Until the Harvest Read online

  Instead of going into the house when he got to his grandmother’s, Henry went out to milk Bertie and feed the chickens. He was surprised to find that no one had gathered the eggs. Mayfair always did that. He collected almost a dozen into his ball cap—they were laying better now that the weather was warming up—and headed for the house, balancing eggs in one hand and carrying a bucket of warm milk in the other.

  He kicked at the front door when he got there, trusting his grandmother would hurry over and open it for him. Nothing. He kicked and waited. Still nothing. He finally set the bucket down, opened the door, and managed to get everything inside.

  “Grandma,” he hollered.

  The house was silent. Where could she have gone? He walked into the kitchen trying to avoid knocking off the dirt on his shoes. He got the milk and eggs situated, then checked the house over. No Grandma. And no note or anything else to tell him where she’d gone.

  He heard a sound at the front door and went to check it out. Barbara stood there, peering in through the glass.

  “Where’d you come from?” Henry asked as he opened the door.

  “I walked over. Beulah Simmons called this morning, and I thought—well, it don’t matter what I thought. She called to get your mother and grandmother to go to the hospital to sit with that girl.”

  “What girl?”

  “The sister of the girl that works for your grandma.”

  “Mayfair? What happened?”

  Barbara shrugged and took a tentative step toward the sofa as though not sure she’d be allowed to sit. “She’s sick, I guess. Perla said she passed out or something, and Clint carried her to the hospital. Your mother left, said she was going to get your grandma and head over there.” She fiddled with the zipper on her jacket. “I got kind of nervous over there by myself and figured maybe you’d stayed back. Now seems like you didn’t know about it at all. Wonder why that is?”

  She looked up through her eyelashes, and Henry felt frustration rise. Why did he have to get mixed up with a girl like this? He truly was a fool.

  “I can’t babysit you. I need to get over there and find out what happened.” He moved toward the door and then stopped. Could he leave Barbara here? Should he take her along? She was his responsibility now—sort of.

  “Why don’t you call and see what you can find out?”

  Henry stopped his dithering. Well, that wasn’t a half-bad idea. He found a phone book and dialed his grandmother’s black rotary phone. He listened to the whirring and then the ringing. He got connected to the right floor, and a nurse brought his mother to the phone. She filled him in on Mayfair’s condition and said he should pray. She didn’t ask where he’d been. Henry wished she’d asked him for something, maybe to go out and use the old hand plow to break up the garden for planting. That would be easier than sitting here fearing the worst.

  He hung up the phone and turned to Barbara who, he noticed, had dark circles under her eyes. “Mayfair’s in a coma from her diabetes. Mom says we should pray.” Barbara nodded like he was passing along any other message. “They’ll be home by bedtime.”

  Henry still had his jacket and boots on, so he removed them and then stood, arms akimbo, trying to decide what to do next. He remembered the milk.

  “You know how to strain off fresh milk?”

  Barbara looked surprised that he was addressing her. “Sure. I used to help my ma before she died.”

  Henry realized he knew next to nothing about Barbara. He motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen. Maybe it was time he learned something about the mother of his child.

  Henry had a hard time getting Barbara to open up about her past, but she did share that her mother died when she was eleven—of cancer—and her father had more or less expected her to take her mother’s place. She’d cooked, cleaned, and pretty well raised her two younger siblings. There was also an older sister, Linda, who left home as soon as she could. Henry got the feeling there was something significant Barbara was leaving out, but he didn’t press her.

  She’d wanted to go to school and learn to teach or maybe be a nurse. She thought she’d like to work with kids some way. Maybe that was why she wanted this baby. She didn’t ask Henry any questions in return—almost as though all the curiosity had been drained out of her. Henry decided he might even get to like her, to count her a friend under other circumstances. But as it was, they had skipped right over friendship and moved on to something else.

  “I guess your dad wouldn’t think much of you having a baby,” he said.

  “I guess he wouldn’t, but I don’t aim to tell him.”

