Beneath the Apple Leaves

by Harmony Verna

  Lily poured the hot water over the dishes. “Traded it even?”

  “Just about. The rest paid for the movers and the livestock coming.”

  Claire sliced through a fresh pie and placed it on a small plate, handed it to her husband. “You told them about the farm?” she asked tentatively. “I mean, you let them know what kind of shape it’s in, right?”

  “I can’t believe it.” Frank whistled loudly. “My own wife thinking I’m trying to swindle folks.”

  Claire blushed hotly. “I’m sorry. I-I-I didn’t mean that.”

  “Course I told them!” Frank cut into the warm pie, blew the steam rising from the cooked cherries. “Could have said I was selling him a snake pit and don’t think it would have mattered. Never saw a man looking to leave the city so fast.”

  He chewed carefully, opening his mouth wider than normal to cool the fruit. “Heard something happened on the man’s job with the railroad. What I heard in town, anyway. People saying it had to do with him being a Kiser and all.”

  “What’s his name got to do with anything?” Claire asked.

  “He’s German, Claire.” Frank rolled his eyes. “Spies comin’ in all the time. Last thing you need is some German infiltrating the rails, wrecking them to pieces like in France. You heard about the Black Tom explosion in New Jersey. Those German agents destroyed all the munitions headed to the Allies. Could do the same to the railroads in Pittsburgh. End up crippling our side of the war.”

  Frank chewed the pie, stuck out his tongue with the heat. “Can’t believe we’re getting another goddamn German in this town. A Kiser no less.” He shook his head. “How come we got so many Germans on this street?”

  “Only the Muellers,” Claire interjected.

  “Air gonna smell like sauerkraut.”

  “I like sauerkraut,” said Claire.

  Frank growled under his breath. “Don’t always have to take things so literal.” He stood and adjusted his belt buckle. Then, spitting on the tips of his fingers, he wiped the dirt off the silver of his boots and admired one and then the other. “All right. Off to meet the new neighbors. Claire, hand me one of those pies.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Eveline cleaned up breakfast, relieved the eggs they had brought from Pittsburgh only suffered minor casualties. A distant rooster from a distant farm called through the open window. Eveline stretched to the sound, let the long screech settle upon her ears. And in its pause there was quiet and she strained her ears as if the void were a tease. No trams. No clanging cars along the brick city streets. No pigeons defecating on the dirty windows. Silence. She breathed deeply, had slept with the window open, and this morning her sheets were not lined in soot and her lungs were clear. She wiped her eyes and no black smudges dyed her fingers. The heaviness from their arrival lifted. She had been tired; the trip, long. Today was a new beginning.

  Eveline turned her eyes to the cracked plaster along the ceiling, heard her husband’s footsteps as he moved furniture and hammered wood along the baseboards. Wilhelm had become a different man since the accident and she knew that moving to the country and leaving his job, his house and his comfort felt like applying leeches to bleed him. But he would see the life the land would bring and he would rise from the earth just as the great oaks did. One day he would thank her; his eyes would shine again; his skin would darken from the sun instead of from choking soot. And he would know himself as a man not by the steel beast that he could brake, but by the land he could tame and nurture.

  Eveline left the kitchen and stepped into the parlor to the large windows that winged the formal fireplace. She’d hang the curtains today, she decided. Clean the windows and then hang the rose-colored valance and the long lace curtains below. She’d pick wild phlox and put them in a vase on the table. There was much work to be done, but today she would make the house feel like a home.

  Out the window, a figure moved down their ragged lane. Eveline squinted at her reflection in the wavy window glass and cringed at her appearance. “Wilhelm!” She scurried up the stairs before the visitor arrived. “A man’s coming this way to see you.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Too late in the season to plant,” Frank Morton noted as the men crunched the gravel toward the top field. He nodded to Andrew as he joined them, eyed the missing limb suspiciously. “Come to think of it,” Frank continued. “Too late to do much of anything. Gonna have to stock it all. Cost you a fair piece.”

  Wilhelm’s head bent as they climbed the narrow path from the edge of the lane. He remained silent.

