The Apple Gate

There is much I could say about Thanksgiving morning that year. The apple trees were glassy with frost, the season coming to a close. Porch lights and lampposts tried to penetrate the blanket of fog that filled the valley. There were headlights. Two parallel beams that blistered through the haze as they strode up our long drive.

“They’re here!”

I pulled on a thick sweater and some worn jeans before descending to the kitchen to greet our visitors.

“You could have at least brushed your hair, Cal!”

My mother straightened each of my hairs just in time for the screen door to squeak open. My father, gentlemanly enough to carry a very large suitcase, towered over his sister behind him and her daughter behind her. It had been at least four thanksgivings since I had seen either of these people. They looked cold.

“Cal, you remember Sarah right? She started high school this year too.”

I nodded and offered my hand. Sarah smiled close-lipped and returned the gesture. My mother introduced my younger brothers and I could tell by her voice she was nervous they would do something disruptive. They were the reasons we saw our relatives only once every four or six years.

“Go ahead a show Sarah her room, Cal, let the adults catch up a bit.” My mother gestured Aunt Leann into a chair around the dining table.

I offered to carry the bright turquoise bag Sarah had brought, but she insisted otherwise with a slightly brighter smile than before.

“So how long are you and your mom here for?” I asked, trying to politely instigate conversation.

Heaving the bag over her shoulder, she followed me towards the stairs. “Trying to get rid of us already?”

“Not at all, no. I just, I didn’t know…”

“I talked my mom into staying until Monday.” She paused allowing me a response, I had nothing to say. “I really like it out here.”

We reached the top of the stairs and I lead her left. Kyle and Gabe stampeded up behind us and slammed the door to their room. My mother’s yell wasn’t far behind.
“I’m probably supposed to warn you about them. The last time you saw them I don’t think they could walk. Those were the good days.”

She laughed.

Before I could fully indicate the far door was hers, she entered the tiny room and let her bag fall to the floor with a thunk. Instantly, she was at the window pulling the curtains to the side. The sun was just rising above the tree tops, its orange red glow melting away the fog.

Sarah stood there, hands parting the thick curtains, staring at the sunrise.

“Haven’t you seen one of those before?”

“Not like this.”

Thanksgiving dinner was classic. My father carved the turkey that was big enough for a family of ten while my mother convinced my brothers to sit still long enough to eat their green beans. Sarah sat across from me. She continually tucked her hair behind her right ear and leaned her elbow on the table. I watched her exhale. It was an impatient sigh.

It wasn’t long before the hint of apples began to fill the dining room. My mother bustled in and out of an apron and returned bearing arms of warm apple pies.

“Who wants the first piece?”

It was Kyle’s hand that shot up first.

“You grow your own apples right?” It was the first time Sarah had spoken.

“That’s right, dear. We have a whole orchard in the back.”

“Yeah, I think I can see it from my room. The trees look so beautiful when they’re cold.”

She said the most fascinating things.

Before I could clear all the plates, Sarah was gone, and my curiosity of the
whereabouts of my cousin distracted me from the simple, routine task of stacking the plates in the dishwasher.

“Cal!”

I blinked and handed the dish to Gabe, finishing my chore. I threw on my coat that hung by the door and pulled my brother’s cap on over my ears. The frosty air clawed at me as I exited my house. The porch was still. Faint footsteps were outlined in the dusting of snow. They ducked around the east side of the house that faced the apple orchard.

“Sarah, what are you doing out here!” I called from the shadow of the house.

“I’m watching the trees,” Sarah called back.

My shoes crunched against the snow as I moved to join her. “Why?”

She stared at me and blinked. “Because I don’t have apple trees in Louisiana.”

There was nothing biting about the way she said it. Each word was encased with something I didn’t understand.

“Do you ever watch them?”

“No. I pick them and prune them, but I don’t, I don’t watch them.”

“I love how the snow and ice clings to the branches. I would watch them all the
time.”

“If you had that many apple trees, you wouldn’t have time to watch them.”

She looked at me again. “I would make time.”

So I stood with her, looking out over the apple orchard, as the moon crystallized the snow and tinted the world silver.

Even with no school I woke up at seven thirty, mere moments after the sun had risen. The morning was still growing its color. I kept my curtains closed as I dressed again in a heavy sweater and jeans. I hopped around the squeaky parts of the floor and down into the kitchen. Sarah was there with a cup of something steamy reading the newspaper.

“Why are you up so early?”

“I watched the sun rise again.”

I poured myself a glass of milk.

“Do you think you could show me around the orchard today?” she asked, putting the paper down.

“I’ve got some chores to do, but they shouldn’t take too long.”

“Oh.” She looked confused. “Do you always have chores?”

“Not on Sundays. I work a lot more during apple season.”

I thought there was a look of sadness in her face, but it was gone too quickly to analyze.

Fridays were my least favorite chore day because of the cows. I hated the cows. Milking them was unexciting and feeding them was routine, I had been doing it since I could lift the ten pound bag of oats.

I allowed the sun to warm the ground a little before trekking out to the barn. I hugged the collar of my coat high around my neck.

“Cal! Wait!”

Sarah ran to catch up with me. She was wrapping a multi-colored scarf around her own neck. “Can I watch?”

