Until the Harvest Page 21

  As he sped through the night with who knows what in the trunk of the car, he didn’t feel like much of a leader. He felt he was trying to take the easy way out. Well, once they got through this, he was never going to do anything shady again. And he was going straight over to see Barbara first thing in the morning to reaffirm his willingness to take care of her and the child, no matter whose the child was. He felt a pang, realizing he might be giving up a great deal, but he also felt kind of noble, and the car seemed to fly even faster with the impetus of his resolve.

  The moon had set by the time they reached the cemetery, and Henry felt weary. He was a fool, but he’d make the best of a bad situation. He figured the only way past this mess was through it. He took a few minutes to find the stone with Bert’s name on it. Charlie seemed to be getting antsier by the minute. Henry whispered a prayer, asking for help and forgiveness all in one breath. This praying business was getting easier.

  They were carrying the last crates of whatever they were delivering to the stone when a spotlight mounted on the corner of the church building flicked on. A voice spoke as though from heaven.

  “Freeze, boys. Stay where you are.”

  For a moment, Henry thought God was finally calling him to task, but then he realized it was Sheriff Pendleton with a bullhorn. He wished it were God instead.

  The little gray house looked like heaven to Margaret in the morning light. She was only stopping by to bathe and get some fresh clothes, but it still felt like home. Mayfair had also asked for some books, although Margaret wasn’t sure she’d be able to read them. Maybe she’d read aloud to her sister. She smiled at the thought. It had been a long time since they’d done that.

  Finished with her tasks, she headed out past Emily’s. Perla’s car was in the driveway, and Margaret decided to stop in and give the women an update. She’d talked to her parents the evening before, and they’d barely seemed interested. It would be nice to talk to someone who really cared.

  She stepped into the sitting room and followed voices toward the kitchen. Emily and Perla sat at the table sipping coffee with a third woman, who was much younger. Maybe even younger than Margaret. She’d never seen her before, but she was immediately struck by how pretty the girl was, although there was a sharpness to her features, too, like she was bracing for something painful. This must be Barbara.

  Margaret smiled. “Good morning. I thought I’d stop and let you know how Mayfair is.”

  Perla jumped to her feet and gave Margaret a quick hug, then fussed over getting her a cup of coffee. Margaret wondered if she was imposing. Emily sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Margaret, this is Barbara.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she said, nodding to Barbara. “I hope you’re enjoying your stay.”

  Barbara snorted in a most unladylike way, and Margaret felt silly. She began to feel less like family and more like a clumsy neighbor who doesn’t know when to butt out.

  Perla pressed a cup of coffee into her hand, and Margaret set it down on the counter. “You know, on second thought I’d better get on to the hospital. Mayfair really is much better, and I hate to be away too long. It was nice to meet you, Barbara.”

  The girl stood and Margaret thought she was going to shake her hand, but she smoothed a hand over her belly instead. Although Margaret knew she was pregnant, seeing the evidence was something of a shock.

  The phone rang, and Emily muttered something that didn’t sound nice under her breath. “Margaret, wait right there. Perla, would you get that?” Emily stood and guided Margaret into the sitting room while Perla picked up the receiver and spoke into it.

  “Emily, it’s Henry,” Perla called from the kitchen.

  Emily sighed and closed her eyes. “What now?”

  “He’s been arrested. We have to get down there right away.”

  Margaret walked up the stairs to the second floor of the hospital. She could have taken the elevator, but she wanted to keep moving. She wasn’t sure she could stop even when she got to Mayfair’s room. Although she’d known there was no hope for her and Henry, meeting Barbara and seeing her swelling belly had truly driven the fact home.

  And now he’d been arrested. For what, Margaret didn’t know, but did it even matter? She’d been entertaining romantic thoughts about a cad and a lawbreaker. She should be glad she’d found out what kind of man he was before she’d really lost her heart. She stopped and leaned against the wall near the door to the second floor. A nun popped through and seemed startled to find her there.

  “My dear, are you all right?”

  Margaret straightened up and smoothed a hand over her hair. It was raining outside, and she probably looked like a bedraggled mess.

  “I’m fine.” The words came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Fine,” she said brightly.

  The nun looked her up and down and reached out to take her hand. “You are not fine. Can I pray for you?”

  Margaret wanted to jerk her hand away and run from this kind woman. She was short and looked soft, though not overweight. Her eyes were spectacularly blue, and Margaret almost could see her reflection there. It made her heart hurt.

  “Okay.”

  The woman gathered both of Margaret’s hands in her own and tucked them under her chin. She closed her eyes, so Margaret did, too.

  “Father in heaven, your daughter is suffering a pain that only you know and understand. Her heart is heavy, and she needs the comfort that your Spirit provides. Give her peace today and wisdom for the days ahead. In your son’s holy name I pray, amen.”

  Margaret stayed with head bowed and eyes closed. She felt as though someone who loved her had wrapped their arms around her. She didn’t want to leave the stairwell. She was afraid if she moved she’d burst the fragile bubble of peace that had formed around her. The nun didn’t seem in any hurry, either.

