Until the Harvest (5 page)

“Mayfair, you stay here and help Miss Emily and me.” Margaret sounded annoyed.

“Oh, let the child go.” Emily made shooing motions toward her grandson and Mayfair. “She could do with the fresh air.”

Margaret made a sour face but didn’t stop Mayfair as she ran to put on her boots and jacket. Henry didn’t especially want her along but decided it would be worth it just to annoy Margaret. He made sure the girl had mittens and a woolen hat, and they headed out into the bracing air.

“Honestly, Emily, I’m not sure Mayfair needs to be spending time with Henry. I know he’s your grandson, but he doesn’t impress me as super stable right now.”

Emily’s eyes flickered. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Margaret went to the refrigerator to pull out chicken and vegetables for the casserole. “He was rude at the house after the funeral.”

“I thought he found a spot for Mayfair.”

“Only
after
he nearly bit our heads off.”

“I suppose you might excuse a young man for being testy on the day he buried his father.” Emily pulled a two-quart casserole dish out of a cabinet and handed it to Margaret. “What else?”

“He’s throwing away his education, and I hear he’s been spending time with the wrong crowd.” Margaret felt a tingle of triumph, shadowed by shame. She shook it off.

“He still has time to finish school. Could be he just needs to settle himself and get used to his father’s being gone. Goodness
knows, it’s going to take me a while. As for the wrong crowd, I’ll have to agree with you there, but I think it’s important we not judge someone by the company they keep.” Her eyes twinkled. “Jesus spent plenty of time with questionable people—tax collectors, prostitutes, lepers, beggars. Henry could do worse.”

Margaret puffed her breath out in frustration. “I know you love him, but maybe you’re too willing to see past his flaws.”

“Oh, Margaret, I forget how unsentimental you can be.” Emily patted her on the arm, and Margaret wanted to shake the kindness off. The only time her parents were nice to her was when they wanted something. She had to remind herself not everyone was like that.

“But if you ignore his flaws, how is that going to help him improve?” Margaret thumped pie dough on the counter and began to roll it out like she was smoothing out all of Henry’s shortcomings.

“Not ignore the flaws, but love the person in spite of them. There’s a difference,” Emily said.

Margaret turned back to the refrigerator to hide her confusion. She didn’t quite understand what Emily was talking about, but she decided not to write it off completely. Maybe she should be more gracious about having Henry around. It would give her a chance to watch Emily and her grandson and see how people who loved each other were supposed to act.

4

H
ENRY
WALKED
THE
FENCE
LINE
, mentally noting areas that needed repair. He carried a small bucket with fencing nails, a hammer, and a wire stretcher. Mayfair trailed along behind him, saying little and lending easy companionship. He was surprised by how much he liked having her with him. Maybe it was because she didn’t chatter on and on but just kept him quiet company.

Stopping to stretch a bit of wire that had come loose, Henry set the bucket at his feet. Mayfair swooped in and handed him a nail and the hammer as he needed them. He grinned at his silent helper. Maybe this was what it was like to have a kid. He imagined himself with a son one day, and then he thought about how he used to follow his own father around. He’d probably been more hindrance than help, but Dad always put up with him. He felt a lump forming in his throat and blinked rapidly, telling himself it was just the cold stinging his eyes.

Mayfair brushed his arm as though she knew he was struggling and wanted to brush the pain away. And oddly, it did ease a little. He found he could think about his father without wanting to cry or hit anything. Maybe the pain would get easier in time.

A figure appeared over the rise and moved toward them. Henry stopped what he was doing and leaned on a fence post, watching. It was a man, but he didn’t recognize him right off. The man raised a hand in salute and recognition dawned. It was the sheriff.

“Howdy, Henry,” Sheriff Pendleton called out. “Fine day for mending fence.”

“A mite chilly,” Henry said, trying to appear relaxed but going stiff inside. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Stopped off at Perla’s place. She said you were over here working for your grandma. Saw you as I drove in and thought I’d walk on out. No need to bother Emily.”

Henry’s stomach knotted. “Bother her with what?”

“Well, seems Charlie Simmons ended up in the emergency room with a bullet in his leg sometime late last night. I heard you were out with those boys yesterday evening and wondered if you knew anything about it.” The sheriff pushed his hat back on his head a notch and looked at Henry like he was a steer at auction. “Charlie says he and his brother were messing around target shooting. You part of that?”

Henry swallowed hard. He’d heard gunfire as they took off through the woods the night before, but they’d scattered and gone their separate ways. He hadn’t known anyone got hit.

“Was he hurt bad?”

“Oh, he’ll live, but he might limp a while. Hope it’ll be a reminder to be more careful in the future.”

Henry stood there, hammer forgotten in his hand. He sorted through possible stories, but he wasn’t much of a liar.

“Were you with those boys last night?”

“Yeah, for a while. But I didn’t see anyone get shot.” That was true enough. It’d been dark, and he’d been running too hard to see anything.

“Don’t suppose they were messing with the Waites? Seems
those two families have something purt near to a feud going on these days.”

“Yeah, they don’t seem to get along, but I wouldn’t know much more than that.”

