Until the Harvest (25 page)

“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 territory, 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

M
ARGARET
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.