HSA-17: Harvest Day

In the fall of 1953, the Human Sexual Anomaly division had been officially in operation for six months. No longer did the interviews take place in a dank harbor warehouse or a grimy roadside bar, but in a clean interrogation room two stories below an average office building. A lamp hung over the wooden table causing a gleaming reflection in the new varnish. On one side sat Harry Dean.

He would last three more years before meeting an ill fate. He was a squat man with a serious, gaunt face. He wore a thin, tailored, black suit with a white shirt and a narrow tie. His hat and overcoat hung on a hook near the door, still damp from the rain. Arrayed before him on the table were black and white photos, several manila file folders, and a clean white notepad, made specially by the division for this purpose. At the end of his interview for the job, the division told Harry he would encounter things that made him questions his sanity, his morals, and his god. He did not believe it until he learned about the Harvest of Ulster Rock.

Across the table sat another man. Never trust a frayed rope, Harry’s father told him as a boy. Ben Holcomb looked like a frayed rope. For the past two years, Ben lived in the care of his blind aunt in Knoxville. How he made it to Knoxville after Ulster Rock remained a mystery of relatively little importance, but Harry intended to suss it out along with the rest of the tale. At twenty-two, Ben looked handsome despite his fraying. The shock of white hair running down the center of his head, hedged on either side by waxy black curls, warned of something uneven inside the young man. Thin, but wiry, made of the thread-thin steel from which country boys seemed to be spun. Periodically, spasms seized his muscles causing his arms and neck to go rigid. He winced at the slightest knock or thump. Harry knew shell shock well enough to recognize it before him. He hates seeing the signs in a man who had been free from the horrors of war. “This boy would trade places with any of them,” Harry thought, “maybe even the dead. Maybe only them.”

“Let me see your hands, son,” Harry asked in the stern tone that he once addressed troops.

Ben did not turn his head, but tentatively offered his bare palms to the man across the table. Harry frowned, and his lips curled. Across the palms and up the wrist to the elbow were three branching patterns which Harry recognized. During the war, a corporal walked out to the latrine during a storm, carrying his rifle. Lightning did what the Germans couldn’t and struck the boy dead. Harry helped carry the body back. A medic looked the boy over before sending him on to the white trucks. The same pattern on Ben hands and wrists had been on the back of that soldier. Lichtenberg pattern, the medic called it. Burst all the blood vessels down a line in the shoulder and back. Not what killed him though, the medic had said. The kid’s heart stopped, and that killed most everyone. The pattern on the dead boy’s back had started to turn black when Harry saw it, like still blood, but the ones on Ben’s hands remained bright red, as if the blood vessels broke anew every few minutes. And perhaps, Harry thought, the fingertips are why.

On each hand, on each finger and thumb down to the first knuckle, a thick, tarry substance coated Ben Holcomb’s fingers. It writhed like pitch on the boil. Harry nodded, and Ben pulled his hands back. Harry picked up his pencil and made several notes, most centered on the fact that despite looking like pitch, the substance has not worn off on any object or so much as changed position on the skin. Satisfied with that for the moment, he looked up at Ben with the best smile he could muster. “We’ll begin now, if that’s all right?”

Ben went to a spot in his mind that has been dark and closed off for two years. He saw it as a door once sealed with great difficulty — a red door, covered in pitch stains and nail scratches. Nothing scared Ben more than opening it, but he knew he couldn’t keep it closed forever. Because what happened to him could happen again. Men in suits, men like Harry, found him and offered help. They showed him things other men would never believe, some horrible and some beautiful and all treacherous. He sat up straight in his chair, folding the scarred and tarred hands in his lap. He still felt the wriggle and burn of the sticky substance. In his mind or his heart or his soul, wherever one keeps the darkest of secrets, he reached for the handle of the door and found it turned easily.

“It was October 14th, 1951. I just turned twenty, and I took a job in Ulster Rock. They were bringing in the harvest and needed extra labor. Extra men, you see, for the harvest.”

Harry nodded, and his hand went to work at the notepad.

Ben arrived on a Greyhound line thirty miles south of Ulster Rock. At the depot, he met up with his new foreman, a dusty old man called Willard. Six other young men got off at the same stop. They’d been riding together for miles and none of them knew they were headed to the exact same place. An eighth man came a different route, bringing an old beat up Ford on its last leg. The young man behind it looked two sizes too small for the rig, and Ben half expected to see him sitting on a pile of books with cinder blocks taped to his feet to reach the pedals. Willard gathered the lot of them on the rear side of the bus depot.

“Glad to see you all made it. We’ve got a good drive left ahead of us, but figure we should shake things out here. Ulster Rock is out in the fuckin nowhere. Don’t get no passers through, and no man with a truck is heading out of town till after harvest. So if you get fuckin sick of me, you got a long walk before finding any way back to your momma’s leakin tit.” He spat to emphasize his point. Willard wore muddy and tattered overalls covering a shirt that might have once been white. His face and arms were sun worn leather. Wisps of white hair jutted out from beneath a denim cabbie hat. His left eye had turned to milk, but the right still sparkled a lively green. He spoke with his arms wrapped around his chest, showing pocked skin and knotted knuckles. “Two weeks of hard work. Pays twice, once at the end of the first week. Again at the end of the second. One hundred dollars a week with a fifty dollar bonus if’n you don’t cut up none. I don’t begrudge a man his drink, but can’t have you whooping around town and causing trouble. That settled?”

The troop of young men nodded. For a brief moment, Ben wondered how and why each of them had come to be standing in front of Willard’s one good eye. Ben guessed by the look of the lot that they all couldn’t be more than a few years apart. It was the first time Ben felt his hair stand on end, an instinct his daddy had taught him to always heed. He believed if any danger was to come out of the group, he suspected it to be the fellow standing in the middle. Nathan Puckett, a bull of a man with cold, heavy lidded eyes and a nasty scar running down the left side of his face, nodded along with Willard’s instructions like a greedy hog watching his keeper bleed out in the pen. Slow and cold, he’d eat the world so long as it laid still in front of him. Ben’s active imagination had no trouble spinning a tale of the butcher Nathan Puckett, who took farm jobs with other men, working side by side with them until the pay was doled out in full. Then with that dumb smile on his wet lips, he would follow each of them down an alley and introduce a knife to their guts for the money in their pockets.

“Chuck here has volunteered to drive up behind me. I’ll take half of you in the truck. The one who stinks the least can ride in the cab with me. The other half pile in with Chuck. If’n you got to piss, do it now. I ain’t intending on stopping on the way back. Gotta get ya settled.”

Fifteen minutes later, they had loaded their meager belongings in the car or truck and divided themselves up. To Ben’s relief, Nathan went off to the truck with Willard. “Like goes with like,” Chuck offered as a greeting as they situated themselves for the drive. Ben introduced himself in return by asking what Chuck had meant. “That dullard. The big one. I can see him gettin on fine with old Willard. Willard and the Dullard, a fine pair to make us break our backs haulin corn or just apt to split an axe in your back from the look of them.”

“Yeah, sure,” agreed one of the two in the rear seats. “Norman Black, pleased to meet you fellas.”

“Gregory Anders, people who bother to call me, call me Anders,” said the fourth.

“Charles Thornton is my full name,” Chuck continued after Ben gave his name. “Been called Chuck since as long as I remember, though. Like a woodchuck my ol’ ma would say. Small, but industrious.” He flashed them a grin and cranked the car. It rattled. Ben immediately thought they’d be left behind, but the engine rolled over and Chuck’s feet went to work on the clutch. “Hi-ho silver!” The engine roared defiantly, and a swirl of dust rose up behind them as they followed Willard’s truck out onto the road. From the bed, leaning back against the cab, Nathan alternated between glaring at them menacingly or looking dumbly at nothing at all. At first, Ben found it unnerving, but as the corn fields started to roll by and the conversation started up in the car, he forgot the eerie feeling he’d had. “I come from Kansas, myself,” Chuck prattled on, bouncing in his seat along the rough road. “Pa went off in the war when I was still in shorts. Left him over in North Africa, we think. Thought. Ma moved on last year. Kicked around the old place for a while till my brother came back for it. He ran me off, telling me to go find my own. Gimme the car though, so he ain’t all that bad. What about you fellas?”

