Mariana did not need to see the budding apple trees moving to feel the breeze upon her face. She sniffed, head tilted upwards, grey eyes moving listlessly. She was in the Top Field, where the Hewes crab apples were growing. Their tangy sweetness was heady.
“Careful with that ladder, Elizabeth!”
Her brother Jonathan’s voice rang out as he warned his wife. Mariana smiled inwardly, but did not move from the blanket underneath a large trunk. Elizabeth’s clumsiness was well known in the family.
“I am fine, Jojo, concern yourself with that rotting branch before it tips over and smacks you on your noggin!”
The higher, lilting voice came from Mariana’s left, and she cocked her head slightly as her fingers moved across the knitting needles. Four more stitches and she could begin another row. Her fingers moved soundlessly to count – yes, four more.
“. . . if you ask me,” Abigail was saying. “If you just considered – ”
“Jonathan knows best,” was the reply she received from her brother Aaron. “He has never guided us wrong in the choice of apple trees, and . . .”
The walking siblings moved out of earshot, and Mariana felt their footsteps as they walked towards the Long Field.
The bustle of a working orchard never quite ceased, and this close to harvest, there simply wasn’t time to debate the species they grew. Mariana did smile this time. Her little sister never learned, it seemed. Being a Bryant meant following Jonathan’s way of things: he was the eldest of the five Bryants, and the only one who had never left Sweet Grove, the Texas orchard where they had been born.
“More tea, Mariana?”
Mariana started. “Katherine, you scared me – it is Katherine, is not it?”
She could never quite be sure. Katherine and Elizabeth, two sisters who had married two brothers. It was almost crass, thought Mariana dispassionately, but everyone sounded happy enough. Their voices were so similar that they were in the habit of announcing themselves to Mariana when they came close.
Her voice spoke again. “My apologies, Mariana, ‘tis Katherine. I have brought out some tea; would you like some?”
Mariana did not reply, but held out her hands into the air. A saucer was placed in her left, and soft hands guided her fingers to the handle of the cup.
“Thank you,” she said bitterly. Gently, slowly, to prevent spilling it, she brought the cup closer, and lifted it, carefully weighing it in her hands so she would not rush and spill it down her gown. Not that it mattered, really. She would not be able to see the damage on the white cotton.
She assumed it was white. Abigail had told her that morning, answering the question with a sadness in her voice she could not hide from her sister. Mariana knew they thought she was strange, asking every morning what color her gown was, as though it mattered. Because it did matter.
Just because she was blind now, that did not mean she had forgotten what colors were.
“The apples are almost ripe,” Katherine’s voice broke into her thoughts as the scalding tea flowed down her throat. “‘Tis strange to think this is the third year since I came here in 1841, and yet I still love seeing the blossom turn slowly into buds.”
Mariana said nothing. It was just a trick of language, she knew. Five years ago, she would have flown into a rage at the inconsiderate way that another had spoken so casually about seeing the wonder of nature around them.
She was older now. Harder, perhaps. Mariana smiled sardonically. She had skipped blossoming altogether, and was now a dry shell of a crab apple, sour and good for nothing.
“Oh, no – Aunty Elizabeth, be careful!”
A younger voice now, softer, more melodic. Sophia, Phoebe and Aaron’s girl – she was rather afraid of the blind aunt, Mariana had noticed, and had avoided spending time with her.
Mariana felt the blanket move as Katherine rose.
“Elizabeth, I told you it would be too heavy – I will be right back, Mariana.” Katherine rushed away before her sentence was over, and Mariana was alone once more.
No matter. It was tiring, always being babysat by one of the family. As though she needed their help in all things; you did not spend the majority of your life without the gift of sight without learning ways to get around the place.
“No matter,” she said aloud, bitterly. “I shall see myself home.”
The cup of tea and its accompanying saucer were placed slowly to the blanket, on her left. Questing fingers found the knitting in her lap and placed it carefully in her reticule. Gathering her skirts to her to ensure that the cup of tea was not spilt, Mariana rose and dusted herself down.
