The Cherry Harvest (12 page)

DID HE FORGET WHERE I LIVE?

It had been nearly a week since the party, and Kate could sit still no longer. She went to the barn and rolled her bicycle onto the path. She had to talk to Josie.

The lake was calm, the channel low. Kate set her bicycle against the birch tree and kicked off her shoes and held up the hem of her summer dress and waded across to the island.

As she approached the yard, Kate heard Josie singing “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B” in her strong alto. Around the corner of the cookhouse, there she was, hanging wash on the line, swinging her hips in rhythm, “A-toot, a-toot, a-toot-diddelyada-toot . . . he blows eight-to-the-bar . . . in boogie rhythm . . .”

Kate ran forward, clapping.

“Kate! Where have you been?”

“Oh, Josie, I'm in love!” Kate twirled.

Josie dropped the blouse she was holding. “Not with that Nazi!”

“No, no.” Kate picked up the blouse and secured it on the line with wooden clothespins. “With a new boy.”

“A new boy?” Josie wanted to know more.

“Remember the last time I was with you in the lighthouse, the night of the storm?” Kate raced through the story of being swept up the shore to the big house. “And we danced. Oh, Josie, we danced and danced! It was magical!” Kate put her arms into dance position and swirled around the lawn.

“Well, he can't be as good a dancer as Ben.”

“But oh, to be in Clay's arms . . . !”

“Sounds like you've written yourself into one of your romantic stories.” Josie clipped a pair of cotton shorts to the line.

“I have his sister's silk party dress to prove it.”

“You stole a dress?”

“I didn't steal it. Peggy lent it to me. She's the most generous girl. Oh, I do hope she wants to be friends with me.”

Josie made a sour face.

“You too, Josie. The three of us.”

“I want to see the dress.”

“Yes, but I'll need to take it back soon . . .”
What if I keep it for a while? For months, years maybe, and Peggy will say, “Oh I wondered where that old thing went.”

Kate pulled a pair of lacy panties from the basket. She had never seen anything so sexy. “Are these your mother's?”

Josie snatched them from her. “For my trousseau.” She giggled. “But I couldn't wait to wear them.”

A trousseau for working on the farm?

“How old is this new boyfriend of yours?”

“Older than me. He's in college. A sophomore.”

“College?” Josie flicked a pillowcase. “Why isn't he overseas fighting with Ben and the other boys? There must be something wrong with him.”

“No.” Kate hesitated. She picked up a smock that belonged to Josie's younger sister and hung it on the line. “He has one of those college deferments. But he's in the Naval Reserve Officers Training Corps.”

Josie put her hands on her hips. “He's a coward, then. The war will be over before he even graduates.”

“He's not like that . . .” Kate stopped herself from defending him. He had told her things in confidence.

“Then what
is
he like?”

Kate closed her eyes and recalled Clay's strong arm around her, leading her out of the storm. His eyes smiling up from the bottom of the staircase, welcoming her to his party. “He's got a great smile. And he's smart and well-spoken.” His kiss, the way he held her. Kate stifled a sigh and told Josie about the invitation to visit him at school. “I'll have to make new clothes.” She thought of the stylish girls at the university.

“Well,
I
think he's a coward.”

“Josie, no. He wants to go, but . . .” How could she explain without explaining too much? She put up her chin and changed the subject. “We talked about our ambitions—he wants to be a pilot, I told him I wanted to write stories—”

Josie rolled her eyes. “How boring! Boys like girls who are fun.”

Kate pondered this. Maybe that was why she hadn't heard from him. “Oh, Josie, I just
have
to see him. I'm thinking of riding my bicycle up there.”

Josie picked up a man's nightshirt and two clothespins, then stopped and dropped them into the basket. “Say, how about if we go right now? Father's off in the motorboat, but we could take the rowboat.”

“Yes!” Kate thrilled at the plan.

As the two friends headed to the boathouse, Josie began singing, “I got a crush on you, Sweetie Pie . . .” She sang sweetly, then she paused and belted out the last of it in a slow, growling, hip-gyrating, “ 'cause I got a crush, oooo oh my baby, on youuuuuu!”

Yes, fun. That's what Kate liked best about Josie. She was different from the other girls. She didn't care what people thought. She just sang it out.

IN TRYING TO DIRECT THE ROWBOAT
away from the dock, Josie made a show of being clumsy.

“Let me do it,” Kate said.

“You're so much stronger than I am.” Josie settled in like a princess.

