One Bad Apple (7 page)

“Of course it will. Chapin Brothers does good work.”

“I hope so. Hey, listen—can I get you something?” Meg racked her brain to recall if she had any food in the place.

Stephen had come up behind Seth on the step, crowding him. “Hey, I could use something hot. It’s freezing out here.”

Grudgingly Seth moved into the room, and his brother pushed past him. “Hi,” he said to Meg with an engaging grin. “I’m Stephen Chapin, the other half of Chapin Brothers. I’d offer to shake hands, but …”

Meg waved at her sink. “Please, wash! It’s such a treat to be able to use the water again. And let me make some fresh coffee.” She waited while Stephen washed his hands thoroughly, then she filled the pot and set the coffeemaker brewing. She was pleased to find a forgotten bag of cookies in a cupboard, and distributed a handful on a slightly chipped plate, which she set in the center of the table. “There. Sit down, you two. Coffee’ll be done in a minute.”

As she waited for the coffee to finish, she studied the brothers. The kinship was evident in their bone structure, but there were clearly differences. Seth had been unfailingly cheerful, at least around her. Stephen was another matter. He was darker in coloring than his brother, and seemed more intense. He was also fidgety, tapping his fingers on the table. When Meg set a mug of coffee in front of him, he flashed her another smile. “Hey, thanks. Seth says you’re new to the area. I’d be happy to take you around, show you what’s fun around here.”

Was he flirting with her? “Thanks for the offer, but I unfortunately don’t have much time for fun, Stephen. I don’t know if Seth told you, but I’m trying to get this place ready to sell, and it keeps me busy.”

That smile came again. “Ah, come on. You need to get out of the house now and then, don’t you? Why not?”

“Stephen, she said no.” Seth’s voice was mild, but there was an edge to it.

Stephen turned to look at him. “Oh, yeah, right. She’s one of you worker bees, right? No time off for good behavior. Sorry, Meg—big brother here has put the kibosh on fun.”

There was a clear tension between the two brothers, and hidden currents that Meg didn’t understand—or want to. It was none of her business. All she wanted from them was working plumbing.

Seth made an obvious effort to change the subject. “Have you ever looked into the history of this place, Meg?”

Meg shook her head, confused by his abrupt shift. “Haven’t had time, but I suppose I should. The Realtor asked the same thing. She thought it might be a good selling point.”

“Who’s your Realtor?”

“Frances Clark.”

Seth nodded. “She knows the market around here—she’ll do a good job for you. But as for the history, it’s definitely worth doing. Some of the land grants around here go back to the 1600s, when this part of the country was first surveyed. The records should be in Northampton or Springfield, if you ever have a free afternoon. Ask at the library in Northampton first—they have a lot of material on local history. You know, this whole area used to be called Warren’s Corner, after that intersection of this road and what’s now the highway. They changed the name to Granford in the early nineteenth century.”

“I’ll put it on my to-do list.” Which now covered several pages. “How do you know all this, anyway?”

“I’ve lived here all my life, and I like history. But I mentioned it because there’s a meeting of the Granford Historical Society tonight, and you might be interested in going and talking to some of the local historians. Maybe they could help. I’d be there myself—I’m on the board—but I promised my sister I’d help her install a new sink. She runs a B and B over toward Amherst.”

Stephen drained his coffee cup and stood up. “Well, then, we’d better head over there. Wouldn’t want to keep Rachel waiting, would we? And I’m sure Meg here will have a rip-roaring good time at that society of yours.” His tone was snide.

Seth gave him another exasperated look, then stood up more slowly.

Meg followed them to the back door. “Seth, where’s this meeting, and when?”

“At seven, first Tuesday of every month. The society owns a building on the green in town, but they meet in the basement of the church next door, because the heating’s better. They’re a good group. You’ll like them.” He checked his watch. “Oops, gotta go! I’ll send you the bill, no hurry. Let me know if you have any more problems. Oh, and watch out for the open trench, if you decide to go out tonight. And you’re probably going to need some more gravel for the driveway, unless you’re thinking about paving it. I know a guy …”

Meg laughed. Seth seemed determined to solve all her problems. “Let me know later, okay? You’ve got places to be.”

Stephen grinned at her as he followed Seth out the door. “Have fun with the old fogies tonight. You would have had a better time with me.”

And then they were gone. With a start, Meg realized that she could shower now, and went upstairs to take advantage of that immediately. While she soaped and rinsed—and made a mental note to replace the trickling shower head—she debated whether she really wanted to go out that night, much less to a meeting. But she’d spent far too much time indoors of late, and it could be a good business move. After all, the more she could find out about the house, the better. For a brief moment she wondered what it would be like to have the kinds of roots in a community that Seth had—three hundred years, hadn’t he said? But she had no intention of staying in Granford long enough to put down any kind of roots. She’d go to the meeting for information only.

Meg bundled up well before she headed out for the meeting: down coat, scarf, hat, heavy gloves. The wind was cutting. She had lived in Boston for years and hadn’t minded the cold there. Maybe the stone and concrete of the city held the heat; maybe the buildings blocked the worst of the wind. Here in Granford, icy blasts swept across open fields and seeped through her coat. She hurried to her car, which was freezing but out of the wind, then started it and sat shivering while the heater came slowly to life.

Seth had told her that the Granford Historical Society met at the church on the green, in the center of town. There were a few cars in the lot when Meg pulled in, and she hurried to the door to get out of the wind. Inside it was marginally warmer, and she wandered through the poorly lit corridors looking for the meeting room. Luckily it was the only one with lights on. Meg poked her head in tentatively, to be greeted by a woman of about forty or so who was wrestling with an elderly slide projector. She looked up quickly when Meg entered, and her gaze was frankly curious.

