Quixotic Rapprochement

"I've been in here nearly half an hour; we can talk some more tomorrow during chores and stuff."

Apparently unaware of the time, I dejectedly replied, "Alright..."

When she leaned over to give me a kiss, I'd initially thought she was aiming for my cheek like in the truck, but it went right on my lips. Her lips were soft and moistened, her hand was on my shoulder, her belly just barely touched me and I was suddenly stiffening against her. She stood straight again breaking our brief embrace.

"We have the whole summer..." she offered. "Good night."

"Good night, Emma."

Then she turned my light off and walked back toward the door where the hall light shown beneath and basked the room in a dim light. Opening it the light put her figure on display again until she disappeared behind the closed door. I watched her feet head down the hall and the light go out. I lay awake in the utter darkness for some time, thinking about the odd chat we'd had. It wasn't completely out of the blue; she'd had a similar talk with me that winter before Jenny broke up with me. Although, we'd been dressed more warmly. She'd had on a long flannel gown that night and I hadn't thought of her in a sexual way. She'd simply been a concerned sister, trying to warn her brother he was about to get his heart broken. I guess word travels quickly in a small town, even when people are separated by some distance.

Tonight felt different and I was charged with curiosity and desire. What'd just happened? It was a feeling akin to what I'd felt for Madame Soliel; it was a definite attraction, but it wasn't simply unattainable, this was absolutely forbidden. I wondered if it were just the similarity of their looks or if there were something deeper than that. The biggest thing that kept me awake, was the memory of our kiss. Her lips had been so soft, and the kiss while sweet and loving, had seemed to linger, although my perception might have been askew after glimpsing a full-unobstructed view of her breasts.

Sleep eluded me another half an hour after she'd left, so I turned the light back on, got out my sketchpad and drawing pencil. I committed the image I had of Emma sitting open legged to paper. The sketch seemed to discharge right out of my pencil tip exactly as I saw it etched in my memory. A second sketch of her leaning over as she'd gotten up followed quickly. Flipping back and forth, as I looked at the finished works, I realized that I had included erotic details of her crotch in one and her nipples in the other. I hadn't focused on them specifically when drawing, but now, I worried that Emma might find these unbecoming, so I stashed the pad between my mattress and box springs. Finally, I began to feel a little sleepy and turned off the light.

I drifted off at some point, but awoke with a start during the night. My erection was diminishing and my sheet was damp. It hadn't happened like that in a long while. I usually took care of it ahead of time these days, but the taboo of doing that immediately after being excited over my sister's state of dress had put me off remedying it. I rolled over on my side full of guilt. Sleep came again, but it was fitful.

Morning arrived very early and Emma was in my room shaking me awake before the sun was up. When I opened my eyes, they were met with the image of her in that gown and the crotch of her panties was right next to my face. I averted my eyes downward only to see my morning erection poking up toward the ceiling. It was on full display since I'd evidently kicked off the sheet entirely during the night. She'd seemed to ignore it initially, but looked directly at it as she must have realized that the tip still had some dried residue visible. I swung my legs out of the bed and sat up to conceal it a bit, as she remained waiting. It was true that we didn't stand on ceremony around here much, but her observation of me felt unusual again as it had last night.

"Sorry, I'm going to get dressed," she finally said and left the room.

I dressed quickly and took a bathroom trip before I met her downstairs. She was in the kitchen where she had fixed us each a glass of milk and a piece of toast with strawberry preserves. We ate quickly so we could get started on the day's chores and headed out into the predawn twilight. Emma led us out through the mudroom which now contained a new washer and dryer. She opened the door and we proceeded down the steps into the back yard. First on the list, as usual, was gathering eggs from the hen house. It was situated just far enough from our home to prevent smell, disease or disturbances. The morning air was thick with dew and there was a slight chill.

When we reached the coop, Emma said, "I've got two dozen going right now. We've been selling some of the extra eggs to a farmers market. I'm trying some Australorp chicks in the other pen."

Dad had generally kept about a dozen Plymouth Rock chickens. They were good for both laying eggs and their meat. I presumed Emma was the one that suggested taking on more variety, but I didn't ask her right then.

