The sun rose the next morning, exposing a world that had gone unnoticed to Anne the night before. Emerging from the tent, she felt surprisingly refreshed.
Daniel had already awoken, she could tell because the fire was going and his blankets were neatly folded and placed at the foot of his bed. A pot of thick black coffee had been brewed and she poured a cup for herself.
Sitting down she surveyed the lay of the land, it seemed a world of organized chaos.
Cars parked on the property were filled to overflowing with supplies. Pots and pans, old mattresses, and blankets, cardboard, and even empty bottles that people couldn’t seem to part with for one reason or another. Everything she saw seemed worn out ten times over and dirty down to its core. Tents were pitched next to cars, which housed entire families of up to nine or ten. There were goats tied up to cars which were kept by the travelers for milk.


Anne Sylvia and Daniel joined the others, picking and prepping apples for shipment into the city. By mid afternoon the sun was high in the sky and the air is hot and heavy.


Sweat and dirt lay on Anne’s brow and mantle, and the moisture gathers dust. Her fine fingers and watchful eyes grazed the boughs as she picks. She was careful and treated each fruit as a delicate jewel. Setting each apple in the sack which she carries. Her movements are methodical and she seems calm as she works.
Although the day is hot and there is plenty of work to be done, she has grown accustomed to far more intense work and the picking is quite a vacation from her duties at home.

Daniel watches her as he carries crates from here to there. He is entranced by her peace as she works. He has been caught several times staring at her, not only by other workers, but by Anne herself. Maybe it was the heat but he didn’t seem to care. He imagined that she would be aghast by the sight of herself, but on the contrary, he found her quite lovely. Her hair was disheveled, windblown and falling around the curves of her face. Her lips slightly pursed with the focus on the task at hand. Skin tawny and glowing from sun, sweat and dirt. If there was one thing that stirred him the most it was her ease. He wanted to know what calmed her so, and kept staring, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mystery behind her peace, which made her so lovely.

Dan was busy working beneath his cap. Anne was glad to have the job she did. Seeing the boys lifting and loading the way they were reminded her of all the work that awaited her when she arrived home. But for now she would not think on that. Light work like this was something to be grateful for and she allowed herself to melt into the simplicity of the task at hand.
Still, Dan worked, not letting up. He must have been burning, she thought. His shirt was now fully saturated with perspiration. She lowered her eyes as she noticed his form beneath his clinging shirt. He removed his outer layer as if on cue with her thoughts. She could feel herself blushing as she allowed herself to glance at his frame. The motion of his body was evident to her now. He had a strong physique, which bowed and flexed as he worked. Her eyes followed the line from the width of his shoulders, tapering down to his to his waist and below. His black hair was completely unattended to and looked as though it would be soft to the touch. She thought she had caught his dark eyes peering up at her from underneath his heavy brow more than once. She liked his gaze when it met hers and once or twice she let a moment linger between the two of them before she gave a calm smile and looked away, as if forcing decency.
She liked watching him work. It seemed to suit his nature. His hands were strong and large with deep blue veins.

He was handsome and kind. Deep down she enjoyed his wit and the way he teased, it allowed her the opportunity do the same back to him and she enjoyed that.
She wondered what it would be like to be the wife of a man like Daniel. She imagined being driven mad by his taunting and teasing. Wonderful madness that would lead to things that made her blush as she imagined them while she worked.
She felt strange having him near, comforted almost. She could feel-see him moving around her, and watched him from her periphery.
It felt good to entertain these thoughts. She remembered the first night she saw him in the cellar of the conservatory. For a brief moment that night she had thought he was a handsome patron of the society; some rustic outdoorsman with an affinity for things that grew. What a perfect match that would have been! If only he were a botanist, she thought. But, he was not that. All his strength and good looks couldn’t change the fact that he was at best a swarthy, quick witted, passionate, bootlegger.

