Sour Apples (14 page)

“Where you want ’em?” the driver asked as he climbed down from the cab.

“In the barn there. Here, let me help you. Are they sorted by variety?”

The guy shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I just deliver ’em.”

From a quick scan, Meg guessed the answer was no. Great: a thousand trees in no particular order. Right now they all looked like naked sticks with roots, but she was relieved to see color-coded plastic tags identifying each one.

“Okay, I’ll show you where to put them.” She led the way to the barn, where she had already cleared space near the big sliding doors. The driver grabbed a bunch of trees and followed, dumping them against the side of the holding chambers and turning back for more.

Meg had no idea which ones were going to go where
along the slope—she assumed that Bree had figured all that out. Right now, she decided, she’d just segregate the trees inside the barn by variety. She started sorting, and the driver kept dumping more and more trees in the main pile. Meg wanted to protest at the rough way he handled her precious babies, but no doubt he had other trips to make and was in a hurry, and besides, they were only trees, right? But they were
her
trees, and each one carried the potential for bushels of future apples.

The truck driver had gone and Meg had just finished distributing the trees into groups when Bree and Jake came down the hill—Bree had hitched a ride in the cab of the backhoe. She looked elated as she climbed out. “Thanks, Jake. See you tomorrow morning.”

Jake tipped his cap to Meg, and Bree let him pull out of the driveway, waving farewell, before crossing to the barn, where Meg was waiting. “So, we’ve got trees, huh?” Bree said, surveying the messy stacks.

“We do. I divided them up by variety. Basically, the four kinds we chose, plus I think your contact threw in a few extras and some oddballs. Anything else we need to do with them tonight? We aren’t going to plant until tomorrow, right?”

“Not unless you want to do it by flashlight. They’ll be fine here overnight. It may take us a couple of days to get them all in. Hope your shoveling muscles are in good shape.”

“As ready as they’ll ever be. Why’d you pick these particular varieties?”

“A combination of things. One, they’re all old varieties that originated in New England or maybe New York State—like the Baldwins that came from the eastern part of Massachusetts. Two, it was what the nursery had enough of, in stock. We got a good price for ’em, and Christopher says the dealer’s honest.”

“So why’s he quitting the business?”

“Retiring, I guess. Let’s close up for the night. I could really use a shower.”

“I’ll let you go first, while I get started on dinner. Unless you want to order a pizza?”

“Pizza sounds good to me. Although you may need to do it again tomorrow, and the day after—however long it takes to get these babies into the ground.”

Together they closed the big barn doors and clicked the padlock shut. Not that anyone was going to sneak in and steal a thousand trees, but the old tractor and its attachments and the rickety pickup they’d bought to deliver apples were also stored in there, and Meg couldn’t afford to lose those. Funny to think she had an orchard just sitting in her barn.

Back inside, Bree disappeared up the stairs, and a moment later Meg heard running water. Bree was right: tomorrow they’d be even more exhausted, so maybe she should cook tonight. She found a jar of spaghetti sauce that she could fancy up a bit, and dry spaghetti to go with it: done. After she had set a large pot on the stove to boil and fed Lolly, she remembered that she’d meant to ask Gail Selden, the director—and only staff member—of the Granford Historical Society, if she had any information about earlier Granford orchards and tree varieties. Maybe while she was at it she should ask Gail what she knew about the Truesdell property. Meg went into the dining room and booted up the computer to send an e-mail to Gail before she forgot again. Her request wasn’t urgent—better to give Gail a brief explanation in writing and let her look into it at her leisure.

What did she need to know? Meg still wasn’t sure where Joyce’s problem pasture was, or even the dairy farm, but Gail had grown up in Granford, so surely she would know the broad outlines of the properties on the north side of town, where Seth had said the Truesdells’ farm was located. Meg began typing.

