Chapter 6 - Hands in the Dirt
The wind was vicious on the north ridge of Whitaker Orchard. Dark, bruised storm clouds were rolling across the valley, bringing the first freezing front of November. If the remaining forty acres of Honeycrisp and Gala apples weren't picked by Saturday night, the frost would split the skins, ruining half the year's revenue.
Walter stood near a row of wooden bins, wincing as he rubbed his lower back. Two of his usual seasonal pickers hadn't shown up, and the harvest was falling dangerously behind schedule.
Hannah was halfway up an eight-foot wooden ladder, her fingers numb inside her wool-lined gloves, carefully twisting apples from the branches and placing them into her canvas picking sack. Her shoulders ached, her hair was damp with cold mist, but the physical labor was a relief; it kept the ghosts in her head quiet.
Suddenly, the hum of an old tractor engine cut through the orchard.
Hannah glanced down. Her eyes widened.
Walking up the steep hillside, carrying an empty wooden bushel crate on his shoulder, was Vincent.
He had ditched his tailored coat for an old, oil-stained canvas work jacket he must have bought at the local hardware store. His hands were bare, already turning red from the biting wind. Without a word to anyone, he walked up to the row beside Hannah, set his crate on the damp turf, climbed an adjacent ladder, and began to pick.
Walter marched over, his shotgun left behind in the truck, but his fists clenched tight. ""Calder! What the hell are you doing on my land?""
Vincent didn't stop picking. His fingers moved carefully around a cluster of Honeycrisps, remembering the exact technique Walter had taught him seven years ago: Lift and twist, never pull, or you'll rip the fruiting spur off the branch.
""You've got frost coming in thirty-six hours, Walter,"" Vincent said, his breath pluming white in the freezing air. ""You're down two pickers. You have twenty-five hundred bushels to get into cold storage before the thermometer hits twenty-eight degrees.""
""I don't need your charity,"" Walter barked.
""This isn't charity,"" Vincent said, looking down from the ladder. His eyes were bloodshot, his hands trembling slightly from the bitter cold. ""This is labor. Pay me minimum wage or don't pay me at all. But I'm not leaving these trees until every apple is in the barn.""
Walter stared at him for a long, silent moment. The older man’s eyes flicked from Vincent’s raw, blistered hands to the neat, bruised-free apples already filling the crate.
""If you drop a single fruit, Calder,"" Walter growled, turning on his heel, ""I'm throwing you off this ridge with a pitchfork.""
Hannah remained frozen on her ladder, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Vincent climbed down, dumped his full sack gently into the wooden crate, and looked up at her through the bare apple branches.
""You don't belong here, Vincent,"" she said, her voice shaking despite her efforts to stay composed. ""Your board of directors is meeting in Philadelphia. I saw the business news on Dad's television this morning. Sterling is trying to take Calder Logistics.""
""Let him have it,"" Vincent said.
""Don't lie to me!"" she snapped, stepping down off the ladder to face him. ""That company is your blood. You sacrificed nine years of our dinners, nine years of our holidays, every anniversary we ever had, all for that glass tower!""
""And I was an idiot!"" Vincent yelled, the raw roar of his voice startling a flock of crows out of the canopy.
He stepped toward her, his chest heaving, his face contorted in agony.
""I was terrified, Hannah!"" he said, the tears finally breaking through his defenses, carving clean paths through the orchard dust on his cheeks. ""You came from this... this beautiful, honest family where people loved each other without conditions. I came from an alcoholic father who died in a jail cell and a mother who worked herself into an early grave! I thought if I didn't own everything, if I didn't control the whole damn city, someone would come along and take you away from me! I thought money was safety. I thought power was love.""
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He took another step, falling heavily onto his knees in the damp grass at her feet.
""I was so busy building the walls that I locked you out,"" Vincent wept, bowing his head until his forehead touched the leather toe of her boot. ""I let Sabrina flatter me because she made me feel like an emperor, when all I ever wanted was to be the man who deserved to hold your hand. I am so sorry, Hannah. I am so, so sorry.""
