12 Apples

by Lola N. Merritt

Ray Baldwin watched his wife guide the old pick-up into the driveway and slowly stop. He always liked to watch Lil handle a vehicle. She had a touch for it. He could tell that things weren’t right by the way she got out of the truck and walked slowly to the house. She had been to see his mother, Irene. Walking into the house she met Ray’s questioning look and answered it flatly when she left the room.
 
Lil’s patience and understanding with Ray’s feeling about his father had left long ago, especially after his father’s health began deteriorating, and Ray knew it. Lil continued to go on seeing her in-laws, doing whatever she could to help. She and his mother, Irene, were close. Mostly, she refused to discuss the situation with Ray, but today she broke her silence.
 
Ray stood where he was, concentrating on the geraniums in the kitchen window. Then the door Lil had shut opened sharply. Catching his eyes, she said, “It’s been 10 years, Ray, since you spoke to him. He’s your father. I’ve never interfered with your decision, but he may not be here much longer.” Then she quietly closed the door.
     
Slowly Ray walked out the kitchen door, closed it, and headed toward the barn to do chores. Work took his mind off what was bothering him and right now that was what he needed. He knew his dad wasn’t good; he had known for some time. And the knowledge didn’t leave him. He woke up with it and went to bed with it. So he kept busy.

The chores finished, he and Lil ate a quiet supper with few words. Then he made his way to the place he always looked forward to in the fall. His apples had really given him a crop. A huge bin held the harvested apples, and sorting out the culls gave him a lot of comfort. But as he sorted, his mind kept going back to that day ten years ago that caused the bitter breach between him and his father.

Trace Baldwin taught his boys to work. A dairy farm with a big enough herd to pay off meant work from early morning until late at night, especially in summer. And there came a time in his last year of high school when Ray rebelled.

He didn’t like the endless work of milking the cows night and morning. What he really liked was the gardening and the big orchard out by the hired man’s house. His father let him take the responsibility for most of that work, but still expected him to pitch in whenever he needed him. Trace kept a hired man and two teenage sons working.

It all came to a head right after Ray’s graduation in June. It was haying time and there was no end of work. Trace met him the morning after graduation when he came out to the barns for chores. He’d been up late at a party with his class. He’d put a lot behind him in the last couple of days.

“Good to see you up early and ready for work,” was Trace’s greeting as Ray stepped into the barn. “It’ll be good having you steady for full-time work now.”

That last remark did it for Ray. He knew his father was planning on him for full time work.

“I’m sorry, Dad, but I won’t be staying. I have other plans.”
 
Trace was taken aback; his sons never argued with him.

“Other plans? And just what plans could you have?” His tone was sarcastic. Ray always chafed under his father’s method of discipline and struggled to control his anger.

“I’d like to find work in a big truck garden or orchard. I do have some experience.”

“Well, that may not be easy as you think.” Trace paused, then spoke forcefully. “You’re needed right here. I’ll pay you a good wage, you and Lee both.”

Ray stood his ground and measured his father. He knew he’d pay him well, but he and his father would never make it working together. Lee was a different story. He loved the farm and it would probably be his life. Lee and Trace got along, due mainly to Lee’s easy going ways.

“I’m not staying, Dad. If you need more help you can always hire another man.”

“What’ll you do if you can’t find work?” Trace’s face was flushed and he was getting angry.

“I can go into the military. I’ve done a lot of thinking about it. I can get an education if I join up.”

“Well, if that’s what you want, more power to you. I’ve done my best by you. An education might be good. Your mother would like that.” He hitched up his overalls and spread his legs in a strong stance. “But I’ve always thought good, hard work makes a man.” Turning, he walked into the barn, remarking, “The cows are waiting.”
 
“How well I know,” Ray thought as he followed him.
 
On the lead of a friend Ray didn’t have to look far to find work. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he had the experience needed to accept a good position on a big operation not far from home. His father, when he heard of it, simply walked away. He was angry; Ray expected he would be. Packing his clothes and some treasured possessions, he left home with his mother’s blessing and tears and his brother’s warm hug and handshake. Trace was not there when he left; he made no effort to say good-bye.

Eight years passed quickly for Ray. He met Lil, sitting beside him at a church supper one cold winter night. She encouraged him to attend church with her, which he did until the day he married her there. His dad did not attend the wedding. Then he joined the church and became an active member.

Through these years Ray kept in touch with his mother and Lee. When Lil and he were blessed with two little boys, Ray’s mother was overjoyed, and they brought her to their home to see them often. Lee was always coming and going, and the little boys loved him. But Trace never came near.

During these years Ray found the dream of his life, a piece of land with a house, barn, and small orchard that needed a lot of work. It was up for sale for a song. So he and Lil finally had their own place. He continued doing well on the big operation, working himself up to a top position. With his hard work nights and holidays, the little apple orchard flourished and began to produce.

