Don't Die Under the Apple Tree by Amy Patricia Meade Page A

she confessed. “But there’s not much I can do about that now.”
    â€œYou can turn around and leave, that’s what you can do. But I know you won’t. Do me a favor, though. If anyone gives you a hard time, come and get me.”
    Rosie nodded.
    â€œPromise?” Delaney pressed.
    â€œYes,” Rosie snapped.
    Shaking his head and muttering to himself, Michael Delaney disappeared through the holding area doors.
    â€œBrother or boyfriend?” Nelson ventured.
    â€œNeither.”
    â€œHmph. Well, I’ll catch you during break. Till then, good luck.”
    â€œThanks.” I need all the luck I can get , she thought as she exited the red brick building and made her way to Pier Number One. Approximately forty feet from her destination, she spotted Kolecky, short, somber, and bespectacled, setting up his forge. Rosie flashed a weak smile in the man’s direction. As expected, Kolecky returned the smile with a blank stare.
    Rosie chided herself. These people thought she was a murderer. If she went around smiling at them, they’d truly believe her to be deranged. With a grave expression on her face, she scaled the scaffold where Dewitt and Kilbride stood waiting.
    â€œMornin’,” Dewitt quietly greeted.
    Kilbride, however, flashed a wild grin. “Clinton Kilbride at your service. This here is Wilson and that down there is Kolecky. I don’t abide by last names, only Christian ones—the world is dehumanizing enough—but I haven’t caught Kolecky’s yet. Mostly because he hasn’t pitched it. Now what should we be calling you?”
    â€œRose. Rose Keefe.”
    â€œRose. Just Rose?”
    â€œWell, most people call me Rosie.”
    â€œRosie? That’s not very poetic for a fellow countrywoman.” Kilbride’s reddish blond brow furrowed. “You sure it isn’t Rosemary or Rosamund or—”
    â€œRosaleen,” she replied, although she was unsure as to why. “Rose is short for Rosaleen.”
    â€œAh, that’s better. That’s what I’ll be calling ya, then. Rosaleen.”
    Rosie felt her mouth pucker. The only person who called her Rosaleen was her mother.
    â€œAh, don’t like being called that, do ya now? Sorry, luv, but I won’t change me mind. Rosaleen you are and Rosaleen you’ll stay. So welcome, Rosaleen, to the riveting gang of Drunkard, Darkie, and Mute. If you need me to point out who’s who, then ya aren’t as bright as you look. And now that we’re done with the introductions, let’s get to work and see if you can keep up.”
    â€œKeep up?”
    â€œHaven’t you heard? I’m the fastest riveter in the yard. I suppose since you’re here as punishment, they didn’t warn you.” Laughing maniacally, he swung over the other side of the scaffold.
    â€œHe’ll have you running crazy in the morning,” Dewitt clarified. “He’ll slow down some after lunch, though. Always does.”
    Over the course of the next few hours, Rosie discovered that Dewitt’s description was quite accurate. With the cone in her left hand and a pair of tongs in her right, the morning found her dashing from the ship to the edge of the wooden boards, catching a handful of red-hot rivets, and then scrambling back to insert them into the predrilled holes. All the while, Kilbride’s voice could be heard urging her to hurry up.
    When the noon whistle finally blew, Rosie threw both cone and tongs onto the boards in relief.
    â€œLook, Wilson,” Kilbride teased as he swung over the side of the scaffold and caught a glimpse of Rosie bent over and rubbing her knees. “I think we broke her.”
    She met both Kilbride and the statement with an icy stare.
    â€œUh-oh. Now I’ve done it. I’d best be careful leaving work tonight.”
    Determined to keep her cool and, in all honesty, too tired to fight, Rosie stood up and descended the