by Cindi Myers
“Nice to see you, too, Mitch, Josh.” Katherine fluttered her fingers goodbye. She said nothing more as the two men made their way down the aisle, then she let out a sigh. “There’s something about a man in boots and jeans.”
“You sound like Charla,” Amy said.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Katherine said. “You’re a widow, not dead.”
“I’m not going to answer that question,” Amy said, but she smiled.
She gathered her purchases and checked out, then they made their way back to the truck without seeing Rick, Josh or his dad again.
“It’s a shame about Josh’s hand,” Katherine said as Amy backed the truck out of the parking space. “But he’s still a good-looking man. He looks a lot like his dad did when he was that age.” She touched Amy’s arm. “Don’t get too attached to him. I don’t think it would be good for you.”
“Mom!” Amy’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not ‘attached’ to Josh.” Her cheeks felt suddenly hot.
Katherine gave her daughter a knowing look. “You two looked pretty taken with each other. And I saw you whispering together.”
Amy gave a harsh laugh. “You’ve got it all wrong,” she said. “Josh can hardly stand me. I wrote a news story about him he considered unflattering, and he’s never forgiven me.”
“I think you’re the one who’s wrong,” Katherine said. “Josh looks at you the way Mitch used to look at me.”
“Josh says his dad likes to flirt. I don’t think Mitch was looking at you any particular way.”
“Not now. But when we were in high school Mitch Scofield had quite the crush on me. And he was terribly good-looking. But I knew he wasn’t for me.”
“What happened?”
“Oh, we went out a few times, had some fun. But he took the relationship far too seriously. I had to end it. I was cruel, but it was for his own good. Mitch is much better off with Gail. She’s the loyal ranch wife I could never be. You’re not cut out for that life, either.”
“Why do you say that?” Amy said.
“Farming and ranching are hard work.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work.”
“Neither am I—but that kind of work is sheer drudgery. There’s no excitement, no sense of discovery.”
Amy thought of the first seeds she’d planted in the greenhouse, and the excitement that rushed through her when they began to sprout. She’d checked their progress several times a day, amazed as the plants grew from tiny seedlings to burgeoning bushes or vines. She’d loved watching the apple blossoms develop into tiny apples, and marveled every time she explored some new corner of the farm. All those things had been discoveries for her, every bit as satisfying as the explorations of foreign climes she’d taken for granted as a child. “I like living and working on the farm,” she said.
“Trust me, you’ll be bored with it soon enough,” Katherine said. “I couldn’t wait to get away from it. That was one reason I was so glad to see you marry Brent. I knew you’d never be bored with a man like him.”
Her mom spoke as if boredom was a fate worse than death. Maybe for Katherine it was. But Amy thought a little boredom and peace wasn’t such a bad thing after a life full of chaos and constant change. For Chloe, she hoped to find a balance between familiarity and adventure, a place they could belong but not grow tired of, somewhere between her mother’s and her grandmother’s ideas of perfection.
* * *
“THE PEOPLE YOU run into in this place.” Josh was helping his dad load fence posts into the back of the truck when he heard the familiar voice. He turned and saw Zach approaching.
“Hello, Mitch.” Zach shook hands with Josh’s dad and clapped Josh on the shoulder. “You’re just the guy I’ve been looking for.”
“Whenever someone says that, I feel like I’m in for trouble,” Josh said.
“No trouble. Some of us are getting together to play softball this evening—on the ball fields next to the town park. You should come.”
“I don’t think so.” Josh turned back to the truck. His dad sent him a questioning look, but remained silent. Josh knew his dad was wondering why he’d turn down a fun evening with friends, but Josh had his reasons.
“You have a hot date or something?” Zach asked.
“If I did, you’d probably already know about it, considering how word gets around in this town.”
“True. So I know you’re not busy. I want you on my team.”
“Why?” He shoved the last post into the truck and turned to confront his friend. “I can do a lot of things with this hook, but holding a bat isn’t one of them.”
Zach leaned against Mitch’s truck. “I’ve see you at practice with the kids. You can still hit.”
“I can send a few soft ones around the field, one-handed. That’s not well enough to play.” Not the way he’d once batted, routinely hitting balls out of the park. The memory of watching those balls sail away, then trotting around the bases to the roar of the crowd, sent a pang of longing through his chest.
“You’re good enough for this team,” Zach said. “I’m talking bankers and secretaries and teachers—like us—who get together a few times a summer to toss the ball around. You’ve heard of the Bad News Bears? Well, they look like champions compared to us.”
Josh had been a champion once, the year his high school team went to the state finals. He’d been a hero, hitting two home runs in the game that won them the title. The mayor had shaken his hand, and he could feel everyone’s eyes on him when he walked down the street for weeks afterward.
Everyone would be watching now, too, when he came to bat. Though he made a big show of not minding about his hook, the truth was, he cared. He avoided doing things that made him look awkward—that reminded people he was handicapped—a word he hated. Working with the kids was one thing—that was his job and he’d made himself grit his teeth and do what he had to do. But only in practice. Not in public where anyone could see him struggle.
