The sun was tipping toward the west, midway between the highpoint of the vast blueness above and the far off line of the horizon. Wind pushed the wheat down and back again like waves rolling across the field. Robert had made a niche on the edge of the crop line. Normally he would tuck himself up under the expansive oak tree nearby, but today he was reading. Anyone that came looking for him would not be able to see him lying flat on the ground, hidden away among the stalks of wheat. His cap was pulled down on his forehead to give his eyes some shade as they ran over the words he’d read so many times. A paper cover was fixed on the book, an arbitrary title that did not match the work inside embossed in block letters on the binding. The pages were well worn; some corners were creased in multiple places from being dog eared to mark the reader’s place over the decades of use, while some pages showed smudges of ink, or dirt from someone’s hand that couldn’t be bothered to wash up after work before they fell back into the story. These pages were home to Robert, and to his mother, and he was certain many more people before them had found refuge in the words as well. He was supposed to be working at something or other, but since he had started the book again the night before, he had found it impossible to put down. He cherished the book more than anything.

He had nothing of his own, save his clothes and hat, a coin his grandfather had given him, and this book. No one could know he had it though, his mother had warned. The book was on the exceedingly long list of banned reading material that made it illegal to possess.  The Fallen City, a book that detailed the overthrowing of a totalitarian government by a group of rebels, had been one of the first to be added to the List when it was first put into legislation. There had been outrage, Robert’s grandmother had recounted to him when he was younger. People called it ironic, and warned of what was to come, but not enough believed them until the law came knocking at their door. In whispers, his grandmother would tell him how it all happened, the way they slowly moved into power with promises and charisma, reassuring the public that they were the heroes; they would be the ones to bring about change that would finally set everything to the way it should be. They lied, she hissed at the memory, describing the stacks of burning books, public arrests of those who spoke ill of the new laws, and the tangible fear of the people. Even more frightening were the ones that vanished in the night. Doctors, journalists, lawyers, teachers, even small business owners would go missing from their houses, never to be seen again.

Robert thought all of this sounded impossible, that perhaps maybe his grandmother was mad. Hadn’t the world always been like this – quiet, with the hours moving with the beat of a metronome, everyone doing their job, and when things were slow stealing moments for themselves like he was now? He assumed that everyone read these books and all the families talked of these things in their small homes without making mention of it to anyone outside their walls. Maybe he was wrong, but none of that mattered to him. His lot in life was cast. He was a cropper. He’d live and work under this endless sky until he died. The government and the city mattered nothing to him. His only concerns were staying out of the sun and wind so his fair skin wouldn’t burn, or be chapped by the cold in the winter.

The breeze brought on the rustling of the wheat around him, carrying with it the faint voice of his mother, calling him from the other side of the field. He jumped up and shoved the book into his waistband at the small of his back, rushing off toward the sound of her voice. 

She rarely called him unless it was lunch, which had passed a few hours before, or the end of the workday, for which it was still too early.  Her face was bright when he came into sight, waving at her son to hurry to her.

            “Quickly, Rob. I have news!” she called.

Robert breathed deep without panting when he finished the sprint to his mother’s side. He’d always been the fastest of all the boys, something he tried not to take too much pride in, but it was the truth. He could always count on his speed and his lungs to not betray him when they were needed.

Emma hugged her son. “Your father just got word from the guild in the city. They’ve accepted him,” she said, her eyes welling up with joyful tears. A hand shot up to cover her mouth as a giddy laugh escaped her. “We’re going to go live in the city.”

Robert’s face fell. He didn’t like this idea at all. His father had applied to the blacksmithing guild months before with the permission of the farmer whose land they worked. If accepted, the family would move into the city and Emma would get a job in a factory while William apprenticed with a blacksmith. Robert would go to the public school there, overcrowded and completely different from what he was used to in their rural community. He was comfortable here. He was the third generation of his family to work this family’s farm. Robert didn’t want to leave the fields. He’d heard the air was stifling and had a smell to it in the city, and everyone that had visited the city either on pleasure or business came back thankful they lived here, no matter how poor their living. He was torn. Robert was proud of his father for being accepted into the guild and respected him for wanting to move them up into a higher social class. Although things would be rocky at first, in the end it would be best for the family and give Robert better prospects of his own. In his heart though, Robert mourned the loss of his home before they had even spoke of packing. He lived for this land, the earth and trees.

