Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm

by Rebecca Raisin

  “Ain’t nothing you can do but wait, cherry blossom. Clay’s the type o’ man who’s gotta do things his way. He’s probably holed up somewhere trying to make sense o’ it all. After all, it’s a big deal, those paintings.”

  She sat on the sofa opposite and knitted her fingers together. I reached for my cell phone to call him again, only to discover I’d left it at the farm.

  Trying to mask the anguish in my voice, I said, “I’m leaving in a few days, Cee. What if he’s not back by then?” The thought of not saying goodbye, not resolving it all, brought tears to my eyes. It would be like losing a part of me.

  “Mark my words, he’ll be back. That boy loves you; any fool can see that.”

  “Sometimes I think I should stay, but what kind of person gives up their dreams as quick as that?” I’d toyed with the idea of staying. I loved Clay, and Ashford had become a home for me, but worry edged into my mind—what if I later regretted it? The desire to paint, and learn from masters, couldn’t be extinguished no matter what I was leaving. “He might never come back though, if I do.”

  “True love, Lucy, will always find a way. You go off and have your adventures. Ashford will still be here when you get back.”

  I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my sweater. “Will the rest of the world dim, in comparison to here?”

  CeeCee kicked her shoes off and put her feet back on the stool. “You listen up: you one o’ us now, Lucy. We always be here for you. No matter where you go, you’ll be in our hearts. No one can take that away from you. This place won’t change much, it never does, but you will. Folk round here will say, ‘Remember Lucy? I wonder where she be now? I bet she’s doing real great in Paris. She be back soon, we just know it.’ No matter where you are you be right here.” She tapped her chest. “Forever.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Sugaring-Off Festival day arrived with a flurry of nerves. There was still no sign of Clay. High-pitched voices rang out in the Gingerbread Café. Everyone was talking atop each other, raising their pitch to be heard. I’d lost count of the amount of times Lil’s mom, Sue, had bumped into me, making me clutch whatever dish I was holding, my eyes wide with fright.

  “Oh, golly, sorry, Lucy,” Sue said. “I’m such a klutz!”

  Lil strode from the back of the café, her arms full of boxes, her big blues eyes peeping above. “What is she doing here?” she said with a heave.

  “Now, don’t be like that!” Sue said. “You shouldn’t be carrying boxes in your condition!”

  “They’re just napkins and such,” Lil said. “Why are you here, Mom? I thought Dad was driving you to the farm so you could stay out of trouble?”

  I stifled a giggle, remembering Lil’s horror stories about her mom in the kitchen. I had no idea that Lil didn’t know she was, helping—to use the word loosely—today.

  Lil’s mom sighed, and waved her away, ignoring the question.

  “What has she demolished? Be honest!” Lil stared hard at me, her hands on her hips.

  “Erm…” I squirmed. “A few bottles of maple syrup, and a handful of plates, one or two casserole dishes, but they were empty,” I hastily added.

  “Out!” Lil pointed to the front door. “You’re supposed to be helping Sarah and Becca at the farm!”

  Sue rolled her eyes and faced me. “She’s so dramatic, sometimes. I’ve got my checklist here, and I’m crossing things off as I go. Sarah and Becca have things well under control, so all that’s left is the food.” Sue took a pen and slashed lines through her list.

  “Are they really all set up there?” Lil asked me.

  I nodded. “Yep, I made a start last night, after I left here.” I didn’t say I’d slept on the sofa in the cottage, hoping Clay would come home. Lil and I’d baked up a storm the night before, and I’d been too keyed up to sleep, so had trudged the long lonely road out of town, and wound up at the farm under the cover of moonlight.

  “The girls are hanging the decorations, and all we have to do is finish baking and cart it over there.” Tension mounted—in a few hours’ time we’d be serving people gourmet dishes, and swaying along to a jazz band while people celebrated the art of making maple syrup. Still no sign of Clay, and the thought of him missing out hurt, but there was nothing else I could do except throw myself into making the festival a success.

  Lil dragged me back to the present by admonishing her mom. “Well you know you’re banned from the kitchen. God help us if you started another fire. Why don’t you mosey on over to the farm and see to the tablecloths, and the cutlery. We’ll bring the crockery over ourselves.” She gave her a pointed stare.

