Gathering Apples

It was after my grand father and I had driven our team of horses down Spring Street into Groton, New York, that when we passed an old mansion on the edge of the town, I saw an apple tree with apples all over the ground.

That afternoon, my brother Vic and I decided to walk down to the Groton swimming pool and swim until it was time for our father to come out of the Smith-Corona typewriter factory and give us a ride back home.

After we swam I remembered those apples, and since we had plenty of time, we walked up to that place where I had seen them that morning.  Later, I found out that a retired Cornell professor had retired and bought that place.  We wore our swimming suits, a tee shirt and no shoes.  We both bent over and picked up one apple and just as we were taking our first bite, this very large and angry man seemed to come out of nowhere.  He was yelling curse words at both of us; my brother took off running down Spring Street and I dashed across the road and saw a driveway which had been built up about ten feet off the ground.  Holding it were cinder blocks and beyond that there was a long steep hill which was filled with briars and plants which could tear flesh.

I decided the best thing for me to do was to jump off that ten foot driveway and run up that hill.  When I jumped he was close behind me; when I landed I rolled over and saw him working his way down toward me.  I knew if I didn't run as fast as I could up that hill he would catch me and God only knows what would happen to me then.

As I ran up the hill he was still following close behind me and I could hear his voice yelling that he was going to catch me.  Needless to say I just ran faster ignoring the briars beginning to rip through my legs and my feet became bruised against those jagged stones.  He kept chasing me.  It was only at the top of the hill that I dared to look back and he had stopped, worn out from running after me.

As I made my way down the other side of the hill I noticed a woman hanging her washed clothes out in her back yard.  As I approached her I said, "Lady, will you please help me?"  She turned and saw me, bleeding and out of breath.  "Who are you young man?" she demanded.  I answered, "I'm a son of Victor Romaine, do you know him?"  She shook her head up and down and beckoned me to come close; as I did she noticed I was bleeding and without any shoes on.  She took me inside and washed off the blood on my ankles and legs with a white wash cloth and told me if I hurried I would be able to make it down to where my father was about to leave work.

She also showed me a well-beaten path that went down behind most of the buildings and told me to use that in order to be there in time.  When I arrived at my father's old car, my brother was sitting in the front seat, I opened a back door and crawled in and lay flat on the floor board.  I was still afraid that old man would see me and I wanted to stay right there until our father came and climbed into the car.

When he did finally came and opened the driver's side, he looked at my brother first and then looked over the front seat and saw me on the floor board.  My brother explained what had happened to our father...he only knew how he had ran down Spring Street but not about how I was able to escape.

Once we were out of town I finally worked up enough courage to tell our father about my escape and how the lady knew him and helped me and showing me the best way down to the old car.

I'm 76 years old now; back then I was nine years old.  That means that this nightmare happened to us 67 years ago.

When I drive up there now, I always drive past where that happened.  The large house is no longer there, nor are there any apple trees along the side of the road.  My legs and feet are long ago healed; but my memory of this still haunts me. 

Whenever I eat an apple I think about this true story again.