Sour Apples (10 page)

“You mean, compared to last year when I had no idea what I was doing? It wouldn’t be hard, after that, but yes, I am. I’m figuratively patting myself on my back for how much I’ve learned in only a year. Look at me now—I’m even expanding! I never would have expected that a year ago. How about you? Thinking of retirement?”

Lydia laughed shortly. “That’s a joke. I couldn’t afford it even if I wanted to, but before you start feeling sorry for me, I wouldn’t quit even if I was rolling in money. I’d be bored within a month.”

“I can understand that. But you could volunteer for…whatever. You’ve got some great management skills.”

“Yes, but I’m way behind the curve on using computers. As long as they’ll have me, I’ll stay where I am. But if you’re planning to pay to use our land, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Of course I’ll pay. This is a business, and I want to keep things on a professional basis—for a farm market rate, of course.” They reached the back door of the house. “Seth has a long lead for Max at the corner of the building. You want to put him there while I start lunch?”

“Sounds good.”

As she entered the kitchen, Meg could hear Bree coming down the hill, towing the sprayer behind the tractor. It
sounded as though the tractor’s engine was running a bit rough, but it was old. Seth and some of his mechanic friends had refurbished it and managed to keep it going, and Meg hoped it would survive at least another year of hauling apples around. The noise dropped in volume as Bree turned around to back the sprayer as close to the barn door as possible. Then, as Meg watched from the kitchen window, Bree climbed off the tractor, detached the sprayer, and hauled it into the barn. Her orchard manager might look slight, but she was surprisingly strong—and
very
independent. No way would Bree wait for Seth or anyone else to come by and help her.

Max greeted Bree as though it had been years rather than just ten minutes or so since he’d last seen her, and then she and Lydia came in together, talking a mile a minute. “Where’s the food?” Bree demanded.

“Hey, I’m working on it. Sit down, both of you. You want something to drink? There’s still coffee from this morning.”

“Coffee for me,” said Bree. “I’ll get it. Lydia, how about you?”

“Sure, coffee’s fine,” Lydia said. Bree filled two mugs and popped them into the microwave to warm.

Five minutes later Meg distributed plates and sandwiches, threw a bag of potato chips onto the table, and took a seat. “There. Eat.”

After a few bites, Lydia said, “Bree tells me you have a houseguest.”

“I do, although I haven’t seen her for more than ten minutes at a time. Did you meet my old friend Lauren the last time she was here? Maybe at the opening for Gran’s? And you might have seen her briefly at the Spring Fling. We used to work for the same bank in Boston, but she managed to hang on longer than I did.”

“Is she still there?”

“Nope, she left them. I think she got bored, or lonely
after all her friends left, or maybe she was just ready for a change. She’s very—”

“Driven,” Bree said before Meg could finish her sentence.

“I was going to say enthusiastic. She really throws herself into things, and that’s why she’s here now. She’s involved in a political campaign.”

Lydia sighed. “I get so tired of politics. It seems that every time you turn on the television or the radio in the car, there’s another ad. It’s already been going on for months and won’t stop until the election’s over. And they’re all so mean-spirited. You listen to them back to back and you know at least one side is lying, and probably both. Sometimes I wish I could move to a cave until November. Who’s Lauren working for?”

“Someone from here—do you remember Rick Sainsbury?” Meg asked.

“I remember him, yes. I knew his father, but not Rick, not really,” Lydia said. “James Sainsbury had a construction company in Springfield, and my husband worked on a couple of projects with him. So Lauren is working for Rick’s campaign?”

“Yes. Apparently he’s decided to run for Congress, although he hasn’t announced it yet. I think he’s lining up his ducks locally before making it official.”

“So that’s why he was at the Spring Fling Saturday. Now it makes more sense.”

“Exactly. Lauren says he has some support from other Massachusetts politicians, including his wife’s father, a former state senator. I’ll admit I’m pretty clueless about regional politics and who’s who.” Meg hesitated a moment before saying, “Seth seemed to remember Rick, but not too fondly.”

