Harvest

-This is a story i am currently working on. Generally, these stories will be longer than I care to share in one piece, so it has been broken up into four scenes.


I
It was almost harvest and the tall summer wheat swayed gently, waving and rippling along its soft tops so that the whole great field seemed to move. A long gravel road stretched to the horizon in each direction, turning to a grey haze under the bright sun The thin stems of wheat matted down a few hundred yards off the road where two small bodies lay unmoving.
She turned her head slightly toward the boy to her side, squinting through one eye. The bright sun reflected a delicate light off his cheek. Her opposite hand ran through the tan wheat, knocking the soft seeds at their tops into the dark soil below.
“What’s it gonna be like when we’re married?” she asked, turning up on an elbow to face him. He wore dirty overalls without a shirt and chewed on a wheat stem, his hands clasped behind his head.
“I dunno, Emma. I guess it’ll be how our parents are like.”
"Yeah, but how’ll that be?”
“I dunno. I’ll go out and work the fields, and you can stay in and do the housework.”
“And take care of the kids?” She rose higher on her elbow.
“Kids? Yeah, I suppose.”
“And we’ll have a whole bunch of them, won’t we. Six or seven maybe. The first boy’ll be Nathan of course, but then I got others too. Susan and Emily and Margaret for the girls, John and Benjamin for your daddy and mine, and maybe Adam or Luke. You like any of those.”
“They all sound fine to me,” said Nathan without moving. The stalk of wheat waved in the air as he chewed, his tight lips working it into the space between his front teeth. His eyes were closed.
“Nathan,” said Emma, rising to her feet. “Nathan,” she persisted. “We’d best get going. Its getting late.” She stretched her arms out, dropping more wheat seed as she did, and squinting, looked toward the dipping sun. The boy still lay unmoving. “Nathan Mathew Wilson,” she said with her hands on her hips, the way she’d seen her mother do. “Let’s go. We’ll be late for dinner.” She bent down and grabbed a dark arm in her delicate white hands. “C’mon mister. Up you go,” she grunted. He finally opened his eyes and stood, glaring at her as he did. “There you are,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Let’s go home.”
The tan wheat parted easily before them as they made their way toward the road. Neither wore shoes and they walked on the soft matted grass beside the gravel. Emma walked lightly next to Nathan, watching his face as they went. “I can’t wait ‘till we’re married,” she said. He said nothing, but jammed his hands into the pockets of his overalls, walking more stiffly. She hooked an arm under his elbow and leaned her head on his shoulder as the red sun made hazy figures in the distance.