Page 13 of Apple Boy

“I… I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” I gasped out.

“Don’t you feckin’ lie to my face, scrote! You’s wearin’ my Evan’s boots and his shirt”, he spat.

“I… I can explain,”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the farmers’ wife, Rosalie, was standing at the farmhouse door, and she worriedly watched events unfolding in the courtyard. I was trembling with fear, and that huge, filthy grasping hand was cutting off my supply of air. I am whippet thin and have no muscle to speak of. I could not fight off a brute the likes of Farmer Sewell. I knew then that there was no help for me. I would pass out and probably die here in this godforsaken backwater, just like my uncle.

Rosalie came striding across the courtyard with the poker in her hand. “You put that boy down Col Sewell, or so help me!” she said waving the iron poker at him.

“Get back in that kitchen, woman. This little shite’s been thievin’ from our house when all we did was give him work and food.“

“Damn it, you bloody fool. You’re WRONG. You was wrong when you chased my boy away, and you’re wrong now. My Evan’s not getting any use from them clothes no more. I told Adam to let the lad have them.” Rosalie insisted. I was stunned that she had the mettle to speak to her husband so roughly.

Sewell dropped me like I was a sack of apples and then spun to face his wife, shouting, “You had no right, Rosie, no right!” His large right hand drew back readying to deliver a slap—but it was a blow that never landed. The next thing I saw was Adam. He appeared in a racing blur and barreled into his father’s side screaming,

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare raise a hand to my Ma.” Adam leaped onto his father’s back, and he began pummeling him around the head and face. I rubbed at my throat and tried to catch my breath while willing Adam to be victorious with all of the energy I could muster. But just as I sent out that thought, Sewell spun around, and Adam lost his purchase. He fell off his father’s back, yet landed on his feet, which did him a disservice because his father’s right hand followed through with the spin and swatted Adam aside as if he were a gadfly. I saw the splash of scarlet that was ejected from Adam’s mouth as he was struck, and watched in horror as he flew through the air as if in slow motion, crashing into the barn wall with a mighty thud, and then sliding down to sprawl on the ground beside me. I couldn’t breathe with the constriction in my throat and the shock of what I’d witnessed.

“What are you’s all lookin’ at? Back to work, NOW!” Sewell roared menacingly. He staggered, seemingly disorientated, and then his hands flew to grip either side of his head as if he thought it might fall off. He glared with confused, questioning eyes at Rosalie who still stood defiantly with the poker held aloft and her expression fixed in a fierce grimace. At that moment, I fell a little in love with Adam’s mother, for she had bigger stones than any man in this whole damnable town.

The splash of blood I saw on the ground caught my eye. I noticed that the red stain was not all Adam’s blood. Among it, the Star-fall gemstone rested. It must have been forced from the ring’s gold setting when Farmer Sewell hit his son. I lurched forward and grabbed it, clutching it greedily in my palm before anyone else saw. The sudden rush of joy that flowed through me at holding the gem was near euphoric. This was my inheritance. My thoughts galloped ahead, and I figured that I could seek out a back-alley jeweler in Serein and have the gem reset into a ring or pendant. Of course, I would pay them extra to keep quiet about the nature of the jewel. I vowed to myself that I would return the seal to my father, and in turn, prove my manhood and loyalty to my family—what a wondrous gift from my travels this would be. I understood how much this discovery would thrill my father and I could, at last, be a hero in his eyes—a worthy successor.

An agonized groan beside me pulled me from my wild imaginings. I turned and saw Adam’s handsome face now grimacing with pain, and that his bloodied nose had spilled over his pretty mouth and in turn, stained the clean shirt he had changed in to. Adam sat up and craned his head in his hands.

“Are you okay?” I croaked my throat still not back to normal.

“I’ll be fine,” Adam said without a hint of emotion in his voice. Then he turned his head a little to face me and gave me a glare I understood all too well. Don’t attend to me or let my father know we like one another.

“Back… to… work,” Col Sewell called again, turning in an arc, his arms now flailing in an attempt to rouse his laborers, but this time his voice held less aggression. In fact, he sounded confused. The harvesters appeared confused too, looking around blankly as if they’d just awoken and suddenly found themselves at Blackdown Farm. Long, awkward moments of impasse dragged on as Sewell stared at his workers and they stared back, non-plussed. Whatever bonds of power he’d tangled them in were severed when the gem left his ownership. Col Sewell was no longer the boss of these men. I turned away from Adam and met Aryn’s eyes. We exchanged a wary glance, and I knew that he understood something important had just occurred.

