The Cherry Harvest (25 page)

“I'M FRIGHTENED,” CHARLOTTE WHISPERED
, moving closer to Thomas, tugging her cloche hat down tight. They sat on a wooden bench in front of the yellow stone depot. The air was chilly with rain.

They had been silent most of the sixty-eight miles to Green Bay, afraid to voice what possible wounds Ben might have. At least that was why Charlotte had been quiet. Along the way she had nearly finished knitting two pairs of socks for him.

When Thomas turned toward her, rain dripped from his fedora. “We'll know soon enough, Char.” He patted her leg.

That was when Charlotte heard it, the faraway wail of the locomotive. Then louder. And louder still. The ground shook and steam filled the air, and the engine came to a squealing stop. Not a stop, really. It shivered and shuddered, anxious to be on its way again.

Charlotte grasped Thomas's arm and scanned the windows.

“There!” She pointed. “Ben!” She waved frantically.

Ben peered out the window, but he didn't look her way. He wasn't smiling. His cheeks were hollow, his baby face gone. In a flash she saw sharp cheekbones, a steely jaw. But no bandages, no patches. She
watched as he stood and reached for things. She saw his shoulders, his arms. “See! He's fine. He's just fine! He needs wholesome food and sun . . .” And motherly love. Yes, that was what he needed.

She ran to the platform of the railroad car and waited, impatient as other passengers came forward down the steps. What was taking him so long? She was about to climb up after him when there he was, standing tall on the platform, shoulders square in an olive green Army jacket. “Ben!” she cried out, laughing.

He grinned down at her. But then he was struggling on the metal steps. He had crutches. A broken leg?

That was when she saw it. Saw it wasn't there. “Oh!” She put her hands to her mouth. His left trouser leg was bunched up at the thigh with a big safety pin.
Dear God!
Nauseous, dizzy, she grabbed Thomas's arm to hold herself up.

Thomas reached out his other arm to help Ben down the last step. “Welcome home, son,”

“Hello, Father.” Ben rested his right arm on a crutch and held out his hand for Thomas to shake.

Charlotte threw herself around him. Her tears fell on the front of his jacket. “Ben! Oh, Ben. We missed you so.”

He tucked a crutch under one arm and put the other arm around her.

Another man in uniform, a patch over an eye, followed Ben with a duffel bag and set it on the ground. “Good luck, buddy,” he said, then climbed back up the steps.

Thomas picked up the duffel and led the way to the truck. Charlotte walked alongside in stunned silence.

Ben spoke first. “Let's get one thing out of the way.” He gave that old grin. “Just don't be calling me Peg Leg.”

Charlotte laughed, but there were tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

In the truck she slid to the center of the seat and put her knitting basket on her lap. The socks.

When Ben climbed in, she held tight to his arm. “Thank God you're home. Safe,” she quickly added.

“Sure feels good to be home.” Ben rolled down the window and sucked in the cool, misty air.

The missing leg, the left leg, was next to Charlotte, half a thigh. Ben reached down as if to scratch the part that wasn't there. Then his hand moved up and he scratched the edge of the stump. The knee she had bandaged when he fell off his bicycle. Gone!

Charlotte focused on the wipers slapping back and forth as if they could slap it all away. But the rain kept coming.

Thomas glanced toward Ben. “See by your stripes you made sergeant.”

“Yup.”

“We didn't know,” Charlotte said brightly. “That's pretty impressive.” She was about to pat his leg but then remembered and clenched her fist.

Ben stared out the passenger window.

“What's that medal you got there?” Thomas said.

“Purple Heart.” After a pause, Ben added, “Wounded in action.”

“Ah,” Thomas said.

Charlotte tilted her head back to hold the tears from falling. All was quiet for a while, save for her few quick sniffs. She took out her handkerchief and blew her nose.

Thomas cleared his throat. “How did it happen, son?”

“Machine gun tore it apart.”