Into the evening, when the preparation of the meal is finished, the five have gathered back in the kitchen to eat. Joined by the Studeman’s five children, they sit around the table. Drinks are poured and refilled.
Sylvia, Anne and Christina have found their places among one another and are united. Dan, Michael and Joe are pleasantly drunk and settled in, bellies full of good food, there is ease and conversation around the table.
The children are drifting, young ones hanging on Christina she brings them into their bedroom for sleep.





Music is being played around a fire nearby. A boy who plays the harmonica quite proficiently for someone his age joined a banjo player and a guitarist. Improvising a lively tune, a small crowed gathers around them. People clapped along and tapped their feet and let out a hoot of approval when a solo was particularly sent. Sylvia surveyed the scene and wore the expression of a woman who had arrived home.

Anne was trying to picture where they would sleep, and how they would wash. She was not a good cook and wouldn’t know where to begin to know how to cook on an open campfire she was beginning to feel anxious already.
Daniel saw Anne worried expression and began to set up their site immediately. He was in his element, outdoors, and was eager to make provisions to make a comfortable place for the three of them.

At the Apple Orchard

At the Apple Orchard

Daniel was eager to get to the Apple Orchard, he was comfortable at Michael’s and was feeling quite ill at ease and not quite sure why. By now, he decided, he had been around these women long enough and was in need of a stiff drink and a chew to spit.

They arrived late Sunday evening. The sun had already set. The air was warm and dry with a smell of hickory smoke and bacon. Stew was being prepared at a nearby campfire. There were families camping in the open field just off from the main house.
Harvest was in full swing and the boughs on the apple trees hung low, heavy with fruit.
Mingled with the hickory smoke and bacon that hung in the air, was the crisp smell of apples that had fallen to the ground releasing the pungent aroma of their fermenting sweetness into the warm late-summer air.
A man from the porch of the main house let out a loud whistle followed by,
“Danny boy!”
As he sprang to his feet and hopped down to greet his friend. Walking to Dan he took his hand and embraced him with a warm hug the way brothers do.
“Glad you’re here Dan. I was a afraid you may have run into some trouble up north, I expected you a bit earlier.” Glancing at Sylvia and Anne.

“And just whom have you brought with you this fine evening?”
Removing his hat
”Ladies.”

“Ah yes Michael, these are some very good friends of mine.” Daniel began. “This is Mrs. Sylvia Breslyn.”
Michael takes Sylvia’s hand in both of his and winks at her.

“And this here is Miss Anne Hibbert.”
Michael, raises an eyebrow flashing Daniel a glance as he says, “Well Miss Hibbert, I am pleased to make your acquaintance”.

From behind Michael a woman’s voice calls to him “Michael,is that Dan and Joe Lavery?”

Michael draws his attention up to the porch and calls back, “Yes Christina, The’re here.”

Waving Dan up to the house.
“Dan, come up here, will you? And bring that husband of mine with you so I have something nice to look at while I fix us some dinner!”

Michael raises his eyebrows and pulling on his suspenders gleefully. “My wife Christina…she has a fine appetite indeed!”

Dan and Sylvia chuckle and Anne blushes, but smiles. All four walk up to the house. Upon arriving, Michael opens the door for his guests. He is the last to enter, lowering his suspenders as though becoming less formal.
Dan walks into the kitchen and is met by Christina. She is a shorter woman, and looks at least ten years younger than Michael. Her hair is swept up casually with strands falling around her shoulders. Her skin has a pleasant light olive color to it, which glows in the heat of the evening. She opens her arms to embrace him.
“Dan, welcome. You look well.” Noticing Anne and Sylvia. “Oh well, who have you brought with you?”

Daniel makes the introductions as he did with Michael.

“Wont you have a seat?” Christina offers, pointing to the table and chairs as they enter the kitchen.

As Daniel and Anne sit, Michael pulls five cup from the shelf above the sink. He fills them with something from a barrel in the corner of his kitchen and distributes the cups around the room to each person. Dan immediately takes the glass and sips from it, Anne takes a sip as well.

Sylvia remains standing. As usual she is only comfortable when she is busy and looks around the kitchen for something to do.

While Christina rolls dough for a pie, she looks up at Sylvia and asks intuitively, “Do you know how to make apple pie?”