She reached a hand to the tree to steady herself. She loved this tree; she could remember her mother planting it, and as it was beside the fence, it was a natural stopping place for her as she passed from one field to another.
Mariana took a step forward gingerly, the sun pouring down on her left cheek. She was facing west then, and she needed to turn. Her feet found their footing, and within a minute she was strolling down the Long Field, fingers dancing along the top of the fence.
How many years had she wandered this path? She knew it so well she even knew when to lift her leg slightly to avoid that large tree root. If you could see her now, Mariana thought darkly, you may even think I was pretending to be blind.
A sparrow danced above her, calling out to the sunshine in what sounded like unadulterated joy. It was free to go where it wanted, anywhere in the world – not like her, trapped to wander up and down the same well-worn paths, like a train unable to escape its rails.
Mariana shook her head slightly. That sort of thinking brings joy to no one, she berated herself silently, not even you. Anyway, she needed to concentrate again. The Lower Field had a stile, and a rusting nail on one side. If she was going to get over it without tearing her gown and leaving a streak of rust across the petticoats, she would need to pay attention.
The feel of the wooden slats grounded her. Warmed by the sun, the two sides were completely different.
The Lower Field had a path through the middle, and then she was only two houses over from home. What used to be a small gathering of two houses and a barn was now a bustling street, with six homes, a small school, and a new building Jonathan and Thomas had discussed between them.
Whatever it was for, Mariana could not care. She wanted to be home, out of the heat of this August sun, and into somewhere cool. All she had to do was step across the street and go two houses down.
It was an easy wander. She had never failed to complete it before. Indeed, she had carried out the small journey every day for years, and she had never had any trouble.
But today was different. Today, she was halfway across, stepping lightly over the hole Thomas had accidently driven into the compacted earth with a rake two days previously, when something large, heavy, and moving at speed whammed into her.
Doctor Gerald Anderson was not having a good day, and walking into a young woman and toppling her to the ground had not improved things.
“Cannot you see where you are going!” he burst out, irritation and heat overwhelming him.
The woman was sprawled on the dusty ground, and he saw with a groan that her cream gown was covered in dirt. The woman had blonde hair now loose from its pins, and it covered her face. She was also spluttering with rage.
“See where I am going – see where I am going!” It was almost a shriek, rather than a shout. “Good sir, do you have any idea where you are? I cannot say for sure, but I do not think you belong here, and crashing into young women in the middle of the street is not a quality that we look for here in Sweet Grove!”
“If you had just paid attention to where you were going, this could have been avoided,” replied Gerald tersely, offering his hand to help her up.
She did not take it. “And surely the same prescriptive advice could be applied to you – and with better merit!”
“I do not have time to argue the why and wherefore with you, good lady,” said Gerald, looking at his pocket watch and cursing the fact that he was now late. “Just take my hand, if you wish, and we can both be on our way.”
The woman sat up slowly and started dusting down her hands. “And how exactly do you expect me to do that?”
Gerald stared at her in wonderment. “My hand is offered, madam, if you do not want to take it – ”
“Offering a hand to a blind woman is not overly helpful,” she snapped.
His mouth fell open. Now her hair had fallen to the sides of her face, her grey eyes were visible – grey not in their pupils, but in their entirety. The woman was completely blind.
“Oh my – my profuse apologies, I am sorry,” Gerald garbled and hated himself for doing it, but the shame and embarrassment flowing through him had to be alleviated somehow. “Here, let me – ”
“No, no, I can get myself up – a daily hazard.” The woman’s voice was sharp, and she rose gingerly, checking her footing almost imperceptively. Gerald’s face was flaming red now as he saw her attempt to gain her bearings.
“My name is Gerald Anderson – Doctor Gerald Anderson, actually,” he said, picking up the reticule she had dropped and not lifted from the ground.
If he had thought it would be impossible for her to look more angry, he had been wrong.
“Doctor – Doctor Anderson? Oh well,” and now she sneered, creasing her beautiful face into something haggard, “that would explain it. I suppose I should expect nothing less from a medical man – good day to you, Doctor Anderson.”
And without another word, she stormed away – a feat Gerald would never have supposed possible.