“Are you two done loading up?” Rick, more sour-faced than usual, joined them at the truck. “We’ve got other people waiting.”
Josh checked the yard. “I don’t see anyone.”
“We’re done,” Mitch said. “Josh and Zach are just talking about softball.”
“You’re not going to play, are you?” Rick pointedly stared at Josh’s hook. “I mean, it’s not like you can hold a bat with that thing.”
“You’d be surprised what Josh can do with that thing.” Mitch’s voice had an edge to it that made Josh flinch. He wouldn’t have his dad fighting his battles for him. And he wouldn’t let Rick get in another dig.
“What time’s the game?” he asked.
“Six-thirty,” Zach answered. “Bring any bats or balls or gloves you have.”
“Now I know the real reason you invited me,” Josh said.
“You got it.”
Rick looked more annoyed. “So, are you going to move your truck or not?”
“We’re moving.” Mitch dug his keys from his pocket. “You ready, son?”
“I’m ready.”
* * *
JOSH WASN’T SO sure he was ready that evening, though, when he stepped into the batter’s box to take his first swings. Ordinarily, he would have enjoyed being at the ballpark this time of day. The day’s heat had cooled, and the trees cast long shadows across the diamond. The outfield gave off the green scent of fresh-mown grass, and laughter and conversation punctuated the sound of the leather ball on wooden bats.
But right now he couldn’t appreciate those favorite sights, sounds and smells. Sweat beaded his forehead despite a cool breeze, and his missing hand throbbed with a deep, burning ache. The bat felt more awkward than ever in his left hand; heavier and longer than the one he used
to hit practice balls for the kids.
The ball that traveled toward him was surprisingly slow and big; of course, he was used to baseballs pitched by athletic high school kids, not softballs lobbed by the gas station manager. Josh pulled back the bat and met the ball with a solid thwack! He dropped the bat and tore toward first. He hit the bag hard, just ahead of the ball. He popped up, brushing dirt from his jeans and grinning.
“It wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done,” first baseman Roger Perkins said.
“That’s pretty much my life these days,” Josh said. He wasn’t living large as a big leaguer, as he’d once dreamed, or an equal partner with his dad, doing innovative things on the family ranch. But he was surviving, the best way he knew how. That in itself was an accomplishment.
He would have liked someone to share the accomplishment with. An image of Amy popped into his head, smiling and leaning close to him. Would she have shared his happiness? Been proud of him, even?
He shook his head, pushing the idea away. Amy was leaving; she didn’t really care about him, and his feelings for her were just wishful thinking. Getting the nerve to bat one-handed before a bunch of friends was one thing—exposing his weaknesses to a woman he cared about was another thing, something he wasn’t yet ready for.
* * *
“AMY, I NEED you to get over to the school right away.” Ed spoke in the clipped tones he used for everything from ordering a sandwich to dictating his weekly editorial. In her first weeks of employment, Amy had been alarmed by these barked orders, sure every story was of utmost urgency. Over time she’d realized that nothing very urgent ever happened in Hartland.
“Okay, Ed. As soon as I finish breakfast I’ll head over there. What’s up?”
“Forget breakfast. Last night vandals trashed the community gardens. I want pictures before they clean it up.”
“What?” She stood, already reaching for her notebook and purse. “What do you mean trashed?”
“That’s what you need to find out. I just got a call from the custodian over there. Go. Now!”
“I’m on my way.”
She didn’t exactly burn rubber on the drive to the school, but she pushed the speedometer needle on the Subaru farther over than it had been in a long while. When she pulled into the lot, half a dozen cars and trucks were parked haphazardly near the gardens. With camera in one hand and notebook in the other, Amy sprinted toward the raised beds, but pulled up short as she rounded the last car. “Ahh!” she cried.
Josh straightened, a broken bottle in one hand. “Didn’t take long for word to get out, I see,” he said.
“Ed just called me.” She moved closer, gaping at the destruction. Plants lay scattered, ripped from the beds, leaves already wilting. Broken glass glittered among the dirt, the remnants of a dozen or more shattered beer bottles. The plastic pipes that had fed water to the beds had been pulled aside, and the ground all around the raised beds was soggy from the gallons of water that had poured from a head-size hole in the side of the collection tank.
“Why would someone do something like this?” Amy asked.
“Some people can’t stand the thought of something beautiful.” Erica, face streaked with dirt and tears, approached Amy, a plastic tub filled with injured seedlings cradled in her arms. Her skirt and blouse were streaked with mud, as well, and bright blood beaded at a scratch on her arm.
“You’re hurt,” Amy said, lightly touching her arm.
Erica surveyed the wound. “It’s nothing. Nothing compared to what was done to the garden. The children are going to be devastated.” She sniffed and looked away.
“I’m so sorry.” Amy opened her notebook to a fresh sheet. “Tell me what you know. Maybe someone saw something and we can at least find out who did this.”
