Famous in a Small Town

by Kristina Knight

  Adding peaches and pears to the apples Tyler Orchards was known for had been a risky move, but it was paying off. The fruit stand his grandfather had run had become a fruit market, and then other local farmers had joined in, creating a full-fledged farmers’ market with locally grown vegetables, dairy products and locally sourced honey. Going into business with a regional grocery company was a logical step in his plans to take Tyler Orchards to the next level. It would increase the family’s financial stability. Money might not buy happiness, but it definitely made it easier to enjoy life.

  If the deal went through with Westfall Foods, maybe it would ease whatever was stressing Amanda out to the point she was using duct tape to reroute traffic downtown and getting caught up with a group of high school firebugs.

  “We’ve gone down this road before with local growers. They promise us the moon, but then they deliver late or give us sub-par goods.”

  He wouldn’t risk his reputation or the reputation of the orchard his grandfather had built from nothing. That’s what made the difference, Collin wanted to say. He didn’t think Jake Westfall, the lead partner in the chain, would be swayed by an impassioned plea about personal reputation or work ethic, though. Especially if he’d been burned by someone making the same impassioned plea in the past.

  “I could send you to our pages on Yelp or Facebook or any of the review sites, and you’d see thousands of satisfied customers’ comments. I could make a fifteen-minute speech about personal integrity. But I have a feeling you’ve read those comments and heard that speech before. I can only stress...” He paused. Because what else did he have except his word? These corporate executives didn’t know him, and they didn’t know how important this move was for his business. His family.

  He handed another paper-clipped bunch of papers across the conference table. Recommendations from a few local restaurants and B and Bs he’d begun supplying three years before.

  “I’m going to give that speech to you anyway. My family has been growing organic apples for a local fruit stand for more than forty years. Quality has always been important to us, and that isn’t going to stop if we begin contracting with you. If anything, that focus on quality will increase. You have to make the right decision for your stores. I can only tell you that contracting with Tyler Orchards is a good move for both our businesses.”

  The three executives exchanged a look and then Westfall said, “If you could give us a few minutes, we’d like to have the room.”

  Collin nodded, picked up the leather attaché case he’d carried in college and left the conference room with its broad table and leather executive chairs. Alone in a tiled hallway with photographic prints of the Ozark Mountains and Mark Twain National Forest, he considered his options.

  The worst they could do was say no. If they did, he would continue his search for a regional grocery chain, and continue supplying local businesses and the farmers’ market. If they said yes, he’d do all those and keep expanding the orchard.

  He didn’t want to spend more time in his office researching potential partners instead of in the orchard, but he would do what he had to.

  Collin ran his index finger along the inside of his collar. He didn’t want to wear his funeral suit to another meeting. He’d do that, too, though, if it meant more stability for the orchard, for Gran and for Amanda.

  He would do anything for them.

  Collin rolled his shoulders. Anything.

  A few moments later Westfall opened the conference room door and waved Collin back inside.

  “We’ve been looking to increase our organic produce section, as you know, for some time. We like what we’ve heard from the local businesses you contract with, and we’ve followed the orchard’s reviews on social media. We also like the proposal you brought in today—with one addition.

  “Grove Markets, our main subsidiary, can’t risk its reputation on a small outfit like yours, especially one that is already spread thin.” He held up his hand when Collin started to interrupt. “As I said before, we’ve been taken in before by the stake-my-reputation-on-this promises of other growers. The changes you’ve made to the orchard over the past seven years are tremendous. What we are proposing is a four-month trial period.

  “You have four months to prove to us that you are, indeed, staking your reputation on this partnership, and we have that time to see if our customers like your produce as well as your local customers do.

  “During the trial, we expect you to withdraw Tyler Orchards produce from the local farmers’ market. We would also like you to consider closing the orchard stand for the trial. If both parties are happy with the partnership at the end of the trial, we’ll revisit your involvement in both.”

  Collin swallowed. Not work the stand? Not spend most weekends at the farmers’ market? Those were things his grandfather had done for decades. Businesses the elder Tyler had helped to start. Tyler Orchards would be nothing without those things. Of course, it was only for a few months, and if those months led to more business, that wasn’t a bad thing. Was it?

  “What about the local restaurants and B and Bs?”

  “We understand you have contracts, and don’t expect you to break them. If things go as well as we’re hoping, you may decide being our primary organic source for apples, pears and peaches is more lucrative than those smaller ventures.”

  “Primary source?” Collin flexed his hands as a quick hit of adrenaline made his heart beat faster.

  “That’s the deal, Mr. Tyler. We aren’t just looking for another bag of organic apples or peaches. We’re looking for a business that can become our main resource. Tyler Orchards would, of course, be noted on the packaging, but the branding would become Grove Market or Westfall Foods.”

  Collin’s heart beat a little harder. A primary-source contract was so much more than he’d considered. It meant multiple thousands of dollars. It could mean expanding the orchard sooner than he’d planned. Maybe even expanding the small greenhouses where Gran raised her plots of broccoli and carrots into full-fledged fields, too.

