Free River's Edge by Marie Bostwick Page B

“The Schoellers’ sons are grown and have crops of their own to tend. All the farmers have the same problem, and those that don’t farm are helping their neighbors that do. We’re racing against time and the odds, I know, but it’s all we can do. Let’s give it our best. Are you ready?”
    We went to work. Mama showed Cookie and me how to spear cut tobacco plants onto long wooden lathes and then place the lathes loaded with tobacco onto carts, which, when full, were driven to the drying sheds. Then Papa and Junior unloaded the prepared lathes and climbed ladders that reached into the rafters and hung them, row upon row, with as much tobacco as the shed would hold.
    Mama, Cookie, and I started spearing the pile of plants that Mr. Scholler had cut before we arrived. Chip and Chuck, who were smaller and better able to move through the rows of tobacco without bruising the tender leaves, worked at harvesting the standing crop, cutting the grown plants off at the base, then tossing then into a flat box with a long rope handle.
    Little Curt’s job was to drag the loaded boxes over to where Mama, Cookie, and I were working, but he was really too small to haul the big boxes. I saw him struggling and straining to pull a heavy box across a field, and making progress, but slowly. I jumped off the cart, ran to Curt, put my hands next to his on the rope handle and pulled. Together we were able to haul the box much more quickly. After we reached the carts, Curt grinned up at me. “Th-th-thanks, Elise. Th-those boxes are heavier than they l-l-look.”
    â€œThat’s all right, Curt. I’m sure you could have done it without me, but it goes more quickly with two, doesn’t it?” Curt grinned wider with pride and set to unloading the boxes while I returned to my job of spearing leaves onto the lathes.
    We worked from dawn until dark, only taking a short break in the middle of the day to eat the sandwiches and drink the coffee that Mrs. Scholler brought out into the field. My earlier worries about my potential ineptitude were unfounded. Though hopeless and clumsy around the house, when it came to working the land, I was suddenly able and confident. I found the earthy smell of the soil and the serenity of the field calming. The cold snap in the air made me feel sharp, quick, and wonderfully alive, although as the day wore on, the temperature rose steadily. By the time we’d finished our lunch it was hot enough that we took off our sweaters and ate in our shirtsleeves, enjoying the feeling of the warm sun on our skin.
    â€œThe weather has certainly turned,” Mama commented. “It feels downright humid. Maybe we’ll beat the frost after all.”
    Papa squinted up at the sun, now sitting high above our heads. “You might be right,” he said through a mouthful of sandwich, “but we’d better keep up the pace. The temperature could drop just as quickly as it rose. You never can tell.”
    As the afternoon wore on, it got hotter and stickier. The boys took off their shirts entirely. I had never seen a man’s bare chest before; I had rarely ever seen my own father wearing anything more revealing than a shirt, vest, and tie. Seeing the Muller boys shirtless was somewhat shocking, but it was impossible not to notice how muscular Junior’s shoulders were. I blushed, lowered my head, and tried to concentrate on my work.
    I quickly picked up the knack of spearing leaves without damaging them. It wasn’t long before I was hanging five finished lathes to Cookie’s three in spite of the fact that I took regular breaks from my work to help Curt with the hauling. Not that I was counting exactly, but I could see that for the first time since coming to Brightfield, I was more a help than a hindrance. Mr. Scholler, who passed by as he was getting ready to take a full cart to the shed, noticed my work.
    â€œHey, she’s a quick one, ain’t she?” Mr.