Until the Harvest (14 page)

“Shy, indeed.” Melba leaned closer. “A bit old for that, isn’t she?”

Sparks fired in Lenore’s eyes. “Yes, I suppose so. But you know how it is with young people these days.” She tried to laugh, but it sounded forced, and Melba didn’t join in.

Other ladies began to arrive, and Lenore tried to get Mayfair to pass refreshments. But after she spilled Tab on two ladies and dumped a tray of cheese and crackers in Melba’s lap, Lenore banished her with barely disguised rage. Mayfair fled the room, silent tears streaming down her face. Margaret noted that her mother’s treatment of her youngest child seemed to have done as much damage as Mayfair’s utter lack of social skills. Ladies put their heads together, and Margaret reveled in the damage the afternoon had done to her mother’s reputation. She took over for Mayfair and tried not to enjoy her mother’s clear discomfort.

When the last guest finally left, and Lenore went to lie down with a cool cloth and what appeared to be a tumbler of vodka, Margaret finally had time to check on Mayfair. She was curled in the middle of Margaret’s bed, sleeping, but it was clear she had cried a while before sleep overtook her. Margaret felt terrible but told herself it would all be worth it if Mayfair got to come to the gray house with her.

She sat on the edge of the bed and jiggled the mattress. “Mayfair.” She spoke softly, and her sister’s eyelids fluttered open.

“Oh, Margaret, why didn’t you stop it?”

Margaret’s stomach clenched. “I’m sorry I didn’t. I was hoping to upset Mother enough that she’d let you move to the little house on Emily’s farm with me.” She tried to smile. “And I think it might have worked. I’ll go talk to her in a little bit, and we’ll find out.”

“I want to go with you, but it’s not right to hurt Mom.”

“She’s hurt us often enough.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

Margaret wrestled with the feeling that Mayfair had a good point. But didn’t the ends justify the means? “Sometimes there’s no other way.”

“There’s always another way.” Mayfair sat up and put her arms around Margaret’s neck, a rare gesture. Margaret felt tears rise at her sister’s touch. She told herself it was just the sweetness of the hug. But something deep down was bending inside her, and she was glad Mayfair pulled away before it broke.

11

H
ENRY
FINALLY
WENT
HOME
late in the afternoon the following day after sleeping on his grandmother’s couch. He wondered how the bridge party was going for Margaret and Mayfair. He hoped they’d get what they wanted from Lenore. He hoped he’d get to see them around the farm more, even uptight Margaret. She was kind of growing on him. He paused as he mounted the porch steps. It seemed strange, this thinking about and maybe even caring about someone else. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do that, since losing people hurt so very much.

Stepping through the front door, Henry breathed in the rich aroma of roasting meat. He felt his stomach rumble and realized he was ravenous.

His mother poked her head out of the kitchen and smiled. “Your grandmother called to let me know you were likely on your way. Supper will be ready shortly.”

Henry nodded, not sure what else to do. He thought Mom would be full of questions, but she seemed to be blithely going about the business of her day. He shucked his outerwear and padded to the bathroom in sock feet. He washed his hands and face and tried to make sense of his mother’s attitude. Maybe
she didn’t care. Or maybe she’d given up. Either way, he felt uneasy. And a little ashamed.

“Soup’s on,” Mom called. Henry’s stomach growled in answer.

He walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. A pot roast with potatoes and carrots took center stage. A bowl of lima beans with bits of bacon and a basket of angel biscuits steamed next to the platter. His mother added a pitcher of iced tea and sat down opposite him.

“I thought you might be hungry, and I was in the mood to cook,” she said. “Would you bless the meal?”

Henry froze. His father had always been the one to return the blessing. He was both troubled and pleased that his mother would ask him to say grace. He bowed his head and squeezed his hands together under the table.

“Dear Lord, thank you for this food and for the hands that prepared it.” He hesitated. There should be more than that, but he didn’t know what. Dad always found plenty to say, sometimes too much as the food cooled and hunger grew. “Thank you for keeping me—us—safe. And, uh, watch over Margaret and Mayfair.” Another moment of silence hung over the table. “In Jesus’ name, amen.”

“Thank you, son.” His mother patted his arm and began dishing up the food. After they ate a moment in silence, she cleared her throat. “Can I ask you a favor, Henry?”

Henry swallowed the bite he was chewing. He had a feeling he might not like the favor. “Sure.”

“If you’re going to be gone . . .” She seemed to be searching for the right word. “ . . . for very long—more than a day, say—can you let me know?”

“I was just—”

Mom held her hand up like a stop sign. “I’m not asking where you were or where you will be in the future. I’d appreciate
knowing whether to expect you, or if I should call the sheriff because you’re missing.”

Henry paled at the mention of the sheriff. It could be bad if his mother called to report him missing. Maybe he should be a little more forthcoming. He speared a potato and examined it. “I guess I can do that.”

His mother smiled, and he thought her shoulders dropped a notch. “I appreciate that, Henry. I really and truly do.”

Henry had a sudden urge to tell her about churning butter and helping to come up with a plan to get Lenore Hoffman to let Mayfair move in with Margaret. But then he thought about Barbara shimmying into her jeans in the hay the other morning and found he really had nothing to say after all.

Margaret knocked on the bedroom door and then pushed it open without waiting for a response. Her mother made a noise from where she lay on her bed, a damp washcloth draped over her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Margaret asked.

