The Harvesting

by Melanie Karsak

  He leaned in and set the sweetest, lightest kiss on my lips. “Layla,” he whispered, brushing his hand against my cheek and down my hair.

  I did not resist. I kissed him back and this time caught the sweet taste of his mouth. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced in a kiss before. His mouth had a natural sweetness, like the light taste of raw honey. His lips, his body’s chemistry, were sweeter than any I’d known before.

  We pulled back and smiled goofily at one another.

  He kissed me on my forehead. “Two turkeys, not just one,” he said and picked up the birds, “and what did you get?” he asked with joking competitiveness.

  The image of the pale woman and her extended crown fluttered through my head. I smiled at him. Taking my glove off, I touched my hand to his lips. “You,” I replied.

  He smiled and kissed my fingers. “I like your answer better,” he said and then, slinging the birds over his shoulder, took my hand and we turned back toward the cabin. “Humm, who do you think will win the game tonight?” he asked jokingly.

  “Well, Team Undead seems to be having a great season,” I replied.

  We both laughed and headed back to the cabin hand in hand.

  Chapter 15

  That night I lay awake, restless. The puzzle of the man and woman in the woods stuck with me. I remembered that my grandmother had mentioned that forest spirits lived in the woods behind our house. Is that what I had seen? Forest spirits? Memories of old folktales floated through my mind, a kaleidoscope of different cultures. What, exactly, had I seen? And what, exactly, had they wanted from me? Part of me wondered if I had hallucinated the whole exchange. I knew, however, that whatever Grandma had done to me before the pandemic hit, her special tea, had changed me forever.

  It was nearly two in the morning when I heard a snowmobile pull up outside the cabin. Ian had been missing all day. Even though we’d asked him to join us, he did not come for dinner. Part of me hoped he’d simply stayed in town.

  Our dinner had been perfect. We used the old spit in the fireplace to roast the turkeys, and Jamie and Frenchie made a meal out of canned goods. Kira and Susan had looked truly happy, and I didn’t blame them. I also felt the happiest I had felt in years. Jamie played board games with the girls all night, giving me goofy and bashful smiles from time to time. Each time he did, I just wanted to scoop him into my arms and hug him until the world ended—again. I offered Jamie my spare room for the night. He was sleeping, snoring loudly, in Grandma’s old sewing room.

  The front door opened and shut. I heard Ian slide the bars and locks closed. A few minutes later I heard him banking up the logs in the fireplace. I lay in bed and tried to sleep. After half an hour, the whole house felt incredibly warm. I slid out of bed. Checking on Jamie and Frenchie and her girls, I found everyone else was asleep. In the living room, Ian was sitting in front of a roaring fire. The temperature in the living room was ghastly hot. His head was bowed. He held a bottle of beer loosely in one hand.

  “I thought you didn’t like warm beer,” I whispered, taking the bottle from his fingers, setting it on the side table.

  He looked up at me and smiled, but I could tell right away that all was not well.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing, I’m just not feeling great. I’ve been having bouts off and on for the last year or so. I just feel off, some pain in my stomach,” he said.

  “Is it an ulcer?” I asked. I kneeled on the floor and opened the chimney flue to let some of the warm air out.

  Surprising me, he took my hand. “I think so.”

  “What did the doctor say?” I pulled my hand back.

  “Nothing. I never went. We couldn’t afford it.”

  The we in the sentence hung in the air. I put my hand on his forehead. “No fever. You feel cold?”

  He nodded.

  Trying to make as little noise as possible, I went into the kitchen and grabbed a teapot. I set the water on to boil in the fireplace. After a few minutes I could hear the water rolling inside the pot. I moved it from the heat before it could whistle and made Ian a cup of tea. He smiled at me and sipped it slowly.

  “I think we need to call a town meeting,” he said after awhile. “The lake is frozen over, and the river is starting to jam with ice. I think people are feeling isolated, and at two houses I stopped at today, people had the flu. They were worried they had whatever killed everyone else, but Mrs. Finch thought it was just seasonal flu.”

