Orchard of Hope (11 page)

“He doesn’t do the freedom marches with her?”

“I think he’s done give more than he wanted to give to that cause. Myra told Sally that Alex had a younger brother killed down in Mississippi or maybe it was Louisiana a couple years back. The boy was down there on one of those marches. Said the family never really found out exactly what happened, but the boy ended up dead. Anyhow, now all Alex wants is for folks to leave him alone and let him grow his apple trees. And his kids to be safe.” Mr. Harvey looked across the field to where Alex Hearndon had straightened up and stood waiting for them with his hands on his hips. “It seems a reasonable enough hope. I’ve been praying that it’s one he can see realized.”

“I’ll add my prayers to yours,” David said.

Mr. Harvey looked over at David and lowered his voice as they got closer to where Alex and Noah were waiting. “But we’ll just let them be unspoken for the time being, Brother David. I’m not sure Alex is open to the idea of prayer for him or about him right now.”

“Everybody needs prayer.”

“You won’t get no argument about that from me, Brother David, but let’s just take it slow with Alex and let him come around to our way of thinking on his own. With the good Lord’s help, that is.” Mr. Harvey turned his eyes back toward Alex Hearndon, let a big smile move across his face, and stepped faster across the last few feet that separated them.

Alex Hearndon didn’t smile when Mr. Harvey introduced David to him, but he did take off his leather glove, brush his hand off on his blue jeans, and reach out to shake David’s hand. He had a working man’s hands, calloused and rough. His handshake was firm, but at the same time controlled as if he was aware of his strength. “Pleased to meet you, Reverend,” Alex said. “My boy told me you’d given him a job. He’ll work hard for you.”

Still no smile as he glanced behind him at Noah, but there was a lightening in the man’s dark brown, nearly black eyes. It was easy enough to see the father’s pride for a son who might not yet be able to step up and fill his father’s shoes, but was growing into the job. It was also easy to see why Mr. Harvey had compared Alex Hearndon to Samson, even if the man’s hair was clipped off so close to his head you could see his scalp. He was tall and so muscular that he looked as if he might be able to pick up the jawbone of an ass and dispense with an army of Philistines. Now he pulled a blue bandanna out of his back pocket and wiped the sweat off his forehead as he waited for David to say whatever he had come all the way across the fields to say to him. Not a thread of his blue cotton shirt was dry.

David met his eye squarely and didn’t let the man’s lack of a smile keep his own away. “I just wanted to come by and welcome you and your family to the community. We were pleased to have Mrs. Hearndon and the children in church this morning.”

“They said they had a kind welcome from you and some others,” Alex said. “We expected as much if the other members there at your church are anything like Mr. Harvey and Miss Sally.” And finally there was something approaching a smile on the man’s face. Just a bare lifting of the sides of his mouth, but there when he looked over at Mr. Harvey.

“Not all of our folks are as fine of a Christian example as Mr. Harvey and Miss Sally, but we’re working on it.”

“Now, Brother David, Sally will bake you another pie without you buttering us up like that,” Mr. Harvey said with a laugh.

Nobody suggested moving off to the side of the field into the shade, so they stood there with the sun beating down on them and talked about the rocks in the field and how long the dry spell was going to last. “The ground’s cracking open and getting hard as these rocks we’re hauling off the field,” Alex said. “We’re hoping for some good rain before time to plant the trees.”

“The rain will come. We’re praying for it at the church,” Mr. Harvey said.

“Mr. Harvey’s the kind of man who brings his umbrella when we have a prayer meeting for rain,” David smiled at Mr. Harvey, then looked around. “So you’re planning to turn this field into an orchard.”

The man turned to stare out over the field, his field. His shoulders relaxed a bit and the lines of strain on his face disappeared. He pointed. “Up there at the top of the field is where the first trees are going in. The ground’s better there. Not so many rocks. I’m hoping to put in somewhere around fifty trees this year and then build on that number as the years go by. Down here we might try pumpkins or maybe some sweet corn. We might even try Christmas trees. I’ve heard there’s a market for them in the cities.”

David looked where Alex pointed and had no problem sharing Alex’s vision of a field of trees with limbs drooping low to the ground from the weight of their fruit. “‘I made me gardens and orchards, and I planted trees in them of all kind of fruits,’” David said.

