CHAP 3

The older man introduced himself as Mr. Patrick. He wasn’t much of a talker after she settled into the pickup cab and they got back on the road. His radio filled most of the noise as random DJ’s bantered about the colder weather and the frost covering their cars this morning. The traffic began to pickup as the sun rose before them. He took an off road heading south and mumbled under his breath at the other ignorant drivers. Jesse looked out the window as she soaked up the heat blasting through the vents. The directions they took and noted the highway exit as they headed out of the south end of town.

“I got me a little ranch out near Eastbrook with a few cows, a horse or two, some pigs, a small pond, and some stubborn apple trees that won’t quit. This weathers been a bit too chilly and late bloom of apples needs to be picked before full winter comes.” His eyes glanced over at her and back to the road. “Hopefully, you can help me out with that and like I said I’ll pay ya $3.00 a bushel. I’ve got some spare gloves you can use.”

They traveled another twenty minutes and then slowed down, turning into a dirt driveway entry between some wooden fence posts. He stopped completely before passing thru and jumped out of the truck to grab his newspaper that was sticking out of the mailbox that lined the rural road. With a quick grunt, hopping back into the truck, they were on the move again.

The dirt road traveled in between a couple dozen apple trees fully loaded with fruit. Jesse eyed them without comment. She didn’t know the first thing about apples except how to peel and eat them. They continued through into a small clearing of a pond on the left and a gated pasture on the right. Some birds flocked onto the pond surface. A minute later they drove up past a huge barn on the right. The double wide doors were closed but Jesse could see the small upper hay loft was filled and a small pile to the left of the barn doors was being nibbled on by a few cattle. The outer barn walls were the appropriate red in color, although a bit faded. Just past the large building was the end of the drive which circled around a great big old oak tree sitting in the middle of the front yard, complete with an old rope swing hanging off a huge limb. A nice blue one story ranch house complete with dog on the front porch filled the Norman Rockwell scene. At least Jesse thought it was a dog. It was an animal of some sort. Mr. Patrick pulled the truck up in front of the house and Jesse noted the wrap around front porch, a few little windows, and lacey curtains that framed the glass from the inside.

Without a fuss Mr. Patrick grabbed his paper braved the morning chill to head into the house.

“Let’s get some breakfast.”

Jesse was all for that and quickly followed the much shorter man. Nearing the front porch the pseudo-dog stood up and turned out to be a huge waddling duck. Mr. Patrick shoed at it with the newspaper but an arrestingly loud squawk was sounded and it waddled off to the side of the porch to plop down again. He continued into the house.

She let the screen door close softly behind her as she entered into a living room. A flower print covered couch, and several knick knacks on every wall and shelf showed the clear touch of a woman. But the hand of a man was obvious as well. Some random TV trays setup, overflowing with books and paper, a comfortable lazy boy recliner, and a few coffee cups strewn around the room on stained lacy doilies were the proof. The strong smell of coffee and bacon permeated the air.

“Come into the kitchen. Hopefully we can scare up some good eats while the sun warms up the fields.”

Jesse followed the sound of his voice and found the kitchen down a short hallway. Mr. Patrick had a flowery apron wrapped around his waist and was spooning and stirring something into a bowl.

“Sit down at that table and pour yourself some fresh milk. Don’t taste no different to me but I’ve been drinking it for years. You think you can eat three eggs?” His hands dropped another egg into a bowl before she could even answer. “I got some toast and bacon already to go. Only need the butter. Can you spread some on the bread there?” He handed her a plate of six pieces of toasted bread, steam was raising off the fresh slices. Slathering butter from a crock container Jesse remained quiet and kept the juices inside her mouth from dripping down her chin.

A heaping plate of food was set down in front of her and she could barely stand the view. Eggs over medium, three of them, nestled into some bacon and skillet tossed potatoes with onion. The man even put a cup of coffee down for each of them, right beside the tall glass of milk she had poured. He took the other seat on the small table and pulled his paper over near to start perusing the sections.