"What are we adding today?"

"Dad's been doing meal worms once a week and that's today."

When we finished gathering eggs, we had ten to take to the house. I carried them in, met her back out by the coop, and helped put out the food. She had a bag of the worms that she sprinkled into their feed. Then we cleared out their water and filled it fresh from the well. When I was smaller, we'd hand pumped it, but Pops had upgraded it during my freshman year in high school to use a motor to lift it.

The morning sun was breaking through light clouds on the eastern horizon as we headed to the shed to gather buckets and gloves before heading into the field. Our father had always planted a varied crop. We had around two hundred acres and generally, he planted hay, sweet corn and potatoes. There was always a medium sized garden beside the house where they grew other vegetables to freeze and can. These along with the chickens were generally to keep them self-sufficient. We also had a decent sized stand of maple trees, probably around four hundred, and a small apple orchard of about a hundred old trees and twenty or so saplings. Most people get the idea that farmers put the crops in the ground and watch them grow, but there's a lot more to it than that.

Today Emma and I were going to be walking the corn checking for bugs, grubs and any kind of infection (smut or root rot). We'd be doing this periodically throughout the growth period and then monitoring for earworm, caterpillars, cutworms, aphids and other pests as the plants matured, right up until harvest.

Emma came back from college with a degree in agriculture when I was starting kindergarten around age five. She was fairly expert in all the different things that might go wrong agriculturally. The corn plants were barely a hand high, but things can go wrong rapidly when the plants are young and tender. All manner of insects and animals think they are tasty. Raccoons were one of the things we'd had trouble with in the past, so we kept our eyes open for tracks as we walked the soft dusty soil rows.

The early morning was the best time to do this work as the cool day gave way to warmth quickly. We'd been out in the field for a couple of hours when I started to fade a little. I was walking several rows over from Emma and I'd been daydreaming about Madame Soliel again. I couldn't get over how similar they looked and I kept losing sight of the plants as I gazed over at my older sister. With the exception of her straight hair and tanned skin, she looked like my professor and my professor looked like a very slightly younger version of Mama. I don't know why, but age is a mystery to me. I'd come full circle on my conclusion that it'd be crazy to chase after Madame Soliel if she's anywhere near my mother's age. But she didn't look that much older than Emma did.

"You're walking on plants over there."

"Oh, sorry, I lost track," I replied, as I got back in the groove and set the plants back straight.

She looked over at me and I couldn't tell if she was angry or not. I hadn't meant to walk on the plants and it'd only been a few indirect steps; they'd probably recover. There seemed to be a question in her that she wasn't asking.

"What?"

"What, what?"

"What did you want to talk about?" I asked finally.

"I just - I don't know."

"Come on Emma, you clearly wanted to talk about something just now?"

"It's silly and you already told me part of what I wanted to know last night," she said, as she started on down the row.

I thought about what I said to her last night and couldn't quite put together what I told her. "Wait, what did I tell you?" I asked after drawing a blank.

She didn't answer me and just kept walking the row. It was frustrating but I tried to let it go. She kept up a fairly brisk pace as I lagged behind her slightly. Every once in a while she bent to pluck a weed or put a grub in the bucket. I stopped and watched nearly every time she did it, as I tried to properly work the row I was on too. It had been fairly blatant and she'd seen me watching her on a number of occasions.

When noon was approaching, we took a break and headed back to the farmhouse for lunch. Emma toasted us bread while I sliced off some of the leftover meatloaf for sandwiches. We had some milk and chips to go along with it and Mama joined us at the table.

"You two have been up and at it today."

"Yes, she's not taking it easy on me."

"I'm going into town for a few things, either of you need anything?"

"Maybe some sunscreen, Paul's already starting to burn."

"You need to wear your hat out there, too."

"Okay, I'll get it before I go back out."

When Mama had left, I asked, "Can she drive the truck?"

"She doesn't like to, but she's got no other choice."

