Red Delicious Death (24 page)

Meg nodded. “Sort of, so I guess I feel partly responsible for them. Nicky’s a great cook, from what I’ve tasted so far. And she loves what she’s doing. What troubles me is that I’m not sure they have enough capital to really get this up and running. Brian claims to have taken the right business courses, but reality is different from the classroom, and I don’t know how much margin for error they have. Tell me, Lydia, do you think people in Granford will eat there?”

“If they pitch it the right way. I enjoy a good meal in a nice restaurant as much as anyone, but I only go once or twice a year, like when this one”—she nodded toward Seth—“takes me out to dinner on my birthday. If they want repeat business, I’d tell them to keep the menu simple and the prices reasonable.”

“That sounds like their plan.”

Dinner drifted to a close in a happy haze of wine and conversation. Finally Seth stood up and stretched. “That was great, Mom. You want me to do the dishes?”

“Seth, you always ask, because you know I’ll say ‘no.’ Just carry this stuff into the kitchen, and I’ll put it in that magnificent high-end dishwasher that you so kindly provided for me. Then you can see this lady home.”

At the back door, Meg said to Lydia, “It was great to meet you, and I’m not just saying that. You’ll have to come over sometime so I can return the favor.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Do you know, I can’t remember that I’ve ever been inside the Warren house? I hear you’ve made some improvements.”

“I’m trying, but it’s an uphill battle. Thanks, Lydia.”

On the back stoop, Seth looked up at the darkening sky. “I don’t like the look of that. Maybe I should get my car and drive you back.”

Meg followed his gaze. While they had been inside, massive storm clouds had gathered to the north. They were a peculiarly intense gray, and the remaining light of the setting sun looked greenish in comparison. Even to Meg’s novice eye, the clouds looked menacing. “A storm? But I don’t hear any thunder.”

“Not yet. We can probably make it if we hurry.”

“Then let’s go, fast.”

Perhaps it was the ozone levels in the air, or the weird quality of the light, but the approaching storm was making Meg very uncomfortable. They set off at a good pace, but they had barely arrived at the boundary of Meg’s orchard when the wind picked up, tossing the branches.

“Maybe we misjudged,” Seth said. “Let’s hope we can get inside before it hits.”

They dashed through the gathering gloom, dodging dry leaves spun by the wind, but they hadn’t yet reached the back of the house before the clouds shut down the sun and loosed a torrent of water all at once. Meg could see the individual drops falling, looking like glass marbles that splashed as they hit the ground, which was soon covered with puddles. Seth tugged her into the open shed at the back of the house, but they were already drenched.

Meg looked at Seth and burst out laughing. “You look like . . . an otter, all sleek and wet.”

“What do you think you look like?” Seth reached out a hand to push a soaked strand of hair behind Meg’s ear. His hand stilled, then traveled around to the back of her head, and he pulled her toward him. He paused for a moment, looking into her eyes, and she met his gaze squarely.

As their lips met, lightning flashed, with a loud crack that made them both jump. “Wow—those romance novels got it right!” Meg murmured.

Seth grinned. “I wish I could take credit, but I think some old tree near here just bit the dust . . . Meg, am I moving too fast?”

“No.” She pulled him back. His shirt was cold with the rain, then warm as their bodies met. She found herself with her back against the rough boards of the shed, Seth pressed close. The rain continued to fall in torrents, drowning out all other sounds. “Seth,” she breathed in his ear. “Bree’s not coming back tonight. What say we move this inside?”

“I say yes.”

Meg couldn’t stop smiling at the eggs she was scrambling the next morning. Last night had been . . . unexpected. Surprising. In a way, she was glad she hadn’t had time to think, only to react. Maybe she should trust herself more often, because it had been . . . wonderful.

When Bree let herself in the back door, she stopped in the doorway, surprised to see Seth at the kitchen table, sipping his coffee and reading the paper.

“Hi, Bree. Have you eaten?” Meg asked, without turning.

“Uh, yeah, thanks. Boy, you got lucky last night.”

Seth started coughing, and Meg could feel herself turning bright red. She stared resolutely at the eggs, unable to think of anything to say.

Bree’s gaze swiveled between Meg and Seth, and then the light dawned and she grinned. “What I
meant
was, I stopped at the orchard on the way in. Did you notice that storm last night, or were you too busy?”

Meg cleared her throat and managed to say, “Yes, I noticed that. In fact, we got drenched on the way home. Pretty spectacular, huh?”

“More than that. There was a lot of hail over toward Amherst, kind of a microburst. It did a number on the crops over that way, including apples. Flattened a lot of stuff in the fields. I was worried that it had hit here, but I didn’t see any point in calling you last night. I mean, what could you do about it?”

Meg didn’t know whether to feel guilty or relieved. While she and Seth had been . . . busy, other farms had been getting slammed by one of those unexpected events of nature. It was a cruel reminder about the uncertainty of being a farmer. “Good heavens, I never thought of that.”

“Bet you didn’t,” Bree continued smiling at her. “You must have been distracted.”

“Guess so,” Meg retorted simply, eager to move on to a new subject. “I never realized I had to worry about hail. What effect does it have on the apples? Knocks them off the trees?”

“Some. More get dinged, which means they can’t be sold as perfect. They end up going for cider, but the farmer gets less money for them. Lots less, like one third as much.”

“I can’t believe I came so close to losing a big chunk of the crop, and I didn’t even know it.”

“Weather’s always a big worry. Like a freeze at the wrong time in the spring can kill off your blossoms, and that means no crop, but we got past that all right. Drought’s a problem some years, although you’ve got the springhouse if you need to irrigate. That’s a plus.”

