by Liz Flaherty
“She’s here, then?” Zoey handed Luke a cup of coffee and set a piece of coffee cake in front of him. “How does she look? Healthy?”
He hated the anxiety in the voice of the woman who’d slipped effortlessly into the place of the favorite aunt he’d never had. “Still thin, I think,” he said, “but not like she was at your sister’s funeral. She’s not wearing a wig and her color’s good. Her hair—it’s about the color of maple syrup with gold stuff in it—is pretty. About this long.” He shelfed his hand just below his ear and squinted at the woman who’d sat across her kitchen table from him. “I thought she had your eyes, but they’re more green than blue.”
“They’re like her father’s. Marynell’s were darker, like mine.”
Luke thought of Seth, of Rachel and their sister, Leah. They’d been fighting each other all their lives. Their parents made a practice of professing amazement that they could have four so completely different children. Yet the siblings had never stopped speaking to each other, even when most verbal communication was done in shouts.
“What happened?” He didn’t want to pry, but the sadness in her expression prodded him.
Zoey shrugged, staring past him out the floor-to-ceiling windows in the dining area of the farmhouse kitchen. “Just one of those family stories they make TV movies about.” She lifted her cup, then set it down without drinking. “I was engaged to Ken when he discovered he preferred my younger, prettier sister. While I was covering the afternoon shift for her one day at the orchard, he picked her up in his snazzy convertible and they eloped.”
“Ouch.” Luke remembered when Rachel and Leah had argued over a friend of his they’d both liked. It hadn’t gone well for the guy. Afterward, the girls had sneaked cheap wine into their room and played the “Sisters” song from White Christmas until they’d emptied the bottle and nearly wore out the videotape.
He needed to call his siblings.
“Marynell came back here with Cass when they divorced two years later. She left her with me and married a navy pilot. It was a pattern. She was married several times, lived in different places. If Cass couldn’t spend her summers with Ken or if he or Marynell just needed time with a new spouse, they shipped Cass back here.” She stopped, as if gathering her thoughts, and regret deepened the lines in her face. “The last time, when Cass came for her junior year, I had said no, she couldn’t come. The folks had retired and weren’t well, and I was working half the time at the orchard and half of it as a phlebotomist in Indianapolis. Marynell brought her anyway and left her with our parents, even though dementia and rheumatoid arthritis were severely limiting their ability to take care of themselves, much less a teenage girl. My sister told Cass I didn’t want anything to do with either of them and I was too exhausted to argue the point.”
“And that was it? Seriously? A whole family split asunder over that?”
She sighed. “Pretty much. Marynell and I made up, of course. She came and visited and helped when our parents’ illnesses progressed and later when they died. She created no difficulty with the management of the orchard after we inherited, although she chose to remain uninvolved.” Zoey chuckled almost soundlessly. “Oddly enough, the thing she never quite forgave me for was introducing her to Ken. He’s one of those men who is ethically and maybe even morally good, but is an emotional empty shell.”
“What about Cass?”
“She and I always exchange birthday and Christmas cards. I sent a gift when she got married right out of high school, but I never really connected with her again until her mother died. I know she was ill, that she had chemo, but that’s all I know. I thought I should go and help then, but she said she was all right, that it would be better if I helped with her mother. It probably was—Cass could take care of herself, but taking care of her mother at the same time was too much. We would see each other in passing, but that was all.”
Luke heard all that she said, but his focus stayed on one point. “She’s married?”
“Not anymore.” She raised her hands, palms up. “I sent money when she got the divorce, just in case she needed it. She sent it back with a very nice thank-you.”
“Children?”
“Not that I know of. Her little sister’s a sweet one, though. I think I know her better than I do Cass, and I only met her when Marynell died.” Zoey looked away from him again. A tear crept unchecked down her cheek. “There’s this part of me that says Cass should have been my child and that failing her is like failing as a mother.”
“That’s crazy, Zoey.”
She smiled at him, just a little curve of lips that had thinned and paled over the years. “You have a problem with crazy?”