  “It might not be good to get everyone together if people are getting sick.”

  “They could wear masks and gloves.”

  “Let’s wait and make sure the flu passes. Don’t want to risk it. Unless there is an emergency, maybe we should just call everyone for a New Year’s celebration. After all, we did live.”

  “That’s a good idea. We could even get out some of the old prom gear from the school storage, make it a party,” Ian added. He then smiled at me. “Remember our prom?” he asked.

  “How can I forget? Poor Grandma, bless her heart, wherever did she find that terrible yellow prom gown? I didn’t have the heart to tell I wouldn’t wear it.”

  “I remember they called you Big Bird, but you looked beautiful to me,” he said and smiled. “Hey, you still have that dress?”

  “I am not sure I want to answer that question.”

  “You should wear it again. Some people might get a kick out of it.”

  “Some people?”

  “Well, me.”

  “I am not sure I want to open myself up to that kind of ridicule again.”

  Ian set the cup down. He took my hands, stroking my fingers. “That was the best night of my life,” he whispered. We looked at one another. We both knew it was the night we’d made love for the first time.

  “Jesus,” Jamie said as he ambled sleepily into the living room, “why the hell is it so hot in here?” He stopped and looked down at us.

  I pulled my hands away, but I was too late.

  “What the hell are you doing back so late?” Jamie scolded his brother.

  Ian looked puzzled.

  I lowered my eyes.

  “I was all over town today. People are getting sick. You probably need to get out there and check on folks tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I guess I better do that. Doesn’t look like I’m much needed here anyway,” he said and turned to go back to bed. “Stoke down the fire, Layla, you’re letting it get too hot,” he called as he walked out of the room. The edge in his voice was clear, but his meaning hit me even harder.

  “What’s with him?” Ian asked.

  I shrugged. “Well, I’m going back to bed now. You’re okay?” I asked and rose.

  “Good enough, I guess,” he said. “Goodnight,” he added, gazing up at me. The look on his face told me what he was wishing for. I had seen that look many times in the past.

  “Goodnight,” I replied simply and walked down the hall.

  Before I went to bed, I paused in the hallway outside the spare room. I didn’t hear Jamie snoring.

  “Jamie?” I whispered.

  He didn’t answer me, but I knew he was awake.

  “It wasn’t what it looked like,” I whispered into the darkness. “I’m not—I don’t want—Jamie?”

  Still he did not reply.

  Sighing, I went back to my bed and laid down. I was just dozing off to sleep when I felt someone sit down on the bed beside me. I worried which one had come.

  I opened my eyes and tried to focus in the dim light. I found my grandmother looking down at me.

  “Grandma?” I said too loudly, clambering to sit up.

  She lifted her finger to her lips to silence me and motioned for me to stay comfortable.

  “What is it?” I whispered.

  My darling, she said to me, be brave, but you need be aware too. The great eye within you is open, but you need to see. Make sure you see, Layla, really see.

  “See what?” I whispered.

  Everything,
she said with a smile and then faded. See everything.

  Chapter 16

  By Christmas Eve the flu had run through the town and killed twelve of the elderly citizens, including Mr. Franklin. The flu provided Jamie with a good excuse to stay away from me. I almost never saw him, and when I did, he pretended nothing had happened—neither the kiss nor his jealousy. It was as if he erased the whole moment in the woods from his memory, and we’d gone back to being friends and only friends. The more he acted, the angrier I became. I did not want to be his friend. I wanted him.

  On Christmas Eve day, I dragged home a small pine tree for the girls.

  “Oh, look at this!” Susan screamed excitedly.

  “Grandma made me toss the Christmas ornaments, but I thought we could make some decorations ourselves,” I told the girls as I set up the tree.

  The last few months had been hard on the little girls I’d come to love so dearly. They had both lost too much weight and many times they were sad and sulking. They had seen too much.