“We will get busy after I’ve read a few pages and you’ve eaten your fill. That meal will have to last you till noon. And you’re gonna earn it. So don’t be shy. Eat up.” He lifted the paper and began to read the front pages while he bit into a thick cut of bacon. Jesse looked at him and then down at the food. Good lord! Where do I start? She dredged up a half smile at her thoughts.

Picking up the knife and fork, the eggs and potatoes were soon making their way down into her stomach. A sudden burp escaped from her causing rosy cheeks and a quickly pushed out ‘excuse me’. The man behind the paper never flinched.

“Weatherman’s predicting rain in two days. Gonna be messy work around here.” He calmly turned the page.

Jesse ran the bread thru the grease and yolk and relished the tastes in her mouth. It had been a while since she consumed such rich flavors. She drank the milk and tried to pace herself eating the bacon. Her stomach was a bit tight. Since her companion wasn’t looking she wrapped the four pieces of bacon up inside two pieces of toast and into her napkin. Shoving it all into her pocket she hoped she could save it for the kids.

He cleared his throat and lowered the paper; a sip from his coffee cup, and he leaned back patting his full stomach.

“Never could stand to read the sports section. It just doesn’t seem to sport related anymore, all bout money these days. You need any more food?”

Jesse wiped the last of her plate’s offerings with the last bite of her bread. She shook her head no and quickly sprang to help him as he stood to gather the dishes.

“No, no, no. Sit down and finish your drink. I know where everything goes and it’s my damn kitchen. I’ll get these.”

She gave a soft little ‘yes, sir’ and plopped back down into her chair. She was stuffed. Sipping the strong coffee, she tumbled the remaining swallow of milk into the brew and stirred the mixture dazed. With that full meal in her stomach she knew the caffeine from the coffee might save her from falling into a food coma.

“You ever picked apples before?” Mr. Patrick’s question interrupted the food high she was enjoying.

“No, sir.” Her admission was tentative.

“No matter. I know apples since I’ve had this here ranch for now on forty years. My wife, God Bless her, used to can everything and anything that was made from apples. Apple sauce, apple jelly, apple butter, apple pie filling, apple spaghetti sauce, and on one long boring summer night maybe a little apple hooch, just for my indigestion, you know.” His green eyes twinkled merrily. Jesse smiled.

His eyes turned back to his busy hands drying a cup as he continued.

“She’s gone now the last four years and well missed but I’m still using some of her canned goods. That there apple butter was some of her stock.”

Jesse looked at the crock closer and saw the butter was slightly pink in shade. She loved the sweet flavoring.

“Now days I don’t can much but I’ve been bringing the apples down to the food pantries on Southside and my daughter can sure give a bunch out, her being a doctor and all over at a free clinic on Daniel Ave. I just can’t seem to stop growing the darn things either. They are hardy trees and it would be a shame to have to cut any of them down. So now you know what the goods are for let’s get out there and I’ll show you the steps on how to pick an apple and what to look for.”

Jesse swallowed the last gulp of coffee and followed Mr. Daniel to the front porch. He grabbed a large white plastic basket and handed her some well used gloves. They headed off the porch toward the direction of the pond. A small foot path circled the edges of the 100 foot pond and crickets as well as birds chorused merrily around the water. The sudden chirp and splash nearby told of frogs, as well.

They neared the grove and Jesse spotted a garden tractor with a 4 x 8 wagon hitched to it. The wagon was half full of apples. The three trees to the right of the tractor were picked clean. But the other 14 were still sprouting fruit.

“This here green apple is ripe and firm and looks delicious, yes? Well I like to leave a little stem on the pick so I use me this here cutter like this.” He reached up and clipped the apple off the tiny stem it dangled from. “Or if you get pretty good at it, you just give it a little twist and you can still pick with a bit of stem. Either way you fill the basket and dump it in the wagon when it’s full. Each basket is $3.00. Each wagon should be approx 30 baskets. I usually get about six to ten baskets a tree. You think you can handle that? Pick as much as you want but you get paid for what you pick.” He handed over the basket to her and pointed at a step ladder. “You can use that for the top layer but if they fall off don’t discard them. They are perfectly fine.”

