Harvest - Kristine Kathryn Rusch(1), ebook
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//-->Harvestby Kristine Kathryn Rusch*1*_Time to plant tears,_ said the almanac, and so Kerry took the bucket she had carefully stored away atthe back of the cupboard and went into the darkened bedroom. She took out each tear -- perfectlyformed, perfectly remembered, perfectly stored -- cupped her hand around it so that the light from thehallway wouldn't catch the drop, and gently, ever so gently, tucked each tear in the fertile heart of thesleeping child.*2*Steam beaded the wallpaper. Amanda shut off the burner and moved the whistling teakettle. The morningwas cold and gray. She felt chilled even though it was the beginning of summer. She set a tea bag in themug Daniel had given her for her thirtieth birthday, and poured the water. Steam rose, fogging herglasses. She took them off, leaving the world a blur of greens and grays, grabbed a towel, and wiped thelenses. When she put her glasses back on, she saw that the tea bag had already stained the liquid brown.She picked up the mug, happy for its warmth against her cold hands. Then she leaned against therefrigerator and sighed. She hated mornings like this. A stack of orders waited for her in her workroom,and she barely had enough energy to make a cup of tea. Part of the problem was the grayness. Itoppressed her, brought out buried aches and pains. How could she sew when her hands were tight withcold, when the artificial light clashed with the darkness of a cloudy morning, making her stitches nearlyimpossible to see?She made herself cross the living room into the workroom. Half-finished clothes lined the walls. Thedress for Missy Anderson's wedding, still lacking a hem; the shirt for Carleton Meyer with the intricatehand-stitching undone; the pile of fabric that should already have been skirts for the high school's swingchoir -- all faced her like an accusation. The problem was the quilt that lay half-finished on the cluttereddeacon's bench, the quilt that Amanda wanted to give Grandmother Kerry on her birthday only a weekaway.Quilts were Amanda's specialty, but no one wanted quilts anymore. It was easier and cheaper to buymass-produced things at the department stores down at the mall. Custom-made quilts were a luxury, likecustom-made clothes, but for some reason people were willing to spend the money on a dress that theywould use once rather than on a quilt that would cover their bed for the next fifty years.Amanda looked at the projects hanging on the wall, and then at the others stacked in her workbasket.She set her teacup down on the end table covered with pins and patterns, then grabbed the stack ofswing choir skirts. They would take her half a day if she set her mind to the work.She moved her worktable over, picked up the bolt of fabric, and laid it on the floor. The dark greenvelvet seemed ostentatious for a high school group, but they had chosen it. She smoothed out the firstsegment, measured to see if she had the correct amount, and cut off the end of the fabric. Then shegrabbed the pattern and pulled the tightly wrapped tissue pieces out of their paper folder.Carefully, Amanda smoothed the tissue over the material. The thin paper crinkled as she worked. Shechecked knaps and widths, making sure that everything lined up properly, so that the skirt would be asbeautiful as possible. Then she pinned the tissue to the velvet, shoving the slender silver pins in with aforce unnecessary to her task. She pinched the fabric tightly, and shoved. The third pin went straightthrough both layers of velvet, shot across the tissue, and dug deep into the index finger of her left hand.Amanda stared at the pin jutting out of her finger. Then the pain announced itself in a hard, burning jab.She pulled her finger away, squeezed the injured area, and watched the blood well into a tiny,tear-shaped drop. She put the fingertip in her mouth. It tasted of salt and iron.A small smear of blood stained the green velvet. Tears rose in her eyes. She couldn't do anything right.She knew that she had to move quickly to make sure that the bloodstain wouldn't be permanent, but sheremained still, sitting like a child, one finger in her mouth, and knees tucked under her body until her tearsslowly slid back into the tear ducts where they belonged.*3*The clock in the dining room chimed midnight as Daniel unlocked the door and stepped in. The house feltheavy and oppressive in the dark. He flicked on the switch, and the soft lights scattered across the room,leaving corners filled with shadows. Amanda's tea mug sat on the floor beside the couch. A book, facedown, leaned against the mug. A pillow, still bearing Amanda's headprint, had been crushed into thecorner of the couch, and on the other end, a quilt had been thrown messily back.He felt a twinge of guilt. Amanda had waited up for him and then, when she could wait no longer, hadstumbled off to bed. He knew how he would find her, curled up like a child, fist against her face, hairsprawled against the pillow. He sighed. He lost track of time so easily, forgetting that she was here,waiting for him. And he found things that made it easy to forget. He hadn't needed that drink after workwith Rich. Or to meet Margot for dinner. They could have discussed the Johnson account at the office,with a desk between them, instead of sitting hip to hip in Harper's while soft jazz echoed in thebackground.Daniel left Amanda's mess -- he had long ago stopped picking up after her -- and went into the kitchen.She had left the light above the stove on for him, like she always did.On the wall beside the teakettle, water beaded. As he watched, one droplet slowly ran down and fellonto the oven's smooth metal surface. She had to stop facing that kettle toward the wall. The steamwould ruin the wallpaper. He grabbed a paper towel and wiped the water away. Then he shut off thestove light and headed to bed.The bedroom was dim, but not completely dark. Amanda had left the bathroom light on as well, and itfell softly across the bed, illuminating her slender form. She was curled up on her right side, one handstretched across his pillow. The quilt had fallen off her shoulder, revealing soft skin and one well-formedbreast.He grabbed the knot of his tie, slipped it down, and slid the tie from his neck. Then he took off hisclothes and carefully folded them, setting them on the rocking chair beneath the shaded windows. As hecrawled into bed, he picked up her hand and ran it down his body, setting it on his groin so that as sheawakened she could feel his arousal."Amanda," he said softly.She stirred. He caressed her, touched every part of her, and then slipped inside of her. She didn't wakeup until her first orgasm and then she cried, "Daniel!" as if he had surprised her. He buried his face in hershoulder, smelling the musky scent of her. He grabbed her waist, rolled over onto his side, holding themtogether so that they faced each other and let sleep drift through his body. The bathroom light shone in hiseyes, but he didn't care. Amanda stirred, awake now, and he thought he felt a shudder run through her,like a sob. But when he reached up to touch her cheek, the skin was smooth, soft, and dry.*4*Amanda set the tea tray down on the coffee table. She picked up the porcelain teapot and poured. Thethin liquid filled the fragile cup. Carefully, she handed the cup to her grandmother, then poured anothercup. Kerry seemed frail and tired that morning, but as strong as ever. She wore a dainty summer dress ofpale pink and kept her lacy off-white shawl about her shoulders.Amanda sighed and settled back into the armchair. The rain pattered outside, dousing everything ingrayness. Kerry reached over and wiped a bead of water from the teapot. Since she had arrived, shehad wiped water off the wall in the kitchen, the bathroom, even the foyer where the swing choir skirtshung, waiting for the director to pick them up."I don't know what it is, Grandma," Amanda said. "I think it's the rain causing the dampness in thehouse."Kerry shook her head. "The house is well-sealed," she said. "It's time you had children, Amanda."Amanda looked up sharply. The non sequitur surprised her. Kerry had never said a word about childrenbefore. "I don't have time for children.""You need them." Kerry set down her teacup. She squirmed uncomfortably, wiped another water beadoff the wall, and frowned. "I can't sit here any longer. I have to go home, Amanda."Amanda set her own teacup down, feeling a sense of panic build in the pit of her stomach. Hergrandmother was in her eighties. Perhaps something had happened to her to make her so vague,something Amanda hadn't known about. "You all right, Grandma?"Kerry leaned heavily on her cane as she got to her feet. "I'll be fine once I get home. You just rememberwhat I said."Amanda grabbed a sweater, wrapped it around her shoulders, and walked her grandmother to the door.Though it had stopped raining, Amanda asked, "You going to be okay walking home, Grandma?"Kerry nodded. "It is only a block, Amanda. I haven't fallen apart yet."Amanda smiled. Her grandmother was feisty even when she was vague. Amanda went out onto theporch and watched as Kerry made her way down the sidewalk. Two houses down, she stopped, turned,and looked at Amanda. "You'll have my birthday?""I won't miss it," Amanda said. Her grandmother kept walking, slowly, toward her own home. Amandafrowned. The discussion had bothered her. For the first time, her grandmother had seemed unfocused,slightly out of touch. But she was getting older. And in some ways, loss was inevitable. Or at least, thatwas what Daniel would say.Daniel. Amanda grabbed the porch door and let herself back inside. He had left before she was up thatmorning. She rarely saw him anymore. Supposedly they spent weekends together, but he usually went offto play golf with clients or back to the office to work. He was a workaholic, a man who barely had timeenough for his own wife. And her grandmother wanted Amanda to have children with him. Children werea partnership, a joint gift that a couple gave each other. If she had children now, she would merely betaking, for herself.*5*Kerry closed the door. Her house smelled like flowers and lemon furniture polish, not damp likeAmanda's had. All the water on the walls, threatening to break through, and Amanda living there,working there, every day. Kerry made her way to the book on the shelf beside the stove. She picked itup, rubbing her hands across its worn leather cover before thumbing past the ripped and stained pages tothe last page with writing on it, the page that had been blank the day before. She knew what she wouldfind._Time to plant tears,_ the almanac said.Kerry closed the almanac and set it back on the shelf. Then she stared at the cupboard where her bucketwas hidden, had been hidden for thirty years since Amanda's mother had used it months before herdeath. The bucket was dry and empty. Poor Amanda, Kerry thought as a wave of guilt twisted