  They were sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee that Barbara made. It was good coffee.

  Henry felt the moment had come to ask the question that had been weighing on him. He shifted like there was a bit of grit on his chair bothering him. “I know you said you didn’t expect it, but what would you say if I told you I was willing to marry you?” Henry took a swig of coffee to wet his suddenly dry throat.

  Barbara looked at him over the rim of her cup and seemed to consider. “I guess I’d have to think about it.” She put the mug down. “That wasn’t exactly what I’d call a declaration of love.”

  Henry puffed his cheeks. Girls. Why did it always have to be about love? “Loving people sets you up for pain. I’m making a practical suggestion here.”

  A cloud passed over Barbara’s face. Henry guessed maybe she knew a thing or two about pain. They’d both lost a parent, and he guessed life hadn’t turned out the way either one of them expected. Maybe they did have a good bit in common after all.

  “You’ve got a point,” she said with a gusty sigh. “I don’t know about marrying, but I guess it’s something I ought to consider. What would your mother say?”

  “Mom? I guess she’d be glad to know her grandbaby wasn’t going anywhere. Other than that, I don’t know.”

  “I wonder why she didn’t marry the man who . . . well, you know.”

  Henry appreciated Barbara’s attempt at delicacy. “Maybe something happened to him. Maybe he didn’t know.”

  “Maybe he offered, and she turned him down.” Barbara seemed to like that idea. “Her life turned out all right.”

  “I guess so. It probably wasn’t easy there at first, though.” Henry had never thought about his mother this way. He was beginning to think she was a lot stronger than he’d given her credit for.

  “Easy. What’s that?” Barbara took their empty mugs to the sink and washed them. “I’ll think about it. Now, how about you take me back to your mother’s house? Surely they’ll be home soon.”

  23

  MARGARET LOOKED AT THE PAY PHONE in the lobby as if it were a loaded gun. She did not want to call her parents. One of the nuns offered to do it for her, but she felt even worse pawning the job off on anyone else. Although it might help if that someone else had a direct line to God. She whispered a prayer just in case and picked up the receiver. Her mother answered on the fourth ring.

  “Hoffman residence, this is Lenore speaking.”

  “Hi, Mom, it’s Margaret.”

  “Yes, what do you need? I have guests.”

  Margaret swallowed convulsively and tried to think of something sensible to say. “Mayfair’s in the hospital. I thought you’d want to know.”

  There was a shriek and a babbling sound before Margaret’s dad came on the line. “What’s this about Mayfair?”

  “Hey, Dad. She . . . well, it’s her diabetes.”

  “Did she let her sugar drop too low again? Your mother has told her and told her—”

  Margaret cut him off. “Yeah, well, it went way too low this time, and she’s in a diabetic coma.”

  Margaret heard her mother’s voice in the background asking questions. Her dad put a hand over the receiver and said, “She’s in a coma.” There was another shriek, and Margaret could hear other voices in the mix.

  “Your mother is very upset by this. I don’t think you’ve handled this very well, Margaret.”


  Margaret fought the urge to hang up the phone. “Sorry, Dad. Are you going to come down here?”

  He must have done a better job of covering the mouthpiece this time because Margaret couldn’t make out what he was saying. He came back on the line.

  “Not right now. Your mother is in no condition. You stay there and keep an eye on things. Call us if there are any changes, and we’ll be over in the morning. Your mother is absolutely devastated. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  There was a click and a buzz. Margaret slowly hung up the phone. They hadn’t even asked what room Mayfair was in or what the doctor had to say. Margaret slumped in an uncomfortable plastic chair and wished she were anywhere else in the world.

  When Henry pulled up in front of his mother’s house, he saw that Mom and Grandma were already there. He glanced at Barbara and wondered if they would think it was inappropriate for them to be together. Like he could do any more damage at this point.

  As soon as they got inside he asked, “How’s Mayfair?” He really wanted to know, but he also hoped to divert attention away from any questions about Barbara.

