Until the Harvest (30 page)

Perla took the child’s hand. “Are you saying you love us all?”

Mayfair nodded, her head jerking, and opened her eyes, managing to focus on Perla for a moment. “Yesssss.”

“We love you, too, sweetheart. So very, very much.”

Margaret swallowed the tears gathering in the back of her throat and looked around the room. Well, they were a motley collection of people and certainly not kin, but somehow it felt like family. She wished Henry were there. Somehow the moment was incomplete without him.

As the day wound down only Emily remained to keep Margaret company at the hospital. She tried to talk Margaret into coming home with her.

“You need a good night’s rest, and I know you won’t get that here. I can stay with you in the gray house, or we can send Henry over there, and it can be just the two of us at my house. Either way, I know you’ll rest better.”

“I appreciate it, Emily, but I really do want to stay here with Mayfair. I wouldn’t sleep a wink for worrying about her.”

Emily stopped fussing and put an arm around Margaret’s shoulders. “I understand. I’d likely do the same.”

Henry appeared in the doorway, beat-up John Deere cap in his hand. He looked at Margaret, and then his eyes slid away. “You ready, Grandma?”

“I am. Mayfair’s had a good evening, but it’s time to let these girls get their rest.”

Henry nodded and looked at Mayfair. “She sleeping?”

“I think so,” Margaret said. “She’s still having a hard time focusing, and I think it wears her out.”

“I’ll be keeping you both in my prayers,” Henry said. “I’ll be downstairs, Grandma.” He disappeared and Margaret suddenly wished him back.

Emily hugged Margaret good-bye, patted Mayfair’s shoulder, and smoothed her silken hair across the pillow. “I expect we’ll be back tomorrow.”

Margaret sat down in the dim quiet room beside her sleeping sister. Something was different. She couldn’t remember Henry ever talking about praying—for her or for anyone else.

25

H
ENRY
LET
HIS
GRANDMOTHER
OUT
at the front door and then drove the truck over to a stand of pines. The weather looked like it might turn, and he wanted to leave it under the shelter of the dense branches.

When he switched off the headlights and got out, he felt more than saw someone in the shadows. “Who’s there?” He wished he had his rifle.

“Pipe down. It’s just me.” Charlie stepped into the moonlight.

“What are you doing here? Get lost on a whiskey run?”

Charlie smirked. “Ain’t never got lost in my life. Anyhow, Pa seems to be letting the business slide. Might be a chance to step in and pick up the slack, make some real money. Think you might want to go partners?”

Henry considered that he could give the money to Barbara and her child or maybe help Margaret with Mayfair’s hospital bills, but he quickly discarded the notion of partnering with Charlie. “Reckon I’ll find something honest to keep me and anyone else who needs it.”

Charlie slid closer. “You going to marry her, then?”

It was on the tip of Henry’s tongue to say he would, even
though he was pretty sure the baby wasn’t his, but deep down he knew Barbara wasn’t the girl he wanted to marry, and he thought she might not want it, either. Still, he wasn’t going to tell Charlie all that. “I might.”

Charlie scuffed his boot along the dirt floor. “How’s your ma feel about that?”

“She wants me to do what’s right.”

“You could probably get off just giving her a wad of cash and sending her away. I expect she’d go.”

“You think?” Henry scratched under his cap. What was Charlie getting at?

“You do a couple of runs with me, and we could pile up enough cash to convince her to take the money and skedaddle. I could handle the, ah, finances for you.”

Henry thought about his vision of living on the farm with someone like Margaret. Or maybe not just like Margaret. Maybe it could be Margaret. He buried that idea, planning to dig it up later when he had more time to go over it. Right now he couldn’t shake the feeling that Charlie was working an angle, and he wanted to know what it was.

“What did you have in mind?”

Charlie sidled closer. “Two big runs back-to-back. One to Jack’s place tomorrow night, then we do a drop-off at that cemetery you did once before. It’ll all be over before sunrise, and the payout oughta be enough to put you in the clear.”

“What if Barbara won’t go for it? That’s a big risk to take on the off chance she’ll grab the money and run.”

“I been knowing her a long time. I think it’s a sure thing, but just ask her if you want to.”

Henry rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder, thinking. It was just one night, and even if Barbara wouldn’t take the money and go, it would still come in handy.

“How much are we talking about?”

Charlie named a figure, and Henry whistled. How could he pass that up?

“All right, but this is the last time.”

Charlie slapped him on the back. “We’ll take the Barracuda. I’ll meet you at the bridge down on Laurel Run at midnight tomorrow.”

Henry had the uncomfortable feeling he’d struck a deal with the devil, but he shook it off and went on into the house.

Henry woke the next morning to find a fine dusting of snow over the greening grass. When his grandmother referred to it as “poor man’s fertilizer” he thought to get the tractor out and plow the garden.

