“Oh, good, it’s you, Seth. I’m so glad I got the right house. I’m not too early, am I? I’m always up with the birds, and sometimes I forget that other people like to sleep a little later. What a wonderful house this is! You just got married, didn’t you? What’s your wife’s name? Meg, is it? That’s so nice. I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
As far as Meg could tell, the woman hadn’t yet taken a breath, nor had she given Seth time to say anything. She had a picture of him wrapping his hands around her neck, just to stop the gush of words.
At last he managed to get a word in. “Monica. Good to see you. Come on in—it’s freezing out there. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Have you had breakfast?”
Meg deduced that it was the eager new resident of Granford, Monica Whitman, not that it was hard. She might as well face the music and go downstairs. In bare feet, Meg padded across the floor to the bathroom, did what was necessary, then pulled on a pair of fleece pants and a matching sweatshirt—the height of elegance for this hour of the morning in her own home. At least they were the same color. She ran a brush through her hair, found slip-on shoes, and descended to the first floor and made her entrance into the kitchen.
“Here she is now,” Seth said, stating the obvious. “Meg, this is Monica Whitman—I told you about her.”
Meg held out her hand to Monica, who proved to be an older woman slightly shorter than Meg, with more curves. Her hair was silver, cut in a short and practical style. Her outfit was calculatedly casual—nice jeans, a turtleneck, and a colorful sweater over it. “Indeed he did. So you’re the woman behind the WinterFare?”
Monica shook her hand vigorously. “I wouldn’t go that far. I thought it would be a nice idea to do something at the most miserable part of winter—you know, just get folks together with some good food and things to look at and music. People have told me that you all do a Harvest Festival in the fall, but that’s not really the same thing, now, is it? And I’ll confess, I really wanted a chance to meet the other people in town. We’ve only been here a couple of months, and everybody’s been so busy. Seth here tells me you grow apples?”
When Monica finally paused to breathe, Meg jumped in. “Yes, I do. I inherited this house and an orchard a couple of years ago, and I’ve been trying to make a go of it.”
When Meg paused, Monica plunged right in again. “Oh, that’s so brave of you! I wouldn’t know where to start. I haven’t had a paid job in years, but I love to help out with projects and events. Are you going to bring apples to our fair? The ones that you grew here? That’s wonderful—so New England. What do you think of our name? Did you get the pun? Fare F-A-R-E, like food, for the fair F-A-I-R?”
“Oh. I hadn’t seen it written out, but it’s a cute idea. I’d be happy to bring apples. Who else have you talked with so far?”
“Well, those lovely young people at the restaurant. Douglas—that’s my husband—and I have eaten there a couple of times, and the food is wonderful. And all locally sourced, they told us. Isn’t that nice? Do they use your apples there? Because if they do, we’ve probably already had some. And then there are other farmers in town who would love to show something, and those ladies with the—alpacas, is it? I keep thinking they’re llamas, but that’s something else, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Seth said firmly—and more loudly than he usually spoke. “Have you looked for a band yet?” Meg guessed he was trying to stop Monica’s flow of words.
“No, I thought I’d start that today. What kind of music do you think people would like? Modern? Country? Old-timey? It’s only background, but I thought it might sound nice. Do you know any musicians?”
“Can’t say that I do. Between my work and my town responsibilities, I don’t have a lot of spare time. And no musical talent, either. But ask around—I’m sure there’s somebody local who’d like the visibility.”
“I knew you were the right person to ask!” Monica beamed at him. “I just love this town! It’s so, so historical.”
“How did you and your husband decide to move here?” Meg managed to ask.
“He’s, uh, retired, a couple of years ago. We wanted a place in the country—you know, quiet, pretty.”
“Where were you living before?”
“Outside of Chicago. And we’ve lived other places, too—we went where Doug’s job took us! We’ve lived in a lot of different states, but we never made it to New England. This is the first chance we’ve had. Well, I won’t keep you—I just wanted to stop by and say hello, and to meet you, Meg. Seth, we’re going to have another meeting, with all the participants, in a week or two, right? And you’ll be there too, Meg?”
“Just as soon as we can put together a list and send out notices,” Seth replied. “Can you handle e-mail?”
Monica smiled again. “Well, of course I can! That’s how I keep in touch with all my friends from all those places we’ve lived. I know—we could put together a quick Facebook page for this event. I know Granford has its own website, but I think we can reach out to people more quickly through social media. Don’t you?”
Seth commented patiently, “Again, I don’t really have time for it. Plus, I grew up in this town, and went to college near here, so most of my friends are pretty close by. Our town staff is small—you’d have to talk to them about updating the website and such.”
“Isn’t that wonderful! And I’ll talk to the people at town hall. Well, I’ll let you two eat your breakfast, but I’ll be in touch. Does the board of selectmen have an e-mail list? Or does anybody else have one I can borrow?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll check,” Seth said, trying hard to be patient. “I have your number, so I’ll let you know when I find out anything. And when we have that meeting scheduled. Thanks for stopping by.” Somehow Seth managed to herd Monica out the door without being rude, although Meg wasn’t sure Monica would have noticed.