Norman answered first. He seemed glad of the conversation after the long drive to the bus stop. “Up from Atlanta. My, uh, parents are still living. Worked for my dad’s company these past four years, carpentry. Lots of building going on back home. Thought I’d be fine there for a while, anyway. Then all these fellas start coming back from the army or from college, looking for work. My dad says they’d earned a spot that I hadn’t and that it would do me good to head out for a while. Earn my legs, apprentice around the world a little. I rightly agreed with him. And so here I am. Might not be much building, but seems like honest work.”

Ben wondered. “How’d you hear about this spot, anyway?”

“Heard about it from an old codger at the hardware store back home. Said he used to come west every year for picking season. Gave me a number to call and so I did. Got Willard on the other end of the line, he asked a few questions, and here I am.” Norman shrugged. What did he know about how work was found? It was no different than an apple falling from a tree in his experience. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t.

“Same with me,” Anders chimed in morosely.

Chuck looked back in the rear view mirror to put a face to the voice once more. “What’chu mean same with you?” Anders and Norman were both handsome young men, the kind that Chuck had long ago learned to either respect or hate based on their personalities, but in either case envy as well. Norman’s face looked a little more brutish, with his brow and eyes protruding forward over his jaw. Anders, on the other hand, had a well balanced face with a strong jaw that might one day be suited more to Hollywood than field work. Each had a swoop of brown hair above their eyes, still boyish and soon to be bordering on foppish, unlike Ben who had a crew cut that any old, blind barber would give or Chuck himself who kept his dark hair matted down with grease.

Anders looked up grey eyes, “I mean the same. Old fella, out of towner, dropped in the soda parlor where I was hired on to sweep up. Started talking about hundred dollars for a week of work. That’d take three months back home.”

“Where’s home?” Ben asked, softly. What he lacked in judgment of appearance, he mostly made up for in judge of disposition. Of the eight who had come to the bus stop, a hot wire of desperation or determination ran through seven of them, but not Anders. Those grey eyes held a mission of solemn and grim importance.

“Auburn, Alabama.” Anders turned his attention back to the window and made no further explanations.

“Sounds like the old bastard made good time then,” Chuck said. “Saw him myself. Gave me the number to call and everything. Long distance too. Thought I was going in on a scam, but here I am. Lucky, too. This pay’ll set me up pretty good for a while I think. Course I heard about people doing farm work through the seasons before. Kind of died down during the war, at least so far as I saw. Easier pay, and sometimes safer, to go fight Nazzis.”

Ben couldn’t help but smirk at the Midwesterner’s pronunciation of Nazi rhyming with snazzy. “I met him too. Didn’t have to go out of my way though. He came by the house looking for me. Said he’d heard about me in town and told me about work up north. Talked it over with my folks, and they said it might be worth it. Guess it makes sense.”

“Sure it does,” Chuck agreed. “That’d have to be ol’ Willard’s pappy, you see. Willard’s probably eighty so Pappy would be in his early one-teens. Since Willy can’t be bothered to find fresh blood, Pappy is sent out to round up some new roosters to do all the work now that he’d gotten to old to shuck his own corn, if you catch my meaning. Time for some fresh cocks to waggle around the hen yard, you might say.” Norman roared a guffawing laugh, and Ben chuckled while shaking his head. Anders remained silent, though the edge of his mouth twinged up slightly as though it might remember how to laugh properly if Chuck went on with his obscenities enough.

The conversation turned to things that young men talk about, pushed forward by Chuck’s waggling tongue and encouraged by Nelson’s swelling urge to tell his whole life story. Ben said little, Anders said less, and as the sun lulled behind the cornstalks they all found themselves travel weary. Until Ulster Rock came into sight. Though Ben didn’t know it, they all felt the same pricking of their skin as they crossed an invisible threshold on the edge of town. It passed in an instant, but left a lingering unease in their guts that would not pass until driven out of them by hard labor.

Ulster Rock was a small and pleasant town of short brick buildings comprising a main street with a few houses around the edge.  The healthy contingent of the population lived out on the farms.  It had built up as a “T” with the north highway ending in front of the town hall square.  Leading up to it on either side were several storefronts. Ben noted them on the way, a general store, a pharmacy, the post office, a pair of farming supply stores, a small bookshop that might have been a library on some days, a diner, and a few more darker buildings that Ben guessed to be professional services. The two car caravan turned right at the end of the road and headed east. The boys in the car got a good look at the somewhat more stately house that acted as city hall, jail, and any other municipal function that might be required. In front of it was a large lawn, a peculiarity in such a small town where every inch of land was gobbled up by corn. On it was a half built platform that resembled gallows. The unsettled feeling in their guts kept that guess from their lips, but it passed like a shadow over each of their minds.

They carried on until most of the town was behind them. The last building, or the first if you happened to be headed the other direction, was the boarding house. It was a brightly lit, two story building with a wide porch on the first and second floor. The windows spilled orange light out into the dirt lot where Willard finally came to a stop. The men piled out of the vehicles, glad to be rid of travel for the moment. The four from Chuck’s car joined the others as Willard left them standing outside the wood plank porch. From the looks of them, the other four had not enjoyed the ride nearly as much as Chuck, and they glowered at him when he chirped a question about Willard’s whereabouts. Nathan, whether through his latent malice or simple traveler’s discomfort, looked ready to correct Chuck’s cheerfulness with his fist. Ben got the distinct impression that the three men with him would oblige, as though they had been infected by Nathan’s peculiar aura. In turn, Ben and his cohort felt ready to defend their blabbermouth driver. All unspoken and displayed through a quick set of glances back and forth, a web of tension ready to break into a scuffle. Willard stomped out of the door just in time.

During the drive, the old man added a chaw of tobacco to his earthy mystique. He spat, the black mucus dribbling from his lower lip and turning the dirt into mud at his feet. “Alright now, your rooms are set. Two to each, but you have your own cots all the same. I’ve slept it off here plenty of times, and you won’t find no better lodgin within sixty miles any direction. I’ll let Mira settle that up with you in a minute. My business is your work. Tomorrow morning, five sharp, I want you on your feet and standing right’chere with fuckin bells on. You can wake up on the ride out to the fields. I recommend hard coffee and no cream. Cream just lulls you back to sleep. Butter if you like, but mind it you don’t take a shit where we ain’t picked yet. It’s rough for the first two days if’n you ain’t used to it. After that, you won’t be able to sleep past the first sunbeam, I wager. We’ll split off into two teams. Reckon how your rode up here is good enough dividing for it. The four that come with me, I’ll be shuttling you out to Wilson Hambridge’s. You other half will go out to Tucker Morrow’s. Can’t miss the places as they’re across the road from one another. That’ll do for now. I’d tell ya to go straight to bed, but I doubt you’d listen. Five in the morning, on the dot. You boys ought to be used to this work, but I won’t tolerate layabouts.”

Willard said nothing else. He nodded to them and headed off to his truck. From there, he would drive another twenty minutes to the shed he kept at the edge of town. He would suck down two cups of whiskey cut with water, eat a half molded bit of bread with butter and some cooked corn, and then fall soundly asleep with a shotgun across his lap.

With the old man gone, the boys took better grips on their meager belongings and headed into the parlor of the boarding house. Ben saw that the first half of the bottom floor was taken up by a common room. It looked plain, but practical. Two long benches ran down the center on either side of a table. Along the walls and in the corners were rustic chairs and some smaller card tables. At a few, some grim looking men sat throwing cards into a pile between them, but the majority of the room was empty. On the opposite side stood a high desk behind which sat the first in a long line of women who would immediately replace one another on Ben’s list of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

Mira Thorne strode out from behind the desk. She wore a prim and old fashioned style of dress that cut much closer to her body than any of the boys would have suspected. Her gold-spun hair wound back into a tight bun held in place by unseen pins. Her face was smooth curves that matched the rest of her from head to toe. Chuck’s mouth hung open at the sight of her backside as it came into view, not knowing until that moment that all he’d ever truly wanted in life was to bury his face in the various crevices of a woman slightly prettier than him. The reactions of the others, including Ben, were not much different. The sole exception was Anders who lacked the astonishment that such a beautiful creature could exist, but instead saw her as an affront to a deeply held belief.