“No.” He tilted his head, looking at Zoey’s long neck and the shiny white sweep of her short hair. “It wouldn’t be much of a stretch. I think Cass favors you more than she did her mother.”
“You’ll let me know if she needs anything?”
“I will. Or you could let her know yourself. You come to the orchard nearly every day. Are you going to stop because your niece might be there?”
Zoey frowned. “I don’t know.” She filled his go-cup and gave him a push. “But you have given me something to think about.”
CHAPTER THREE
“WHERE ARE ALL the fall colors we’re always hearing about?” Royce peered out the windows as they drove along Lake Road toward the turnoff onto Country Club Road, where the orchard was.
“It’s only the first week of August. The fall colors start up next month and peak in October.” Unless something stilled the restlessness in Cass’s mind, they wouldn’t be here. They’d be back in California with Royce in her old high school and Cass going to the coffee shop every day to sit in a corner booth and work.
“You can do what you do anywhere,” Royce had remonstrated when Cass had informed her they were making the trip to Indiana.
It was true. She could. Being the author of a bestselling mystery series gave her a lot of residential latitude; however, if they stayed at the lake, someone would eventually find out that Cass Gentry and Cassandra G. Porter were one and the same. While it was true that neither of her personas had anything to hide, keeping them separate had worked for a long time, both personally and professionally. “We’ll see,” she murmured, braking for the turn.
“See what?”
Cass started. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken until her sister replied. “Oh, nothing. Well, yeah, we’ll see how you feel about hayrides. I went on a few when I was here. They were fun.” They’d been at night, though, under starry skies and the harvest moon, and she’d had a boyfriend—that had made all the difference. Not that she and Sam had ever been serious, but they’d had a good time.
“He owns the hardware store,” Holly had said last night, holding onto Cass’s hands as if she’d been afraid she’d disappear again. “He’s married to Penny and they have three little Sams—all that’s missing is the eye patch.”
They’d sat together on the park bench while Holly had filled Cass’s mind and an empty place in her heart with reports of the friends from that year of her contentment. Arlie and Jack had married in June. Libby and Tucker were engaged and so were Holly and Jesse. Gianna had been dating Max Harrison, the high school principal, for years. Nate owned the golf course and spent half his time in Indiana and half of it in North Carolina. His wife’s name was Mandy. Linda’s family lived in Fort Wayne.
“It’s like there are no scars.” Cass had known even as she’d said it that it wasn’t accurate—all of the survivors of the prom night accident had scars whether you could see them or not.
“Oh, they’re there.” Holly had pointed at her prosthetic foot. “We miss Daddy. We miss Linda. Tuck and Jack have had to get past knowing their dad caused the accident. But we’ve all reached the point of not letting the scars define us. We had to give up some dreams, but we’ve found new ones.” Her dark eyes had searched Cass’s face. “How about you?”
Cass had shrugged. “When I was here that year, I
thought I’d found perfection. I even wrote a paper one time about how the lake should have been called Lake Utopia. I’ve been looking for that same thing ever since, so in a way I guess I do let it define me.” Something needed to because she didn’t really have a clue as to who she was.
Holly hadn’t asked why she’d left, although Cass could read the question in the other woman’s dark eyes. Jesse had spoken little, greeting her and then stepping aside.
“Will you see all of us?” Holly had asked. “We’ve all wondered. We’ve all looked for you at one time or another. We wanted to respect your privacy, but we wanted to know you were all right, too.”
“I want to see you all.” That decision had been instant and much easier than Cass had anticipated.
“Are you lost?” Royce’s voice interrupted her reverie. “I think we drove past the orchard back there.”
“Oh, good grief.” Cass looked in her rearview mirror and braked. The wreck had happened somewhere near the country club that sat at the top of the hill on her left. She didn’t want to be reminded, but no sooner had the thought crossed her mind than she saw the beautifully carved crosses at the side of the road. One for Dave Gallagher and one for Linda Saylors—she knew without looking. Jack and Tucker’s father had died instantly when he’d hit the van carrying one set of parents and ten prom-goers, but no one would have included him in the roadside memorial.