After briefly laying out her question about local orchards, she thought for a moment, then added,
Gail—I’m sure you’ve also heard about Joyce Truesdell’s unfortunate death,
and then stopped. Had anyone stated publicly that it was murder? If Meg asked her anything about the property, out of the blue like this, Gail would probably draw her own conclusions as to why. But Gail was also discreet, so Meg decided to go ahead.

Meg hesitated a moment before adding

Meg reread what she’d written and hit Send.

She went back to the kitchen and started sautéing onions, garlic, and sausage to add to the jarred sauce. Bree came down again, her hair wet. “Smells great. Of course, I’m starving.”

“You got a lot done today,” Meg said, stirring.

“Hey, it’s only a couple of acres, no big deal. And we’re all set for tomorrow—we start planting at the top while Jake finishes up the holes in the last two rows. Weather should be good. I love it when a plan comes together!”

Meg sneaked a glance at Bree. She looked as happy as Meg had seen her over the past year. “Once we get the trees
planted and have a little breathing room, we should have Christopher over. Is there such a thing as the blessing of an orchard?”

Lolly had jumped into Bree’s lap, and Bree was scratching her behind the ears. “Probably. You want Christian? Wiccan?”

Meg laughed. “Wiccan?”

“Sure. I know people in Northampton who would do it. I could ask.”

“I was thinking more like the tradition of launching a boat with a bottle of champagne.” They bantered happily through the casual dinner.

“I’ll wash up,” Bree announced when their plates were empty.

“Fine by me. Are all three guys from today going to send us bills? We’ve got the surveyor, Jake and the backhoe rental, and the tree guy. You said delivery was free? Should we set up separate accounting for the new orchard section? Are there tax breaks for new investments?”

“Whoa, Meg! Can this wait ’til tomorrow? I’m too sleepy to think straight, but don’t worry, it’s under control.”

“I hope Seth didn’t twist anyone’s arm to get us too good a deal. I keep telling him this is a business, not a charity.”

“Are you actually saying you want to pay more than you have to?” Bree asked, her hands in soapy water.

“No, not exactly.”

“Hey, I’m the one who found the deal on the trees. If you want, I can check comparables on leasing land, if you don’t want to take charity from your boyfriend.”

“I just want to keep things official,” Meg said, her voice sounding prim even to her ears. “Seth said he’d take care of it.”

“Great. Hey, is your buddy coming back tonight?”

“I have no idea. There’s plenty of spaghetti left, if she’s
hungry. I was hoping to get her together with Seth and Lydia for a nice dinner, maybe at Gran’s. I wonder if Rick will let her off the leash long enough to do that?”

“That’s an odd way of putting it—‘off the leash.’ Besides, when you sign up for something like a campaign, you know your life is not your own, right?”

“I guess. How do you know that?”

“I’ve got friends from college who’ve gotten sucked into working for candidates. Using college kids and recent grads is a great way to get cheap or even free labor, not to mention that they’re usually energetic and eager. Good deal all around—the students get some experience, and the candidate gets short-term enthusiasm.”

“You were never tempted?”

Bree snorted. “Ha! I had to work to put myself through college, even with scholarships, and I don’t trust politicians. Not my thing.”

“I can’t say it’s mine either. But Lauren seems to be enjoying it.”

A car pulled into the driveway outside the kitchen. “Speak of the devil,” Bree said, drying her hands on the kitchen towel. “Well, the dishes are done, so I’ll head upstairs. Don’t stay up too late! We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“I know, I know. Good night.” As Bree left, Meg went to the back door to let Lauren in. “Hi, stranger.”

Lauren surged into the kitchen, tossing her coat over a chair. “Sorry, sorry—I’ve been meaning to call you all day, but it’s been crazy. Do I smell food?”

“There’s some leftover spaghetti if you want it.” Meg picked up Lauren’s coat and hung it on one of the hooks next to the door.

