Seasons: A Year in the Apocalypse Page 17

  “When life gives you lemons, Sunshine…” I hoped to get a smile.

  Instead, she turned on her heel and stormed away. “Go to hell, Abby.”

  She was in one of her moods, again. But I wasn’t about to let it spin my afternoon with my son. There were other unforeseen plans already at play there.

  We were almost there when Sunshine stopped and stuck her nose in the air. “You smell that?”

  I shook off her stalling. All she was trying to do was to engage in a conversation so I’d know she was over her morning’s funk. I wasn’t biting.

  “I don’t smell anything,” I replied, grasping her hand to pull her forward.

  “It smells like smoke,” she added, coming with me but not willingly, it seemed.

  “Of course it smells like smoke,” I rebuffed. “Everyone has their fireplaces and stoves working hard today. Trying to keep the chill out.”

  She shrugged and moved at my pace, finally. “I suppose.”

  Walker met us at the fence, appearing happier and healthier than he had in a while. Approaching at a fast clip, I scanned the area for any sign of Mr. Lasky; thankfully, he was nowhere to be found.

  “Hey, Ma,” he called out with a bright voice. “Hey, Sunshine. How are you both?”

  He was a lot more spirited than before. I could see it in his face, hear it in his voice. Even his posture had returned to normal.

  I took his hands through the fence, kissing them alternately. I knew it embarrassed him, but he never pulled away.

  “I’m good,” I replied, fighting back tears of a mother’s joy. “We’re both good. Aren’t we, Sunshine?”

  My question went unanswered for a few heartbeats.

  “Aren’t we, Sunshine?” I asked again, a little firmer that time.

  I turned to find her sniffing the air again. “I swear it smells like smoke out here today.” I smelled it too; however, I decided not to make a big deal out of it.

  Walker grinned at her. “Oh, I think that’s just the boys burning off some of the fields to the north,” he replied, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder.

  Simple explanations were the best, I always felt. That’s why it smelled so strong to her. Just before asking another question of Walker, I gazed up at the trees, which still had their leaves.

  Something odd struck me. How could we smell something hundreds of acres away with the wind blowing the opposite direction? That didn’t make any sense.

  Another thought struck me. “Why would they be burning on the day of rest? That doesn’t seem like something Mr. Hulton would agree to.”

  Walker looked away, to the north, confused. “I think they were burning yesterday. It must be the leftover smoldering we smell.”

  But the wind was all wrong.

  Together, the three of us shared an uneasy silence as we each tried to reconcile the strong odor of smoke. I opened my mouth to say something more but was interrupted by a commotion down by the bunkhouse.

  Men and women ran in our direction, some pulling coats on, others leaving theirs behind. I glanced at the house to find Mr. Lasky sprinting from a side door toward the gate. Sunshine and Walker noticed as well.

  “What the—” Walker mumbled.

  “Fire!” Mr. Lasky shouted. “Get the gate open. Grab all available bodies. Fire!”

  They dashed past us while I stared at the house. What were they running from? I couldn’t see any fire, much less smoke there, except from the two massive fieldstone chimneys.

  Sunshine gasped, and I turned to find her pointing south. “Fire,” she cried. “Fire over there.”

  Just above the small rise in the long driveway I spotted a thick black column of smoke. In the smoke, I could see the lick of orange flames.

  Walker sprinted past us, joining the others.

  “Walker!” I shrieked. “Where are you going?”

  He stopped and turned. A look of panic covered his face. “It’s the Frederickson place, Ma. The Frederickson place is on fire!”

  Chapter 54

  We stood and helplessly watched the inferno blaze. Without a source of water and some type of hose, there was nothing that anyone could do… but watch.

  Mr. Lasky and several of his workers did their best to check the house to make sure it was empty. Even that was a futile attempt. The heat of the fire could be felt from 100 yards away.

  I doubted that any of the Fredericksons were inside. It was meeting day. That meant they’d be at someone else’s home, praying to their God and enjoying a communal meal. What a surprise they were in for when they came back home.

  Within several hours, all that remained of the home was a standing chimney and a pile of rubble. Somewhere in the middle of the commotion, our neighbors came home along with a number of their friends. They too were no match against such insurmountable odds.

  Making their way through the beleaguered crowd, Mr. and Mrs. Frederickson thanked everyone for their effort and support. It was true we were there for them, but no one was able to save most of the farm from destruction.

  “God has given us many years here,” Mr. Frederickson said, trying to hide his tear-filled eyes.

  “What will you do?” I asked, worried for my neighbors and friends.

  “We’ll have to move in with my brother and his family,” the sad man replied. “Don’t have much left here. Don’t have much besides family left now. I’m sorry we won’t be around this winter, Mrs. Turner.”

  I hugged him and his wife and several of their children I had come to know. “You’ve been so good to us. You’re the best neighbors anyone could have asked for. Don’t worry about us, we’ll be just fine.”

  Mrs. Frederickson smiled. “We’ll only be four miles west of here, if you ever need anything.”

  They moved on from us, talking with others. I felt Sunshine close in beside me.

  “They may as well be four hundred miles away once winter comes,” she whispered.

