Old Man Gaymer's Orchard

I miss this, I thought as I stepped over the lone branch fallen in the narrow road. Wind touching my face, I began to think of all the times I used to do this with my father. Yellowing leaves around me on the verges, tangled branches hanging over the bushes and the smell, oh the smell: damp leaves and the richness of my wool scarf that had long ago faded. Perhaps it was time that had faded that smell.

I put my hands on the cool and slick metal fence as I jumped the fence into Old Man Gaymer’s field. Dad had always said that Old Man Gaymer had the best scrumping land this side of the river, and boy was he right. With row upon row of glorious apple trees casting shadows over the still lush grass, it was enough for a young boy’s eyes to widen in anticipation. Back then, I could taste mother’s glorious apple crumble on my tongue the moment my feet landed I entered Gaymer’s little kingdom. I could remember the firm yet welcoming feeling of the apples in my hand, or their weight when father and I would throw them between ourselves. I guess that’s how I got good at catching. Maybe father taught me something useful after all.

Now, when I crossed the border, my feet got wet from the filled ditch. Groaning to myself, I stepped out from the ankle deep water, knowing I would smell like day old mud for the next week. I took five paces forward, and surveyed Old Man Gaymer’s domain. Once a realm of golden Coxes, ruby Braeburns and emerald Granny Smiths, was now a realm of empty, stooping trees and sodden soil that smelled like the death of the trees all around.

I sighed, and put my hands in my pockets, so much for apple picking, I thought as I noticed my boots were now dirty and oh Christ, I will have to clean them AGAIN, there’s no way I can be seen in these boots.

Behind me came another small splash, and a groan, just like mine. I would have known that groan a mile away, or those footsteps through the sodden ground.

Why does she have to be as inept as I when it comes to not looking down? ‘You could’ve told me,’ she called over to me. Her voice was just as wonderful as I remembered, a lilt that would set your blood aflame, but a softness that would calm even the most fierce of storms. A flower I never thought I would see nor smell again.

I really must stop with the cheesy hyperbole, I thought as I looked over my shoulder at her.  Her breath was visible in front of her, as was mine. I hadn’t realized how… autumnal it had gotten. It’ll chill you to the bone, even though the sun was out, the damp laid heavy in the air. No matter how many jumpers or coats you wore, you could never stop the chill.

Younger me would be complaining, but now, I never realized how much I missed the feeling of being cold.

Or the sight of her.

She hadn’t changed much, long black hair that seemed to fall over the top of her small blue eyes, still extremely slender and athletic. Best of all, she hadn’t fixed up her nose, something she always said she would do. The tip turned upwards, and in her words, made her look like a pig. Me? I always found it charming.

I couldn’t help but smile as she shook off her long black boots and the hem of her dress of excess water, and then rubbed her hands together while breathing on them. She always did that. You would think she was used to this weather, she hadn’t even been away from here.

‘I would have said something,’ I said, turning my gaze back to the dead, drooping trees, ‘but I thought I was alone,’

‘I saw someone jump the fence from the house,’ she said, approaching me, ‘I thought it might be…’ she paused, she was standing next to me now. If only she knew. ‘Then I saw it was you. I thought I was dreaming, but it’s really you!’

Oh, I forgot the enthusiasm she had for everything.

‘Did you come for a spot of scrumping?’ she asked, I could feel her eyes study me. I pulled my coat tighter around me, and I walked over to the nearest tree to me. I just didn’t want her that close, at least not yet. What am I thinking?

I touched the worn bark of the tree. It felt sad, coarse and grieving for what it once sustained, now gone. ‘I doubt I’ll get enough for apple crumble,’ I said grimly, looking for tree to tree. Each was the same. Everything was gone, no vibrant colors, no whistle of the leaves. ‘What happened?’ I asked, not daring to look at her. I never did say goodbye, what right did I have to be filled in on the local gossip by her.

