Beneath the Apple Leaves(20)
Wilhelm stared at the farm for a very long time, his legs spread and hands at his hips. He stared so long that the boys grew restless.
“Maybe it ain’t the right place,” Edgar ventured.
“Isn’t,” corrected Eveline softly, her manner as stunned as her husband’s stance. “Isn’t the right place.”
Edgar and Will exchanged worried glances, then looked up to Andrew, but his face was void of any expression. All figures waited for Wilhelm, the statue that didn’t move or seem to exhale or inhale.
Unable to keep quiet any longer, Edgar hopped, held his pants. “I gotta go.”
Andrew pointed his elbow at the decrepit outhouse. The boy looked aghast. “Isn’t there a toilet in the house?”
At this Wilhelm smiled wryly and rubbed the dampness glistening the back of his neck. “Not likely.”
Edgar galloped to the wooden closet, let the door bang behind him. In two seconds, the child flew out, his nose buried in his shirt. “I’m going in the woods!”
Wilhelm settled his gaze on his wife. “Home sweet home,” he said coldly.
She turned away from the iced words and headed to the privy, the twins sitting on her bladder. Eveline closed the door to the outhouse, setting off an eruption of flies from the black hole cut in the wooden bench. An ancient Sears catalog rotted next to the round pit, half the pages ripped out for wiping by the last inhabitant.
The stink wrapped around Eveline’s body instantly and she buried her mouth and nose in the dress collar. In the dim light, the ceiling thickened with cobwebs, sagging and heavy with flies and curled mosquitos. She hoisted her skirt around her hips and sat on the wooden bench, leaned her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped in prayer.
Light shone through the crescent moon carved into the door, the shape lying distorted across her shoe. With her stillness, the flies flew to the corners of the structure, beating their wings and buzzing against the walls. Eveline watched their ugliness, watched as they made this place of filth their home. Her fingers touched her lips, felt them stretch and frown as she cried. She brought her palms to her eyes and wiped them roughly, willed the tears to stop. She would not leave this space with wet eyes. After all, this was what she had nagged Wilhelm for since the beginning of their marriage.
The crescent moon of light lay broken at her foot and the weight of the shadows clutched her heart. The twins kicked, the hard limbs distorting the shape of her round belly. This was the home where she would birth them. This was the land where Will and Edgar would be raised. This would be their life. My God, what have we done?
CHAPTER 15
One by one, each window in the house was pried open, the wood splintering and cracking with the thrusts, the harder ones needing a crowbar to shimmy them upward. With the onslaught of fresh air to the closed home, the spiderwebs swayed, dropped dead flies and silk-wrapped insects to the floor, the hollow bodies crisp and crunching underfoot. Hornet nests peppered and buzzed in two of the upstairs bedrooms and small bats darkened nearly every corner. Even with the windows open, the house reeked of mouse droppings and moth wings, each scent exacerbated and succulent within the late summer mugginess.
Eveline tackled the kitchen, had Edgar and Will clean out the iron stove of ancient ashes. Despite the mess, she was pleased with the space. Two ranges buffered the wall across from the brick fireplace. The stoves had cooking space for eight pots and ovens that could cook bread, a rack of lamb and a cake at the same time. The icebox seemed new. The pantry had shelves enough to feed a small town and revealed a hidden door that led down to the cold fruit cellar below.
Eveline turned the faucet over the sink. The water spluttered and retched, the copper pipes convulsing so loudly that she twisted the knob off before the plumbing hopped out of the wall. She sent Will to the well to lug in water one bucket at a time.
Eveline wiped her brow against her shoulder as she scrubbed the shelving, her large belly pressing against the counter space. Her abdomen had been tight for days and the twins quiet with the stress of the move. Not today, she beseeched. Not yet.
Upstairs, Wilhelm and Andrew cleaned out the largest of the bedrooms. Wilhelm swept the wide plank oak floors and cleaned out the fireplace while Andrew steadied the dustpan and ash pail and tossed the years of filth out the window. They scraped the disintegrating wallpaper and washed away the hardened glue left behind.
When the room was ready, Wilhelm stopped, breathed heavily. “Need to get the furniture in,” he said, contemplating, his brows furrowed. His eyes flickered to Andrew.
“I can help,” Andrew answered the question on his uncle’s mind.
“You sure?” Wilhelm bit his lip in debate. “It’s heavy.”
“Yeah.” Andrew went to the hall and carried in a side rail for the brass bed. Wilhelm followed and together they carried in the pieces, then assembled the bed. They pushed the Victorian walnut dresser to the clean wall, the weight of it slamming into Andrew’s shoulder as he gripped and pushed with all his might. He dug through the pain, dug for strength at his very core. He wasn’t a cripple and come hell or high water, he’d prove it, even if it meant breaking his body in the process.
Wilhelm’s face dotted with dust and the sweat slicked the hair around his forehead. He wiped a cloth around his neck. “I’ll grab some drinks.” He glanced at his nephew wearily. “You all right?” The look was softer now and Andrew nodded.