When he came back into the kitchen, Seth all but fell into a chair. “That woman is exhausting! Do you think that’s her natural personality, or is she on uppers?”
“Maybe she’s just nervous, and wants to make a good impression. Coffee made?”
“It is. I’d volunteer to get it for you, but I haven’t got the energy.”
“I think I can manage. Did you walk Max?”
“Before I made the coffee. I think he’s in the front room, napping.”
Meg’s cat, Lolly, jumped down from her favorite perch, the top of the refrigerator, and demanded her breakfast, so Meg dished that up, and the sound of popping a can top brought Max running, demanding his own meal, so it was five minutes before Meg managed to fill two coffee mugs and sit down herself. “Larry said he’ll be back today. We need to sit down together and figure out what needs to be done. And I need to price irrigation systems. Think we’ll have another drought this year?”
“I am not the person to ask, believe me. And if you stop to think, in my business drought is a plus—I can get more outside work done.”
“Oh, dear—a major conflict of interest. Do you know anybody around here who handles agricultural water systems?”
“Not offhand, but I can ask around.”
“One of the pluses of having spent all your life here. I hope Monica doesn’t latch on to you like a limpet to borrow your friends list.”
“I may have to hide when I see her coming. Do we sound petty? She’s not a bad person, just . . . overeager, I guess.”
“I know. Maybe she’ll calm down once she gets settled. And makes more friends. It must be hard, getting uprooted every few years. Wonder what her husband’s like?”
“Want me to return the favor and drop in on them to find out?”
“And I can come along with a plate of cookies to welcome them to the town. Just like in an old sit-com!”
Seth struggled to suppress a smile. “I don’t think we need to go that far. Let’s wait and see how the WinterFare goes�
�maybe Monica will burn off some steam with that.”
“Men!”
5
Meg was sitting at the dining room table with her laptop, orchard records, and spreadsheets covering most of the table, when she heard a car pull into the driveway. She knew Seth was out back. Please, let it not be Monica! She sent up a silent prayer. She didn’t have the energy to deal with another dose of the woman. That was hardly a charitable attitude toward a woman who was new to the town and probably lonely, but Meg did have things she needed to get done.
She stood up and went to the window overlooking the driveway: Larry. He was following through on what he had promised the day before. Since he was here, maybe he could help her with the statistical details of her own orchard. She had plenty of experience with financial documents, but she wasn’t even sure what constituted a good result for a working orchard. What kind of profit margin should she be looking for? What could she write off? Lump sum or amortized over time? Had any of his courses at Cornell covered issues like that?
Larry knocked on the back door, and Meg went quickly to let him in. “Come in!” she said when she pulled the door open. Lolly opened one eye, then went back to sleep. “I was just going over my numbers. Did you have something specific you wanted to talk about, or should we simply discuss general plans?”
“The second one, I guess. You have drawings or a map of your place?”
“Not one that shows the orchard details. But there’s always Google Earth, and they’re pretty much up-to-date with their aerial images. Oh, do you know how to handle a computer?”
“Of course. You can’t get through school without one.”
“Do you have one of your own?”
Larry looked away. “A crappy one. I haven’t been able to afford to replace it.”
“Surely there’s a market in secondhand ones, with all the colleges around here. Unless you don’t think you need one?” Meg found that idea hard to imagine—record keeping even for her small orchard would be a nightmare if she had to do it all by hand.
“I’ll look. You want to get started?”
“Sure. Oh, one other thing, about your housing situation?”
“Yeah. What?” he asked cautiously.
“This may sound odd, but Bree made a suggestion before she left about converting what used to be a chicken coop in the back into what I guess is officially called a tiny house these days. There’s even a television show about them. You know—everything you need packed into an impossibly small space? It sounds like it could work for one person without a lot of baggage. Have you heard of those?”
Larry shrugged. “No, but I don’t watch television shows. Might be some RVs or campers around I could use, at least until the summer vacation season when everybody clears out. Better than a chicken coop.”
“Yes, but it would be a real house once it was converted—you know, electric light, indoor plumbing. Just an idea. You know much about construction?”
“I kept things going on the family farm. I hear this state is pretty tough about regulations for things like wiring and plumbing, though, and I pretty much stayed away from those.”
“Seth could handle that end. Look, I just thought I’d put it out there. I have the feeling you aren’t the frat-jock type who’d be happy with a bunch of drunken roommates.”
Larry gave her a crooked smile, and Meg realized she hadn’t even seen it before. “You got that right. Be handy to live onsite here—save on gas and stuff.”
“You don’t have to decide today. Let’s take a look at the orchard figures.”
While Larry wasn’t particularly articulate in ordinary conversation, he was surprisingly up to speed with orchard statistics and related information. Meg let him take the lead, because she’d exhausted her own knowledge early and also because she wanted to hear what he had to say. When he wasn’t forced to talk about himself or his life, he spoke much more openly and enthusiastically. She started taking notes halfway through their discussion. And she refrained from commenting when Lolly made her way to his lap: he didn’t comment, but stroked her absently as he went on talking. Points for him: he liked cats.
