The Fallen Fruit, page 11
“Would you have believed me?” Noah replied.
“No.” Stephen folded his arms.
“Lies are easier to believe than the truth at times. Uncle Ed almost recognized me.”
Stephen’s brow furrowed. “Was that a couple years ago when we were training in Amherst County?”
Noah nodded.
Stephen added, “Now that you say that, Ed did mention seeing someone who looked like Luke, but I thought he was missing home.”
“Missing home isn’t an excuse for seeing what isn’t there,” Grandpa said solemnly.
Bree took in the sky. She wasn’t sure what time it was. Molly fed her baby, and the cousins arrived to stare at the stranger. Ben slept at Grandpa’s feet. No one complained of missed chores or animals needing to be tended.
Noah’s tale came to an end with his time in the army. The pain in his voice sliced through Bree when he spoke of Uncle Edwin’s death, and how his heart broke when the Bridge men were honorably discharged.
“All that time, I wanted to come home,” Noah said, his gaze sweeping over them. “And the only way to find this place in time was to wait until after I disappeared.”
Grandpa’s leg began to twitch, but he grasped his knee and bent his head as if in prayer. Stephen rested his hand on Grandpa’s shoulder and squeezed it. Grandpa motioned for his eldest son to lean over to hear him, and the two spoke in whispers. Seconds stretched to what felt like an eternity.
Finally, Grandpa turned to them. “I cannot decide the fate of this man without praying on the matter and hearing my children’s thoughts.” He paused before facing Noah. “Tonight, you’ll make camp next to Ivy Creek near the fallen oak. Do you know the place?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll come for you in the morning. Will you respect our decision?”
Noah nodded again, but Aunt Em released a deep sigh with a shake of her head. The man took hold of his belongings while the Bridge folk kept quiet. Even the curious children knew better than to meddle when their fathers waited like vipers.
Before Noah left, Emily retrieved food from her apron pocket.
“I’m well, Mama. No need.” He tried to refuse the nuts, but she placed them in his hand and closed his fingers. After that, Noah slipped away into the trees.
One by one, the Bridge elders rose and made their way to Grandma and Grandpa’s cabin. Bree and her sister hurried after them. Poking her nose in their business was easy at first—no one had eaten a meal and she hurried to prepare supper. She kept her back to them while the Bridge men settled on one side of the room and Grandma and Grandpa rested on the other. Normally women weren’t allowed to be present when there were serious matters to discuss, but no one forced her aunt to leave. Aunt Emily waited outside, hands clasped tightly as she paced the patch of dirt beyond the porch. Only Grandpa had the authority to ask Grandma to wait with the other women and children in Molly’s cabin.
While Bree warmed cornbread near the stoked fire and drew up the ingredients for asparagus soup, the men began their conversation. Addy tried to help, but Grandma intervened. “Go help your cousins mind the young ones at Molly’s.”
Addy quickly glanced at Bree, but Bree jerked her chin to the door. Whatever she learned she’d share later—if they let her stay.
“I don’t like him. He isn’t my boy,” John said first to Grandpa. “Something about him makes me uneasy.”
“He’s a fool to think we’d believe such nonsense.” Stephen snuck a piece of cornbread before Bree finished warming it. Between chews, he said, “Luke used to always play tricks on us.”
“But this isn’t the kind of trick you play on people,” Grandpa said.
Bree kept her hands steady while she cut up asparagus, onions, and parsley. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Emily’s shadow falling across the front doorway.
“He must be sick in the head. We saw many things no man should witness—death, madness, hangings,” Stephen said softly. “Before we were discharged, he never acted like that.”
“True. Not once did he lose his wits, but who knows what happened to him after we left the army,” Grandpa said. “The men who marched to Augusta kept fighting.”
“Something could’ve broken him,” Stephen admitted. “And he probably heard us talking about Luke and thought he was the same man.”
“Did he ever say anything about his family?” Grandma asked. “Where are they from?”