  We rifled around the house and found a bunch of miscellaneous items to make decorations: empty shot-gun shells, canning rings, and other small items. I’d unearthed some silver paint from the barn. Frenchie put the excited children to work painting and then pulled me into the kitchen.

  “I have nothing for them,” she whispered, distressed.

  “I was going to head into town really quick. I needed to run an errand. Don’t worry, I’ll find something. Lend me your credit card?”

  She laughed. “Thank you.”

  I reloaded the guns and went out to the barn and got on the snowmobile. It was bitterly cold. I had on my heavy winter jacket and goggles. The snowmobile purred when I started it. After securing the cabin, I headed down the snow-covered road toward town.

  It was eerie to see the town completely deserted and covered in deep snow. If anyone else had been around, it was not apparent. The snow had drifted everywhere. I stopped first at the grocery store. While we had cleared the place of food and daily living supplies, I remembered that the owners had a claw machine full of toys.

  I pulled my gun and pushed the door open. “Anyone inside?” I called. “I don’t want to shoot you, unless you’re already dead.”

  After a moment had passed with no answer and no movement, I went inside. The large windows of the grocery store illuminated the space. We’d already cleared the store out, but you could never be too careful. That was a lesson I’d learned once too often. The shelves of the store were nearly bare. We’d cleared the store of rotting food to ensure it didn’t become a germ pool. Miscellaneous items littered the shelves, but the essentials were gone. At the back of the store I found the claw machine. Inside were numerous dolls, stuffed animals, and packs of plastic toys. Not wanting to break the glass and get shards on the toys, I pondered what to do. I pushed the machine from the wall then grabbed the axe that hung by the fire extinguisher near the back door. With a heave, I chopped the lock. After two swings the case opened. I grabbed the nicest toys I could find and stuffed them into my backpack.

  I was on my way out, moving through the aisles, when I heard the front door bang open.

  I ducked low. I held the gun in one hand and the axe in the other. I crept down the aisle, keeping an eye out for feet, and listened for movement. Nothing. I made my way to the end of the aisle.

  “Anyone alive out there?” I called.

  There was no answer. The door squeaked on its hinges as it wagged back and forth in the bitter cold wind.

  I stepped out into the main aisle. There was a figure at the end of the row. Startled, I shot. A moment later I realized I was standing across from a cardboard cut-out of Orville Redenbacher. I’d shot the popcorn aficionado between the eyes. Not a bad shot.

  The wind blew hard outside. I walked over to the door. The only tracks leading in were mine. Blaming the wind and jumpy nerves, I pulled the door firmly shut and used the axe to secure the handle.

  I then headed across the street to the only boutique in town. The front door was still locked so I headed around the back. The heavy metal back door pulled open with a heave.

  “Customer at the back. I need a fitting,” I called.

  Nothing.

  Pulling the door firmly shut behind me, I went inside. The atmosphere of the store was a bittersweet contrast to our new world. It was like someone had hit the pause button on modern life. Kiki’s mother Lil had opened the small boutique a few years back. She’d decorated the place in faux Italian style with antiqued wall paint, gold filigree chairs, and images of the Italian countryside on the walls. Inside I found a mix of clothes; house gowns for the seniors, home-coming gowns for the teens, and practical attire for men and women. I looked around the store and considered my options. At last, I selected heavy wool sweaters for Frenchie and Ian. I also spotted a number of prom tiaras in a glass case. I grabbed two of them for the little princesses. I stuffed all the items into my backpack. As I was exiting, I caught a glimpse of myself in a full-length mirror. It made me stop.

  “Christ, I look like Mad Max,” I muttered. Well, a cross between Mad Max and an Eskimo. This would never do.

  I set the bag down and went to the clothing racks. There I found a black cashmere sweater. I pulled it off the cloth hanger. Across the room Lil had undergarments. I pulled my coat off. Underneath I was wearing a stained and ripped old gray sweatshirt with a white t-shirt and sports bra underneath. I tossed them in the garbage. I stood shivering. I took a black satin camisole from the rack and slid it on. Over that I slipped on the soft sweater. At the counter Lil had perfume and make-up. I picked up a brush and smoothed my hair back, pulling it into a tight—not even a snowmobile can undo this--braid. Spraying myself with a little perfume and putting on some lip-stick, I decided I looked much more feminine. I pulled my heavy winter jacked back on and headed out.