I considered what she'd said as we finished eating. The station wagon wasn't going to get fixed by itself and I could probably tackle it. I'd never seen our mom drive the truck with its difficult manual steering and manual transmission. We had just been focusing on farm work, but there were other ways I could help here, especially with Pops laid up. We washed dishes together that evening, well she washed, I dried and put away. When we finished she suggested we watch a little TV.

Mama and Pops had gone back in the new bedroom to watch their shows, so Emma and I had the old set to ourselves. We saw the end of the news and then watched a rerun of 'I Dream Of Genie' on the UHF channel. It was nice to relax a little with her and the silly show distracted me from some disturbing thoughts I'd had during the day.

When it went off, I said, "I'm going to get showered and go to bed. You want to go first or after?"

"You can go first, I've got some laundry to deal with in my room."

Heading up the stairs, I wondered about that comment. Mama usually did the laundry, but the thought quickly went away as I gathered my robe and went to shower. I undressed and put the dirty clothes in the hamper, while the water warmed up. In the shower, soapy warm water washed the day's work down the drain in brownish discolored swirls. I finished quickly to leave Emma some water, got out, dried off, put on my robe and went to my room.

After the long day's work, I'd expected to be exhausted and I was physically tired, but I couldn't turn off my mind. When I pulled back the crisp clean sheets, I realized what laundry she'd meant. She'd put clean sheets on my bed. And as I'd pulled the top sheet from beneath the pillow, I found an old white cloth that she must have put there for me. It was nice, but odd and I must have lay there for an hour before I decided to draw again.

Tonight's sketch was another one of Emma. I drew her as I'd seen her from the side and behind as she bent to pluck a weed in the field today. Her tank top had hung open just a bit, the bra strap had fallen down exposing a large portion of the side of her breast. Most of the main part of the sketch was complete, I'd gotten the weed, details of her fingers, the gap between her jean shorts and the delicate inflection where her butt cheek met her leg and curved inward toward her crotch. I was just about to put the finishing touches on the background crop row and landscape when my door opened.

"Whatcha doing, Squirt?"

"Nothing," I said startledly, as I attempted to shove the thick pad beneath my pillow. I wondered if my light had drawn her attention or if she was having trouble sleeping too.

"What's that you've got there?" she asked, as she closed the door and proceeded toward my bed.

"I'm - um - I've just been sketching a little."

"Oh, can I see?"

"Uh - okay, but you're probably not going to like them."

"I've always liked your drawings even when you were like five. Show me how good you've gotten."

Hesitantly, I pulled the half-hidden tablet from beneath the pillow and scooted over to make space for her to sit beside me. My hip became exposed in the process and it drew further up as she joined me on the bed. I opened to the first page in the sketchbook and handed it to her so she could flip through them herself. I leaned anxiously against her awaiting judgment but was instantly distracted by the smell of her hair. In a flash, I realized it was akin to opening one of her care packages. That wonderful aroma flooded my mind as I blankly watched her carefully turning the thick pages.

"Are all of these from the University of Washington?"

"Mostly and some areas around there. That's one of the bay," I said, as she turned to a new one.

She continued flipping through them. There were sketches of all kinds of things that'd caught my eye: several of the fountain on the quad, trees in various stages of foliage, park benches, flowers and more flowers especially tulips. There were only a few that depicted people in the bunch, where there were, they were rough, not portraits and often just couples that were captured within the landscape. The first true portrait was of Madame Soliel and it was the one which I'd drawn from memory. She lingered on that page for a long while, but didn't ask who she was or why I'd drawn her. There were three more of her that were less detailed, one of her by the fountain and two more as she'd been teaching.

When she finally flipped through the next pages, I said, "I drew those on the bus."

There were mountains, fields and forests and some storefronts that I thought were cool. Then it happened, there wasn't much I could do about it, I knew it was coming. She turned the page and there was the picture of her with her feet together sitting on the floor in my room. Her face went crimson, but she didn't say anything. She looked at it a long time, so long I began thinking I should apologize. I'd captured a variety of illicit details throughout, but particularly in the area of her crotch. I worried about what she might be thinking, when she turned the page and saw herself bent toward me with her breasts dangling inside the same short loose gown she had on again tonight. I'd drawn them with all of the fullness and excited details I'd remembered.