The sheriff put his hands on his gun belt and leaned toward Henry a bit. It seemed he was done fooling around. “Son, I don’t know what you’re up to, but your daddy was one of the best men I ever knew. He wouldn’t care for you getting mixed up with a bunch like those Simmons boys. I’m going to drive on back into town now and consider this case closed.” He leaned in closer. “But if I have to reopen it, I’d better not find you in the mix. Got me?”

Henry nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The sheriff turned and strode back across the field. Henry let his shoulders sag and realized he was clenching the hammer as if it might get away from him. So Charlie got shot. He guessed he’d been in more danger than he realized. He turned to Mayfair and shrugged.

“Don’t know what that was all about,” he said.

She looked sad, but then she usually looked that way. He grabbed the bucket and continued down the fence. “Better get back to work.”

As they worked, the fear that washed over Henry at seeing the sheriff faded, and he began to think he’d put one over on the old guy. He hadn’t given anything away, had stood up under the questioning without betraying his friends.

Henry straightened his shoulders and patched two more sections of fence. He was a man now, and no one, including the sheriff, was going to tell him what his father would have expected of him.

“I’m cold.” Mayfair’s voice brought Henry out of his own head. He’d just about forgotten her.

He glanced over his shoulder. Her nose shone red and her eyes
were watering. She looked about frozen. “Better get you on back to the house,” he said. He started to wrap an arm around her shoulders, but she shied away like a skittish colt. He started to protest that he was only trying to warm her up, but the look in her eyes stopped him. What was it? Disappointment? He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was, she needed to get warm.

“Come on, then,” he said. “Let’s go see if that casserole’s ready to deliver.”

Margaret could have wrung Henry’s neck when she saw how he let Mayfair get so thoroughly chilled. She pulled a chair up to the stove, still warm from the cooling casserole, and gave her sister a mug of hot tea with a little honey. She gave some to Henry, too, although her mother would have described the delivery as ungracious.

Once Margaret was satisfied that Mayfair would be fine, the four of them piled into Emily’s massive Oldsmobile with Henry behind the wheel. Emily insisted on riding in the backseat with Mayfair. Margaret sat stiffly beside Henry, trying not to slide toward him in the turns. He seemed focused on the road ahead of them, although she thought she detected an undercurrent of worry.

“You’re a good driver.” Margaret decided to try forgiving Henry, though she had to make herself do it. She told herself it was Christian to forgive.

Henry sort of grunted. Well, so much for reaching out in Christian love. She spoke to Emily over the back of the front seat.

“How’s Angie been since Liza died?”

“You know, I didn’t think she’d live long after her sweet sister passed, but she seems to be all right. Although I was visiting last week, and she talked about Casewell and Perla’s wedding like
it happened yesterday instead of twenty-some years ago. Then it seemed like she couldn’t remember what day it was. She had a confused air about her.” Emily looked out the side window. “Guess that happens if you live long enough.”

“And Frank stays with her?”

“No more than is proper. They’re both single people, you know.”

Henry snorted, and while Margaret thought it was rude, her reaction was similar. Who cared if two old people spent every possible moment together? What harm could come of it?

Henry pulled into the driveway and stopped alongside the front porch. Margaret hopped out and picked up the warm casserole dish from where it nestled in the floorboards between her feet. Mayfair carried a basket with a loaf of light bread, a jar of apple butter, and half a pound cake.

“You know, we made that apple butter in the Talbot sisters’ kettle. I think just about everybody in Wise has borrowed that thing at one time or another.” Emily took Henry’s arm as they walked up onto the porch. “Knock plenty loud, Henry. She might be napping.”

But Henry didn’t even touch the screen door before Frank was there to let them in.

“Howdy, folks, come on in and set a spell.”

They piled into the kitchen and draped coats over the backs of chairs, then lined their boots up near the front door. As they shed outer layers, Angie eased into the kitchen and watched.

“I haven’t seen such a ruckus in a month of Sundays,” she said.

Margaret was afraid they’d upset the old woman, but she smiled. “And I’m so glad. It’s been too long since people piled up in this house. Probably not since Liza passed, God rest her soul.”

Margaret wondered if she should say she was sorry, but Liza
had been gone a while now. She settled for putting her warm dish on the table in front of Angie.

“We brought you some chicken pie.”

“Oh, I do enjoy chicken pie, and so does Frank.” Angie gave Frank such a warm look, Margaret almost felt uncomfortable.

“There’s bread and pound cake, too.” She rushed the words to hide her embarrassment.

“How nice. Frank, what if we put some of that Hershey’s syrup on the cake for dessert this evening?”

Frank rubbed his hands together. “I always have enjoyed something sweet of an evening.” He winked and Angie swatted his arm.

“Come on into the parlor,” she said. “We can sit and visit.”

Once everyone settled and they had finished thoroughly discussing the weather, Frank leaned forward and braced his hands on his knees.

“Guess I might know something that’ll be news to you’uns,” he said.

Emily leaned forward with a smile. “Is it good news?”

“I think so.” He looked at Angie. “Shall I tell them?”

Angie waved a hand at nothing. “Oh, go ahead. People will talk no matter what you do. Might as well make sure they’ve got the story right.”

Frank grinned. “I’ve asked Angie here to be my bride.” He reached out and placed a hand over hers where it rested on the arm of her chair. “And she said, ‘yes.’”

Emily clapped her hands. “Oh, that is good news. Frank Post, it’s about time you got married.”