“Sorry, Roycie,” she said. “I didn’t realize coming back here would be so overwhelming.”
Royce’s hand brushed her shoulder in a pat. “Bad overwhelming or good overwhelming?”
Cass laughed, surprised at the sound. And a little pleased with herself. Her life was okay in a lot of ways. She was successful in her field. She’d survived breast cancer and divorce. But she didn’t usually laugh much. It felt good.
When they pulled into the orchard driveway after turning around near the crosses, the wagon was all set for the hayride. Two pretty horses were anxious to get going. A young Amish man, his clean-shaven face announcing his bachelorhood, was on the driver’s seat. Another young man, bearing a marked resemblance to Luke Rossiter, sat beside him.
“Sorry we’re late,” said Cass, joining Luke at the back of the wagon. “I was daydreaming and missed the turn. This is my sister, Royce.”
“Royce.” Luke shook hands with her. “That’s Isaac Hershberger and my brother, Seth. The wagon’s going to be almost full of a 4-H group from near Kokomo. There’s room for you, Royce, if you want to go, but your sister and I are going to take the motorized tour.”
“I don’t know.” Royce wasn’t normally shy, but she looked uncomfortable. “Maybe I should just wait here. I won’t be in the way.”
Seth jumped down from the driver’s seat and came around. “If you’ll come along, I’ll ride in the back with you. Mary Detwiler will sit up front with Isaac and they’ll pretend they’re not going out.”
Isaac turned in his seat, smiled a greeting at Cass and Royce and tossed his flat-brimmed hat at Seth.
“Come on.” Luke urged Cass in front of him. “They’ll settle down once the passengers are on board.” He waved at his brother. “‘Settle down’ might be the wrong way to say it—they’ll entertain them. How’s that?”
He led the way to the utility vehicle on the other side of the orchard truck. “Do you want some coffee to take along? It’s always fresh inside the store.”
“That would be good.”
A few minutes later, they were back on the four-wheeler. “There are sixty acres here, as you probably know,” he began, starting down one of the wide paths between the rows of trees. “We have nearly a hundred different varieties of apples, plus a few acres of pears, cherries and plums. We also have some grapevines. Chris Granger, from Sycamore Hill Vineyard and Winery, is helping with those and eventually we hope to serve and sell wine. We already sell all kinds of jams, jellies and honeys on consignment.”
“I’m surprised,” Cass admitted. “I thought it was more or less a hobby farm. I know the income was more substantial than I expected when I inherited, but I had nothing to compare it to.” Nor had she paid much attention. She’d put the monthly checks in the bank, uncomfortable with receiving money she hadn’t earned. The cumulative amount had made her accountant raise her eyebrows.
“We’ve expanded quite a bit. The apple barn closes in January, but we’re hoping to keep the store open this year with the consigned items.”
Something in his voice jarred a distant and sweet memory. “Dumplings. Do you have apple dumplings? I remember Aunt Zoey making them when I’d visit during the summer when I was little. They were like bowls filled with heaven.”
“We do have them, although Mrs. Detwiler and a few other Amish women make them for us now. Zoey had a class and taught them all how she does it.”
Cass peered at the structures. The climate-controlled storage barn stood apart. She was almost certain it had been built since the last time she was here. The retail store was in the apple barn. The round barn seemed to be waiting to be used. “Have you thought of putting a restaurant here?”
He nodded. “Zoey’s always wanted to, but Miniagua’s not big enough to support another one. There’s already a café, a bar and grill, a pizza place and a tearoom on the lake, plus we’re a few miles from there so it would be out of the way for nearly everyone. The tearoom doubles as an event center. So does the lake clubhouse and even the country club if you’re in the mood for some exclusivity.”
“What about a coffee shop?” Cass didn’t know anything about restaurants or demand for them, but she did know coffee shops. Most of Cassandra G. Porter’s Mysteries on the Wabash series had been written in them.
Luke looked thoughtful. “There used to be one in Sawyer, but the owners weren’t big on either cleanliness or quality—or paying their utilities, for that matter—so it didn’t last long.”