He nodded at his mother, who had joy and pride in her eyes. “Tell father I’m very happy for him, would you? I’ll be back for dinner,” he promised, squeezing his mother’s arm before turning and running off to the east of the field.

Emma called after her son, but he was already running toward the orchard and she knew he wouldn’t hear her. When Robert ran off to the orchard, Emma knew he needed to be alone. She tried to respect that, having done the same when she was younger.

Robert reached the orchard and thought about collapsing beneath one of the trees and just wallowing in the thought of leaving, overthinking about how terrible his new life would be and allowing the possible scenarios to play out in his head. In a moment of clarity, he changed his mind. Picking up a basket at the foot of the nearest tree, he climbed up a ladder and started picking the apples he was supposed to have picked over the past few hours when he was reading. Being up in the tree did him good. The only sounds were the leaves and branches brushing against each other in the breeze and the faint melodic sounds of other croppers singing as they picked apples farther down the orchard. This bit of work treated him well, keeping his mind relatively blank and focused on not falling off the ladder rather than drifting off into a stream of negative thoughts. He filled the large basket with apples and carefully made his way back down to the ground, taking the last step off the rickety ladder with a hop. His friend Seamus from another family working and living on the farm came by, pushing a cart filled with apples.

“Room for one more load?” Robert asked him as he approached.

“Where have you been, shammer?” Seamus asked with a smile. “I haven’t seen you all afternoon.”

“You know me. Off here and there.”

“I went back to the house for late lunch and m’da told me about how yours got picked up by the Guild. You’ll be leaving. Can’t say I like that idea much.”

Robert sighed. “Me neither. But I know he’s doing it to make a better life. I can’t curse a man for doing right by his family.”

“Ah but what could be better than this?” Seamus asked, his arms out, gesturing to the beautiful orchard. “I wouldn’t take a city life if they gave me twenty dollars a day. I may have nothing to give, but one day of fresh air and the view of the sunset from a tree gives me more life than most city folk could dream of in a lustrum.”

“You’re poetic, Seamus. Anyone ever tell you that?” Robert chuckled.

“All the girls,” he winked. He raised his chin at Robert to tell him to dump his basketful of apples onto his cart so he could take them to the cider house. “I’ll catch up with you later. Give me two more baskets before you’re done for the day, shammer.”

“Yes, boss.”

The two smiled, and Seamus turned to push his cart toward the farm while Robert returned to the ladder, stepping carefully toward the top where he’d left off. His head poked up above the tree branches, and although the ladder holding him was not the steadiest, he felt best when he was just above the trees, watching the leaves rustle around him. A bird landed on the branch to his left and began to sing its sweet, lulling call. Its yellow chest was a bright spark of color against the green of the leaves, and the see-you-see-yer of its song made Robert smile. He hoped they had trees in the city. And meadowlarks. This song played in his dreams, making him feel relaxed and at home. He hoped that he wasn’t miserable there, and that he wouldn’t be forced to leave his parents to come back. No, he couldn’t do that no matter what awaited him. He decided to stop worrying and resisting, to face the inevitable and hope for the best for everyone involved. He couldn’t be so selfish when his father was giving up everything he has known in his life for this. Feeling defeated by his own surrender, he quickly refilled the basket and returned in time to meet Seamus and be the first to begin his new load. He moved the ladder and mounted it again, this time working slowly as Seamus wouldn’t be back by for a bit. Robert took in all that was around him, listening to the meadowlark that had moved a few trees down the row and the hum of cicadas starting to rise. He raised his face toward the cloudless sky, looking at the brilliant blue. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scents of earth and cut hay, letting the rush of air cross his face, the warm sensation of the sun resting on his throat. He would be thankful for this life. Whatever horrors awaited him in the city, this would always be his home.

            “Oi, Rob!” Seamus called up to him. Rob had drifted off leaning against a thick branch in the tree. Seamus’s voice startled him, and the ladder shook before he caught himself. “You sleeping up there?”

            “You nearly made fall!” Rob shouted down. He balance himself and carefully made his way down, dumping the basket of apples into the cart before returning it to under the tree. “Trying to make me break my neck before I leave?”

            Seamus looked at Rob longingly, removing his hat. “If it’d get you to stay, I would. I’d tote you around in the apple cart every day,” Seamus swore, his cap resting over his heart.