“You’re Willard’s gang? That old marmot likes to work the young don’t he,” Mira said stepping closer to one of Nathan’s group. “Let’s see if I could guess your names.” Her hand rose up to the young man’s chin and touched it lightly. “I’d peg you as the John of the bunch, is that right?” The fellow nodded. John Barret of Cincinnati by way of New Orleans. Her hand left him and spun in the air as she stepped down the line. “And you, James Cort.”

“Aye ma’am,” the red headed, sallow faced James Cort answered. “Jimmy to most.”

“No doubt,” Mira clucked, paying no more attention to him. She moved down the line like a witch browsing through appetizers of pickled children. Next came Nathan, then the last of his lot, Hank, then Norman, then Chuck, then Ben, and finally Anders. She rolled off each of their names in turn. “Yes, they all fit just right. Allow me to welcome you to Thorne’s Abode, and I think you’re all going to have a nice stay. Most of Willard’s boys don’t do anything but sleep from the time they step in the door at night until the time they crawl out in the morning, so I think we’ll get along just fine. First thing is to pair you off. As I understand it, you’ve known each other for about an hour, so unless you’ve made fast friendships I think pairing you off just so will do fine.”

No one objected, except perhaps Hank who looked a little uneasily at Nathan. Anders looked at Ben with a glimmer of relief, which Ben thought to be mostly about avoiding Chuck as a roommate. Mira handed out a key to each of them. “Rooms are on the second floor, bathroom is down the hall. Upstairs is only men, no ladies after nine or before eleven. At eleven, you can expect the girls up there turning out the sheets and tidying up. I won’t come up there in the interim unless there’s a need, but no need to worry for I’ve seen more than one prick before and I doubt I’d blush at another.”

Ben’s cheeks turned a shade of red, and Chuck suppressed a laugh. None of them had much measure of Mira. She looked not much older than them, but her carriage and tone conveyed years of hard experience. Ben had started to believe this was the style of the Midwest. Southerners had a hard grit to them as well, but it was layered under a softness that outsiders seemed to expect. To put it another way, Ben’s folk knew the beating was coming and had no intention of showing fear while the Midwestern attitude put their bravery up front and resisted the beating altogether.

“In the morning, there’ll be hot coffee and bacon, eggs, and some bread. I’ve seen enough of you all to know you’ll want a solid breakfast in your stomach before heading out to the fields. Food here ain’t your momma’s, but it’ll taste fine when your stomach starts to growl. Each of you gets a bag lunch as well, cold ham sandwiches and some sugar cakes, but those’ll get run out to the water pump around midday. Willard will round you up for that. All part of your pay, same as lodging here. He’ll turn you lose most nights at dark. If’n you’re not bone tired, you can find some card games here on occasion. The bar is a mile back into town. Local boys drink there, and they’re plenty kind to strangers. Run by a fella named Wolcott, usually he’ll give you a free drink a night so long as you tell him you’re Willard’s boys.” She stood back and leaned against the desk.

For a brief moment, Ben saw her as something else entirely, a cunning and dangerous woman, much worse than Nathan or the creeping feeling in his stomach. She was the normal kind of danger, the one his mother had warned him about before setting him out into the world. “Harlots and whores, Ben, they’re as real as the good Lord’s grace, and set themselves in the paths of righteous men. Do not be tempted by the flesh of such creatures, but pray for their souls.” The warning rang hollow from his sweet mother’s lips for it came in the shadow of an all too different life lesson from his father. “World’s an empty place Ben. You fill it up with what you like, try not to harm no one in doing it, and no one gives a shit otherwise.” The two bits of wisdom danced back and forth in his mind as he imagined Mira’s bosom bursting out of the too tight dress. Forty years past, she would have been the wise matron of a whorehouse like the ones from the dime novels, but now she was a woman trying to maintain her respectability, despite all urges to the contrary. At least, so Ben thought.

She dismissed them with one last flashing wink and headed back to her desk. They began to file toward the stairs leading to the second floor, but she called after them. “Oh, and should you need anything during the night, my door is right there.” She pointed delicately to a door on the wall behind the desk. “I’m happy to relieve any concerns you might have about the rooms. Even if more than one of you has a complaint.” The young men said nothing until Nathan offered her good night. They plodded up the stairs and headed to their rooms, none having misunderstood just what type of relief their boarding mistress was offering.

They spent a few minutes getting acquainted with their rooms. Through some division set in by fate, Chuck’s gang was on one side of the hall and Nathan’s on the other. The beds were soft and well kept, and the rooms were clean if bare. A desk was the only other bit of furniture, perhaps for reading, but neither Ben nor Anders saw much use for it. The rooms were for passersby, meant to be comfortable enough for rest, but uncomfortable enough to stoke the urge to move on. Chuck appeared in the door with a knock. “Nice digs. I think you’ve got the better view.”

“Off to start some mischief?” Ben asked, pulling off his shoes.

“Nah, I’m as beat as you boys. Norman’s down to the shitter for a bit he says. Took a crib book with him which might not do him as much good as a few thoughts of our landlady. That’s what I came to ask you about. Weren’t she pretty? And you think she was offering to, ya know?”

Ben shrugged. “Not sure. Might have been a joke. Might be some kind of hospitality that we travelers don’t understand. She was pretty though. Prettiest woman I’ve ever seen, I think.”

“And you, Anders, what’d you think?”

Anders had laid down on his back with his hand behind his head. The admission came from his lips like the confession of a murder long kept, “Yeah, she’s pretty all right.”

Chuck frowned. “Don’t have to be so serious about it, I reckon. Alright fellas, you rest up.” He took on a bad impression of Willard, “Five sharp! Now off to sleep, twinkle your toes, and when each thinks the other is asleep, grab your willy and think of Mira’s jilly.” He swung the door behind him almost to a slam, but stopped at the last second, letting it click closed.

“The mouth on that one,” Ben offered in the silent room.

Anders didn’t respond for a while, but finally answered, “Lucky we got in his car and not Willard’s truck, I think. Can’t tell why, but seems like that was a bigger choice than it should have been.”

Ben pondered his new friend’s words. They were indeed quickly becoming friends and both knew it. Ben because he realized Anders was not the type to offer so much as a good night to most men, and Anders because Ben did not poke him with questions or needless conversation. By the time Ben knew what to say in response, a simple agreement that some sort of providence had put them in that car instead of that truck, he could hear the soft wheeze of Anders sleep. The hour was still early, but the day had been long with a promise of a longer one beginning in a few hours. Ben stripped down to his underwear and clicked off the light. Within minutes, his wheezes joined Anders’s.

To Ben, it felt as if no more than a few seconds passed before he heard the loud knock. He forced himself up and gave Anders a shove. A full bladder took him down the hall to where he found a short line at the bathroom. He had no interest in a shower or a shave and so sauntered through to the trough that acted as a urinal. He gave Nelson a nod as he relieved himself and headed back to his room, passing Chuck who looked with dismay at the line while holding a toothbrush in his hand. Ben, even in his stupor, was still shocked to see Chuck’s bare body. The smaller man was even scrawnier than expected. He’d clearly not been eating and not much when he had. His ribs pressed out against his skin, and his clavicle jutted out horridly. The others had some meat and muscle on them. Not much, but enough to look far enough from starving. The only healthy bit about Chuck was the mop of greasy hair that had become a tangle over night.

Anders was naked when Ben came back in the room. Ben realized he’d not seen another man naked in a long time. As a boy, skinny dipping had been practical, but since then he’d lived an isolated life. Still, Anders had no surprises underneath his clothes. As he pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and a clean shirt he asked, “Reckon what we’re to do for laundry?”

Ben shrugged. “Most places like this have at least somewhere for you to wash some clothes. Can’t imagine Mira wants us lying around soiling up her mattresses. Might ask at breakfast.” Anders didn’t reply, but gave him a look that conveyed an agreement and deferment.