“He mentioned they lived near the Southwest Mountains,” Stephen said. “But now that I think about it, I’ve never heard of a single man named Battles from around here.”
“Folks come and go.” Grandpa appeared thoughtful for a moment. “His family could’ve been from the mountains, but that’s no excuse for lying or saying you’re someone’s missing child.”
Nods floated through the room. The heat from the fireplace grew uncomfortably hot, but Bree refused to budge or remind them she was present. As much as she wanted to defend the man she knew was Luke, it wasn’t her place.
Aunt Emily came through the doorway. “But what if he isn’t lying? What if he’s the real Luke?”
“Can you hear yourself, Em?” John asked. “That man is ill in the head.”
“If God can make His holy son Jesus rise from the dead, why can’t He send His earthly children anywhere He sees fit?” She drew closer. “You believe he’s in league with the devil, but what if this is God’s work? What if there was a purpose to his journey?”
The enticing aroma of soup filled the room. Bree stirred the pot as quietly as possible but froze after hearing her aunt’s words. She had trouble believing God would be so cruel.
Emily now stood before Grandma and Grandpa. “I can prove he is Luke.”
“Clinging to another woman’s child won’t bring yours back,” Grandma said softly. “I know you wish to see him again—I do. I’ve lost too many babies myself, but we have women and children on this farm to protect.”
“Mother Bridge . . .” Emily began.
John rubbed the back of his neck, the same way the stranger had.
Can’t they see the similarities between father and son? she thought. But then again shouldn’t Luke look more like his papa?
John had a reddish tinge to his dark-brown skin and thinning hair along his temples, while the stranger had moles dotting his cheeks and soft brown skin like Emily’s.
“Mama’s right.” Stephen approached Emily and his parents. “Papa, I know you feel the same. I say we send him on his way.”
Bree’s grip on the pot ladle loosened, and it fell to the floor. She scurried to pick it up. Five heads turned her way.
“Go after your sister, Bree,” Grandpa said firmly.
“But the supper—” Bree said.
“I’ll mind the soup.” Aunt Em pried the ladle from her hand. Perhaps her aunt caught the pleading expression on her face, for Emily smiled at her. Everything will be fine, her aunt seemed to convey. Hadn’t Emily given her the same expression every time she talked about something that troubled her?
When Bree tried to sneak around the back of the cabin, Stephen followed her. Undeterred, she took the path into the orchard, then doubled back to return from the south. Grandma would punish her for not minding, but she had to know what would become of Luke.
From behind the trees, she limped toward the house, but Stephen’s presence kept her from getting any closer. He listened from right outside the door. Her stomach quaked from the mouthwatering smell of the soup. Insects fluttered around her feet, yet she refused to budge from her hiding place. Voices rose within the house, though she couldn’t hear the words.
Bree didn’t know how much time had passed, but she sighted the silhouette of a horned owl flapping, then landing on the cabin roof. Twilight had arrived.
Movement to her right caught her eye. Along the dark edges of the setting sun, Bree glimpsed a Negro woman, no older than herself, in a light-blue dress, standing by a line of trees.
No, not a dress—a white shirt a man would wear and a skirt; the ankle-length fabric was a vivid blue, just like a speckled robin’s egg.
The woman stared at her as hard as Bree did. Bree almost looked away, but there was something peculiar about the stranger. The cut of the woman’s clothing made her blink. Instead of a hem that fell to the ground, the stranger’s dress reached her ankles, and her booted feet peeked out. What was she doing out here? Bree took a step forward, then the woman retreated as her mouth parted. Their gazes connected. The dying sunlight hit the stranger, revealing her shirt’s lacy bodice and collar. Her gloved hand floated up to her mouth.
To Bree’s right, Emily strode away from the cabin toward the orchard. Bree couldn’t read her aunt’s face, but she approached Emily tentatively. She glanced over her shoulder, and the strange woman was gone. As much as she wanted to ask Aunt Em about the woman, she had other pressing matters.
“What did they say?” she asked.