Sylvia gives her a smile, asking, “Where do you keep your knives?”

Sizing her up, “Second drawer down”

Sylvia goes to the drawer, gets the knife, and immediately begins peeling apples for the pie. Christina continues rolling the dough.

Realizing that Sylvia has joined Christina, Anne suddenly feels awkward.

“How do you like the punch Anne?” Michael asks.

“Is that what this is?” Anne replies as she takes another sip.

“Yeah that’s what it is…and you can drink as much as you like my dear.” He teases, winking at Dan.

Realizing her husband is having a bit of fun at the poor girls expense Christina adds,
“My husband fancies himself for quite the master brewer, Anne. Trouble is he drinks so much of the stuff himself, that there’s seldom enough left for anyone else to give him an honest opinion on its quality.

In his own defense, “I do not drink that much!”

“Michael Studdeman, I am 38 years old, and in perfect health. It’s been four years since our last child during which time you have taken to drinking far more then your share. I happen to find that to be a strange coincidence don’t you? If it’s not the drink sir then what is the cause?”


Sylvia and Daniel are delighted by this display. Daniel points at Michael and bellows, as Sylvia wrinkles her nose and laughs heartily as she slices apples. Christina winks at Anne and gives her a steadying nod.

Although Michaels pride is somewhat hurt, there is simply not enough truth to what she has said to do any real damage, but he plays along anyhow.
“Well I suppose it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with the fact that my wife is a wicked shrew of a woman now would it?”
Rising to leave, he pulls up his suspenders. “Well I suppose that, that is all the humiliation I can endure for now. Daniel, would you care to join me outdoors?”

Dan rises as well. He follows Michael calling behind him to the kitchen, “I’ll see that he doesn’t drink too much tonight, Christina!”

“Aw, to hell with him Dan!” Christina calls back. The ladies laugh and continue with their work.

Michael's Apples

Michael worked well into the night in his barn He was a passionate craftsman and more of an artist, but he was not a fan of titles and pretension and insisted that his craft was merely a hobby.
On his hikes he would locate and collect burls to make into fine bowls, and tabletops to sell in town and in the city when he needed money.
Michael hated the idea of hiring help to harvest the apple crop every year. He dreaded any task that required too much organization and detail. So, in place of hiring a crew to pick his apples and sell them in the city, he simply put a sign out in the front of his driveway that said:
“APPLES. YOU PICK. CHEAP!”

The method seemed to attract plenty of folks who were passing through. Though he made a considerable amount less than he would have had he run his orchard like any other farmer, it was less nonsense and therefore good enough for him.
Most of the money he made from the apples came from the cider he brewed on his property. It wasn’t nearly as strong as the hard stuff most people in the city liked to drink, but it was good for a buzz and most of his customers were his friends and neighbors there on the island. They would stop in for a visit, share a meal and have a walk. Michael always shared a sample of the brew. Finally they would load a barrel onto their truck, pay him, and bid their host a good day.

He had also opened his property to folks who needed a place to camp, for a small fee of course.
He didn’t like charging folks to stay but he found that if he didn’t, they would never leave. He also didn’t want to play host to any less than savory characters. He was keen on welcoming other families to stay. He and Christina had five children of their own, and the company of other children was good for them.
He liked hard working folks who enjoyed evenings around the fire playing music and telling stories and fixing good things to eat together.
Usually during the day folks would pick together and share the chores around the property according to their abilities. Families fixed their own meals each day and fed their own families. Those who had food, shared with those who didn’t. Things were simple.

On Sunday’s the families would pool the goods that they had and cook a feast that would be shared by all. By sundown the children would drift off to sleep. The men would gather around the fire, crack-open a jug and pass it around.

In the past year, men began the tradition of sharing tales of their prosperity before the crash just one year ago. They would generally nod in silent understanding when a newcomer told of his recent misfortunes, shaking his head as he spoke like he was still trying to make heads or tales of the tragedies his family was being made to endure.
Because of this, Michael Studdemn’s apple orchard had accidentally become a place of healing for some and hope for others.
There was brightness about the place that made a person feel at home and grateful all at the same time.