  “Like I told you back in Pittsburgh, the sheep did a number on the place. Old Anderson just let them flocks run wild and they ate every last blade. Can see that line of dead birch along the creek. His sheep shredded everything to a man’s waist. Whole flock had mites like you never seen before, their fleece all patchy.”

  Wilhelm slapped a mosquito at his neck, inspected the bloody insect in the palm of his hand before wiping the blob off on his jeans. His brows were set low; Frank’s voice was starting to bite with the bugs.

  “Barn’s in good shape,” Frank continued. “Needs to be cleaned. Couple patches to the roof, but the animals will do fine. Should be coming in a few days. How many you got coming again?”

  “Seven cows. A horse. Couple pigs and a load of chickens.” Wilhelm eyed Frank as if in challenge. “Guess we aren’t as farm poor as you think.”

  Frank’s lip rose above his teeth as he gave a short laugh. “Still have to feed those animals. Remember that.”

  The exchange between the men drifted back to Andrew. A mutual distrust sprung from their figures that squared their shoulders, made their gaits heavier than necessary.

  “Used to work the railroad?” Frank asked the question he already knew the answer to, and the knowing made the inquiry taunting.

  “Yep. Brakeman.”

  Frank stuck out his bottom lip and pondered this. “Good living working the rails.”

  The sun heated from the ground up, squashed the pleasantries and made the muscles tight and in need of shade. Wilhelm Kiser stopped then, turned to Frank and folded his arms against his chest. “You finished implying?”

  Frank scoffed, crossing his arms in mirrored response. “Implying?”

  “Implying I don’t got no sense in managing a farm. Implying I’m stupid for giving up a job in the city for this shit piece of land. Implying I’m gonna let my family starve and freeze out here because I got no sense for farming.”

  Andrew stepped forward. “Don’t think that’s what Mr. Morton was saying.”

  Wilhelm’s ears were red as he turned on his nephew. “Wasn’t talking to you, was I?” His eyes turned back to Frank and then his face followed. “I grew up farming. My father before me in Germany and every father in line before him worked the land. This isn’t new to me, Mr. Morton. I know what I got into the day I signed that deed with you. So, I’ll ask you not to question me with implying.”

  Frank put his hands up and smiled, the glint in his eye hard and black. “My mistake. No disrespect intended. Sounds like a rich history. Makes a man proud from where he came. Loyal, no?” The innuendo clear.

  Wilhelm scratched the spot from the mosquito bite absently, the welt inflamed and rising. “A man’s loyalty sits where his family sleeps.”

  Andrew had fallen away from the men, kept his hearing tuned to the rise and pitch of the words. Upon the last sentence, he took his place between the men, buffered the tension with his body. “When’s the tractor coming?” he asked Wilhelm.

  “Tractor?” Frank inquired. “You’re not using Anderson’s relic?”

  Wilhelm shook his head, and with it an air of pride relaxed his shoulder blades. “Have a new Fordson coming.”

  Frank whistled. “Pricey piece of farm machinery.”

  The pride grew in Wilhelm and he leaned into the new topic as a man floats upon a lazy river. “Had some investments in Westinghouse and Carnegie Steel. Did all right over the years.” Then added humbly, “Not as w
ell as some but did all right.”

  Andrew fell back again. Let the men find their way on new ground. A welcome breeze rose across the naked earth and steadied stances. The sweat cooled just enough to unclench the jaw. With the slight wind, their neighbor turned his face to the sky, dismissed the previous hard conversation like puffs of milkweed cotton upon the zephyrs. He seemed to be reading the galaxy, searching for stars in the daylight.

  “Saying it’ll be an early winter,” Frank prophesized. “Hard winter. What they’re saying, anyway.” Frank rubbed his heel in the dirt. “Be wise to set up credit at the general store in town. Campbell’s. Whatever they don’t got in stock they can get.”

  “I’ll do that.” The horns unlocked and Wilhelm scratched harder at the bug bite. “Look. Sorry about snapping at you the way I did. Still tired from the move. Got more wasp stings than I can count.”

