Bitter Harvest

by Sheila Connolly

  “Hey, I appreciated it. But if you take care of the cemetery, you’ll probably see a lot more of me there. I’ve got plenty of ancestors buried there.”

  “We do get a lot of people looking for ancestors, but mostly in summer,” John said. “I’m not interested in all that family history stuff—don’t have the time.”

  A woman with a baby climbed out of the truck and called out. Meg guessed she was in her thirties. She was dressed for the weather, although she wore no hat and her fine blonde hair was pulled back carelessly. “You gonna be long, John? Eli really needs a clean diaper.”

  “Almost. Hey, Jenn, come over and meet Meg—she’s the new owner here.”

  Jennifer didn’t look too excited about the idea, but she came over, balancing the baby on her hip, and stuck out a hand. “Hi, I’m Jennifer, John’s wife. And this is Eli. I guess we’re neighbors.”

  Her tone wasn’t exactly enthusiastic, Meg thought. “Nice to meet you, Jenn,” Meg said. “I’ll probably be seeing more of John, if he’s working with Seth. Hi, Eli.” Meg waggled her fingers at the baby.

  Meg was no expert, but Eli looked to be no more than two. He was blond like his mother, and he regarded Meg with a blank stare. Meg smiled at him, but Eli didn’t return the smile.

  “You have kids?” Jenn asked.

  “No. It’s just me and my housemate, Bree. Have you met her, John?”

  He nodded. “Jamaican girl, right? I’ve seen her, but not to talk to. She works in the orchard, doesn’t she?”

  “She manages it,” Meg corrected him. “I’m kind of new to farming and orchards. I can’t pay her what she’s worth, so I give her free room and board, which is why she’s living here.”

  “John, come on,” Jenn whined, jiggling the baby.

  “Okay, okay. Seth, you want to go over the schedule for the week?”

  “Sure. It’s inside.” Seth led John into the barn extension that held his office, leaving Meg and Jenn standing awkwardly in the middle of the driveway.

  “How old is Eli?” Meg asked.

  “He’s one. Well, sixteen months,” Jenn said curtly, and didn’t volunteer anything more.

  “You have other kids?”

  “No.”

  Meg gave up trying to make conversation. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Jenn. I’ve got some things to do inside.”

  Jenn didn’t seem heartbroken by her departure. From the kitchen window Meg watched as Jenn climbed back into the truck, then honked the horn several times. She certainly was impatient. Hadn’t Seth said that John had lost his job? Jenn should be happy that he was finding even odd jobs at the moment. Maybe she was just stressed out, or embarrassed. John and Seth emerged from the barn, and John joined his wife in the truck and did a k-turn before heading off down the road away from town.

  Seth knocked at the back door, and Meg went to let him in. “Was it something I said?” Meg asked.

  “You mean Jenn’s attitude? Don’t take it personally—she’s having a hard time. But John’s a good guy, and a hard worker.”

  “Didn’t you tell me their child was sick?”

  “Yeah. Poor Eli. It’s some kind of neurological thing. They don’t talk about it a lot, and I don’t like to pry.”

  Maybe that explained his lack of responsiveness. “That’s a shame. You want some coffee or something?” Meg asked.

  “No, I’ve got to run.”

  “But it’s Sunday!” Meg protested.

  “Yes, but the big box stores are open, and I’ve got to get my supplies together for this week. What the heck were you doing over by the cemetery?”

  “Looking for Violet. I know, I know—kind of stupid, since I didn’t even have her married name at the time—I guess I thought I should be drawn to her mortal remains by some psychic connection or something. But even I should know it’s pretty deserted over there. I ran into John there. Is that one of those municipal jobs you were telling me about?”

  “Yup. Actually it works out well for everyone. The town can’t afford to hire a full-time maintenance crew, so we pay him hourly on an as-needed basis, and maintaining the cemetery is one of those intermittent things he does. He needs the work, and we need the work done. We asked him to keep the main paths clear.”

  “Lousy time to be looking for work. Anyway, when I came back Gail had emailed me to say that Violet married Abiel Morgan here. I checked the censuses for Morgans, trying to figure out if Violet stuck around, and I found only one family with that name, so I should be on the right track. I think she and her husband lived out their days here in Granford, but I haven’t figured out which kids were theirs. Does the name ring any bells with you?”

  “Not offhand. But you do know that almost everyone in this town is related somehow?”

  “Including me, apparently. I guess it keeps surprising me. It’s a wonder my great-grandfather ever escaped the place.”

  “We let people out now and then—but we can’t afford to lose much more of the population. Well, I’ve got to get moving. See you later!”

  Back inside, Meg wandered aimlessly, tidying the kitchen, and then drifted into the dining room, where Bree was sitting surrounded by piles of paper.

  “Just the person I wanted to see,” Bree said, looking smug.

  “You’re finished?” Meg asked.

  “Rough version, at least. You want me to summarize? Unless you’re too busy right now.”

  “Bree!” Meg checked to make sure she was joking.

  “Just kidding! You’ve been bugging me for weeks. Here.” Bree handed Meg a single sheet of paper. “This is the simple version—I’m still tweaking the details, but this’ll give you the big picture.”

