Family Trees (16 page)

C
HAPTER
17

I
t was early November and the wind was racing across the lake in shifting shades of gray. Frigid air blew off the water and up into town. Pedestrians wrapped their coats tightly around their bodies, pulling their arms across their chests and leaning into the wind. Dry leaves were swept up and scattered along the edges of porch steps, boulevard gardens, and brick-laid streets. Jack-o'-lanterns sat on doorsteps in post-Halloween stupors with tired eyes and drooping, toothy grins. And neighborhood scarecrows, once well dressed and standing straight, now appeared haggard—their hats askew, jackets slipping off their shoulders, and straw stuffing falling out of the seams and blowing away with the leaves.

But in the fields and orchards above town, where farmers were coming to the end of a marginal harvest, the wind blew softer. The Meyers family had been working feverishly with a temporary crew of hired hands to bring in the remaining crop before the first frost. Most of the work was now complete. And it was Sunday. They would spend the day indoors with a fire burning in the hearth and a pot of wild rice soup simmering on the stove.

Ryan and Shelby stepped out of the house, bundled up for a brisk walk on the property. The orchard, once colorful in fruit and foliage, was now an empty grove of gnarled branches and leaf-covered paths. Shelby tightened the Badgers cap upon her head and zipped her coat up higher around her neck. A breeze lifted the leaves at her feet and whipped up the scent of her family's land. The woodsy aroma of the autumn harvest was now replaced by the smell of crisp leaves, damp soil, and rotting vegetation. It was the natural end to another season.

While the orchard was going dormant, Shelby and Ryan's relationship was in full bloom. By this time, Ryan was settled in his new routine and engrossed in his work, and the couple was spending most of their free time together. Despite the closeness Shelby felt for Ryan, some topics had been avoided. The thought of Ryan's certain departure back to Chicago often lurked in the back of her mind. Her belief that his time in Bayfield was provisional, and that their lives were only temporarily aligned, made it all seem as fleeting as the spring blossoms on an apple tree. As hard as it would be to say good-bye, there was a certain sense of comfort in knowing it would eventually end as planned. Having a finite relationship was far better than having one end in tragedy.

But on this cool November day, he was with her and, as far as Shelby knew, not leaving anytime soon. So she decided to ask the questions she had been keeping to herself. His background. Ryan's answers wouldn't change their situation, but they could help her to better understand why he was taking refuge in her small lake town.

“I know I've said this before, but Olen and Ginny really make me feel at home,” Ryan said as they walked hand in hand. “It's more than welcoming me into your house. It's the way you feel when you're
in
the house—they treat people like family.”

“I know what you mean,” Shelby agreed. “They haven't had the easiest life, but they've had a loving life. There is this unbreakable bond between them. It always made me feel safe. I think it also affects the way they treat you and others.”

He nodded, looking ahead as they plodded across exposed stones and tire ruts in the path.

“How about your parents?” She threw out the question lightly, hoping this time he would be open to sharing. “Do they have a good marriage?”

He glanced at her with furled brows. “My parents?” he asked, then turned his focus back on the path that lay ahead. “I suppose. It depends on your definition of a good marriage.”

She paused a moment before asking more. “How long have they been together?”

“Thirty-some years.”

It went against her nature to pry, but enough was enough and her curiosity could no longer be contained. She asked again and, this time, Shelby noticed the muscles in his face tighten as he clenched his teeth. They walked and she waited, until his expression softened and he was finally ready to talk.

“They met when my mom was a college senior,” Ryan began. “Dad is five years older than her—he was working his first job as a journalist in Boston. They met through mutual family friends.” He kicked a stone out of the path before admitting, “Their introduction was arranged.”

“Really?” She came upon a stone of her own and gave it a swift kick in solidarity.

“My grandparents on both sides of the family traveled in the same social circles, but they were more business contacts than friends. Dad's parents invited my mother's family to a Christmas party at their club. My grandparents encouraged Dad to take my mother out on the dance floor, and I guess they ended up hitting it off right away. They married the following December. Mom likes to say their wedding was one of the social highlights of the year.”

“It must have been beautiful.” The few weddings Shelby had attended were small affairs held in backyards, church basements, or the Bayfield Community Center. When her friends Abby and Luke Gordon married, they exchanged vows at a secluded beach on Madeline Island. Shelby had never been to a country club or a formal wedding, let alone a reception that made it into the social pages.

She hesitated before asking more questions because the picture he was painting made it clear just how different his life was from hers. But the pause was brief. She wanted to know everything about him. “Did your father start his company soon after?”

“No. At first, everyone expected him to work with his father or father-in-law, just as two of my uncles had done. My father refused. He wanted to start something of his own and wasn't afraid of the risk.” They had come upon a downed tree limb, so he took hold of its branches and dragged it to the side of the dirt road. “My parents were young and from wealthy families. They had a financial safety net and a network of possible benefactors,” he continued.

She collected the smaller branches that had broken off of the limb and cast them aside. “So he was about your age when—” she started, but cut herself short.

Ryan nodded. “Dad set his sights on communications—broadcasting, actually. He knew he needed firsthand knowledge of the industry before leading his own business. That's what he was doing when he met my mother. He was working his way up the ladder, so to speak, gaining experience in print media before moving into broadcast news. Our family moved to Chicago when my sister and I were very young. Chambers Media was a success before Dad turned forty.” Ryan stopped talking and turned to Shelby. “Sorry. I'm rambling.”

“Not at all,” she said, taking his hand in hers.

“CM started out small, broadcasting strictly in the Chicago area,” he said as they resumed their walk. “It didn't take long before he proved his knack for journalism, as well as entrepreneurism, and the company grew quickly.”