“Hi! I’m Gail Selden. You looking for the historical society meeting? I haven’t seen you here before.”

Relieved that she had found the right place, Meg entered the room. “No, I’m new in town. I just moved to the house at 81 County Line Road.”

“Ah, the Warren place. Welcome! You wouldn’t know anything about projectors, would you? I go through this every time we use this old monster.”

Meg shook her head. “Sorry, no. Now if it was PowerPoint, maybe.”

Gail laughed. “Heaven forbid we should use anything that modern! This thing is approaching antique, and I’m not sure we can still get bulbs for it, but I just keep my fingers crossed that it’ll keep going, because we can’t afford a new one. Take a seat. I think a few more people said they planned to come—it’s not every month we have a guest speaker.”

Meg looked around at the twenty or so folding chairs that had been set up in rows, less than half occupied. “What’s the talk about?”

Gail had apparently succeeded in bringing the projector to life, and was fiddling with the switch that advanced the anticipated slide carousel. “There, got it. There’s a professor from UMass who’s going to be talking about nineteenth-century agriculture in this area. I brought along some old tools from our collection so we can get a sense of how things were done. So, what brings you here? Please, sit.”

Meg took a seat in the front row, while Gail leaned against a folding table covered with rusty farm implements. “As I said, I just moved in, and I thought maybe I should find out more about the house, its history. My real estate agent said it might help when I sell it.”

Gail’s face fell. “You’re selling? I was hoping that someone would stick around this time. I know it’s been rented out for quite a while, and the tenants have been okay, but they just don’t put much into keeping the place up, you know?”

Meg smiled, while feeling a pang of guilt. “Tell me about it! Every time I get something fixed, something else falls apart. Today it was the drains. Actually, it’s my mother who owns it, so I guess she’s the one responsible for renting it out.”

“Well, maybe when you sell we’ll get some long-term people in. It’s a great house, and it comes with a lot of the original land. The wetlands on one side are protected, you know.”

Meg nodded, but Gail had already turned to greet a couple of new arrivals whom she obviously knew. Meg studied the room: low ceilinged, wooden floor, the walls covered in paint-crusted bead board. How old was the church? This room looked as though it hadn’t changed in a hundred years. She turned in her seat, keeping an eye on new arrivals. A few people headed for a table set up at the side, where a large coffeemaker burbled, and set down cakes or plates of cookies covered with plastic wrap. Meg checked her watch: ten past seven. Apparently the schedule was flexible.

She heard Gail’s voice again. “Ah, here you are! I was beginning to wonder if you’d bailed out on us.”

“Not at all, dear lady, but I must confess I was tardy in assembling all my slides. But I wouldn’t miss this—the subject is dear to my heart.”

Christopher? Meg knew of his interest in orchards, particularly hers, but she hadn’t thought he was an historian as well.

Christopher handed a tray of slides to Gail and made his way to the front. “Meg! How delightful to see you again, and so soon.”

Meg stood up to greet him. “Christopher, I had no idea you’d be here. Seth Chapin—my new plumber—thought I might be interested in learning a bit more about the history of my place, so here I am.”

“So your plumber arrived at last. And your problems are resolved?”

Meg nodded. “They are, I hope. I have a new septic system.”

Gail came up to Christopher and laid a hand on his arm. “We ought to get started—I think this is everyone.”

Christopher surveyed the sparse crowd. “Ah well, I guess it’s to be expected. But you know me. I’m always happy to talk about farm history. You’ve met Meg here?” When Gail nodded, he went on. “She’s graciously promised to allow us to continue to use her orchard for our research.”

“Assuming, of course, it survives the proposed changes,” Gail said, shaking her head. “But let’s not get started on that again. You go on and talk.”

“With pleasure.” Christopher went to the front of the room and took a position beside the rickety screen. Gail went to the projector and clicked on the first slide. Christopher began. “As I’m sure you all know well, Granford, like so many early New England towns, was founded by a small group of farmers in …”

Meg listened as Christopher spoke knowledgeably without notes. The slides he had brought ranged from early deeds to bills of sale and advertising flyers for various farm products. After a while she found she was finally warm—and struggling to stay awake. She was jerked from a near doze by the sound of a cell phone.

“Oops, sorry—it’s mine,” Gail said, pulling the phone from her pocket. She strode toward the back of the room and spoke quietly into it, then returned. “Sorry, folks, I’m going to have to duck out on you—crisis at home. John, can you talk about the stuff I brought over, and make sure the items get back to the society building? Tomorrow’s plenty of time. And can anybody here work this dang projector?” A couple of hands went up. “Next meeting’s the fourteenth of next month, and we’re going to have to review the budget. I’ll send you a reminder, with the details. Christopher, please go on. I’m sorry I’m going to miss the rest of your talk. Bye, all.”

Gail bustled out of the room, and Christopher resumed without a hitch. It was clear that he loved his subject, and the small crowd listened patiently; some people asked intelligent questions. Finally Christopher wound down, and John moved quietly to the front, demonstrating various tools that Meg didn’t recognize. Christopher seized on one that had a wickedly curved blade at one end, and proceeded to demonstrate how to use it, swinging it with enthusiasm and putting John in some peril. Meg sighed with relief when Christopher put it down—as did John.

After a few questions, the group stood up and moved en masse toward the refreshments. Meg hung back. She felt awkward trying to break into the group, all of whom obviously knew each other. Nor did they make any effort to approach her. Was this a sample of Yankee reticence?

Christopher noticed her hesitation and came over. “Did you enjoy that?” he asked.

“Yes, I did, although I have no idea what most of that stuff is. Easy to forget our agricultural beginnings, isn’t it?”