The Cherry Harvest (10 page)

This was a Gatsby party come to life.
No one knows me, so I can be anything I want
. Tonight she would be Daisy Buchanan. She recalled Fitzgerald's description: “There was an excitement to her voice . . . a promise that . . . there were gay exciting things hovering in the next hour.” Yes, gay exciting things hovering.

She held up her head and moved gracefully down a grand circular staircase into the music and easy banter swirling below.

The boys were dressed in dinner jackets. The girls flitted about like exotic birds in lavender and almond and apricot fabrics that gleamed, dresses with full skirts nipped in at the waist like the one Kate wore. And there was Clay. As if he sensed her approach, he turned away from the laughing conversation and his eyes sparkled up toward her. At the bottom of the stairs, he held out his hand. “You look so sweet, you ought to be rationed.”

Kate smiled, challenging herself to speak slowly, enunciating her words, as Daisy would certainly do. “You saved my life, really.”

He bowed and picked up a glass of champagne from a roving waiter. “I should have given this to you earlier, to enjoy in your bath.”

Kate blushed at the thought of this beautiful boy picturing her in the tub. When she took a sip, sparkling bubbles ticked her nose.

“I thought you might have fallen off a ship, but seeing you now, I expect you fell from a star.”

These partygoers all appeared as if they had come from stars. Kate's eyes landed on a sophisticated girl who stood with one foot delicately in front of the other, like a ballerina, and moved her own well-planted feet into the more feminine stance. “I was at the lighthouse down the coast and got swept up in the current.”

“The lighthouse?” He raised an eyebrow. “Imprisoned in the
tower, no doubt.” He opened a silver case and offered her a cigarette.

Kate scanned the room. Yes, other girls were smoking, holding cigarettes with a casual elegance, as if they were part of their costumes. She chose one and held it near her lips, ready for a light. Clay flicked open a chrome-encased lighter that glowed with a ready blue flame. Watching his eyes, she drew in the smoke, thankful that Josie had taught her how to inhale without coughing. She took another sip of champagne as if she did this every day.

“I've never been in a lighthouse.” He grinned. “Maybe you'll show me one day.”

Something
he's
never done, how ironic. “Perhaps.” She gazed at him from under her lashes, as she had seen starlets do.

At five-foot-eight, Kate had always been the tallest girl in her class, and she seemed to be the tallest girl at the party as well. In heels, she was almost as tall as Clay, but not quite.

A tinkling bell rang out and guests swept off toward another room, the dining room. People stared at Kate as she entered on Clay's arm. She heard whispers.
Who is she?

In the center of the buffet was the roast pig, the whole thing, with an apple in its mouth. It was surrounded by roasted vegetables and plates of cheeses, fruits, and breads. Another table held cakes and pies and cookies.

“Gee whiz!” she said, immediately embarrassed for giving herself away.

Clay picked up a plate. “What would you like? Caviar, oysters, lobster . . .”

Kate had never tasted any of those things. “Oh yes . . . that . . . and that . . .” They moved around the table.

“My, my.” A female voice approached. “Quite an appetite.”

Over her shoulder, Kate spied a petite girl with a pretty face, green eyes, and lush red hair curled under into a pageboy. She wore a striking silvery dress, and she was staring at Kate's plate. Glancing about, Kate noted that other plates held tiny bits. Hers was heaping.

“Oh Lizzie, give us a break,” Clay said. “Our little mermaid has just swum up from the sea. Wouldn't you be hungry?”

The girl regarded Kate, settling on Kate's rough hands, ragged nails, and a bruise Kate hadn't noticed on her arm where she had bumped against the dock ladder. “Ah, well, I don't know much about mermaids, but I suppose they need to grab their fill before they're back to the bottom.”

Lizzie's nails were sculpted and polished, little white crescent moons at the base of each one. Kate closed her hands to hide her own fingers. She had always been proud of her upbringing—her family was well respected in the community—but now, in the face of Lizzie's disdain, Kate was dismayed.

“You're on my dance card for this one,” Lizzie said to Clay, motioning toward the dance floor.

“My dear Lizzie,” he said, “I do believe you need another glass of champagne.”

