Bitter Truth

by C. J. Carmichael

  “Now that Lacy’s died maybe they’ll cancel it.”

  “I expect the opposite to happen. Now that Lacy isn’t here to object, Vanessa will spend more than ever. But listen to me. I shouldn’t be gossiping.” Marsha sighed heavily. “It’s just sad to see how things have changed from when we were young. Your mother and I used to spend a lot of weekends on the Lazy S...Eugene and Clayton taught us to ride. Remember that, Rosemary?”

  From the back came a non-committal murmur. Tiff couldn’t tell if her mother had even been following the conversation.

  As soon as they were home, Marsha urged Rosemary to get ready for bed. “I’ll bring you up your herbal tea and pills.”

  Tiff wasn’t ready to go to bed yet, so she decided to watch TV. She set herself up on the sofa in the family room, pulling a blanket over her chilly feet. She made a note to buy thicker socks now that she was back in Montana. She needed other things too. A warmer coat, more sweaters, good boots.

  After half an hour on Netflix, Tiff still felt restless.

  She needed fresh air.

  In the hall Tiff snatched her navy down sweater from a peg, then let herself out the back door. The cold air pinched her nostrils, tightened the skin on her face, stung her eyes. She glanced toward the guest cabin—Kenny’s cabin now—and noticed a pale blue light in the windows. He must be watching television. She was tempted to knock on his door and see if he was up for a late nightcap.

  But something held her back. It wasn’t just the message from Craig. Since she’d met the new farm manager a strong attraction had been pulling her toward him, while an equal and opposite force warned her to be careful.

  She started to walk, heading toward the barn. After she tripped on a stone she couldn’t see she remembered the flashlight app on her phone. She switched it on, then played the light over the path. Decades ago her father had cleared a two-mile circuit through a stately grove of Douglas firs so they could take families for hayrides during Christmas tree season. She’d walk that.

  At first she enjoyed the sense of calm and quiet, but then a branch snapped. Tiny feet scurried over dried leaves. A huge mouse...or rat?...ran across the path, just inches from her boots, reminding her there were larger creatures who prowled the forests at night. Coyotes and wolves, maybe even bear and cougar.

  She decided to go back inside where it was safe and warm.

  She was hurrying, almost running toward the house when she heard a door close, and then a tired bark from the family’s old dog Spade.

  “Tiff? You out there?”

  It was Kenny. She turned and shone her torch toward the guest house. He was zipping up his jacket as he walked, Spade trotting beside him. As soon as the old dog noticed her, he raced for Tiff, nuzzling her legs when he finally caught up.

  Since the dog started having accidents in the house her mom and aunt had relegated him to the guest house with Kenny, who had more patience for that sort of thing. It was a decision Tiff wished she could over-rule. She crouched to give Spade a quick scratch, only stopping when Kenny caught up to her.

  As she studied Kenny’s wildly tousled hair and scruffy face, she was reminded of Heathcliff, a fictional hero she’d fantasized about in her youth. Kenny had a similar untamed air about him, but so far he’d been a perfect gentleman in all their encounters.

  “Not sure you should be out here walking alone.”

  She did feel safer now that he was here. “I was fine.”

  Even as she said that a howl started up from the foothills, the primitive calling of the coyotes that sounded so ghostly in the stillness of the night, especially when you were outside and vulnerable.

  “On second thought...”

  Kenny’s laugh was low and husky. “Yeah, that was perfectly timed. Want to walk? Or head inside for a Dark and Stormy?”

  The ginger and bourbon drink was a favorite of theirs, and Tiff was tempted. A few evenings now they’d shared a nightcap together. Each time she expected him to kiss her. For the kiss to go someplace more.

  But the kiss hadn’t happened yet.

  Maybe it never would. She’d created a mess out of her life in Seattle by acting on impulse. She didn’t want to do the same here. A relationship with Kenny would cause complications, not the least because he was the new manager of her family’s farm.

  She played her flashlight toward the woods. “Let’s walk.”

  After the briefest hesitation he said, “Sure,” and she couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved. Maybe, like her, he was both.

