Homeward

by Melody Carlson

  Meg got down on her knees and pushed the stubborn weeds aside until she could finally see what lay beneath. To her relief and amazement, she discovered the tiny reddish green leaves of cranberry plants. Not healthy and thick like they should have been, but alive just the same. She began pulling weeds with her bare hands. At first she tugged cautiously, afraid to disturb the brave plants rooted beneath, but before long she was pulling with force and determination, and then with fury. How dare Abner allow Grandpa’s bogs to deteriorate into such a state! It was a horror, an abomination. Unforgivable.

  After a short time, her hands were throbbing in hot pain, and she climbed out of the bog and flopped to the ground. It was hopeless. Totally and completely hopeless. She looked at her stained and blistered palms, then down to the tiny patch she had weeded. At last her eyes settled on the remaining twenty bogs—two acres each, and all equally full of weeds. Was she going mad? Did she actually think she could weed forty acres of weed-infested bogs? Besides, this was Abner and Grandmother’s business. Not hers. And not Grandpa’s—not anymore.

  “I’m so sorry, Grandpa,” she said aloud. “I’m sorry this place has come to such ruin. If there was anything I could do, I would.” Her voice choked, her chest tightening. Why did it hurt so much? It wasn’t as if the bog was a living, breathing thing. But just the same, it felt as if something was dead. Or dying...

  She stood and picked up her camera. There was nothing here she wanted to photograph. Nothing here she wanted to show Ashley. Poor Ashley. She would never know the thrill of seeing bright red cranberries floating like glistening jewels on the water as they were corralled for harvest. Ashley would never be able to appreciate the magical wonders of her great-grandpa’s cranberry farm. Of course, Ashley had other things to look forward to. But it was sad to lose a heritage. As a child, Meg had always lived for the times when she could be with Grandpa out on the cranberry bog. Having grown up on a liberal college campus in the crazy seventies with a mom who cared nothing about mothering, Meg had always been able to count on this one thing. It was her haven. A place to come home to.

  Today, she felt like she had come to a funeral. She turned and walked away. Well, at least it wasn’t Ashley’s funeral. That was something to be thankful for. She would much rather lose a cranberry bog than a niece. As she walked away, she noticed a scrap of yellow, half hidden by blackberry vines. She walked over to take a look, and there, poking its sunny head between the vines, bloomed a daffodil. Meg pushed back the vines and found more daffodil plants, some with blossoms just ready to open. She gingerly pulled back the thorny vines, bent them away from the flowers, then stomped on them. One by one she pulled them back, anchoring some with large rocks to keep them from popping back into place. There before her bloomed about a dozen yellow daffodils. She knelt, pulled out her camera, and took several shots. Then she noticed the tall stand of firs along the edge of the property and took several shots of that.

  She began to see more and more lovely pictures. The little apple orchard that Grandpa had planted and carefully tended, and where she used to pick apples by the bushel, was about to burst into bloom. The trees looked like they hadn’t been pruned in ages, but their round buds glowed like pearls in the morning sun. She took about a dozen shots of the ocean not too far off in the distance. Before long, she had used up two rolls of film.

  Before she left, she returned to the part of the bog she had weeded in such a frenzy. She stood on the bank and studied the plants below her. Was it just her imagination, or had those sturdy plants perked up their little light-deprived heads to get a glimpse of the sun? She climbed down and adjusted her camera to take a few close-ups of the plants, then studied them again. Grandpa had always said that cranberry plants were hearty, and she figured he was right. But even so, they probably couldn’t survive another season of this kind of neglect. She replaced her lens cap and stood sadly. Well, at least she could show Ashley what her great-grandpa’s plants looked like while they were still alive.

  She stopped by Grandmother’s to tell her the good news about Ashley before she headed back to the hospital. She had decided not to worry Grandmother by mentioning her disappointment in the bog. The poor old woman had been so worried about her great-granddaughter, Meg didn’t want to spoil her relief.

  “Good morning,” Meg called as she came into the room. Rosa was just removing a breakfast tray of mostly untouched food. “Looks like you weren’t very hungry this morning, Grandmother.”

