A Hopeful Harvest

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Mortie just got here, she texted back. I’ll be right over.

  A young woman was with Mortie, and they both came toward Libby. “Libby, this is Courtney Meyers. She’s going to be your new home health aide.”

  “Welcome.” Libby extended her hand. “Your time here is important to us, Courtney, and my granddad isn’t always in the best frame of mind. I hope—”

  “I lost two great-uncles to Alzheimer’s,” the younger woman said. “Two kind, funny men who weren’t all that kind and funny when their brains stopped working right, so I know the confusion can make people nervous. Or make them snap over little things. I’m new at doing this, but not so new at life.”

  Libby could appreciate those words better than most, because she’d become an old hand at life’s turns and twists at a mighty young age. “Then I’m glad to meet you. Let me take you guys in. Gramps was awake when I came out back, but he may have dozed off now.”

  “And waste a September day sleepin’ when I should be workin’?” Cleve half bellowed the words as he came toward the door. He’d been dressed in the sweatpants and pull-on shirt that worked well inside the house and out, but Gramps had always worn his old bib overalls during picking time.

  He must have gone digging for them, because Libby hadn’t seen them since the close of harvest last year. He’d found them, though. They were wrinkled and he’d pulled them on backward. One arm was through the metal-clasped suspender. The other suspender was left dangling. “They don’t fit like they used to,” he complained as the women went through the door. “I told Carolyn I thought I’d dropped some weight, but she’s been busy, you know, takin’ care of Libby. Shoulda gone and done the shopping myself.”

  “Cleve, I do not think it’s the overalls that are the problem,” Mortie declared. She laughed, and to Libby’s relief, Gramps laughed, too. “Remember how we said those snaps were getting hard on old fingers? Well, let’s see if we can get these pants to fit properly. I know you like wearing them,” she continued. She ushered Gramps back inside as she spoke, and sent Libby a quiet look, mouthing, I’ve got this.

  Libby took the hint.

  Gramps would argue less with Mortie about the overalls, and if Mortie was here for a few hours, she could go up the road to the barn with a clear conscience.

  She was halfway there when she realized something was different. Quite different. As she got closer, she slowed the car down, amazed.

  The front of the barn gleamed with fresh red paint. Above the doors, someone had painted “O’Laughlin Orchards, Fine Fruits in Season” and the two old windows that faced the road had been replaced with new insulated windows that gleamed in the afternoon sun. The old sliding door had been replaced by two nine-light country-friendly doors with cross-buck bottoms, all trimmed out in the barn-red-and-white motif.

  The driveway and parking area had been smoothed. Fresh gray stone led right to the barn, and along the front of the barn stood thick, sturdy display tables. Three for apples, one for plums, one with firewood and kindling and one marked “Just-picked vegetables.”

  She hadn’t grown a single tomato this year. And not one pepper, but this table was plainly marked with a kaleidoscope of veggie tags. Bicolor Sweet Corn. Green Peppers. Red Peppers. Butternut Squash. Sweet Onions. And more.

  She parked the old truck in front and stepped down.

  Jax hadn’t just cleaned up the place. He’d detailed it, giving curb appeal top priority and as she was wrapping her head around that, he appeared at the double doors. “You like?”

  Did she like it?

  Her eyes started filling with tears.

  Jax stopped instantly, hands up, palms out. “Whoa.”

  His reaction made her laugh back the tears. “What did you expect?” she scolded as she swiped the backs of her hands to her cheeks. “This isn’t just throwing up a few shelving units to hold apples.”

  “We did that, too, and we added some more lighting. And a dividing wall there, so you can run equipment in the back and keep the front clean for sales.”

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “I didn’t do it alone,” he went on, as if he’d done nothing big at all. “A couple of buddies pitched in yesterday. It’s all surface stuff.” He stepped aside as she walked inside. “But it makes it more approachable and noticeable, right?”

