The Cherry Harvest (15 page)

Father glanced up. “Whatcha got there, Kate?”

She held up the dress. “I made it for Mother.”

He took his pipe from his lips. “You made this, for your mother? What a perfect color for you, Char.”

“It's silk,” Kate said, walking across the room to the couch.

“Silk?” Mother touched the fabric. “Where in the world did you find silk? I hope you didn't sacrifice any of your rabbits for this . . .”

“No . . . I stopped at the dry goods store . . . to say hello to Mrs. J.” Kate's mind sought a believable story. “Someone had just brought in a set of silk drapes, in trade. Mrs. J was going to send them to the government, but . . . I asked if I could have a piece . . . I told her I wanted to make something special . . . for you.” She paused, smiling. “The fabric for your dress, it didn't cost anything.” It didn't really, Kate reasoned. She had traded rabbits for her own outfit. The dress fabric was simply left over.

Mother put down her darning and stood to hold the dress to her body. “It's lovely, Kate. But I don't know where I'll wear it.”

“Wear it for me, Char,” Father said, winking in Kate's direction. “Put it on. I want to see it on you.”

Mother smiled and left the room. Kate noted that her step was a bit lighter than usual.

Father took a pull on his pipe. “That was quite generous of you, Kate. You've made your mother happy. I like to see her happy.”

Kate didn't feel generous at all. She squirmed under Father's gaze. It was easier to lie to Mother. “It was nothing,” she whispered.

After a few more puffs, Father continued. “Karl says you're doing well with your lessons.”

Kate relaxed at the change of topic. “He's a good teacher.”

“Yes, he is. And you've a good chance now to pass that test. I'm proud of you.”

She was about to respond when Father looked beyond her and took his pipe from his mouth. “Ah, here's my lovely.”

Kate turned to see Mother approach the parlor. The dress skimmed her figure gracefully. She had brushed her hair and put on pink lipstick. Her cheeks were pink as well, but that was natural when she was excited.

A sultry voice came from the radio, Helen Forrest: “I'm wild again, beguiled again, a simpering, whimpering child again . . .”

Father stood and bowed to Mother. “May I have this dance?” He took her hand and the two of them circled the room in a waltz, Father in his socks, Mother barefoot.

“You dance well together,” Kate said. Receiving no response, she added, “I'm going upstairs to get a good night's sleep.” She faked a yawn. “I'll be out late tomorrow night, remember? Josie's party . . .”

Mother looked as if she was about to say something, but Father spoke first. “Have fun.” He pulled Mother closer.

Kate went up to her room to paint her toenails.

FOUR O'CLOCK, FOURTH OF JULY
.

Kate slipped out the front door and hurried down to the dock where Josie waited. The day was hot but breezy, the sky a friendly blue.

“Wow,” Josie said. “You look like one of those sassy Vargas Girls!”

Laughing, Kate stepped into the boat.

“And your hair, it shines like gold in the sunlight. I'll go slowly so I don't muss it.”

Kate had curled her hair into rippling waves and added a green brocade ribbon. But she was eager to get to the party. She thought of Katharine Hepburn. “Go fast.”

Josie motored north and slowed in front of the big house. “Wow. It's like that barbecue scene in
Gone with the Wind
.”

Guests clustered in the dappled sunlight and strolled on the wide lawn. This wasn't the romantic light of the nighttime party. Here Kate would be fully exposed, an outsider.

Sitting in the boat, Josie held to the dock. “Well, go on.”

“Maybe I should come back later, after dark.”

Josie gave her a shove. “What's wrong with you? I wish I could go.”

Kate stepped out of the boat and stood on the dock and smoothed her hair.

“You're gorgeous,” Josie said. “Come see me tomorrow. I can't wait to hear all about it.”

Kate lifted her chin, smiled boldly, and moved slowly up the walkway into the laughter that floated across the green along with the rhythmic bounce of a tennis ball and the clink of horseshoes.

Clay's burly dog came dashing toward her, but this time Kate wasn't frightened. “Jake,” she said sternly. “Sit.”

Jake did as he was told, tongue lolling.

“Good boy.” She pushed her pretty pink nails through his fur.

“Kate!” Clay was hurrying her way.

Sauntering toward him as casually as she could, Kate was aware of her sleeveless silk blouse that showed off the form-fitting camisole beneath, her tap pants snug across her flat tummy, her long bare legs, and her peep-toe sandals that made her even taller than she was. She liked being tall. On her shoulder she carried a matching brocade satchel, which held the rest of her outfit, for later.

“You are a vision.” Clay reached for her hands and kissed her lightly on the cheek, his vanilla-scented skin brushing her own.