He stood there, staring at her as she stepped up a verandah and let herself into a house. What a fantastically unusual woman. Blind, yes, but surely from birth; how else could she have learned to adapt so well? Never in his years of medical training and practice had he ever come across someone who –
“Doctor Anderson?”
A man’s voice called out behind him, and he turned to see a tall, bearded man smiling at him.
“I see you have met my sister. Thomas Bryant, at your service.”
Gerald sagged with relief. “Pastor Bryant, I am glad to finally meet you – I had looked for the church, but could not find it.”
“It has not yet been built,” smiled Thomas, stepping down from his home and reaching out to shake his hand. “But give me until after the harvest is over, and we will get her up. Come inside. We have much to discuss.”
Gerald was only too glad to step into the cool of the new Pastor of Sweet Grove’s home. He had come a long way, with little hope of success, and his mishap with what could only be another of the Bryant family had rattled him.
“Now then,” said Thomas, seating himself in the parlor and indicating Gerald should follow likewise. “I have heard interesting things of you, Doctor Anderson, and I wanted to meet you first before we discussed the opportunity before us.”
Gerald swallowed. So, he had been too late. Already the rumors had caught up with him. Well, it was only to be expected; malicious lies always moved faster than the truth.
“I beg you, sir – I beg that you would give me a chance,” he said in a quavering voice. He had hoped the pleading would have come later in the conversation, but . . . “I am a hard worker, with an excellent medical degree from New York, and – ”
“A man like yourself would not be answering newsletter adverts for a doctor to live, without pay, in a small settlement such as Sweet Grove, unless he had nowhere else to go,” interjected Thomas with a significant look.
Gerald fell silent. What was there to say?
“What happened in Houston?”
Thomas’ question was not unexpected, and Gerald had his answer ready. “It was just a misunderstanding, sir.” Really, it was degrading, having to defend himself like this. He must be almost a decade older than this man, and yet here he was, practically groveling on the floor for the chance to live in a house and have three meals a day. He must be mad. “No doctor, no matter how skilled, can stave off death forever. An unfortunate accident, that is all.”
He looked at Thomas Bryant, but could not read his face. What was he thinking? Did he believe the gossip, the witch hunt had followed him from town to town?
“I have done nothing wrong,” Gerald repeated firmly, holding Thomas’ gaze. “And what is more, I would do it again should the Lord put me in the same circumstances. Though I pray that He never will.”
The Pastor of Sweet Grove stared at him, as though looking for long enough would enable him to see inside his very soul. Gerald hoped not. There was enough regret, sadness, and bitterness nestled in his heart to last a man of the cloth a lifetime.
“Doctor Anderson,” began Thomas, and Gerald tried not to hold his breath. “I am a man of second chances. I see no reason why you cannot live here among us, tend to our needs, and be a part of Sweet Grove.”
Gerald let out a sigh of relief, and realized he had been gripping his hands together so tightly his knuckles creaked as he relaxed them. “Thank you – thank you, Pastor Bryant. I will not disappoint you.”
“I know,” said Thomas simply. “And now, if you do not mind, I must get back up to the Top Field and help the family check the trees over before the day is out.”
The two men rose, Gerald hardly able to believe his luck. This was it then; he had found somewhere at last that was ready to cure the ache of loneliness inside him.
“You will take the house at the end of the row here,” Thomas pointed, and Gerald saw a large building, twice the size of the other homes. “We have built an extra few rooms into it for use as your surgery. I hope that is acceptable.”
“More than acceptable,” Gerald said with a bow. “I will let you get to your fields, Pastor Bryant.”
For a moment Gerald thought he would make it to the house – his new home – without further comment. But he was wrong.
“Oh, and Doctor Anderson?”
Gerald looked round from the middle of the street at Thomas standing in the doorway.
“A word of advice.”
Gerald swallowed down his pride. “I would gladly take any advice from you, Pastor Bryant.”
The younger man smiled, and his beard crinkled at the edges. “You are welcome to wander throughout any part of Sweet Grove, ‘tis your home now. But if I were you, I would avoid spending over much time with my twin sister, Mariana. She does not care for doctors.”