One Bride for Five Brothers

“And now I'm offering you a third option,” Dad says apologetically with a strong undercurrent of insistence in his voice. “China! Think about it! It would be a really cool adventure for us, don't you think?”

I stand up on shaky legs, listening to the sound of my heart beating wildly in my ears. I'm actually so shaky, I'm not sure I can say anything. I'm not sure what I want to say — what I need to say — but I know I had better make it a good.

“Every day is in experiment,” I begin, my voice remarkably controlled considering how I feel on the inside, “and I like it that way. I like the adventure. More importantly, it's my adventure, okay? I'll make this decision for myself.”

“Don't be unreason

able, Vanessa,” Dad grumbles impatiently. “Your grandmother said —”

“— it doesn't matter!” I shrug. “I'd like you to respect my decision. I'm staying here to finish this job. And then I might go somewhere else. I might go to school, or I might go to Nashville and start playing guitar for money. I might go to Germany, or I might meet you in China. But Dad, it's my life. It's my decision, okay? I'll let you know. You have to wait for that.”

Slowly my mom gets up from the bench. She looks me over, smiling. It almost seems that she didn't hear anything, but then she takes my shoulders and pulls me to her, kissing my forehead for long seconds. Then she drops another single, brief kiss on the tip of my nose.

As she walks down the steps toward the car, my dad looks after her, then looks at me. His expression softens into sadness, then resignation, then back to frustration again.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” he huffs sadly. “I really do.”

“Nobody ever really knows what they're doing, Dad,” I say. “I'm just trying to be happy, okay? I’m happy for you. Try to be happy for me too?”

He doesn't say anything, just holds his arms out so I hug him again. Then he whispers goodbye into my hair and leaves the porch. I watch their car pull away down the long driveway, then back out into the cul-de-sac.

Chapter 17

Stan

Something that never ceases to amaze me about Vanessa is her strength. She's physically strong, sure, but I mean her mental strength. Her resilience.

Though she's only in her early twenties, she carries herself with the wisdom of someone much older. Maybe it's because her family has traveled so much and gone on so many adventures together. Maybe she's just accustomed to having the world shifting underneath her.

And at work, she's impressive. She can definitely pick as much as Charlie, filling up that basket on her back as she stands on the ladder in each tree. She seems to take it with some pride that she doesn't just give up immediately, though it took just a little while for her to get the hang of it. But because she's a lot smaller than Charlie, she can really weave her way between some of those heavy, thick branches. She adds something to the team, that’s for sure.

And she always does it with a smile. She's always flirty, batting those dark eyelashes, willing to make a joke or sneak some sweet kisses among the leaves and apples. She's charming, I guess you could say. She brightens everything around her.

Until today.

She hasn't said anything, but I know the chat she had with her parents is weighing on her mind. Once they left, she seemed sort of quiet. She didn't want to talk about it. We continued the rest of the day, with Tim and Tom horsing around as usual, acting like jackasses to entertain her. She didn't dodge the work at all, but she was different somehow. Lost in thought.

I caught her eye a few times, waiting for her to say something, but she just smiled and turned away, going back to whatever she was doing.

At the end of the day, she went back to her cabin, alone, saying she was tired. It was Charlie’s turn with her, but he came back early, saying she'd wanted to be alone.

She's the same today: a little distant, a little distracted. She dumps the apples into the extractor for juicing and wipes her cheek with the back of her wrist.

“How are you feeling today?” I ask, taking her hand in mine. It's so small, it's like holding a bird or baby bunny.

She smiles, shaking her head lightly as if to clear it.

“I'm just fine,” she replies sweetly. “I guess I'm wondering… what do we do when the harvest is done? Are we almost through?”

Something about the finality of her question echoes in my head.

“Do you want to be through? Is the work wearing thin on you?”

She shrugs one shoulder, looking away.

“No, I'm just asking,” she says vaguely. “It's getting chilly out. I guess during the winter there's probably not as much to do, right?”

“There’s still a lot to do,” I reply. “There's always something to do, anyway. Once all this stuff goes to the bottler, we have to clean out the barn, get ready for next year. Start planning and of course there’s all of Charlie's business ideas…”