The OrchardBy Beth Anderson Schuck
The April air sat heavy. It felt as damp as rain despite the sunshine slipping through the trees. Her tiny frame tensed from the effort as she dragged the axes behind her. The ax blades dug up vibrant green shoots of grass.
“Where are you headed so late, Miss Nels? It’s almost supper,” I added, hoping to spark interest.
Nels’ shoulders sank as she dropped the axes on the ground. Her body dripped with disdain for whoever bothered her now. I could tell the sting of the community meeting was still fresh in her mind. Tears had soaked the front of her chambray shirt, mixing with sweat. Her cheeks were striped with pale skin among the dirt and pollen that caked her face and arms.
“I’ve got to cut out an apple tree or two. I’m behind schedule and spring is p