  Giving up the local businesses for a windfall contract from a regional grocery chain could change their lives. He wanted to pump his fist in the air. Those first small contracts had been his babies, his idea, his plan to transform the orchard as a small, family-run business into a bigger player in the organic marketplace. Now those initial plans could be paying off much faster than he had anticipated.

  The clipped-together recommendations from the local restaurants and B and Bs caught his eye, and he felt his elation leaking like air from a broken balloon.

  Those local businesses depended on Tyler fruit for their menus. Collin’s stomach knotted. Sourcing organic fruits for a grocery chain was a big deal. It could mean so much more in the financial column. But...

  Collin was on a first-name basis with everyone he contracted with. He saw them running into the bank or fishing on the lake during the summer months. The fruits of his labor literally made their businesses stronger. He couldn’t take that away from them. Could he?

  “Tyler Orchards is a family-run business. I make the final decisions, but I would like the chance to discuss this with my family before signing anything.”

  “Of course. We can give you thirty days, and then we’ll need the decision.”

  Collin nodded. He collected his things and walked out of the four-story building in downtown Joplin, Missouri. Westfall Foods had lost its three main Grove Market stores in that tornado and the storms that followed. He looked up. This building had been reduced to a pile of rubble, but Jake Westfall had rebuilt his company bigger and better than it had been before. Partnering with him would be a boon for Tyler Orchards.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER Collin stood in the fruit stand at the end of the lane leading to Tyler Orchards, still contemplating what he should do about the offer from Westfall Foods. Go all-in with
the grocery chain? Or continue as a small-potatoes fruit operation with ties to a farmers’ market, a few B and Bs and some local restaurants? He hadn’t talked to Gran or Amanda about the option because he wanted to have a firm idea about what he personally wanted first.

  His professors would tell him to go with the chain, but he’d never really liked any of the professors. They’d been too comfortable in their pressed suits and wingtips for his liking.

  What was it Granddad had always said? If a man doesn’t leave a little of his work on him, how can you know he’s doing the job? Collin pondered the question.

  Partnering with Westfall would mean more office and paperwork time for him. He’d need to hire a manager for the orchards, more labor for harvest times, and that would mean not having the dirt of the orchard in the treads of his shoes or the smell of the blossoms in his nose. Instead he’d have ink on his fingers from contracts and harvest forecasts. Would Granddad think ink was a good substitute for dirt?

  He still didn’t have an answer, but he knew several people who always seemed to be in pristine condition, without a speck of dust on them. And yet he knew they worked hard.

  He picked up a few more jars of Gran’s apple preserves, stuffed them on a shelf and winced as the jars cracked together. Inspecting them closely, he saw that there was no actual damage done and breathed a sigh of relief. His garbage can was already overflowing because of his carelessness earlier this morning. A deer had jumped into the road and Collin had wrenched the old truck’s steering wheel to the side to avoid it. As the truck swerved, he heard the sickening crunch of a few jars of peach jelly and blackberry preserves. He’d have to hose down the back or bees would start making a new hive where the remnants of those jars stuck to the sides of the truck.

  There had to be a way he could serve both the local businesses and the regional chain. Working with the grocer didn’t have to mean the end of the Tyler Orchards stand, his partnership in the farmers’ market or the other contracts. Even with the grocer contract, if he signed, the orchard would have more than enough to fulfill that and still work locally. He just needed to figure out how to present a solution to the executives. That meant he needed a solution that was workable from both sides.

  He picked up an oddly shaped apple and tossed it into the basket he would take to the house once his shift at the stand was finished. People stopping by wanted perfectly shaped produce, not a misshapen apple with a stem area that appeared to be grimacing.

  He had twenty-seven more days to figure out the solution. He wouldn’t sacrifice his family’s financial security.

  And he wouldn’t go back on his commitments to his community, either.

  * * *

  A BRIGHT RAY of sunlight shafted through the barn window, blinding Savannah for a split second. She sat on a three-legged stool, staring at the udder of one of the dairy cows. She’d found this one, already gated in an area of the barn away from the other cows. She wasn’t sure why it was here, and she didn’t care. She was going to figure out how to milk the darn thing if it was the last thing she ever learned.

  “That one’s been a little under the weather lately. She had trouble calving last year, and doesn’t like the machines.”

  Savannah nearly fell off the little three-legged stool at the sound of Bennett’s voice. His big hand steadied her shoulder, and slowly, she swiveled to face him.

  “I was wondering why she was over here and not with the others.”

  “She just needs a little extra attention, don’t you, girl?” Bennett asked, patting the cow lightly on the rump. The cow didn’t respond, just kept chewing on the hay in the trough before it.

  “I can teach you how to milk, if you want.” She shot him a look. “You think Levi and I haven’t noticed you skulking around the barns?” He winked at her. “Fine, skulking isn’t really the right word, but every time you saw us, you’d hightail it in the other direction. Do you want to learn?”

  Savannah nodded. “I want to be useful.”

