Sour Apples

by Sheila Connolly

  “You’re working late,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks.” He brushed past her. “I wanted to let you know that Jake and the backhoe will arrive tomorrow morning. I saw Bree earlier and she said you needed it to do some clearing before you started digging holes, so I figured the sooner it was here, the better. I told Jake to meet you at the house, and Bree can show him where to go. If it’s too hard to make it up the slope from here, he can go overland from my place. Okay? Also, I’ve got a generic form for the lease, and Bree’s meeting the surveyor tomorrow morning to work out the details.”

  “Wow, you’re fast. That’s great, Seth. Thank you.”

  “How was your event?”

  “Odd, in a way. Good crowd, very posh academic, if you know what I mean. The candidate was in good form and actually spent some time talking to me. Didn’t even ask me for money, although he did ask if I’d like to help out with the campaign. I turned him down, said I was too busy. He asked after you.”

  “I can’t think why. He barely knew I existed in high school. There were other people in Granford that he was closer to.”

  “Seth, is there some story there that I should know about? Or that Lauren should know?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing important, just personal. I didn’t like him much, that’s all.”

  “Well, he seems to be enjoying the role of candidate at the moment. At the least, he’s been very well prepped.”

  “Rick Sainsbury usually gets what he wants. Well, it’s getting late—I should go home and give Max one last run. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Meg.” He gave her a quick kiss and went out into the night.

  12

  At breakfast Meg told Bree, “The backhoe should be arriving shortly.”

  “Seth set it up? Great. Did he tell you that the surveyor is coming this morning?”

  “He did. Things are really moving fast.”

  “They have to if we want to get the trees in this year.”

  “But we won’t see apples from them for a while, right?”

  “Two to five years, in general. Maybe a little faster for dwarf stock. Assuming, of course, that all other conditions permit. Don’t crap out on me now, Meg,” Bree warned.

  “I’m not. But I’m committing to land—and paying for it—that I won’t see any return on for at least two years. It’s kind of scary.”

  “It’s a good long-term strategy, Meg. Ask Christopher.”

  “I should talk to him anyway. I haven’t seen him for a while. But that campaign thing I went to last night? The host seemed to know of him.”

  “Yeah, Christopher is pretty well-known. Oops—that looks like the surveyor,” Bree said as a pickup truck pulled into the driveway. “You want to watch?’

  “I think I’d just be in the way. I’ll stay here and wait for the backhoe to show up and guide them up when they get here.”

  “Deal. Well, here we go!” Bree grabbed her jacket and went out the back door to greet the man who emerged from the pickup. Together they went around to the front of the house and started up the hill.

  Meg made a mental note to pull out her copies of the original deeds for the property, which might or might not shed light on the northern boundary where her land abutted the Chapin property. Lauren wandered into the kitchen.

  “You don’t have a meeting this morning?” Meg greeted her.

  “Yes, but not until nine,” she replied, helping herself to coffee.

  “I didn’t hear you come in last night,” Meg said. “How was the rest of the event?”

  Lauren sat down at the table. “Good, I think. Rick made some good contacts. What did you think of it?”

  “It was nice. Not too pushy, not too obvious. You do a lot of these?”

  “Right now, yes, all over the district. Sometimes I have to remind Rick which town we’re in. But I think we’re building some momentum. What’s up with you?”

  “Surveying the land so we can finalize a lease for the orchard extension. Getting the backhoe up the hill so we can clear the rows and dig holes. Waiting for the new trees to arrive. And then I thought I’d get a manicure.”

  “Sounds nice. Oh, you were kidding about the last part, right?”

  “The manicure? Yes. I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”

  “Sorry, I was, I just keep running through all the things I have to do. You know, it’s hard to imagine doing this for the next eight months.”

  Meg looked out the window to see a large, angular, muddy piece of machinery rolling past: the backhoe. She stood up. “Duty calls.”

  “Hey, is that thing going to block me in?” Lauren protested. “I’m parked at the back.”