Michael Studdeman's star formation

There was only one dusty road going through Whidbey Island. On either side there were golden rolling fields, beyond were sparse wooded areas. Small paths hardly big enough for a car to pass through were dappled along side the highway. Such paths were the driveways of the homesteads which were nestled along the Island.
Most who lived on Whidbey liked to keep to themselves. Music, a good brew, the company of honest folks was the aim. They were artists, writers, fishermen, distillers and farmers. That is not to say that they didn’t enjoy the company of others; they perhaps found the city and all it’s “color” a noisome distraction of the far simpler things they preferred. They had room enough for their children to grow and play without being told what to think and say by governmental institutions who had already decided that mandatory public education systems were far superior to good honest work on the family farm.

Most people on the island were self-sufficient. Mr. Michael Studdeman in particular took pride in telling folks that there were only three things he spent money on: Sugar, coffee, and yeast. Everything else he claimed he grew, killed, caught or built with his own two hands.
The topic of self sufficiency came up a lot in his home, most frequently when he had company. Michael would hold up both arms,flex his muscles in a show of strength proclaiming “What do I need that these two beauties can’t make for me”?
The joke of course was that Michael was a tall, rail thin man with scrawny limbs.
His wife, Christina, was a round, short, petite woman, who fit perfectly under his arm. She would chuckle, roll her eyes and lovingly play along, “Oh Michael! That’s why I married you. Nothing but Muscle and charm on this one.” She would add, winking at the present company.
He would then reach his long skinny arm out toward her pull her near and whisper, “All brawn, no brain…eh love…?” patting her bottom as she bashfully walked away.

He and his family lived on 15 acres, most of which was covered with apple trees. He was a joyful soul whose tendencies boarded on the side of lunacy from time to time, (particularly when he had consumed too much whiskey).
On several occasions his wife had go out looking for him well past midnight. She often found him stark naked with an empty bottle in his hand, far off from the house on a rock he referred to as The Moonlight Café. He was never an unkind drunk, just untamed. Christina, feigned irritation on nights like that, but deep down she knew he needed her and she didn’t mind dotting on him.
She would find him on the rock wearing only his boots, face down, with his arms and legs spread out in a position he belligerently referred to as the “Star formation”.

The first time she found him like this she was shocked. His arms and legs were spread so widely that it looked unnatural. He seemed to be attempting to make his limbs lay perpendicularly. Looking down on him with her hands on her hips she demanded, “Michael Studdemen WHAT on earth has come over you?”
Without moving or looking up, he drunkenly responded, “It’s a tribute my love. I call it the 'Star formation'. Do you like it?”
Shaking her head, afraid to ask, and yet how could she not? “What are you talking about Michael?”
It was difficult to make out his entire theory behind what he referred to as “The Star formation”. He slurred his words and his face was still smashed in the moss of the rock as he spoke. Somewhere in between the heartfelt mumbles and enthusiastic proclamations of a drunken zealot she made out the following statements: “…Thousands of years…going about our days…thankless to the moon and stars…ashamed of ourselves…perfectly placed my limbs...North, South, East, West... so you see," raising his head to look at her,"it’s the least I can do Christina…” Attempting caused his head to spin making him vomit on the mossy pillow where he lay.
When he had finished being sick, his head slumped down next to the massive pile of slop, causing him to be sick all the more.
Christina walked back to the barn to fetch the wheelbarrow and some rope. She pondered getting a blanket for poor Michael, then thought to herself that he didn’t deserve it and would probably vomit on it.

Upon returning to him, it took her a good forty minutes to hoist him into the wheelbarrow. She used the rope underneath the heavy part of his shoulders to lift him.
His head was at the front end which meant that the weight was poorly distributed. When she hit a bump in the path she lost control and the wheelbarrow took a nose dive, plowing Michael's limp body into the ground face first.

