Us Against the World... War 1

Chapter 6: Sweet nostalgia

Tom's POV:
My mind is clouded with guilt as I try to keep up with Schofield's long strides. I'm such an idiot. Why am I always pushing his buttons until he's upset? Can I really not do anything right?

From the bottom of the rolling hills to a small stone arch-way, we arrive at an orchard. or at least the remains of one.

Dozens of cherry trees lay across the ground, freshly chopped down. Petals painted the area a pale pink.

The sight makes nostalgia well up in my chest; memories of the sweet taste of cherries which filled my mouth, lying out in the sun with Joe for hours, the only worry on our minds being that night's dinner.

Those joyful days seem worlds away.

For all I know Joe could be dead by morning, but I don't allow myself to dwell on that any longer. I know if I do, I'm going to break down and I really can't have Schofield thinking I'm even more pathetic... if that's even possible.

Instead I focus on the tense air between us as he walks forward. I feel desire well up in my chest. Desire to prove myself, to prove that I'm reliable and capable of doing this.

He speaks, and seems almost appalled by the sight.

"Jesus. They chopped them all down."

I catch up to him; we're now in the center of the orchard, a flurry of petals picked up by the wind surrounds us. I lick my chapped lips nervously. I know I should say something, that something being sorry. But since I'm just as pathetic as Schofield thinks I am, I don't. Instead I manage out a meager "cherries."

Approaching one of the cut trees, I crouch down. I pick one of the delicate flowers off the branch and hold it up against the grey sky.

"Lamberts."

I conclude, rubbing the soft petals of the flower between my fingers. I discard the bloom into the air letting it flutter down as we continue through the trees.

"They might be Dukes, hard to tell when they aren't in fruit."

At this point I'm just desperately repeating all of my knowledge hoping to ease the tension in the air.

"What's the difference?"

I pause. Schofield's tone has softened, it sounds more forgiving. I let myself breathe for a moment before continuing.

"Well, people think there's one type, but there's lots of them; Cuthberts, Queen Annes, Montmorencys. Sweet ones, sour ones..."

As I recall every type of cherry I can, we come to a stop in front of a particularly big tree. I look over to Schofield and he's looking at me in wonder.

"Why on earth would you know this?"

He muses, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Mum's got an orchard, back home. Only a few trees. This time of year it looks like it's been snowing, blossoms everywhere."
I feel myself begin to smile as well, getting lost in the sweet nostalgia of the memory. "And then in May, we have to pick them." My mood sours again as I'm reminded of Joe. "Me and... Joe. Takes the whole day." I trail off biting my tongue.

I look back up at the Schofield trying to mask my discomfort. There's a certain fondness in his gaze as he smiles at me solemnly.

"You're full of surprises, Blake."

He says and I swear I can feel some affection in his tone, but that doesn't seem like Schofield.

A cherry blossom blows past me with a small gust of wind and manages to get caught in Schofield's hair, the small pale pink petal wedges right between his helmet and his sideburns.