  “Absolutely.” They’d installed three rows of two-tiered shelving inside. And two large old china cabinets stood along the back wall.

  “My buddy’s mom had these in storage and they’re too big for most houses these days. He thought they might work for displaying stuff.”

  Might work?

  She was already envisioning jars of jam and scented candles, with colorful gourds on the sides, adding a touch of fall. “They’re perfect. And I can paint them and distress them over the winter so they’re vintage-looking for next year. Jax, I don’t know what to say except thank you. Thank you so much.”

  * * *

  Next year.

  As her words registered, he fought off a wince. Was she seriously thinking about staying in business? With all the work that entailed?

  As soon as that thought entered his head, he quashed it.

  Who was he to advise her to sell? To get out of the apple business and live her life? He wasn’t exactly the prime example of a take-charge person anymore.

  But you could be.

  And maybe you’re closer to that goal than you realize. Why not call that guy in Seattle and check out that new therapy? You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.

  Libby spun in a circle, taking in all the changes. They’d kept it rustic, but added overhead lighting, the new shelving units, the cabinets and a check-out area with a long counter near the door. At the far end of the counter was another shelving unit, fixed to the wall. “This is a huge amount of display space, though. What do I fill it with?”

  “Fall stuff.”

  “Yes!” She raised her hand and gave him a high five. “I can bring pumpkins and gourds and ornamental corn in. Straw bales and cornstalks.”

  “If you order the stuff, I’ll get it over here.”

  “Does Glenn know about all of this? What you’ve done to his barn?” she asked.

  He nodded. “He does. He’s fine with it.” He didn’t add that his father had approached Glenn about the barn after they’d talked the day before. Glenn had not only agreed to the makeover, he’d sold them the barn on one condition: that Libby could use it until she was back in business up the road.

  That had been an easy point of agreement if Libby didn’t intend to keep growing apples. This way she fulfilled her grandfather’s dreams while he was alive. But Jax read the temptation in her eyes as she looked around. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Well, it gets you through this season with a solid look.”

  “Oh, it does way more than that,” she told him and clasped his hand and when she did that, she clasped a piece of his heart, as well. “It gives me the possibility of reestablishing everything my grandparents loved and my parents hated. My mother thought a good reputation was a joke. It’s not,” she continued. “It’s something special. Something to polish, and the O’Laughlins did that for generations until my mother came along. She seemed bent on making my grandparents’ lives as tough as possible.”

  “And yours?”

  The shadow in her eyes said yes, but she squared her shoulders and released his hand. “For a long time, yes. But I’m leaving that in the past, where it belongs, because I’ve got a whole life ahead of me. For me and CeeCee. If I dwell on the shadows of the past, how do I create a bright future for that wonderful little girl? With this I can put the luster back on the O’Laughlin name. That would be the perfect way to honor my grandparents for all they’ve done for me.”

  Her look of hopeful expectation didn’t just touch him. It inspired him just enough to feel like a
n old wrench might be working on the tight clamp around his heart, which he hadn’t let loose in three long years. “How soon can you have the pumpkins ordered?”

  She pulled out her phone. “Now. But where can we get veggies for that pretty table out front?”

  “Lincoln Washington’s family said they’d supply us. They’ve got a major stand at the big farmer’s market in Quincy, but they’re always looking to wholesale some stuff according to Linc.”

  “You know the Washingtons?” She’d spotted a small pad and pencil on the countertop. She picked it up and began jotting notes as she posed the question.

  “Yes.”

  “They’re a great family.”

  They were, and this was a perfect chance to tell her who he was and how he knew the Washington family, and so many other families in the Quincy area. Because he was raised there, part of the sprawling Ingerson family, owners of CVF. How would she react? Would she want to protect Cleve from dealing with them? He couldn’t fault her for wanting the old fellow’s final days or months to be trouble-free, so in the end, he said nothing.