The call came late one night from his mother. Her voice was strained; for a minute he didn’t recognize her.

“It’s your father, Ray; he’s had a stroke.” She drew a ragged breath and continued. “It could have been worse, but it isn’t good; it’s affected his speech.”
 
“Mom, I’m sorry, so sorry!” he paused. “What can I do to help you?”

“Getting to the hospital is where I could use help, Ray. Lee will have to keep things going on the farm, but he’s been doing that for a long time now.” She paused, getting control. “Are you sure you will have the time? Probably be every day for a while.”
 
“I’m sure, Mom; we’ll work it out between Lil and me. Just call whenever you need a ride.”
 
“Thank you, Ray, it means so much to know you’re there.”
 
“I’m always here for you, Mom; you know that.” Pausing, he asked, “Did this hit him fast?”

“He’s been going downhill for quite a while and wouldn’t go to a doctor. And you know how short tempered he is; it’s just gotten worse. Yes, it hit him fast; he went down in a heap.” Her voice cracked and she caught her breath. “I’ll have to let you go. I have other calls to make.”
 
“Remember, Mom, we’re here; we love you.” Hanging up the phone he turned to Lil who stood waiting in the hallway.
     
“It’s Dad; he’s had a stroke.”
     
In her down-to-earth way Lil replied, “I’m really not surprised, with his temper and lack of patience.” She looked at Ray, “Are you?”
     
“We’ve been apart so long I haven’t thought about it. But we’ll have to give Mom all the help we can.”
     
“Right,” Lil replied, and circling her arm about his waist, gently led him back to bed.     

The stroke Trace had didn’t begin to rectify itself as many do. The days went by and it became obvious he wasn’t going to pull out of it and be able to return home. His doctor gently confirmed this to Irene. “He will have to stay here for the care he needs.” Placing a hand on her arm he stated firmly, “And I want you to get more rest.”

Going to the hospital day after day had exhausted her, and there was really nothing she could do but be there for him. Ray and Lil took her each time she called. Ray had not gone into the hospital room as he felt it might make Trace’s condition worse, but he caught glimpses of the thin, still form on the bed.

The phone rang sharply that morning as Ray came down the stairs. Picking up the receiver, his mother’s voice answered.
 
“Ray, he’s calling for you, I just heard from the hospital. He keeps calling your name, and his  doctor feels you should see him. Time is running out for him, Ray.”
     
Ray stood there trying to absorb what she had said. After all these years his father wanted to see him. He tried to let it sink in. Lil stood in the kitchen; she had heard the conversation. Looking over at him, she said softly, “Go to him, Ray, he is your father.”
     
To try to sort out his thoughts, Ray found his way to the big apple bin in the barn where his prize apples were stored. He loved his fruit, and running his hands over the polished, red skins, these words came to him; “Take him 12 apples.” Trace had loved orchard work too; it was the one place they met.
     
That afternoon found him with a basket of apples in his hand standing outside Trace’s hospital room. Drawing a deep breath, he walked in. The thin figure on the bed was no one he remembered as his father. The features had changed from those he once knew. Drawing near the bed he spoke softly. “Dad, it’s Ray. I’ve brought you something.”
     
Slowly the face on the pillow focused on him and a thin voice struggled to speak. “Ray, is that you? Come closer.” A frail arm reached out across the sheet. “I hoped you’d come.”
     
Struggling to control his emotions, Ray reached out and caught the thin, shaking hand.. “I’ve brought you a dozen of my best apples, Dad. Maybe Mom will bake us a pie.”
     
The eyes in the face Ray was beginning to recognize finally focused in on his. “I heard you done good with your orchard, son.” He drew a breath. Tears were gathering in his eyes and he hung onto Ray’s hand with the little strength he had.
     
“I done you wrong, son; I done you wrong. Don’t hold it against me after I’m gone.” Tears were running down the thin, wrinkled cheeks and his eyes were full of suffering.
     
Ray answered him. “That was a long time ago, Dad, I’ve forgotten about it; it’s all behind us.” His father’s face was misting over and he blinked to clear his vision.
     
The hand in both of his gave a weak squeeze and faintly Trace replied, “Thank you, son, thank you.” Then turning his head on the pillow he let out a soft sigh and shut his eyes.
     
Slowly Ray released his father’s hand, laying it gently on the sheet. The basket of apples sat on the stand by the bed, red skins shining in the light. Quietly, he left the room.
     
That night the call came from his mother. “The nurse told me he passed away shortly after you left, Ray, very peacefully. His head was turned toward your basket of apples when she found him.”
     
Out in the barn Ray sat by the big bin polishing apples. Over and over the words went through his mind. “Thank you, Lord, for letting me find my father again.” He looked down and suddenly realized the apple in his hand was wet with tears.

Lola N. Merritt is a freelance author.

 

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