Beneath the Apple Leaves(73)
Andrew agilely picked his way over the mud to target uncovered stones and hardened dirt mounds. A difficult task and more than once he sank to his calves before prying loose again. When he reached the raging creek, he found the narrowest stretch and leaped. Here the sludge lessened and the pine needles acted as stitching across the ground, like seed bags buried under earth to keep the weeds from coming up. At last, he climbed the ridge to Lily’s side, bent and held his side as he caught his breath. The smile upon his lips was the most handsome sight she had ever seen.
With lungs full, Andrew rose to his full height. Without embarrassment, he stared intensely into her eyes. The heat of his thoughts brought her fingers to her throat. Her eyes drifted to the open collar of his shirt, the skin already tanning at the neck. Her focus slid to his chest and then to his waist and then she erupted in giggles.
Andrew raised one eyebrow as if she had gone mad. But she couldn’t speak and shook with laughter, her face red.
“What?” he asked.
She couldn’t form the words through her torrent and just pointed to his clothing. He was covered in mud from ankle to chest.
“Think that’s funny, do you?” he accused slyly, his blue eyes twinkling.
She nodded mutely, snorted with laughter.
“And here I am trudging through the mud to give you a hand,” he said with feigned indignation. “Some friend.”
Tears streamed down her face.
“Well.” He stepped toward her. “Owe me at least a hug for hurting my feelings.”
“No!” Lily screeched, backed away. “Keep your muddy body away from me.”
Andrew pounced and grabbed her, squeezed her tight against his dirt-stained clothes.
“Ugh, Andrew!” She pushed him in the chest and wiped the mud from her cheek, her smiling lips splattered. “Look at me! I’m filthy.”
“Teach you to laugh at a gentleman, young lady.”
“Some gentleman,” Lily scoffed, her expression dancing with mirth. “Here I am trying to look pretty for you and I look like I just climbed out the pigpen.”
Andrew relented. “Here,” he said as he pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket. He gently wiped the muck on her cheeks and tried to keep his face serious.
“What?”
“Just smearing a little.”
“Er!” She grabbed the handkerchief and wiped her own face. “Better?”
“Not really,” he teased.
She tossed the handkerchief at his chest. “Well, at least walk me down to the house.” Lily stuck out her elbow for him to link. “We can look like we crawled out of the pigpen together.”
With arms held tight, their hips and thighs brushed as they walked across the sloped front yard. Andrew’s eyes flickered to her dress, at the pearl-colored buttons dotting the front. They glanced at each other often with shy smiles and lowered lids and between them the energy of the spring, of new growth and warmth, of young vibrancy and attraction, made the world glimmer in shimmering waves.
As they strolled, arm in arm, the sun slowly dried the mud on their clothes. Soon the dirt flaked off and drifted into the gentle wind, the unsheathing making their bodies lighter, cleaner and more lithe. Andrew steered her to the narrow opening in the creek and unhooked his arm. He jumped across and held out his hand for her to follow.
Lily’s arm wasn’t nearly as long and so she reached across and barely touched his fingertips. “Don’t let me fall, Andrew,” she begged.
“I won’t let you fall, Lily girl.” He clutched her fingers.
She jumped across and held his hand. He wiped a hair away from her cheek. “I won’t ever let you fall. Not ever.”
*
The fragile plant shoots uncorked, pale and feeble, finally relieved from the suffocating burden of dead maple and oak leaves. Grass and weeds birthed from the blank land, an immaculate conception. The farm animals lit up. The runts had grown into strong pigs that now rolled in the soft mud, the only ones in love with the piles of liquid dirt that beleaguered the human inhabitants. And the pigs rolled in it, grunted wet noses through it, bowled their scaly skin within its depths while filling the farm with humorous squeals of ecstatic pleasure.
The cows sniffed for fresh vegetation, batted long eyelashes under the bright sun, their soft fur slick and clean and untwitch-ing, knowing that in a few months the flies would hound them to no end. And the chickens flapped wings and danced with bobbing necks, picked at the ground, flung small rocks while searching for seeds and ticks.
Wilhelm and Eveline decided that little Will would start school with the spring despite coming into his studies midyear. The boy’s grammar was slipping to the simple tongue of Fritz Mueller and his reading fell in favor to stick whittling and sling shooting acorns. And on that first day of school, poor Will disappeared in the woods in rebellion, hiding until he was assured that Anna and Fritz Mueller would walk with him every day. Fritz didn’t go to school, but he had always escorted his sibling, never letting his little sister out of his protective sight.
Over the last few weeks, Andrew split his time between the farm and Mrs. Sullivan’s house. He assisted the woman’s favorite mare with her birth, delivering a healthy and wobbly-legged foal. With the help of Will’s hands, Andrew cleaned and trimmed all the hooves of the widow’s beloved horses. The tasks were small and the pay little, but it meant more than gold. He was working with animals and beginning to save money to bring his mother home.