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The air was thick with the scent of rotting apples, which the honeybees seemed to be enjoying. The kids were excited to see Braeburn had followed us the entire way, some of us—myself included—too busy watching the cat chase grasshoppers to pay much attention to Mr. Howard’s apple lecture.
We made our way up and over hills, through rows of Granny Smith, golden delicious, and Fuji apple trees, stopping often so the kids could choose one to pick. I watched Mason pull a red delicious apple from a tree, wipe it on the front of his overalls, and take a bite. “You’re supposed to wait,” I told him.
He responded by taking another bite inches from my face, smirking as he chewed. And then something behind me caught his eye. “It looks like all hell’s about to break loose,” he said, nodding his head forward. I turned around to see the darkening sky, now contrasted with a wall of white clouds at its forefront.
The farther we got from the bus and the main building, the more I began to internally panic. But the Howards didn’t seem concerned—they just kept walking and talking. I tried to bring up the radar on my phone, but the service out there wasn’t the greatest. It never loaded.
Mason and I brought up the rear of the group. It was easy for me to keep an eye on all of the kids that way, to make sure there weren’t any stragglers. As we made our way down the well-trodden dirt path between the trees, Finley ran up to her dad and grabbed him by the hand.
Then, after shoving her little Granny Smith apple down into Mason’s pocket, she slipped her other hand into mine, walking between us with the biggest grin on her face. I looked over at Mason, and it appeared he was fighting the urge to smile, too, staring down at the ground as we walked. It felt a little funny, especially when Cara turned to look at us, but Finley couldn’t have been happier about it. “Are you having fun, Finley?” I asked her.
“Uh huh,” she said. We continued walking hand in hand, the three of us, until Finley spotted Elijah struggling to reach a yellow apple on a tree. She ran up ahead to pull the branch down so Elijah could pick the apple himself.
“She, uh, gets her height from her mom’s side,” Mason said quietly, making me giggle. He wasn’t exactly what I’d call short—but he wasn’t that tall, either. That was probably where some of the cockiness came from.
“She gets her kindness from you,” I said, watching Finley walk side-by-side with Elijah, the boy she’d decided to take under her wing the very moment she met him. I’d never known a more compassionate kindergartener. I opened my mouth to praise Mason on his parenting skills when my phone rang in my pocket.
It was the school. “Hello?”
“Finally!” It was Sarah on the other end, and she sounded panicked. “I haven’t been able to get through to you. Are you still at the orchard?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Are you indoors?”
I turned around to assess how far we’d walked. The bus looked like a matchbox car from where we stood. “We’re in the middle of the orchard now. What’s going on?”
“There’s a severe thunderstorm warning. Vincennes just got pelted with hail, and it’s all heading your way. Fast. Is there a safe place to go nearby?”
“Um.” I spun around. There were no buildings in sight, and it started sprinkling. “Not exactly. But we’ll head for shelter right now.”
“Okay. Hanging up so you can take care of it. Text me when it’s all clear.”
Up ahead, Mr. Howard was in the middle of showing the students an apple-grabbing tool. Either he couldn’t tell it was starting to sprinkle, or he didn’t care.
“Mr. Howard,” I interrupted, walking up to him. “I hate to cut this tour short, but my principal just let me know there’s a severe storm heading toward us. We’re going to need to head back.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance. “Probably fast,” Mason added.
Mrs. Howard turned to her husband, her eyes wide. “Should you send Richie for the wagon?”
Mr. Howard nodded. “You kids wanna go on a hayride?”
Of course they did. All around us, the children erupted into cheers. Mr. Howard pulled a walkie talkie from his pocket and asked someone—Richie, apparently—to come pick us up with the wagon. “Sit tight for a couple of minutes, kiddos. My son’s going to take us on a ride in just a couple of minutes.”
The lack of urgency was sending my anxiety through the roof. Mason must have been able to see the panic on my face, because he touched me on the back of the arm and said, “We’ll make it.”
By the time Richie made it to us with a rickety wagon pulled behind an ancient blue tractor, the sprinkling turned into a drizzle. We all began grabbing kids and lifting them onto the wagon, which was in no way prepared for a hayride. For starters, there was no hay—instead, this wagon was full of tools and ropes. Everything was covered in a layer of dirt that would soon become mud. It was enough to make me consider having us all run down to the building instead, but half of the kids were already seated and chanting, “Hay-ride! Hay-ride!”
A streak of lightning flashed in the distant sky, immediately followed by twenty or so high-pitched screams. I grasped Noah Sherman's extended hand as I pulled myself onto the wagon, relying on his support to steady myself. There wasn’t much room left on this wagon for all of the adults to sit, so Noah and Mason decided at the last second they would instead run down the hill and meet us there.
“Show-offs,” Cara said with a chuckle, rolling her eyes as the wagon lurched forward. I forced out a laugh, squeezing between Finley and Walter.
“I hope my daddy’s okay,” Finley worried aloud. She was squeezing Elijah’s hand. The men were fast—and the sight of Noah Sherman trailing behind Mason in his gray suit was almost enough to make my anxiety subside.
Almost.
The whole way back, I devised a plan in my head. At the bottom of that hill, I’d be dealing with twenty-five wet kids, all of whom would be trying to jump off of this wagon at the same time. “Listen, friends,” I announced as loudly as I could. “When this wagon comes to a stop, we’re going to play the freeze game. Nobody jumps down by themselves. Wait for Mr. Reed or Mr. Sherman to help you down. Does everyone understand?”
