Beneath the Apple Leaves(40)
Pieter patted the nose of a large black-and-white cow, her nose wet and wide. “She’s our lead cow. Make sure you have one, too. If they get out, haul the lead cow in first and the others will follow.”
Andrew noticed all the fresh feed stacked in the corners. “That’s a lot of hay.”
“Yeah, but you’re gonna need a hell of a lot more, my friend. Got no grass, remember?”
“How could I forget? We’ve been letting the cows feed in the woods until the cold sets in. Trying to conserve the hay.”
Pieter stuck out his tongue. “Need to watch that. Milk starts to taste like pine needles. If you got a pregnant cow, the needles will make her abort. Happened to us a few times before we fenced the woods off.”
The young man smacked the cow’s backside affectionately before walking the length of the barn to check out the goats and the pigs. A barn cat and her kittens watched from a dark corner, the mama kitty oblivious to the strangers while her kittens pressed the milk from her underside. Andrew inspected the other animals, robust in good health. Pieter watched him. “If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t strike me as the farming type.”
Andrew chuckled at that. “You’re the second person to tell me that. I have a book engraved on my forehead or something?”
“Not sure what it is. Farmers got a certain look to them, you know? Like they couldn’t talk fast if they wanted to. You got that look like you’re ready to sprint.”
“Well, you’re right about not knowing farming, but I know animals.” He rubbed the hair of the spotted horse that sidled up to the paddock. “Used to help with the animals growing up and know how to till a garden, but farming a property I don’t have a clue.”
Pieter made a face like he was going to whistle. “Well, you getting off to a great start, my friend. A hundred acres without a blade of grass or chicken for soup.”
Andrew nodded. “Well, we got apples. Saw that first thing,” he said lightly. “And the chickens are coming.”
Pieter slapped him on the back. “Yeah, you got apples, my friend. About the only thing you guys got up there. But don’t worry. We Muellers haven’t got sense for anything but farming. We’ll help you if you need it.”
The young men left the animals behind. Fritz passed them, took turns carrying the little children upon his broad shoulders as they lanced imaginary knights on imaginary steeds. Will and Edgar, two foals who finally found strength within their spindly legs, hiccupped with laughter that sang upon the air no different than the chirps of sparrows.
Pieter and Andrew headed off to a trail in the woods, through the layer of pines and into the rows of oaks and maples and tulip trees. The young men shuffled a pinecone between them, back and forth over the sticks and raised roots. The air was cooler under the trees and they were comfortable, only stopping when a stealth spiderweb clung on a low limb to drape upon a face.
Andrew kicked the cone to Pieter’s shin. “We met the Mortons. Lily’s been working at the house, helping my aunt with the babies,” he shared.
A slight chuckle left Pieter’s mouth. He nodded but did not add anything, his smile in a thin, amused line. He kicked the cone back.
Andrew added, “Seem nice.”
With that, Pieter smiled unabashedly and kicked his pinecone deep into the woods. “She’s pretty, isn’t she? Lily, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Andrew agreed, and suddenly realized that Lily and Pieter might be more than neighbors.
“Pretty as poison.”
Andrew stopped. “What does that mean?”
Pieter smiled, but warning tainted his expression. “If you’re smart, you’ll stay away from that one.”
“If she’s your girl, just say so.”
“Ha!” Pieter smacked at a fly hovering around his nose. “Don’t have to worry about that. Poison, remember?” Pieter rubbed his elbow, contrite. “Better keep your distance. That’s all. Morton house carries more skeletons than the cemetery.”
Andrew’s pace slackened when they started moving again. He kicked at the stones along the path, missed having the pinecone as a distraction.
Pieter jumped to reach an old bird’s nest, averting the twigs by inches. His face grew serious. “The Morton house used to belong to Claire and Lily’s father—Mr. Hanson.” He pointed up the drive to an unseen spot above the road.
“Before Mr. Hanson moved up this way, word is he traveled around the mills, targeting the immigrants, scamming them. A grifter. Guess word started getting round about him, so he left the city and moved to the house where the Mortons are now. But they never farmed that land. Had some cows and chickens but not even a vegetable patch as far as I can remember. Anyway, folks say he took the money he made from all those scams and started lending to rural immigrants. Before you knew it, he was giving loans to half the farmers up this way. Not my pa, though. Pa said he’d feed us hay and oats before he’d take a nickel from that son of a bitch—‘Sohn von einem Weibchen,’ he’d scream out.” Pieter laughed at his imitation of his father.
Pieter rubbed the back of his neck then, looked like a man with heavy accounts resting on his shoulders. “We’ve had tough times here. Tough years for sure. Pa could have gone running to Hanson more times than I could count. Pa always said that a man who got to pick at the carcass of a man falling on hard times is no better than a cockroach.