The Orchard

The words still echoed, as a fresh, open, bloody wound that had received no attentions.  

It was not at all what was expected, turning a sunny morning into a waking nightmare. The drive back home was solemn to say the least, the shaking in his hands wrought from anxieties that he barely did manage to tamp down to an almost indiscernible level by the time he pulled into his driveway. 

She was gathering what they would need for the excursion to the apple orchard as he shuffled through the front door, it was an event they had talked about partaking in all summer long since it was something that neither had done since childhood. 

“How did it go?” 

“Okay.” 

She extended a brief, loving smile before returning to her task, the same look that captivated him years before and which he worked so hard to keep returning day after day. This time it was different though, he fought the damp that rapidly attempted to conquer his vision, turning his head to disguise the horrible reality within him. The ache nearly brought a groan of sorrow to the fore, also forcefully repressed by sheer will at the last second. 

Gathering his strength, he assisted her in loading the necessities into their restored 1967 Chevy truck, one that he had labored on many a night in the garage and had spent, according to her, a few too many dollars. She never complained however, when they took it out on sunny Saturdays driving around the countryside with no destinations in mind other than a road they had not gone down before. 

Being a warm autumn day, the windows were rolled down and as they passed the last stoplight on the edge of town the air brought on all the scents of the countryside that he had known as a young boy exploring the world around him, forests, streams and fields. He took all these in with a deep breath, somehow today they became so much sharper than before. Along the roadside there were little details that usually escaped one’s notice, but not today. The fence lines with the long foxtail grasses and occasional small tree or shrub that was fighting for its right to exist despite the landowner's objections, the singular, modest, odd copse of white pines only that curiously thrived in an ocean of maple, the rise of the railroad bed off to the left with its shieldwall of cedar trees, nothing was escaping his notice today. Even the faint scent of livestock from the larger farms was welcomed instead of cursed. 

The drive seemed to him to go by so very quickly, as if time was being drained away akin to dish water in the kitchen sink. They arrived at their destination; the parking lot not yet full as it was still mid-morning. Still, there was a decent number of people already there partaking of the festive atmosphere as the orchard had constructed a diminutive carnival with small rides for children as well as a petting zoo complete with llamas, sheep, goats, rabbits and even a pint-sized pony that could accommodate only small kids on its back for a ride in a circular pen. 

They paid their entry fee and toted their baskets with them past the entertainment district and into the orchard itself, rows and rows of different varieties of apples ripe and waiting to be plucked. 

“Oh, we are DEFINITELY having pie tomorrow,” she grinned gleefully, scanning the menagerie of fruit.  

His smile wasn’t as gleaming but one of introspect. 

They set about gathering the bounty, carefully inspecting for insect and/or worm damage, all the while his brain literally burned.  

At least it felt that way to him.  

Every leaf, every blade of grass, every cloud overhead was to him as gold was to the miser or a scrap of food to one starving. A gently blowing breeze caressed his cheek and he looked straight up into the sky and silently thanked God for this seemingly tiny gift. He felt the warmth of the bright sunlight that danced in and out of the field of scattered, slowly drifting cumulus clouds and immersed himself in it, closing his eyes and facing skyward just as he had done during his youth those times when he had gone fishing and lay sprawled on the grassy riverbank with care one and a mind set in wandering mode. He sighed pensively, memories danced and swirled in his mind of times past full of cheer, those things that had produced smiles and laughter. Family vacations, picnics in the clearing next to the creek that his grandfather had mowed specifically for, triumphs on the basketball court and the successes of their children. 

They were in no hurry whatsoever but eventually the baskets became heavy with Honeycrisp, Pink Lady, Yellow Delicious and she had made certain to acquire plenty of Granny Smith, being adamant that the variety was an absolute necessity for the future pie. Larger numbers of apple aficionados had gathered in the rows which along with the laden baskets indicated it was a favorable time to make their departure. 

Before leaving, she was of the intent to capture the event on her cellphone camera, snapping pictures of the rows of trees heavy with crop, the children frolicking with the animals who were either in heaven with the extra attention or seemingly somewhat annoyed in their aloof manner, and the creative fall décor with dried corn and stacked pumpkins. She would note later that his smile, although genuine, did not extend fully as it normally would and there was also a hint of melancholy in his eyes that had escaped her notice. 

He guided the truck out of the now crowded parking lot and pulled out into the road, heading in the opposite direction of which they came.  

“Do you have somewhere else you need to go?” 

“No. Just the scenic route.” 

He smiled at her lovingly, the returned to guiding the vehicle down the country roads he traveled on his bicycle long ago, passing the old stretch of land that once belonged to his great-grandfather, crossing the bridge next to it over the glittering stream where he used to catch crawfish to sell to the bait shop for Saturday night date money. Finally, nearing dusk after an unusually long meandering they arrived home. 

They gathered the days haul and tiredly deposited it on the kitchen counter, she set about to start cleaning the fruit. 

He could no longer contain the tempest inside and the tears flowed freely, though silently. In her busyness she turned to ask him to fetch something and no words escaped her lips upon seeing the quiet cascade. 

“What’s wrong?” she gasped. 

He told her. 

He was laid to rest two weeks later to the day.