A little while later, they trooped down to the first floor together. By the clock standing in the corner it was a quarter till five. The lamps still burned, and Mira flashed them a smile from behind her desk. She’d changed clothes, but otherwise looked exactly the same. The common room, on the other hand, was much altered. Men packed into every inch of it. Chuck gave a wave, his hair once again matted to his head. Norman sat beside him holding a tin cup of coffee in front of his face, inhaling the dark aroma. Ben and Anders made their way over to their bunch, taking note of Nathan’s crew sitting a half length down the table and looking much more sour for the early rise.

Other than the boys, the room was filled with the other patrons of Mira’s house. They were all older and worse for the wear. One solitary man in a business suit sat in the corner drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. He had a nervous hurry about him which clearly led to the coffee stains on his white shirt. The man stuck out like a sore thumb and seemed to know it. The rest of the crowd had the leathery skin and old, gray eyes of long term migrant workers. They ate silently, but provided a good deal of clatter from the scrape of plates. As Ben took a seat on the bench beside him, Chuck lapsed immediately into conversation, “Wait. Just wait till you see ‘em.”

“Who?”

“Them!” Norman agreed in a harsh, excited whisper while jabbing his coffee in the direction of the kitchen doors.

Two women emerged, one carrying a carafe of coffee in either hand and the other carrying a wide tray laden with a stack of plates and dishes filled with eggs, bacon, bread, and butter. The spread of food provided its own allure, but it was nothing compared to the women carrying it. They wore serving clothes of a kind, Ben guessed, but it was like something out of a crazy fashion magazine. Their tops were like men’s dress shirts, but with most of the buttons undone such that a bustier could be seen underneath, hugging against their breasts. As they walked, the mounds struggled against the restraint, ready to spill forth the second a bit of stitching gave up the ghost. Their skin was golden from sun with a light sheen of sweat around the neck. Their hair was done up similar to Mira’s, but with a few curls falling down that showed a little more youth. They smiled brightly at the men as they put the dishes on the tables and filled up coffee cups.

Their top halves were enough to distract, but their bottom halves were enough to be a sin unto themselves. The girls wore skirts that flared out a full two inches above the knee. Standing up straight allowed for a lewd view of the lower thigh, but as the girls bent and turned to serve, the skirts turned up and showed off much more. They wore white bloomers, but those too were much smaller than they should have been. As the coffee girl reached out for a cup, Ben and Anders got a full view of her buttocks pressing hard against the confining cotton. The boys shifted uncomfortably and when the woman turned, made certain to keep their eyes on their plates. “Mornin’ fellas, you all eat up now. Don’t leave one bite or us gals will feel like we slaved over that stove for nothin. Plenty more too. Oh, and if you need it, there’s fresh milk.” She winked at them before moving on.

The four young men, even Anders, looked incredulously at one another, each wondering what was in the water of this town to make such beautiful creatures. But it was more than that, Ben thought. They weren’t just beautiful, they were seductive. The kind of seductive that could drive men to crazy acts. Especially men who were already bent towards madness in the first place. The waitresses moved on to talk with Nathan and his lot. The dull eyed young man that made everyone so uncomfortable leered at the women in that same hungry way that Ben saw the previous day. The brute’s hands rubbed his kneecaps under the table, likely imagining rubbing something else entirely. Once again a feeling of unease built in Ben’s mind, a feeling that something more sinister lurked under the surface or, on the other hand, perhaps in plain sight too obvious to be noticed. It was shooed away by Chuck once again blurting something out. “This is fucking amazing,” he said with a gob full of bread and eggs.

Ben hadn’t been very hungry when he came down stairs, having long been accustomed to early morning belly aches, but now that the smell of fried bacon and fresh bread filled his lungs, he became ravenous. He loaded up his plate and took the first bite. The taste would become impossible to describe, but at the time he recalled the story of manna from heaven or the Greek tales of ambrosia. His finicky stomach abandoned its stance immediately. He shoveled as much as he could in his mouth. When his throat clogged with dry bread, a swash of coffee cleared it so he could pile more in. The bacon had a savory sweet taste that he vaguely recognized as maple syrup, but more permeating. The eggs were rich and fluffy with a cheesy taste. Yet it was the bread that he couldn’t get enough of.

Despite sitting on the table in the cool morning air, it was piping hot to the touch as the men grabbed slice after slice. Each would take their knife and slop a heavy chunk of butter on the side to watch it melt in the second before they crammed the whole of it in their mouths. Chuck looked as though he had died and been embraced into the soft breasts of one of the serving girls. Norman’s cheeks turned a rosy color, and he let out obnoxious sighs with each bite. Anders ate with the same hesitancy as he did anything, but with clearly no intent to stop, of the four of them he might be the one to eat until he burst. Ben saw they weren’t the only ones.

Nathan, John, and the others lost interest in the women in favor of the butter and bread before them. They were bigger fellows on the whole, and so a greater appetite was to be expected. But, they ate like animals, their heads close to the plate and their arms up as though to guard their portion from the others. The older men, on the other hand, ate with the slow disinterest most people have in breakfast. Ben pondered that they might simply be accustomed to the taste and worried he too would wither to the point that such a delight would become mundane.

The food had one other effect that none of the young men thought to share, and all but one of them failed to notice altogether. Anders felt stiffness between his legs. At first, he thought it yet another betrayal of his body over the sight of the lewd women, but as he ate he could feel his heart thumping in his chest and hear the blood pounding in his ears. In his life, he’d not eaten that much salt at once, otherwise he could have written it off as a normal response, except for the throb of his cock. It passed quickly for Anders, and the others found it so subtle or were so consumed in their hunger that they did not notice it at all. Any further thought on it, the food, or the women was truncated by the chime of the clock in the corner. The plates were empty, and the coffee drank. The eight young men got to their feet, feeling much better for the full belly. Chuck slapped his gut that protruded out with a sleepy grin on his face. They filed out on to the front porch where Willard waited, the engine of his truck only just started cooling.

“Walp, you’re here. That’s a start.” He looked all the more foul for a night’s sleep. The bags under his eyes jostled as he moved. He’d not changed clothes, and the air of whiskey on him was fresher. “Load up, ain’t far, but sun is already wasting. You follow close on behind me Chuck.”

The foursome took their places back in the car, by unspoken rule going back to their seats of the previous day. The car cranked, and a new plume of dust followed the one left by Willard. When that cleared, Chuck told them to roll down the windows. They did and the cool morning air was welcome to them. Norman spoke up, “Say, you fellas never said what you thought of the girls?”

“Pretty,” Anders answered.

“Pretty nothing,” Chuck objected. “Those were some bona fide bombshells. Imagine looking like that and working in a dried up old town like this. Why I’d have a mind to ask one of them out if I weren’t a poor wraith like I am. I mean, did you see the tits on them? My pa would say that men come in two types, ones that like the tits and ones that like the ass. He also said don’t matter much which you prefer if the other’s offered to you. Just to turn out the lights, turn her which way works best, and stick it in the first wet spot you find.” Norman guffawed again. They drove on.

The sun had crested the horizon by the time they reached the Morrow farm. Willard came to a dead stop in the middle of the narrow road. Corn fields, sectioned into squares with one half harvested already, stretched out on either side. Across from one another were two small houses surrounded by silos, barns, and half derelict equipment. To the right of the Morrow homestead was a sizable paddock where cattle and horses grazed while a small figure ushered them on. Willard gave a wave at the houses, each in turn, and before long two equally decrepit old men made their way to the roadside. The three of them held a brief discussion that involved Willard periodically pointing to his gang, and the farmers pointing to different spots on their property. In the end, the farmers retreated back to whatever business was more important to them. Willard came over to brief the men.

“Right, little sirs. Here’s your job for today. You boys will be in that field, and you other boys will be in this’un. First thing you do is go on in the barn, you’ll find a wagon in there. Ain’t no mule to hitch it to, but half of you look stubborn enough to substitute. Wheel that fucker out to the end of a row and get started. Any of you picked corn before? I mean really picked, we’ve got acres to clear, not a row in your freedom garden or what the fuck they’re called.” The men shook their heads. “Alright then, listen carefully. There’s sets of gloves in the barn, right glove is normal and the left has a small scythe on it, built right into the grip. Go up to an ear of corn, pull it back with your right hand, sometimes it’ll just pop right off. If not, swing up and down with the scythe and try not to cut the stalk itself. Be careful with the damn things cause you’re no fuckin good if you slice off half your fucking fingers. Take the ear, toss it in the wagon and move on.