“C’mon lads, t’is harvest time at Blackdown Farm. We can’t sit around all day; we’s got apples to pick”, Aryn called out to them giving the men some direction to jog their memories. The harvesters slowly rose to their feet and followed Aryn across the courtyard to the orchard lane.

Col Sewell watched the men leave then turned to his wife and said “You can put that down Rosie. I won’t lay a finger on ye.” Farmer Sewell’s voice sounded different—softer.

“I ain’t feelin’ right, love. I think best go take a lie down.”

Rosalie lowered her poker, and her husband moved off dazedly toward the farmhouse. I was surprised at how quickly the danger evaporated from such a tense situation.

Adam’s mother rushed over and fell to her knees in front of her son. “That brute’s ruined a good shirt!” she spat disdainfully looking at the trails of blood down her son’s chest. “C’mon, into the house—the two of ye, I’ll get ye patched up.”

Rosalie sat Adam and me at the scrubbed oak kitchen table. Adam’s sister’s Sara and Beth had thankfully not suffered their Pa’s ire. They stood anxiously watching as their mother attended to their brother. Rosalie made Adam remove his shirt, and so he sat before me bare-chested.

”Sara love, get me a bowl of warm water, lavender oil, and some linen strips. Beth, you go check on yer Pa,” Rosalie directed. The girls scurried to do as they were told. I felt for Beth for having to go anywhere near her father. I’m sure I would have been far too terrified to carry out that request.

Sara collected all that her mother needed, and Rosalie then gave her the bloody shirt to wash.

“A drop of milk on that blood should get the stain out and then give it a good wash.” She instructed. Adam’s honey-tanned skin was beautiful in the low light of the kitchen. I remembered how good it felt to be close to him in the bathing tub, to touch his silky skin, and how gentle he was with attending to my needs. Adam had been taught well by his mother. I was exhausted from the morning’s toil and the drama in the courtyard. I wanted nothing more than to curl up by Adam’s side in a soft featherbed, lay my head on his chest and sleep.

Rosalie bathed her son’s bloodied nose. “It ain’t broke, my pretty lad. You’ll still be a catch for the girls of Mallowick.” She said, making Adam laugh and pull away. His eyes darted to me, and I saw that the comment about being a catch for a girl upset him. A weight settled in my belly. Adam believed his future lay in a loveless coupling with a girl he had no interest in. Adam hissed as his mother moved in again. She placed a firm hand on his head to keep him from wriggling and applied a salve to his bruises. Then, meeting my gaze once more, we exchanged shy smiles. I’d thought Adam hated me for rejecting his suggestion we should become traveling companions, but it appeared he did not hate me after all. I was humbled. I owed Adam so much, and I had no idea how I could repay him.

“I’ll brew you a tincture to soothe your throat, Win, and I’ve got a salve for the bruising,” Rosalie informed. Adam’s sister Beth padded softly down the stairs.

“He’s sleepin’ Ma”, she informed. Rosalie nodded, and I let out a sigh of relief. She applied some lavender and goose grease salve to Adam’s scraped knuckles and then came to me. I could not see whatever markings Sewell had left upon my pale skin, but the pinched lips on Rosalie’s face said it all.

“That’s goin’ te bruise bad by the looks of it,” She said. “Is yer breathin’ okay, lad? Can you swallow?” I heard Adam snicker into his cupped hands, and my eyes darted to give him a reproachful glare. I bit my lip and tried to keep my composure in front of Adam’s mother, after all, I am a gentleman!

“Beth, you go up to Evan’s trunk and see if there’s a neckerchief for Win.” The girl crept upstairs and returned a few minutes later with an emerald green neckerchief. Rosalie daubed lavender salve on the bruises and then threaded the fabric around my throat, covering the evidence of the assault.

“Take the afternoon off, boy. You won’t lose out on yer wage, I can promise you that.” Rosalie said. I was far too sore and exhausted to argue. She sent me back to the barn with a fresh slice of bread and cheese, the precious Star-fall feeling huge in my pocket.