HSA-17: Harvest

"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.