“I decided to go with a double-curtain trellis,” I tell her as I study the several acres we’ve already built up.
“Smart,” she praises as she takes in her surroundings. “More sunlight through the top of the vines equals a greater yield.”
“Exactly,” I agree.
We set the pressure-treated trellises so the rows are ten feet apart, which will eventually allow me to bring in harvesting machinery down the road. Until then, I’m going to be doing a lot of grape picking with some seasonal help to save on costs.
“Nice truck.” I nod at the vehicle she had pulled up in.
Darby chuckles as she peers over her shoulder at it. “It’s Carlos’s truck. He told me I shouldn’t be driving my Beemer on the farm roads.”
“He’d be right about that.”
“I’m going to trade my car in for a truck once I can find some time. Definitely a newer model than Carlos’s because I would never be able to survive without air conditioning in the summer.”
Summer is a good seven months away. That means Darby is here for the long haul.
My stomach rumbles, and I look down at my watch. Almost noon. I take Darby’s elbow and turn her toward my Gator. “Let’s go get some lunch.”
“Lunch?” she asks in surprise but walks peaceably by my side.
As we climb into the Gator, I explain, “Up at the main house. Mama always fixes a good lunch.”
“I don’t want to impose,” Darby says.
We take off with a lurching jump forward, which causes Darby to grab hold of the roll bar. I chuckle and explain to her how things work in the South. “My mama would have my hide if she knew you were here at a mealtime and I didn’t bring you to the house to eat. That’s just the way we do things around here.”
Darby beams a bright smile. “Then by all means, I would like to preserve your hide. Let’s go have lunch.”
I take Darby the long way back to the house, so she can see more of the farm. I point out the sections we have currently leased but explain the crops we used to grow on them. She has lots of questions about the way we grow and harvest. I take her past pastures that hold the cattle and finally past Mainer Lake.
I point across the southern end of the lake. “That’s where I live. It used to be my brother Lowe’s but since he moved into Mainer House, I hated to see that little cabin sitting empty.”
“It’s beautiful,” Darby exclaims.
Nodding, I tell her, “I love looking out over the lake in the morning at sunrise. Lowe built it all by himself.”
Darby gives a low whistle. “That’s impressive.”
“All of my siblings are impressive,” I say with a burst of pride. “Every one of them is so very accomplished.”
Darby turns to regard me thoughtfully while she holds tightly to the bar. We bump along the dirt road filled with more potholes than not, but it doesn’t prevent conversation. “You’re close to your siblings, aren’t you?”
I give her a nonchalant shrug. “We fight more than not. But yeah, pretty close. We get together every Sunday for dinner at Mama’s. Even though that’s about the only time we get to see each other during the week because we’re all so busy, it’s like no time has passed in between. Know what I mean?”
Darby nods vigorously, and her face softens. “That’s how it is with my sister Kelly. She’s almost nine years older than me and often acted like a mother figure growing up, but we’re extremely close. We don’t get to see each other often, but we talk all the time by phone.”
We skirt past the lake and through a small trail that traverses through a thick copse of pine trees, continuing by the big gray barn that we open to the town of Whynot for the Lantern Festival every summer, and through another copse of trees before the farmhouse comes into view. Darby breathes out, “Oh, that house is so pretty.”
I think we have one of the prettiest houses in Scuppernong County. It’s massive… Three stories and covered in gray clapboard siding with white trim. Mama had the shutters painted burgundy about a decade ago, and I note they could use a little touch up. As with most farmhouses, there’s a wide porch across the front she has studded with burgundy-colored rocking chairs and tiny tables with plants on them. The right side of the house has a detached double garage Lowe and I helped Dad build several years ago. There’s about an acre of lawn surrounding the house with nothing but fields all around. Just a few months ago, it was green with field corn that’s all harvested now.