She took in his blue smiling eyes, his dark hair neatly brushed and oiled, his boyish freckles. He wore navy shorts and a white short-sleeved button-down shirt, open at the top, showing off a bit of curly hair on his chest.

“Lucky for you I had an opening on my dance card,” she said.

“I want the whole thing.” Clay gave her a sideways hug, his large hand caressing her bare shoulders. He offered her his elbow, and they strolled together up the stone walk.

The other girls wore swingy summer dresses or neat linen trousers. A few wore shorts, but not sexy tap pants like Kate's. She recognized girls from the previous party, girls who now stared her way. Lizzie, Eva. This time she wasn't going to let them rattle her.

She heard a whistle from one of the boys, then another. She ignored
the attention and glided forward, as Katharine Hepburn would do.

A jazzy tune drifted from the covered porch where a three-piece ensemble played—saxophone, drum, bass. Smoky scents wafted from a long grill.

“C'mon, let's get you a beer.” Clay steered her to a canvas awning that sheltered buffet tables from the sun. He picked up a beer glass and tilted it before the spout on a keg, filling the air with a malty aroma. Kate had tried beer once before and disliked its bitter taste. But this was different, refreshingly cold. She licked the foam off her upper lip. “Where's Peggy?” She gazed out across the lawn.

“Oh, these are just my school chums. She's too young for . . .” He stopped.

Too young for what? Peggy couldn't be any younger than me
.

“You're just in time for croquet,” he quickly added. “What's your favorite color?”

“Blue.” Kate gave him a sly grin. She knew well enough that blue went first. She followed Clay across the lawn.

Including Kate, there were three girls and three boys in the game. Clay chose yellow.

Kate handed him her beer and walked to the starting position. She took the blue-striped mallet from the rack and rolled the blue ball forward with her right foot, conscious of eyes on her. When she bent at the waist to swing, she realized she must be exposing more of her upper thighs than she was comfortable with, along with the curve of her bottom. But if she straightened up, she would jeopardize her shot. She wanted to win. Just as she pulled back on the mallet, a low whistle stopped her.

“Hey,” Clay shouted, scowling toward the sound.

Kate's cheeks went hot. She stared at the ball, trying to focus.

When she struck, blue rolled nicely through the first wicket and stopped short of the second, earning a point and another turn. With her next swing, Kate tapped through the second wicket, landing just outside the third.

Next up was Lizzie. She looked fresh and cool in a belted seersucker dress. The afternoon sun showed off purple highlights in her wavy, shoulder-length red hair. She was really quite striking. She stepped into position and kicked off her white sandals. Before she lifted her mallet, she glanced back at Clay.
What kind of a look was that?

Kate noticed Lizzie's thin, spindly arms. Glancing about, she noted that nearly all the girls had skinny arms. In comparison, Kate's arms and shoulders were muscled from lifting and hauling and shoveling. She should have put sleeves on her blouse to hide them.

Lizzie bent over her ball and tapped it at an odd angle, launching it backward. She giggled and stepped aside for Ronny, who slammed through two wickets and took the lead. When it was Clay's turn, he drove his yellow through the first two wickets and hit Kate's blue, sending it a bit off course.

“I saw that!” Kate gave Clay a mock pout.

“So sorry.” There was fun in his eyes.

Eva was next. Her dark brown hair was piled in curls around her plump face. She wore a pink polka dot dress with a low neckline, and when she bent to swing her mallet, the tops of her breasts jiggled for all to see. “Owww!” she cried when the mallet hit her foot. It must not have hurt terribly because she tittered and peeped around to see who was watching.

When Kate was up again, she managed to angle her ball through the third wicket, hitting Lizzie's red. That gave her two turns. She picked up her ball and took it to where Clay's yellow sat in the lead.

“No!” Clay cried out with a laugh.

Kate placed her ball next to his and put a sandaled foot on blue to hold it in place. She raised her mallet and gave blue a whack, driving yellow clear across the yard. “Touché!”

“Why, you little minx!” Clay rushed toward her and tickled her around the waist until she doubled over and finally fell to the grass, giddy with laughter.

Guests from across the lawn drifted over to see what the commotion was all about.

“My turn,” Lizzie called, claiming attention.

For the remainder of the game, they had an audience: boys and girls who had wandered over from other games, cheering every stroke. In the end, Kate won.

“To the victor, another beer!” Clay declared, taking Kate's hand.

Hot and thirsty, Kate drank greedily.

A petite brunette came up to her. “You're Kate, I hear.”

Clay introduced them. Her name was Sylvia. “You really showed Clay what's what,” she said with a giggle.

“He started it.” Kate laughed.

Clay shook his head.

“Boys like to win, you know,” Sylvia said. “Lucky for you Clay's such a good sport.”

“That I am.” Clay bowed.

“Hey, Clay,” a boy called. “Let's see if you win when you're not playing with girls.”