  I then made my final stop, picking up the last item I wanted from Fisherman’s Wharf, a small restaurant that sat lakeside. After, I drove across town to Jamie’s house. It was late afternoon. The sun was just beginning to dip toward the horizon. Jamie’s small stone cabin was nestled into a deep lot surrounded by white-barked Birch trees. Dim light showed through the slats in the front window. The chimney puffed a small trail of smoke. When he didn’t open the door when I drove up, I was not sure what to think. Maybe Jamie was not home. Or maybe I was not welcome.

  I pulled the snowmobile up to the front porch steps. Trudging through feet of snow, I went to the front door. Jamie did not answer when I knocked. I peeked through the window. He had a gas lamp burning inside. There was a book and a plate of food sitting beside the recliner. I felt worried. I knocked again.

  “Jamie?” I called.

  There was no answer, but I thought I heard movement inside. Hedging my bets, I tried the door. It was unlocked. Now I was really worried. I pushed the door open and entered.

  “Jamie?” I called again.

  After a moment, Jamie called a weak “here,” from the back of the house. I pulled my boots and coat off and followed the hallway to the back. It was cold inside. I found Jamie in the bathroom leaning over the tub. He was vomiting into a bucket.

  Every muscle on my body seized tight.

  “It’s just the flu. I promise,” he said.

  I grabbed a towel off the shelf and headed back to the kitchen where I had spotted some bottled water. I went back to the bathroom, wetted the towel, and wiped Jamie’s face. I handed him the water. “Drink a little,” I encouraged.

  He turned, his back against the tub, knees propped, and drank.

  “How long have you been sick?” I asked, mopping his face.

  “A few days,” he replied. “Should be out of the woods by tomorrow.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’ll text you next time,” he said. I could tell by his tone he was exhausted.

  “Ok, big man, let’s get you to bed.” I offered my hands to pull him up. I put my arm around his back, draping his arm across my shoulder, a
nd walked him down the hallway to his bedroom.

  “You smell beautiful,” he whispered as we walked, “and this sweater is something else,” he added, “so soft.”

  I smiled but said nothing even though my heart was bursting.

  I helped him climb into bed then raided his closet for more blankets. Back in the living room, I banked up the fire. “You got more wood outside?” I called.

  “Yeah,” he replied weakly.

  I pulled my coat and boots back on and headed out. His wood was covered with a blue tarp at one side of the house. I brought in several loads, enough to keep him for the next couple of days.

  By the time I was done the house was toasty. I made a pot of broth in an old copper kettle and set it to keep warm by the fire. I was pretty sure I couldn’t mess up broth. I cleared the mess from his living room and bathroom, wiping down the entire place with anti-bacterial wipes, and then headed back to check on him. He was sleeping soundly. I pulled the covers up to his chin and checked his forehead. No fever. He did not wake, and he looked very peaceful. I went back to the front, grabbing more bottled water and his oil lamp, and set them at his bedside.

  I cast an eye outside; it was almost dark, and I needed to get back. I didn’t want to wake him nor did I want to leave him. I sat, indecisive, at the side of his bed. I stared down at him and stroked his hair. The setting sun cast a soft pink glow on him. “See,” my grandmother had told me. “See everything.” I stared down at Jamie and in that moment I knew two things: first, I knew I loved Jamie, and second, I knew that knowing who I really loved was not the only thing my grandmother had wanted me to see. At last I decided I couldn’t stay any longer. It was now dark, which made it dangerous to be out, and I had to make sure that Santa came for the girls.

  Before I left, I set a small package on the pillow beside him. For lack of better wrapping, I had placed my gift inside one of Fisherman’s Wharf’s dark blue napkins. I kissed Jamie on the forehead then went outside, locking the door firmly behind me.