Bitter Harvest

"Where’s Pa?" he asked as he exchanged a full sack for an empty one. "Every time I turn around he’s gone again."

She jerked her head and he leaned closer as she dropped her voice. "He’s been going back and forth to the depot. We might not be able to ship. The growers are taking turns sending out wires and they are all getting the same answers. Either buyers are finding closer markets, or getting the apples cheaper."

Squatting down by her knee he asked softly, "Why didn’t I know about this? Pa never said a word."

"We didn’t hear about it until day before yesterday. Harris was so sure we had a firm agreement that he wouldn’t believe it. He’s beside himself with worry." She broke off to call, "Flossie, for heavens sake, sit down. You can’t climb out of there."

"Let me hold her for a while." Pierce swung her up in his arms, chuckling as she patted his face and beamed with triumph. "What a minx you are. Your nose will be out of joint when your new sister or brother gets here, won’t it? Now be still while I talk to your grandma."

"If we can’t sell these . . ." Margaret waved her hand toward the trees laden with fruit.

"There’s got to be a market somewhere. If they usually go to the east coast and Canada, what about closer to home? I thought Butte took a lot."

"They can’t begin to take all we produce. Why, just two years ago the valley shipped out five hundred and fifty carloads."

"What about the Dakotas?"

"I guess that’s what they’re trying to find out."

"There’s Pa now."

Harris tied Prince in the shade and slid out of the buggy. Walking toward them he tried to smile. "I suppose you told Pierce all about it?" At their nods, he added, "Some of us finally got together and agreed to fill the few orders by using a portion of each crop. That way at least we all get paid something."

Margaret got stiffly to her feet. "Should we try to make vinegar with the rest?"

He shrugged, "That and store more in the cellar. Some growers say if orcharding has come to an end, they are going to pull out their trees."

"What about you, Pa?"

"I don’t know. Seems like cutting these trees would be like tearing out a chunk of me. I just don’t know."

Scanning the sky, Margaret pulled her sweater closer. "We’re going to get a frost tonight or tomorrow. We’d better finish picking."

"What we don’t get today can stay on and freeze," said Harris bitterly. "At least the wild creatures can feed this winter on what’s left."