Beneath the Apple Leaves(56)

Andrew glared at his neighbor. “Just drop it.”

“Sure,” Pieter agreed, but the man stiffened, his features hard and instigating. He filled one of the pails from the water pump and stepped past Andrew, bumping him roughly and splashing his pants with frigid water. “Sorry about that,” he said curtly.

Andrew grimaced at his sopping pants. “Watch it!”

Pouring the water into the pigs’ pool, Pieter gave a quick look to his friend. “So, you give any more thought to joining the team?” he asked lazily. “Pitcher just enlisted. Players dropping like flies.”

“No.” A hog plowed to the trough to eat, nearly knocking Andrew from his feet, the mud wet and thick from the overnight rain. “Christ, these pigs.” He turned back to the question. “Got too much to do here.”

Pieter chuckled, began whistling as he checked the ears of one of his former runts.

“What’s so funny?” The smell of the hogs stuck to Andrew’s skin and he couldn’t wait to get in a hot tub and scrub off.

“You’re a sissy,” Pieter announced loudly. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

Andrew stepped forward, the muscles in his stomach contracting under his shirt. “What did you say?”

“Said you’re a sissy.” Pieter stepped forward in equal stride.

The space between the men simmered. The hogs grunted, moved together in one lump to the other side of the pen. “Better watch your mouth, Pieter.”

The German spit to the ground, the saliva splashing a spot near Andrew’s mud-soaked boot. “Make me, Dutch boy.”

Andrew tossed the shovel, put his face square in front of Pieter’s. “Get off my property.”

“Your property?” The young man laughed at this before his lip curled. “Don’t give yourself so much credit, Houghton.”

Pieter challenged him nose to nose, pushed him hard in the shoulder.

“So help me.” Andrew readied a fist. “I don’t want to hit you, Pieter.”

“Hit me?” Pieter threw his head back and laughed. “My little sister could hit harder than you.”

Andrew’s bones grew rigid with restraint. Pieter Mueller poked him hard in the chest. “Your property? Face it. You’re just a hand-me-down, Houghton. Nothing but a crippled son of a poor coal miner.”

Andrew’s fist smashed into the side of Pieter’s face, knocked him stumbling into the mud. Pieter shimmied up, charged at him, ramming him in the chest with his shoulder and sending them both upon the filthy ground. The two men rolled and punched, their fists slipping futilely against their slippery, grimy skin.

Edgar and Will ran to the fence, stared at the battling men, climbed upon the rail for a better view. “Get him, Andrew!” yelled Edgar joyfully. Inspired by the fight and not wanting it to end, Will hollered over his brother, “Get him, Pieter!”

Andrew’s and Pieter’s muscles sagged and rebelled even as their balled hands still fought to connect with a rib or a jaw or a nose. Beneath his muck-plastered face, Pieter began to howl, laughed so hard that he let go of Andrew’s shirt and held his sides.

Andrew spit the filth from his mouth, shook his head, his friend’s jabs finally clear with original intent. Pieter rolled over and pulled himself up, extended a hand.

Andrew squinted at the sun above Pieter Mueller’s head. “You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?” He grinned and grabbed the hand, his bottom sucking against the fluid ground.

Pieter blindly patted his friend on the arm and calmed his hysterics. “Finally done feeling sorry for yourself?”

Andrew rotated his shoulder, sore after the thrust of useless punches. Every inch of his clothing caked and tightened stiff with drying sludge. “Yeah, I’m done.”

Pieter threw a muddy arm around Andrew’s neck. “You’ll join the team then, you big sissy?”

“Yeah,” he surrendered. Even covered in muck, he felt cleaner and lighter. “I’ll be there.”

Pieter gave a hearty wave to Edgar and Will before bowing gracefully before the crowd. “Enjoy the show, boys?”

They clapped and hooted while Pieter rubbed his bruised jaw, shifted the bone left and right to make sure it wasn’t broken. “I’ll tell you what,” he said to Andrew. “You pitch anything like you hit and we might win a game yet.”





CHAPTER 29

At breakfast, Andrew handed the letter to Wilhelm. “Could you mail this when you go to Pittsburgh today? Get there faster coming from the city.” He had written his mother. The letter bland, a quick outline of life on the farm. He made no mention of his missing arm or the accident. If he didn’t acknowledge it, maybe she would forget.

“You can mail it yourself,” Wilhelm said. He drank his coffee black, finishing in nearly one gulp, and pushed the empty mug onto the table. “I’m taking you to Pittsburgh with me.”

Andrew stopped mid-chew. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Wilhelm grinned affably and Andrew had to look over his shoulder to see if he were talking to someone else in the room. “Finish up and we’ll head out. Take us most of the day as it is.”

“What about the Ford?”

Wilhelm headed out of the room and called back without turning, “All fixed.”