I lead Darby into the house. She peeks into the formal living room, which is decorated well… formally. Delicate cherry furniture with a flowered print that makes me nauseated to look at. I always feel like the furniture is going to crumble under me if I sit on it. I much prefer the den at the back of the house that’s filled with heavy leather furniture and cushy recliners.
“Is that you Colt?” my mama calls from the back of the house.
“It’s me,” I holler as I start walking that way. “And I’ve got company.”
My mama says, “Excellent,” as we enter the kitchen, where she’s pulling out a loaf of fresh bread from the oven.
After she sets it on the stovetop, she wipes her hands on her apron and turns to face us. She gives me a sweet smile, but her eyes only stay on me for a moment.
They light on my lunch companion, and her smile grows wider. “You must be Darby, the new peach farmer come to town.”
Darby smiles and steps forward with her hand stretched out to shake my mom’s. My mama isn’t having any of that and manages to wrap Darby up into a long, hard hug of welcome. Darby has absolutely no hesitation in giving my mom a good squeeze back, which tells me that she is generally an affectionate type of person. Don’t know why this pleases me so much.
When my mom pulls back, she points to the table and orders us both, “Go. Sit. I’ll grab you some ice tea.”
“What’s for lunch?” I ask, my belly rumbling again.
“I’m just going to throw together some club sandwiches with the fresh bread I just made, and I made a fruit salad,” she says as she walks to the refrigerator to pull out a pitcher of sweet tea. She fills two glasses and brings them over to us.
I watch as Darby takes a sip and then wrinkles her nose as she pulls it away from her mouth. I laugh and say, “Haven’t gotten used to the sweet tea yet, have you?”
She gives a quick shake of her head. “I actually like it. It just takes me by surprise the first time I drink it.”
“I can get you something else,” Mama says solicitously.
Darby waves her away. “I really do like it. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Before my mom can answer, I tell Darby how things are done in the South. “You are a guest in our home and as such, you are prohibited from helping. In fact, southern etiquette dictates you have to sit there, drink your sweet tea, and engage in idle gossip with us.”
All three of us laugh, and Mama goes back to the refrigerator to pull out the makings of our sandwiches.
While she’s slicing into the fresh bread, I further educate Darby. “But the next time you come to our house, you are considered family and you are more than welcome to help all you like.”
“Duly noted,” Darby says with a laugh.
“So how are you and your daughter settling in?” my mother asks as she builds up our sandwiches from the center kitchen island.
Darby gives a sigh through her nose before answering. “I’m settling in great. It’s wonderful to be working on the orchard, and I’ve always loved farm life. But it’s been a bit of an adjustment for Linnie.”
“How old is she?” Mom asks.
“Seven.”
“Oh, that’s such a great age. How about you and Linnie come join us for Sunday supper at two this coming weekend? I’d love to meet her, and we’ll show her how great this town is.”
“That’s just so nice,” Darby says in a soft voice full of gratitude. She will try anything to help Linnie along. “I’ll accept for both of us. She’s missing a lot of things f
rom back home, so this will be good for her.”
“I can imagine,” Mama commiserates. And because she has no boundaries, which is born only from a natural empathy for other people, she says, “Divorce is never easy on anyone. I imagine Linnie must be very confused.”
I can’t help but cringe internally because that was an overly forward statement. But to my surprise, and probably because my mother just has a way of bringing those things out in people, Darby has no qualms with talking about it. “The split from Darby’s father, Mitch, was pretty contentious. He didn’t want us to leave, and Linnie sort of fed into that.”
“Are she and her father really close?” Mama asks.
I sit back further in my chair, just listening to these two women talk. I’m obviously fascinated by Darby, and I am a grateful beneficiary of the information my mother is pulling out of her.
Darby shrugs and taps her fingers on her glass. “No, they’re not close. Mitch is sort of a hands-off father.”
Now what the heck does that mean?