  “I’ll go talk to the driver. It needs to go up the hill, and I’ll have to show him where.”

  Meg went out the back door and found the backhoe driver leaning against his rig, waiting for her.

  “Hey, Meg.”

  “Hi, Jake. Good to see you again. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

  “Not a problem. Seth caught me between jobs. You need some work done in your orchard?”

  “That’s right—we’re putting in some new trees up the hill. I’ll have to show you where, because you can’t really see it from here.” Meg led him around to the front of the house and pointed. “That’s my orchard, and that’s where we’re expanding, over to the right and down the hill. We think it’s about three acres in all. We need to clear the rows and dig holes for the new trees. My manager Briona Stewart is up there now with the surveyor, and she can tell you what to do. Can you make it up the slope with your machine, or will you have to go around?”

  Jake eyed the rise for a few moments, then said, “No problem. Might chew up your lawn a bit, though.”

  Meg stifled a laugh: “lawn” didn’t exactly describe the patch of brown weeds in front of her house. “That’s okay. You go on up and talk to Bree, and she’ll tell you what to do. They’ll have the boundaries worked out when you get there.”

  As they headed back for the parked backhoe, Seth’s van pulled into the now extremely crowded driveway. Seth couldn’t get by the backhoe, and the backhoe couldn’t leave until Seth made way, and Lauren couldn’t go anywhere until the two of them had sorted things out.

  Seth jumped out of his van. “Hey, Jake, good to see you. Thanks for coming by so quickly.”

  “I’m glad I was free. Looks like a short job—should be done today or tomorrow. If you’ll get yourself out of my way, that is.”

  Seth laughed, then climbed straight back into the van and backed out to the street while Jake pivoted his machine carefully until he was pointed up the hill. He waved to Seth and Meg and then set off at a sedate five miles per hour on his way up the hill. Seth pulled back into the drive and parked in front of his work space, taking stock of the parked cars as he walked toward Meg.

  “So, the surveyor is here. Up the hill with Bree?”

  Meg nodded.

  “In case you’re wondering, surveying doesn’t take long in this digital age, so they should be done by the time Jake gets up there. When’re the trees coming?

  “Bree said today. I guess we’ll be all set, with holes and everything. A thousand holes sounds like a lot to me, but Bree swears it’s doable, and Jake seemed to agree.”

  “You want Jake to come back and help you fill them in?”

  “No, I think we can handle the planting ourselves.”

  “If I’ve got the time, I’ll come help.”

  “I’d appreciate it. Thank you for making all this happen so fast.”

  Lauren emerged from the back door, carrying a bag and a laptop. “Hi, Seth. Hey, guys, I really need to get out,” she said plaintively.

  “Hi, Lauren. I’ll get out of your way,” Seth replied.

  “Thanks, Seth. See you later, Meg.”

  Meg was still tidying the kitchen when she saw the surveyor climb into his car and take off. The first step was done! Meg decided to go up the hill and watch Jake clea
r the land. She pulled on a jacket, locked the door behind her, and climbed the hill to join Bree. “How’s it going?”

  “Good. He’s got the rows cleared already.”

  Meg studied the wavering rows that ran along the hill. “Wow, that was fast!”

  Bree grinned. “Aren’t you glad you aren’t doing it all by hand?”

  “Amen to that,” Meg said. “Are you going to oversee the digging?”

  “Of course. You should join us.”

  Meg waved at Jake in the cab of the backhoe as he came near.

  He leaned out. “Fifteen-foot spacing for the rows, just like you asked. You said eight feet apart for the holes?”

  “Yup. You need me to measure?”

  “Sure, just stick some stakes where you want me to dig. I figure I can do a single hole in maybe thirty seconds, unless you want something fancy. I mostly dig trenches for pipes.”

  Meg did some quick mental math. “Jake, that’s going to be at least eight hours of digging!”

  “Sure is. I can come back tomorrow morning and finish up, and you can plant where it’s already cleared.” Jake didn’t seem worried in the least.