  Chapter Four

  Thursday, November 23

  Seven a.m. came much too early for Tiff. She grabbed for her phone in the still-dark room and jabbed at the button to make the alarm stop. She stretched, savoring the warmth of her bed, simultaneously dreading all the work ahead.

  When her father and brother were alive, holidays were filled with laughter and fun. Now she just hoped to get through the day.

  She grabbed her robe from the chair next to her bed, then turned on her lamp. Her gaze fell on the poster of a border collie puppy tacked onto the little-girl pink wall of her bedroom. God, she really needed to redecorate.

  With a loud sigh, she slipped on the robe. Thanksgiving dinner at Raven Christmas Tree Farm was traditionally served at two o’clock in the afternoon, so the workers would have the evening free to spend with family.

  The gargantuan turkey her aunt had purchased from a local organic farmer needed to be in the oven by eight and Tiff figured it was on her to make certain this happened.

  But she could smell fragrant onion, sage and thyme on her way down the stairs, and when she stepped into the kitchen, her mother was already stuffing the bird. Dressed in her faded jeans and old sweater, hair pulled up in a high ponytail, she looked at least ten years younger than her age.

  “You’re awake.”

  “Of course I’m awake. It’s Thanksgiving.”

  Tiff veered toward the coffee machine. Though her mother was a tea drinker, she’d put on a large pot. “Thank God you put on the coffee. You’re a life saver.”

  On the stove sat a huge batch of corn bread and sausage stuffing, which her mom was scooping out by the handful and pushing inside the turkey cavity.

  “You know the family saying,” her mother began.

  Tiff did. “The staff works hard for us all year long. The least we can do to show our appreciation is work hard for them one day out of three hundred and sixty-five.”

  “Exactly.”

  It was good to know that some family traditions still had the power to pull her mother out of her funk. If only this could be the beginning of a trend. But Tiff had seen too many of her mother’s highs and lows to allow herself to hope.

  What she could do, though, was enjoy each good day when it came their way.

  “I wish I remembered Grandma and Grandpa more clearly.”

  They’d both passed on when Tiff was still in grade school, before Casey and her father died. It was good they’d been spared those tragedies. But maybe if her mother’s parents were still alive, her mother wouldn’t have been so devastated by her losses.

  “They were serious, hardworking people. And they both loved this farm dearly. Dad was so relieved when your father agreed to work here after we were married. Dad had been afraid that with two daughters—and Marsha set on a nursing career—there’d be no one to take over the farm when he was gone.”

  “And now there’s only me.”

  “I didn’t mean to put any pressure on you, Tiffany. Your father and I agreed before we had children that we weren’t going to make them feel obliged to carry on the family business.”

  Rosemary added a final scoop of stuffing to the bird, then nodded toward a small ball of twine on the counter.

  “Please cut me off a couple feet of that so I can truss this bird. My hands are too sticky.”

  Tiff cut the twine and passed it over. It was so lovely to be chatting to her mom like this.

  “What else can I do to help?”


  “The schedule is by the sink. It’s pretty much the same as last year except we’re having corn fritters instead of corn pudding.”

  “That’s a pretty drastic breach of tradition, Mom.”

  When her mother laughed, Tiff’s heart felt lighter, too. Once, her mother had laughed all the time. Now it was a rare sound, one to be cherished.

  “I’ve put you in charge of peeling and mashing potatoes, preparing the appetizer tray and making sure we have plenty of wine, beer and soft drinks in the beverage fridge. I’d also like you to serve drinks once people start arriving.”

  Tiff picked up the painstakingly printed schedule. According to this, Tiffany, her aunt Marsha and her mother would have a job to do for every minute of the day until the guests left, from arranging the cornucopia centerpiece to carving the turkey and bringing the platter to the table.

  Tiff took her last gulp of coffee just as her aunt joined them in yoga pants and a long T-shirt. Marsha’s hair was in a ponytail as well, highlighting the delicate bone structure she shared with her sister.

  But that was where the resemblance between the two women ended. Marsha was dark-haired, Rosemary blonde. And while their features were similar, Rosemary’s were more delicate and her eye color a more intense blue.

  “Good morning, everyone.” Marsha stopped in the center of the room, taking in every detail. “Impressive, Rosemary. You’ve already made the stuffing.”

