Beneath the Apple Leaves

by Harmony Verna

  “No.” Lily reddened and moved against the wall.

  “Ha!” The woman cackled mischievously and gave Andrew a lively pat on the knee. “Oh, she’s seen them. Yes sir, she can’t fool an old woman.”

  Lily sighed and folded her arms. “Didn’t you want to show him the horse?”

  “Oh yes. Yes!”

  Together, the three bundled into coats and headed out to the barn. Sure enough, the roan leaned against the stall, head hanging, her belly round and painfully swollen. The widow took her own shawl and wrapped the knitting around the poor beast.

  “Can’t lose this one. Not this one,” Mrs. Sullivan whispered. “Belongs to my oldest daughter. If something happened to this horse, I don’t think she’d ever visit me again.” She tried to make the sound light, but the loneliness and worry were clear.

  Andrew touched the horse caringly, inspected the feedbag that hadn’t been touched. He went out of the stall and inspected the rest of the barn, found a burlap bag that was ripped. Green oats spilled from the hole and lay in a mound on the dirt floor.

  He asked, “Have you been feeding the horse these oats?”

  She came close and squinted at the pile of grains in his hand. “No.” She shook her head. “Was planning to return that one. Too green.” She twisted her mouth. “Rodents must have ripped the bag. Campbell never take it back now.”

  “It’s not the rodents, Mrs. Sullivan. It’s your horse.” Andrew emptied the grains back into the sack. “That’s why she’s all bloated.”

  The woman’s mouth fell open. “Well, my word!”

  “If you have an empty syringe, I can fix her back up quick. Just need some strong coffee and a little whiskey, if you have it.”

  “Little young to be drinking that hard stuff, don’t you think?” She laughed heartily at that and hugged him. “Just fooling with you, son.”

  “I’ll bring it from the house,” Lily offered before ducking out the barn door.

  A little after an hour had passed since administering the laxative, a rush of gas expired from the horse and her girth visibly diminished. Widow Stevens smiled all the way back to the warm house and wouldn’t let go of Andrew’s arm in gratitude.

  In the parlor, she took out her purse and handed him several bills. “Thank you.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Andrew stepped back. “I can’t take your money.”

  “Yes, you can and yes, you will.” She grabbed his hand forcibly and stuffed the bills in his palm. “You just saved that horse’s life and you’ll take this money whether you want to or not.” She pointed at him sternly and with great affection. “I got money, son. Not a lot, but enough to pay for a service when it’s given. So, you take this money and make an old woman happy. Got it?”

  He nodded reluctantly and reached for his coat. He gave the old woman a sweet peck on the cheek and she giggled like a schoolgirl. “And walk Lily home, would you?”

  Lily’s brows inched together. “I’m spending the night, remember?”

  Mrs. Sullivan turned off the lamp and smiled slyly. “Not anymore. You’re going to let this nice young man walk you home.”

  * * *

  Lily walked briskly up the incline of the road, nearly at a trot, a battered notebook pressed against her chest. Her breath rose in wooly puffs against the chilled air as her boots crunched along the road’s gravel. A month had passed since the funeral, since their first kiss, and they had hardly spoken since, the affection mired with the grief they had both felt that night.

  The sky rested dark with the new moon, the constellations popping without lunar competition. Andrew leaned back to look at the stars. “Missed having you around lately. Was hoping you’d stop by for a reading lesson.” Lesson. He remembered what Francine had taught him in Pittsburgh and he turned red, thankful for the lack of light.

  “Been busy. Helping Mrs. Sullivan and all.” She met his gaze quickly.

  For the first time, he saw the bruise to the right of her mouth. A dark draft scuttled across his skin. He stopped her. “Lily, what happened to your face?”

  Her hand flew to her cheek and she turned, began walking again. “Nothing.”

  He took her sleeve and pulled her close. “Did somebody . . .”

  “No,” she said. “Nobody did anything. All right? Just clumsy is all. Banged my face in the barn. Didn’t have my lantern lit and couldn’t see a thing.”

