Beneath the Apple Leaves(78)
Between the flower seeds, the lettuce grew in bright green heads, the asparagus rising like long digits in the squares beyond. The cucumbers, peas, beans and zucchini were already sprouting. Wilhelm promised to bring more seeds from the market.
On the other side of the house, the orchard readied with peach and plum and apple trees. She and Andrew had pruned the mulberry and gooseberry bushes, raspberries and blueberries that mazed around the trunks. And beneath the apple tree, the crosses of her children called to her. Otto and Harold were always there, observing the garden form, watching and sighing as the ground came to life.
A man on the high street turned into the lane. Her throat caught. Frank. She looked at her dirty hands and fumbled with the bun that had fallen half-undone on her head. Giving up, Eveline hurried into the house to wash her hands and inspect herself in the mirror, giving her cheeks a hard pinch for color despite the pink already there. She was being silly, she knew. But it was nice to feel like a woman. Not a mother or a wife but a woman. Then the door knocked and her heart jumped into her throat again.
Eveline stepped outside into the full sunlight. “Good afternoon, Mr. Morton.” She smiled nervously before composing herself. “This is a surprise.”
He went to speak but seemed to grow just as nervous. He laughed. “Well, now that I’m here, I feel a bit silly.”
This calmed her and she folded her arms easily. “Whatever for?” Then she noticed the box sitting at his feet. “Didn’t bring me another crystal pitcher, I hope?”
He shook his head. “No.” He lifted it up and handed it to her. “But it is a little something for you.”
Eveline blinked fiercely, waved her hands and stepped back. “No. You’ve already been too kind. I can’t accept another gift.”
He put a gleaming cowboy boot on the large stone slab and stayed quiet for a long moment before gazing at her face. “I know this isn’t proper, Eveline. I know it.” His face twisted in real penance. “A married man shouldn’t bring a married woman gifts. I know this.”
The shudder of something electric, of something so wrong and so longed for, made her heart race. She was suddenly acutely aware of the feeling of her legs under her skirt and the fabric touching against her skin.
Frank rubbed the front of his shirt. “I know it’s not proper to do these things. But”—he met her eyes square and did not flinch—“it’s a hell of a lot more proper than what I’d like to do to you.”
Her lips fell open and the rush flowed to her inner thighs in a hot flash. She couldn’t think. “I can’t,” she mumbled. “I—”
He smiled and put up a hand. “I know. You don’t have to say another word. I put you in a bad spot right now and I’m sorry.” He chuckled heartily now. “Guess you have to open the present now. Make me feel less of a scoundrel for saying such things.”
Eveline sat down on the step before her legs gave out, tore into the package just to keep her hands from shaking and to keep her mind focused on a task. Sensations swirled, sailed around her, the prickles growing under her clothing.
Frank sat next to her, his shoulder touching her own, and she inched her body away slightly. She couldn’t breathe. She opened the box. It was filled with seed packets, each one vibrantly illustrated with a carrot, watermelon, cucumber, bean, tomato—the number of them and the variety spread endlessly in the box. Her mouth dropped.
He pointed to the seeds. “Something else in there for you.”
Eveline shook her head in disbelief and dug to the bottom, pulled out a delicate straw bonnet with a coral silk ribbon.
“Figured with all this planting, you’ll need to keep the sun off,” he explained. He watched her profile.
“I don’t know what to say.” Tears laced the voice, the thoughtfulness beyond words. The gift was more precious than diamonds. And somehow, he knew this.
“Look inside the hat,” he suggested.
She turned it over. A simple stitched tag read: Gemaakt in Nederland. “It’s from Holland?”
“Yeah. Had a hell of a time getting it with the war, but . . . I got it.”
“I don’t know what to say.” She said the words again. And in her mind, they repeated. I don’t know what to say.
“Don’t need to say anything, Eveline.” He winked and stood. “Made me happy to give it to you. Makes me happy to see that look on your face. So, guess you could say, it was more a gift for myself. Kind of selfish when you think about it.”
She smiled. “Well, selfish or not, it’s just about the nicest gift I ever got in my whole life.” Her tone stroked soft as the touch she wanted to deliver to his skin.
He stuck his hands in his back pockets and tapped his foot, squinted at the sun above her head. “Can I be honest?”
She nodded, though she wasn’t sure if she could handle much more from the man.
“I’m worried about you.”
“About me?” She pulled back in surprise. “Whatever for?”
“There’s a lot of unrest right now. I see it. Hear it. Can’t get away from it. It’s a hard time to be German. Now, I know you’re only German by marriage, but that doesn’t matter to people. Just watch out is all I’m saying.”
She thought of her husband, away at market, trying to make a living off this land—the land she wanted—and the regret blew fierce and harsh. She stepped away from Frank, closed off the feelings that had tickled and now threatened as an affliction. She was proud to be married to Wilhelm. She was proud to carry his name.