I looked up to see her eyes meet mine momentarily before she turned back to look at it. There was something within her gaze I didn't understand. I knew it wasn't ire, but I couldn't guess what she was thinking. Well, her face remained slightly red, so I'm sure she felt embarrassed like I did, although maybe not to the same extent. Letting her look through these exposed more than just my deepest thoughts, it let her see herself mirrored in my mind.

When she finally turned the page, she slowly went through the next sketches: some of the Australorp chicks, the shed with the station wagon on the carrier and one of the farmhouse from out by the big maple tree. Then she came upon my last drawing, the one I'd been drawing tonight. She lingered on it for longer than the first one of herself. The swarm of butterflies in my stomach began to feel as though they might roil up and out onto the bed. I was certain there was going to be some kind of fallout from what I'd depicted. I'd only drawn things as I'd seen them, but the details I'd chosen to include or exclude were what I expected would upset her. People were harder to draw for me, because I became very attached to the drawings.

"There's one missing; did you throw it away?" she asked, pulling me back from my concerns.

"Oh - um - no..." I choked the words out. "I - uh - I gave it to the subject."

"So it was a person?"

"Yes, it was the woman you saw towards the beginning."

It was the only woman I'd drawn besides Emma. Not just in this book, but in all of my recent sketchpads. There'd been couples or groups of people, but no individuals in quite a while. I couldn't remember when or why I'd stopped, maybe it was my withdrawal from people after my breakup with Jenny, although I couldn't remember if I'd drawn her. Drawing a single person was definitely more personal and I only seemed to do it for the ones that really had some effect on me. I was sure I'd drawn portraits in some of my other sketchbooks, I'd have to look through them and see. She was being silent for a long while as she sat there holding the pad. Then she flipped back through to Mme Soliel again and looked at the sunlit portrait and the missing remnant in front.

"You drew this right after you gave the other one to her."

"Yes."

"From memory, right?"

"Yes."

"You didn't want to lose the one you'd given, so you drew a better one."

"Uh-huh."

Then she flipped to the one of herself seated on my floor, and asked, "And this is how you see me?"

"I'm sorry, Emma. I shouldn't -"

"What are you going on about? It's the biggest compliment I think I've ever had from anyone."

"You like it?"

"Very much - I don't see myself like this. That's not what's in my mirror. It's flipped from the self-image in my mind and this woman is beautiful to me."

"You want them?"

"No - no..." she trailed off and was quiet. "But I would like you to draw me at least one of my own," she said at length.

"Would you sit for me?"

"Yes. I would like for you to draw me from your point of view. You have a real talent for people. Your landscapes and buildings are nice but you really capture the people you sketch. I haven't met any of the other people, but I imagine they would all be very flattered by your renderings."

I hadn't really drawn people, just the two women but I didn't correct her statement. "I was worried you would be offended."

"Was the woman offended?"

"No - but - it wasn't quite like these."

"Did you offer it or did she ask for it?"

"She saw it accidentally and I offered it to her," I said as I thought back to that day by the fountain. "She requested that I sign it."

"See? I'm telling you, I don't know why you're getting a degree in business. I get that you want to escape from the farm. I thought that at one time too, but this is my home; it's where I belong. You - you don't really belong here. I don't mean you aren't welcome or wanted, this simply isn't where you should be. You're going to be great out there in the world."

Her praise of me had me hugging her tightly and I could feel dampness between her shoulder and my chin. She smelled so nice, clean and feminine, I remained like that a while.

I never really understood why she came back to the farm. So many of our neighbors kids had fallen into that same trap and Emma had always seemed to have such a free spirit. She'd taken me with her to Woodstock, when I was six, to see all of the groups play for free. After the show, she'd met a guy who needed a ride home to Roxbury. I'd enjoyed having her all to myself, but remembered feeling slightly jealous when I got relegated to the back seat during the trip home. That must have been over fifteen years ago, but I could remember the fun it'd been seeing all those groups perform. What stuck out though, was the first part of the trip, and getting to see her enjoy herself. It'd been one of those life-changing events that I held dear in my memory.