Orchard of Hope

by Ann H. Gabhart

  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.”

  “That’s what every man wants. A need to fill.” Wes pushed his eggs around a little more with his fork.

  “You need some salt for those?” Jocie asked. “Ketchup maybe?”

  “No, they’re fine.” Wes put down his fork. “I just haven’t got much appetite. All this laying around, I guess.”

  “You have to eat, Wes,” Jocie said.

  “Don’t you worry none about me, Jo. You just leave the plate there. I’ll eat it in a little while. I just need to swallow down some more coffee first to wake up my stomach.” Wes picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.

  Jocie tried to think of the right thing to say to make him want to eat, to make him feel better, but she couldn’t think of anything. Wes had always been the one who made her feel better when something was wrong. She wanted to do the same thing for him, but she didn’t know how. Everybody—her father, Aunt Love, the doctors—said Wes just needed time to get better, and that she needed to give him that time. But Jocie worried everybody was wrong. She worried Wes needed something more than time, something she needed to make sure he got, if she only knew what that something was.

  Jocie pulled her bare feet up on the cot, wrapped her arms around her legs, and leaned her chin on her knees. “Can I get you anything before I go with Dad this morning? Or maybe go up to your place and get you some more books or something?”

  “I haven’t read the ones you brought me already.” Wes nodded toward the pile of books on the table beside his chair. “Funny thing about reading. When you’re busy working all the time, you think it’d be good to just sit down and read all day, but then when you can just sit and read all day, your eyes get tired or the books all get boring after a while.”

  “Even Nero Wolfe?”

  “Well, maybe not old Nero, but I finished the latest one about him back in July. It’ll be awhile before he makes another appearance on the pages of a book.”

  “Maybe you’ll get something in your book club mail.” Jocie dropped her feet to the floor and sat up straight. “Or even better, you can start writing that Hollyhill Book of the Strange we’re always talking about.”

  “Now that’s an idea. I’ll think on it today,” Wes said, but he didn’t sound as if he really would. He took another sip of his coffee. “Your daddy says that boy he got to help at the paper is supposed to start today.”

  “Yeah. I don’t know how much help he’ll be. He doesn’t know anything about setting up ads or anything.” Jocie broke off a piece of one of the biscuits on Wes’s plate before she scooted back on the cot and got comfortable again.

  “You can teach him. And it don’t take a lot of know-how to do most of the stuff I was doing.”

  “That’s not true.” Jocie frowned over at Wes. “Me and Dad have been having a prayer meeting at the press every morning to keep it working until you can get back. Dad says we’ll be up a creek without a paddle if it breaks down on us.”

  “He could fix it.”

  “Yeah, right.” Jocie took a bite of biscuit and chewed a minute before she said, “What’s more likely is that we’d have to load you up and make you come tell us which piece to change or screw to tighten or whatever. So you’d better hurry and get well before the press starts missing you too much. It’s already making funny noises.”

  “You are oiling it regular, aren’t you?” Wes said, showing the first real interest in anything Jocie had said.

  “I guess,” Jocie said with a shrug as she finished off the biscuit.

  “You guess? You’d better know. It’ll break for sure if you don’t keep it greased up.”

  “I’ll remind Dad today when we get there, but I don’t think it needs oil. I think it just needs you.” Jocie poked his arm with her finger. “And I know we need you. Noah won’t be able to do half what you did.”

  “He’ll learn.” Wes set his cup down. “What’s old Zell think about the boy coming to work?”

  “She’s not too excited about it. I’ll have to bring Noah by sometime to let you meet him and you’ll understand.”

  “You already told me he was black.”

  “It’s more than that. I don’t know how to explain i
t, but you know, I told you how he was when I bowled him over on my bike. Sort of ready for a fight or something. It’s like he has his radar on full to catch even the hint of a slight, and of course, his radar was going full blast with Zella. You know how she is.”

  “Yep. There’s only one Zell in the world.”

  “And he baited her a little.”

  “Oh, like you do sometimes when you’re not wearing your halo?” Wes raised his eyebrows at her.

  “As if you don’t,” Jocie shot back.

  “Well, most of the time she asks for it,” Wes said, a real smile creeping across his face.

  “Maybe so, but we don’t usually make her ask twice. But at the same time, she is sort of like family at the paper. I mean, Dad needs her to keep things running, and I kept feeling like I needed to jump in between her and Noah so neither of them would get too upset.”

  Wes rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “So you’re worried you’re going to get caught in the middle?”

  “Maybe not the middle, but somewhere in a spot I don’t know what to say or do.”

  “That is a dilemma. You don’t want old Zell to go completely bonkers. Sort of bonkers is bad enough. And at the same time you want to get along with this new boy, and you’re worried you won’t say the right things because he’s black.”

  Jocie looked down at her hands. Wes could always figure out what she was thinking even when sometimes she didn’t know herself. “I don’t want to do the wrong thing. Like when we were out at his house yesterday. I didn’t see Noah. He was out in the field helping his father.”

  “So what happened?” Wes picked up his coffee and took another drink.

  “Nothing really.” Jocie looked up at Wes. “His mother was nice as can be. Way friendlier than she’d been at church. Even with all of us showing up on her porch. Leigh, Aunt Love, me, Dad, Mr. Harvey, and Miss Sally.”

  “Quite a crowd.”

  “But she was okay with it,” Jocie said.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe there isn’t one, but I went out in the yard to talk to Noah’s little sister, Cassidy. She was out there with the twins I told you about. Eli and Elise. They are so cute. Anyway, Cassidy, she’s maybe ten. She acted afraid of me.” Jocie shifted uneasily on the cot as if a spring had suddenly come up through the mattress to poke her.