Charlotte cringed at the image, Ben blown off his feet, writhing in the mud, screaming with unspeakable pain, chaos blasting around him.

“Can't recall feeling anything.” He paused. “Not until I woke up in a field hospital. Didn't even know it was gone until I tried to sit up.” He looked off. “Nurses were nice . . .”

Charlotte stared at the bunched-up pant leg, the safety pin. “You didn't write—”

“I didn't want you to worry.” He cut in. “Not until I knew how it would be. Not until I got to Walter Reed.”

How will it be?
Charlotte didn't want to ask. Ben rolled up the window and bent forward and unzipped his duffel. He pulled out something blue.

“The vest!” Charlotte said. The one she had knit for him, the one she had traded with the lighthouse keeper's wife for fish. The blue of his eyes.

Ben beamed. “Josie made it for me.”

Charlotte's cheeks burned, anger rising. She breathed fast, holding it in. Barely holding it in. That little liar! But no, this wasn't about who made the vest. It was meant for Ben from the start, and she was glad he had it. She touched the cabling she had knit so lovingly late into the night.

Josie. Charlotte had never liked the girl, but now she realized she needed her. Ben needed her. They all needed her. “We'll invite her to supper tomorrow,” Charlotte said.

Ben didn't smile. He put the vest against the window, laid a cheek on it, and closed his eyes.

All the way home Charlotte's mind spun with plans. Kate would be leaving for school soon. Josie would take her place. She'll have to learn how to do Kate's chores. Yes, we need her now. Ben will marry her right away, before Kate leaves. That would be best.

It will be nice to have grandchildren on the farm, she reasoned, even if they do have to be Catholic. With Josie's limited domestic skills and Ben missing a leg, the children will have to learn their chores early. Charlotte would see to that.

BY THE TIME THOMAS TURNED
onto Orchard Lane, the rain had let up.

Kate ran out from the house. “Ben! Ben!”

“Hey, Kitty Kat!” Ben called from the open window.

Charlotte watched Kate's expression as Ben opened the passenger door, as he held to Thomas in getting down. Kate put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. But then she grinned and said, “Guess what I made you for supper.”

“You? Cooking?” he teased.

“Your bestest favorite.” She took his arm as if there were no crutches between them.

“Not rib roast.” He looked at her sideways.

“Yes, rib roast. And potatoes. And kale and eggplant from the garden. And I picked wild leeks from our hiding place in the woods, remember? And that's not all—Mother's cherry pie!”

Ben gave a happy groan. “That's what I've been dreaming about all this time. Rib roast and cherry pie.”

Tears came to Charlotte's eyes as she remembered how beautiful life had been, but would never be again. She put her head back and sniffed.
No more feeling sorry! From now on, we move forward, focus on what we have, focus on the good
.

“Where's Scout?” Ben gave a whistle.

Charlotte's eyes watered.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Scout, he didn't make it. Soon after you left.”

“Scout?” Ben stopped and stood for a bit and wiped a sleeve across his face.

“He was getting old, Ben,” Charlotte said.

Ben nodded and swung slowly forward on his crutches.

Entering the kitchen, Ben breathed in deeply. “Can't believe Kate's cooking would smell so good.”

Kate gave his shoulder a friendly punch, like in the old days. He pretended to duck.

Kate took the roast from the oven and put a bowl of vegetables on the table. “Go ahead. Sit,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am.” As Ben moved toward his place, one of his crutches caught on the chair leg and he crashed to the floor. “God damn!” He struggled to rise.

“Ben!” Charlotte jumped up.

Thomas reached to help him, but Ben pulled himself up and stood against the wall, breathing heavily. A leg of the chair was broken.

Charlotte held in her fright at his outburst and touched his arm. “Are you all right, Ben?”

He stood, unmoving, eyes closed.

Thomas brought in a chair from the dining room.

Ben opened his eyes and stared at the broken chair. “Looks like I got myself a project here.”