  She pulled her arm away and her voice rose angrily. “I don’t need you looking out for me, Andrew Houghton. All right? I don’t need you asking me about a stupid bruise. And I don’t need you walking me home, either. I’ve been doing just fine in this life all by myself.” Her voice rose sharply and trembled with the pitch.

  “What’s this all about, Lily?”

  “Nothing.” A long tear flowed from each eye and she wiped them roughly away. “Just better if you leave me be.”

  He kissed her then, felt the salty tears upon her lips and the new ones that splashed against his cheeks. She tried to pull away even as her body and lips melded against his. He held her face with his hand, combed it through her hair, leaned her neck back and kissed her throat. She curled into his neck. “Please,” she begged uselessly. “Just leave me be.”

  He shook his head. “No.” Andrew wrapped his arm around her shoulders, felt the way she crumpled against him. “I’m not going to do that, Lily girl.”

  She reached for him and the notebook she had been clutching dropped to the ground with spread pages, revealing the pencil drawings. “You drew these?”

  “They’re not very good.” Lily went to grab the notebook, but he got to it first.

  “Can I at least look at them?”

  Lily grunted and snatched the notebook, securing it easily from his loose grip. “Told you they’re not very good.” She fanned the drawings in front of him, one animal after another, before slamming the pages closed. “Happy now?”

  “Yes. And for the record, they’re very good.”

  She scoffed, then abated. “You think?”

  “Yeah. They’re very good, Lily.” Then, he motioned to the remnants of an old stone wall. “Come sit with me for a sec.”

  They rested on the cold stones. “Do you have a pencil?” he asked. Lily pulled out her drawing tool from her pocket, handed it over. “Mind if I add something?”

  Her eyebrows scrunched inquisitively as she opened her notebook and held it on her lap. On the first page, he wrote the word “Deer,” on the second, “Rabbit,” on the third, “Hawk.” Page by page, he titled each of the animals. He handed the pencil back. “There. Your first reading lesson.”

  The corners of her mouth rose. The bruise on her cheek pinched, leaving him empty and wanting to put a light kiss against the injury. She touched the letters he had sketched on each page, moved her lips soundlessly as she formed each word.

  Lily’s innocence, the purity and beauty of her, washed over his flesh and left him flushed. “We better get you home before you freeze to death,” he said with effort. Andrew took her hand until she stood and did not release the fingers entwined in his own.

  They climbed the rest of the miles as one body, clung tightly against each other in the frozen air, and yet they were warm. Lily turned to him. “You never said why you came to Widow Sullivan’s ?”

  “Wanted to ask you something.” He gripped her hand, the nerves taking him by surprise. “I’m playing baseball this Saturday and thought you might like to come. Thought maybe after, I could take you to town.” He grinned bashfully. “We could see a show at the nickelodeon or do whatever you’d like.”

  Her lips pressed together happily and her cheeks glowed. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

  “Suppose I am.”

  Lily grew a full inch and her posture straightened. “I would like that very much.”

  With sheer relief, he kissed her on the top of her silky hair, wanted to drown in the softness. At the Morton door, Andrew kissed her again on the lips, careful not to graze the bruise near her mouth. Sh
e sighed languidly as he pulled away. “Good night, Lily girl. See you Saturday.”

  “Good night, Dr. Houghton,” she said fondly.

  “Dr.?”

  She tilted her head and watched him with reverence. “Tonight, you became a paid veterinarian, remember?” She blew a kiss at him. “Good night, Dr. Houghton.”

  The ache for the career renewed in that moment. He wasn’t a vet, but perhaps he had a service to offer after all. “Good night,” he said again, the hope and pride sudden and gleaming in the cold night air.

  CHAPTER 31

  Andrew climbed onto the bench of the Muellers’ wagon. Fritz sat behind in a pile of straw, his back leaning against the men’s seat. Pieter threw a red cap and shirt at Andrew.

  “Creekers?” Andrew laughed as he read the shirt. “I’m playing for a team called the Creekers?”

  “Yeah,” Pieter agreed with a shiver. He plucked a piece of straw from the back and chewed on the tip. “On account we live closest to Pucketa Creek.”

  “No wonder you haven’t won a game.”