Lenore dropped the cloth from her face and glared. She turned the cloth over to the cool side and replaced it. “This was the worst day of my life, and it’s your sister’s fault.”

Margaret bit back a smile. “Really? They seemed to like the food.”

“But they didn’t like wearing it. Mayfair is a walking disaster. It’s going to take even more effort than I realized to whip her into shape. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. I’m not even sure any respectable girls’ school will take her.”

Margaret felt blood rush to her cheeks, but she suppressed the urge to lash out, taking a calming breath instead. “She could always come live with me for a while. Maybe Emily could teach
her a few things. Get her to the point where she’d be ready for something more.”

“Emily Phillips.” Margaret thought she saw her mother’s lip curl. “What does she know that I can’t teach that child?”

“Nothing,” Margaret said quickly. “But why should you waste your time when Emily would do it without even realizing? It would save you so much time, and Mayfair would be out of your hair until she was closer to what you want.”

Her mother moved the cloth and looked at Margaret. Really looked at her. For a moment, Margaret feared her mother might see her for once, but the moment passed.

“You have a point. When are you moving out there?”

“I thought I’d get started tomorrow.”

Her mother flicked her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Fine. Take her with you. We’ll try it for a month or two and see if there’s any improvement. God knows I could use the rest. From both of you.” She replaced the cloth, and Margaret assumed she’d been dismissed. It wasn’t how she wanted her relationship with her mother to be, but it’s how it was. She was just glad she could take Mayfair with her when she left.

The next day Henry strained the morning’s milk into a pitcher in his grandmother’s kitchen as he watched Margaret drive by in her Volkswagen.

“Grandma, where’s Margaret going?”

“I think she planned to drop some things off at the house before coming in today. I should probably just let her stay over there all day. Goodness knows, there’s work to be done.”

“Anything she might need a hand with?”

Emily walked over and gave Henry a long look. “You know, I’ll bet there is. She’s a dab hand at cleaning, but if there are any repairs, she might need a man.”

“Maybe I’ll go on over there,” he said, setting the milk bucket down and moving the pitcher to the refrigerator.

“I think that’s a grand idea. Tell her to stay until lunchtime, then we’ll take stock of what else needs doing.”

Henry almost smiled. Margaret wasn’t exactly a barrel of monkeys, but at least he didn’t have to worry about getting arrested when he was with her. And he wanted to know if she’d managed to pry Mayfair from her mother’s clutches.

Henry approached the little house at a jog as Margaret came out the front door.

“Hey,” he called out. “Wait. Grandma says for you to stay over here and do whatever you need to until lunchtime.”

“Oh. But it’s laundry day.”

Henry shrugged. “I’m just telling you what she said. Plus, I’m here to help.” He suddenly felt self-conscious. “You know. If anything needs nailing together or . . . whatever.”

Margaret looked him up and down as though trying to decide if he was capable of helping. He straightened his shoulders and looked down his nose at her. If she didn’t want him, he wouldn’t stay. He could always go see if Clint had a job.

“Okay.”

“What?” Henry felt like he’d lost his place.

“Okay. If you want to help I guess I’d appreciate it. C’mon. Mayfair’s at school, and a second pair of hands would be welcome.”

Henry trotted into the kitchen behind her. “So it worked.”

“What worked?”

“The plan to rescue your sister from the wicked stepmother. Mother. Whatever.”

Margaret bristled. “She’s not wicked. Just . . . misguided.”

Henry held up his hands. “Hey, no offense. Just trying to make a joke.” He examined Margaret’s face. “A bad one, I guess. Sorry.”

“Well, if we’re going to work on this place, let’s get to it.” Margaret clapped her hands. “The heat seems to be working. That’s good. But I don’t think there’s any hot water. Can you look into that?”

Henry had been hoping for something more along the lines of fixing a loose shutter or hammering down some shingles, but he guessed he could figure out hot water.

“What are you going to do?”

“First I’ll clean this place top to bottom. Then I’ll start trying to get the old wallpaper down and maybe find some paint.” Margaret held her hand up, ticking items off on her fingers. “Then I’ll figure out where the furniture will go and what we’re going to need to add to it. I also need to take stock of what’s in the kitchen and what’s missing—”

Henry laughed. “Okay, okay. I’ll check on the water.”

He tried the faucet in the kitchen—just cold. He went into the bathroom and tried the faucet there to the same end. The water heater sat behind the bathroom door, and he eyed it, hoping it didn’t need replacing. That would be a bear of a job, not to mention expensive. He peered out and saw that Margaret was absorbed with wiping down the walls, floor to ceiling. He rolled his eyes. Cleaning walls—women.

He pushed the door halfway to and took a closer look at the water heater. It was gas, which was good. They had free gas out here. He got down on his hands and knees and removed the access panel for the pilot. Well, there you go. It was out. Of course his dad wouldn’t have left the pilot burning in an unoccupied house. He smiled. It was nice to think about Dad taking care of this place. He rummaged in a cupboard and found a box of safety matches. He made the proper adjustments and lit the pilot, then adjusted the temperature control dial.

Dusting his hands, he sat on the toilet and felt satisfied with himself. That was easy enough. He should probably go out and
see what else he could do, but it wouldn’t hurt to let Margaret think this had taken more than a few minutes. He whistled softly and examined the caulking around the tub. Probably needed redoing. He’d pick some up next time he was in town. He thought about his father moving around this little room, around this little house. He imagined for a moment that he could put his feet down in the same places, touch the same things. It was comforting.