Lizzie frowned. When she shifted away, Clay whispered to Kate, “Let's not invite her back.”

Kate was the one who didn't belong. “Maybe I should go—”

“Please don't let her spoil the party for us.” Clay guided Kate to a chaise away from the crowd and sat beside her. “Tell me, Miss Kate, what do you do for fun when you're not swimming the wild seas?”

Relieved at Clay's acceptance of her as she was, she spoke the truth. “I like reading, mostly novels.”

“How perfectly romantic.”

She wanted to gobble up everything on her plate, but instead she took a tiny bite of cheese. She longed to take some of this home to share, but that would give away too much.

The jazz trio in the foyer was playing “String of Pearls.” Clay held out his hand. “Let's dance.”

Kate took his hand, soft but strong. His nails were clipped and clean. His skin smelled warm like vanilla. He escorted her to the
dance floor and led her gracefully. She was Ginger Rogers in the arms of Fred Astaire. She gladly followed him through the next dance and the next, feeling other guests peel away as she and Clay swept around the ballroom, eyes locked together.

Clay breathed in her ear, “You're so fresh and unspoiled. That's what I like about you, Kate.”

When they finally returned to their seats, a buxom brunette in a low-cut red dress came forward. “Introduce me,” she said to Clay.

“Eva, please meet Kate. Kate Christiansen.” Then to Kate, “Eva Gordon.”

Eva took a puff from a cigarette in a long silver holder. “Pleased to meet you.”

A man in a butler's uniform came up to Clay. “Your father has arrived.”

“Please excuse me,” Clay said.

Kate panicked. She wasn't up to conversation with any of these sophisticated girls with perfect nails. She'd surely give herself away. She glanced about for Peggy but didn't see her.

“I thought I knew all Clay's friends,” Eva said.

A waiter hovered near, and when Eva took a glass of champagne, Kate did as well.

“I'm not a friend—”

“Oh come now. Everyone wants to be Clay's friend.”

Kate took a sip of champagne. The alcohol helped her feel more confident in her new role. “I'm Clay's secret lover.” She peered from under her lashes in a way she hoped would convey as much.

Eva choked out cigarette smoke and gave Kate a once-over. “Really!”

After a pause, Kate asked, “How do
you
know him?”

Eva stood up straight. “We're neighbors. Lake Forest.” She blew smoke out the side of her mouth.

Lake Forest?
Kate had never heard of it.

“Senator,” someone called. The room quieted.

“Oh, there's Clay's father,” Eva said.

“He's a senator?”

Eva laughed. “You have no idea, do you?” After a pause, she said. “Senator Sullivan.”

The name sounded familiar, but he wasn't a Wisconsin senator, Kate knew that much. She wished she had paid more attention to the news. “Come on.” Eva moved off in a crowd that pushed toward the senator. Amid the applause, Kate heard him say, “War is good.” It was followed by words of encouragement from others.

Kate shook her head.
I couldn't have heard that right. He must have said, “This is a good war.”
She was suddenly tired, so tired.

Clay returned to her side and offered her another glass of champagne.

Kate put up her hand to stop him. “What time is it?”

“Nearly two. You must be exhausted.” He took her hands.

Kate nodded.

“We have guest rooms upstairs. I'll be making my signature eggs Benedict for breakfast, but not until around ten or eleven. We sleep late here.” He squeezed her hands.

“If only I could!” She had to get home before her parents noticed she was gone. She had to milk Mia and clean the barn before sunrise. She dreaded the walk through the woods, it must be miles, with the cold wind against her and prowling animals all about. “I'm sorry, but I have to go.”

Clay's smile faded. “Of course, I understand. I'll drive you.”

“Oh, thank you!” Kate wanted to throw her arms around Clay, but that would be too forward.

“I'll have Peggy bring your clothes.”

Soon Peggy came with a satchel. “Your wet things are in here.”

“But I couldn't wear your beautiful dress home . . .”

Peggy put a hand on Kate's arm. “You can return it after you've had a good night's sleep.”

Clay excused himself from the party and led Kate outside. When
he pulled open the garage door, Kate beheld the most magnificent automobile she had ever seen—a shiny red convertible.