Emily kept moving, only pausing long enough to give Bree a few words. “My boy can stay.”
Bree tried to make out the shapes within the cabin, but the fire gathered more shadows than light. She couldn’t see their faces.
What had her aunt said to convince them?
Chapter 13
Sabrina Humbles
April 1780
Six long days passed—long enough for Bree to embroider two petticoats. Instead of thinking of Luke, she concentrated on crafting even stitches to resemble tiny yet narrow leaves found on many a wildflower. After that, her hands feverishly added bluebells on a bodice. The faint tap of the needle striking the thimble on her finger filled the monotony.
During that time, no one from her household heard so much as a whimper from the man who called himself Luke Bridge. Not even Addy, who’d lost herself within the menial task of picking wool clean, visited him.
Then one morning her sister said offhandedly, “I wonder what Luke’s doing today.”
“Who knows. Probably working somewhere.”
“Have you ever thought about him?”
“We’re friends.”
“I can’t stop thinking about how much fun we had.” Her face lit up as she went on and on about their lazy summer days when the sun had baked their backs. How they’d had nothing better to do than talk about what they wished for their lives.
The more Luke’s name came up, the more Bree was certain Addy still yearned for him too.
With their pails in hand, the sisters headed to the creek, but they ended up veering toward John and Em’s cabin instead. They lingered along the fence to the pasture like bees searching for early summer blossoms. Chickens clucked and pecked the ground at their feet, finding what they sought better than the sisters could. In the distance, the cabin loomed, larger than Grandma and Grandpa’s, but neglect clung to this one. Weeds defiantly sprouted around the home and moss mottled the north side. A long dirty rope was nailed to the side of the house and led to an overgrown garden and outhouse.
Though John and Emily’s house had seen better days, life carried on within. The wonderful smells of shepherd’s pie bubbling in a covered pot reached the sisters along with the rhythm of conversation tumbling out of the open front door, giving them a taste of Luke’s younger sister Fanny. At eighteen, the girl ruled the cabin the moment her parents left to work in the orchards. During the day, she took care of her younger siblings.
“If you don’t fetch the wood, there won’t be any supper.” She had to be saying that to David.
“I don’t want to,” the five-year-old grumbled as he made his way to the door.
Through the front doorway, they glimpsed Fanny snatching his blouse collar and tugging back the child to swat his bottom. The boy yelped and Addy jumped.
“You better not cry,” Fanny snapped. “You’re not hurt. Go do as I say.”
David escaped out the door and ran off to the woodshed next to the house. A tabby cat darted out after him.
Bree and Addy waited next to the fence while Fanny hurried out, then she hooked her arm around the rope since she couldn’t see well. Fanny made her way to the family garden. Aunt Em’s youngest, Grace, slept on Fanny’s back, safe and snug within the long black cloth tied around Fanny’s bosom. The two-year-old’s head wobbled, but she never woke. Fanny stooped and ran her hands through the garden’s oblong sage leaves and the feather-like parsley plants. The family cat rubbed against her side. With a soft smile, she scratched the top of the animal’s head before she plucked what she needed and returned inside.
The sisters inched their way down the fence, ducked under the line connecting the cabin to the fencing, and walked up to the house.
When they were ten feet away, Fanny called out, “Who’s there?”
“Morning, Fanny,” Bree said.
“Fanny . . .” Addy murmured.
Luke’s sister emerged from the house again. Her straight face turned into a wide grin. “Might as well go about your business—Luke isn’t here.”
“Did he leave the farm?” Addy asked before Bree could.
“No, he’s here to stay—as long as he doesn’t start any trouble.”
“Is he really your brother?” Addy added.
“Yes, indeed. He sounds different though. Older,” Fanny mused. “He was quiet for a couple days, then he mentioned things he’d missed.”
A flush reddened Addy’s cheeks. “Did he mention me?”
“Why would he?” Fanny often spoke before she considered the bitterness of her words.
“Fanny,” Bree warned.