  I tried not to laugh. Sue’s face was the picture of innocence, as though she thought Lil was over-reacting at her previous disasters. “Tablecloths, cutlery, right. I’ll cross them off, and see you girls over there.”

  “She’s a list person,” Lil said, watching her mother retreat.

  “She is,” I said. “She asked me what I was doing so she could have the satisfaction of writing it on her pad and then running a line through it. I’m exactly the same.”

  Lil smirked. “You weren’t born with the clumsy gene though.”

  I nodded, and then feeling slightly overwhelmed, said, “You girls have done so much work, I don’t know how I can ever say thanks enough.” There was a group of at least ten people scurrying around, setting up at the farm, and there’d been people helping out in the lead-up to it, all for a thank you, and a handshake. It still stunned me, the way Ashford locals banded together for the common good.

  “No… It’s helping us out, Lucy, more than you know.” Lil donned her apron, and placed her hands on my shoulders. “Things have been quiet here, despite the glorious weather, so we can never rest on our laurels. This is a big boost for us, and hopefully for Clay.”

  I went back to the bench to peel a tower of fresh pears that were so big, I didn’t think we’d ever get to the bottom of the pile.

  CeeCee barreled into the café, her brown cheeks rosy from exertion. “Sorry, I know we got a ton to do. See I was just at Walt’s and he not only walked outta that house o’ his, he darn near strutted.”

  “Where’s he going?” Lil asked, taking the position beside me, and grabbing another peeler.

  “To the Maple Syrup Farm. He and Clay have been talking for the last few weeks without us bein’ none the wiser. And that phone o’ his was blaring not two minutes ago. Seems Clay’s been held up only God knows where, and he asked Walt to pick up the bain-marie, and a few other bit an’ bobs, because he’s running late.”

  “Clay called Walt?” My mind boggled. I tried not to let the hurt settle over me. He called Walt?

  CeeCee clapped her hands. “That boy gone and proved himself time and time again. He might come across as a bit reserved, but he ain’t. Walt says Clay’s been phoning to ask a bunch o’ technical questions about makin’ furniture, and they’ve become friends.”

  “Clay asked technical questions?” Lil asked, her brow furrowed. “But he made the most amazing pieces before, without any help.”

  CeeCee clucked her tongue. “Well o’ course he did. It was just a ruse to get Walt talkin’, get him excited about making furniture again. What that boy’s done for Walt makes my heart sing.”

  “Wow,” I said, stunned. “So he’s held up, but we don’t know where?”

  She shrugged. “Walt didn’t know…but said Clay’ll be there as soon as he can and to pass on his apologies.”

  I tried to mask the anguish on my face, but failed miserably. CeeCee gave me one of her great big launch hugs. “Don’t you fret. Things gonna be just fine, you’ll see.”

  I gave her a shaky smile but let it drop. There was no point harping on about the fact Clay wasn’t speaking to me. The girls knew.

  “Where we at?” She put her hands on her hips, and surveyed the bench.

  Lil said, “The maple and cardamom spiced pears with pecans, and a few more sweets, and we’re done.”

  “I ain’t never
seen so many pears,” she said, her voice booming around the café.

  “We got word, from the next town over, that their social club are coming. That’s another fifty people,” I said, my belly flip-flopping at the thought. “What if we run out of food? Or drinks? Or something happens?” I’d expected it to be a busy day, but the numbers were steadily growing.

  CeeCee hemmed and hawed. “Not a chance o’ that happening. Damon’s gone to the farm with the rotisserie…roasted, maple-glazed beef, you can almost smell it from here! People are gonna be lining up, eager to get their mitts around a burger bun filled with that slow-cooked meat, that’s for sure.”

  I’d dressed hastily in a floral patterned dress, slipped on some ballet flats, and tidied my unkempt hair by pinning it back with a red clip. I shoved my jeans, and tee into my backpack, and stashed it in Clay’s cupboard. It was odd using his cottage as a dressing room when he wasn’t here.

  Lil and CeeCee were out front greeting people, who arrived in droves. Car doors slammed, and feet crunched up the graveled driveway.

