Beneath the Apple Leaves(97)


“Just wish the boys were old enough to help more. If they were men, we’d have enough help, enough hands.” Eveline chewed at her lip, the anxiety ripping.

“If they were men, they’d be sent off to war.”

Eveline had never considered that. She thought of her little ones sleeping upstairs, their innocent little faces, their soft kisses and hugs. In the despair, she found the gratitude, as selfish as it was. As poor as they were, at least she wasn’t losing her boys to the trenches.

The silence deepened. Eveline’s pulse thumped routinely, timed and rhythmic, like a train approaching from the east. Coming closer. Coming closer.

Andrew cleared his throat. “I’ve decided to go back to the coal mines.”

The train slammed. “What?”

“Once the harvest is done, I’m heading back to Fayette County. I’ll send back what money I make. Every penny I’ll send back. It should be enough to pay off the principal every month. Maybe more.”

She glanced at his arm and he noticed. “I know. But with the war, the coal mines can’t get enough workers. They won’t care about my arm. As long as I can pick and shovel coal, that’s all they care about.”

The stupor wore off and the anger rose. “It’s out of the question,” she said coldly.

“I thought it all over. Ran it through my head a million times and it’s the only way, Aunt Eveline.”

The woman met his eyes firmly, the blue irises stormy. “The answer is no.”

He returned the look defiantly. “It wasn’t a question.”

“I said no!” She stood then, smacked her hands on the table. “You might be the oldest male in this family, but I am still the head of this household! As long as you live under this roof, you will listen to me, young man! You will not ever mention anything as ludicrous as that again.”

The walls disintegrated, caved upon her shoulders. Heat burned her ears and she wanted to cry, cry in anger and desperation, cry with what her actions and inaction had forced a young man to do—volunteer his life to save her family. “As long as I’m living and breathing, you won’t step into a coal shaft again. Do you understand?”

He opened his mouth to speak and she slammed her palms on the table. “I lost my babies, Andrew! I lost my”—her mouth trembled—“and I lost my husband. I won’t lose you, too.”

Andrew stood now, matched her stance. “You’re not going to lose me.” He pulled back his shoulders and set his jaw. “I love you, Aunt Eveline, but I’m not your son. I’m a grown man and I’ve made my decision. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Her hand flew to her mouth and she started to cry. She bowed her head as her body rocked over the table. Andrew placed his arm around her. “Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry I upset you,” he comforted. “But it’s the only way, you see? Not just for you, but for Will and Edgar, too. It’s the only way.”

She looked into his eyes, soft with love and duty in the blue depths. “Give me a week, Andrew.” Her chest opened, the decision made. “I’m going to make this right.”

He shook his head and began to debate her, but she stopped him. “I’ll make this right, Andrew. I swear it.”





CHAPTER 50

Andrew and the boys pulled the carrots from the sandy soil, the cluster of orange roots hanging like entrails, before tossing them into the wheelbarrow. And he and the boys looked to the lines of green tops still left to be harvested and looked behind at the few rows that had been completed, the contrast leaving the stooped backs aching with the promise of a full day of work.

Will and Edgar still carried the aged lines of shock and despair in their childish faces after losing their father. They spoke little and ate even less, the playfulness of youth strangled from their being. They worked hard, their small hands busy and their minds simple, unable to piece together the onslaught of emotions. But they looked to Andrew with the only hope that remained. In him, they saw the burdens that they did not need to carry. Saw the man who kept their mother from falling to pieces and the farm erect.

And Andrew knew this when the boys met him with their wide, broken hearts and it flattened him. For he would be leaving soon for the coal mines. It was the only way. He promised to give Eveline time to make it right, but there was no right to be made. And so he waited. A week or perhaps two before he would make arrangements.

In the meantime, Andrew brought what little light he could to the boys. He hid his own pain and told the boys stories while they worked, old folktales his father had told him. Yes, they worked too hard in their grief. Seemed children always had to work so hard. But in these days of living not far from starving, all bodies were required.

“Need an extra set of hands?” Pieter rose from the hill, the sun bright behind his head, making his face invisible for a moment.

“An extra back would be more helpful.” Andrew stretched and leaned his spine, cracking it from the base.

Pieter walked ahead and pulled out two fistfuls of carrots and tossed them into the wheelbarrow. “Comes out like butter,” he scoffed. “You Dutch are too soft. Aren’t they, boys? We Germans are hardy!”

The boys smiled and laughed dully. But it was laughter all the same, and with the spurt of levity they increased pulling with renewed vigor.

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