Beneath the Apple Leaves(42)
CHAPTER 24
White old man Stevens and his black wife, Bernice, parked their bread wagon on the road and waited for Eveline. “Hallo, purdy lady!” Bob Stevens shouted, and waved, his bottom dancing off the wagon seat. Bernice gave a shy, gentle twist of her hand in greeting.
Eveline stepped up to the wagon and wiped her brow. “You gonna get that bridge fixed soon?” the old man asked. “Shame you got to walk all this way just to meet us.”
“I don’t mind. Have Lily Morton helping me with the babies. Nice to get out and walk a bit.”
“That Lily’s a sweet one, ain’t she?” He reached back and grabbed the fresh loaves wrapped in brown paper. “How many boys you got, Mrs. Kiser?” he asked. One wide eye watched her as the other squeezed tight against the sun’s glare.
“Four.” She thought about this with a grin. “Six if you count the men.”
“Christ almighty! And here you is with the hips of a teeny girl! Birthin’ all those boys an’ lookin’ as fresh an’ pretty as a daisy.” He elbowed his wife. “Ain’t that right, Bernie? Ain’t she a fine-lookin’ woman?”
“She is.” Bernice nodded seriously and then shook her head to stave off any chance of an argument. “You is a fine-lookin’ woman, Mrs. Kiser. Bob an’ me be talkin’ ’bout that all the way up here.”
Eveline put her hand on her heart, smiled until her face hurt with the sincere compliment. Bob Stevens was a remnant of the Civil War, met Bernice near the battlefields of Vicksburg. Fell in love and smuggled her up to Pennsylvania. The man told the story to anyone with ears, even if they had heard it a thousand times before.
Together, Bob and Bernice shared one tooth between them. They weren’t legally married, but all knew them as husband and wife. And by any definition, they were ugly individuals. But together, when their toothless, gummy grins were wide and their eyes sparkled as if they were still teenagers, there glowed a beauty that made the couple all that could be opposite of ugly. They were cracked and ancient like the musket balls from that very war, walking souvenirs that clung to each other like the smell of yeast against their skin. And it was worth the price of bread just to witness their bond.
“Hey, where’s that nephew a yours?” Bob asked.
“Andrew? Believe he’s working in the barn. You need him?”
“Naw! Jus’ my Bernie thinks he’s a looker. Has a thing fer ’em blue eyes.”
“Shush!” Bernice swatted his arm. “I ain’t never said such a thing. Why ya gotta go sayin’ stuff like that? Mrs. Kiser think I’m a dirty ole woman starin’ at her boy.”
Bob laughed and hugged his wife close. “Ya can’t fool me, Bernie! I see ya lookin’ fer the boy as soon we come drivin’ up.” Daintily, he imitated his wife fixing her collar and straightening out her dress.
Bernice laughed then, pinched him on the knee. “Now, that ain’t so an’ ya know it!” Then she leaned over and whispered to Eveline, “Well, he is a fine-lookin’ young man. My ears don’t work so good no more, but my eyes see jus’ fine!”
“Told ya!” Bob shouted merrily. “An’ here she is pinchin’ me jus’ fer speakin’ the truth. Told ya!”
With a click of his tongue, old man Bob had his lone, old horse moving again and gave a high wave to Eveline as they headed down to Widow Sullivan’s house. The cackling of the couple rode above the wheels and made the roses open a little wider.
Back at the house, Eveline placed the bread on the counter next to Lily as she finished up the breakfast dishes and then went back outside to the clothesline and hung up the full line of Kiser clothing. When the last dress was hung, the rope unwound from its square knot and dropped to the ground, jumbling the clothes in a soiled bundle.
Eveline sighed and picked up the rope, wobbled unsteadily upon a footstool as she tried to reattach the clothesline to the old post, the wet clothes now spotted. Her fingers reached to hook the rope but were just shy of the height, the step stool leaning unstably to the right when two large hands grabbed her waist to keep her from falling.
Frank lowered her to the ground and took the rope from her hand, easily latched it into place.
Eveline patted her chest, the adrenaline pumping from nearly toppling over and by the surprise of the man at her side. “Thank you, Mr. Morton.”
“Frank.” He tipped his hat.
The soiled underclothes draped and swayed in the wind. Eveline frantically pulled each off the line. “They’ll all need washing again,” she said absently, making an excuse.
“Women work too hard,” he commiserated as he reached up and added a second knot to the line. “Hope your husband appreciates all you do for him.”
She laughed at this. “My husband works hard himself.”
He watched her in a calm, easy way. “Sure, he does. Wasn’t saying he didn’t. Just that men get the recognition, so to speak. Women get treated like their work’s expected without the appreciation.”
She gave him an incredulous look, had never heard a man speak like that before. “Well,” she said stoically. “We all do what we must, whether we’re appreciated or not, don’t we?”
“Guess so.” He put his leather boot on the stool, showing the silver tip and the stylish stitching.