throughher stomach. In some ways it was already too late. Amanda didn't want children, that was clear, and ifshe didn't have any, the water would burst through the walls and engulf her. Amanda would drownbeneath the weight of her family's accumulated sorrows.Kerry remembered her own grandmother explaining the process. _Children are stronger. They can carrythe pain with ease -- and pass it on when the pain grows too much for them._It sounded so simple, except when someone wanted to take the pain back. Kerry was old. She could dieand take all those hurts with her. But she knew that she could never reclaim her gift of tears; hergrandmother had told her that it was impossible.So she would take the only other solution, the only other way she could help her beloved Amanda, eventhough it would cost them some of their family heritage. Kerry opened the almanac to the first page andran down the list of names until she found Steiger's. Steiger would hold the water at bay until Amandadecided to have children. He had done it before.*6*Amanda was finishing the hand stitching on Carleton Meyer's shirt while the radio blared a talk show.The topic, apparently planned weeks in advance, was how to keep cool in the summer heat. Callersreminded the poor host that the only heat they had felt so far had been from furnaces running to protectthem from the chill outdoor damp.The shirt was lovely. The stitching gave it an elegant, western look that would accent Carleton'sappearance rather than detract from it. Three new projects sat on her worktable, waiting for her to startthem. And the quilt pieces still lay on the deacon's bench, silently reproaching her. Her grandmother'sbirthday was only two days away. Amanda had nothing else to give her.A firm rap on the front door brought her attention away from the shirt. A woman's voice echoed from theradio, suggesting dry ice in the bathtub as the best cure for the summer doldrums. Amanda gripped theribbed dial and turned off the radio as she walked to the entrance.The man standing on her porch was not a client. She could tell that immediately. He wore sturdy Levisand a workshirt under his rain gear. Water dripped from the brim of his hat onto the dry concrete underthe overhang. She pulled open the door and adopted her best anti-salesman pose."Name's Steiger, ma'am." He handed her his business card. "I do house care. Been going door to door inthis wet weather, asking folks if they're having troubles with mildew and damp."Amanda frowned. She saw his truck parked near the curb. It was large and white, with STEIGER'Spainted in blue along the cab. Underneath was a phone number and a slogan: SPECIALIZING INLOST DREAMS AND MEMORIES. She glanced down at the card. The same phrase ran along thebottom. She pointed to it."What's that mean?"Steiger grinned. He had a solid face, rather ordinary. She thought that if she had to describe it to Daniel,she would say Steiger had no distinguishing features. "Lost dreams and memories," he repeated and thenshrugged. "Just personal fancy, ma'am. I like to think houses are part of their people. When they first buythe place, it's a dream come true. Then it becomes a headache filled with memories. Me, I try to turn itback into a dream again."The idea pleased her. She felt a slight release as she stepped away from the door. "I have water drippingdown my walls, Mr. Steiger. What would you charge to fix that?""Depends on the problem, ma'am." He shook the water out of his coat, removed his hat, and walked in.Then he hung everything on the coat-tree near the door, careful to move the tree so that the rainwaterdripped onto the tile entry instead of the carpet. "Let's take a look."She led him into the kitchen where water still beaded near the stove. She had turned the teapot thatmorning so that the steam exploded against empty air, but the beading remained. He examined the wateras closely as a jeweler examined a diamond. Then he let out air gently. "You need my services, ma'am.""What will you do?""First, I'll clean up the water. Then I'll see what I can do to dam it up.""How much will it cost?" Amanda clutched her hands tightly together. She felt tense.He continued to stare at the water. "Seventy-five dollars.""Per hour?"He shook his head. "Just seventy-five dollars."No wonder he was going door to door; he couldn't make any money at the prices he charged. "I'll payyou by the hour," Amanda said.He looked at her. His eyes were dry and inwardly focused, like the eyes of a person who had beenreading for hours. "You're very kind, ma'am. But all I charge is seventy-five dollars. Feels like I'mcheating you at that rate."Amanda wasn't going to argue with him. She ran a hand through her hair. "Will it take you long?""A few hours, at most. You have this anywhere else?""In the bathroom." A memory touched her mind, a small one, of waking up alone. "And I think some arestarting on the ceiling in the bedroom."He nodded, as if he had expected her to say that. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'll take care of it for you. Youjust go back to whatever it was you were doing, and leave the rest to me."Amanda returned to her office as he ran to his truck. Carleton's shirt lay crumpled where she left it,needle still piercing the fabric. She started to flick on the radio, but stopped. Her hand went to the quilt,and this time, she didn't stop.*7*Daniel couldn't explain why he was driving home in the middle of the day, but when he arrived and saw
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