  “She eats like a bird,” hissed Rosa as she passed by.

  “I come with good news, Grandmother.” Meg pulled up a chair and smiled.

  “Is it about Ashley?”

  “Yes. She’s better, Grandmother. Isn’t that great?”

  Grandmother sighed. “Oh, I’m so relieved. I was lying here thinking that it wasn’t fair for an old thing like me to go on living when my little great-granddaughter was slipping away. It’s more than a body can bear. I’m so relieved. Please tell Erin and Tom how glad I am for them.” She leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment.

  “Maybe you’ll feel like eating then?” asked Meg hopefully.

  Grandmother smiled. “Well, now, I just might.”

  “I’ll get Rosa on my way out. I really can’t stay long; I just wanted to pop in and share the good news.”

  “And I thank you, Meggie.” Grandmother peered at Meg’s dirty clothes curiously. “Been up to the bogs, have you?”

  Meg nodded.

  “So, how do they look?”

  Meg swallowed. “Well, uh...”

  “Be straight with me, Meggie.”

  “Not so good.”

  Grandmother nodded. “I was afraid of that. Just how bad are they?”

  “They’re pretty bad, Grandmother.” Meg stood and began pacing. It was too late to keep it a secret, and like the floodgates at harvest time, the words gushed out. “It’s deplorable. An abomination. They have gone to complete ruin. Totally overgrown with weeds. I don’t know if they can ever be brought back. It makes me so angry I could—” Meg stopped and turned. She was shocked by how carried away she had gotten, especially after her resolve not to burden Grandmother with these worries.

  “I’m sorry, Grandmother. It’s just that I loved them so.” Meg sat down again and stared at the floor. “I guess it’s an emotional issue with me. I’m still in shock.”

  Grandmother made an odd choking sound, and Meg looked up in surprise, afraid that she had finally given the woman a heart attack. To her amazement, Grandmother was chuckling.

  “What is it?” asked Meg. “What’s so funny?”

  Grandmother smiled and slowly shook her head. “You are, Meggie. Just like your grandfather, you are! Oh, how he could go on about his berries. I used to think that cranberry juice ran through his veins, and now I think it might run through yours, too.”

  Meg smiled. “Thanks, Grandmother.”

  “Don’t thank me. Some folks wouldn’t take that as a compliment.”

  “Well, I do. At least you understand why it irks me so. But I don’t understand why Abner doesn’t care. I guess cranberry juice doesn’t run through his veins.”

  Grandmother’s face grew cloudy. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

  “Well, I hope I didn’t worry you with my little fit, Grandmother. I really should go. I want to get to the hospital to check on Ashley. I’ll call and let you know how she’s doing.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Meggie. But can you stay for another minute or two?”

  “Sure.”

  “Go on over to my dresser, Meggie. There’s a bunch of envelopes on it, but I think it’s the long blue one on top. Bring it over here.”

  Meg stood and moved to the old cherry dresser. It was the only piece of furniture in the room from the original set. “What happened to the rest of the cherry furniture, Grandmother?” asked Meg as she handed her the envelope.

  “What?” Grandmother said absently. “Oh, that. Abner and Phoebe took them. They needed furniture. They want t
he dresser too, but I’m hanging on to it.” She grinned mischievously. “Hand me my glasses, Meggie. There on the table.”

  Meg handed her the glasses and waited while the woman situated them just so on her nose and then finally began to open the envelope. Her gnarled fingers trembled as she attempted to remove the letter from inside. Meg suppressed the urge to reach over and help, wondering as she waited why the contents of what looked like an ordinary water bill could be of any interest to her. Grandmother silently read over the letter, and Meg impatiently glanced at her watch.

  Finally Grandmother spoke. “I won’t read you the whole letter. You can read it later if you want. But the gist of it is that Briar Hedge is on the verge of losing its water rights.”

  “You mean for the bog? Why? I thought Grandpa’s water rights were supposed to last forever. How can they do it?”