On her second attempt, she loaded Michael’s body face up with his head by her hands and feet in the front. Halfway home she heard him start to mumble something.
Then suddenly she felt his hands on her bottom as she walked. She started walking faster. She let out a yelp as he started to nuzzle the top of his head between her legs. At this point he was now softly singing “Danny Boy”, and exhibiting the first sign of arousal just below his waist. Walking faster still, she was just yards from the house. On she tread.
Leaving his left hand on her bum, he raised his right hand to her bosom and gave it a pet. She spotted the water trough just ahead, she was not 50 yards from it.
He nuzzled his head a bit deeper into her loins, a gesture that obviously aroused him because he was somewhere around "high noon" in his nethers. Just at the creshendo of the song,he began raised his voice to full volume while flailing his hips wildly into the night sky.
But alas, the spell was broken. Christina had reached the water trough and swiftly dumped Michael into the freezing water. She then slipped the rope under his arms and fastened him securely to the side. She went inside and fetched some soap and a good coarse scrub brush.
Upon her return he looked at her lovingly and began to recite her a poem. She looked at him squarely and gave his face a swift hard swat.
“Drunk or sober Mr. Studdeman don’t you ever take your liberties with me like that again!”
She began scrubbing him, head first with the coarse soap brush, really working up a good lather. Obviously in pain, he cried “Christina! You’re hurting me. Is that the horse's brush? You’ll take my skin off!”
Without letting up she replied “Good! We’ll scrub the devil out of you! Now hold still!”

Nights like that were few and far between, infrequent enough to be only a minor inconvenience between the two.

On the way to whidbey

They drove in the cab of the truck. All four of them squeezed in together. Daniel driving and Anne by the window. Joseph and Sylvia are making conversation from the middle seats. Things are rather cordial and pleasant.

“I don’t suppose you’ve been north to Skagit county, have you?” Joseph asks Anne, making polite conversation.

“No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Oh you’re going to love it Anne! There’s lots of farms up there.” A brief silence lingers. “And plenty of good hard working folks…like yourself.”

Daniel adds, teasing. I suppose farms and the like may be too common a thing for Miss Hibbert to care for. Remember Joe, she have quite a sophisticated palate when in comes to things that grow. She only likes things that are hard to come by.

Sylvia, in defense of Anne. “Well I suppose that’s where the two of you are like night and day then Dan!”

Reading himself for the insult. “How’s that?”

Joseph, savy to Sylvia wit, chimes in, holding back laughter. “Because he’ll take whatever you can get his hands on!
Looking at Anne, Sylvia allows a joyful snort of laughter to escape. Joseph’s laughter explodes and he and Sylvia celebrate the well placed and frankly, true insult at Dan’s expense. Anne chuckles a bit then laughs harder with Joe. Daniel shakes his head, looking at the three of them laughing, a lightheartedness suddenly comes over him and he joins in the laughter at his own expense.

The Skagit valley is very fertile due to the frequency of the flooding, from the Skagit River. The locals enjoy fishing and wild berries in the late summer. This late in the season, farms are abundant in squash, corn, onions, potatoes, and apples. To Anne, it seems a haven from the chaos in the city. Of course there is poverty in the Skagit valley. People have lost their farms and businesses, but those who still have land share with those who don’t and farmers trade with one another. There is plenty of space to make and grow things if you are willing to work.
Driving through the county Anne stares at the vast amounts of land covered in uniformed aisles bearing corn and potatoes. There is a hypnotic rhythm she finds in staring at the perfect rows as they whiz by them.
Passing a wheat field, golden, dry and ready for harvest; each swollen, nodding head, crisp and ready for harvest.

Watching the fields change from crop to crop Anne remarks.
“It’s a wonder, with all this abundance that hunger could ever exist at all.”

Sylvia sits around a table of women. All are playing cards and talking. It is a modest but nice home. Sylvia herself seems to be orchestrating the conversation. As the women talk Joseph Lavery walks in and kisses the hostess on the head, greeting her.

“Hello Mother.” Addressing the others, avoiding eye contact with Sylvia. “Ladies.”