“Excuse me,” Clay said, leaving the two girls together.

“We're just starting a tennis match,” Sylvia said. “Do you play?”

Kate knew nothing about tennis except that it was an elite sport, something that Gatsby's guests would play, but she didn't want Sylvia to know that. “Thank you, but I'm a bit worn out from croquet. I'll just sit here and catch my breath.”

“I so wanted you to be my partner,” Sylvia pouted. “Next time, then.”

After Sylvia left for the tennis court, Kate roamed down the lawn. The breeze from the lake cooled the afternoon. The late sun gave everyone's skin a tawny glow.

Clay was across the yard now, tossing a football with a few of his pals. Other boys sat on the porch playing a noisy game of poker, girls crowding around, egging them on.

Off under a grove of maples, a group of girls sat on a blanket.
One of them looked up, shading her eyes against the low sun. “Want to join us?” She moved to make room. “I'm Beth.”

Kate sat next to her, grateful for the invitation. Beth offered Kate a bottle of Jitterbug insect repellent. It smelled nasty. Kate declined. Bug bites didn't bother her much—they were such a part of living on a farm that she barely noticed them.

The others introduced themselves. They were mostly from Chicago's northwest suburbs—Highland Park, Lake Forest, Evanston. They had gone to the same private schools, their families belonged to the same clubs. Now they attended a variety of small colleges and finishing schools. A world away from Kate's life.

Colored balloons floated about. When a yellow balloon approached the blanket, Eva stood and squealed and batted it on to the next group. She drank from a flask and passed it around. Kate took a whiff and decided against it.

After Lizzie took a long sip, she touched Kate's shorts. “We have to know. Where did you get your outfit?”

Beth reached forward as well. “Silk?”

Were they making fun of her? Pushing her to confess she was too poor to buy things?

Kate thought of Katharine Hepburn in
Alice Adams
and spoke slowly. “I was paging through
Vogue,
and when I saw this, I just knew I had to have it.”

They looked impressed, as if they believed she had ordered it from New York or Paris or Milan.

“Where do you go to school?” Lizzie asked.

“Madison,” Kate said matter-of-factly. “I'll be starting at the U. Majoring in English.”

“Starting?”

Will the challenges never end?
To deflect the question, she added, “It's my father's alma mater.”

“What business is your family in?” Lizzie said.

Kate took a sip of beer before answering. She didn't like all these questions. “Property.” Then, after a pause, “We have people working the land. Mostly cherries now.”

Beth leaned forward. “Which sorority do you plan to pledge?”

The thought of joining a sorority had never occurred to Kate. It probably cost something, something she couldn't afford. But she liked Beth. Beth was nicer than Lizzie and Eva. “I haven't decided.”

“I'm in Kappa Kappa Gamma, at Loyola,” Beth said. “We have a chapter in Madison. I'd love for you to come down to meet my sorority sisters before pledge week so you can see for yourself.”

Another girl bent forward. “At Northwestern, we—”

“I don't know what's so special about sororities,” Lizzie snapped.

The conversation came to a halt. Apparently Lizzie was not someone to cross.

Kate sipped her beer, thinking it might be better to ask the questions than to answer them. She squinted toward Lizzie, whose face was in shadow, the sun low behind her. “Where do you go to school?”

Lizzie threw back her head. “Miss Pamela's Modeling School.” She said it as if Kate should know it. She lit herself a cigarette, then picked a bit of tobacco off her tongue.

“That sounds so glamorous. Which magazine do you want to work for?” Kate asked.

Lizzie gave a laugh. “Models are not
employed
by magazines. They have agents.”

“Well, you'd make a great model, I'm sure.”

“I'm not interested in
working
.” She stared at Kate. “I'm interested in culture, stylish dress, deportment.” After a pause, she added, “Why, I could give
you
some tips.” Lizzie reached over and ran her fingers through Kate's hair. “It's awfully fine. You need a proper cut. Short. I'd cut it short. Hmm? What do you think, Eva?”

“That's a great idea,” Eva said. “Lizzie did my hair.”

“Let's do it tomorrow,” Lizzie said.

“You're staying until tomorrow?” Kate said it too quickly.

“You're not?” Lizzie smirked.

Kate caught Lizzie and Eva exchanging a smile. Kate wanted Clay's friends to like her, but she was off-balance here, unsure of her footing.

A cowbell rang out. “Come and get it,” Ronny shouted from the porch.

William was crossing the lawn with a tray of barbecued meats.

Guests rose and made their way to the buffet tables laden with trays of grilled hamburgers and bratwurst, fruits, salads, baked beans, breads, cakes and cookies. A fat watermelon sat with a vodka bottle nose down, draining into it. There were bottles of other liquors as well.