Beneath the Apple Leaves(29)

The intensity of the day rose in waves and hung upon her shoulders, oppressive as the still heat within the house. Raw memories battled with raw hope and she felt unsteady with the emotions mounting. She pushed the sensations down, but they crawled through the skin and made her knees shake. “I need to go home now.” The statement was sudden and panicked and she knew this. Hated the weakness that her voice hinted at.

She poured a glass of water from the pitcher and went to the parlor, set it on the table. “I need to be going now, Mrs. Kiser.”

“Won’t you stay?” Eveline asked. “My husband should be back from town soon.”

“I wish I could.” She busied her mind for an excuse. “My sister will be worried. She gets nervous with me gone.” The thought of meeting the other Kisers, the joys and shock of seeing the new babies while she stood in the wings and watched a family grow and celebrate, would remind her of all the ways her life was not that.

“May I come by tomorrow to visit?” Her throat started to clog with tears, could find no reason for them. She blushed at her body’s betrayal, wished she could be normal for once in her life. Fit in just once. “I could bring my sister, Claire. Would that be all right?” She inched slowly from the couch.

The weariness of the birth settled upon Eveline and her eyes drooped heavily, gave no sign or notice to Lily’s unbridled nerves. “That would be lovely.”

Lily turned, but Eveline called out to her. “Lily,” she said as she adjusted under the weight of the babies. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

The compliment was too much and her voice faltered. “I—they’re beautiful babies, Mrs. Kiser.” She sniffled and wanted to run, held her body inert for a pained moment. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen such beautiful babies.”

She brushed past Andrew, floundered with her torn sleeve as she tried to tuck the fabric back in place instead of letting it flap over her shoulder. She cursed herself as she headed outside, her footsteps thick with restrained flight.

“Hey.” Andrew caught up at a trot. “Are you all right?”

She tried not to acknowledge him, hoped he would disappear along the stones or she would disappear altogether. But he stopped her, studied her profile unabashedly and without apology.

“I just don’t feel well.” And she didn’t. She placed her hand against her forehead.

He touched her back kindly, just for a moment. “Sit for a bit. There’s no rush.”

She pulled her body away savagely. “Don’t touch me!”

As if slapped, he stepped back. His stricken face pale. “I’m sorry. I . . .”

She dissolved into her palms, her face completely hidden behind her hands. She didn’t know what was happening. She wanted to scream and punch him, wanted to beg for forgiveness, wanted to run for the forest even as she wanted to stay on this land forever. “I’m sorry,” she cried.

One strong arm, hard as marble and soft as goose down, wrapped around her shoulder, turned her to his chest. He did not stroke her back, did not touch her more than necessary, simply held her as if she were about to slide into the sea.

She tried to stop crying, but everything cracked inside. She tried to breathe and stop the tears, but they broke and shattered. And still he held her without a word.

Her skin shuddered. Her sobbing finally slowed until the tears ceased. Andrew’s unbleached cotton shirt cushioned wetly against her cheek. The arm around her stayed steady. The sound of a blue jay cackled from the trees. The trickle of the stream nearby went on uninterrupted. And yet here she was, her face buried into the shirt of a stranger—a stranger she had thrown apples at, screamed at, cried on.

She pulled back and he let go. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Don’t know what came over me.”

The young man with the blue eyes of the sky held her face in the tenderness of his expression. She could not name her grief with words, but in the gaze of this man she saw that he understood it more than she did.

“I’d like to walk you home,” he said firmly.

She wiped her eyes with her torn sleeve, saw the gash at her shoulder. She smiled wearily, any fight gone. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” He smiled good-naturedly. “More of a disaster, actually.”

She snorted. “I like to make a good first impression.”

“Oh, you made an impression, all right. Doubt I’ll ever walk by that tree again without cringing in fear for my life.”

She rolled her eyes and shielded her brows in embarrassment.

“Ever think of enlisting?” he teased. “Send you overseas and the Germans would surrender in one day.”

She crossed her arms and laughed. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Very much so.” He grinned playfully and he held her eyes until the smile softened. “Come on, Honus Wagner, let’s get you home.”

“Who is Honus Wagner?”

“Who is Honus Wagner?” Andrew repeated loudly. “Plays for the Pittsburgh Pirates?” He grunted as if in pain. “The Flying Dutchman?”

“Who cares about football,” she said slyly.

“Baseball!” He rolled his eyes in exasperation, frowned and shook his head long and low. “Oh, Lily girl, what are we going to do with you?”