“From what I heard, he’s been alone for a long time. During the day, he works with Papa. Then after supper, he speaks with Mama by the creek.” She swayed a little, perhaps to placate Grace.
Addy approached Fanny. “Did he say anything about another woman?”
“Not yet,” Fanny said, “but only the Lord knows.”
Bree swallowed past a lump in her throat. He did say he’d been gone for twenty-two years. If he had a wife, wouldn’t he have brought her with him?
With nothing else to talk about, the Humbles sisters left. When the time was right, they’d see Luke again.
They tried to hide their wandering, but in a small community like the farm, they couldn’t keep such things to themselves. Soon enough, Grandma said to them, “Leave him be. Things are different now, but they won’t always be that way. It’s going to take some time to adjust.”
Sunday arrived, bringing a day of rest and prayer. That morning Bree gave thanks to God for Luke’s return. Wasn’t it better to have him home than lost or dead? She didn’t understand how he could have gone where he claimed to have been—but he was here. Even if he was meant for Addy.
The Bridge family assembled outside Grandma and Grandpa’s cabin and listened to Grandpa reading from the family Bible. Luke was there too. Family members lounged next to one another while babies fussed and children squirmed, but even with the interruptions, they were all together again.
While Grandpa read from Ephesians, Bree kept her hands clenched on her lap. Her little sister leaned against her, not knowing how Bree wrestled with her feelings.
At the end of his sermon, Grandpa spoke up. “In a few days, Luke and Addison will marry. May the Lord bless them.”
After the service, while the adults conversed, the children gaped at Luke. Bree’s older cousins stole glances in his direction too. He used to stand with them, but now he was an elder.
Briefly, his gaze connected with Bree’s and he smiled. His easy grin used to aggravate her, but this older, more refined Luke set her insides on fire. She turned away from him. He was still her friend, but in a way she hadn’t expected, they were a trio again. And fate would inevitably draw them apart. It was best for her to consider Addy.
Bree faced her sister and forced herself to laugh at a joke from Fanny—even though she wasn’t listening. She just wanted Addy to be happy again. Addy never asked for much, and she did her chores without complaints. She would become a great mother and wife. Even if she took her time to finish the chores, Bree thought with a smile.
The Sunday service ended, and as hard as she tried to forget about Luke, he plagued her thoughts. Seeing him alive and well, like a cape with different stitches and fabric, should’ve helped Bree cast her feelings aside, but an itch to talk to him still crept up her spine. Eventually, they’d speak to each other. And when the time came, would she be able to say her true thoughts without changing everything?
* * *
Over the next couple of days, excitement flittered through the farm, as weddings were a special time. The family would eat apple fritters, and a pig would be butchered for the feast. There’d be plenty of jovial conversation, and weddings promised the possibility of new children.
Bree should’ve been happy for her sister, but the thought of Luke and Addy having a child together tightened her stomach into a coil and never let go. To ease her errant thoughts, she fetched water in the mornings without her sister. Addy never hurried while Bree struggled uphill with her weakened ankle, but walking alone gave Bree an opportunity to sort through her thoughts and make plans for the future.
The forest always had a way of calming Bree. When she was alone, she could hear her own breath. The sighs. The sniffs when she wanted to cry. She refused to have witnesses. She didn’t mind being alone—until she met Luke by chance near the creek. It wasn’t like that morning more than a week ago when she’d found him perched carefree with his legs swinging in the water, a smile on his face. Now he sat on an elevated spot at the water’s edge. His face remained troubled this time, a pool of worries compared to the nearby tranquil waters.
“Morning,” he said.
She gave him a nod and shuffled down the bank. Her ankle often made the path precarious. Before she could hurry through her labors, Luke stood and reached over, took the pail from her. His palm was rough, yet with a single touch he set her stomach off-kilter.
Bree swallowed and managed to say, “I can do it by myself.”
“You always could do it by yourself, but I like helping you.”
She waited for him to return uphill, but he sat again. Her feet remained rooted to where she stood, but she itched to walk away.