  Mom rolled her neck and closed her eyes. “Much the same, I’m afraid. They’ve done what they can to get her sugar where it needs to be, but the swelling in her brain has yet to go down. It’s just a matter of waiting at this point.”

  Barbara ducked down the hallway, and he could hear water running. Grandma patted the sofa cushion next to her, and he obliged her by sitting.

  “You been getting to know the mother of your child?”

  Henry jerked as if he’d caught himself dozing off. How did she know?

  “Yeah, I guess so. She didn’t have the easiest time growing up.”

  “I supposed as much. What do you think of her now?”

  Henry scratched his head. “I guess, if the circumstances were different . . .”

  “You might like her,” his grandmother finished.

  “Yeah, maybe I would.”

  “And now you’re thinking about marrying her.”

  Henry jerked his head up. “What makes you think—”

  “I’ve known you since before you were born. And I like to think we raised you to be the sort of young man who would want to take responsibility in a situation like this.”

  Henry heard a door close down the hallway and guessed Barbara had gone to bed. In his bedroom. “Well, maybe I should marry her.”

  Grandma nodded her head and patted his hand. “Maybe you should.” She was quiet a moment. “Now, how long has it been since you two were . . . intimate?”

  Henry felt heat rise all the way to his hairline. He turned to his mother for help, but she just gave him an expectant look. “Not that long, I guess. Maybe six weeks?”

  Both women nodded their heads like they knew something he didn’t. Mom spoke first.

  “She’s showing already.”

  “Showing more than six weeks, I’d say. Especially if this is her first.”

  “It might not be the first.”

  “Even so, she’s at least three months along. I’d stake Bertie’s next calf on it.”

  They nodded at each other again.

  “What are you saying?” Henry felt like they were speaking a foreign language.

  His mom looked him in the eye. “I think she may already have been pregnant when you . . . when you—”

  Grandma jumped in. “When you spent the night together. Is there any chance this child could be someone else’s?”

  Henry thought about Jack’s bar and how Charlie said he paid for the girls to go with them. Could it be? And could he be that stupid?

  “Well, I guess there might be a possibility . . .”

  “Yes, I imagine there is.” His mother walked over and pinched the tender spot where his shoulder sloped into his neck. “But that doesn’t let you off the hook, young man. Whether you’re the father or not, you did something you shouldn’t have. And that young woman needs someone to take care of her.”

  She let go, and Henry resisted the urge to massage his neck. He flinched when Mom spoke again.

  “Barbara is in a difficult place. We’re going to continue taking care of her, and I want you to treat her like gold. Don’t say anything about this. I’m hoping she’ll learn to trust us.”

  “But what if she wants to get married?”

  His grandmother elbowed him. “Did you ask?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Well, you’ll be in a pickle if she says yes. But I have a suspicion there’s a reason she didn’t jump at your offer. Now take me on home. I’m tired through and through.”

  Henry stood and helped his grandmother to her feet. His head spun as they left for the farm. This situation was getting more and more complicated by the minute.

  Margaret woke the next morning stiff and rumpled from sleeping in a chair in Mayfair’s room. She’d fallen asleep holding her sister’s hand but had released it at some point. The hand was still there, pale against the sheets, unmoving. Margaret went in the bathroom to splash water on her face, and when she came out, Henry and Emily were walking through the door. Emily hurried over and gave her a hug. Henry waved feebly from the doorway.

  “I had Henry bring me out first thing. Did you sleep here last night?” She held Margaret at arm’s length. “Of course you did. Where else would you be? Just let me tell Mayfair good morning, and then we’ll go find you some breakfast.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Emily smoothed Margaret’s tangled hair back from her face. The touch was almost too tender for Margaret to bear.

  “I know you aren’t, but you’d better eat. Henry can stay here with Mayfair.”