Leave it up to Mama to get that question answered for me. “Let me guess, he’s one of those men with old-fashioned ideas that the womenfolk raise the children and the menfolk retire to the study with their cigars and brandy after dinner, while the women clean up.”
I stare at my mom in disbelief, my eyes about ready to pop out of my head. I wouldn’t necessarily categorize Catherine Mainer as a feminist, but she is definitely a modern woman and believes a couple should share equally in all burdens. Still, there is no mistaking the condescension in her voice.
Darby gives a light laugh and nods at my mama, who is stacking the sandwiches on a platter. “You pretty much just described Mitch McCulhane. So to answer your original question, Linnie just doesn’t have much of a bond with him. I mean, there’s love there, because he’s her dad. But her reservations and anger about moving here aren’t so much about leaving him as they are all the things that gave her comfort back home. It’s the only home she’s ever known, and I just think she needs to adjust.”
My mom and Darby continue to chat, moving on to things not of such a personal nature. I sort of tune them out, contemplating what I’ve learned about Darby so far. Between what Larkin told me and what Darby said today, it sounds like her husband is quite the jerk. I’m having a tough time comprehending, though, how Darby put up with that for so long. Every bit I have come to know about her tells me she is a strong and independent woman, and I can’t imagine her being pushed and confined into a certain role.
Not that the role of being a mother is bad, but clearly Darby is the type of woman who wants to work and can accomplish so much in her life. I’m sure there was some valid reason why she let her soon-to-be ex-husband keep her from pursuing those dreams, but I’m not going to get those answers today.
I’ll wait until she’s ready to talk about those things on her own.
CHAPTER 11
Colt
I give a quick honk of my truck’s horn as I pull up in front of the Farrington barn. I texted Darby about half an hour ago and asked her if I could stop by. She responded quickly with a, “Sure. I’ll be in the barn.”
The rolling doors are both open, and I can see Darby stacking bags in the corner. Hopping out of my truck, I grab the two containers Mama loaded me up with before I walked out the door to come over here.
Darby meets me just outside the barn, dusting her hands off on her jeans, which are smudged with dirt and grass stains on her knees.
“What have you got there?” she asks as she eyes the plastic Tupperware.
“A thank-you gift,” I tell her as I hand over containers. “Mama made some pound cake and cut up some strawberries for you to have shortcake.”
“Why is your mama thanking me?” she says with a laugh. She takes the containers and holds them up to look through the opaque side.
“Well, actually I’m the one who’s thanking you for the help you gave me the other day after lunch. I didn’t realize I was so deficient in soil nutrient knowledge. I conned Mama into making that for you, but it’s my way of saying thank you.”
“I love strawberry shortcake,” Darby says with appreciation. “But this was totally not necessary. I was glad to help.”
Her eyes are bright and sparkling in the mid-afternoon sun. I wish she was more of a chore to look at because I could pretty much stand here for a long time and just stare at her. She’s prettier than any girl I’ve ever known.
After a moment, I realize both of us are just looking at each other and an awkward silence ensues. My true intent in coming over here was only to thank her for her time and knowledge she provided me for the vineyard. She’s more knowledgeable on crop sciences than anyone I’ve ever met before. But I can’t lie and say I wasn’t excited to actually see Darby.
Talk to her.
Spend a little bit of time with her.
I’m in this weird place where I have definite interest in her, but I really don’t know how or if I should even pursue it. She’s just come out of a bad marriage and is new to town. She’s trying to set up a peach orchard, which has got to be stressful in addition to the hours of hard work I know she’s putting in. She also has a daughter who is not quite happy to be here, and all of that adds up to a woman who probably couldn’t give a turtle’s butt about some hick farmer interested in her.
And just like that, I talk myself out of Darby McCulhane.
This is a bad idea.
With a nod of my head, I give her a smile. “Well, I better get out of your hair. I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do and so do I.”
“Thanks again for the shortcake,” she says softly, and is that regret I’m not staying I hear in her voice?
No. Don’t think like that.
