Harry on the Prairie

Chapter 15

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

We made it to 4400! I am so glad you guys are enjoying the story, and I get a huge kick outta the comments. You guys crack me up!

*****

Like strawberry wine and seventeen
The hot July moon saw everything
My first taste of love, oh bittersweet
The green on the vine
Like strawberry wine...

-Deana Carter

HARRY:

"Oh, no you don't!" I grunt out, arguing with a fish as his flopping covers me in water.

Frankie reaches my side, opening the lid to the bucket. "Put him in, quick! Don't lose him!"

She holds the bucket close enough and by some act of God, I'm able to get the strong-willed fish inside, with Frankie closing the lid behind him.

*****

HARRY:

My grin's almost outgrowin' my face on account of Frankie carryin' on about how big my fish is.

"He hardly fits in the bucket, Harry!" Frankie giggles, mighty pleased.

I stand there and try to give her the once-over without her noticin'. From her bare toes covered in mud to her skirt tied up at her knees. I imagine myself peppering the inside of her knee with light kisses, and it's hard to drag my eyes away. I know knees ain't a regular place for kissin', but I still wonder if Frankie might one day let me kiss her there.

"Harry?" Frankie's voice pulls me to the here and now, "You seemed off somewhere else for a minute?" She squints at me, her hair wild from struggling with her fish.

Flustered, I look down at my wet self, "That fish almost got the best of me, dammit."

"You'll start stinking soon," Frankie wrinkles her nose.

"The hell I will," I unbutton my shirt lickety-split and hang it over a nearby branch, turning back to Frankie. "You ready to eat?" I ask, grabbing the blanket.

"You're gonna eat like that?" Frankie asks as I spread the blanket over the grass.

"Like what?" I stand and look over, noticin' her eyes glued to my chest something serious like.

She speaks in a hushed tone I can barely hear. "You're not decent."

I step closer to her, "I beg your pardon?" I heard what she said, but I kinda like it when she gets flustered. The shy glances and the pinkness in her cheeks makes me wanna kiss her something fierce.

"You're not dressed properly," Frankie's eyes move back and forth between my eyes and chest like she's watching little boys toss a ball back and forth.

"My shirt needs to dry out so I don't catch my death out in the night air. Or was that something you were hopin' for?" I crack a grin.

"No, I am not hopin' you'll catch your death," Frankie laughs, moving the lantern over near the blanket. "Not tonight, anyways," she adds with sass.

I grab the basket and we settle in, my legs splay this way and that, and Frankie's tuck up neatly 'neath her skirt.

"Sorry it's nothin' fancy tonight, but I kinda wanted the picnic to be a surprise. It wouldn't have if you'd smelled me in the kitchen burnin' stuff," I say as I pull out half a loaf of bread, dried sausage, and some cheese. I have a couple tin plates and I get to cuttin' and fixin' us sandwiches.

Frankie picks up the canteen, opens it, and takes a sniff. "What's in here?"

"That's Niall's homemade strawberry wine. He's won ribbons for it at fairs and such. He gives me a jug whenever he makes a fresh batch."

Frankie's in deep thought as she fills our tin cups part way with wine. "How'd you even get the picnic basket packed? I was in the front room most of the day."

"I snuck into the kitchen cellar through the outside door." I raise my eyebrows at her, taking a bite of my sandwich.

"Well, aren't you the sneaky one?" Frankie wipes her mouth with her napkin and gives me the stink-eye.

"Nah. I'm way too clumsy to be sneaky. I remember as kids, me and Louis'd try to sneak a pinch of his dad's chewin' tobacco, or my dad's cigarettes. Got caught damn near every time cause I'd knock over something or other and create a ruckus. Louis always managed to sneak away, and I'd be the one left to get whipped with the switch."

"Aw, poor Harry," Frankie teases with a fake pout, clearly not feeling any sympathy toward my childhood predicament.

"I reckon you had your fair share to deal with from Louis as well, yeah?" I ask, shovin' in my last bite of sandwich and cuttin' off another piece of sausage to eat plain.

Frankie chews thoughtfully. "Actually, I've only heard stories of Louis and seen a picture. Turns out he left home a few weeks before I got there."

"Really?"

That's what Mrs. Tomlinson said," Frankie nods. "He went off with his daddy."

This is shocking news. "Mr. Tomlinson left his wife?"

"Uh-huh," Frankie sips her wine. "Shameful behavior, really. Mrs. Tomlinson didn't never seem to wanna talk about it."

"I reckon I wouldn't wanna talk about it much either," I say matter-of-factly.

"If they hadn't have left though, I doubt Mrs. Tomlinson woulda taken me in, and I probably woulda went to the orphanage."

The thought of Frankie as a little girl in an orphanage tugs at my heart strings mighty hard.

"I guess everything happens for a reason," I say, pulling a jar of pears out of the picnic basket.

Frankie's green eyes meet mine, "Do you believe that, Harry? That everything happens for a reason?"

"Um," I grunt fumbling to open the pear jar that had been closed entirely too tightly. "I don't have a choice, Frankie. I have to believe it," I respond, using a fork to fish out some pears and put 'em on Frankie's plate.

She gives me a look like she's got a whole lotta questions in her head, and I know it's coming. "You have to believe it?"

I drink down my cup of wine in one gulp and pour me another. That stuff is so stout that I can feel the hairs on my chest growing. "Did Mrs. Tomlinson tell you anything about me before she sent you here?" I ask.

"Not a lot. She talked about the past often, about when ya'll were neighbors. She said your mama was her best friend, and that you and Louis were always being ornery," she smiles. "Then before she died, she'd left letters with Reverend Payne. One for me, and one for you."

I continue to refill our cups with wine while we talk. Upon hearing the news of Mrs. Tomlinson's passing, Reverend Payne was to deliver the letters to me and Frankie. My letter telling me she was coming on the Saturday train, and Frankie's letter telling her that I was a kind and trustworthy man. Mrs. Tomlinson also wrote to Frankie that she knew in her heart that I would protect her as if she were my own kinfolk.

The canteen is empty by now, and Frankie has a couple tears in her eyes. Whether they're caused by emotion or drink, I can't be certain, but probably a mixture of both. My eyes feel a little misty themselves. Goddammit.

I don't like to talk about my own personal business. I'd just as soon punch somebody in the face (which I have before, twice) and get on with my day. My emotions toward Frankie are a big jumbled mess. Like if there was only one piece of bacon left and she wanted it, I'd want her to have it. For Chrissakes, I let her sleep in my own bed while my ass was getting' itchy out in the damned barn. Something serious is happening here. I want to know everything there is to know about this girl. I trust her, and I want her to trust me. And that means I'm gonna have to talk about shit I don't wanna talk about, but for her – I think it'll be worth it.

"I have to believe everything happens for a reason, Frankie. I have to believe it because my parents are dead. They died in a fire when I was nearly 18." There. I just blurt it out there. The hard part is over.