“There’s four rows and then a path so work in a line and move the wagon along with you. When the wagon is as full as you can still move it, take it up to the silo and dump it in the bin you see there. Rinse and repeat. That clear?” They all nodded. “When the sun’s overhead, start keeping an eye on them tables there. You’ll see the girls setting you out a lunch. Molly Morrow and Amy and Beth Hambridge will be in charge of your lunches. They make fine cold sandwiches, but don’t be giving them no trouble. Take as long as you need at lunch to eat and relieve yourselves then get back to it. I expect to see at least one field clear by the end of the day. I’ll come back for yeh after six, start cleaning up and putting back once the sun turns burnt orange.” After one more order for Chuck to move his car off to the side of the path, Willard spat and said, “Well, get the fuck at it,” before slamming his truck door and driving off.

With murmurs between the two groups, they headed off to their respective barns. Sure enough, they found the wagon and the gloves exactly as Willard promised. Ben tried on the cutting glove and marveled at how sharp the blade was. He guessed it would cut clean through a stalk with a single swipe. They loaded them into the wagon. Chuck found a water jug and decided to allocate a corner of the wagon for hydration purposes. He set off down the slight hill to fill it at a pump he spied. Norman and Anders hefted the wagon’s tongues that would normally hook to a mule’s yolk. Giving it a pull, they decided it wouldn’t be too bad until it was near to full. Ben, meanwhile, decided the coffee had moved through him a little quicker than expected. He slipped out the side of the barn opposite of the house, undid his trousers, and hosed the side of the barn. While mid stream, he noticed the paint on the side of the barn darkened in a few places. Finished with his business, he took a step back and followed the outlines of the darker spots in the morning sun. Letters scrawled in wild strokes, “H, E, L.” The top layer had started to flake, and he could see himself being tasked with painting the barn if he brought it up. “Help? Hell? That could be an “F” and not an “E” maybe.” He’d seen scriptures scrawled on the sides of barns before. Maybe someone started one and fell into the trap of overestimating canvas and underestimating script. After a clank from within the barn, Chuck gave a shout and Ben headed back inside.

The wagon loaded, they headed to the field. It took a while to work out the rhythm, but once they had it, the time flew by. After the first two hours, they’d cleared an eighth of their assigned field and had one full wagon. Ben and Chuck volunteered to take it up to the silo with Anders and Norman volunteering to get the next. They made two and a half loads and cleared a little over a quarter of the field before lunch. The work was hard. The light morning sun became a blazing fire above them by midday. Gnats, flies, and an absurd number of other infernal insects swarmed around them, attracted to the scent of sweat on their skin. The cutting gloves made the work easy, but each could feel blisters rising along the top of their palms from the persistent grip. The dry soil stirred up with each step and sent Chuck into periodic coughing fits while Ben struggled with watered eyes and a draining nose. Through it all, they maintained good humor and took pride in their work.

True to Willard’s instruction, when the sun was at a midpoint, Norman spotted someone waving at them from a picnic table on the farmhouse lawn. They could see little more than the dress on the silhouetted figure, but the message was clear. They dusted themselves off and headed up, their breakfast long depleted. The beauties from that morning’s meal had not been forgotten, but the men’s passion for daydreams had been sapped by hard work. That changed as they reached the tables and got a full view of the farmers’ daughters. The Hambridge sisters busied themselves laying out sandwiches and pouring glasses of water. None of the boys had ever seen twins before. They looked like living mirrors staring into one another. A foot shorter than Chuck, they moved like pixies around the tables, flashing flirtatious smiles at the young men. They had dark curls and rosy cheeks, but yet again they sashayed hips and breasts that put all the girls Ben had met to shame. Amy and Beth wore matching sun dresses with a flower pattern. The necklines cut low, showing deep clefts between their breasts and allowed a full view of their soft orbs shifting with their movements. The skirts were not as short as those in the boarding house, going down to the ankle, but it wasn’t hard to imagine their broad bottoms underneath.

Molly was different. Ben knew it the moment he saw her. She came out of the house carrying a pie in either hand. They looked as if she’d plucked them from a Bugs Bunny cartoon with crust laced over the top and bright red filling oozing up between the cracks. Her hair was pulled back into a braid that trailed down to the small of her back. Her figure was less pronounced than the twins, but her silver-grey dress clung closer to her. Ben’s eyes roved over every curve and slope as she walked closer to the table. Her apple sized breasts sat high on her chest, with the small outlines of her nipples jutting through the thin fabric. The dress pulled in underneath her bosom to show off a flat stomach and wide hips before flaring out toward the knee. With each step, it stuck to her skin and even to the soft mound at the top of her thighs.

Molly reached the table and circled around it, showing that the dress followed the same rules on the backside. The material clung to her, showing them the split in her cheeks and the gentle slope of her ass. Until that moment, Ben never considered lust to be anything more than a sin of idleness. Molly refuted that idea. Her form compelled him. It overrode his sensibilities, and it commanded him to her. A wrenching sensation in his gut spread out into his limbs told him to go to her, seize her in his arms, and cover her with kisses while his hands moved underneath that slip of a dress. That would be the extent of his romance or decorum, beyond that first touch of her flesh he saw only carnal desires. The dress would be a flimsy impediment to the lust driving him. He would not care for speculating eyes or any other consequences. All that would matter is the feel of her soft lips against his and her wet sex against his cock.

Except none of that happened. Molly put down the pies and let her hand gently rest on Nathan’s shoulder as she chatted with them. She did not flinch away as Nathan’s hand brushed against her thigh. Their conversation came as a dull drone to Ben’s ears. He felt shattered. His hulled out chest quickly filled with rage he didn’t understand. He hated the languid smirk on Nathan’s face. The fear of the hungry gleam in the man’s eyes vanished into the frothing rage welling in Ben’s heart. Chuck punched his shoulder, “The hell is wrong with you?”

Ben snapped out of it. His mouth tasted bitter and fatigue washed over him. The feeling of disappointment did not fade, but emotion no longer ruled his mind. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

With the other end of the table served, Molly and the twins moved down to the end with Ben. “Working hard, boys?” Molly asked in a melodic tease.

“Of course, darling, what else do you expect a group of strapping young men to get up to on such a fine day,” Chuck tittered. Ben watched him carefully, trying to see if his friend would betray his instantaneous love, but Chuck said nothing more. The rest were torn between the fascination with the twins and the allure of their meals, but Ben had eyes only for Molly, watching her move with a dream on his face. She came to him next, a pitcher of water in her hand and filled a glass.

“What’s your name?”

“Ben Holcomb,” he answered.

“How do you find Ulster Rock so far, Ben Holcomb? Is everyone being hospitable? That old Willard isn’t being too nasty, I hope?”

“No, miss, we’ve been treated just fine.”

“For goodness sake, don’t call me miss. I’m Molly to each and every one of you. Us girls take it on ourselves to watch out for you. Have to be sure you don’t drop dead from overwork. Papa would do it to you if he could, I wouldn’t doubt. Now, Ben Holcomb, you be sure to have a piece of that pie. I made it special. Today was cherry flavored and tomorrow will be blueberry with extra butter crust. You’ll have to let me know if you like it. Last year, the boys licked the pan clean. Hope I haven’t lost my touch.” She ended by squeezing his hand. In that moment, Ben saw the same rage on Nathan’s face that had overwhelmed him earlier.

The girls flirted a bit longer before heading back up to the house. They told them to leave the dishes on the table, and they’d clean up later. The moment they were gone the men tore into the sandwiches and pie with hunger born from hard labor. Through it all, Ben felt the cold stare of Nathan coming from the end of the table. Ben ignored it and thought of Molly, the feel of her skin against his and the smell of her body as it passed close. He worried about the sick feeling in his heart, fearing it was lust that would drive out all his senses in a sinful pursuit. Or worse, that it was fledgling love that would grow into a beast that he could not control.