  Meg scanned the page, willing herself not to go straight to the bottom line, which was . . . small but positive. She looked up at Bree. “We made money?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we did. Not a lot, but not too shabby for the first year. Let me go over some of the details.”

  As Bree started reviewing the numbers and her calculations, Meg was surprised by her own reaction. Sure, she had a background in financial analysis, and she recognized the parameters that Bree was outlining for her. But at the same time, she had no way of knowing whether the results in individual categories were good or bad.

  When Bree had wrapped up her short version, Meg said slowly, “So let me get this straight.” She started ticking off points. “We paid competitive salaries this year, but we’ll have to go up a bit next year?”

  Bree nodded. “Maybe 5 percent.”

  “You’ve figured in capital depreciation?”

  Bree snorted. “That antique tractor?”

  “Well, it was a capital expenditure. So was building the storage chambers. I’ll have to review the IRS regulations. How much of the gear and containers will we have to replace next year?”

  “Maybe 20 percent. That’s about normal.”

  “Did you figure in mileage for deliveries?”

  “Yes.”

  “Insurance costs?”

  “Yes.”

  Meg thought for a moment. “What would you change, going forward, to optimize our marketing?”

  “I’m not in any hurry to figure that out. This year, nobody knew who we were. I’ll bet they knew the apples and the trees better than they knew either of us. Next year they’ll know what we’re offering, and that we can deliver what we promised. We’ll probably pick up some more orders, maybe 20 percent.”

  “All right. What about new tree stock?”

  “We could add some trees on the north end, but you know that they won’t bear for a few years.”

  “Seth offered to lease us some of his land, long-term, if we wanted to expand in that direction.”

  “Oh ho!” Bree said. “That’s talking serious commitment.”

  “I know. I told him I’d think about it.” Meg looked Bree squarely in the eye. “So what’s your professional assessment?”

  “Looking at this as a business? I won’t sugarcoat it—it’s not terrific, but unde
r the circumstances it’s not bad. You’re paying me a pittance, and you’re not taking any salary yourself at the moment. That’s not a great long-term plan. But you’ve got good tree stock, you’ve established relationships with your vendors, and I’ll bet you’ve learned a heck of a lot. Right?”

  “That’s the truth.”

  “Then I think this is a good outcome,” Bree said triumphantly.

  To her dismay, Meg realized she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She’d been waiting for these results for weeks, and now that she had them, she didn’t know what to make of them. What had she expected? A five-figure profit? That was unreasonable and she knew it. She knew the trouble small farmers faced—she should be ecstatic just to be in the black after her first year. But did the results justify all the hard work she—and to be fair, Bree, too—had put into it? Could she see herself doing this in ten or twenty years’ time?

  “You don’t look very happy, Meg,” Bree said. “Do you know how hard it is to make a profit at all in this business? And you—we—pulled it off on the first try.”

  “I know, and I really appreciate all you’ve done, Bree.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “I’m weighing the profit against the amount of work it took to make it.”

  Bree stood up abruptly, her eyes cold. “So you’re just dabbling in this, to see if you like it? And if it’s too hard, you’re just going to walk away?”

  Bree’s anger startled Meg. “No, that’s not what I meant. Hey, you know I want to see this work. I’ve enjoyed the work, even the sweaty physical stuff, and I’ve loved learning something new. But I need to believe it’s a good business decision to keep going. And I need to decide that now, before I invest too much more energy into it.”

  Bree regarded her for a long moment. “Well, let me know what you decide. If I’m going to be looking for work, I’d rather know sooner than later.” She stalked out of the room and went up the stairs.

  Meg continued to sit, staring at nothing, shocked by Bree’s vehement reaction. She had disappointed Bree—that much was clear. And Bree had done a terrific job. So why wasn’t she happier with the outcome? What the heck did she want from her life? If there were some cosmic guarantee that she could keep on doing what she had done for the past year, and that costs and income would keep pace with each other, would the return on her investment of energy be enough? It was honest work, if hard. Did she want to go back to city offices and endless number crunching?

  And what was forcing the decision? She had come to love the house, cold and drafty and decrepit as it was. She liked the town, and she was beginning to make friends. And then there was Seth . . . was he part of the problem? Their relationship seemed to be moving forward in fits and starts. They were both busy people, and she’d told him from the beginning that she wasn’t ready to jump into anything right away: she’d been burned by her last relationship, and she had wanted to focus on learning the business, seeing if she could make it work. Well, she was definitely over Chandler Hale, and apparently the business was solid, if not highly profitable. What was she waiting for?

  Bree came clomping down the stairs. “I’m going over to Michael’s,” she said curtly.

  “Bree, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rain on your parade.”

  “Yeah, whatever. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Bree pulled on her jacket and hat and slammed out the back door. Meg heard Bree’s car start up and watched as she pulled out of the driveway. She took a deep breath, then picked up the phone.

  “Seth, are you busy?”

  23

  Seth had still been in his office next door, so he appeared a few minutes later. “What’s up?” he asked, as he hung up his coat. “You sounded upset.”

  Meg struggled to find an answer and chose to duck the question. “You want something to drink?”