  “I’ll call Janas Farms up on Route 2. They grow everything you can imagine for fall decorations and for cooking. Do you want me to call the Washingtons?”

  He certainly did not, and he’d have to warn Linc to keep their friendship on the down low. “I’ll follow up with them. Are you ready to start sorting apples?”

  It wasn’t a big question, but the moment he asked her, her face lit up and he realized it was a very big question after all. “I’ve never been more ready in my life.”

  “Let’s do this.” For the next two hours they bagged pecks and half pecks and packed green fiber quarts of Galas, Fujis and Granny Smiths. Once done, she moved on to sorting the thick-fleshed purple Italian plums, while Jax arranged the bagged apples along the new shelves.

  The produce looked great. He stepped back to admire the display as she moved his way. Between the rows of freshly picked fruit and the scent of her hair, the smell of apples and autumn filled the well-stocked barn. She pointed to the customer-friendly top racks. “Let’s leave a few random spaces for things like cake pans, pie pans, spices folks need for apple pies and pumpkin pies. I’ve got totes that Grandma had filled with great fall stuff. We’ll put some nutmeg graters here, those small handheld ones, with jars of whole nutmeg right next to it. I can order that in bulk from the store in Wenatchee. We used to have this kind of thing when I was younger. Then I was gone, Grandma got sick and Gramps had enough on his plate to keep up with apples.”

  “An orchard that size is never a one-man operation. Especially at trimming and harvest times.”

  “He showed me how to trim this past winter.”

  That explained why the old-style dwarf trees looked as good as they did, as well as the abundance of nicely sized fruit on half the orchard.

  “But I could see him failing once Grandma was gone. CeeCee was in preschool and he and I would go out into the orchard for hours, trimming, then clearing the paths. I knew he probably didn’t have another season in him. So this...” She looked around the selling area. “This will delight him. I’m going to call in an order to Yakima, then pick it up this evening if they can have it ready.” Her phone buzzed a reminder. “Oops, gotta get back. Mortie’s due to leave. She’s been training a health aide who’ll be coming in for two hours a day, and CeeCee will be getting home soon. Jax.” She touched his bare arm with her hand.

  Her palm was cool after handling the chilled fruit. Despite that, his skin warmed and another part of that rusted lock on his heart busted loose. She met his gaze. “Thank you for caring. For doing all this. I don’t know why God put you in our path that day. But you’ve made a tremendous difference to my grandfather, to CeeCee and to me. I can’t tell you how much that means.”

  The sincerity in her eyes drew him. She drew him. But he knew better.

  God hadn’t put him in her path. That had been accidental timing. Nothing more. But he wasn’t immune to the thrum of awareness that went straight from the touch of her hand to the beat of his heart. And while he understood the situation was impossible, she didn’t. That meant he had to be the one to step back. He did, but it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

  “Keys.” He handed her a set of two keys as he shifted away. “They work on the front doors and the back door. I’ll keep a key myself, if that’s all right? That way if I have to get in here to move things around, I don’t have to bother you.”

  She’d noticed the step back. She didn’t react overtly, but when she gave him a simple nod, he knew and that made him feel worse. “Wise move. And then you can give it back at the close of the season. Or whenever we’re done with the barn.”

  She walked out quietly.

  It was better this way, but when she climbed into that old truck and drove away, he wanted things to be different.

  They couldn’t be because he wasn’t the man she thought he was and a woman like Libby deserved the best. A man who could be trusted in all things. Right now, that wasn’t him.

  But that didn’t stop him from wishing he was wrong.

  Chapter Eight

  There weren’t many people at the town board meeting that evening. That should have calmed Libby’s nerves, but when she spotted an ill-tempered neighbor in the front row, her anxiety increased. Lora Moore had purchased a four-acre plot with a small ranch house nearly two decades ago, and she’d been making trouble for people ever since. As a next-door neighbor, she left a lot to be desired. She’d had goats with bad fencing, two old sows that worked their way loose from time to time and a pony that had once caused a car crash. Fortunately, no one was badly hurt. Including the stubborn pony.