Kate feathered the oars and gave Josie a quick spray.

“You did that on purpose!”

Kate laughed and guided the boat north.

“That's it!” She slowed at the sight of the house set far back from the shore.

“Wow, that's some place.”

Kate pulled up the oars and let the boat bob on soft waves.

“C'mon. Let's go up.”

Kate noted her cotton housedress and dirty bare feet. Her tangled hair needed brushing. “No. I look like a ragamuffin.”

“Well, why did we come then? If he's your boyfriend, he'll want to see you no matter what.”

“I didn't say he was my boyfriend—”

“You said you were in love! What else could that mean?”

“Oh, all right. But he has a nasty dog, so if you get bitten, don't blame me.” Hoping the dog would remember her, Kate maneuvered the boat to shore, stepped out, and pulled it up onto the marshy beach.

On this bright sunny day, Kate saw the property in a different light. At night she hadn't noticed the grand sweep of lawns and gardens.

At the house, they walked up the porch steps and Kate rang the doorbell. No one came. No dog barked.

She peered through the window. “This is where we danced.” She recalled the jazz trio, the sugary dresses, Clay leading her around the room, everyone's eyes on them . . .

“Well? Where are they?” Josie demanded.

Just then, William—the man who had roasted the pig at the
party—came around the corner of the house, pushing a lawn mower. He stopped at the edge of the porch and squinted up toward them. “Nobody home.”

“When will they be back?” Kate said.

“Won't know till they 'rive.”

“But . . . when did they leave?”

“Last week.” He wiped an arm across his forehead.

“Last week?”
Right after the party?

“If he cared, he would have told you,” Josie said.

Kate tried to hide her embarrassment. “It must have been a last-minute decision.”

ONCE THEY'D RETURNED TO LOON ISLAND
, Kate waded back to the mainland and rode her bicycle to the Turtle Bay branch library. There she learned that Senator Sullivan was from Illinois.

In answer to Kate's questions, the librarian—the perpetually unsmiling one—directed her to the editorial pages of a recent copy of the
Chicago Tribune
. “He's a war profiteer,” the woman said.

“War profiteer?”

“He's involved with a company that sold munitions to the Germans.”

“But that must have been before we went to war.”

“At the time, Germany was fighting our allies in Europe—”

“Oh!” Kate's cheeks went hot. “Well, I will write to him about how disappointed I am to hear that.”

“I'm sure that will change everything,” the woman chortled.

“Could you please help me find his address?”

The librarian opened a file cabinet and brought out a folder. “Here it is.”

Kate copied down his address at the Senate Office Building, Washington, DC.

On the way out, Kate noticed a display of new books. She picked
up a fat one with a picture of a woman in a low-cut dress from an earlier century and scanned a few pages.
Forever Amber
. It looked like something Josie would like. When she took it to the checkout desk, the librarian said, “This is not meant for a young lady. Let's find something more appropriate.”

“I'd like this one, thank you.” Kate ignored the librarian's grumbling as she checked it out.

Riding home, Kate wondered what Clay thought about his father's business, about supplying the Germans. He had said he didn't agree with his father, but what did that mean?

Kate had a box of fine pink stationery she had never used, not even to write to Professor Fleming. A birthday present from Ben, she'd been saving it for just the right occasion . . . and this was it. Sitting at her bedroom desk, she opened the box and pulled out a page. She dipped the tip of her fountain pen into the ink jar and filled it.

Dear Clay,

Thank you for saving my life! What an enchanting evening. I wonder when you and Peggy might be coming back to Door County so I can return Peggy's party dress
.

I do hope you and your family are having a swell summer
.

Sincerely,

Kate Christiansen

It was getting dark when Kate rode back to town, to the barbershop, which also served as the local post office. Was the letter too forward? She recalled the touch of Clay's fingers on her shoulder, his invitation to Northwestern, his disappointment in hearing she didn't have a phone number.
If I don't write to him, I may never hear from him again
. Before she could change her mind, she marched up the steps and put the letter into the mailbox.

After dinner, Kate sat on the porch swing facing the lake, her notebook in front of her. She began a story about a man and a woman from different worlds who fall in love. It came to her quickly—his way of thinking totally at odds with hers. What drew them together also held them apart.

But then she was stuck.

She gazed out over the wide lake, stars brightening against the darkening sky. How would the story end?

