Harvest of Love

Chapter 6

             The following morning at breakfast, we were informed of the grave news that an early frost was predicted. This meant our efforts would have to be doubled if we were to save the rest of the crop. For two weeks straight, we worked long and hard skipping lunch, but we did it. We finished the harvest just as the first tell-tale signs of an icy wind started to blow. Exhausted, I collapsed into one of the rocking chairs on the porch of my cabin. With my eyes closed, I savored the cool breeze. 

 "Here, you deserve a drink." My eyes pop open at the sound of her voice. And just like magic, she is standing in front of me, extending a large glass of lemonade towards me. 

"Thanks," I say and grab the glass, my fingers grazing hers in the lightest of touches, but I feel it zing straight to my gut. I drink it down greedily, the tangy sweetness quenching my thirst perfectly. I hand her back the empty glass, and her smile warms her chocolate brown eyes. 

"Good, huh? It's my mom's recipe," she states proudly. 

"Yeah, it sure was. What brings you to share it with me?" She tilts her head slightly to the side and says, "I wanted to thank you for all your hard work these last couple of weeks." 

"I was just doing my job like everyone else," I answer with a shrug. 

"No, I know you have the hardest job, and I've watched you do it without complaint. I even told my father he should give you a bonus," she states with a smile. All I can think is that she said she has been watching me. I had long given up hope of catching her eye, ever since seeing Mr. Red Pick-up Truck anyway. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and glance up at her and saying with a smirk, 

"A bonus?" At that, she sighs and goes to sit on the top porch step. 

"Well, I tried. My father isn't known for his generosity." 

"So your mom's lemonade is the next best thing?" I say, trying to joke with her, but I immediately regret the words for I see her back tense and the warmth leaves her eyes. 

"I just wanted to let you know your hard work hadn't gone unnoticed is all," she says defensively. 

"Beccy, I didn't mean . . ." 

"My name is REBECCA. Only Clem calls me 'Beccy,'" she states hotly. 

"Fine, Rebecca, then. I was teasing you. I do appreciate you thinking of me." She turns to face me, analyzing if I'm being sincere or not. Her face softens, and after a moment, she asks, 

"So, what are you going to do while the tobacco cures?" The curing process takes roughly four to six weeks, so most workers would go back to their families and enjoy a much needed break before they had to return for the striking and sweating process. 

"I'm not really sure, to be honest," I say. 

"You don't have family or someone special you want to see?" 

"No and no," I answer looking at her directly, and I think I saw a flicker of relief in her expression, but she cast her gaze down to the ground so quickly I might have imagined it. 

"Oh well, that's too bad. You should have some kind of fun . . . Hey! I know. You could come to the Anderson's Barn dance in a couple of weeks. It's always a good time, and you could finally mingle with people closer to your own age," she states excitedly. At this I study her. Her cheeks have a rosy pink glow, whether from the cold or my company, I can't say. The wind blows wisps of hair across her face that she quickly tucks behind her ear. "Well . . . what do you say? Do you want to go?" she asks.

"So, are you like asking me to go with you? Like a date or something?" I ask boldly, wanting to know exactly where I stand with her. 

"Well, no . . . not exactly. I've already got a date, but we could go as friends," she looks up at me hopefully. Friends, of course. Why would I have hoped for anything else, I think sourly . 

"I don't know. I won't know anyone there." I try to hedge my way out of going. 

"You'll know me, silly," she points out. 

"I don't really even know you for that matter." 

"Well, the way I see it, Mason Harper, you've got two weeks to remedy that problem. Besides, how will you ever get to know anyone unless you try to be a little social?" she challenges. I like her, I think to myself with a soft laugh. 

"Alright, Rebecca, tell me how do I go about getting to know you better?" I say with a teasing smile. She squirms a little under my intent stare, but then surprises me by answering: 

"For starters, you could ask me to come inside . . ." Her answer knocks the wind out of me. Raging hormones of attraction assault me. Does she imply what my mind tends to jump to? This is the boss's daughter. Spoiled, rich, and beautiful. Does she know the game she is playing? Probably. I swallow hard, and for some reason, I think of Clem and Ellie. The temptation got the better of them. Clem never told me the rest of the story, but it didn't seem like it had a happy ending. 

"I don't think that would be a good idea," I answer with regret. 

"Why not?" she asks demurely. 

 "Well, for starters, Clem's not here, and I don't think your daddy would approve." 

"I'm eighteen years old. I make my own decisions." 

"I'm sure you do, but your daddy gets to decide whether I get to be employed or not." 

"Fine. Do you like to fish?" she asks suddenly. 

"Sure, I guess. Why do you ask?" 

"There's a pond not too far from here. We can go fishing tomorrow in broad daylight and become better acquainted without jeopardizing my honor or your job. How about that?" 

"Fishing, it is then," I agree. 

"Alright, good. I'll meet you here around ten in the morning, and I'll pack us a picnic lunch too," she says as she stands to leave. "Well, goodnight, friend," she says with a smile and a wink. I watch her hop down the steps and cross the yard towards her house. I release a pent-up breath and think tomorrow can't get here fast enough.