  There was a quick rap on the door, and Becca popped her head in. “Ready?” she asked, her voice plaintive.

  “I guess,” I said, spritzing on perfume. “I thought he’d be back by now.”

  She leaned her head against the door, and played with a tendril of hair. “You know he loves you,” she eventually said.

  “He’s never said so.”

  A warm smile spread across her face. “He does, but I’ll let him tell you. Are you OK?”

  I gave a hollow little laugh. “I’ve had so much to think about, Becca. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel anything other than exhaustion. I just want to see Clay and sort it out. He called Walt, to tell him he’s running late, and not me. I’m glad for Walt, that he’s got a friend, but it makes it pretty obvious to me that Clay’s giving me the silent treatment.”

  Becca crossed her arms over her cobalt-blue dress. “Will you still leave?”

  I looked away. “Yes. I’m booked.”

  She nodded, her brown eyes, sad. “Maybe you can come back after?”

  I moved to hug her, inhaling her vanilla-scented perfume. “Maybe.” If I couldn’t be with Clay it would be too painful to come back.

  She hugged me hard, and then clutched my hand, and pulled me into the bright sunlight.

  ***

  The jazz band members, stood under the shade of a maple tree, clutching steins of cider. CeeCee motioned her head to a microphone. I coughed, clearing my throat as nerves made my hands sweat. I tried to surreptitiously wipe them on my dress, before heading to the small wooden stage that had been set up for the day.

  Public speaking. Could it get any worse? “Welcome, everyone.” My voice shook so I tried to mask it with a wide grin. “Thank you all for attending the Sugaring-Off Festival today. It’s a tradition among maple syrup farms, and one we hope to replicate each year. After all, who doesn’t love a good party?” The crowd cheered and clapped and I gave a thank you nod.

  “Thanks to the girls from the Gingerbread Café, and to Damon from The Shoppe, we have a smorgasbord of dishes, each made with maple syrup. As you can see—” I pointed to the bain-marie behind me “—there’s plenty to choose from. We also have a range of sweets that we’ll be serving once the main course is over. I had a speech prepared—” the page fluttered in my hand “—but I can see you’re all ready to get started, so I’ll wrap up with this: the man who once owned this farm believed maple syrup could cure all ills, that it was a magical potion in the right hands. He believed you had to wait for a full moon to tap, and that you had to talk to the trees, become friends with them. I think it’s his legacy, the work he did here, that makes our maple syrup the very best it can be. Thank you to everyone who helped make today possible and to all of you for coming.” I stepped down from the uneven stage, and walked to CeeCee, my heartbeat erratic.

  “That was beautiful,” she said. “Truly beautiful. Jessup would’ve been proud.”

  With a hand to my chest, I caught my breath. “That was terrifying with so many pairs of eyes on me.”

  CeeCee laughed. “It’s over now. Let’s serve these fine folks some food.” She glanced at her watch, and then over her shoulder.

  I pursed my lips. “Maybe he’s not coming back because of me.”

  She gave me a playful push. “What kinda talk’s that? He’s on his way.” How did everyone know he was on his way? Was he calling everyone bar me? My guilt was slowly being replaced by disappointment in him. I didn’t deserve to be ostracized.

  I motioned for the jazz band to begin. They raised their glasses, before chugging back the last of their drinks.

  Behind the bain-marie, Becca, Sarah, and Lil stood, helping dish up for a long queue that had formed already. I hurried over to help, Henry stopping me midway. “Hey there, wanderer, you all set for next week?”

  He gave me a lopsided smile.

  “As ready as I can be, I guess,” I said weakly.

  “You don’t have that same sparkle in your eye. Are you nervous about flying?”

  If only it were that simple. “No, it’s just…it’s Clay. It’s leaving Ashford. I never expected to find a home when I set off on this so-called adventure, and now I have to leave it.”

  “It gets under your skin, this place. You’ve selected your tickets, Lucy. The final one brings you straight back to the good US of A.” His ruddy face lit up, and he gave me a pat on the shoulder. “When you go away, everything changes, and nothing stays the same, except one thing,” he said, his voice serious. “Home. It’ll always be where your heart is, and you’ll know because you’ll feel it call you back.”

