Beneath the Apple Leaves(21)
“Good.” Wilhelm blew an exhausted breath of air. “Christ, it’s hot.” Taking the broom in one hand and the dustpan in the other, he stepped out to the hall. “Going to start on the boys’ room next. Finish up in here and we’ll get Eveline settled. Woman’s been on her feet since we got here.”
The heavy footsteps thumped down the narrow stairwell and Andrew slunk into the corner, dropped his head back against the wall with fatigue. His right arm pulsed, the biceps twitching. He raised his hand and the fingers shook uncontrollably with the strain of carrying, lugging, pushing, cleaning. Andrew swallowed, his mouth so parched it left him dizzy. With forced will, he stood again and headed to the next bedroom.
*
On that summer evening, darkness settled languidly over the quiet fields and surrounded the broken farmhouse with the first shade of the endless day. Cool air did not transcend but blocked out the mightiest of the degrees so that pores felt free to dry again.
The family ate outside, lined like stepping-stones upon the granite slab at the porch. They ate cold bologna sandwiches, the warm bread soft and chewy. Jaws moved mechanically while bodies hunched and ached for bed. Crickets chirped, the song rising upon the heated earth as steam between bittersweet vines. A barn owl hooted. Another called in return and so they danced, back and forth, in a melody that welcomed the night.
A calico cat inched from the weeds, slunk low as she sniffed the air. Andrew tossed a small bit of bologna in her direction and the cat crawled upon her belly and gobbled it up, licking her lips. Andrew tore another morsel from his sandwich, held it out. The cat came closer, led by her wet nose.
“It’ll bite you,” Wilhelm warned.
Andrew fed the cat anyway and a purr emerged. The cat rubbed against his thigh and he scratched her under the chin. “Somebody’s been feeding her. She trusts us.”
“How you know it’s a girl?” Will asked.
“Calicos are always female,” he told him. Little Edgar tossed the rest of his meat to the cat, touched the fur with delight as she chewed. “Looks like you got your first pet,” Andrew noted.
Edgar smiled and before he knew it the cat climbed upon his lap and started to lick his lips. The little boy erupted in giggles, his futile shoves against the cat only making her lick harder.
“Great,” Wilhelm chided, a grin forming. “Now the cat’s giving him worms.”
“I’ll name her Wormy,” Edgar announced. He put his chubby arms around the cat. “Come here, little Wormy.”
Eveline covered her mouth, stifled her laugh. Andrew chuckled easily, met his aunt’s face. She reached over, squeezed his knee. “Nice to see you smile,” she whispered.
After dinner, with only one bedroom suitable for inhabitants, Eveline and Wilhelm headed upstairs and Andrew and the boys headed to the barn’s hayloft with a pile of blankets and pillows. As they had never known a home outside of their manicured Pittsburgh house, Will’s and Edgar’s eyes were wide with the expanse of the open barn and the adventure of sleeping so high off the ground.
Above in the loft, Andrew spread out the blankets and stuffed the rotting hay under for padding. Will scrunched up his nose. “We’re gonna smell like cows.”
“I like it,” said Edgar as he curled up next to Andrew’s long body. “I don’t ever want to go home.”
“We are home, you dingbat.” Will lay down on the other side of Andrew, stared up at the rafters. “But I like it, too.”
Andrew grinned in the dim light. “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know.” Will thought about this, the soft features of the young boy taking on a seriousness well beyond his years. “Hard to say. Kinda feels like I’m a chipmunk that just got let out of a shoe box.”
“Yeah,” agreed Edgar, his voice fading. “Me too.”
In the next moment, both boys were sound asleep, their gentle breathing keeping pace note to note with the hum of insects outside the barn wood.
Andrew’s body sank into the coarse blanket, every nerve slinking toward slumber except for the ones occupying his mind. He lay on his back, his one hand resting behind his head. In the shadows, he stared at the beams of the roof. A few holes in the shingles left gaps to see the stars. One was large enough to show the tip of the half-moon. He couldn’t remember ever seeing the sky clear enough to see the stars so bold.
The hayloft was comfortable, cooler than the house. Will snuggled and inched closer to his side, the young boy’s brow crinkled with deep dreaming. A raccoon or a skunk slunk around the floor below, the wet nose sniffing in the corners, the claws scraping against the wood. Shadows flapped along the roof as bats darted, bringing a slight breeze across the skin.
Andrew tried to sleep, tried to force his thoughts to rest as his body desired, but to no avail. Gently, he scooted Will’s body from his side. He crouched under the low beams and silently moved through the loft and climbed down the ladder and went outside. The sky was wide as it was deep in midnight blue and the constellations scattered in an order they had arranged since the beginning of creation. In the warm night, the crickets hummed from all sides, made the earth vibrate below his feet. Lightning bugs flashed around the trees and low bushes, lit the night like pinpoints of sulphur-tipped matches.
Andrew sat under the enormous, ancient tree that hovered over the yard. The canopy of leaves hung low with apples at every branch. Something rubbed against his leg, meowed. “Hello, Wormy.” He scratched the warm fur and smiled. “Sorry about the name. Had nothing to do with it.” The cat jumped on his lap, put a paw on his chest. He curled the cat into the crook of his arm, the purr vibrating through his chest.