by Abigail Agar
Delilah had seen how hard he worked and she wanted to assist him. She just preferred that such assistance would be based upon something other than marriage. If she could work, that would be an income and she would be able to wait until the right man came along for her to marry rather than settling for simply anyone.
In that moment, their father burst through the door, appearing frustrated.
“Father, what is it?” Delilah asked.
“These blasted harvesters. Our lead, Mr. Hampton? Just told me that he’s planning to run off and try his luck in the New World. Thinks the Americas are better than England,” he huffed.
Delilah was shocked. Mr. Hampton had always seemed to love his job at the orchard. He was constantly eating apples as he did it, which annoyed her father, but he was a good worker, otherwise. To hear that he was up and leaving them like that was unexpected.
“I am certain that the others will help out, Father. They are good workers and will take on his duties. And you know that we are more than happy to help out,” Delilah said.
Maisie groaned.
“Speak for yourself. Papa, please be gracious and don’t make us go out there to pick apples. You know that it is hardly the sort of thing that young women should be doing. What will our future husbands say?” Maisie complained.
Their father laughed and patted her on the head with his rough hand.
“My dear, your husbands will be relieved that I asked you only to do so for a short time while I searched for another man to take on the role. Do not fret. You shall be perfectly fine and I am quite sure that no man is going to be too pained by the fact that you have rough little hands,” he said.
“Oh!” Maisie exclaimed, horrified at the thought of her hands being made rough.
“Father, you are only frightening her more. Maisie, we shall be fine. We will take in the glorious fresh air and smell the scent of blossoms and hear the birds as they speak to one another. It will be lovely,” Delilah said.
“You only say that because you have never had a worm crawl upon your hand,” Maisie said, looking disgusted.
Delilah and her father looked at one another and tried to hold back their laughter. Maisie’s incident with the worm was the stuff of legend at the orchard. It had been a humorous moment that everyone loved to remind her about.
“No, I cannot say that I was ever accosted by a worm, but I have had to sell apples in the market in Elmswood and I would happily spend my days plucking apples from the trees instead,” Delilah said.
Maisie still appeared quite frustrated, but Delilah knew that she would get over it. Once she was out there, enjoying the nature that surrounded them, she would be perfectly at peace with it.
There was a hush over them, and their father paused.
“Would you like for us to go out now, Father?” Delilah asked.
“Yes, yes, that was quite my point,” he replied.
Delilah laughed in the same moment that Maisie gave a heartbroken sigh. They rushed out of the room, making their way into the orchard where they found the other harvesters and day labourers going about their work.
“Good afternoon, Miss Feldman,” Delilah greeted.
“Ah, the DeWitt ladies! Good afternoon. Joining us, are you?” she asked.
“Looks that way for now,” Delilah replied.
“I bet we are on a short schedule now that the old dreamer is gone,” Miss Feldman said.
“Yes, I believe so. He must be quite an explorer to run off like that and try his hand in the Americas. But good for him. One should never stop adventuring, right?” Delilah asked.
“I don’t know about all that. I, for one, am perfectly content to remain right here. Anything else sounds like quite a frightening idea,” she replied.
Delilah looked to Maisie who was nodding enthusiastically. A few of the men clearly disagreed, and Delilah wished that they would speak up. But it did not appear that anyone was going to say anything further and she decided to simply be patient and go about her work.
She began picking apples, one at a time, loving the air that whipped through the trees now and then, tugging at the mass of frizzy curls that she had tried to pin down at the base of her neck.
In one particularly harsh and lovely gust, the wind brought a few apples down without her having to reach up and grab them.
The whole while, Delilah listened as Maisie complained about doing this sort of labour and how she would not be forced to once she was out in society and finding a husband.
“Of course you won’t,” Delilah said. “Just as I am not forced to do any of this because I too am out in society.”
At that realisation, Maisie sulked, and Delilah tossed her an apple.
“Here, add it to your bucket and tell Father that you have been working hard,” Delilah said.
Maisie got back to her work and Delilah continued with hers. As much as she loved this work, she did hope that her father would find a new lead harvester soon. The orchard would need it if they were going to accomplish all that they wanted during the season.
But her father was a picky man. He would not choose just anyone. He had to find just the right person. A person he could trust.
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