Meg distributed eggs and toast on two plates, set one in front of Seth, and sat down with her own. “If I were religious, I’d be sending up some thanks about now.”

“You’ve got that right. So, what did you do last night?” Bree said, trying to look innocent and reaching for a piece of Meg’s toast.

“We went over to Seth’s mother’s house for dinner. I’d never met her before, for all that I’ve lived here for six months. It’s kind of hard to get to know your neighbors when the houses are so far apart. Of course, I didn’t know my neighbors in Boston well either—I think there was some sort of unspoken rule about not intruding in each other’s privacy.”

“Huh. I never thought about that, but it’s kind of the same in a dorm—you can hear everything that’s going on, but you pretend you don’t. Oh, by the way, Michael gave me a list of the small local grocery chains that should be interested in your apples. Some of the stores have a pretty good following of customers who like to support local products. Your yield should be about the right size for them. Do you want to call them, or should I?”

“Thanks, Bree. That’s a big help. I think I need to do it, and anyway, I should probably introduce myself to them, face to face. Does that list include farmers’ markets?”

“That’s a different group, and you’d probably have to work harder to go that route, but it’s still a possibility. Just don’t tell me you want to set up a farm stand on the road here. No way I’m going to try to staff one of those.”

“I agree. I can’t see selling a couple of pounds at a time—too labor-intensive. And don’t forget the restaurant, if we have the right varieties. You have a list of our varieties, when they ripen, and what they’re good for, like cooking?”

“Yes to the first two, no for the last. You don’t plan to
give
those apples to the restaurant, I hope?” Bree said.

“Maybe the first batch, but not after that. I’m running a business just like they are, and they’d better expect to pay us.” Meg sighed. “Remind me again why I got into this?”

“You’re preserving an agricultural heritage that stretches back centuries. You’re supporting small farmers. You’re producing clean, honest food. Besides, you needed a job. Is that enough, or should I keep going?”

Meg held up a hand. “That’s fine, thank you. I suppose I should have thought this through more carefully when I started, but events kind of took over. But I like what you said, about traditions. It does mean something to me, that my own ancestors farmed this land, maybe even planted some of these apples. It makes me feel more connected somehow. You want to walk me through the orchard later and show me what happened?”

“Sure. What’s your schedule look like?”

“I’m clear for today, I think. Seth, did you have any plans?”

Seth had been suspiciously quiet, watching Meg and Bree talk. “Nope. No jobs until Wednesday. Might hit some of the local flea markets and see if I can pick up any salvage.”

“What, you don’t have enough yet?”

“There’s plenty of space left in the barn.”

“But we just got it cleared out! I was kind of enjoying being able to see the floor. I guess it was too good to be true.”

“I figured I’d better stake out my space before you started filling it up with apples.” He drained the last of his coffee and stood up. “Thanks for breakfast. I’ll give you a call later, okay? You want to see me out?”

“Hey, guys, I can look the other way if you want,” Bree volunteered with a wicked smile.

“Nonsense, Bree.” Almost defiantly, Meg went over to Seth, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a serious kiss. He responded with enthusiasm. “There. Now you can go.” She turned him toward the door and gave him a small push. “And if you see your mother, thank her again for me, will you?”

“Um, right. Bye.” Seth, apparently tongue-tied, left. Once outside he started whistling as he headed for his office space.

Bree turned to Meg. “So?”

“What? We’re both adults. I don’t pry into what you and Michael do, do I?”

“Nope. Just checking. If it matters, I approve. He’s a good guy.”

“I think so, too.”

“I’m just surprised you didn’t jump him before this.”

“Bree! That’s not the way I do things. Besides, it just sort of happened. We got wet in the storm, and . . .”

“Uh-huh. Well, I know how to mind my own business. Just don’t get too mushy on me—we’ve got work to do.”

“Good. So let’s go check the trees.”

Meg pulled on her rubber boots, as did Bree, and together they made their way up the hill toward the orchard. It was another lovely day. The sun was burning off the last of the early mist, which still lingered over the Great Meadow below. The air was fresh, washed clean by the storm. Luckily, conversation was impossible while climbing the hill, so Meg could think about what had happened the night before. She had tried her best not to give any thought at all to the relationship she and Seth been dancing around for months now. Her track record with relationships was lousy, and she certainly had enough going on in her life at the moment without trying to fit in another person. And Seth had been careful not to press. Of course, he had been burned once before, too, so maybe he had reason to be cautious himself. Last night had just happened, without forethought, but it had certainly been mutual, and Meg couldn’t say she had any regrets. Nope, none. Where things went from here was anybody’s guess, but she was going to take it one day at a time. Like the orchard: things could change really fast, and a lot of the factors she had absolutely no control over. Sometimes that was hard to accept, but she was learning.

“Yo, Meg?”

Meg focused with a start and realized they had reached the top of the hill. “Sorry, I was wool-gathering.”

“We’ve got company.” Bree nodded toward a bulky figure on the other side of the orchard, and it took Meg a moment to recognize beekeeper Carl Frederickson, decked out in his protective gear. He raised a hand and waved.

“Have you met Carl?” Meg asked Bree.

“Sure—he’s been providing bees here for years. We should see how the hives are doing.”

They crossed the wet grass to where Carl stood. He’d taken off his head covering by the time they arrived. “Morning, ladies. Your trees seem to have come through the storm pretty well.”

“Hi, Carl. The hives okay?” Bree asked.

“Not bad—a couple of lids blew off in the storm. The new hives seem to be doing well. I hope that’s the last we’ll see of the colony collapse problem. Strange doings in town, eh?”

It took Meg a moment to figure out that he was talking about Sam’s death. “You mean what happened to Sam Anderson? Did you ever run into him? You must cover a lot of farms around here.”