  “Hey,” Pieter defended. “Won one this season. Don’t take that away from us. Besides, we were almost called the Plums.” Pieter laughed. “ ‘Creekers’ don’t seem so bad compared to that.”

  Fritz hummed disjointedly from behind, the singsong mixing with the clomping of the horse’s shoes and the rattling wood wheels. “Never said why you were in Pittsburgh the other day,” mentioned Pieter.

  Andrew blew a long stream of air out of his mouth and took off the stiff baseball cap. “Wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Pieter narrowed his eyes. “Try me.”

  “Wilhelm brought me to a prostitute.”

  The horse pulled back with the sudden jerk from Pieter’s reins. “A whore?” Pieter gasped. The young man leaned on his knees, disbelief peaking his eyebrows. Once composed, he gave a quick click, click to the horse, got her back moving again. “A whore?” he repeated.

  Andrew gave a quick look to Fritz. Pieter followed his gaze. “Don’t worry about him. Fritz don’t know the difference between a whore and a crow.” He stared at Andrew, his eyes wide for news. “He really take you to a prostitute?”

  Andrew nodded, punched the inside of the cap to break in the seams.

  “Was she pretty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well?” Pieter squirmed in his seat, waved his hands in prodding. “So, out with it. How was it?”

  Andrew raised a boot to the sideboard. “Wouldn’t know.”

  Pieter grimaced. “Stop toying with me, Houghton.”

  “Seriously.” Andrew raised his hand in the air in oath. “I couldn’t do it.”

  “Oh, man.” Pieter’s mouth fell and he grew remorseful. “’Cause of the accident?” he asked hesitantly. “Parts aren’t working down there?”

  “No!” Andrew hit him with the baseball cap. “Parts are working just fine.” He shivered. “For Pete’s sake, man! Be a fate worse than death.”

  “Amen.” Pieter prompted again with his open face. “So, what happened?”

  “She was pretty and all. Nice lady, too. But it didn’t feel right. Kept thinking what my ma would think.”

  “You’re standing next to a woman ready to have sex with you and you’re thinking about your ma?”

  “Well,” he conceded, “I did until she took off her clothes. Couldn’t think much about anything after that.”

  Pieter’s legs twitched. “She was naked?”

  “Naked as a jaybird.”

  “Oh, God.” Pieter wiped his forehead.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah, but you better start talking,” he ordered. “Better not leave anything out, either.”

  “Nothing to tell,” Andrew said. “Told her I couldn’t do it. Just didn’t feel right.”

  “That’s it?” Pieter’s whole face contorted in revulsion. “Telling me you just sat there with a naked woman? What, you two just play a nice game of checkers and sip tea the whole time?”

  “Gave me a lesson.” Andrew shoved the cap on his head and pulled down the visor. “Explained the proper way to please a woman.”

  “Explained?” Pieter’s eyes grew wide and intense.

  “Showed me, actually.”

  “Said you didn’t touch her,” he accused.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then how she show . . .” Pieter paused, his mouth suspended with the image materializing in his mind. “Oh.”

  Andrew gave a slight tug to the forgotten reins in Pieter’s palm. “We’re here.”

  “Go on ahead.” Pieter put his baseball mitt on top of his crotch. “I’m going to need a minute.”

  * * *

  Lily took her best dress off the line, pressed the fabric quickly under the hot iron, the lace around the sleeves and collar mended this morning. She bathed and brushed her hair, tied back the front sections in a pearl barrette. She didn’t have any rosewater so rubbed rosemary leaves across her skin and pinched her cheeks for rouge.

  “Don’t you look pretty,” Claire said. “You meeting Andrew at the game?”

  Lily nodded. She hadn’t seen Andrew since their last kiss and couldn’t think of anything else since she had felt his lips, the tenderness and eagerness of them, the softness that had melted the bones under her muscles. Her heart raced all night and all this morning and her hands still felt jittery as she climbed upon the buggy and headed to the ball field.