Cass gestured with her empty cup. “You have a good start with this. It’s good coffee.” She was almost sure it was the same kind she’d found in the house.
“The bulk foods store sells it.”
“You could serve those apple dumplings. Maybe have a limited breakfast and lunch menu.”
“It’s worth some thought. Summer people might like it. I’m not sure lakers would care one way or another, but it could be worth its while with summer traffic, I imagine—although the location might still be a problem.” He didn’t sound especially encouraging, but he didn’t give an unequivocal no, either.
They pulled up at the barn the same time as the hay wagon did. The group of 4-H club members climbed out the back and went into the store, waving at the young people on the driver’s seat. Seth and Royce were the last ones off the wagon. Royce ran to where Cass and Luke were getting out of the utility vehicle.
“Seth says I can help pick apples. Can I? Isaac and Mary are going to help, too. He says they’re picking the Earligolds now. I promise I won’t get in the way.”
Cass looked at Luke. He shrugged. “A dollar an hour over minimum wage. Keep track of your hours and do what Seth says. Fill out your paperwork in the office after work today. Be careful. If you fall out of a tree, Zoey will have my head and it would increase the possibility I might have to climb one.”
“What are you going to do for lunch?” Cass protested. “You can’t go two hours without eating, much less the rest of the day.”
“I will bring enough for Royce if it’s all right.” Mary’s English was lightly accented, and Cass remembered the musical sound of the Pennsylvania Dutch the Amish often spoke. “She can bring lunch for me tomorrow.”
“Well then, sure, if you want to, Royce. Thank you, Mary.” Damaris had been concerned about the influence of some of Royce’s friends in California. Cass had a feeling she’d be pleased with Mary, Isaac and Seth. At least on the face of things.
“If you’ll come to Zoey’s with me,” said Luke, when the teenagers had gone to work, “we’ll get a good lunch plus she and I can explain how the business is run. She
still knows more about the orchard than I do. It’s up to you how active you want to be, but you need to make an educated decision.”
“I don’t think Aunt Zoey wants to see me.”
His gaze went to the round barn, then flicked back to her. He took off his baseball cap, pushed back his thick brown hair and put the cap back on. “Based on what?”
“What?” She frowned. What was he talking about?
“Yes, what? What makes you believe that?”
“My mother told me, although what she said turned out to be not exactly true. But the year in high school when I lived here, Zoey didn’t want me to come even though I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And I hardly ever saw her when I was here.” That still stung. Her aunt had been her favorite person in all the world. Finding out the feeling wasn’t mutual had hurt.
“Even if that’s true—and I know Zoey well enough to think there’s more to the story than you’ve been told—would you seriously hold that kind of grudge for, what, twenty years?”
“It’s not a grudge,” she protested. “I love Aunt Zoey. Having her come out to California when Mother was ill and again when she died was what got me through those days.” She hesitated. Talking about her personal life wasn’t something she did, especially with stomach-clenchingly handsome men she hardly knew. “I had divorced parents and numerous stepparents whose revolving-door comings and goings made me relationship shy. My father and some of those stepparents were military—not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it makes for a complicated lifestyle. Add my own shockingly bad choices to the mix and you have someone who stays inside a shell because it’s comfortable there.”
“I’m sure it is.” He touched her arm, leading her away from customer traffic. “Did you like it here? In high school, I mean.”
“Like it?” She shook her head. “I loved every minute, I think.” She frowned. “Did you live here then? I don’t remember you, but I wasn’t here that long.”
“No. My folks transferred here from Pennsylvania long after I got out of high school. Dad worked in Kokomo, but they lived in Sawyer. I liked it so well that when life dictated a change, I got a job as close as I could and bought a fixer-upper on the lake. About the time I got the kitchen paid for, the company I worked for closed. I’ll go back to real work one of these days, but for the time being, I’m enjoying the orchard and the lake.” He stopped. “I just told you my entire life story in what I’m sure was less than a hundred words. Are you impressed so far?”