Lydia nodded. “They were on the football team at the same time, as I remember it, although Rick was a couple of years older. Football really mattered around here back then, twenty years ago, more than it does now. Anyway, Seth
took a real dislike to him, don’t ask me why. Rick went off to some big-name school with a nice scholarship, but every time he was mentioned in the local paper, Seth would shut down. It was very unlike him.”

So whatever issue Seth had with Rick Sainsbury, he’d never shared it with his mother either. Interesting. “I noticed the same thing. I thought Seth liked everybody.”

Lydia finished her sandwich. “Well, if there’s a story behind it, you’ll have to ask Seth. But if Rick Sainsbury’s running for office around here, it’ll be hard to ignore him. Will I have a chance to see this friend of yours?”

“Lauren? I don’t know. She’s been busy, so she’s not around the house much. I can’t resent it, because she warned me when I invited her to stay. I thought it might be a little nicer for her than a motel. I’d be happy to see a little more of her, though. But I’d be careful if I were you—if she thinks you have any local clout or any money to give, she may be all over you to help out Rick. Please feel free to say no to her. And I’ll have to tell her the same thing, if she asks me—I’ve got enough to do with the orchard. From what little I’ve seen, political campaigns can suck you in and drain you dry.”

“But at least they end eventually,” Lydia added. She stood up. “Thanks for lunch, Meg. I’d better head back with Max. I’ve got a list of errands a mile long.”

“It was good to see you, Lydia. I’ll see what Lauren’s plans are, and maybe we can all get together. Just leave your checkbook at home!”

Lydia laughed and waved good-bye, and Meg turned back to Bree. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I was hungry.”

“You don’t have any issues with Lydia, do you?”

“Nope. She’s one nice lady. You know it’s Lauren I’m not crazy about, but I didn’t want to say anything negative. Anyway, I’m glad Mrs. C’s okay with our leasing the land. You about ready to head up there and take a look? I’ve got some stakes in the barn.”

“My, you are eager to move on this. But I can understand why. Isn’t it getting pretty late for planting?”

“Exactly.” Bree stood up and carried the plates over to the sink and began rinsing them.

“Aren’t you worried about finding the stock we want? From what I’ve read in those catalogs, we should have ordered last year, if we want so many trees.”

“I’ve got that part figured out,” Bree said, without turning around.

“Oh? That was fast. How can you get it so quickly?”

“Have you talked to Christopher lately?” Bree asked guilelessly, her hands immersed in soapy water.

What would he have to do with this? “Should I have?”

“Uh, I talked to him a few days ago, and he said something about a grower colleague of his who had decided to fold up the business and was looking to get rid of the stock he had on hand…”

Meg laughed. “And you jumped at the opportunity? Is that why you’ve been pushing me to cut this deal with Seth?”

“Kind of. It’s good healthy stock, and it’s going cheap. We can pick and choose our varieties. And we can have the trees this week.”

Not for the first time, Meg had the feeling that events were rushing past her a little too quickly. “Well, if Christopher recommends this guy, I guess it’s okay with me. You have a shopping list?”

“I do.” She returned to her seat and pulled a folded piece of paper out of her pocket. “Let me show you…” Bree proceeded to describe her selections.

“It all sounds good to me. But come clean—when did you really find out that these trees would be available?”

“A couple of days ago, that’s all!” Bree protested, without meeting Meg’s glance. “It was too good a deal to pass up.”

Meg sighed. “I believe you. So why did you make me
look at all those catalogs, if you already knew what you wanted?”

Bree grinned. “To get your head back into the trees, not other stuff.”

“Fair enough,” Meg replied, “and it is fun to look and think about the possibilities. I know I was waffling about the land, and I’m sorry. But I get so tired of being beholden to Seth. You know, he’s already helped with the storage chambers and the septic system and the furnace. And the tractor and the delivery truck…”

“Enough!” Bree help up a hand and laughed. “He also runs his business on your land. So consider that you’re both helping each other.”