  “The holes don’t have to be too deep or wide—about two feet across and down. Let’s do this!” Bree set off at a lope, down the line in the grass that had already been cleared, and Meg followed.

  “What do you want me to do?” Meg called out over the rumbling noise of the backhoe.

  “Keep an eye on Jake. And watch for the tree delivery guy—he might show up early. If he does, you can tell him where to put the trees.”

  “Which is where?” Meg asked. She had no idea how much space a thousand infant apple trees would occupy. “Up here?”

  “Not yet. I want to bring them up in batches. We can haul them up with the tractor. But if they sit in the sun, the roots will dry out, and I’d rather not risk it. We’ve got plenty of room in the barn, so tell him to unload in there. If you see the truck, go on down and direct traffic there.”

  “Got it.” She watched, feeling extraneous, as Jake maneuvered his small machine into position and dug the first hole. Bree moved ahead of him, pacing off measurements and plunging stakes into the ground. After Jake had dug the first hole, Bree came over to inspect it and gave him a thumbs-up sign. “Only nine hundred and ninety-nine to go!” she said, waving him forward.

  Meg peered into the hole, then knelt and picked up a handful of soil and juggled it on her palm. It looked good, as far as she could tell—not too much sand or clay, and it had broken up easily. That was where her expertise ran out. She tried to imagine planting the trees; the trees, she knew, would be barely more than a three-foot stem and a small root ball, but filling the holes, by hand, or rather, by shovel, was going to demand some real physical labor. Still, that was farming.

  The soil in her hand brought her back to thoughts of Joyce. Had there really been a problem with the pasture that Joyce had leased, or had someone deliberately poisoned the cows? Joyce had entered into an agreement with the town in good faith and apparently hadn’t had the land tested until the cows had sickened. Had she been relying on earlier testing? Would the town have records of that? Meg realized that the sound of the backhoe had changed: it was idling. Bree beckoned her over.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Not a problem—I just thought you’d like to see this before we move it,” Bree said.

  Meg looked at the latest hole Jake had started. “What is it?”

  “It’s an old plowshare,” Bree said. “Probably late nineteenth century. I can’t believe it hasn’t rusted away completely. Wonder why someone would have just walked away and left it.”

  Meg laughed. “You haven’t been paying attention. Everywhere I look, I keep finding abandoned bits of equipment. The barn was full of them before we cleared it out. Seems messy, but I guess our predecessors didn’t think they were important enough to waste energy on.”

  “Huh,” Bree said. “Okay, Jake, dig it out and keep going.”

  The skeletal plowshare crumbled away as they watched.

  13

  The trees arrived as promised, late in the day, stacked up in the back of an open flatbed truck. Meg went down the hill to greet the driver.

  “Where you want ’em?” the driver asked as he climbed down from the cab.

  “In the barn there. Here, let me help you. Are they sorted by variety?”

  The guy shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I just deliver ’em.”

  From a quick scan, Meg guessed the answer was no. Great: a thousand trees in no particular order. Right now they all looked like naked sticks with roots, but she was relieved to see color-coded plastic tags identifying each one.

  “Okay, I’ll show you where to put them.” She led the way to the barn, where she had already cleared space near the big sliding doors. The driver grabbed a bunch of trees and followed, dumping them against the side of the holding chambers and turning back for more.

  Meg had no idea which ones were going to go where along the slope—she assumed that Bree had figured all that out. Right now, she decided, she’d just segregate the trees inside the barn by variety. She started sorting, and the driver kept dumping more and more trees in the main pile. Meg wanted to protest at the rough way he handled her precious babies, but no doubt he had other trips to make and was in a hurry, and besides, they were only trees, right? But they were her trees, and each one carried the potential for bushels of future apples.

  The truck driver had gone and Meg had just finished distributing the trees into groups when Bree and Jake came down the hill—Bree had hitched a ride in the cab of the backhoe. She looked elated as she climbed out. “Thanks, Jake. See you tomorrow morning.”