Charlotte took a breath, relieved.

Kate put the platter of sliced beef on the table. “Supper's getting cold.”

AFTER SUPPER, THEY SAT IN THE PARLOR
. Thomas must have told Karl not to come to the house because he didn't, and Charlotte was grateful for that.

Ben took a pack of Camels from his pocket. “Could you toss me the matches, Pa?” He caught the matchbox in midair.

“When did you start smoking?” Charlotte said.

“Boot camp, I guess.” He struck a wooden match against the flinty side of the box. “No, I started on the train to boot camp. Sat with a fellow who offered me a smoke.” Ben paused. “Eddie was his name. Never saw him again. Wonder where he is now.”

A chilly breeze came from the direction of the living room. Ben laid the cigarette on an ashtray, got up on his crutches, and reached toward his duffel bag. Charlotte had to stop herself from getting it for him. He had taken off his Army jacket and now put on the blue vest. It looked so good on him. Once he was settled back on the couch, Charlotte placed an afghan across his lap, for her sake as much as for his.

He bristled, frowned.

“There must be a window open.” She rose to check.

“What's it like to serve under Clark?” Thomas was saying as Charlotte left the room.

Sure enough, one of the living room windows was wide open. The rain came soft and sweet beyond the porch. Through the window she heard the drone of a motorboat. She watched it approach the dock. Josie! Oh please, God, if you exist, give this girl strength.

Charlotte waited on the porch while Josie tethered the boat, then walked up the lawn. Spoiled girl. Probably never milked a cow or hoed a garden in her life. Charlotte would teach her. For Ben's sake, Charlotte would teach Josie about being a farmwife.

When the girl saw Charlotte on the porch, she stopped, then moved slowly forward.

“Hello, Josie,” Charlotte called, forcing a friendly expression.

“Hello, Mrs. Christiansen . . .” Once she was under the cover of the porch, Josie pushed back the hood of her yellow slicker to reveal lush dark curls, a yellow ribbon holding them neatly off her face.

“I'm glad you came,” Charlotte said.

Josie beamed at that. “Kate told me Ben was coming home.”

“Yes, he's here.” Charlotte studied the girl's face.

“She said he was . . . wounded . . .” Josie bit her lip.

“You'll need to prepare yourself.”

“What is it?”

“I'll let him tell you.” After a pause, Charlotte said, “By the way, he's wearing the blue vest . . . the one you knit for him.”

Josie's cheeks went scarlet.

“The cabling down the front is particularly lovely,” Charlotte added.

“I'm sorry . . . I'll tell him—”

“No need. I'm glad he has it. And if you don't know how to knit, I'd be happy to teach you.”

Josie gazed up at Charlotte reverently. “Thank you, Mrs. Christiansen.”

“Let's go in, then.” Charlotte opened the door and took Josie's slicker to hang.

In the parlor, Josie stood on the edge of the room and smiled at Ben. A tentative smile, unsure.

Charlotte noted her look.
She's wondering why Ben doesn't jump up to greet her
.

“Hello, Josie.” Ben's smile was also tentative. “You look swell.”

Yes, Charlotte had to admit, Josie was an attractive girl. Tonight she wore a ruffled yellow summer dress that showed off her curvy figure and shapely legs. They would have handsome children.

Josie entered the room and sat next to Ben on the couch. “You look swell too.” She glanced down, then back to his face. “How are you?”

What did she see? His face was hardened, but his eyes remained warm. His shoulders appeared broader than Charlotte remembered, and he sat up tall. A most handsome boy. A handsome man. A perfect model for a Greek god.

After a short silence, he lifted a leg under the blanket, his good leg. “I lost the other one.” He was watching Josie's face.

She gasped. Her eyes wide, mouth open. She turned away.

“It's okay,” he said matter-of-factly. “They're making me a new one. At Walter Reed.”

“Oh . . . that's . . . that's good.”