  On the edge of Pucketa Creek, it seemed every young person in town had attended to watch the game. Lily climbed down from the buggy, evened out her dress. She rarely left home and the sight of the crowd intimidated her, nearly enough to make her turn back. But she thought of Andrew. A date. An actual date. As she walked toward the wooden rows of benches, she walked in a dream. For once she wasn’t an outcast; she was a young woman, dressed neat and proper, watching her beau play baseball. She was normal for once in her life.

  Emily Campbell sat with a group of girls in the front row, their giggling and close conversation bringing the nerves to Lily’s reserve again. She took a seat a row over from the group, tried to ignore their stares and snickers. Lily focused on the men milling on the far edge of the field. On one side, men in red shirts; on the other, those in green. She had no idea which team Andrew was on. Then the men broke and headed into the brown open dirt to take their positions and line up.

  “Is that him?” Emily asked her friend. “The pitcher?”

  “That’s him,” the young woman confirmed. “Andrew. Kiser, I think.”

  The chatter floated and Lily strained for every word.

  “Your father have a fit if he found you courting a German,” another girl warned.

  “Well, Daddy won’t find out, will he?” Emily Campbell stretched out her neck to see better. “Besides, not courting him. Just looking.” She played with the satin ribbons in her pretty hair and turned around, saw Lily looking at her.

  “Mind your business, Morton!” she hollered.

  For once, Lily met the woman’s beady eyes and didn’t flinch. From the field, a handsome young man called to Lily, waved his red cap in the air. She stretched her arm out high and waved back, her breath catching at the sight of Andrew.

  Emily glowered and pointed to Fritz Mueller sitting alone on the next bench. “Shouldn’t you be sitting with the other freaks?”

  Lily stood, faced Emily unwaveringly. “Actually, I think I will. Smells like horse over here.” She was courting Andrew and the pride made her bold, made her walk calmly past the gossiping lips.

  “Watch out, Lilith,” called Emily cruelly. “Your horns might start to show. Inbreeding does that to a girl.”

  The slap came hard and swift, cracked open the mortification and shame that always threatened to seep and drown her no matter how hard she tried to bury the truth. Shovelful after shovelful, hands and body dirty—nothing more than covering broken shells with sand only to have them washed up again.

  So long ago, Claire had been the first target of the h
arsh words, those rare days of heading to town to buy what little food they could afford, her hand clasped in Claire’s, the taunting fresh and blinding to Lily’s innocence. And her sister’s hand would sweat under the teasing, squeeze her fingers with the ridicule. She would look up to Claire’s white face and lips, witness the trembling of her chin, and Lily knew that she was the cause, knew it to her core. And so they shared this condemnation, the scars, and held securely to each other as they fought to stay upright. Lily had felt Claire’s terror, her stigma, since birth—she had inhaled it with her first breath of life.

  The sound of a bat against a ball brought her back. The heat burned, but Lily gritted her teeth and crushed the memories to pulp. She headed for the other bleachers, pushed the evil words and chortling of the girls away. “Fritz,” she asked softly, her voice tormented, “may I sit with you?”

  “Sure, Lily.” The giant man-boy moved his bottom over to the right. “Sure thing!”

  Breathe. Breathe. Fritz probably did not know her past, and if he did it was as incomprehensible to him as it had been for her—as it still was for her. She had always known Claire was her mother, the same way she knew that fact should never be mentioned or acknowledged. One does not speak or analyze depravity; one runs from it as if it were a plague.

  A man in a green jersey stepped up to the plate and readied his bat. Andrew pulled back his right arm, lifted his knee and blasted a ball past home plate. “Good one, Andrew!” Fritz screamed. He clapped his hands clumsily, tried to whistle through his fingers but only made a wet wheezing sound instead.

  Breathe. The wind fluttered her skirt; her hands sat smooth and feminine on the folds. Today, she thought, I will not be soiled. Today, I can be pretty. Normal. She turned to the young man by her side, grateful beyond words for his simple, beautiful ignorance. “You like him very much, don’t you?” she asked with affection.

  “Uh-ha.”

  Her body weakened at the sight of Andrew. Here she could watch him openly. Here she was allowed to stare and smile while she thought of his strong body next to hers. Another ball whizzed past the plate. “Strike two!”