Free The Cherry Harvest by Lucy Sanna Page B

ruffles.
    â€œYou’re so fancy for kitchen work.” Charlotte tried to sound nonchalant. She herself wore a simple housedress, as she did every day. “It’s not as if we’re having company. This man’s a prisoner.”
    â€œMr. Becker is a teacher.” Kate took an apron off the hook, pulled the neckband over her head, and tied the waist straps. “Besides, if Ben were taken prisoner, we would want the Germans to show respect.”
    Charlotte tensed. “Ben is fighting for freedom and justice.” She looked into her daughter’s soft blue eyes. “Maybe this man can teach you math, but he fights on the side of evil.”
    THE KITCHEN WAS WARM and moist with humidity. Charlotte was stirring the pork gravy when she saw the two men approach the back door, dark clouds gathering behind them. She wiped perspiration from her forehead and glanced toward the cupboard drawer where she kept the revolver.
    The German was not tall like Thomas, but broad in the shoulders. He moved easily in a strong fit body. Must be about thirty.
    As they entered, Charlotte kept her back to them, ostensibly checking on the potatoes Kate was mashing.
    â€œChar,” Thomas said, “this here’s Karl Becker.”
    When Charlotte turned to look at him, a wild animal lurched inside her chest. She had expected a penitent prisoner, but this man exuded self-confidence, control.
    He had close-cut hair like the rest of them, but it was growing out a bit, dark, neatly oiled and combed. His mouth was a straight line, serious. He had a hard jaw and blue-gray eyes that made her stare. Not the warm blue of Ben’s eyes, she was glad of that. No, these were icy eyes, wolf eyes, reflecting rather than inviting. She shuddered.
    â€œMy wife, Mrs. Christiansen,” Thomas said.
    â€œMrs. Christiansen.” Becker stood at attention, gave a slight bow. She was relieved he didn’t click his heels.
    Why had she agreed to this? This Nazi in her home? She wiped her hands on her apron to steady herself, then faced him, eye-to-eye, unsmiling. “You’ll join us for supper.” Not a question, not requesting an answer, not even a howdy-do. No, it had been decided for him. She would go through with this tonight, and that would be the end of it. She need never see him again.
    â€œ Danke .” He breathed in deeply through flared nostrils, as if Charlotte’s words had entitled him to the sensual pleasures of her kitchen. She felt perversely exposed.
    â€œSuch an aroma I have not enjoyed in so long.” The edges of his mouth curved up gently, a deceptively innocent smile. And dimples! Evil people weren’t supposed to have dimples. She must have been staring because he raised an eyebrow, and his eyes grew warm, open, intimate, as if seeking some deep secret within her. Her cheeks burned.
    The breeze through the window carried Becker’s musky scent to her. She had to get away from him.
    â€œThomas, please show Mr. Becker to the parlor.”
    When the two men had left, Kate was at Charlotte’s side. “Mother, are you all right? Everything’s ready to serve.”
    Charlotte had forgotten her daughter, forgotten everything except the visceral presence of that man in her kitchen. “Just give me a minute.” She hurried out through the door and ran until she reached a budding cherry tree. She put her hand against the solid trunk and inhaled the earthiness of the fertile soil. Thomas had told her that Becker was intellectual, but she sensed something else, something more physical—this man lived in his body.
    A wind from the west cooled her cheeks and brought the taste of coming rain. Lightning coursed across the sky, followed by a long rolling thunder. Another flash. She breathed it in, then walked slowly back to the kitchen.
    THE SMALL DINING ROOM TABLE SEATED FOUR . There were leaves somewhere but they hadn’t been used for years. After they were settled,