Alex looked at him. “Is that Scripture?”

“It is. From Ecclesiastes. The writer’s not exactly writing about hope, but sometimes a verse can reach out and touch you one on one as the Lord puts his own special meaning for it into your heart. And now imagining what this field can be under your stewardship, the verse sounds full of promise.”

“A preacher should know the Scripture,” Alex said.

“That he should. Along with all who want to do the will of the Lord.”

“I’m not much on preaching, Reverend. I’ve done my time in church buildings. Now I meet up with the Lord out in the open.”

“As did Elisha. He was plowing with oxen when the Lord called him to follow Elijah.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed a bit on David. “I’m not aiming on having that kind of meeting, Reverend. I’m just aiming to put me in an orchard.”

“I’ll pray the Lord will bless those plans, Mr. Hearndon,” David said. “And when you do get the field ready to put those trees in, have Noah let me know. I’d like to come down and help you do some planting.”

“I’ll remember that.” Alex looked at him a moment before he asked, “Where did you say that verse was?”

“Ecclesiastes. I’m not sure exactly which verse, but I think it’s the second chapter.”

“I’ll look it up tonight if I get the chance.”

They talked a little more before David and Mr. Harvey went back across the fields to the house where Myra Hearndon had iced tea waiting for them. By the time they all piled back in the car to go back to the McMurtrys’ for the supper of leftovers Miss Sally would insist they eat, David thought it had been a successful visit. Yet the shadow of Mr. Harvey’s words on the way down through the fields stayed in David’s mind.

Things had felt so good out there in the field, even with the unrelenting heat of the sun beating down on them, as they talked about a time for planting, a time for hope. David didn’t want to think about a time for hate that might come to this family. That was the trouble with Ecclesiastes. Within the beauty of its words were hard truths. In every life there was a time to plant and a time to pluck up what was planted. A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to love, and a time to hate. A time of war, and a time of peace. That’s what David would pray for fervently for this family. A time of peace.

12

Jocie was up early the next morning. She got up early every morning to make sure Zeb was out of the house before Aunt Love noticed him sleeping beside Jocie’s cot out on the glassed-in porch. Jocie had been sleeping on the porch ever since Tabitha came home from California. Being pregnant and all, her sister needed a room worse than she did.

Jocie didn’t miss her room all that much. She liked it out on the porch. She liked counting stars until she fell asleep. She liked the way the windows swung up to attach to the ceiling to let in every bit of night air, especially the last few weeks when the heat of the day had gathered and lingered in the house through the night. She liked being able to smuggle her dog in at night to sleep beside her bed. Of course, she’d told her dad Zeb was coming in, but the subject hadn’t come up with Aunt Love. Jocie was doing her best to make sure it never did.

Come winter, Jocie supposed she’d have to move in off the porch to a warmer spot, but she didn’t know where. By then Tabitha would have had her baby and would need her own room more than ever. There was the couch in the living room, but they’d turned that into a room for Wes. The way it was looking, he might not be gone by the time the snow started flying.

He’d want to be. Being an invalid was wearing on him. Everything was a struggle with that heavy cast weighing him down. It was all he could do to pull himself to his feet by holding onto the straight-back chair beside the bed they’d set up for him in the living room. Every time Jocie saw him struggling to stand up, she felt a little guiltier. And a little more worried. She was afraid Wes wasn’t ever going to be his old self again. Sometimes it looked as if it took all his energy just to smile.

She’d come in from church the night before and told him all about going to Miss Sally’s house for dinner and her father making eyes at Leigh. At least that brought a half smile to his face.

“I guess it’s about time,” he said. “Your daddy’s lucky the girl didn’t give up on him and move on to the next guy before he started paying attention.”

“She says there aren’t any next guys. That everybody in Hollyhill is already married and got five kids or something like that,” Jocie said. “Except maybe you, and she’s too scared of riding on your motorcycle to go after you.”

Wes looked over Jocie’s head toward the open window. “It would be a good night for riding. A little wind in my face might cool me off.”

“You’ll be riding again soon. If you can get your handlebars straightened up a little.”