  Despite being ticketed by the town multiple times, the middle-aged woman still had a menagerie—and an opinion on everything. Her presence meant she most likely had her own personal thoughts on their barn, and after a few dustups between Lora and Gramps over the years, Libby was pretty sure her neighbor might have an ax to grind.

  The same could be said for her grandfather, but he wouldn’t be here to speak for himself. It was up to Libby, and the thought of facing the old family foe made her gut clench.

  The supervisor called the meeting to order. They went through the approval of minutes and the old business quickly.

  Jax wasn’t there.

  She scanned the small room several times while the board conducted business, hoping he’d come soon.

  When he didn’t arrive, she gripped the thin folder in her hands with tight fingers and a racing heart. When the supervisor got to her name on the agenda, she stood. Her knees wanted to shake.

  She refused to let them.

  Every person on this small-town board knew who she was. They knew her parents had scammed some local businesses by leaving town and never paying their bills. And her father had probably insulted most, if not all, of them at one time or another. One board member had even forbidden her children from playing with Libby back when they were children.

  Stephie Rodas had been told to avoid Libby everywhere. In school. On the playground. At church, with Grandma and Gramps. And Stephie made sure everyone in the fourth grade knew it.

  That’s yesterday’s news. Don’t borrow trouble. Hold your head up high and stand your ground.

  Grandma’s words, and good ones. Libby lifted her chin, met the supervisor’s gaze and indicated the folder in her hand. “I’m Libby Creighton from O’Laughlin Orchards, and I’m requesting approval to replace one of two barns that were destroyed in the windstorm we had.”

  The supervisor raised a copy of the plans. “We’ve got your plans, Ms. Creighton, and the board has a few questions for you. But first—” he leaned forward slightly “—we were all sorry to hear of the damage on your farm. We had a few damaged structures in town as well, and we’re thankful no one was hurt.”

  “If people kept their places in
better shape, these things wouldn’t happen,” snapped Lora from seven seats away.

  “Ms. Moore, the public will have a chance to speak once Ms. Creighton has presented her request.”

  “Well, it’s all right there in black and white, same as you posted in the weekly,” she griped. Board meetings and agendas were publically posted for input, and it was clear that their eclectic neighbor had input. “I don’t expect anything new has been added.”

  The supervisor aimed a firm look at Lora. “You know the rules, Lora. And we have your letter on the topic, as well. Let’s move along.”

  She’d sent them a letter?

  Of course she had, because she had nothing better to do than stir up trouble.

  Libby worked to put a firm clamp on the rise of emotion.

  The supervisor turned back to Libby. “You’re looking at a pole barn, I see.”

  “Yes.” Jax had offered to do this part. Fortunately she’d studied the plans to familiarize herself, so she launched into the details in what she hoped was a clear, calm voice.

  Vanna Rodas seemed unimpressed. Lora Moore shuffled her feet with impatience at the other end of the front row.

  She ignored them as she trained her attention on the other board members. They couldn’t see that her palms were sweating or hear her heart beating a steel drum rhythm in her chest. And just as the board began asking some more technical questions, Jax walked in.

  He took the seat to her right. But he didn’t jump in to take over.

  He sat there and let her answer questions.

  And she did it.

  He stepped in only twice: once to confirm load-bearing figures and once to address anticipated off-road parking during the season.

  Then the supervisor opened the meeting for questions.

  Lora stood right up. “Well, they tell you they’ve got the parking thing all worked out until you get to October and have people parking up and down the road, on both sides, mind you. It’s a traffic hazard. I say they set the barn back another hundred feet, allow more off-road parking and save a possible accident. There is no way the rest of us can see properly to access the road during the entire apple season, and no town in their right mind can approve that. Not when you have a chance to change it.”