  At last Margaret lifted her head and looked into those cerulean eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, my dear, it’s a gift for me to talk to our Father on your behalf.”

  Margaret moved through the door and into the hallway. She eased toward Mayfair’s room, afraid the tenuous peace might evaporate. But somehow it seemed to grow stronger, more tangible, the closer she got to her sister. When she entered the room, Mayfair was sitting up, smiling. And Margaret somehow found the grace to hope Henry wasn’t in bad trouble and that he might even find happiness with Barbara.

  On one hand, jail wasn’t as bad as Henry imagined. It seemed everyone who worked there had known his father and regretted having to lock him up. They were as nice as they could be under the circumstances, bringing him food and making him as comfortable as the accommodations would allow. On the other hand, jail was infinitely worse than he imagined. He had never felt quite so alone in all his life. And when, for just a moment, it crossed his mind that he was glad his dad wasn’t here to see him, it was the lowest point of his life. Or so he thought, until his mother and grandmother appeared on the other side of the bars.

  “Henry, are you all right?” Mom asked.

  All he could manage was a nod of his head. Then he stared at the floor between his feet.

  “What were you thinking?”

  He wasn’t sure which one of them spoke the words. He looked up at the little window high in the wall behind him. “I guess I wasn’t.”

  “Oh, Henry. Marijuana. This is serious.”

  “I didn’t know,” he mumbled.

  “What’s that you say?” That was definitely Grandma.

  “I said I didn’t know it was marijuana. I thought . . .” Well, it really wouldn’t do to explain that he thought he was bootlegging moonshine.

  “Never mind. The main thing is to move forward from this point. I’m not sure what we’re going to do, and although it grieves me to think it, you may have a debt to pay.” Grandma reached through the bars and squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll be praying that God will use this for good.”

  And then they were gone, off to call a la
wyer or something, Henry wasn’t sure. He lay back on his bunk and tried to think how God might use this situation for good. He came up empty.

  26

  A DOOR CLANGING OPEN AWAKENED HENRY. He blinked, trying to get his bearings. Sheriff Pendleton stood there, legs wide and hands on his hips.

  “Get on up. I’m running you home.”

  Henry blinked and sat up. “What?”

  “Seems you were an unfortunate bystander in a criminal operation. Wrong place. Wrong time.”

  “Well, yeah, I didn’t know there were drugs, but why are you letting me go? I mean how did you know?”

  The sheriff scratched his head and sighed. “Son, I would have bet my last dollar Clint Simmons would do everything in his power to make sure a Phillips rotted in jail. But I’d have lost that bet. Seems old Clint knew what his boy was up to and knew he’d wrangled you in on the deal.”

  “Clint told you . . . what?”

  “Well, I’m still thinking you might not have been one hundred percent aboveboard with whatever was going on, but I tend to believe you didn’t know anything about the drugs. And with the information Clint, uh, persuaded Charlie to share about the men who are running the operation, well, I see no reason to keep you locked up.” The sheriff swung to the side and motioned for Henry to come out of the cell.

  “Now I’m going to run you to your grandma’s house, and I aim to lecture you pretty hard most of the way.” He started toward the door, and Henry jogged to keep up. “But if I find you in my jail again, I’m going to throw away the key, no matter what.”

  “Yes, sir.” Henry wondered where his truck was.

  They got to the parking lot, and a man stood there leaning up against Henry’s truck.

  “Howdy, Ray, I didn’t know you were planning to come around this morning,” the sheriff said.

  “Sheriff, when you work for the Lord, you don’t know your own plans most days. I just go where He sends me. This morning He told me to bring Henry’s truck on over.” He looked past the sheriff. “Hey, Henry.”

  With a start, Henry realized it was the preacher from the church where they’d been delivering the moonshine—or marijuana, he guessed.

  “Hey.”

  “Ray, I was going to lecture this boy all the way home. If I turn him over to you, reckon you could handle that for me?”

  “I’ve been known to preach a sermon or two in my day. I think I can take care of it.”

  Sheriff Pendleton tipped his hat and headed back toward the courthouse.

  Ray opened the door to the truck. “You want to drive? I preach better when it’s all I’m doing. You can run me back to the church on your way home.”

  Henry slid behind the wheel. “How’d you get my truck?”

  “I was there when the sheriff apprehended you last night. He confiscated your keys, and I rode with the deputy who went to pick up evidence at the bridge. We found your truck, and I offered to drive it.”

  “How’d you know about the bridge?”

  “Sheriff’s been trying to get those boys growing weed for a while now. Guess you got tied in at just the wrong moment. He knew about the bridge, the drop-off at the cemetery, and young Charlie’s involvement.” He grinned as Henry started the truck and pulled out onto the road. “You, on the other hand, were unexpected. There was supposed to be somebody else with Charlie last night.”

  Henry opened his mouth to ask who but decided he didn’t want to know. “Now what?” he asked instead.

  “Well, I suppose that’s up to you.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to lecture me or something?”

  Ray chuckled. “I could do that. You want me to?”

  “I guess not. Seems I’ve got a pretty good idea about the mistakes I’ve made.”

  “I take it you’re talking about more than getting tangled up with Charlie Simmons?”

