The Cherry Harvest by Lucy Sanna Page A

Kate.”
    â€œI don’t want anyone touching my bicycle!”
    â€œFine. Fine.” Thomas patted Kate’s hand.
    Kate took a drink of water.
    When Thomas put a forkful of fish into his mouth, he said, “This is heaven, Char. Lord knows how you do it. Lemon for the fish. Green vegetables.” He stabbed at his salad.
    Charlotte had put most of the food into the icebox. Orange slices would be a surprise after dinner. Grapefruit for breakfast. And coffee with cream and sugar.
    â€œKate, your mother’s a culinary magician.”
    Kate nodded. “It’s really good.”
    After a pause, Thomas said to Charlotte. “You were up late last night.”
    â€œI was knitting . . . something for Ben.” Her eyes clouded with the thought of the vest she had traded this morning. No, she wouldn’t think of that now. “Would you like more spinach?”
    â€œAh.” Thomas accepted the bowl from her.
    â€œI was surprised to see you talking to one of the prisoners,” she said. “Do they speak English?”
    â€œJust the one, Karl Becker.”
    Charlotte debated about telling Thomas that Becker had watched her going into the root cellar, but Thomas continued. “He’s a math teacher. Smart, well read it appears. Went to Oxford.” He paused, then quoted:
    Ye sacred nurseries of blooming youth!
    In whose collegiate shelter England’s flowers
    Expand, enjoying through their vernal hours
    The air of liberty, the light of truth—
    Kate waved a hand, stopping him. “I don’t know that one.”
    â€œWordsworth. A bit obscure, I’ll admit. He wrote it while at Oxford,” Thomas said with a wink. “Say, how’s Hawthorne coming?”
    â€œ The Scarlet Letter? I’ve just about finished it.”
    Thomas smiled. “Original sin exposed.” He took a sip of water and picked up his empty pipe. “So what do you think of Hester Prynne’s decision?”
    â€œIt’s not fair that Hester’s the one who’s condemned, but it’s her own fault for not telling the truth about her baby’s father.”
    â€œShe’s filled with guilt.” Thomas sucked on his pipe. “She tempted the minister. As Eve tempted Adam in the garden.”
    â€œKate?” Charlotte stood to clear the table.
    The girl continued the conversation with her father as she rinsed the dishes. “Hester takes all the blame while the minister says nothing. He’s the one who should feel guilty. He should wear a scarlet letter too.”
    â€œBut she’s the stronger character, don’t you think? She makes the choice, she’s the one who lives, while he disintegrates—”
    â€œThat was Chillingworth’s doing, that’s what I think.”
    Enough of this silly talk . Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “Let that be a lesson.”
    Kate looked up from the sink. “About what?”
    â€œKeep your legs together.”
    â€œMother!” Kate’s cheeks went red.
    Thomas coughed and looked away.
    Charlotte smiled to herself. If they had to talk about made-upstories, they could at least find a practical message in there. She opened the icebox and chose one of the oranges to slice.
    AFTER SUPPER, CHARLOTTE WENT to the parlor and switched on the Philco. She sat on the couch, opened her sewing basket, and pulled out a sock that needed darning. Thomas sat in the green brocade wingback chair, sucking on his empty pipe, a book open in front of him. Frank Sinatra was singing, “All or nothin’ at all,” when the music abruptly stopped: “We interrupt this broadcast for a special bulletin. Allies have taken Monte Cassino. Repeat. Allied troops have driven the Germans from Monte Cassino.”
    Charlotte dropped the sock and stared at the radio. Thomas put down his book.
    The announcer went on: “In the early morning hours today, May 18, 1944, a patrol of the Polish 12th Regiment