Bitter Eden

by Salvato, Sharon Anne

  "She said it would be fun. It wasn't fun at all. It was horrible."

  "But not so horrible that it deserves all these tears. What can a few moldy old cards have to say that we would listen to?"

  'Then you think it is nonsense?"

  "Don't you?"

  She nodded, realizing in the same moment that she was snuggled close against him seeking comfort and protection. The man the gypsy had spoken of came to her mind and she moved away, blushing unseen in the darkness. "Are you very angry with me?" She tried to make her voice normal.

  "I am angry with you," he said and began to walk slowly with her to the house. He couldn't help feeling flattered and amused at her sudden move away from him. "You put yourself and Natalie in danger. It was a very stupid thing you did."

  "Peter . . ?

  "Yes?"

  "I promised Natalie I would go back with her tomorrow night. The gypsy wouldn't tell her fortune tonight. Mine was so awful I think she was afraid it would disturb Natalie's. What should I do?"

  "You won't go."

  "But I promised! And Natalie . . . you know shell be furious if I tell her I won't go after I promised."

  He sighed, then put his arm across her shoulders. "Then keep your promise."

  "I can go? You mean you'll permit it?"

  "Don't worry, I'll be following you. Natalie will never know I'm there. Keep this promise, but make no more. At night you stay in the house where I can be certain you are safe."

  She hugged him and ran into the house.

  Natalie was waiting for her in her bedroom. "Are you still going tomorrow night? Or did you let Peter frighten you off?"

  "I'm going. I promised, didn't I?"

  Natalie stood back, her eyes narrowed and distrustful. "You'd better keep it, or you'll be sorry, Callie."

  "Go to bed, Natalie. I said I'd go and I will. Leave me alone."

  * * *

  When Callie came down to breakfast the following morning both James and Meg looked at her with concern. "Aren't you feeling well, Callie?"

  "You look pale," Meg added and came over to her^ placing her hand on Callie's forehead. "You seem all right, but you'd better take it easy. Stay in today. The hops are nearly in; we can get along without you in the fields."

  "She is my partner. She cant stay in. Anyway Callie is fine, aren't you?" Natalie hissed.

  Callie looked over at James. "Take care of yourself, Callie," he said. "We can't be having anyone getting sick. Natalie, you will go with Anna."

  "But Papa!"

  "Show a little concern for your cousin, Natalie. Do you want her working when she is not fit for it?"

  "She is fine! There is nothing wrong with her. She just doesn't want to go with me!"

  "Natalie! I'll hear no more of this. Meg, speak to your daughter. Callie, you are to remain close to the house today, and not another word from either of you." He wiped his mouth decisively with the napkin and left the room.

  She was glad for the day of freedom from Natalie, and glad to be alone for a time. She hadn't slept well last night. As often as she would tell herself it was all nonsense, she seemed to hear the gypsy's voice telling her about the wormwood star, the man whose misfortunes she would share, and the man who would remain faithfully at her side all her life. And then she would think of Peter and the quiet night and his arm around her. Would the sound of his heart beating never stop in her ears?

  Most of the morning she spent alone in the house straightening the scullery and the kitchen. It hadn't

  been properly tended for weeks while everyone was busy with the hops. From August to October nothing took precedence over the hops, not even the condition of Meg's normally immaculate scullery. It took Callie the greater part of the morning; but she had it nearly at its best when Anna came in from the fields.

  "Are you feeling better, Callie?"

  "I'm all right I'm just a little tired, that's all."

  "Cleaning the scullery is not the best sort of rest Why don't you He down for a while?"

  Callie went to her room as Anna suggested, but she couldn't rest As soon as her head touched the pillow she began to think again. She thought of Ian, and of Mrs. Peach, of coming to the Berean farm, and then of the gypsy. Every time she seemed happy and things were going well something came along to spoil it

  She got up and wandered into the gallery where she knew she would find Anna sewing or preparing wooL

  "Do you need any help?" she asked as she entered the room and sat down.

  "No. What is wrong, Callie? You look so unhappy."

  "I'm not," Callie said dispiritedly. The afternoon passed slowly. With nothing to do Callie slumped down into inertia, and Anna began to worry in earnest

  "Something certainly is wrong. Won't you tell me? Or are you afraid it is something I would not want to hear?"

  "It is nothing, Anna, honestly. I am fine. I'm just tired."

  "Callie— is it that you don't like it here? I thought you did, but perhaps . . ."

  "Oh, I do! Honestly, Anna, I am not unhappy. I think I should have gone to the fields. I don't have anvthing to do."

  "Then how about taking a walk with me?" a mascu-

  line voice asked from behind them. Both Callie and Anna started. Stephen stood in the doorway, his head nearly touching the lintel.

  Tou could knock, Stephen," Anna said sternly.

  "But then I couldn't startle.you." He smiled. "Will you come, Callie?"

  "Go with him, Callie. Perhaps a little fresh air will perk you up." Anna gave her a gentle shove in Stephen's direction.

  "You don't feel well?" he asked as they went down the stairs and out into the farmyard*

  "I feel fine. I don't know why everyone keeps asking me," she replied irritably.