The next three days passed in an identical manner. The group woke, ate a ravenous breakfast, drove out to the farms, worked till noon, had lunch with the twins and Molly, returned to the field for another five hours, and then went back to the boarding house where Mira served them a lukewarm supper. After that, they would wash themselves before crawling into their beds exhausted. Still, no amount of exhaustion could pull Ben’s thoughts away from Molly. She rarely left his mind. Thoughts of her stayed with him through breakfast and the morning shifts as he waited eagerly for the chance to see her. Then he would leave lunch with a freshly broken heart until he fell asleep. In dreams, she was his completely. Never before had he experienced such vivid nighttime visions, but they became as intoxicating as Molly herself. In sleep, he knew her intimately and not necessarily lovingly.

On the fifth day of their work, the schedule changed. Willard directed Ben and Jimmy to go with him to one of the other barns on the Morrow property. The rest went to their work in the fields, neither group pleased to lose a quarter of their staff since it would mean someone had to pull double duty on the wagon. Ben wasn’t too keen on the change in plans either. He worried it would mean his lunch wouldn’t be the same as the rest, and he would be deprived of his hour of staring dumbly at Molly. Willard put them in the bed of his truck and drove it out to the barn. Ben guessed from the worn look of the place that it was used for mainly for storage, and he was right. Willard threw open the doors and backed in his truck before lifting a set of planks in the floor of the barn to reveal a dry cellar. Musty, stale air wafted up, but the stone-lined cut out was otherwise clean. Stacked in the hole in the ground were piles of black timbers.

“Load ‘em up. Gonna take two trips. Damn things are heavy as shit, and I don’t want to break my axle,” Willard grumbled. “Hollar down at me when you’ve got half of ‘em on.” He didn’t wait for a response or give any further instruction. Their foreman had rapidly deteriorated into a walking drunk. He leaned in the cab of the truck for a brown paper bag and headed out to sit under some morning shade. By then, it was clear to Ben and the others that Willard had sobered up to retrieve his workers and now he could slip back into his liquor numb dream. The only fears his employees had were that he’d kill himself or drink away their pay before the job was done.

The two young men climbed down into the pit by some wooden stairs built onto the edge. They spent a minute sizing up the pile and gauging what would constitute half. Jimmy had none of the trepidation about the change in schedule and looked forward to a little variety in his work. He bent down and wrapped his arm around one of the timbers and tried to lift. “Ho-ly-sheeet!” He let go with a grunt and almost stumbled back on his ass. “He wasn’t lying saying they were heavy. The hell these dang things made out of?”

Ben stood out of the light to try and get a better view. “Thick wood, but they’ve been coated in tar or something. Lots of it too. Must have been to preserve them.”

“The heck would they do that for?” Jimmy mused examining a scrape on his arm. “Come to think of it, who keeps a dry cellar underneath an old barn that hasn’t been touched in who knows how long. Look over there, bout an inch of dust on that plow.”

Ben hadn’t noticed, but Jimmy was right. Spiderwebs and dust covered nearly everything. The rafters housed bird nests and probably a bat or two. The floor, other than where they’d walked in, was undisturbed except by the small footprints of mice and bugs. He shrugged, “Storage. And I think we’re far enough west to get twisters, like in Wizard of Oz. Maybe this was built as a shelter.”

“I never saw that picture,” Jimmy said, sadly.

“Nor me, but I heard about the story. C’mon, both of us together can shift them. You take that end.” The two worked out a grip for a moment, and Ben gave a three count. With grunts, they managed to lift the first one, though they worried it might tear their arms out. They moved it to the edge of the pit, but realized they’d never be able to hold it going up the steps. Instead, they lifted it to the lip of the cellar and set it down. They climbed out, picked up the timber again and took it the next leg to the truck. The old jalopy groaned as the weight settled on it. In the open sunlight, Ben saw the timber was even blacker than he thought and calling it a timber was generous. The things were like oversized railroad ties. With the first shoved in position, they both paused to breathe and look back at the remaining pile. “What do you reckon, about nineteen more?”

Jimmy swore, and they went back for the next one. It was hard work, much harder than the corn harvest, but they managed well enough. Fatigue set in rapidly. Their muscles turned to rubber. The truck was halfway loaded, and they crouched in the cool cellar to rest for a while chatting. Jimmy told a little about himself, enough to soften Ben’s opinion of the other half of their troop, until Jimmy blurted out, “I think Nathan might kill you.”

“What? The hell for?”

“He’s damn sweet on Molly. Don’t think he said ten words until after that first day at lunch. Then the whole fucking afternoon he kept asking us if we thought she was pretty or what kind of flowers a girl like that wants. Shit like that, fucking school yard shit. But that was only the first half of the afternoon. Second half he starts going on about her in, well, let’s call it an irreverent manner.”

Ben’s face grew hot. “Go on then, what’d he say?”

“Dumb shit, you know, kind of joking, I think. He kept talking about her tits and her ass. He kept saying shit like ‘it’s better the first time if you shove it up their ass. That’s how you treat a girl like Molly. Fuck her in the ass so she knows who’s boss.’ And then five thunks of corn against the board later, he’s asking what we think her pussy would feel like.”

The heat in Ben’s cheeks spread down to his fists. The rage he’d felt when he first saw Molly’s hand on Nathan’s shoulder returned twice as strong. Yet Jimmy’s last statement came with some confusion, “Pussy? Like her cat?”

“Aw, nah, like her…you know, haven’t you heard that before? Her lady parts.” He paused, and the words trembled on his lips, “Her cunt.” It was another word that Ben had never heard before. It sounded horrendous, but it rolled around in Ben’s mind and soon found itself on his lips. He muttered it silently and thought back to his dreams for a moment. Jimmy went on, “I think he was goading us into answering. And I think if we had, he’d have socked us one. We all kept our mouths shut.”

“What’s any of that got to do with me?”

“He’s seen how she’s sweet on you. Maybe today will let him feel the warmth of her glow a little, and he’ll cool off. Shit, if no one keeps an eye on them, he might take her into one of the barns and feel the warmth of something else. But I’d watch out for him, were I you. Shit, I’m watching out for him, and I’m me.” He sprang to his feet. “I’m ready for another one or two if you are. I can see you’re pissed. Go on and put that into moving these fucking things.” They moved over into position and took their grips on another of the black logs. Before they lifted, Jimmy added, “ Oh, and I think Hank’s fucking our landlady. On three?”

Jimmy’s plan to work out aggression through labor worked better than Ben wanted. He liked feeling angry. It gave him clarity that didn’t come with his fantasies about Molly. Another hour passed, and they shifted another few timbers. They didn’t chat during their next rest. Jimmy’s good humor faded as the day went on. Ben’s mood soured as well as the lunch hour approached. He wanted to get done loading the wood so they could go grab lunch with the others. He’d be damned if Nathan laid a finger on Molly. That mouth breather didn’t deserve her. This urged some life back into his muscles, and he dragged Jimmy back to work with the motivation of an end in sight. The last few logs took the longest and came with the most spluttering and grunting, but they finally got the last one on the truck. Their joy cut short when they remembered the other half still waited. “I genuinely think my arms might fall off if I have to move that other half, shit.”

Right when Ben was going to suggest going and looking for some lunch, Willard strolled back into the barn, looking slightly less jittery after his bottle and nap. The old bastard was nothing if not prompt. “Aight then, let’s get in the truck. We’ll take this load back to town and then I’ll cut you two loose for the afternoon.”

“What about lunch?” Ben blurted out, sounding more frustrated than curious.

Willard’s one good eye rolled to look at him. He stuck out the bag in his hand. “A nip of this’ll tide you over if need be. I done told the girls to lay aside somethin for ya. You can have it when you get back, now hush and get loaded up.” He rattled the bottle, but Ben shook his head. Jimmy took the offer, swigging down a gulp of some liquid that puckered his face and sent him into a coughing fit. Willard laughed and slapped the younger man’s shoulder, showing actual pride and camaraderie for the first and only time. The three climbed into the cab of the truck. For a brief moment, it seemed that the weight might be too much, but the vehicle lurched forward and headed down to the road. As they drove, Ben saw the girls putting out the lunch. Molly turned to watch them go, wearing another of her silky dresses, a blue one this time, and gave a wave that brightened Ben’s spirits.