  “Yes. The bird is ready for the oven. Tiffany, please put it in for me. I need to wash my hands.” Arms bent up at the elbows, Rosemary made her way to the sink.

  “Have you had any breakfast?” Marsha asked, looking concerned.

  “A glass of orange juice.”

  “You need more than that. How about I make you a cup of tea and some toast?”

  “I can do it.”

  “Let me. You’ve got to pace yourself. It’s going to be a long, busy day.”

  And it was. Even with the three of them working non-stop, it took until one-thirty to get through the schedule, leaving only the carving of the turkey, which wouldn’t happen until serving time. Tiffany barely had time to change into a dress and put on a bit of makeup before the first guest arrived.

  Bob Jenkins was the full-time foreman at Raven Farms. He’d been with them for over a decade and so the family knew his wife Janet and their teenaged sons well. Bob was a man of few words, his wife was the opposite, while the teens were at that socially awkward stage where they couldn’t speak and look at a person at the same time. Tiff wondered if Bob had bribed or threatened them to convince them to attend. For sure it was one or the other. They both looked quietly miserable.

  Kenny arrived next, with a bouquet of white roses for the hostess. He’d tidied up his beard, and was wearing dark jeans and a buttoned, cotton shirt. It was the most effort Tiff had seen him make with his appearance since Riley’s funeral.

  And yet no amount of spit and polish could take the wild out of the man. Maybe it was his years as a backcountry ski guide, or maybe it was the sparkle in his brown eyes and the wicked tilt of his grin.

  As he presented the roses to Rosemary, Tiff happened to glance at her aunt and noticed a curious expression, as if she was displeased...or maybe hurt? It had to be difficult for Aunt Marsha. She did so much for all of them, yet Rosemary was still considered the hostess of Raven Farms.

  Once he’d finished saying hello to her mother and aunt, Tiff handed Kenny a beer. “The flowers were a nice touch. Mom loves roses.”

  “Maybe I should have bought something for Marsha as well. She’s the one I usually deal with when it comes to work. How is it that your mom ended up with the farm and not Marsha?”

  “Old-fashioned thinking. Maybe if my aunt had gotten married, it would have been different. But since she was single and had her nursing career, my grandparents decided to leave the house and farm to my parents.”

  “So was Marsha cut out of the will?”

  “She inherited other things. Money, investments, jewelry. I don’t know the particulars. Hopefully she felt it was fair.”

  “She can’t be too resentful, or she wouldn’t be here.”

  “She’s amazing. After my dad’s death she sold her own house so she could live with my mom and help her raise me and run the farm. I’ve seen the books and so have you. She doesn’t even draw a salary for all the work she does.”

  Kenny seemed about to say something, but there was a knock from the front door and Tiff hurried to open it. Jacob, one of their regular seasonal workers, had arrived with his wife, and right behind him was Robin, a young man whose fresh, round face made him seem too young to be working full-time, though Kenny assured her he was nineteen.

  Last to arrive was Rusty Thurston. Rusty was also a seasonal worker, and Tiff always struggled not to stare at the large tattoo at the side of his neck.

  Last time she’d spoken to Rusty she’d wondered if he’d had a crush on Riley, prior to her death. But if he had, he’d gotten over it quickly. He’d brought a date with him today: Gwen Lange, a young woman well known to Tiff and her family.

  Gwen, in her mid-twenties, worked as the full-time receptionist at the medi-clinic. Tiff could tell by her aunt Marsha’s raised eyebrows, that she hadn’t known Gwen was dating Rusty.

  “Hey, everyone.” Gwen’s tone was casual. “Hey, Marsha. Bet you’re surprised to see me.” She wrapped her hands around Rusty’s arm and leaned in to him. “Rusty just invited me last night. Hope it isn’t a problem.”

  “Of course it isn’t. It’s so nice to see you.” Marsha’s tone was smooth, too smooth. And the smile that followed was far from genuine.

  Interpreting a discreet nod from her mother, Tiff went to squeeze an extra place setting around the table. She was curious about Gwen. While an unexpected guest was a bit awkward, Marsha had seemed more annoyed than inconvenienced.