  “Oh, they’re fierce, all right. Put up a hell of a fight, once that nest is set.” Frank turned his back to the field and took a step toward the farmhouse. “I’ll tell you what: How about you all head into town with me tomorrow. I’ll grab the wagon from Mrs. Sullivan down the way. Get you set up with Campbell and show you around.”

  Wilhelm rubbed the whiskers along his cheek. “That’ll be good. Need to grab some paint and supplies for the house. Order the feed for the animals.”

  “Good.” Frank gave one hearty nod and adjusted his belt buckle. “I’ll be over first thing. Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “How about we cut into that pie I brought. My wife makes the best damn pies in all of Pennsylvania.”

  * * *

  Eveline unpacked the wooden boxes in the kitchen when the men came in. Edgar and Will crawled on their knees along the floor throwing packing straw in confetti strands.

  “You boys making a heap of a mess for your mother,” Wilhelm accused.

  Eveline wiped off a line of glasses set upside down on the counter. “Straw and paper the least we got to clean up in this place.” She shot a look at her husband, then took a double take at the man by his side.

  Frank stepped forward and held out a hand. “You must be Eveline.”

  She took the strong, smooth hand, no roughness or calluses across the palm. She shook the hand limply as if her wrist held no bones. Suddenly self-conscious of her pregnancy, she positioned her arms in front of her girth.

  “Wilhelm tells me you were born in Holland.”

  She nodded and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. He was a tall man, wide with strength but not heavyset. His face had been shaved that morning. She could tell right away. Wilhelm only shaved on Sundays now and she recognized the smooth glow at the man’s cheeks and jawbone.

  “What part?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He chuckled. “Just curious what part of the Netherlands?”

  She hadn’t been asked that question in so long that she had to think. Hadn’t been asked a question in so long it felt strange and left her unsure of her own speech. “Rotterdam.”

  “Ah.”

  “You know it?”

  “I do. Passed through there to Amsterdam once. Beautiful country.”

  “Yes, it is.” She hung on the memory and thought she saw the scenery of her hometown reflected in his pupils. Most people didn’t know where Holland was on the map and this man knew her town of Rotterdam.

  Wilhelm pulled out a chair. “Frank’s wife made us a pie.”

  “Saw it on the porch. That was very kind. Hope she’ll call on us when we get settled in a bit more.” Eveline set out the plates and divided the slices between the men and her sons. “Where’s Andrew?”

  Wilhelm peered behind his shoulder and shrugged. “Beats me.”

  As the men talked over moving forks, Eveline dug into the next crate. She let out a disappointed sigh and pulled out large shards of glass.

  “What’s wrong?” Wilhelm asked.

  “It’s the Waterford pitcher. Must have cracked during the move.”

  Wilhelm shoveled in his food. “One less thing to put away and dust, I reckon.”

  She glared at him and he looked up dumbly. “All I’m saying is that stuff is fine for the city, but we got to be practical here. A fancy crystal pitcher is about as useful as a house without a roof.”

  Eveline looked up at the cracked ceiling. “Guess that makes two things we haven’t got,” she mumbled.

  Frank put down his fork and came up to the counter. “Mind if I take a look?” Gently, his fine hands took the thick crystal from her fingers. “Good-looking piece. Was a good-looking piece,” he joked sympathetically. “You have glasses with this?”

  Eveline took out the tumblers from the box. “Still intact.”

  “Well, that’s something,” he reassured, winking at her.

  The heat rose up her neck and she stretched out her collar, feeling suddenly warm and stifled in the new kitchen.

  CHAPTER 19

  Frank Morton arrived the next morning wrangling two horses and a wide wagon. Wilhelm climbed upon the front seat and the boys piled into the back. “Sure you don’t want to come?” Wilhelm asked his nephew.

  “Better I stay,” Andrew answered. “Try to get Aunt Eveline to stay off her feet.” He saw the way Frank’s gaze always fell to his crippled side. He wasn’t ready to face the same reaction from the people in town.

  Andrew ruffled the hair on the little heads of his cousins. “When you get back, we’ll catch tadpoles in the creek like I promised.”