  “Sure. Beer if you’ve got it. Stay there—I know where to look.” He went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. He knuckled Lolly’s head before turning to Meg and leaning against the refrigerator. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I know.” Might as well get straight to the point. “Bree finally finished working the numbers for the orchard operation,” she said.

  “Are they bad?”

  “No, we actually made a profit. A small one.”

  “That’s great! So what’s the problem? Because you don’t look exactly happy.”

  His smile should have warmed her, but it didn’t. “I don’t know.” Which was the absolute truth. She wanted to be happy—didn’t she?

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Yes, I guess so.” Meg sighed. “After she gave me a summary, Bree got mad at me and left in a huff because I guess I didn’t seem enthusiastic enough for her. I can’t blame her. I should have realized how important this was for her. I mean, it’s her first job, and she’s worked really hard, under difficult conditions, and then I go and blow her off. Could you pour me a glass of wine?”

  Seth complied, handing her a full glass. Meg took it from him and downed a healthy swig. She realized that Seth was watching her. “What?”

  “I’m worried about you. You get what should be good news and it makes you depressed. Did you expect something different?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know what I expected. For so long I was focused on getting through the harvest—just surviving, I guess. I don’t think I had any specific expectations. What’s worse, I don’t really understand why I’m not happier.”

  “Agriculture isn’t easy—you must have figured that out by now. You shouldn’t expect too much. Any profit is good these days.”

  “I know that, at least in my head. I grasped how hard it all was about the third week in the orchard. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Well, you’re stressed out,” Seth said.

  “Why do you say that? This is the easiest time I’ve had since I arrived. In fact, I keep looking for things to do, which is why I’ve been sucked into all this genealogy stuff, and figuring out the sampler. I’m getting plenty of rest, and probably eating too much.”

  “Well, there was the furnace going out on you, and a major blizzard. And then this harassment business. It’s a lot, coming all at once.”

  Meg laughed bitterly. “I’m not even sure if this so-called harassment is anything more than a series of coincidences. Maybe my karma is misaligned, or there’s a full moon this week. Things happen. It doesn’t mean there’s anyone behind them.”

  “And if there is?”

  “Seth, we’ve been over this before. I have no idea why anyone would have a grudge against me. I haven’t seen anyone doing anything suspicious. Maybe I’m just being overimaginative, now that I’m not perpetually exhausted.”

  Meg held out her now-empty glass, and Seth refilled it without comment. Lolly jumped down from her perch on the refrigerator and started winding around Meg’s ankles. “Oh, right—you want food.” Meg stood up and found a can of cat food in a cabinet and spooned out half of it on a plate, which she set on the floor. Without looking at Seth, Meg said, “You’re not saying much.”

  “I’m not sure what you want me to say. It sounds like this is something you have to work through in your own head.”

  “And here I was looking for a father confessor and kindly counselor.”

  Seth held out his hands in protest. “Were you? Meg, what do you want from me? If you want advice, I’ll give you advice.”

  “I haven’t asked for advice.”

  “Then why am I here?” Seth asked.

  Meg opened her mouth to answer, although she wasn’t sure what she was going to say, when she was startled by the sound of breaking glass, followed by a distant crack. Seth threw her to the floor, landing on top of her, and she realized that the window over the sink was now in the sink and all over the floor, and cold air was rushing into the room.

  “What was that?” she managed to say from under Seth’s weight.

  “That,” Seth said, his voice tight,
“was a rifle shot. Which just blew out your window. Did you see anyone outside?”

  “What, just now? No, I was looking at you. I guess nobody can say I was imagining that.” The reality of what had happened finally caught up to her: that had been a bullet, and it could have hit her, or Seth. She began to shake.

  “Stay there,” Seth ordered, and stood up, keeping away from the gaping hole that had been the window. He moved to the back door and looked out cautiously. He didn’t move for several moments, then he came back to the kitchen. “No one out there now, that I can see.”

  “You think it was a hunter?”

  “If it was, he’s an idiot. You never fire a shot without knowing where your target is, and what lies on the other side. Which in this case is houses—including yours. That shot could have hit you. I’m going to call Art—he needs to know there’s some damn fool out there shooting carelessly.”

  Meg picked herself up off the floor, avoiding the pieces of glass. “What about the window?”

  Seth was fishing in a zipped outer pocket for his cell phone. “Let me call Art first. I think I’ve got some plywood that would fit.” He stalked into the dining room to make the call.

  When he came back, Meg asked, “Is this hunting season? Because I have seen deer up in the orchard. They like the fallen apples.”

  Seth snapped his phone shut. “Art’s on his way. The state hunting season runs from October through the end of December, and it’s still open. But any hunter is supposed to have a hunting license, so there’d be a record. That doesn’t mean somebody isn’t poaching. Or it could be someone after coyote—there are a lot of them around now, and they’re getting to be a nuisance. But how can anybody be so stupid?”

  “I hadn’t even realized,” Meg said. “Is that my land, beyond the meadow?”

  “Part of it is, to the other side of that stand of trees. Technically, it’s illegal to hunt without the owner’s permission anyway. Apparently whoever it was didn’t know—or didn’t care.”