I shrugged. “I don’t mind. It’s not very exciting, though.”

“Of course it is! I’ve never seen anyone milk a cow before.”

Sarah followed me closely as I took a path around the orchard towards the greenhouse.

“What’s that gate to? Way out there.” She pointed at a small white gate on the back side of the orchard.

“That’s the apple gate. My mom had my dad build that whole fence so that we wouldn’t wander too far from home.”

“But can’t you just walk through the gate?”

“It’s kind of a rule that we don’t. Only my father’s been back there to hunt and stuff.”

Once around the greenhouse, we could clearly see the red barn.

“How many cows do you have?”

“Seven.” I pulled the barn door open and let Sarah go in first. It was much warmer inside.

“Did you have seven cows the last time I was here?”

“I don’t remember.” She followed me into the first pen.

“What’s her name?”

I studied the cow’s face. “I think this one is Tessa, but I get them mixed up a lot.”

She giggled as I began milking. “It’s not so funny if you’re the one down here.”

“I bet it is.” She covered her smile with a gloved hand.

On the way back up to the house, I allowed Sarah to carry a bucket.

“In repayment for this heavy labor, I want you to take me to the apple gate.”

I hesitated. “Okay.”

Relieved of our loads, I made sure to grab a pair of gloves before reentering the wintry landscape. Each of the apple trees were planted in neat rows, exactly 31 feet apart. I didn’t find the orchard to be very pretty in the winter. The branches had no leaves or colorful fruit. They were just brown twigs; dark fingers clawing at the snow and sky.

“Are these good to climb in the summer?”

“We’re not allowed to climb these trees. I caught Kyle on one once through, so I guess they’re good.”

“You never broke the rules and climbed one?”

I shook my head and continued towards the fence, Sarah’s feet crunched along behind me.

“Does it smell really nice in the spring and summer when the trees bloom?”

“Yeah. Spring is my favorite time of year.”

I crossed my arms against the top of the fence and turned to Sarah. She had climbed up one rung had her arms outstretched. She could have easily been on the bow of the Titanic.

“Doesn’t this make you want to jump the fence and run around?”

My heart fluttered and my stomach contracted as she made a move to throw her leg over the top of the painted fence.

“You, you really shouldn’t do that. I mean, my mom wouldn’t like it very much.” I took her by the waist and pulled her back to earth.

“I know you’ve been tempted before.” Her eyes twinkled for a moment. “How about we don’t jump the fence, we can go through the gate.”

“There’s nothing different on the other side of this fence, you know. It’s just more snow and cold and trees.”

There was that look of sadness again. She held it in her face for longer this time. “It’s probably time for lunch, we should get back.”

She wasn’t angry with me. It was something else that I felt every time she walked past me or we ran into each other in the hall, on the stairs, at dinner. The next day I did my chores alone. I caught her curtains fluttering back in place as I made it back to the house. I didn’t understand why I had a sense of failure sitting on my chest. I hadn’t done anything wrong, I had done everything right.

“Cal, can you set the table?”

I took the plates from my mother’s arms with a smile and went through another routine procedure before we all ate another great Saturday night meal. Sarah kept her elbow on the table while she pushed her peas around her plate. I watched my mother out of the corner of my eye. She was engaged in conversation with Aunt Leann. I glanced at Sarah. Her eyes pierced mine. I swallowed.

Slowly, inch by inch, I lifted my right arm off my lap. In a motion I deemed nonchalant I brushed my elbow against the table top. I paused expecting some kind of alarm to blare as it came to rest on the white and blue tablecloth.

“Cal, dear, no elbows on the table, you know that,” my mother said, sweetly.

I slipped my arm back to its usual position in my lap and continued to finish my vegetables.

Sunday morning came and went. Sarah looked pretty in her church dress and shoes. I wore my usual tie and belt. It began to snow a little as we arrived back home.

“Come on.”

Sarah pulled me away from the house by the wrist. She was still in her dress, I knew her legs must be cold. We went deep into the orchard as Sarah quickly made turns and long strides down the rows.

The small white gate was just on the other side of the last tree. There was a tightness in my chest again, a feeling I couldn’t swallow. I was glad she didn’t have my hand; even in the cold it was clammy.

Sarah pulled me next to her and dropped my wrist.

“It’s just a gate.”

I didn’t want to talk about it.

“It’s just like the table.”

I wished I had my hat.

“Only your mother isn’t here to see you.”

I watched her move. Her hand lifted the tiny latch on the gate and pushed it open, scraping some snow off the grass. She had done the impossible. It was comparable to opening Pandora’s Box. I don’t break rules.

“I don’t break rules.”

“Everyone breaks rules, Cal.”

I wanted to go back inside.

“Don’t you want to know what it feels like?”

I stared at my feet.

“You have three hours to work up the courage to take two steps past the apple gate.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

She stepped past the gate. Her fancy shoes marked the snow on the other side. The footprints were much smaller than mine. She didn’t look back at me, but kept walking towards the woods. Her hands were deep in the pockets of her dress coat. I looked back. I looked back at the house I knew my mother was cooking breakfast in. There was the characteristic puff of smoke issuing from the chimney.

“Sarah, wait!”

I know she was smiling as I ran after her.