Chapter 5: The Orchard, 1990

by Elizabeth McWillams

Nathan and I slept in the orchard, underneath an apple tree just as he said we would. I woke before him, and lay there quietly, content in the grey dawn. He was cuddled up behind me, one arm holding me tightly against him, his belly pressing against my back. He snored just slightly. I tried to match my breathing with his but his breaths were slow and deep, my own shallow and quick, and it was too much of a struggle. So I turned my attention to the surroundings instead.

We had lit a fire the previous night and a thick and fragrant smoke still spiraled up into the chilly, morning air. We had scorched a sizeable patch of grass, but had contained the damage with the rocks we had found to encircle the fire. Beads of dew clung to individual blades of grass and our pillow and blankets were damp from the night. I realized then how cold I was. My feet had been uncovered and ached, naked as they were in the wet grass. I drew them up and wriggled them underneath Nathan’s legs. He flinched, turned onto his back, and resumed snoring. I could just make out his profile in the early morning light – his strong, rounded nose and full bottom-lip offered themselves up to the sky without apology. And those curls!  One lay across his forehead, another turned under his chin. I reached out and pulled gently at one, watching it spring back into place. Nathan started in his sleep, flicked at the tip of his nose and then carried on with his deep breathing. My god, how he slept! I felt a sudden surge of love for him that felt at once tender and thrilling, maternal and painful. Then, for some odd reason, thoughts of my mother swarmed in my mind and I realized, with amazement, that I was homesick. The Vermont landscape, beautiful as it was, felt to me in that particular moment like a swirl of hollow emptiness. The creeks, soft mountains, waterfalls and orchard were entwined like creeping vines, but sound and emotion echoed through it all as if space were endless, as if my solitude knew no limits, as if the thrill and sadness of life were nothing but waves of sound and light that retracted off the earth and all her various features and then came back, boring deep into my heart and belly, homeless and directionless until moored yet again in my thin, fragile frame.

Unwilling to feel so raw, I sat up and looked about for the bottle of water we had brought with us. Just then, I heard an engine rattling up the orchard and saw, to my horror, a pick up truck headed in our direction. We were trespassers – this was no public orchard. Seized with panic, I shook Nathan awake. He was raising himself up onto his elbows in sleepy bewilderment just as the truck rumbled up to our fire pit and came to a stop.

The engine idled as the driver unrolled his window. He was bearded, in his mid-forties or so. I recognized him as the director of the ski school at the local ski resort. He regarded us thoughtfully and laughed a little, then frowned.

“What you kids doing?” he asked. When we didn’t answer, he asked, “You lit a fire in my orchard? Do you know how dangerous that is?”

I made to apologize but Nathan interrupted me. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Just leaving now.”

Nathan and I sat there in silence, unsure of what to do next. We were naked under the blankets and this man just idled there in his truck, studying us. He propped his elbow on the window. His engine revved slightly.

“I remember how it is to be kids. Nowhere to go but cornfields. Or apple orchards.” He breathed in deeply. “What are you guys – fifteen, seventeen? Guess it doesn’t matter.” He chewed on his lip and then whistled from the corner of his mouth. Then his mood shifted and a shadow crossed his face. He squinted his eyes. “But you best get the hell off my land. I’ll be back around in 10 minutes and I expect you’ll be long gone.”

“Yes, sir, Sorry, sir,” I managed to stammer. He looked me in the eye and, for a moment, I thought he might have recognized me. I looked down at the ground and clutched the blanket up under my chin. Then the man drew his arm back into the truck and rolled up the window. The gears grinded as he put his truck in reverse, backed out and disappeared between the rows of apple trees.

“Wohoo!” Nathan called out, as if he had just scored a point. “That was a close call – did you see the look on that man’s face? That was hilarious!”

“Not funny, Nathan. That’s not funny. Let’s get out of here.” I shrugged his arm off my shoulder and, taking the blanket with me, began throwing our stuff into the back seat of Nathan’s car.