‘Nobody’s been looking after this place since Old Man Gaymer passed,’

‘I would have thought your old man would have been happy about that,’

She chuckled, ‘My ‘old man’ is cantankerous, but he’s not disrespectful. Says there’s a long lost relative who’s getting the land,’

‘They’ve done a splendid job,’ I said, finally daring to look at her again. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she looked… happy? No, agitated perhaps? I couldn’t tell, ‘Didn’t know Old Man Gaymer had a family. Didn’t seem the nurturing type,’ once he caught father and I, threatened to give us a damn good hiding, lucky father could shout down any man.

‘Look who’s talking,’ she said, taking a step toward me. I wanted to run, I wanted to hide. My stomach began to turn in knots, my head was pounding with the sound of my heart, ‘you’d pick apples over seeing me,’ she added. The softness in her voice calmed the knots and pounds.

I shrugged, ‘I guess I just wanted some time alone. Crowded carriage and all that,’

‘Ah,’ she said, elongating the sound like she had just finished a satisfying drink, ‘before you always used to come bounding to my gate to see me. What happened to you?’

I took a deep breath. What had happened to me? I didn’t know about Old Man Gaymer, then I heard about father and mother, and now a meeting I didn’t want to happen. Cursed luck, I thought, maybe I crossed paths with a few black cats on the way here, or I forgot to salute a lone magpie. Or maybe it’s justice. ‘How long you got?’ I said, tightening my grip across my coat. I wanted to hide what was underneath. She didn’t need to see that, that was far away from her. Nor did I want her to see what was strapped to my belt.

‘Depends, sir,’ she said, with stiff formality. She noticed me holding my coat tightly, ‘a lot has changed in four years,’

‘Yes, Miss Carter,’ I said, mirroring her formality, before sighing. I began to think that perhaps it was better to be out with it. ‘Though not about how I think of you,’ I let go of the grip on my coat, and she took a moment to study me some more. I thought she would be afraid, and back away from me when she saw that I was wearing a coat of bright red under my grey overcoat. My trousers were white, stained with dirt, but the sash across my chest, which was still pristine and bright white, and on my belt was a faded cavalry sword. ‘I don’t want you to think of me like this,’ I said, a killer. A cut-throat. I don’t think she heard me.

‘So that’s where you went,’ she said, eying up my military uniform, before locking eyes with mine, ‘there I was thinking your father arranged a marriage for you,’

I sighed, ‘Well, it was either the Church or this,' I said, gesturing to my redcoat, 'No marriage, he bought me a commission,’

‘Where?’

‘First, India,’ I said, trying so hard to remember, and forget, all at once, ‘then onto Spain. I made Colonel,'

‘War’s over now,’ she said, ‘does that mean you’re home for good?’

I looked up at the tree, yes, everything had changed. Father gone. Mother gone. To look a man in the eyes as they died, once is a tragedy, any more and it’s just a sad fact. ‘I suppose I am,’ I said, ‘though father and mother are gone. My brother gets everything, and I have to start over. When I landed at Dover, I told myself the first thing I will do after I visit the church was get apples for an apple crumble, but… here we are,’

‘Here we are,’ she repeated. She then took another step closer. My heart pounded in my head once again. She playfully touched my arm, and snickered, ‘your brother didn’t get everything,’

‘No?’

‘Perhaps now you’ve given Napoleon a good hiding, you’ll be ready to talk to my father,’

I couldn’t believe my ears. The one thing I had managed to let go of as I sat in the ditches of Badajoz and dashing through the walls of Salamanca was… no, it cannot be.

She took hold of my hand, and gave it a quick squeeze, before kissing me on the cheek. Even though I was surrounded by the death of years of neglect, the thing I regretted neglecting somehow had sprung back to life before my eyes, ‘Or, at least come for tea,’

I swallowed, perhaps my dreams I had in camp had come true. Soon, the idea of apple crumble, or lack thereof, went far from my mind.

‘I would be most honored,’ I said.

I went to find apples, but I found the most beautiful and delicious fruit of all.