My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
-After Apple-Picking by Robert Frost
Where the Wild Apples Grow
Chapter Three: In Which She Cries
When I woke up the next morning, it smelled fresh, cold, and clean. Sunlight danced through my lace curtains and onto my open suitcase. I breathed in the air. It was so different from my old house here. I would just have to learn if it was good or bad.
I went over and closed the window and then started to unpack my suitcase. I had to refold about half my clothes, which took a while, and then I had to put them away, which took even longer. When I was done with that, I unpacked my carry-on. I couldn't figure out what to do with my books so I just left them in my bag.
I finally got dressed in jeans, an old sweater of mine, and mismatched fuzzy socks. When I carefully shut the door behind me, I smelled the scent of breakfast wafting up to me. My stomach grumbled, but I went to the bathroom and went to do my hair. It was in chaos, of course. I put it in a messy bun. I brushed my teeth, rinsed, and then went downstairs to eat breakfast.
I almost got lost for a second, but then remembered where I was going. I lazily went down the stairs, stopping at the end to guess what breakfast was. Pancakes, I decided. When I entered the kitchen, I saw my mom was up, wearing a pink bathrobe and drinking a cup of coffee.
I heard music start coming from somewhere and then footsteps. I was sill staring at my mother, who I could tell was trying to ignore me. She hadn't been getting up before twelve o'clock since before…before.
I smelled Aunt Esme's scent before she scooted me to the side.
"Good morning, Bella," she said.
I smiled at her in return.
"Pancakes?"
"Just one please," I informed her.
"Are you sure? I made a whole stack!"
"I'm sure," I said as I slid into the seat next to my mom. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and I smiled at her too. She nodded and went back to sipping her coffee. I sighed down at the table. Aunt Esme put down my food, and I started to put the butter on it.
"Apple juice?" she offered. "Just kidding. Old family joke. Milk?"
"Do you have any strawberry syrup?" I asked.
"Of course! Alice loves strawberry milk. It's her favorite."
Esme went over to the fridge and got out a carton of milk and Hershey's strawberry syrup. She put them down for me and got out a spoon. I squeezed the syrup into the milk and then mixed it all together. My mother just drank her coffee.
"Alice is outside, on the patio. She's painting the sign for tomorrow's big event. Alice is very artistic," Aunt Esme said proudly. "Why don't you go join her when you're done with your breakfast?"
"Uhh…sure."
She smiled and went back to cooking more food. I finished the rest of my breakfast quickly and went out through the back door where Alice was painting a large green paper. Her hair was back in a short ponytail and her face was dotted with paint. She looked up when she saw me and asked, "What's up, Bella?"
I shrugged and sat down next to her to read what she was painting.
Eighteenth Annual Little Apple Farm Harvest!
Outlined in pencil under that, which she was currently painting:
August 31st! All day! Help pick apples! $2.50 for entry!
In the corner, there was a large apple tree, its branches spreading out across the entire thing. I was surprised to see it was actually very good.
"How are you today, Bella?" Alice asked politely. She paused for a second, and continued on when I didn't say anything. "I'm doing fine."
I nodded hello. Alice smiled and dipped her brush into the paint and painted along one of the apple tree's branches.
"I'm so excited. I can't wait for you to meet everybody." Alice sighed happily. "It's going to be so much fun tomorrow! Eep! I can hardly wait!"
I nodded again and looked out back. The wind blew gently through the screen windows, and I smelled the apples. It smelled like…just…nature. It was really nice.
"Hey, Bella?"
"Hmmm…?"
"I know you just got here yesterday and all, and you've been asleep for most of the time, but I'm just kind of getting the feeling that you don't really like me all that much."
My face scrunched. "No, Alice. That's not it at all. I just…need time to get used to things."
"Oh. Okay. I understand."
There was silence and when it began to get a little awkward, I stood up. "I'm going to go back inside and unpack the rest of my stuff."
"Sure." Alice still looked troubled, and I tried to ignore it as best I could. I went back inside. I shivered at the sudden temperature drop and pulled my hands into my sleeves. It was quiet, except for the murmurs coming from the kitchen.
I knew I shouldn't have, but I snuck closer to the doorway leading to the kitchen, hiding so I couldn't be seen. I turned my ear so I could hear better.
"– I'm not exactly sure, Esme."
"I insist Renee."
"I don't know if I can let you do all this stuff for me. Us."
"Renee…" Aunt Esme's voice took on a concerned tone.
I heard a chair screech back, and I ran to the couch, trying to look casual. I laid my leg over the arm of the couch and closed my eyes. I heard the bare slap of Mom's footsteps coming closer, and I opened my eyes. She was standing over me.
"Scoot over, Scrump." She gruffed at me. My heart filled with sort-of happiness at the sound of my old nickname. It was silent for a moment, and we listened to Esme doing the dishes. I would have to help her next time…
"Do you think it was a mistake to come here, Bella?" Mom whispered, picking at her fingernails.
I shrugged. "I haven't been here long enough. It's only been one day."
"I'm thinking…maybe it was. I don't know, Bella. I don't know anything anymore." She sounded like a little child when she said it. She sniffed a couple times.
I patted her arm awkwardly. I wasn't sure how to comfort her, seeing how I wasn't very good with outward affection. We just sat together for a while, listening to the silence, the peace of living in the country.
It was dinner, and Esme made roast beef with apple pie. Mom had changed into her pink bathrobe and was wearing her fuzzy navy blue slippers. My face was getting red from wearing the sweater all day. Alice looked vaguely harassed. Aunt Esme looked cheerful, but if I looked closely, I could see the bags under her eyes.
"So, Bella, I hear your birthday's coming up," Aunt Esme said as she put her food in her mouth.
I nodded solemnly. My first birthday without my dad. I tried to ignore the pang in my chest.
"How old are you going to be? Fifteen?" She chewed on her corn loudly. I was growing irritated.
"Fourteen." I pushed the roast beef around with my fork, still not hungry.
"I remember being fourteen, myself." She fake-shuddered. "I wouldn't want to go back. How about you, Renee? How was fourteen for you?"
Mom muttered something vague.
Aunt Esme forced a smile. "So, what do you want to do for your birthday, Bella? You could do something in the orchard if you wanted. Alice always has her birthday celebration there."
Alice nodded in agreement.
"I don't really want to do anything for my birthday," I said.
"Well, you still have time to change your mind. You have about two weeks, right?" She smiled encouragingly at me.
"Yeah, I do."
It was silent after that, and everyone went back to eating dinner.
Bedtime again. I couldn't sleep. I didn't feel like taking a shower; I felt lazy. I even just shook off my pants and slept in my sweatshirt and fuzzy socks. The comforter felt cool against my legs.
Tomorrow was the apple harvest. I just wanted to stay in my bed all day and ignore the world. But the call of those trees was too great; I had to climb up again and feel the freedom of being above the ground.
But I didn't want to deal with all those people. They would probably stare and point at me; not just because I was new, but because they knew my father was dead. Aunt Esme and Alice didn't have to tell anyone for them to know. People would just know; it would be like it was written on my forehead: NO FATHER HERE.
My eyes stung with tears and I wiped them away. I sniffed back my snot as well. I turned over on my side to look out my window. The moonlight gleaming brightly on my face, and when I wiped my tears on my fingers, I saw they shone.