“Where are we going anyway?” Jimmy asked.

Ben heard a story once from his father who heard it from someone who heard it from someone else. The story went that out west, before the army dropped the bombs on Japan, they wanted to test them. They set up this little house and put all the normal things you’d find in a house in it. They even made some store mannequins into a family and had them positioned around the place. They set off one of those bombs, and the whole damn thing, that full sized dollhouse, turned to ash. That was the feeling Ben got as he came back to town. The whole of Ulster Rock seemed to be a living dollhouse. The streets were empty. The storefronts were open, but vacant. Willard said that most folks stayed busy working on the harvest, which was true. The few men in town gathered at the town hall, working slowly to construct the stage. Willard backed the truck up to a pile where some other timbers exactly like the ones they had unearthed had already been stacked. “Takin them off should be easier than getting them on. Don’t have to be careful with the fucking things, after all.”

Jimmy and Ben went to work. Willard stayed in the cab of the truck and dozed in and out of consciousness while sipping from his bag. The respite of the drive gave the boys a surprising amount of energy, even as their stomachs growled with hunger. They moved the first log off with ease and dropped it onto the already sizable stack. They were able to move half within an hour with little rest. The timbers weren’t only easier to move from not having to lift out of a pit, they actually felt lighter. Jimmy and Ben realized it at the same time and even paused to lift one of the timbers between them as a weightlifter might raise up a bar. Looking at his forearms, Ben thought that he’d put on a good bit of muscle over the week, which seemed fast. With that timber in its place, Jimmy tapped his shoulder and gestured to the workers at the stage. “Notice anything odd about that bunch?”

Looking over, Ben thought plenty was odd about the men working under the autumn sun. For one, they looked like a tribe of Willards. Six men moved silently around the stage, hammering in some places and fastening bolts in others. Each of them kept a bottle near at hand, and they all bore the scars of long lives. Ben thought one of them was completely blind. Next, the stage they were working on would be massive when finished, standing eight feet up from the ground and at least fifty feet across and thirty feet back. “Hey, Willard, what’s this thing for anyway?”

He growled at them and didn’t answer until he couldn’t get back to sleep. “Harvest festival. You’ll see it. They decorate the whole town with streamers and such. Sort of like VE day for the whole town. Stage is for…judging big ears of corn, that sort of stuff. And that’s where they crown the Harvest King and Queen. Whole town turns out.”

Jimmy nodded, “Victory in Europe we had a big party where everyone brought cakes and such.”

“Oh sure, that’s the only part most people give a shit about. Corn mash whiskey and beer, pumpkin cakes and all the pies you can think of. Roasts, fried chicken, pork sausages, and spit roasted hog.” Willard’s eye brightened and a dribble of saliva leaked from the side of his mouth. He took another long swig from his bag and shut his eyes again with a smile on his face.

The rest of the timbers went off the truck with no problems. Ben occasionally thought he saw some of the six builders looking at him, but when he met their gaze they seemed to look through to somewhere behind him. “Reckon how they pick a Harvest Queen?” he asked.

“Probably picked by some lady league or the city council,” Jimmy speculated. “Thinking about throwing your name in the hat?”

“Curious is all, thought I might ask Molly about it.”

“Shit, you got it as bad for her as Nathan. If this keeps up, I’m going to be the only one finishing this job with a dry dick.”

With the last timber unloaded, Ben paused to stretch his arms out in front of him. He turned his palms up and flexed. “Look at that,” he jutted his arms toward Jimmy. “Are my arms bigger? Did you notice what I looked like when we met?”

“What the heck you talking about?”

“How about you? Were your forearms that muscular on Monday? Have your shirts been feeling tighter in the sleeve?”

Jimmy looked down at his own limbs as if they’d sprung out at him from thin air. “Now that you mention it, maybe. Guess that’s what a hard week’s work will do for you. I knew guys as kids who were wet noodles before they went off to the war. When they came back, they looked like walking tanks. Asked one of them about it once. Told me that digging foxholes and lugging an M2 across France helped put on the meat. C’mon, let’s get back. I don’t care if we have to load another ton of these, I’m fucking starving.”

Ben followed him back to the truck, once again getting the distinct impression that all of the men watched them go.

Back at the farm, Willard drove them up to the storage barn again, but instead of sitting under the tree and napping he headed over to the farmhouse. Ben looked out at the lunch tables, but saw no sign of the other men, any lunch, or the girls. They sat on the truck tail gate expecting Willard to return with either instructions or their held over lunch. Instead, it was Molly who walked into the barn carrying two small wicker baskets filled with sandwiches, hunks of cake, and two bottles of beer. “Hello again, Ben Holcomb. And hello to you, Jimmy. Brought you boys lunch, if that’s alright. Willard was going to come up here, but I thought he might sneak off half the food and definitely the beer.”

“Beers?” Jimmy asked cheerfully. “What’s the occasion?”

“You had to wait, and you’ve been moving those old logs all day. Why not get something special? Or maybe it’s cause I just like you so much, Jimmy.” She handed him one of the baskets, and Ben felt his jealousy rear its head. Ben could clearly tell that she was joking with Jimmy and maybe even trying to provoke him by giving the other man attention, but that didn’t matter. He wanted her to himself, entirely. Perhaps in time, he could learn to share her, but for now even a moment of her time spent on someone else was too much for Ben.

“Barking up the wrong tree, doll,” Jimmy said, hopping off the tailgate. “My heart belongs to another. This sandwich. Though the beer might cause me to stray. Think I’ll take ‘em both over to the shade and show them a good time.” He winked at Ben and headed out of the barn.

Molly smiled and watched him go. “He’s one of the nice ones,” she said, but Ben got the impression she wasn’t exactly talking to him. When her attention turned, he was struck again by her devastating beauty. The dress brought out the color in her eyes as they sparkled at Ben. She could command him in any way, and he would have obeyed. “This barn’s musty. Come on.”

She grabbed him by the hand, her soft fingers wrapping around his blistered and rough skin. She pulled him toward a rear door in the barn that opened out to a view of the fields. Molly produced a blanket from the remaining basket and spread it out on the ground before settling on top of it. Ben watched with stupefied adoration of everything about her, but particularly how the dress curved against her motions. The door closed behind them and two massive hedges rose out on either side of the back of the barn. The fields in view wouldn’t be reached by either group until the following week and no one knew where they were except for Jimmy and possibly Willard. Molly settled down on the ground with the basket beside her. She sat with her legs out to the side and the skirt pulled up above the knee. From his standing position, he could see down the blouse and his breath caught as she met his peeping gaze. She didn’t say anything, only blushed and patted the ground beside her.

Ben stretched himself out and took a seat, trying to gauge on his way down the appropriate distance to sit from her. He wrapped his arms around his knees and worried he was getting mud on her blanket. Tentatively, he reached for one of the sandwiches from the basket and started to eat. He watched her, admiring the way she brushed back a rogue strand of hair as she gazed out over the fields. Her bosom rose and fell with each breath, and a coy smile remained on her face. “It’s nice here,” Ben said, feeling his worries and discomfort slide away as he settled in to her company.

“We get by. Lonely, though.” Molly opened the beer for him and set it carefully on a flat part of the ground. Her hand moved closer to his. His appetite, even with the intoxicating taste of the bread, waned.

“Molly, I have to confess something. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the moment I saw you. Heck, I think this town is making me go crazy or maybe you are. Drives me nuts to see you talk to the other guys, and I can’t fall asleep at night without your name on my lips. Maybe I shouldn’t say any of this, cause we hardly know one another, but I’m about to burst if I don’t.” He hung his head and waited for her to storm off in embarrassment. Why had he said those things? Why couldn’t he keep his dumb mouth shut for once? He felt like Chuck had possessed him or run a hand up his ass to use him as a ventriloquist dummy to spew out all that nonsense. He couldn’t possibly love her. He’d said no more than a hundred words to her and known her for less than a week.

