning into her husband’s side. “There’s always hope.”

  28

  MAYFAIR WAS WITH HENRY, planting the garden, when Barbara knocked on Margaret’s door. When she saw who it was, Margaret wished she could hide, but she was pretty sure Barbara had seen her through the window. Being nice was one thing, but forming a friendship with someone carrying Henry’s child wasn’t at the top of her list of things to do.

  “Hey there, Barbara.” Margaret opened the door and positioned herself in the opening with a bright smile pasted on her face. “What can I do for you?”

  Barbara glanced over her shoulder at a car Margaret didn’t recognize. “There’s something you ought to know, if you haven’t heard already.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Can I come in a minute?”

  Margaret forced a smile and motioned Barbara inside. She’d hear her out, but she wasn’t going to offer her anything.

  Barbara waddled in and looked uncertain. Ma
rgaret pulled a chair out from the table and invited her to sit.

  “Oh, thank you.” She patted her belly. “This is getting to be quite a load.”

  Margaret felt her smile slide. “I imagine it is.”

  “This,” she patted her belly again, “is actually what I want to tell you about.”

  Margaret couldn’t imagine what the baby had to do with her.

  “It’s not Henry’s.”

  “What? What’s not Henry’s?”

  “This baby.” Barbara glanced toward the door. “It’s Charlie’s. He’s out there waiting on me. We’re going to get married down to the courthouse, and then we’re headed north.” She creased the oversized blouse she was wearing, folding the fabric between her fingers. “Only I seen how Henry’s been looking at you, and I wanted you to know he and I . . .” She blushed. “Well, what happened between us was all my doing. I tricked him, but now folks know the truth, and Charlie and me are gonna make a go of it.”

  “But why?”

  “Charlie thought Henry might give me some money or maybe even keep the baby once it was born.” She hung her head. “’Cept I don’t want that. This baby is mine.”

  There was a fierceness in Barbara’s voice that Margaret found herself admiring. “What changed?”

  “Charlie did.” She smiled and looked up. “Maybe God ain’t turned His back on me, after all. Anyhow, we’re getting hitched, and just in case you had any feelings for Henry, I wanted you to know the truth.”

  “I appreciate that, although I don’t think there’ll ever be anything other than friendship between Henry and me.”

  Barbara heaved herself up out of the chair. “Oh, I don’t know. I’d say that boy’s sweet on you. Guess all you have to decide is do you want him.”

  Margaret watched Barbara walk toward the car. Charlie leapt from the driver’s side to open the passenger door and help her ease her bulk inside. He laid his hand on her belly and kissed her slow and soft. She watched them drive away and was surprised when it occurred to her to say a prayer for their future. And for the baby. Even a month ago she wouldn’t have given the couple much of a chance, but after today—well, stranger things had happened. At least they seemed to like each other. That was more than her own parents had going for them.