  “Yeah, though I’m surprised his dad helped get me off the hook.”

  Ray put one booted foot up on the dashboard. “I’ve got the feeling ole Clint has seen the light. I been praying for that as long as I can remember.” He let a beat of silence roll by. “How about you, Henry? You seen the light?”

  “I’m a Christian, if that’s what you mean.” Ray didn’t comment, and Henry felt compelled to explain. “I mean, I’ve been going to church all my life. I know about Noah’s ark and David and Goliath, stuff like that. I even looked up the one about Esau after you read me that Scripture a while back.”

  Ray nodded his head. “Those are some good stories. As it happens, I did preach on ole Esau the Sunday after we met.”

  “Yeah? Was it any good?”

  Ray chuckled. “Well, I didn’t notice anybody dozing off, but you never know. God works in His own way, and it’s almost never the way I expect.” He took his foot down from the dashboard and sat up a bit straighter. “The thrust of the sermon was that Esau pretty much ruined things for himself because he was focused on his physical wants rather than his spiritual needs. Gave up his birthright—his future—to satisfy his belly.”

  Henry pondered that. “I read on ahead. Seems like it turned out okay for Esau. He got a big family and lots of land, and his brother Jacob was even kind of afraid of him when he finally came on home.”

  “True, true. I’m not saying Esau had a bad life. He just didn’t have the life he was born to. Seems to me he had to go through a whole lot of aggravation and disappointment just so he could eat a bite when he was hungry. Might have been worth waiting till he could get a sandwich later on.”

  Silence stretched long in the cab of the truck. Finally Henry cleared his throat. “You think everybody is born with a purpose?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “How do you know what it is?”

  “What satisfies you, Henry? I’m not talking about being happy or pleased. I’m talking about deep down in your bones satisfied.”

  Henry thought about that. He’d been trying to feel as little as possible since his dad died, but maybe there had been a time or two . . . When he played his fiddle. When he was showing Margaret how to milk Bertie. That time he was fixing fence with Mayfair and could look back down the line to see what they had accomplished. When he plowed the garden the other morning and the rows ran straight and dark with the promise of future crops . . .

  “Can’t think of anything?” Ray interrupted his thoughts.

  “I guess I can, but it doesn’t seem like much of a purpose, not like those guys in the Bible.”

  “God only called one man to build an ark, Henry. Whatever His purpose is for you, it’s different from anyone else’s. You ponder on what makes you feel satisfied. That ought to at least point you in the right direction.”

  Henry let silence fill the truck again. This time, neither man broke it.

  A week later, well into April, Mayfair was ready to go home. She was able to speak pretty well, although sometimes she seemed to lose words or get lost in the middle of a sentence. She also walked with what Margaret had come to think of as a stutter. She’d be moving along pretty evenly when her left foot would hang as though an invisible hand were holding it down. After a moment’s hesitation, she would typically resume forward motion. Margaret hoped everything would work itself out once they got home and life began to feel normal again.

  A week or so earlier, when Lenore and Wallace stopped by for what Margaret had come to think of as her mother’s drama fix, Dad had quietly suggested Mayfair come back to her parents’ house. Lenore had been down the hall working the nurses’ station for sympathy, which the nurses were learning not to give, when he made the offer.

  Margaret took her father’s hand. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d touched him. “Dad, you know it’s not a good place for her,” she’d said. “But it’s good of you to ask.” She wasn’t sure where that last thought had come from, but it seemed to please him. He’d squeezed her hand, and she thought his eyes glistened, but it could have been her imagination.

  “Home again, home again, jiggety jig,” Margare
t sang as she pulled the Volkswagen up to the door of the gray house. Mayfair giggled. “Oh, it’s good to have you home again.”

  “It’s good to be . . . home.”

  There. The hesitation. Although it might have been emotion. Margaret tried to act unconcerned. The doctor told her she shouldn’t fuss over her sister unnecessarily, just support her and assume she would continue to heal. She also had strict instructions to keep Mayfair’s blood sugar under control. Another episode could be life-threatening.

  It was evening, and although the days were getting longer, it was already dim inside. Margaret fumbled for the light switch, and when she flicked it on, voices shouted, “Welcome home.”

  Emily, Perla, Henry, and Frank and Angie Post crowded near the little table, which was loaded down with enough food to feed them for a week. There were Mayfair’s favorite fried pork chops, cheesy scalloped potatoes, green beans, angel biscuits, and a coconut layer cake.

  “We wanted to make sure you came home to a good meal,” Perla said. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “What? No . . .” Mayfair shook her hand as she looked for the right word. “Jell-O?”

  They all laughed, and Emily folded Mayfair in a big hug. “I can’t begin to tell you how much we’ve missed you. My house is just empty without you girls in it.”

  Margaret shot a glance at Henry. It wasn’t empty. He was there. She wondered where Barbara was. As though on cue, the pregnant girl materialized in the doorway, looking uncomfortable.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Now that you’ve met, we insisted Barbara come with us, although it took some doing. No sense in her sitting at the house alone when we have something this wonderful to celebrate,” Perla said. “I hope that’s all right?”