  “Seems there’s some new law in Oregon that says if you don’t use your agricultural water for five years, they can take away your water rights.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that Abner hasn’t used water for five years?”

  “Well, this would be the fifth. This letter is a warning.”

  “So how has he harvested for the last four years? Don’t tell me he does a dry harvest. Hardly anyone does that anymore.”

  Grandmother shook her head. “No, I don’t expect he has. I remember as a girl, when they used to do dry harvests, I went out to pick cranberries by hand one fall. I wanted to make some spending money. But it was backbreaking work, and I figured there had to be better ways to make money. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, in order to preserve the rights, we have to use water for agricultural purposes.”

  Meg shook her head in disbelief. “Abner must not even have irrigated. I don’t know how the plants could still be alive.”

  “I don’t know either, Meggie. Maybe it’s a miracle or something.” Grandmother’s forehead creased as if she were deep in thought.

  “Well, I am starting to believe in miracles.”

  “The question is, Meggie, do we want to preserve those water rights?”

  “Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you be having this conversation with Abner?”

  “Apparently I should have had this conversation with Abner several years ago. For nearly twenty years, I’ve left this business to him. And until recently, I thought he was handling things just fine.”

  “Well, I suppose you know that he thinks it’d be smart to sell Briar Hedge.” Meg wasn’t sure how much Grandmother knew about Cousin Abner’s scheme, and Meg wasn’t eager to be the one to fill her in.

  “Oh, he does? Well, he might be right about that. I always told your grandpa there had to be better things to do with perfectly good land than to grow bitter old berries.”

  Meg frowned.

  “Oh, I know, Meggie.” Grandmother waved a wrinkled hand in the air. “You have cranberry juice in your blood, and you believe that cranberries are perfectly wonderful. But think about it—what are they really good for? Have you ever eaten one right off the plant?”

  “Sure. I sort of like them raw. Besides, they’re one of the few native fruits of North America. And they’re good for lots of things. You remember all the stuff Grandpa used to concoct out of his cranberries.”

  Grandmother smiled with a faraway look in her eyes. “Yes, I do.”

  “So, Grandmother, why are you telling me about all this water rights business anyway? What can I do about it? Or do you even want anything done?”

  “I thought you could see about saving our water rights, Meggie. It’s a shame to just let them go like that. It seems downright wasteful. And you know how I hate seeing anything going to waste.”

  “What exactly do you mean? Do you want me to try to save the bog?” Meg laughed at the absurdity, imagining herself frantically weeding all twenty bogs the same way she had done today. It was ridiculous. It was impossible.

  “I thought you loved them.”

  “I do, Grandmother. And if I honestly thought you were, just for one moment, serious—I would do everything in my power to save them.”

  “I am serious.”

  “But what about Abner?”

  “What about him?”

  “Well, aren’t the bogs—well, don’t they sort of belong to him?”

  “Every square inch of Briar Hedge belongs to me. And it will continue to belong to me until the day I die, which shouldn’t be too far off. And which I’m sure will make some people very happy.”

  Meg leaned over and grabbed Grandmother’s hands in hers. “Not me, Grandmother. I want you to stick around for a long time. I wasted a lot of years not knowing you. And now that I know you, I like you.”

  Grandmother smiled. “Well, I’ll stick around as long as I can, but don’t expect much. The doctor said–”

  “Oh, I don’t want to hear what the doctor said. Just think what the doctor was saying about Ashley.” Meg stood up. “Speaking of Ashley, I really ought to go.”

  “So you’ll look into it, then?”

  “The water rights?”

  “Yes, and the bog.”

  “Are you really telling me to do this? Can I do it on your authority?”

  “That’s what I’m saying, Meggie.”

  Meg smiled widely. “Well, then it would be my pleasure, Grandmother. Consider it done.”

  THIRTEEN

  Meg went to Crandale Feed and Seed while her film was being developed. Not much had changed here in twenty years. It still smelled musty and sweet, a mixture of grain and seed and fertilizer. She walked around and looked at the large sacks of various farm materials. The labels meant nothing to her, and she didn’t have a clue as to where she should begin. All she remembered was that Grandpa used to come in here from time to time to pick up things for the bog.