  “People are useful in different ways, Van.” Bennett, nearly as tall as Levi, but slighter and more wiry, squatted down beside her. He took her hands in his and put them on the smooth udder of the cow. “You start at the base of the teat,” he said, putting her hands at the small crease between the cow’s teat and the udder. It felt weird. Warm and smooth and weird. “Make a ring with your index finger and thumb and then you bring your other fingers in, kind of like you’re making a fist around the teat but in a slow, kind of rolling motion.”

  Savannah focused on the udder, making a ring with her finger and thumb, and then squeezed her hard as if she were making a fist. Nothing happened. She tried again, and again nothing happened. Bennett put his hands over hers and squeezed. A steady stream of milk squirted into the pail beneath the cow. Savannah shot a glance at her father.

  “Okay, I’ve got this.” She placed her hands in the proper position, closed her eyes and squeezed her hands in the same rolling motion Bennett had used. Nothing happened. She tried again, but only a few drops of milk hit the pail.

  “You’ll get it. It takes time.”

  Frustrated, Savannah stood, leaving the cow with its head in the gate.

  “I don’t know why I even tried. I’m not a—a milkmaid,” she said. “I’m not...I’m not anything.”

  “Sure you are.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. He was wrong. She wasn’t anything. Not a singer, she wasn’t even sure her label wanted her anymore. Or, maybe worse, if she wanted the label to want her. Did she want to sing? Was that what would finally make her feel as if there was purpose to this life?

  She couldn’t cook like Mama Hazel; cooking for people served a purpose. She couldn’t milk a freaking cow; cows provided milk and dairy products to people. That held purpose. Hell, she couldn’t be trusted to take her car to the shop when the check engine light came on and, maybe worst of all, remember to fill the tank with gas when she was on a road trip.

  “I’m a mess.”

  Bennett reached out, tugging on a braid. Savannah turned to face him. “You’re my Savannah, and you’re stronger than you think.” A smiled spread over his dark face, and his eyes, the color of walnuts, seemed to brighten. “What is your dream?”

  “What is my dream?” she parroted his words back to him.

  “I overheard you talking to Levi the other day. What is it that you want, sweet girl?”

  Savannah mulled the question for a long moment. What did she want? She didn’t really care about milking cows, although it would be nice to have something to do at the ranch other than stare out the windows. She loved to sing, but the thought of singing before thousands of people left her cold. Colder than the thought of everyone learning about that last night on the tour. She liked flirting with Collin, had loved being in his arms for that brief moment at the Slope. Savannah kicked at a small pile of hay on the floor.

  “I don’t know,” she said, and the words felt like another failure. How could she have reached twenty-seven years old and not know what she wanted out of life? Bennett started to say something, but Savannah held up her hand to stop him. She didn’t want a platitude. This was something she had to do herself. “I think I’ll go see if Mama needs help getting the pies and jams ready for the market this morning,” she said, and hurried out of the barn before her father could tell her she wasn’t a screwup, that she would figure things out.

  “Savannah.” He called after her, but Savannah kept going. Into the house and up to her childhood room. She sat on the side of the bed, putting her hands to her head. She couldn’t milk a freaking cow. What kind of person who grew up on a dairy farm couldn’t milk cow?

  She had to figure this out. She needed to decide what she wanted, and she needed to decide fast. She couldn’t hide in Slippery Rock forever. She wouldn’t let herself just float. She’d come home to figure out her life.

 
; “Savannah?” her mother called from downstairs. “I’m about ready to leave. You coming?”

  Savannah stood, straightened her shoulders. “Coming, Mama.”

  Savannah wasn’t sure what she hoped to accomplish by working the farmers’ market this morning. She’d already failed at her second attempt to milk a cow. It wasn’t as if spending a day selling Mama Hazel’s state-fair-winning apple pie and telling locals about their dairy farm was much in the way of penance for going into that bus with Genevieve’s husband.

  It was nice to be here, though. The clock tower on the county building that dominated the town square read 11:05, but it had been broken for as long as she could remember. Bright Missouri sunshine was just beginning to clear the trees on the east side of the marina. Before long, that hot sun would make it nearly unbearable in the brick building where locals sold their pies and jams and things. Not to mention the cracked-pavement parking lot where her father and brother were selling fresh milk, other farmers sold berries, and Collin Tyler sold the first pickings from the orchard.

  The scent of fresh produce made the air taste almost magical, peppered with the muted conversations of the farmers working the market, talking about topsoil conditions, the importance of the early rains they’d been having and the potential for severe weather later in the summer, which had so far bypassed their part of southern Missouri.

  Savannah couldn’t remember ever being at the farmers’ market before, which was just another mark against her, she knew. She’d been too wrapped up in her own misery before leaving Slippery Rock to think about weather conditions as more than a bad-hair-day nuisance.

  God, she’d been so self-centered.

  Through the storefront windows she caught sight of Collin’s tight butt in worn jeans, and another wave of regret hit her. She’d been crazy to be so forward with him at the lake last week. Of course, his overly sincere “you’re my best friend’s sister” excuse was equally idiotic. The man was twenty-eight, not sixteen. The time for teenaged bros-before-hos dating rules was long gone.