“Let me get this straight,” she interrupted. “Your father didn't follow in his parents' footsteps, but now he's insisting that you follow in his?”

“Bingo,” he replied with a forced smile. “He always said it would be my choice. I don't think it ever occurred to him that my choice wouldn't involve CM. He's been grooming me to eventually take over for him when he retires.”

“
Grooming
you?” It occurred to Shelby that her grandparents had been teaching her their business for as long as she could remember, but somehow it didn't seem the same. Or was it?

“I've been getting business instruction from him for as long as I can remember. Lately, he's been putting on a lot more pressure. I'll just leave it at that.”

“For argument's sake, is there a way to stay involved in your family's business and still pursue your photography?” The idea of compromise had been on her mind lately as she considered the future of Meyers Orchard and the aspirations she had as a university student but never acted upon. Hell, she never even went back to finish her degree.

Ryan stopped abruptly, dropped her hand, and looked at her with an expression that proved just how much she didn't understand. “No! How could I? Photography keeps me outside. It helps me feel connected to
life,
” he said, raising his voice and gesturing to the trees that surrounded him. “Working at CM means I miss out on all of this! I can't be that guy who sacrifices his dreams just to make a living, trapped in an office and barking orders from behind a desk!”

She was taken aback by his reaction and raised her open hands to calm him down. “What about the guy behind the desk who employs good people? The guy who uses his influence to make dreams come true that would otherwise be impossible? Not only for himself—but for others,” she challenged. “As far as I can tell, you keep running away from opportunity. You were born into a privileged life.” She set her hand on his forearm before saying, “You don't have a problem, Ryan, you have a blessing—but I think you have too much resentment to see it. Instead of running from CM, why not use it for something that's important to you?”

“Art isn't important enough for you?”

Shelby shook her head and took a step back, not recognizing the bitter tone in his voice. “Of course not. That's not what I meant.”

“What would you know about business, Shelby? Or life beyond the comforts of this farm? You cling to this land as if it's a security blanket!” Ryan said with anger that caught Shelby further off guard.

She had obviously hit a nerve and he was now swinging back. Then it occurred to her that the loss she was bound to face when Ryan left Bayfield would be nothing compared to the loss he'd ultimately feel from missing opportunities if he stayed. This reaffirmed her earlier thoughts. His stay in Bayfield had to be temporary.

“Your family has built a successful company that has the ability to shape people's perceptions, affect cultural change, reflect the times,” Shelby said, with more sensitivity this time, carefully watching his reaction.

“Jesus, Shelby, it's not that simple,” he grumbled while rubbing the back of his neck.

“It's just that I'd hate to see you mistake obligation for opportunity. Joining your father's business doesn't necessarily mean that you have to continue what he started. Think of it like this—at your father's company, you would have a platform to speak to people. You'd be behind the lens—a place you love—and you could share the stories you're passionate about.”

“Shelby, you don't understand how—”

She ignored his resistance and pressed on. “Despite your earlier dig about me and this farm—which I'll forgive—I don't need to be a hotshot from the city to know what's right. If you find meaning in your work, your business will prosper. And if you stay true to yourself, you won't become your father in the process.”

“All right. Now that we're talking, let's shine the spotlight in your direction for a minute,” he said with an unsettling edge to his voice. Shelby realized too late that her search for the truth was about to backfire. “Are you fulfilling
your
dream, Shelby?”

“This isn't about me.” She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat.

“You're so good at analyzing my situation, I can't help but wonder if you're living with the same inner conflict?” He folded his arms across his chest and shuddered against the wind that suddenly rose up over the bluff. “Me and CM. You and this farm. I think we're more alike than you realize.”

“Believe me, Mr. William Ryan Chambers the
Second,
we don't have a thing in common,” she said flatly. “It's getting cold—I'm ready to head back.” As she turned toward the direction of the house, Ryan unfolded his arms and reached for her.

“Hey—wait,” he said, sounding more like the Ryan she knew and liked than the ass who had lashed out at her. She pulled away. “I'm sorry,” he continued. “I didn't mean to raise my voice at you. You just said something I didn't want to hear.”

Shelby stood there, in the middle of the orchard, searching his face and seeing a vulnerability that hadn't been there before.

“The truth is, I wish I had your optimism,” he added.

Without thinking, she touched the brim of her red cap and pulled it down lower over her eyes. She didn't know where their relationship was headed, but she resolved not to run away from it. Cowards ran. Her mother ran. And she was nothing like her mother. She'd see this thing through to its inevitable end.

“Come on. Let's keep walking,” Ryan said, offering his gloved hand like a gentleman. “Please?”

She accepted it and walked alongside him in silence. She knew they were both considering the gauntlets that had been thrown down before them.

 

A honking flock of migrating geese flew over the orchard so low that Ryan and Shelby could hear the rustling
whoosh
of their flapping wings as they passed overhead. It helped to break the silence.

“What do you love most about this place?” Ryan asked.

“I could tell you what you'd expect to hear—that I've grown up on this land, farming is in my blood, I love seeing things grow, yada-yada. That's all true. But it's only part of it.” Shelby reached her hand up to touch the remaining yellowed leaves that dangled like loose teeth from an overhead branch. “When I'm out here, I connect with something greater.”

“Spiritually?”

“God, yes, but I was actually referring to the orchard. It reminds me of family.”

“Family?” Ryan cocked his head and looked at her curiously.

“You asked . . .”

“How so? Tell me.”

“Imagine that every tree you see here represents a family. Some are newly planted, while others have spent years on this land and their roots are deep.” Shelby pointed toward a row of saplings just beyond where they stood. “See those over there? The ones we planted last spring? They're transplants. New arrivals to the community.”