She kissed him, lightly on the cheek, and his fears dissolved. “I’ve thought about you too. It is lonely here, so terribly lonely. You’ve seen the men of the town. Dried up old husks like Willard who only look at us with that leery eye. And then you came. With your fair brow and cold blue eyes, you stole my heart with that first glance. I felt it pull out of me and knew I would surely die if I had to walk through the rest of my life without you. I wanted to rush to you right in that moment, but I was…”

“Frightened,” Ben agreed. “I felt it too. Like something was drawing us together. Something powerful.”

Molly moved closer, and Ben felt her warmth near him. He panicked and worried about a dozen things at once, the time, Jimmy, Willard, Nathan, Molly’s father, and his own lack of experience among them. “If there is something drawing us together, then perhaps we shouldn’t let things stand in its way.” Her lips drew close to his once again, but this time he did not settle for a sisterly kiss on the cheek. He turned his face to hers and met her lips full on. The sandwich fell from his hand and the beer bottle turned over to run into the dry ground as he brought her into his arms. The full touch of her body was more than he ever imagined. He feared he would never be able to let her go. She did not lack in desire either, her hands moving down his grimy cheek to quickly unbutton the top of his shirt. She wriggled in his lap, her thigh pressing into the engorged stiffness pushing against his jeans.

His fears overcame his lust, “Wait, shouldn’t we…what about the others?”

“Ben Holcomb, if you’d have me, you take me now,” she breathed into his ear, the hot stream of her whisper driving him wild. His broad hands stretched over her hips and up until he took hold of her breasts. A weakened grunt of assent slipped through his lips before hers drowned his groans out. Ben had a limited understanding of how a man laid with a woman that he had gleaned from animals mating and the lurid talk of friends like Chuck. In the moment, he relied on pure instinct to take over, and Molly seemed to do the same. He pulled off his own shirt as she worked quickly to unfasten his fly. Ben wanted nothing more than to see her fully naked in the waning afternoon sun, but could not put aside all sense of propriety lest someone walk around the corner. His hands grasped her breasts, pushing against the soft flesh and feeling the small, hard buds underneath the fabric. Wrapping his arms under her shoulders, he pulled her close, drinking in her scent and spreading kisses along her neck and cheek.

Molly’s hands were not idle. They’d plucked their way through Ben’s pants and slid underneath his underwear to take hold of the throbbing organ between his legs. She smiled between kisses as his cock throbbed in her hand. Ben was beside himself with ecstasy from her touch alone. He couldn’t think of anything more stimulating and swore to himself for every moment wasted before that feeling. She pulled away, and he felt as though all the warmth had been pulled from his body with her. She stood up, silhouetted by the sun, and wriggled out of her underwear. They dropped to her ankles, and Ben gawked at the sight of them. They were lacy and thin, like some kind of French lingerie. Had she worn those for him? The thought flew out of her head as she guided him onto his back and lowered herself down to him. His cock stood out from him with a painful stiffness. He locked eyes with her as she positioned herself, the warmth of her sex tantalizing him in its proximity.

Ben moaned. His hands grabbed Molly’s hips and in some bizarre response tried to stop her. It was too much, too fast. Her warmth surrounded him and spread through his body like wildfire. Her mouth lowered to his to once again silence him. He rasped in pleasure as her hips came to rest against his and his cock throbbed fully inside of her. She remained still, both of them adjusting to the overwhelming sensations. Ben tried to ignore the urge building within him. He knew sex was meant to last longer than a few seconds, but how could it? How could a man resist such absolute pleasure for more than an instant. He opened his eyes to look up at Molly. Her own were shut as she smiled blissfully and gently rocked her hips. Her braid came lightly loose as she shook her head and a few strands of hair fell to frame her face. Ben’s hand went to her thigh and slid up underneath her dress. He grunted with a possessive smile as he took a full grip of her ass. She opened her eyes and smirked back at him. That was enough to push him over the edge.

His abs seized up, and he bent toward her. She urged him on and brought his head to her chest. Her body shook along with his, and he murmured oaths of love into her covered breasts. She stroked his hair as his cum leaked out of her and onto his clothes. “I love you too,” she cooed and kissed his cheek, finding a tear there.

”That was the happiest day of my life. It will always be the happiest day, even with what came after. We laid together for a while after that. I ate. We talked. Molly told me of books I’d never read or even heard of. I told her about my life back home. The Molly, the version of Molly I knew then was sweet and caring. She loved me.”

Harry watched as Ben held his hands out in his lap. He figured the boy’s thoughts somehow recalled Molly’s touch. “What happened after?”

Ben sighed. “I went back to work. She dressed and went to wherever she spent the days. She promised we’d meet again and that she would find a way to be with me. We would make plans for the rest of that week on the next day’s lunch. In the meantime, the day ended like any other. Jimmy and I finished loading the truck. When that was done, Willard called in the others, and everyone went back together. The guys helped unload the other timbers, and we turned in for the night. I didn’t tell Jimmy what Molly and I had done, but I think he knew. By then, things had already changed, we just didn’t want to admit it yet.”

Harry stood up and crossed the room to a small table which held a coffee pot. He poured a fresh cup and held it out to offer some to his guest. Ben shook his head. Returning to the table, Harry checked his notes. “Few things I want to mention before we continue. Did you know that you, Chuck, Nathan, Jimmy…all eight of you were born within a two week period at the end of September 1931? Anyone mention their birthday coming up while you were working?”

Ben shook his head, “No.”

From within one of the folders, Harry withdrew a picture. He held it up to show Ben, but the younger man didn’t react. “Willard Morrow was found in the small building he lived in. Put a shotgun in his mouth. In whatever way Willard came to depend on the things happening in Ulster Rock, it was clearly more than he was willing to go on without. He left a note giving his account of it all. You’re welcome to read it if you want. In particular, he begged forgiveness from something called the Unseen Force. Most folks took to mean God, God of Abraham. You think that’s what he meant?”

Ben shook his head again, “No.”

“Yeah, me either,” Harry stuffed photo and confession back in their folder. He put it aside and returned to his notes. “I wanted to ask, too, about the lettering you saw on the side of the barn. You didn’t think that was strange?”

“No, not at the time. In hindsight, it is obvious. But I saw that on the first day. I was tired, and I had a full stomach. How many times had I seen words written on the sides of barns? Even if it said ‘HELP’ how could I know it was not part of a longer cry for help to get a son back from the war or a general blessing from God. I noted it, but it seemed trivial.”

“You’ve mentioned other trivial things.”

Ben laughed, dismissive and manic. “A man comes into your shop on Monday to buy rope. The next week he comes in to buy a saw. The next to buy a brass tub. And the next he is apprehended for tying up women and sawing them to pieces one joint at a time. Is it obvious from the buying of the rope what that man’s intent could have been? And no, those other moments. Those were moments beyond the pale, when I think the other world slipped out from under the skin of this one, however brief. Those moments were chills on my soul, warnings from nature itself. Letters written simply did not seem to be anything other than idle noise for my addled brain.”

Harry shuffled through his folders for another photograph. A massive stage lined with lifeless shapes “When did the stage start to worry you?”

“That afternoon. The one after Molly and I…once I saw how the timbers would make up the base of it.”

“Did that rise above the level of a fellow buying rope?”

“Yes. From the way Willard talked, I got the feeling something was wrong. The way the men looked at Jimmy and me. The way the town felt so empty. It all felt wrong.”

Harry dropped the photo on the table. Ben averted his gaze slightly enough to avoid it. “So why not run for it?”

“You are intent on believing that this is something noticeable enough to cause outright fear. It wasn’t like that at all. The strange things concerned us in the way that a still and silent night is concerning. You can stand in a field and hear no fowl or crickets or anything. That’ll make your skin crawl, but it won’t make you go shrieking back into the nearest house. That’d be how a madman reacts. And none of us were crazy, not yet. But we weren’t supposed to notice that kind of stuff. They kept us distracted so we wouldn’t. We were supposed to eat until our guts might burst, work it off, and sleep through the exhaustion. Any time in between was spent sniffing after the girls. Why didn’t I want to run? Because I had Molly.”

The older man nodded, pleased to understand something if nothing else. “One more thing before we go on. The men you saw building the stage or the men in general you’ve mentioned around the town, do you know what happened to them?”

“No,” Ben answered.

For the first time during their interview, Harry recognized a lie when he heard it. “Alright, let’s continue.”