The ladies greet Joseph in an affectionate chorus, “Oh yes Joseph, hello!” And so on

Taking her turn, Sylvia glances at Joseph from the corner of her eye, yet continuing to speak to her hostess…Josephs mother. “Isn’t it kind Anna!”

Anna, replying enthusiastically, “Oh yes! Joseph, you make your mother proud son! Kindness before all things…well done son!”

Joseph in vague agreement, unaware that he has walked into a trap. “ Yes mother, the highest of virtues, kindness.

Anna, to the other ladies at the table. “My boys furniture moving business has been doing awfully well lately. Hasn’t it Joseph?

“Why yes mother it has!” Replies Joseph.

Anna, continuing on. “You boys seem to have been making quite a few trips to Anacortes haven’t you?”
Joseph nods
“It must be a nice place to live. How many families would you say have employed the services of the moving company in the past year Joseph?”

Joseph, modest and careful not to divulge too much about the family trade. “ Oh mother it’s difficult to say really.”

“Well, all I know is you boys seem to be up to Anacortes and back again nearly once or twice a month.”

Sylvia, having orchestrated the whole conversation plays the fool to all but Joseph. “My goodness! With the amount of money people pay these days for a full service moving company to move their furniture, you boys must be making out like bandits!”
Looking at Joseph, she cocks her head to one side as if she has trumped him… and that she has.

Anna, unaware and continuing on, “Well son, you do right to the family name, helping Sylvia with her business venture. Heavens knows we can all use any extra help we can get in times like these. Am I right ladies?” To which they all agree with “here, here” and “lords truth”.
“I have a good mind to make the trip with you myself. A bit of work in Apple country this fall sounds wonderful. I do hear Whidbey is lovely this time of year. I’m afraid my health is not what used to be. But I assure you that you and… Anne? Is that her name?”

Sylvia nods, looking at Joseph as the realization comes over him
“Yes well, you will both be in good hands with my boys. Isn’t that right Joseph?”

Joseph, suspecting just what Sylvia has been up to here,
“ Oh yes, Dan and I can handle a pair like those two.”
He scowls at Sylvia as she plays her turn confidently, announcing “Jin.”
She winks at him and smiles. He shakes his head, half smiling. He is both completely put out by her and in awe of her

Sylvia and Joseph

Joseph Lavery is unloading his truck in the warehouse. Sylvia is following him as he works.

“So what you’re saying, is that you girls want to come along with us the next time we do a run up to Skagit Huh?” Joseph seems reluctant at the idea of having them.

“That’s right Joe. We just need to tag along is all?” Sylvia replies innocently

“Oh Sylvia, I wasn’t born yesterday, that can’t possibly be all.” Shaking his head. “What are girls scheming?”

Frustrated at his pressing. “We want to buy some apples Joseph. I know there are some small orchards out there on Whidbey. Boys that you know well I might add. Word has it that you Lavery’s have even bought a few barrels of cider from them folks out there to serve at your place.

Suddenly uncomfortable at the mention of business “Hush Sylv.”

“All I’m saying is that it would be a nice gesture for you boys to lend a hand to two struggling dames and few kids looking for some honest work. You boys are out there all the time anyhow, right?”

“Yes, from time to time.”

Going in for the kill now, “From time to time my ass. You boys pick up your spoils right there in old Anacortes nearly every month. It’s no secret Joe!”

Knowing he stands no chance, Sylvia is decided in her intention but he enjoys a good fight “It is a secret, and we want to keep it that way Sylvia. We wouldn’t want to raise suspicion carting along any extra folk with us.”

Sylvia, ever savvy. “Well, I figure that it would be less suspicious to bring two gals along with you. Who would suspect anything was amiss? Especially with a girl the likes of miss Anne.”

Joseph, considering it. “I imagine you two dames would be a classy addition to the operation…but it’s still too dangerous.

Now at her wits end. “We want to sell Apples by the roadside to make a few bucks is all!
It’s a simple request Joe. Shame on you! All the money you boys bring in with you rotten rum running! You ought to be ashamed of yourself! A couple of good honest folks asking for a favor and all you have is this cowardice diffidence…the nerve of you boys.