  "Well, I know just the place to take you."

  "Where?"

  "My mountain."

  "Your mountain?" Callie said and then thought of the hill that all of them called Stephen's mountain. It was a smallish sort of a mountain, but no one argued with his designation.

  Stephen awakened each morning to the view of that hill and watched the sun rise over it, bringing with it news of the kind of day that was dawning. Some days it was so mist-enshrouded that he couldn't be certain it was still there. Other days dawned with the sun glowing so strongly on its gorse-covered slopes that he wanted only to be up and out of the house.

  "There is no better place from which to view the world favorably than the top of my mountain. Come with me and I'll show you. You'll be surprised how everything changes. All kinds of ordinary things become beautiful from up there."

  "Oh, do they?" Callie followed him as he walked along the side of the sloe hedge. She touched the nearly ripe sloes, thinking how soon they would be busy making the sloe gin.

  "Yes, it's the detachment, I think. You go high up there and it's a new world you look down on. I love the mountain for that. You will too," Stephen said with great certainty and then immediately fell into a self-conscious silence. He seldom had much to say, and never so vibrantly as that. So they walked along in silence, Callie with her momentary need for reserve and privacy, Stephen overwhelmed by the rush of thoughts that he had put into words for her.

  To add to his amazement and embarrassment, an unaccustomed feeling of wonder touched him. He was aware of her as he had never been aware of another human being. He had always been able to shut himself off from others, and now he felt the warmth of her and noticed for the first time her distinctive gait. He hoped she would awaken from her pensive mood so he could hear her lively voice. He wished she would laugh so he could hear the sound. It left him with nothing to say of the common world, and he began to long for the top of the mountain for himself even more than to cheer Callie.

  Callie was paying little attention to where they were going, and less to Stephen. They had entered a section of the woods with which she was not familiar. She kept pace with him, turning when he turned, following paths that only he could see. They began climbing the hill, and once more
Callie awakened to the world around her.

  At the top Stephen stopped, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked out, pleased, over the valley and the house below. Never before had he felt such a sharp poignant possessiveness and pride in this world of his, and in his own being.

  He had spoken the truth when he told Callie that the world became a different place from the vantage point of the mountain.

  Callie looked down at the Berean farmhouse with its thatched roof, and saw its mellow beauty as the setting sun washed the half-timbered house in gold. She sat down on one of the larger boulders and lost herself in the sights and sounds of the closing day, thinking again about her father and the gypsy woman. And just as Stephen had promised, each began to take on a different light. Her mood shifted with the shifting colors of the sunset

  She was staring at the deep rich ochre of the roof, letting her eyes focus dimly and then with clarity as the sun made the colors change in warmth and depth, going deep into the blackness of shadow, when from the side of the house came a man. He became a part of her scene, like a new actor coming out on stage. Then she drew in her breath, and not knowing she did so, leaned forward to see better. She became rapt in the looking, and felt the tight-chested elation that comes with knowing one is looking at something naturally beautifuL

  He didn't know he was being watched as he strode to the well and splashed water on his sun-bronzed face. His hair was like wheat, silvery in moonlight, and he moved with the suppleness of a green tree shoot. As though he had to, moved by some inner joy, he threw his arms into the air, his head back as he watched the droplets of sunstruck water tumble down on him.

  He stripped off his work shirt and splashed water all over himself. Callie didn't move, nor did she want to. She was far too enchanted by the magic the mountain could work. For just this one moment, she was a Venus, a Minerva, a Diana looking down upon her suitor, and she was beautiful because he was beautiful to see.

  At first Stephen hadn't noticed Peter standing by

  the well. His eyes roved over Callie's young body and the rapt, thoroughly lovely expression on her face that drank in the rosy hues of sunset Though she wasn't finished, still, being but the promise of a woman, he didn't notice, for neither was he quite a man yet, and to him she seemed perfect. While Callie dreamed of being a momentary Venus, she became one in Stephen's eyes. Such were his visions of a future and the sights of glories to come. How close they all were this day when he was seventeen with a young girl who made his head whirl and his heart pound.

  He glanced away from her long enough to let Peter's form catch his eye. The Venus disappeared, and his thoughts traveled back to a time when he was younger and Peter would race him from the base of the hill back to the house. He smiled as he looked at his brother, and wondered if Peter would remember.

  "Peterl" he called in a voice that carried across the valley.

  Peter Berean, shaking his wet hair like a tawny young lion, stopped and looked to the top of the hill at Stephen. He raised his arm, waving and smiling. Then he sprinted toward the hill and was lost from* sight, but Stephen waited, poised—and listening.

  Til race you!"

  Callie was forgotten, and Stephen began to run down the hillside in a long-legged sprint. Peter waited at the base until his younger brother neared him. Then, taking a good headstart, he ran along the turning paths through the woods to the farmhouse, his heavier, well-formed body losing a little ground to Stephen at each stride.

  Callie watched from the hillside as she walked slowly down. Her thoughts were not for the race or its winner. Stephen belonged, like all mortal creatures, to that world of ordinary plainness, and she was putting

  that off a moment at a time. She knew that by the time she reached the bottom of the hill and went back inside the farmhouse Peter would also look like everyone else. But for a few minutes from the top of the hill Peter Berean had looked as she had never seen any man or woman look.