  Jake tipped his cap to Meg, and Bree let him pull out of the driveway, waving farewell, before crossing to the barn, where Meg was waiting. “So, we’ve got trees, huh?” Bree said, surveying the messy stacks.

  “We do. I divided them up by variety. Basically, the four kinds we chose, plus I think your contact threw in a few extras and some oddballs. Anything else we need to do with them tonight? We aren’t going to plant until tomorrow, right?”

  “Not unless you want to do it by flashlight. They’ll be fine here overnight. It may take us a couple of days to get them all in. Hope your shoveling muscles are in good shape.”

  “As ready as they’ll ever be. Why’d you pick these particular varieties?”

  “A combination of things. One, they’re all old varieties that originated in New England or maybe New York State—like the Baldwins that came from the eastern part of Massachusetts. Two, it was what the nursery had enough of, in stock. We got a good price for ’em, and Christopher says the dealer’s honest.”

  “So why’s he quitting the business?”

  “Retiring, I guess. Let’s close up for the night. I could really use a shower.”

  “I’ll let you go first, while I get started on dinner. Unless you want to order a pizza?”

  “Pizza sounds good to me. Although you may need to do it again tomorrow, and the day after—however long it takes to get these babies into the ground.”

  Together they closed the big barn doors and clicked the padlock shut. Not that anyone was going to sneak in and steal a thousand trees, but the old tractor and its attachments and the rickety pickup they’d bought to deliver apples were also stored in there, and Meg couldn’t afford to lose those. Funny to think she had an orchard just sitting in her barn.

  Back inside, Bree disappeared up the stairs, and a moment later Meg heard running water. Bree was right: tomorrow they’d be even more exhausted, so maybe she should cook tonight. She found a jar of spaghetti sauce that she could fancy up a bit, and dry spaghetti to go with it: done. After she had set a large pot on the stove to boil and fed Lolly, she remembered that she’d meant to ask Gail Selden, the director—and only staff member—of the Granford Historical Society, if she had any information about earlier Granford orchards and tree varieties. Maybe while she was at it she sho
uld ask Gail what she knew about the Truesdell property. Meg went into the dining room and booted up the computer to send an e-mail to Gail before she forgot again. Her request wasn’t urgent—better to give Gail a brief explanation in writing and let her look into it at her leisure.

  What did she need to know? Meg still wasn’t sure where Joyce’s problem pasture was, or even the dairy farm, but Gail had grown up in Granford, so surely she would know the broad outlines of the properties on the north side of town, where Seth had said the Truesdells’ farm was located. Meg began typing.

  After briefly laying out her question about local orchards, she thought for a moment, then added, Gail—I’m sure you’ve also heard about Joyce Truesdell’s unfortunate death, and then stopped. Had anyone stated publicly that it was murder? If Meg asked her anything about the property, out of the blue like this, Gail would probably draw her own conclusions as to why. But Gail was also discreet, so Meg decided to go ahead.

  I heard that Joyce and her husband wanted to expand their herd and had leased a pasture from the town. Some of their cows got sick, and Joyce had their blood tested and found the cause was lead poisoning. Seth’s looking into the history of the land from the town’s point of view, but I wondered if the Society has any older documents that might shed some light on how lead could’ve gotten into that pasture. No rush if you’re busy—Seth still has to pull together the town’s records.

  Meg hesitated a moment before adding

  I know I can trust you not to spread this around until we all know the details. Thanks!

  Meg reread what she’d written and hit Send.

  She went back to the kitchen and started sautéing onions, garlic, and sausage to add to the jarred sauce. Bree came down again, her hair wet. “Smells great. Of course, I’m starving.”

  “You got a lot done today,” Meg said, stirring.

  “Hey, it’s only a couple of acres, no big deal. And we’re all set for tomorrow—we start planting at the top while Jake finishes up the holes in the last two rows. Weather should be good. I love it when a plan comes together!”