“I don’t know anything. Tony Gillespie called me this morning. He said he was passing by here on his way to work and he wondered why things were such a mess.”
“It must have happened late last night or really early this morning.” Josh had joined them, carrying a box full of glass. “All the water was drained out of the collection tank. That would take a couple of hours, I think.”
“The police came as soon as I called them,” Erica said. “But they seemed to think there was nothing they could do. They promised to add extra night patrols in the area.”
“It’s a little late for that now,” Josh said.
“It might help prevent the vandals from coming back,” Erica said.
Amy made a note to get a statement from the police, then aimed her camera at the destruction. Erica and Josh stood silent as she clicked off half a dozen photos. “I suppose you have to document this,” Erica said. “I just hate to see it this way. All that work...”
“When people see this they’re going to be very upset,” Amy said. “Maybe that will help find the person responsible. Or it will at least bring more volunteers to put it all back together.”
“Speaking of volunteers.”
Amy lowered the camera and Josh handed her a pair of gloves. “As long as you’re here, you should stay and help us clean up.”
“Oh. Sure.” She could have made the excuse that she had to get back to the paper and write her story, but the deadline for the next issue was two days away. And even if time had been tight, walking away and leaving others to deal with this was too rude. “Just let me put my camera and notebook back in my car.”
Now that she’d absorbed the initial shock of seeing the destruction, the damage looked even worse. As she piled broken glass and other trash into a box, then helped Erica search for surviving plants amid the wreckage, Amy’s dismay grew. “I can’t believe something like this happened,” she said. “Not in Hartland.”
“Why should Hartland be any different than anyplace else?” Josh asked.
Because Hartland is supposed to be perfect. But she knew how ridiculous that sounded. “When I was little and something bad happened, wherever we were, I’d imagine how things were different in Hartland. The few weeks I spent here in summer were so idyllic—like something in a storybook. Even when I was a teenager, spending time with my grandparents doing simple things like swimming in the creek or watching movies on a screen someone set up outside were the perfect activities. I never remember being bored or lonely, the way I was at home—wherever home was that year.”
“Every kid’s childhood should be like your summers in Hartland,” Josh said.
She removed one glove and pushed her bangs off her forehead, letting what breeze there was dry the sweat. “I guess I carried some of those ideas about this place into adulthood.” That sense of peace and perfection had drawn her here after the pain and chaos of Brent’s death as much as her desire to help her grandmother. “It’s silly, I guess.”
“I don’t think it’s silly,” he said. “When I was in the hospital, I thought of Hartland like that, too—as this perfect place where I could live a life without trouble. But there’s no such thing. Hartland has problems, like anyplace else. Or we bring our problems with us.”
She thought of her grief over Brent’s death, and her lingering resentment and guilt that they had left so much unresolved between them. She’d brought all those turbulent emotions here to Hartland, hoping a change of scenery and the passing of time would change her feelings. But all that had changed was her belief that a place could solve anything.
“I found this over by the water tank.” Erica approached, holding out an aluminum baseball bat.
“It’s a kid’s bat.” Josh took it and turned it over and over. “See how short it is? No name or anything.” He looked toward the water tank. “Maybe they used this to bash the hole in the tank.”
“Maybe there are fingerprints or something, and we could find out who did this,” Amy said.
“We can give it to the police,” Josh said. “But I doubt it will help. Except
to confirm what I thought all along. Kids did this.”
“Not very little kids, I hope,” Erica said. “There were a lot of beer bottles.”
“Those could have come from anywhere, but it was probably teenagers,” Josh said. “Bored and looking to cause trouble.”
“This isn’t going to stop us.” Erica hugged her arms across her chest and surveyed the neater, but now-barren garden. “We’ll rebuild it even better. Maybe add another bed. I’d like to have a special area for the littlest kids, where they could grow easy things like beans and radishes.” She indicated a space at the corner of the building opposite the water tank. “We could put the kinder-garden over there. For the kindergarten and first graders.” She smiled at Amy. “Your little girl will be in kindergarten this year, won’t she? She could be one of the first children to plant something in the new garden.”
“Oh. Well. That would be sweet.” Now was not the time to explain that she wouldn’t be here in the fall.
“Registration is in three weeks,” Josh said.
“Three weeks! But summer has hardly started.” June was only halfway over.
“School starts mid-August,” he said. “And they need to know how many students to plan for.”
“We’ve got plenty of time yet,” she said stubbornly. After all, they couldn’t kick Chloe out of kindergarten if she registered late. It must happen all the time.
“I hate that this happened so far into the season,” Erica said. “We won’t have time to grow much before the first frosts. And the children were so looking forward to harvesting their own vegetables.”
“We have some seedlings in the greenhouse we could donate.” Amy said the words without thinking, but she knew Bobbie would agree. “I know there’s tomatoes and beans, and maybe some broccoli and squash.”
“That would be wonderful!” Erica threw her arms around Amy in a crushing hug.
“That’s very community minded of you,” Josh said, when Erica had released her hold. His Stetson shaded his eyes, so she couldn’t read his expression.