  I badly wanted to chastise her on the spot. But she was right.

  “I guess we know the third bad thing now,” she added. “Just like GeeMah always said. They always come in threes.”

  Our friends were gone, our neighbors too. All that was left were our crops, and they didn’t hold much hope. None at all, actually.

  Sunshine and I ate quietly that evening. I didn’t have a positive spin I could put on the day’s events. She was never positive, so I’m sure her thoughts were as dark as mine.

  A feeling gnawed at the back of my mind, something I couldn’t get over. As much as I tried to dismiss it, the feeling of dread—for lack of a better word—still remained.

  “What are your thoughts on the fire?” I finally dared to ask my friend. “Do you have any?”

  I watched as she shrugged and refused to look at me.

  “Do you suppose,” I continued, unsure of where my own thoughts were headed, “that Mr. Hulton had anything to do with this?”

  Her chest puffed as if she released a quick breath.

  “I mean, isn’t it possible that this is all some kind of grand plan to keep Walker?” I added. “After all, he’s made it clear what he wants.”

  Finally, she glanced at me. “We’re so screwed. We… are so screwed. Maybe you can’t see it yet, but I sure can.”

  I had anticipated that response. She was predictable if nothing else.

  Another couple of days passed, and we awaited the arrival of Mr. Lasky and his people to do the harvest. I heard a wagon from the garden, and when I went to greet our guests, I was surprised to find Mr. Frederickson coming to find me.

  “I was just over at the place,” he said in his usual cheery manner, “trying to salvage whatever I could.”

  He had brought with him some milk and bread and cheese for us. I thanked him for his continued generosity, even in the face of such a disaster.

  “Do you have any idea what caused the fire?” I asked, wondering if I should give him my thoughts.

  His face tightened, and he nodded several times.

 
; “I think I know what caused it,” he glumly replied. “To be exact, I’m almost certain I know.”

  I waited with crossed arms as he leaned against the wagon.

  “We had some coals we were going to put in the enclosed buggy that morning,” he continued. “We were halfway to meeting when I remembered I hadn’t put the canister inside with us. It was chilly, if you remember that day.”

  I did, very well. Though this wasn’t the explanation I thought I’d hear.

  “I didn’t think much of it,” he added. “I thought I’d just forgot to load the canister. But I’m afraid I’d set it on the wood box on the porch. The thing must have heated up too much and started the wood box on fire. Once that was going, with all the dry wood to fuel the fire, well, the rest is history.”

  I felt bad for him. Honesty came naturally to this man. I could see in his tired, sullen face the weight of his misdeed.

  Coming close, I dared to rub his arm. With teary eyes, he gazed up at me. “Not much of a man, am I, Mrs. Turner?”

  Right there in the yard, I hugged him. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do.

  He said his goodbyes and got up in the wagon to leave. He paused before starting out, gazing at me.

  “We’ll be rebuilding in the spring,” he said, trying to sound happier. “So you’ll have us back, and I’ll be able to help out all you need.”

  I thanked him for his continued support and kindness as he left. The horse and buggy and Mr. Frederickson disappeared behind a tree line to the north, and I heard the screen door open behind me.

  “Did you hear, Sunshine?” I asked, still staring at the road. “They’ll be back next spring. Like they were never gone.”

  I waited for her reply, hopefully some decent, kind words instead of her usual petulant self.

  “Yeah, I heard,” she muttered. “Of course, we’ll both be dead by spring. So a lot of good that will do us.” The door closed as she returned to the house.

  Yeah, that detail. We did need to survive the winter.

  Chapter 55

  Midway between the previous day of rest and the next, I watched a wagon pull into the yard. It was about to be the time I either dreaded or when I could finally take a deep breath. Unfortunately, the dark cloud hanging over my head brought on more dread than I could fight off.

  With Patty and Julie run off by the Amish and the Fredericksons being relocated because of the fire, I found it difficult to be positive. The only remaining nearby neighbor was the Hulton estate, hundreds of acres encased with an eight-foot wire fence. It was hard to envision them in a very neighborly fashion, given our conjoined histories.

  If I ever had to, and that was a big if, I knew I could go to Mr. Hulton for help. He had proven time and time again to be a reasonable and fair man when it came to dealing with life-and-death issues. If the price suited him, that was.

  I could have anything I desired if I was willing to pay for it. Adding another week, or month, or even a year onto Walker’s contract could be done with the stroke of a pen. It was that simple. And no matter what I chose to do, Walker would tell me he understood, whether he really did or not. I guess he figured he’d rather have me alive, and nearby, than dead.

  The three people with Mr. Lasky jumped from the wagon and mingled around the back as he approached.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Turner.” His greeting sounded cold, as if he knew something I didn’t. Perhaps his tone was a predecessor to what the harvest would bring.

  I nodded slowly. “Mr. Lasky.” I noticed one of his group was a woman; she must have been new. The previous falls the pickers had all been men.

  “I’m going to get them going, and we should be out of here in no time,” he continued, his eyes scraping the soil by his boots. When his face rose, I noticed his weather-worn, weary expression. “Any questions?”

  For a moment, I smiled. It was small and nervous, but still an unlikely expression.

