Until the Harvest (33 page)

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

M
AYFAIR
WAS
WITH
H
ENRY
, 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. Margaret 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.

She slid into the chair Barbara vacated. Could there be a future for her and Henry? Even if he hadn’t fathered the child, he’d put himself in a situation where he thought it a possibility. Did she want a man like that? Then again, she might’ve made a mistake or two herself along the way. Of course, just because Barbara said Henry liked her didn’t mean he did.

She reached in a pocket and pulled a hair band out, securing her hair in a ponytail. What she needed to do was wash windows. She’d put it off when it was colder, but the weather was fine now, and some spring cleaning was in order. Her mind might not be clear, but her windows soon would be.

Perla brought word when she heard at the grocery store that Beulah died. Margaret was surprised at the stab of pain she felt at the news. She’d grown fond of Beulah and their visits out to the Simmonses’ place. Even Clint had seemed, if not friendly, at least tolerant of them. She wondered if he’d be mad that Mayfair hadn’t healed his wife.

“They don’t have a church, so we’re going to make sure they get plenty of food,” Perla said. “The funeral’s in the morning. We’ll carry food to the house for everyone to eat afterwards.”

Emily added, “And we’ll make sure there are plenty of people to eat it. Clint might’ve had a limiting effect on Beulah’s social life, but I know people loved her. We’ll get up a good turnout.”

And they did. Most of the town of Wise turned out for Beulah’s funeral. Clint sat stiff in the front pew with Harold beside
him. Charlie was already in Detroit, and with Barbara having some issues, they didn’t dare travel. Margaret felt a little bit bad for him. It must be hard to miss your own mother’s funeral, especially if you actually liked her.

Henry couldn’t believe he was going to this much trouble for the Simmons family. He did feel bad for them. He knew what it was like to lose a parent if not a wife, but still, they were moonshiners and had caused him more than a little grief. Of course, he’d asked for a fair amount of it.

He carried the last cardboard box loaded with food out to the car and set it in the trunk. It wouldn’t slide around. There were too many other boxes filled with dishes in there. Whatever his mother was cooking, it seemed never-ending.

The minute the preacher said “Amen” at the funeral, Mom rushed him out of the funeral home and back to the house to load up the car. Now they were flying over dirt roads to the Simmonses’ place. Henry thought of all the other times he’d made this trip. He never imagined his mother would make it with him.

Grandma was already there. Margaret had driven her and Mayfair over while Clint was still shaking hands and trying to get away from the crush of people who turned out. Henry guessed Beulah was more popular than her husband.

As soon as he put the car in Park, the women began unloading the food. He could swear they took out more than he loaded, but he guessed it was just his imagination. He caught Margaret’s eye, and she smiled at him. It was kind of a shy smile, as though she was a little bit embarrassed. He guessed she still felt funny about Barbara. He wished he could tell her how things were, but maybe she’d heard by now. Of course, even if she had, he still didn’t come off as the hero of that story. He grabbed the last box and toted it inside. Maybe time was what he needed.
Maybe he should go back to college and write her those long letters he’d been imagining. She’d probably like that.