“I’m sorry Sylvia; it just wouldn’t go over well is all. It’s a dangerous trip as it is. No need to involve a couple of innocents as well… I’m sorry Sylv. My answer is no.”

Apples!

In the heat of summer the air is still and thick. There’s a haze of heat in the atmosphere. Sweetness and dust linger. Bees spread pollen and greedily climb over blossoms of lavender, lily and elderberry. The lush green glory of spring has ended, leaving behind dry and thirsty masses of once thriving vegetation.


Sylvia and Anne mound the potatoes in their small urban garden patch. Sylvia wears a straw hat and has a cigarette hanging from the side of her mouth. Anne has a kerchief covering up her face like a bandit. As they work the earth, more and more dust gathers in the air.

As she finishes her row Sylvia insists, “All right Anne you’ve worked me hard enough today.

Anne lifts her head to look at Sylvia, rolls her eyes and checks her watch.
“Five more minutes Sylvia. It’s not two yet! Keep going, we agreed that two o’clock we would rest”

“Oh I’m on to your tricks there missy; you’re just trying to get me to start another row you see!”
Motioning to her finished row.
“So if I do begin another, two o’clock will roll around and you’ll urge me all the more to finish my row. Next thing you know we’ll have finished all but one row a piece, and you’ll suggest we finish those as well and be done all together!”

Entertained by her accusations. “Why Sylvia I think that’s a great idea!”

“What? You Devil! You’ll be the death of me.”
Finishing her row, working with her head down.
“You’ll work me to the grave you will. You’re just trying’ to get rid of old Sylvia.”
As she finishes.
“I’m on to your tricks missy! Yes ma’am you’ll see no more hard labor from Sylvia Breslyn on this day!”
Tossing her spade down, walking away mumbling something in the same spirit that she has just spouted off. She walks to the front steps where there is iced tea waiting in a pitcher with two glasses. The ice has melted and Sylvia perhaps mumbling about that.
“So Goddamned hot the ice has melted…Jesus and all the Saints…slave driving an old woman all for a heap of potatoes!”

Anne smiles to herself. She has grown accustomed to Sylvia banter. She resumes her work and chuckles as Sylvia mumbles on. As beads of sweat gather and fall off of Anne’s brow, she is content and settled into her work.
“I suppose you’re right Sylv. I think I’ll finish here and be done as well.”

As Anne continues her work a large truck pulls up on their street and parks three lots up. It is loaded with people in the back of the flat bed. As the crowd leaves the vehicle each man or women is carrying a large crate of apples, some even two or three.
Sylvia scowls in curiosity as Anne lean her chin on her spade and looks on at the sight.
The people with the crates disperse this way and that, but one older gentleman stacks his crates one on top of the other and pulls a hand painted sign from the top crate. It reads simply “Apples 5 Cents”
Sylvia gives Anne a look of a cynic. Anne walks over and joins Sylvia on the porch.

Sylvia looks on sipping her drink. “I would like to see who in their right mind would pay that much for an apple.”

While continuing to look on in curiosity, Sylvia douses her tea with whiskey from a hidden flask, and then she takes a straight shot before returning it to her satchel. Sylvia hands Anne a glass of tea, which she has already taken the liberty of “Doctoring up” for her. By this time Anne is used to it. She takes the drink easily. They both watch in amazement as businessmen walk by on their way here or there, all seem to take notice of the old man selling apples. Many buy an apple and those that don’t seem to at least toss him a penny or two, just out of pity sake.

As the day drags on, the children shuffle home from school. Anne and Sylvia continue to watch the man from the window as they prepare dinner. Within two hours he has gone through two crates, which must have brought him at least a couple of dollars.
Sylvia has seen enough; she marches outside with a cup of
Soup and piece of bread. She gives it to the apple vendor.
She talks with him for a few minutes, then bids him goodnight and gathers the dinnerware.


Sylvia, upon entering, joins Anne who is waiting with bated breath for an explanation)
“Apples Anne. That’s all I can tell you. It is so easy and all you need is ten dollars to start up.”