  “Don’t start till we get back,” Will ordered as if Andrew would be wading in the shallow water before the horses were on the main road. “Promise?”

  He put his hand on his heart. “Not a fish or a tadpole until you get back. Promise.” Relieved, the boys settled into the creaking wagon and waved as they headed out.

  Back in the house, Andrew found Eveline resting upon the davenport in the parlor, her eyes closed but not in sleep. Her face wrinkled in a strained, tight expression. “Aunt Eveline?”

  With the voice, her eyes popped open and her pupils searched the room. “I didn’t hear you come in, Andrew. Startled me.” She gave a short laugh and tried to sit up but leaned back into the pillow instead. “Feeling a bit dizzy this morning. Would you mind bringing me a bit of lemon?”

  He returned a moment later with the slices wrapped in an embroidered napkin. Eveline sucked on the pulp and shuddered with the sourness. “Not feeling so well today. Must be the heat.”

  The enormous belly appeared perfectly round and taut beneath the fabric of her dress. He met her eyes with questioning.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think it’s time.”

  “If you need me to get Wilhelm, I can try to catch them before they get to town.”

  “No need.” She chuckled with effort. “He’d think I’m a nervous woman.” A thin coating of sweat beaded her forehead. “It’s just the heat. I should know better than to overdo it. Just going to rest while there’s a breeze.”

  The fine lace curtains, slightly yellowed from the sun, drifted back and forth, billowing into the room and then sucking back against the window frame. “I’m glad you’re here, Andrew,” she said deeply. “I know this can’t be easy for you. You’ve had a lot of change in a very short time. Wilhelm’s not pushing you too hard, is he?”

  “No.” He stretched out his hand, then curled it. “Feels good to work. Keeps me from feeling sorry for myself,” he said wryly.

  “Well, the boys adore you. In case you haven’t noticed.”

  “Feeling’s mutual.” And he meant it, their cheery friendship a light in the dark.

  She watched him carefully. “Been worrying about your mother, haven’t you?”

  He nodded. “Should have heard from her by now.”

  Eveline propped her pillow, straightened her back. “You’ll hear soon. War was slowing everything in Pittsburgh. Who knows how long we got to wait for news here.”

  Andrew smiled at the woman, her belly huge and dominant over her slight figure. “You’re a lot li
ke my mother, you know that? Except happier.”

  “Carolien had a hard life. You both have.” She frowned with a memory. “I was so angry after she ran off with your father. Seems like such a silly grudge now.” Her face twisted in regret before grinning. “She and Frederick couldn’t have raised a better son.”

  He let the compliment settle warmly. Then inspected the slices of fruit in her lap and winked. “That’s very sweet coming from someone who sucks on lemons.”

  “Very funny.” She smacked him on the knee and laughed. “Out with you, now. Leave me in peace with my lemons.”

  Outside, Andrew let the profound and saturated heat grab his clothing and roast his crown. He bent his head back and closed his eyes against the brilliancy of sun. When he opened his eyes again, the sky spotted and morphed turquoise against the green leaves of the trees. He took in the full expanse of the property. The rounded hills and gentle valleys of the inert fields; the creek that snaked between clumps of stringy cattails; the rust-colored barn that bowed slightly at the base as if sitting on its haunches.

  From the side of the house, the old garden reposed in rotting splendor, the tangled weeds and ancient vegetables overgrown, but the patch was big enough to feed two families. Come spring, they’d fix the beds and plant and till. They’d edge and discipline the pricker bushes and have enough fresh berries for jam in every flavor.

  A branch cracked from high in the great apple tree. Several apples dropped and bounced against the hard ground. Andrew walked over to the tree and peered into the dense branches, caught sight of a dress and a woman’s legs as they climbed down.

  Seeing more than was proper, he turned away quickly, his face reddening before the shock of the trespasser took hold. Andrew turned back to the tree, stuffed his hand into his front pocket and waited.

  The sound of torn fabric came from the leaves. “Ouch!” The boughs jostled as if a bear wrestled the trunk. Angry cursing muffled between the cracking sticks.

  Andrew raised one eyebrow. “Need some help?” he called out.