“Great. I’m at least one meal short today,” Lauren said, grabbing a bowl from the dish drainer and filling it from the pot on the stove. She stuck the bowl into the microwave,
pushed buttons, then turned to look at Meg. “Keep me company?”

“Sure, but not for long—I keep farmer’s hours these days. We’re planting an orchard tomorrow, and we need to get it done while we’ve got good weather.”

“Wow.” The microwave beeped, and Lauren retrieved her bowl, found a fork, and sat down. “Sounds impressive.”

“The trees are tiny, and somebody else is digging the holes for them, but it’s a real step forward. How was your day?”

“Busy, but what else is new? Listen, Rick’s got one more event on Saturday, and then I guess we’ll be moving on, at least for now, so I’ll be getting out of your hair soon.”

“I still feel like we haven’t had much time together. Are you going to be free tomorrow night? It’s your last night here.”

“Yeah, I think so. Rick’s wife and kids will be joining him, and I think he could use a little family time. Why?”

“Maybe we could get together with Seth and his mother? If I’m planting all day, I don’t think I’ll feel like cooking, but I could see if we could all go to Gran’s.”

“Sure, sounds good to me. I’d like to get to know Seth better. If you two are serious, that is. If you’re just toying with him…” Lauren grinned.

“Hey, we’re breaking land together, sort of. In some societies that’s significant.”

After Lauren had consumed her spaghetti in record time, Meg stood up and stretched. “I’m going to take a shower, then head to bed.”

“You look like you need it.”

“Gee, thanks. But you’re right—I’ve been hauling trees around all day. I’m dirty and exhausted.”

“Well, if I don’t see you in the morning, give me a call and let me know the details about tomorrow night.”

“Will do. Good night, Lauren.”

As she passed through the dining room, Meg checked her watch. It was all of nine o’clock—farmer’s hours indeed. Even so, she was too tired to call Seth and Lydia, not to mention the restaurant, tonight. She’d take care of it first thing in the morning.

Friday morning Bree bounced impatiently while Meg spent an hour on the phone trying to coordinate dinner plans, which involved calling Seth, Lydia, and Nicky at the restaurant. Lauren had confirmed her availability, after checking several new text messages that had come in in the middle of the night, and left, promising to return no later than six.

Finally Meg had the details locked in. “There, done.”

“About time,” Bree grumbled. “Those trees can’t wait, and the weather’s not going to get any better. Can we go now?”

“Yes, we can go. What’s the plan? I assume you know where which trees are going?”

“Of course I do. I figure we’ll load up each variety, one at a time, starting with the ones that are going at the top of the hill. Then we’ll work our way down. You can come help load.”

“Yes, ma’am. Lead the way.” After a brief rub of Lolly’s
head—she was sitting happily on top of the refrigerator—Meg followed Bree out to the barn. She waved at the goats, who ignored her yet again, intent on juicy new grass. Bree hauled open the sliding doors in the front of the barn, and Meg tried not to feel overwhelmed. A thousand trees. Admittedly, each one weighed only a couple of pounds, but together they added up fast. And she and Bree had to transport them all up the hill, set them in the holes dug the day before, position them at just the right height to ensure the graft junction wasn’t covered, then refill the holes, tamp down the soil—but not too hard!—and, finally, water each and every one, although Bree hadn’t said anything about how they were going to do that…Meg felt tired just looking at the trees.

Bree, on the other hand, was full of energy. “Let’s get this show on the road!” she said, grabbing four trees, two in each hand, and depositing them in the trailer they used to transport apple crates.

Meg resolved not to count how many they managed to squeeze into each load because then she’d have to calculate how many total loads there would be and that would only discourage her.
One batch at a time,
she reminded herself. She threw the shovels into the trailer and followed it up the hill on foot, with Bree driving the creaky old tractor. By the time Bree reached the top, towing the trailer with the trees, Jake had arrived. Bree parked the tractor and conferred briefly with Jake, who nodded and headed down an unfinished row to resume digging.