“It's a Duesy,” he said, following her eyes. “A 1924 Duesenberg.” He opened the passenger door and she slid onto the leather bench seat.

The top was down, the wind merely a breeze now. Clay maneuvered the car along a woodsy drive, his arm around her shoulders, headlights glancing off piney trees, a skunk ambling off, a deer freezing in place.

When they reached County Trunk Q, Kate pointed south. She worried that the orchard would give her away. Maybe she should direct him to the road that ended at the causeway leading to the lighthouse and walk home from there. She had to tell him. “I don't actually live in a lighthouse,” she said quickly.

“Oh?” He grinned as if he had never believed her anyway.

“I live in an enchanted orchard filled with magical cherry trees.”

“Ah. So that explains it.”

“Explains what?”
That I'm a simple farm girl?

“How you bewitched me.” He took her hand. “And when will your cherries be ripe?” His voice came low and seductive.

“Soon,” she said, relieved. “I will make you a pie. A fantastical cherry pie.”

He laughed out loud. “Oh Kate, Kate. I like you, Kate.” He pulled her close. Her skin tingled at his touch.

“And I like you.”

Clay gave her a squeeze.

“I like your sister too. Peggy's a swell girl.”

“She is.” Clay pulled back his arm to change gears, and when he gunned the engine the car accelerated so quickly that Kate's body pressed against the seat. She reached out and grabbed the door handle.

“Don't worry. This baby was made to go fast.” He had to shout over the racing motor.

“Is it . . . safe?”

“When
I'm
driving, it is.” He slowed and pulled her to him again. “But I don't want to scare you.”

She was shaken. “I've never gone that fast.”

“Wait until you're up in an airplane. You'll love it.”

An airplane! What made him think she would ever go up in an airplane?

“I'll be back at Northwestern in the fall. Would you like to come for a visit?” He glanced her way. “You and me, we'll have a grand time.”

Kate's mind raced with anticipation. She'd be mingling with the kind of people she had met at the university, discussing literature and art, and she'd have this exciting boy as her companion. “I'll be going to the UW in Madison in the fall.” She was proud to say it.

“Splendid.” His white teeth gleamed.

“I'm going to write stories. And maybe you'll be in one of them.”

“I'd like that.” He smiled her way. “Will you show me one of your stories . . . next time?” Clay's fingers lightly stroked her bare shoulder.

Next time!

With the night air blowing through her hair, a million stars sparkling above, and the most charming boy she had ever met at her side, Kate felt beautiful.

“Do you have parties often?” she asked, then worried that he might think she was fishing for an invitation. Well, maybe she was.

“In the summers mostly.”

They rode in silence for a while until she came up with something else to ask. “Are you planning to go into politics, as your father did?”

Clay frowned. “No.”

Kate waited, and when Clay didn't add to that, she said, “So what do you want to do?”

“Fly airplanes. I'm taking lessons.”

“Really!” She couldn't imagine going up in an airplane, and here was Clay, learning to fly, as if it were as commonplace as riding a bicycle. What different worlds they lived in. “What's it like?”

He looked her way, then back to the road. “Climbing up and up until you lose all connection with the world below and live only in the moment.”

“It sounds so freeing.”

“Free and ‘pierced with beauty and danger.' That's what Lindbergh said.”

“Charles Lindbergh?”

“Yes, I met him after one of his public appearances, told him I wanted to be an aviator.”

“But what about the danger?”

“That's the most exciting part.”

Kate wasn't too excited about that part, Clay pierced with danger.

“When Lindbergh was my age, he quit college and hired out as a barnstormer—wing walking, parachuting, flying barrel rolls, spins, dives—”

“But you wouldn't do that!”

Clay grabbed Kate's hand and laughed. “Lindbergh's wife said she was glad she didn't know him then.”

“You met his wife?”

“Sure. She's a writer, did you know?” He didn't wait for her response. “Lindbergh taught her to fly.”

“Gee whiz!” Kate couldn't conceive of it, learning to fly. And Lindbergh . . . “They say he's a Nazi sympathizer.”