After an hour or so, Larry leaned back in his chair and said, “Okay, in a nutshell you’ve got fifteen acres in one parcel, mostly older trees, about half on a slope, right? Plus that three acres you’ve just planted but they aren’t bearing yet. You’ve been running it with two people—yourself and a manager—plus seasonal pickers. Any chance for expanding?”
“What, acquire more land and plant it? As you just said, it would be years before they produced anything. Seth might own a few more acres to the north of the main orchard, but that place hasn’t been a farm for a long time and it would take work to prepare it. There’s the goats’ pen, but that’s tiny. And what’s beyond and behind that is boggy, so that’s no good. You see that as a problem?”
“Not necessarily—I’m just figuring out your options. So, say you can’t add land. I don’t know your current trees well, but some are probably past their prime. Thing is, you can’t put in more compact planting—closer tree spacing—without taking out a lot of trees, not just one or two here and there.”
“I get that, Larry. I wasn’t planning to expand. I feel comfortable managing the amount I have, with some help. And I know I’ll have to replace some trees and wait for them to grow up. But I know I can handle what I’ve got right now, and I like that. Does that make sense to you?”
“Yeah, you’re a control freak.” Once again there was a brief flash of a smile. So the guy had a sense of humor? “We talked about that before. With what you’ve got, you’re limited in what money you can bring in. If that’s okay with you, fine. I’m just saying. Your call.”
“Look, I may change my mind in a year or two, or beyond, assuming I’m still here. But this works for me for now.”
“Great. So that means we have to look at how to get the best yield from the trees you’ve got.” And Larry launched into a detailed discussion of pruning, spraying, watering, and several things Meg had never even heard of.
When he finally slowed down, Meg said, “It’s clear that you know what you’re talking about. Can you make me a timeline or a spreadsheet for what we have to do now, and in what order? Or maybe two—one if we just keep doing what we’ve been doing, and one if we start implementing the changes you’ve suggested?”
“Sure, no problem. Except that second one won’t look much different from the first one, at least for the first couple of years.”
“Okay, I get it. What’s next on the calendar?”
“Like I told you, pruning. Clean-up. I can test the soil in different parts of the orchard to see what nutrients you need to add. Check for insect damage. That kind of thing.”
“Fine. Give me a list, and tell me when we start.”
• • •
Larry was gone when Seth’s mother, Lydia, dropped by in the late afternoon, rapping at the back door after walking across the fields between their houses. “Am I welcome?” she asked when Meg opened the door.
“Of course you are! Why do you even ask?” Meg held the door open for her to come in, then gave her a quick hug.
“Well, I haven’t seen much of either of you since you got back from your honeymoon,” Lydia said, unwrapping her scarf and hanging it on the wall rack next to the door. “From what little Seth has said, it was rather . . . unusual.”
Meg laughed. “To say the least! Solving a murder that took place in my parents’ backyard was not on the schedule. But up until then it was lovely.”
“A trial by fire, so to speak. If Seth can survive being cooped up with your parents while solving a murder, you two can weather anything. Not to mention how many hours on the road going and coming back.”
“Yes, he’s a keeper. Would you like tea? Coffee? Something stronger, since you’re not driving? I’d offer you cookies, but I haven’t gotten around to bak
ing any yet. Or you could stay for dinner, if you don’t have other plans.”
“A glass of wine would be welcome. And as for dinner . . . I have plans.”
“With Christopher, I assume?” Meg said as she retrieved the bottle of wine from the refrigerator and found two clean glasses.
Lydia sighed. “So everyone knows?”
“Of course we do. I kind of expected you to bring him for Christmas dinner.”
“I considered it, but I thought we all could use some family time.”
“That was nice of you. But as for you and Christopher, it was obvious at the wedding, although you’ll have to tell me how long it was going on before then. And I think it’s great. Christopher is a lovely man, and I don’t know if I would have survived my first year here without his help.”
“Good—I’m relieved. Is Seth okay with it, too? He’s a man, and men don’t talk about things like that much.”
“Yes, he’s fine. He told Christopher as much yesterday. All is good in our little Granford world.”
“And you’re bringing in a new manager to replace Bree?”
Meg filled two glasses with wine, then sat down, leaving the bottle on the table. “We are. I’m not sure ‘replace’ is the right word, but Christopher recommended someone who has a different skill set, and he’s already started, sort of. This is our slowest time of year, you know, so we’ve been talking about what needs to be done over the course of the next year or two. I’ll introduce you at some point, but I warn you—he’s kind of rough around the edges. Apparently he had a difficult childhood and he comes across as kind of defensive at first. But he’s smart and he knows his stuff. I’m hoping things work out.”
Meg took a sip of wine and let it trickle down her throat. Was she supposed to be cooking dinner? What did they have in the house that could be made to resemble a meal? “Did Seth tell you about the WinterFare event?”
“He mentioned it briefly. I gather there’s a new woman in town and she wants to make her mark?”
A Late Frost Page 4