He pulled out a long leather band from the inside of the basket and clipped it to a hole on one side and another on the opposite edge. “Strap this around over your shoulder and you can pick with both hands.”

Jesse nodded and fixed it as comfortable as she could. The sun was shining down pretty good now but it was still chilly. He tossed her the tractor keys and gestured toward the John Deere. “You can move it as you go down the row. Just pump the gas a bit before you try to start her. She’s as ugly as the neighbor’s horse and twice as mean. I’ve got to get that hay spread and my fence on the west side repaired. I’ll check back with you in a bit.”
Her jacket and thermal shirt had been discarded and she was wiping the sweat from her brow on her t-shirt as she picked apple after apple. The short trip over to the wagon revealed she was clear out of space. So far this morning she’d refused to start the tractor and gamely made the walk back and forth. But, now she was stuck.

Getting up on the small riding tractor she put the keys into the ignition. Pumping what looked like the gas pedal a few times she hoped for the best and turned the key over. The green machine rumbled into life and choked a few before sputtering out. Biting her lip she turned it over again and this time gave it gas right away. The engine roared.

The lever on her right showed speeds 1, 2, and 3 and she quickly selected one. The parade of tractor and wagon rolled slowly forward and straight toward the pond. Jesse turned the wheel toward the path and was on her way. Just onto the path she moved it into 2nd speed and the tractor responded with more gusto.

Heading back to the house, she eventually parked near the Oak tree. A quick glanced showed hay being pushed out of the upper loft of the barn. She headed over and walked inside the huge barn to find a beautiful wooden beamed interior with six large horse stalls and a full tack room. Through the other side of the barn, the hanging track barn doors were slid open and a riding ring was clearly seen.

“Wow, very nice.” Jesse commented to herself. She remembered riding lessons and the smell of the leather. She was even involved in a jump competition on a horse loaned to her from a foster care parent. That fond memory was only pulled out on rare occasions. The stables from her past were not half as spacious as these. Years ago she used to hang around and work the stalls for a bit of change from the riders but in here it smelled infinitely better. The entire shoddy stables building she once worked in, keeping the horses fed and comfortable, had stank to high heaven. The riding was fun though.

“Do you ride?” Mr. Patrick descended slowly from a vertical ladder that led from the loft area down to the stables. His hands grip tight against each rung as he lowered himself down. Jesse moved closer ready to help if needed. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his own brow once he was on the ground.

“That ladder gets higher and higher each time. Or maybe I’m getting shorter?” Jesse looked him over with concern and just shrugged at his cavalier attitude. She looked up at the 15 foot tall fixture then back at him.

“So do you ride at all?” he gruffed out at her disapproving stare. “I have four horses on the back ten acres and they are in sore shape from lack of riding. I could surely use a strong hand to get them back into shape. I might even get some good money from them, eventually. Right now they are fat off the land and ornery as all get out.”

“I can handle a saddle. Mostly rode when I was much younger but I don’t think you forget the basics.” Jesse remarked as they both moved toward the barn doors nearby. She stopped walking when he did and gave him a look.

“A full sentence, I never thought you had it in you.”

Jesse rolled her eyes and gave a smile. Mr. Patrick walked out into the full sunshine and took a look toward the house. The green tractor and full wagon gleamed in the bright light.

“Great, a full load! Let’s take those to the bin and unload it. Looks like I might have found me a solid worker. Maybe I should know your name?” He chuckled at her surprised look. He raised his eyebrows waiting.

“Jesse Papakos. Sorry I never introduced myself. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yes, not eating and standing in the freezing weather will occupy a mind somewhat.”

Jesse looked the older man over and glanced away not responding.

“Never mind that now”, he brushed his hands down his cotton shirt and turned toward the tractor. “Let’s get this unloaded and then some lunch. You ever tried pickled apples?”

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CHAP4