Turning to my truck, I toss my hand up in acknowledgment and call back, “See you later.”
Three paces is about all I take before Darby calls out, “Wait a minute… Colt… are you interested in seeing where I’m going to be placing the orchard?”
I spin around way too fast, and I’m sure the eager look at my face conveys just how lame I am. “If you have time, I’d love to see it.”
Swearing to God I will not make anything of the fact Darby looks both relieved and excited that I’ve agreed to stay, I follow her into the barn where she sets the shortcake and strawberries on a wooden counter built into the wall. We then load up on her Gator, which looks very similar to mine, and she drives us out of the barn. She hangs a left, and we head out directly over a soybean field that was harvested not all that long ago.
Farrington Farms isn’t quite as large as Mainer Farms, and most of their land is leased just like ours. The prior owner, Bob Farrington, unexpectedly sold this place, and Darby’s former brother-in-law, Jake McDaniel, had bought it. He bought it for a tax write-off and to give Darby a second chance in life but knowing Jake, I think the tax write-off isn’t really what he cares about.
We ride past the goat pasture, and I see MG kicking and bouncing around just inside the enclosure. MG is short for Ms. Goatikins, and she’s a baby goat that became unnaturally bonded to Jake after she was born. She’s only recently started taking a bottle from Carlos and drinking from her dam.
“I took some soil samples today to check the pH and nutrient levels. The pH was a little low.”
“That explains the bags of dolomite I saw you stacking in the barn. You should let me move all that for you.”
Darby looks at me briefly with a smile. “You’re sweet. But I got it. I’m going to put them out tomorrow.”
“By yourself?” I ask.
“Well, Carlos will help me.”
“You’re going to spread dolomite on thirty acres?” I ask incredulously.
Darby gives a husky laugh that sort of punches me in the gut and shakes her head. “I’m actually going to use a tractor to apply it. I was able to rent one from a guy Floyd turned me on to.”
“Bart Stephenson,” I say confidently. He’s got a ton of equipment he’s collected over his years of farm
ing, and will often rent out tractors, backhoes, augers, and the like.
“That’s right. He gave me a good deal, too.”
We spend about half an hour driving over the portion of land Darby has sectioned off for the orchard. One of the great things about central North Carolina is it has an endless supply of rolling hills. She chose to set the orchard on an eastern-facing slope that would provide excellent drainage and sun exposure.
She tells me in addition to trying different applications of nutrients to alter yield and quality, she’s also going to space the trees out at varying lengths to see if the higher density would affect the yield. She speaks for quite a while but loses me about halfway through.
I guess she notices the blank look on my face because she gives me a light punch on my shoulder and exclaims, “I’ll have to pull out some graphs and charts and show you that way.”
I give an exaggerated yawn. “Boring.”
Her laughter is as bright and sunny as the day and is way more uplifting than any laugh should be.
Just as we are pulling the gator back into the barn, I see one of the county school buses stop out on the highway at the end of the gravel driveway. Linnie gets off the bus, and then waves to another little girl who’s hanging out one of the open windows. She’s smiling as she turns to trudge down the lane, hitching her backpack up higher on her shoulders.
Darby comes up to stand beside me as we watch her daughter walking our way. Her voice sounds somewhat relieved and hopeful when she murmurs, “She’s smiling. That’s a good sign. She must’ve had a good day today.”
“Doesn’t she like school?” I ask.
“She did back in Illinois. She’s very smart and was at the top of her class. I think she’s just trying to make friends and get her footing here, though.”
Sadly, I can’t relate to that. I’ve lived in Whynot my entire life. Even more constraining is the fact I’ve lived on Mainer Farms my entire life. I’m not sure if I could be any more lame if I tried.
Linnie looks up from her intense study of the gravel she walks upon, taking note of her mom and me standing just outside the barn. Her expression becomes guarded as she slows her walk.
Pretty as a Peach Page 7
