he first day of harvest started long before dawn. Maureen was putting a third pan of biscuits into the oven when Gloria, bleary-eyed, came into the kitchen to help her.
“You get on over and start stirring that gravy,” Maureen said, directing Gloria to a large saucepan on the stove.
“You're trusting me to make gravy?”
“No, I'm trusting you to stir gravy,” Maureen said. “And mind you don't let it scorch, or you'll have a bunch of angry workers on your hands.”
The crew showed up at dawn. Six men and a young boy piled out of the back of a wagon hungry for Maureen's famous biscuits ‘n’ gravy.
“Now you all just hold your britches,” Maureen said, walking out to the front yard to greet them. “Get out your cups. Breakfast'll be up soon.”
The men stood in a line, mugs held out ready for a steaming cup of coffee. Maureen made her way down the line, greeting each man in turn.
“Ron, good to see you again. This your son? Looks just like you, don't he…Bill, looks like you've put on a few pounds…Sam, now didn't I tell you that woman would be no good?”
Each man shifted his feet, muttered a reply.
“Norman, have you had a doctor look at that? Lonnie, you just get more and more handsome…Big Phil, I'm still using Anne's cream pie recipe.”
Gloria watched all of this through the kitchen window, fascinated by Maureen's transformation. Normally sedate, almost matronly, she became flirtatious and coy. The men continued to shuffle and blush until finally one of them—Lonnie, she thought—reached out to take Maureen's hand.
“Won't seem right workin’ these fields without Ed,” he said. “He was a good man.”
“Yes, he was," Maureen said.
“This new man, you sure he ain't just after your land?”
Maureen laughed and gave him a nudge in his ribs. “Lon, I know he's just after my land.”
“Aw, Maureen, you know what I'm talkin’ about. He ain't just takin’ it out from under you.”
“Don't you worry,” Maureen said. “We hit on a fair price. Some he's paid cash, the rest he's working off. He gets a working farm, I get to stay on a bit and have help while I'm staying. I love this place, Lon. Ed and I worked hard here. Trust me, I wouldn't hand it over to just anybody. John William MacGregan's a good man.”
Just then, John William came around the corner from the barn.
“Speak of the devil,” Gloria muttered to herself, forgetting to stir the gravy.
He strode across the yard, seeming taller, stronger than Gloria ever remembered. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them in apparent anticipation of the day's work ahead. She heard him holler “Mornin'!” to the crowd before making his way down the line of workers, offering each a hearty handshake. When he got to Maureen, he engulfed her in a brawny hug and planted a kiss on her gray curls.
“Let's get to work!” His voice boomed into the morning, and the men raised their cups in agreement.
“Let's have breakfast first,” Maureen said, earning an even louder cheer. She turned and looked straight at Gloria through the kitchen window. “Gloria, bring on the biscuits! John, you go on in and get the gravy. That skillet's heavy.”
The gravy!
Gloria turned her attention back to the stove and used the wooden spoon to break apart the skin that had formed on the top. Then she dipped it into the creamy mass, gingerly touching the bottom, testing for the soft sign of scorching.
“Gloria?" It was the first he'd spoken to her since their argument yesterday after church. “I'll take that outside now.”
She whirled around to face him, and smiled at what she saw.
“You trimmed it,” she said.
“Yes.” He brought his hand up to his newly trimmed beard. It was cut close to his face, each line and contour clearly visible. “But I didn't cut the hair.”
“So I see.”
His hair was pulled back and secured with a strip of leather at the nape of his neck. His ears, bulging and disfigured, were clearly visible. She noticed that he seemed to make an effort not to bring his hand up to cover them.
“The gravy?”
“What?”
“Maureen asked me to take the gravy outside. You're to bring the biscuits.”
Oh, yes. Of course.”
They stood there in the half-dark, oven-warmed kitchen. The last time they spoke, he said he wanted her. She wondered if he still did. His gaze was unsettling, her breath uneven, and the gravy was Hopping,sending splatters to sizzle on the hot stove.
“The gravy,” they said simultaneously.
She handed him a tea towel to wrap around the hot handle, and he reached around her to lift the pan off the stove. She stepped aside before his arm could brush against her.
“I'll be right out with the biscuits,” she said. “Tell Maureen I'll put more coffee on.”
Try as she might, Gloria could not ignore the hired hands’ appreciative looks as Maureen introduced her to them one by one. Even though no one said more than, “Nice to meet you, ma'am,” each pair of eyes peered out from under a sweat-stained hat brim and lingered just a little too long on her face. She declined to shake hands after the one named Sam deposited a sweaty glaze.
The oldest of the bunch, Big Phil, was a portly man with a ruddy face and a ready laugh. He took one look at Gloria, then one look at John William and said, “Now, MacGregan, 1 swear. I don't see how a man with a mug as ugly as yours could get himself a beauty like this. Just don't seem right.”
“Maybe he hasn't quite got me yet,” Gloria said, smiling slyly. “After all, we're new here. I had no idea I'd have so many choices.”
The men let out a hearty laugh, and Big Phil grabbed Gloria around the waist and planted a meaty kiss on her cheek.
“You'd better hold on to this one, MacGregan,” he said. “Reminds me of my wife. She's a spunky one, too.”
“Yes,” John William said. “I'm truly blessed.”
“It's like they say” Maureen said, “there's a lid for every pot.”
“Well, this lid's going inside,” Gloria said. “I've got a baby calling me.”
John William marveled at the power of the reaper, pulled by a team of horses, as its blades cut the wheat stalk close to the ground. Ed Brewster bought the machine after his most profitable harvest, an investment Maureen had said was long overdue. Two of the men, Big Phil and Lonnie, owned their own reapers even though Big Phil didn't have a crop to bring in, and Lonnie didn't even own land. Each would collect a rental fee on top of the pay for their labor. John William had to convince Maureen to lay out the extra cost. But with three machines and five men—well, four men and one strong boy—working to bind the stalks, he figured they would be able to harvest nearly fifteen acres a day With just over three hundred acres—half of Maureen's section—he expected it wouldn't take more than three weeks to get the whole crop in.
This harvest was a far cry from the fieldwork he'd done beside his father, a hired hand much like the men he employed today. He remembered endless days of swinging a sickle and stooping to gather bundles of wheat. Now it was near noon, and already he and his team had done what would have been a full day's work in his childhood
“We gonna take a break soon, boss?” Big Phil's good-natured voice called from behind.
“Don't call me that,” John William said over his shoulder. “You all know more about this than 1 do.” He shielded his eyes and looked up toward the sun that sat in the full center of the sky. “1 expect the women will be bringing dinner out soon.”
He was right. Within minutes he heard Maureen's voice, clear and sweet, carrying across the fields.
“Sing to the Lord of harvest
singsongs of love and praise
with joyful heans and voices
jour alleluias raise.”