CHARLOTTE NOTICED A NEW MOODINESS
she had never seen in her daughter. The girl was distracted, even more so than usual, pushing vegetables around on her plate. Karl would be coming tonight for another lesson. Was that it?

After supper, as Kate cleared the table, she dropped a plate on the floor.

Charlotte jumped at the crash. “Pay attention!”

“I'm sorry,” Kate bent to pick up the pieces.

“Char,” Thomas said, “calm yourself. We have plenty of dishes.”

“Not to throw away!” Charlotte felt nervous, on edge.

“Good evening,” Karl called through the screen door.

“Come on in,” Thomas said.

Once Karl was seated, his back to Charlotte, she was free to watch him, watch Kate, watch for signs. Hands, eyes, it should be obvious. But they remained respectful of each other, sitting well apart, focused on the lessons.

Charlotte finished up the dishes as quickly as possible and left the room. Thomas would stay with them, chaperoning, puffing on his pipe.

She went to the parlor and sat on the couch to nurse memories of her outburst in the barn.
Stay away from him!

Bingo jumped up, mewing for attention. Charlotte ran her fingers through the cat's fur, trying to hush the inner voices, breathing more evenly now. Once the cat settled, Charlotte picked up her sewing basket and shuffled among the projects. Three of Thomas's socks needed darning. She pulled a strand of wool through her darning needle and began the methodical task that left her mind free to roam.

Tomorrow she would trade goat's milk for a soup bone and a bit of rice and make a broth with early vegetables. She hummed along with Billie Holiday. She should take advantage of the good weather to start the spring cleaning—hang the rugs on the back porch and give them a thorough beating, wash the windows, air out pillows and mattresses . . .

The music stopped abruptly. An announcer introduced the president. Soon Roosevelt began in that sonorous voice: “My friends. Yesterday, on June fourth, 1944, Rome fell to American and Allied troops. The first of the Axis capitals is now in our hands. One up and two to go!”

Charlotte pushed the cat to the floor and ran to the kitchen. “Thomas, come listen!”

Thomas hurried into the parlor, with Kate and Karl right behind.

“We've taken Rome!” Charlotte was laughing, crying.

Roosevelt went on:
“
The Italians too, forswearing a partnership in the Axis which they never desired, have sent their troops to join us in our battles against the German trespassers on their soil.”

“The Italians surrendered?” Thomas took the pipe from his mouth and stared at the radio.

Charlotte held a hand to her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“For this quarter-century, the Italian people were enslaved. They were degraded by the rule of Mussolini from Rome. They will mark its liberation with deep emotion. In the north of Italy, the people
are still dominated and threatened by the Nazi overlords and their Fascist puppets . . . Our victory comes at an excellent time, while our Allied forces are poised for another strike at Western Europe—and while the armies of other Nazi soldiers nervously await our assault. And in the meantime our gallant Russian allies continue to make their power felt more and more.”

“Get 'em,” Thomas interjected, pumping a fist in the air.

When the cat jumped back into her lap, Charlotte cuddled it closely. “That's General Mark Clark's Army. That's Ben's unit,” she said to the cat. “No wonder he hasn't had time to write.” It had been weeks now since they'd had a letter from Ben. When she looked up, she saw Karl's face, pale and sickly. Well, what did he expect? Of course good would win over evil.

Roosevelt continued:
“
Germany has not yet been driven to surrender . . . Therefore, the victory still lies some distance ahead. That distance will be covered in due time—have no fear of that. But it will be tough and it will be costly, as I have told you many, many times.”

When the address ended, Vera Lynn's soaring voice sang out, “There'll be bluebirds over the White Cliffs of Dover . . .” Charlotte let tears fall freely.

Thomas cleared his throat and turned to Karl. “What do you think of this?”

Head down, Karl was focused on the large hands sitting limp in his lap. He didn't respond.

“‘There'll be love and laughter, and peace ever after . . .'”

“Karl, are you all right?” Charlotte said.

He raised his eyes to her. “It is difficult to listen to how your president tells of our people.” He took a breath. “You are good people, here on this farm, but we are good people too.” He stood.

Kate stood and moved toward him. “We're not against
you,
Karl . . .”

“We are done with our lesson.” He gave a bow and left.

Charlotte wanted to follow him. Instead, she sat rigid.

“I feel sorry for Karl's family . . .” Kate smeared the backside of a hand across her teary face. “But I want Ben to come home.”

Charlotte stared at the War Mother's Flag hanging in the window. She didn't want to think of what Ben must have endured to get this far.