“That ain’t all I need to get straightened up.”

“Looks like to me, your problem is that your leg is too straight.” Jocie tapped his cast softly.

“You got that right, Jo. They need to make a hinge on this thing.”

And at last she’d gotten a real smile out of Wes. She thanked the Lord for that when she said her prayers before she fell asleep.

Now with the early morning sun coming in the kitchen window, she was slicing some of the tomatoes the church people had loaded them down with, while Aunt Love scrambled the eggs from the Rileys, who had a yardful of chickens. Her dad had gone out on his prayer walk before breakfast, and Tabitha was sleeping in the same as always.

“Will you need me here today?” Jocie asked Aunt Love. “To help can tomatoes or anything?”

“Not today. The tomatoes need to get a little riper before we make juice.”

“Everybody out there at church must have a garden.”

“For which we should give thanks.”

Jocie nodded. She didn’t have any problem giving thanks for tomatoes. Cabbage was a different matter. “The Hearndons didn’t have a garden. I guess they moved in too late for that.” Jocie looked up at Aunt Love. “Maybe we could share some of the stuff people give us with them. Do you think they’d like some cabbage?”

“I’m sure they would,” Aunt Love said. “But I don’t know that we should give away what the church people have given your father. A congregation’s gifts to a pastor are a special way they show him love, whether it’s vegetables or money.”

“Doesn’t the Bible say we should share the love?”

“The love, but maybe not the cabbages,” Aunt Love said. “‘Every man is a friend to him that giveth gifts.’”

Jocie wasn’t sure exactly how that verse was supposed to help her see why they couldn’t share their bounty of vegetables with the Hearndons, but she didn’t ask Aunt Love to explain. Sometimes Jocie thought Aunt Love just reached in her head and pulled out whatever verse was handy. “Sounds like Proverbs,” she said as she resigned herself to more boiled cabbage.

“So it is,” Aunt Love said.

“You should teach Sunday school class, Aunt Love. You know so many verses by heart, you wouldn’t even have to use a Bible.”

“Oh, no. The teachers all have to study out of those newfangled books from the Sunday school board. I couldn’t do that.” Aunt Love rubbed her hands off on her apron and started setting plates on the breakfast table, but she sounded pleased.

“The Bible’s the important book to know,” Jocie said.

“True enough. ‘All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.’ Second Timothy 3:16,” she said as she handed Jocie a plate. “You’d best fix Wesley a tray. He’s not up to coming to the table yet.”

“So you think I need to stay here and help take care of Wes?” Jocie asked as she put a couple of slices of tomatoes and a biscuit on the plate.

“No, go on with your father today. Wesley just needs time to heal, and you can’t speed that up no matter how much you want to, child. It’s going to take weeks.”

Jocie held in a sigh. “I know.” She put some eggs and bacon on the plate, poured a cup of coffee, and carried the tray into the living room. Wes was in the chair with his cast propped up on the stool. Jocie smiled and said, “Good morning. Coffee’s here. Of course, it’s not that real stuff you make at the paper, but we do the best we can.”

Jocie set the tray on the floor and handed Wes the coffee cup. She carefully placed the card table over his legs and put the tray on it. “You are going to eat this morning, aren’t you?”

“I guess a man has to eat,” Wes said as he picked up the fork without much enthusiasm. “Did you cook this?”

“Some of it. Just be glad I got up in time to keep the biscuits from burning.”

“Lovella does make a fine biscuit.” He broke off a piece of biscuit, put it in his mouth, and chewed dutifully.

“You’ve got whiskers.” Jocie reached over to touch his cheek before she sat down on the cot to keep him company while he ate.

“No Nurse Army Boots around to make me shave,” Wes said. “Thought I might just see how much I can start looking like old Santy Claus.”

“You’re way too skinny for that. You’d have to eat double breakfasts and dinners and all the time between.”

“I could get some pillows,” Wes said.

“And the ho, ho, ho?” Jocie asked.

“I’ve got plenty of time to practice on that. Months and months.”

Jocie smiled. “Then do it. Every church I’ve ever gone to, they have a hard time finding a Santa to hand out candy canes at the Christmas programs. You can fill the need.”