Read Online Snow Apples by Mary Razzell - Free Book Online Page B

you.” My father looked up from his newspaper. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but I didn’t wait to hear what it was.
    I ran outside. Nels was smiling, pleased about something.
    â€œI’ve got a surprise for you. Come on, get in.”
    We were at the new house in a matter of minutes. Taking me by the hand, he led me to the back of the house to my bedroom. There, under the window, was a desk. Not elaborate, but with a wide writing surface and shelves at one side for books and papers. It was made of fir and had been sanded, ready for the can of varnish that sat unopened on its surface.
    â€œWell, how do you like it?” he asked, running his hands over its smoothness. “I came back after supper and made it for you. After what you said at the beach—about school.”
    â€œOh, Nels! I love it! It’s beautiful! I can’t believe it—that you made it for me!”
    â€œYou really like it?”
    I put my arms around him then. His long back felt hard under my hands.
    â€œI love the desk, Nels. And...I love you.”
    His hands went to my hips. Pulling me into him so thatI could feel his warmth, he held me.
    â€œI love you, too, Sheila.”
    *  *  *
    On Saturday of the Labour Day weekend we moved into our new house, even though it wasn’t finished inside. Black roofing paper had been spread over the floor until we could afford to put down a finished one. The inside walls were left with the two-by-fours showing.
    â€œHandy for shelves,” my mother said.
    It had been my last day of work at the Lawsons’. George and his father were out fishing, so it was Mrs. Lawson who paid me. She gave me a five-dollar bonus, “for satisfactory work.”
    â€œI’ve enjoyed working for you,” I said, and was surprised when I realized I meant it.
    *  *  *
    Sunday, September 2, 1945. Another day for the history books. It was VJ Day. The war with Japan was over. Since the middle of August we had heard that Japan had surrendered, but this was official.
    My father turned up the volume on the radio as we sat eating our breakfast. The United States battleship
Missouri
was anchored in Tokyo Bay with General MacArthur on board, ready to meet with the Japanese.
    As the radio gave out the news about VJ Day, I thought about meeting Helga on VE Day, and howupset she’d been when she heard the boat whistles and thought they meant her son and husband had been found.
    â€œMom, I’ll do the dishes when I get back,” I said, getting up from the table. “I’ve got to tell Mrs. Ness. About it being VJ Day.”
    There was a thin spiral of blue smoke coming from Helga’s chimney. Otherwise there was no sign of life. As I knocked at the front door, I realized I’d never been inside her house, and some of my old fears came back, about her being crazy.
    It seemed a long time before the door opened, and she held it so that it partially shielded her body.
    â€œIt’s me, Mrs. Ness, Sheila Brary.”
    Her eyes were sharp, stared at me for what seemed minutes, then lost some of their fierceness. The door opened and she motioned me in.
    Following her down the short hallway to the kitchen, I became conscious of the smell of apples, although it was a month too early for them. Did she store apples in her basement?
    It came to me that Helga always smelled of apples.
    The kitchen at the back of the house seemed bare and clean, maybe because it was uncluttered, unlike our kitchen which was always busy in some way. Either there was bread rising or butter being churned, a radio on, people talking, something bubbling on the stove or baking in the oven. Smells, movements, sounds.
    Here in Helga’s kitchen it was quiet.
    We sat at her kitchen table. It was covered with a much-laundered cloth, vivid with embroidered flowers, and with a wide edging of crocheted lace. I ran the tip of my finger around the outline of a blue cornflower, then