“But what if things go wrong between us?” Meg asked.

“Then you’ll deal with that when and if it happens. Jeez, you’re such a pessimist! You can’t plan everything. Besides, you said he’s okay with a lease agreement. We’ll make it nice and legal. It’s not like it’s a huge commitment—only a few acres, and they’re just sitting there empty.”

“I know.” Meg sighed. It wasn’t like a dynastic merger between the scions of the Warren family and the Chapin family or anything.

So why did it feel like such a big commitment?

They reached the top of the rise: Meg’s orchard lay to their left, its wavering rows of trees extending to the local road at the south end, and to the state highway to the west. The highway curved away at the edge where they stood, and the Chapins had maintained a small patch of trees on their land as a buffer against the highway. “Talk me through what you’re planning,” Meg said.

Bree scanned the land before answering. “It’s a nice piece of land—good slope, not too steep. It’s on the leeward side of the hill, so you’re protected a bit from weather. And the trees by the highway provide a windbreak, so your apple trees won’t dry out too fast.”

“So it’s pretty close to ideal, right?” Meg surveyed her new domain. She could see her house down the hill, off to the right; she knew that a mile or so away to her left lay Lydia and Seth’s houses, both built by Chapin ancestors over two hundred years before. She could hear the cars passing on the highway behind her, but she couldn’t see it from where she stood. She felt an unexpected surge of joy:
this was a perfect place to create “her” orchard. “What layout were you thinking of?” she asked Bree.

“I’ve been looking at the land, and like I said, I’m thinking three acres. I’m sure Seth would give us more, but I don’t want to get overextended, you know? The rows would follow the contour of the hill, with the first one maybe twenty feet from the old trees. The saplings have dwarf rootstock, so they won’t get real tall. I want to use a high-density orchard management strategy—have you heard about that?” When Meg looked blank, Bree went on. “It’s kind of new, but the university’s extension service thinks it’s a great idea. Thing is, it would mean some more work for us, mostly in staking and pruning, but it would increase yields on the new trees. I can show you a couple of local places that have tried it.”

Meg held up her hands. “You’re the expert—I trust you.”

Bree grinned. “Good! So in terms of layout here, I’d space the rows maybe fifteen feet apart and the trees each about eight feet apart along the rows. That’ll still let us get the heavier equipment through. Overall, we’ll be taking a chunk that’s maybe seventy feet down the hill and about four-tenths of a mile over that way. Here, let me give you some idea of where the rows will go.”

With a bundle of stakes tucked under her arm, Bree loped off toward the west side. When she stopped, she planted the first stake about twenty feet short of the stand of mature trees near the road, then walked back toward Meg, pacing off fifteen-foot intervals and sticking stakes in as she went. She passed Meg, headed down the slight hill, and added a couple more. Then she set off toward the north again, aligning more stakes with the first set. When she finished, she looked very small in the distance. Finally she came back to where Meg was standing.

An acre out here looked a lot bigger than it did on paper, Meg reflected. “You’re thinking four rows? How many trees does this add up to?”

“Two hundred fifty a row, so a thousand total,” Bree said promptly. “Four varietals, depending on what we can get.”

Meg swallowed hard. A thousand trees seemed like an overwhelming number. She focused on the varietal question. “How about if I ask Gail Seldon at the Historical Society to look for old orchard references locally? She may not be able to find much about specific varieties, but you never know. Oh, and Lydia said she has some trees on the other side of her house, but she didn’t know what varieties. I wondered if maybe you might be able to tell her, and if they’re old or rare, maybe you could do some grafts onto our older trees?”

“Sure. Good idea. You know, there are probably a lot of old varieties lurking in forgotten corners around here—you just have to know where to look. If you have the time, that is. I don’t know if we will have time this year, since grafts should be done before bud break, but it’s something to think about for next year. We can scout out possible trees for grafts now—there are plenty of abandoned orchards scattered around here.”