  When she made her leisurely way down the hill, Peter and Stephen had disappeared into the house. No one was left in the farmyard. The well stood alone, a solitary stone monument with only the puddles of water at its base giving testimony that Peter had been there at all. But Callie knew. She had only to close her eyes against the setting sun, and there in the red brilliance she would see him over and over standing at the well with the water pouring over him making his torso glisten in the light. She wrapped herself in the fleeting and delight-filled moments of a girl's first romantic love.

  She had never felt this before, but then she had never seen a man like Peter before, and never from the top of a mountain. Mountains were made to make men know what it was to soar, and Callie had been captured in flight, caught and held far above the earth. She went back to the house smiling both inside and out. She ran to her room, not stopping to look in at the others gathered happily and noisily in the kitchen. Her bed smelled sweet and freshly aired as she flung herself onto it, pulling the pillow close against her hot face.

  The transformation in Callie should have been apparent to both Anna and Meg. But as usual the supper hour was filled with the talk of the day and the relaying of stories. No one noticed Callie at all.

  "You are going with me tonight, aren't you?" Nat-

  alie asked as soon as the table was cleared and the dishes done.

  "I told you I would. Don't fret so." Callie laughed.

  "What are you so happy about? I thought you really didn't want to go, especially after Peter caught us last night."

  "I want to now; and anyway, it isn't likely that we could get in trouble two nights in a row," Callie said and felt a shiver of anticipation as she thought of Peter moving unseen and unheard, watching out for them and protecting them as they made their visit to the gypsy. Natalie would be livid if she knew about it. Even that pleased Callie, and she laughed aloud.

  "What is wrong with you? You're plain giddy," Natalie hissed. "Stop it, or someone will wonder. Mama will put you right to bed if she thinks something is wrong with you."

  It was nearly midnight before the house quieted down and Natalie and Callie could think of going. Twice Peter tried to get everyone to retire for the night, but they were all having a good time. Finally James made a great show of looking at his watch and yawning. "We're going to pay for this night's fun tomorrow," he said and looked pointedly at each of them. Cards were put back in their place, the backgammon board put on its shelf, and the room emptied and darkened.

  "It's about time," Natalie whispered in Callie's ear as they climbed the stairs ostensibly to go to bed. "I thought they'd stay up all night."

  Half an hour later they were making their way through the woods. Callie could neither see nor hear Peter. Several times she wondered if he had changed his mind. Perhaps he thought they would have better sense than to go so late. He should know his sister better than that

  !

  Natalie was so excited she could barely talk. Her whole body trembled with tension. "She'll not refuse me tonight. She can't. If I have to camp in front of her wagon, I will. That old hag . . . what business has she to refuse me my own fortune?"

  "She said she would tell you, Natalie," Callie panted. "Don't run so. I cant keep up, and the last thing I want to do is get lost in these woods."

  Within minutes they came to the clearing. The campfire was cold. The ashes were already scattered by the wind. Where the gaily colored wagon had stood were only the tracks it had made in leaving. The gypsy woman was gone.

  Chapter 13

  As though the gypsy had, by leaving, put all her predictions into motion, the world of the Bereans began to crumble. The hop picking season was nearly over. The nights were no longer pierced with the sounds of the music makers and dancers. It was late October and growing cold again. Some of the seasonal workers had already left; the ones remaining were tired, and the fires burned low and went out earlier than before.

  James was pleased with his year considering its bad beginning. It wasn't the crop he could expect in a good or even
a fair year, but neither was it a disaster. They would manage. Frugality was no stranger to them. Meg knew how to run a household on little, and she would. For that he was thankful.

  For the end of the season he was thankful as well. He was tired and not feeling well. He almost looked forward to a long cold winter that would force him to stay indoors. Perhaps it would also help quell the continuing burnings and riots. There comes a time when even the most patient of men needs a moment's peace. For James the time was now. He no longer wanted to

  think of Peter riding with these men, or of Frank trying to remain uninvolved and secure with his farm.

  Each night Peter and Frank walked the fields and checked each of the barns and cottages—a necessary procedure and one that kept them constantly aware of the uncertainty of the times. No one had bothered the farm so far, and with a little luck no one would. That was mostly due to Peter's efforts, as they all knew. Peter continued to ride periodically with the laborers, going out into the night and accompanying them on their search for threshing machines brought down from the north. He liked to think he was helpful not only to his own family, but to all concerned.

  His intentions, however, did not lessen the danger to himself. If he were caught, he would be arrested with the others. If that should happen there was nothing any of them could do to help him. But he continued for the sake of both the farm and the laborers— and because he enjoyed the danger and the excitement.

  Albert was his worst critic and his greatest threat. Though he couldn't prove that Peter rode with the Swing men, his suspicions were all but certainties. Peter didn't deceive himself that Albert wanted to see him caught and punished. Peter's activities pricked Albert's pride, and there was a certain jealous hostility of Albert's that Peter didn't understand completely, but recognized,