  Henry smiled and nodded in a way Margaret supposed was meant to be encouraging but mostly looked goofy. She almost smiled at his obvious discomfort. He must not like hospitals, but then, who did? She was about to agree to breakfast when a wave of sound washed down the hall and into the room. Moments later Mom swept into the room with two nurses in high dudgeon and Dad bringing up the rear. They all seemed to be talking at once.

  Henry put his fingers to his lips and whistled. All their heads snapped his direction at once. He turned red.

  “Sorry. I thought all that racket probably wasn’t good for anybody, least of all Mayfair.”

  Lenore moaned and sagged across the foot of her daughter’s bed. “Oh, my baby. Why can’t you wake her up?”

  The older nurse tapped her foot. “As I tried to explain—”

  “Oh, don’t start with all that medical mumbo jumbo again. I just want my baby awake and in my arms.” She pulled out a lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Her gaze fell on Margaret. “And you. How in the world did you let this happen?”

  Margaret recoiled and felt Emily slide an arm around her. She wanted to defend herself but knew better than to speak. There was no reasoning with Lenore Hoffman when she got like this. Margaret noticed that her father had receded into the corner, where he gazed at his youngest child with something like sorrow on his face. Margaret felt a moment’s vindication. He should feel bad.

  “Why can’t anyone give me answers?”

  Margaret turned back to her mother, who apparently felt she’d fallen out of the spotlight for a moment. Emily stepped forward and took Mom’s hand.

  “You poor thing. This must be so hard on you. I hate to see you like this. It must be upsetting to be here watching your child suffer. Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll get a cup of coffee.” Emily tugged Lenore to a standing position. “The doctor should be around soon, and perhaps he’ll have news to share with Margaret. Then she can tell you.”

  Mom sniffled and clutched her handkerchief. “I truly can’t bear to see her like this. You’re right. I doubt I can swallow anything, but perhaps we could try a cup of coffee.”

  Margaret watched the two women move toward the door as though her mother were infirm. Emily turned just before they disappeared and winked at Margaret. As the two turned into the hallway her mom called back.
r />   “Wallace, get out here. I need you.”

  Dad closed his eyes and stood still for a moment, like a rabbit trying to avoid its prey by not moving. But when Mom hollered again, he sighed and moved toward the door. As he passed Margaret, he reached out and patted her shoulder. Then he was gone, too.

  Henry looked at Margaret with a slightly stunned expression. “Holy cow,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, I can go get you something to eat and bring it back.”

  “Honestly, I don’t much want to eat. And the nurses were nice enough to bring me a sandwich last night. Maybe they’ll think to bring me a biscuit or some cereal this morning.”

  Henry stepped over and touched Mayfair’s hand gently. “Has she moved at all?”

  “No. Sometimes I see her eyes moving behind the lids—like she’s dreaming. I’m hoping that’s a good thing.”

  “It seems funny . . .” Henry trailed off and cocked his head to one side.

  “What does?”

  “Well, not funny, maybe strange. It seems she might have made other people better, but now she’s sick. Seems she can heal everyone but herself.”

  “Or that she absorbed their sickness,” Margaret said. She wanted to clamp a hand over her mouth. That was ridiculous.

  “Yeah, something like that. I mean, why would God let other people get well but not Mayfair? He’s supposed to love everyone. Why would He help mean old Clint Simmons’ wife and not someone as sweet as Mayfair? I don’t get it.”

  “Maybe it’s not God. Maybe it’s coincidence. Maybe God doesn’t care, and it’s all just chance.” Margaret flopped back down in her chair and rested her head on the edge of the mattress.

  “Like Dad dying,” Henry said. “I wish Mayfair had been there for him.”

  Margaret looked up at Henry. “You think she could have healed him? What did he die of?”

  “They think his heart gave out. He was born with some kind of defect. It kept him out of the war, and I guess his heart just couldn’t keep going.”

  Margaret smiled even though she felt sad. “Well, Mayfair has certainly touched a lot of hearts.” She reached across the bed and grasped Henry’s wrist. “I’m sorry she wasn’t there for your dad.”