  But why? Didn’t she and Gwen get along?

  While Marsha spoke often, and fondly, about Doc Pittman, Tiff couldn’t recall her ever discussing Gwen, except when she’d first been hired. Marsha hadn’t seemed overly impressed with her then, citing a lack of alternate candidates as the main reason Dr. Pittman was taking her on.

  Once she had the new place setting ready, Tiff went to the kitchen where Kenny had taken over her bartending duties. He’d already served beer, sodas and wine to all the new arrivals, so she took the plate of appetizers and made the rounds.

  Bob’s teenagers were keen on the bison meatballs, while Janet and Gwen both gravitated to the mushroom tartlets. Used to seeing Gwen in the clinic environment, it was an adjustment to see her with a ring on one side of her nose.

  Noticing Tiff’s gaze, Gwen put a hand un-self-consciously to the ring. “I don’t wear this to work. Doc Pittman doesn’t approve.”

  It wasn’t the only thing different about Gwen’s appearance. Her eye makeup was darker and thicker, and her low-cut top and short skirt revealed a sleazier side to her personality. Rusty seemed to appreciate the look. Even when he was talking to the other guests, his gaze kept drifting back to his date.

  Kenny approached her from behind, whispering in her ear. “Young love. Isn’t it sweet?”

  A warm zing of attraction made her want to lean back in to him. Instead she whirled around putting the tray between them. “Meatball? Tartlet?”

  “Definitely the tartlet.”

  She had to laugh.

  Then her aunt announced it was time to sit at the table. Everyone shuffled around the table trying to find the place setting with their name beside it. Tiff offered to carve the turkey, but was relieved when Kenny took the knife out of her hands.

  “Okay if I carve?”

  When she’d first moved back home Kenny’s helpfulness around the farm had felt like over-stepping to her. Now she’d grown to like it. She relinquished the knife with a grateful smile.

  If tables could groan, Tiff had no doubt this one would have once all the veggies were emptied from the warming ovens and salads from the fridge. Two
huge platters of turkey—one with the white meat the other with the dark—were the final, crowning touches.

  Rosemary sat at her usual end of the table closest to the kitchen, while Marsha took the spot once reserved for Tiff’s father, and her grandfather before him. Marsha said grace then offered a toast to poor Riley Concurran, who would have been present, had her life not ended so prematurely.

  During the toast Tiff noticed the day was taking a toll on her mother. While Rosemary had changed into a sweater dress that flattered her elegant figure, her face was a tired, much-older version of the one Tiff had seen that morning. Most worrying of all, her beautiful eyes had the foggy, absent look Tiff dreaded.

  Her glass was filled with soda water, so Tiff couldn’t blame the effect on alcohol.

  Sadly, after all her hard work, her mom didn’t seem to enjoy the beautiful dinner she’d created. Every time Tiff glanced her way, her gaze was fixed on her plate, or she was staring vacantly over the heads of her guests. Those seated next to her—Bob Jenkins to her left and his wife Janet to her right—gave up attempting to include her in their conversation.

  Every dish, from the pecan-topped sweet potatoes, to the creamy gravy, and the crunchy Waldorf salad, was perfect.

  When it came time for dessert, no one, no matter how full they were, could resist having at least one slice of Rosemary’s pies. Most people had two, and a few had three.

  The apple and huckleberry pies had been baked from the freezer. The pumpkin was baked fresh yesterday. Thankfully her mom had had the foresight to prepare three of each.

  With the serving of coffee and brandy, Marsha took a moment to thank the employees of Raven Farms. “You all work hard, through tough weather from blizzards to windstorms, but I hope you take pride in knowing each and every tree we harvest is going to provide Christmas magic to the family who purchases it. We’ll be paying out our usual bonuses on Christmas Eve, but today you’re all welcome to take your pick of the trees home for your own families to enjoy.”

  A similar speech was given every year. It might have sounded rote to an outsider, but Tiff knew her family meant the words sincerely. At Raven Farms providing Christmas magic to families was their ultimate goal. Tiff remembered her father saying that if growing trees ever started to feel like producing widgets, he’d be out of the business in a flash.