“That’ll be fine. I’ll get Perla to take me to the hospital. You just stay home and be a farmer today.”

Henry smiled. He couldn’t think of anything he’d like better than riding the tractor up and down the garden rows, the sun warm on his back, getting the soil ready for spring planting. He felt like winter might really be over, like his life might finally be coming together, and like all of his problems had a solution.

When Grandma came home that evening with the news that Mayfair had spoken a few words and seemed to be getting some of her dexterity back, he felt that God really was smiling on him. He remembered telling Margaret he’d pray for her and Mayfair, so he whispered a quick word of thanks and felt even better about himself.

Grandma turned in early that evening, which suited Henry just fine. He hoped she wouldn’t even know he was gone overnight. He’d left the truck on the crest of the hill that ran down to Laurel Run. He figured he could put it in gear and coast a good way before starting it up. He was at the bridge ten minutes before midnight feeling pretty invincible.

Charlie rumbled up in the Barracuda. “Good. Give me a hand.” He pointed to the bridge in the moonlight.

Turned out the moonshine was stashed underneath. Henry helped load, wondering what made this run so valuable and why they didn’t load up at Clint’s house. He started to ask the question but knew from experience this wasn’t the sort of enterprise where folks appreciated questions. He clamped his mouth shut and finished loading.

They made it to Jack’s backwoods bar without incident, unloaded, and then Henry figured they’d head back to Clint’s or the bridge for the second load.

“Hold on.” Charlie laid a hand on Henry’s arm. “Second load’s here.”

Now Henry was really confused. Why would they deliver liquor and then take more away? Charlie pointed at some crates. There were only a few, and they didn’t weigh nearly enough. Henry was getting a bad feeling, but he knew better than to cause a stir. Jack looked grim and Charlie surely wasn’t offering any additional information. Henry noticed there was a shotgun in the backseat of the car that he hadn’t seen before. His earlier feeling of well-being was long gone.

“You drive,” Charlie said, tossing the keys. “I ain’t been to the church before.”

“Same stone?” Henry asked.

“Yup. Bert Williams or something like that.”

Williamson, thought Henry, but he didn’t correct Charlie.

They drove in silence, Charlie tapping his fingers on the armrest and Henry trying to puzzle out what he’d gotten himself into. He thought about Raymond Sawyer, the preacher at the Baptist church. What was the Scripture he pointed out? Oh, yeah. Esau scorning his birthright. He’d looked it up later and read the whole story, and now it came back to him. Esau had been so worried about filling his belly that he gave up his rights
as eldest son. Henry wondered what his rights and duties were as his father’s only son. To inherit and run the farm? To take care of his sister, mother, and grandmother? To be the spiritual leader of the family?

As he sped through the night with who knows what in the trunk of the car, he didn’t feel like much of a leader. He felt he was trying to take the easy way out. Well, once they got through this, he was never going to do anything shady again. And he was going straight over to see Barbara first thing in the morning to reaffirm his willingness to take care of her and the child, no matter whose the child was. He felt a pang, realizing he might be giving up a great deal, but he also felt kind of noble, and the car seemed to fly even faster with the impetus of his resolve.

The moon had set by the time they reached the cemetery, and Henry felt weary. He was a fool, but he’d make the best of a bad situation. He figured the only way past this mess was through it. He took a few minutes to find the stone with Bert’s name on it. Charlie seemed to be getting antsier by the minute. Henry whispered a prayer, asking for help and forgiveness all in one breath. This praying business was getting easier.

They were carrying the last crates of whatever they were delivering to the stone when a spotlight mounted on the corner of the church building flicked on. A voice spoke as though from heaven.

“Freeze, boys. Stay where you are.”

For a moment, Henry thought God was finally calling him to task, but then he realized it was Sheriff Pendleton with a bullhorn. He wished it were God instead.

The little gray house looked like heaven to Margaret in the morning light. She was only stopping by to bathe and get some fresh clothes, but it still felt like home. Mayfair
had also asked for some books, although Margaret wasn’t sure she’d be able to read them. Maybe she’d read aloud to her sister. She smiled at the thought. It had been a long time since they’d done that.

Finished with her tasks, she headed out past Emily’s. Perla’s car was in the driveway, and Margaret decided to stop in and give the women an update. She’d talked to her parents the evening before, and they’d barely seemed interested. It would be nice to talk to someone who really cared.

She stepped into the sitting room and followed voices toward the kitchen. Emily and Perla sat at the table sipping coffee with a third woman, who was much younger. Maybe even younger than Margaret. She’d never seen her before, but she was immediately struck by how pretty the girl was, although there was a sharpness to her features, too, like she was bracing for something painful. This must be Barbara.

Margaret smiled. “Good morning. I thought I’d stop and let you know how Mayfair is.”

Perla jumped to her feet and gave Margaret a quick hug, then fussed over getting her a cup of coffee. Margaret wondered if she was imposing. Emily sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.