  “Thanks, Henry, I think I already know where that place is.” The maple leaves swished in the breeze above, a comforting sound.

  People were clinking glasses, cheering each course of food. I gave Henry a hug, and hurried over to help the girls serve. As soon as I approached them Lil broke away and picked up the microphone, standing pretty on the stage in her yellow polka-dot dress, her round belly prominent now.

  “Sorry to interrupt, folks. But as most of you know, Lucy is leaving us soon to head over to Paris.” There were murmurs of aww. “I know, I know, it’s always sad saying goodbye. But she’ll be back. CeeCee says it’s true, so it must be.” Laughter rang out over CeeCee’s alleged visions. “Lucy,” Lil turned to me. “We all chipped in, for a thank you present to help you on your travels. Getting to know you has been a highlight over these last few months, and me and the rest of the gang are going to miss you.” She jumped down from the stage, and presented me with a proper leather suitcase and matching art portfolio.

  I held in a gasp of surprise, unable to talk, touched by their generosity. People milled around hugging me, and wishing me well on my travels. I shook hands, and thanked everyone profusely, trying my best to see through a blur of tears. Balloons popped in the distance as children ran around clutching forks, and bursting them. Their parents chased after them, wrenching cutlery back, and giving the giggling kids a stern talking-to.

  “Go mingle,” Lil said, when I went back for the third time to help serve. “We’ve got this covered.” She was giving me the chance to say goodbye properly.

  I smiled, crossing my arms and walking away, taking in the sights around me, soaking it up so I could remember it later. The joy on their faces, tables laden with food, the spilled drinks, a crimson splash across white tablecloths. The scent of maple syrup, hanging above like a cloud of sugar. Children playing kiss chasey, their squeals punctuating the day. Women, in clusters, heads bent over their wine glasses, gossiping. Couples flirting, one girl fluttering fake lashes like a movie star. I committed it all to memory, every single thing, the pulse of fairy lights above like stars in the daytime. I would paint this scene, so it would last forever. I’d paint Clay in the picture too. I knew every plane and groove on his face, the feel and fire of his lips, the flecks in his eyes. And the way he made me feel like no one ever had.

  Th
e party kicked on, well into the late afternoon. The stage was filled with people dancing, languidly as the heat, and the wine, made people sleepy. Streamers were scattered over the grass like ribbons.

  It had been a successful day, and I was proud of it. I bent to pick up balloon carcasses, and napkins that had flown away in the wind. There were still stragglers, people who didn’t want the day to end. I thanked them all for coming, and sold them bottles of maple syrup, shocked to see how many we’d sold throughout the course of the day. Clay wouldn’t have any more to sell until the following year.

  ***

  Once the pandemonium was over, I took a deep breath and wondered where on earth to start cleaning first. The last few couples strode back down the driveway, hand in hand. Moving to the tables, I picked up plates, and put the cutlery on top.

  Balancing dishes in my hands, I ferried them into the kitchen in the cottage. Washing up would be a monumental task, with blackened cookie sheets, and sticky saucepans galore, but I’d convinced the girls I’d do it alone later. They’d protested, but I was resolute. They’d worked so hard these last few weeks, they needed a break. It had been exhilarating pulling off the festival for such a huge amount of people, with only a few accidents, like a speaker blowing up, and a smashed plate or two, that needed fixing throughout the day.

  Outside, CeeCee and Lil sat nursing iced tea, spent, after a busy day.

  I joined them, falling into a sun lounger, and shading my eyes.

  “Walt’s clearing the chairs over yonder,” CeeCee said. “Man won’t listen when I said we’d do it.”

  I followed her gaze, to see Walt’s stooped figure slowly nesting the white plastic chairs. “He’s waiting for, Clay too,” I said.

  Lil and CeeCee averted their eyes, while Becca and Sarah chatted over a table by the stage, eating a plate of food that had probably gone cold by now. Poor girls had been run off their feet all day and hadn’t once stopped to catch their breath. My own stomach rumbled but I was too keyed up to contemplate eating.

  “He surely is,” CeeCee said.