  “Three days until I get the results, right?” I asked. “Not that I wouldn’t prefer to freeze time right at this moment.”

  As impossible as it seemed, he returned my half smile. “It’s going to be okay,” he replied, signaling his workers toward the garden with a hand point. “It’s not like someone is going to shoot you if you don’t get the right amount of harvest.”

  I shook my head as he and his small crew disappeared around the corner of the house. Did it really matter to him how I died? Maybe a firing squad was a better option than what we faced. Maybe.

  The two men and one woman each carried three large tan gunnysacks with them. Standing a row apart, they began by ripping an ear from the stalk and peeling away the brown crispy shucks. For a moment, they all paused, gawking at Mr. Lasky.

  “Runts,” the first man reported.

  Mr. Lasky looked down and shook his head. “Toss them. Runts beget runts.”

  They all shrugged, almost in unison, and dropped the corncobs to the ground and continued their task. About a third of the way down the rows, I noticed very few cobs had made their way into the bags. My heart sank further.

  “They can’t all be runts,” I begged their foreman. “There must be some use for them.”

  He turned and stared at me, his face tight with what I perceived to be anger or maybe disappointment.

  “We need ears full of ripened corn,” he said in a solemn tone. “There’s some here. I’m sure of that.” His eyes slid back to the harvest. “Just how many is yet to be seen.”

  I wished Sunshine wasn’t hiding in the house. Most likely, she was watching from a window, but I remained focused on the harvest.

  A few more cobs made their way into the bags. By the end of the first three rows, I wanted to go and feel each bag to see just how we were doing. Still, I stood next to Mr. Lasky like a statue.

  Somewhere in the third or fourth pass, the workers seemed happier as if they were cheering for a better harvest. More and more cobs were tossed into the bags, and when they turned for the last rows, two of the three grabbed new empty sacks. That had to be a good sign for me, for us.

  Yet I remained worried.

  Many of the cobs were only a quarter to half full of ripened yellow kernels. I needed—we needed—full cobs of corn.

  I decided to inspect some of the discarded cobs. Picking up one of the fuller ones, I held it in front of Mr. Lasky.

  “I think one looks decent enough to keep,” I said, trying to sound positive.

  He slapped it from my hand. “Full of bugs,” he replied. “If it’s got more than a couple of black spots, it gets discarded.” He focused his dark eyes on mine. “You can use whatever you find for food this fall. Just be careful of those damn corn bores. You store them all together, and they’ll ruin the whole batch.”

  I stared at the infected cob at my feet. I would do that, harvest what I could. Once they left, Sunshine and I would pick up and pluck every decent bit of the corn. It might be the difference between life and death in the coming winter.

  Chapter 56

  Their chore was over much faster than I could have ever anticipated. Wandering back to the wagon with their bounty, my bounty I suppose, they tossed the harvest into the wagon before they loaded themselves.

  I approached Mr. Lasky as he mounted the buckboard. “I think that went well,” I said, watching him plop onto the wooden bench. “I think we’ll make our quota. Don’t you?”

  He refused to look at me. I took it as his refusal to believe my optimistic words.

  “The harvest up at the Stinson place, north of here, was worse than yours,” he replied, still not even peeking my direction. “A lot of waste there… and here. Too many runts, too many damaged ears.” His eyes finally glanced at me.

  “We can’t all be punished for a poor growing season, can we?”

  Taking a deep breath first, he let it out slowly. “The rules are the rules. Nothing I can do to change them, Mrs. Turner.”

  “How long, again? I know we’ve talked about this before, but I can’t recall right
now.” I dared to touch his arm as I spoke.

  He glared at my hand as if I were diseased. “The gang will shuck the kernels from the cobs, and then they’ll be dried for several days.” I watched his lips tighten into a straight line. “Same as always. I let you know after that.”

  I paced back to his crew. “Thank you for all of your hard work today. I appreciate all you were able to harvest.”

  Collectively, they stared at me as if I were a two-headed monster. One man finally shrugged; the other simply looked away. The woman gave me a gracious smile.

  And they were gone—just like that—along with the remainder of my hopes.

  A while after they left, I found Sunshine inside the house, parked on one of the old saggy couches. To say she didn’t look happy pretty well summed it up. To say I looked any happier would have been a lie.

  “Did you watch the harvest?” I asked, joining her on the couch. She nodded. “Any thoughts?”

  She gave me a shrug and acted as if she were about to stand but turned and clutched at my hands.

  “It didn’t look real good,” she said, almost in tears. “It looked like they tossed aside more than they kept.”

  I had anticipated that much from her. I could always count on her seeing the dark side of any given situation.

  “They had almost four full bags,” I replied, refusing to give up hope—even the fleeting hope I clung to.

  Her eyes opened wide. “If you think those were full bags, you need your eyesight checked, Abby. I’m not sure we’ll even get twenty pounds out of that.”

  I settled back in my spot and tried to rub some of the tension from my temples. “We’ll get twenty pounds. Twenty plus. You can count on that. And there’s some cast asides we can harvest for food, Mr. Lasky said.”

  She leaned against me, hugging my left arm. “I’m scared,” she said in a tiny voice.