  She walked up and down the aisles of the barnlike store, finally ending up in a corner where work clothes were displayed. Denim overalls and work shirts were neatly stacked across from the heavy-duty gloves hanging on pegs. She stared blankly at the tough-looking garments and marveled that only two weeks ago she’d been shopping for a new business suit at Ann Taylor. She grinned to herself and began searching for the smaller-sized overalls, rubber boots, and denim work shirts, as well as several pairs of gloves. At the last minute, she grabbed a handful of heavy cotton socks and piled them on top of her stack. On her way to the cash register, she found a good selection of heavy barn coats that looked perfect for cool, wet days.

  She flopped her selections onto the counter and was met by a somewhat familiar face. The man appeared to be in his sixties and had a smooth-featured, round face with sparkling blue eyes. The eyes were what stopped her.

  “Don’t I know you?” she asked, pulling out her checkbook.

  He studied her intently, then shook his head. “You seem a bit familiar, but I don’t think I can place you.”

  “I’m Meg Lancaster, and my grandfather, Stewart Lancaster, owned—”

  “Well, I’ll be!” The man extended a calloused hand and gave hers a hearty shake. “I’m Cal Logan. Your granddad gave me my first job out at Briar Hedge more than fifty years ago. It was during the war, when I was too young to fight, but too old to sit around twiddling my thumbs. Sure, I remember you, Meggie. I can still see you skedaddling after your granddad all over that bog. He used to say that you were his right-hand gal.”

  Meg smiled. “That’d be me.”

  He looked down at her pile with a puzzled expression. “Well, looks like you’re planning to go to work, little lady. Or is this for someone else?”

  Meg grinned sheepishly. “It’s for me. I’m going to work on the bog, and I needed a few work clothes.”

  Cal’s brows lifted. “You don’t say? Well, you’re sure going to have your work cut out for you.”

  “That’s an understatement. I went out and looked at the bog today.”

  “Pretty bad?”

  She nodded. “I’d hate to think what Grandpa would say if he could see it now.”

  Ca
l shook his head. “Darn shame, too. That used to be the best-looking bog in the county. Your granddad took better care of it than a mother takes with her newborn babe. Darn shame. I’ve been out there a couple of times, even offered to give your cousin some advice…” She could tell by the tone of Cal’s voice that he probably hadn’t been very well received by Abner.

  “Grandmother has asked me to see about bringing it back.”

  “Well, it’ll be a tough job, Meggie, but those are McFarlin berries, and they are the heartiest. You might be able to bring them back, but you’ll probably need to get some herbicides and fertilizers going. Although it’s a little late in the season for some of the more effective herbicides.”

  “Herbicides? Grandpa always tried to stay away from chemicals. I was hoping I could do something a little more organic. I hate the idea of dumping a bunch of chemicals in the bog.”

  Cal laughed and held up a pair of her gloves. “Well, then I suggest you get a couple dozen more pairs of these.”

  Meg frowned. “Is it hopeless, Cal?”

  “No, not at all. But it’s going to take a lot of time and work. Did you plan on getting any help, or are you taking it on single-handed?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it. To be honest, it was only this morning that Grandmother asked me to do this.”

  Cal nodded. “I see. Well, it takes a lot of commitment to restore cranberry bogs that have been let go like this. Are you going to be sticking around for a while? Do you expect to see any profits this year?”

  “I’m not in it for the money, if that’s what you mean. Of course, if I stick around, I’d need enough to live on, but I have some money set aside.”

  “It’s none of my business, Meggie, but since your granddad was one of my best friends, I’m going to give you a little advice, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure. I’d appreciate anything.”

  “Well, I’m not sure what Alexandra has in mind, but everyone in these parts thinks that bog is going to Abner when she passes on. And goodness knows, she must be close to a hundred, Meggie. She can’t hold out forever. What I’m wondering is, why are you getting yourself involved in this? It could turn into a big mess.”