Beneath the Apple Leaves(82)

A bell clanged distantly, muted the birds. Lily closed her eyes, lowered her head so that her forehead rested against Andrew’s lips. She sighed, tried to ignore the noise that rose again.

Andrew grunted, dropped his forehead against her neck as if in pain. He could live in her veins and he’d still miss her.

Lily’s chest rose and fell. Her eyes closed and she swallowed hard. He smiled, etched the line of her cheek with his cool fingers. “Guess you’re wanted back home.”

“I hate that bell,” she said in anguish. “Makes me feel like a five-year-old.”

“Or a wayward cow.”

She dropped her head into his chest and snickered. Then turned her face again to find his lips. Playfully, he flung his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, Bessie. I’ll lead you home.”





CHAPTER 39

A week later, little Will’s cries wafted from the road. Lily was going to Widow Sullivan’s and heard him first. She put down her egg basket, then sprinted, her dress held above her knees.

The boy ran to her, hid his face in her skirt. She pried his hands from the folds and knelt upon the gravel to see his panicked face. “What’s wrong, Will?”

“I have to get Andrew,” he huffed, the shallow grip of air closing his throat. “My legs can’t run anymore,” he cried, and buckled. “He’s gotta come!”

Will had seen something awful, the look of terror scratching upon her own childhood memories. A belt to her sister. Claire’s pleading, silent call to her to run, to hide. And yet she had stayed, rooted, a witness to the brutality that mirrored her conception. And when it was over, the tethers broke and she found the strength to flee, to run into the woods and vomit within the curled leaves.

A prolonged flash of heat washed over her body and congealed in her skull. Bile rose to her throat. She should have stopped it, but she hadn’t known how to kill an abuse she couldn’t comprehend. The sour of her stomach stung her mouth as she pushed against the dross. Will shook in her arms. No. Not this time. She straightened—ascended as a woman who would no longer hide. “You go to Mrs. Sullivan’s,” she ordered fiercely. “I’ll get Andrew. You stay there until I come back. Understand?” He nodded.

Lily ran hard, the gravel spraying behind the hammering boots. But she didn’t flee from the terror; she ran into the heart of it. The cows dotted along the Kiser property line and she knew Andrew wouldn’t be far beyond. “Andrew!” she yelled. She pulled force to her lungs and called out again, “Andrew!”

The sun reflected off the white shirt as he started at a trot from the low field, his hat held in his hand. She bent under the fence, her legs wobbling with the exertion. “It’s Will,” she panted as he came into earshot. “Something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but something’s happened.”

Together, they took off over the crest of the road, down to the widow’s house. Will sat on the step of the front porch, Mrs. Sullivan’s bowed figure holding him against her fragile bones. He scratched at his tears, saw his cousin coming. “Andrew!” He broke from the old woman and ran to Andrew’s side, clutched his thigh.

“What is it, Will? What’s happened?”

“We were walking home and these boys came. Except they weren’t boys. Not like me. Older ones. I don’t know,” he groaned. “They started cussing at us, pushing Fritz.” Between gasps of air, he snorted, his nose running. “They took Anna’s hair right off her head!” he screamed. “Ripped it all up, pulled it between them like tug-o’-war.” His face crumpled. “Hair was floating everywhere. Flying up to the sky. They tore it all to pieces.”

“Is she hurt?”

Will shook his head. “No. But she was all curled up, crying. Her head all bald and white.” He started to wail then and he squeezed Andrew’s hand. “Fritz tried to stop them. He tried to stop them and they hurt him bad.”

The land spun, the dread sinking to Andrew’s knees. “Where are they now?”

“Down by the creek past the school. Anna’s hiding. She’s crying so hard. Never saw somebody cry so hard. Won’t come out with no hair. Just hiding so nobody sees her. The boys chased Fritz, ran into the woods and hurt him real bad. Could hear him screaming.” His eyes turned up to Andrew, wide and shining with guilt. “I didn’t want to leave them there. I swear it, but I didn’t know what to do.”

Andrew hugged him. “You did the right thing, Will.”

Widow Sullivan stepped up. “Take my buggy,” she directed firmly. “I’ll see to it the boy gets home safe.”

Lily hurried to the barn, hitched the small wagon to the draft horse, brought it to the gate, then climbed onto the seat and waited for Andrew. They rode in silence, each with their own thoughts of a world spiraling out of control, wondered how a land filled with flowers and vibrant green had soured and turned rancid.

As the schoolhouse came into view over the ridge, Lily put her hand on his arm. “Park it there.” She pointed. “I know where the creek is from here.”

Andrew and Lily ducked into the woods under lowered limbs, dodged spiderwebs and knobby roots. “Anna?” Andrew called. “Anna, you in here?”

A sniffle emanated from behind an old oak. Andrew curved to the tree until two small arms stretched out. He put his arm around the little girl and hoisted her to his hip, her bald head white and pale, the tiny blue veins prominent near the temples. Remnants of her wig settled in piles of ringlets along the ground, rose and floated in low bursts of wind. The tiny girl cried into his shoulder. “I’ve got you now, Anna,” he whispered into her ear, rocking her gently. “You’re safe now.”