“You’re married?”
Her mom touched her hand.
“Right . . . you wouldn’t have known. I am. I remarried about eleven years ago.”
Sanna did the math, and her body stiffened.
“That would have been about a year after you left us.”
Her mom’s shoulders sagged.
“You’re right. But I met a wonderful man who was perfect for me.”
“You never came back. You never visited. You never called. You never wrote.”
“About that. There’s something you should know—”
“Why did you leave us?”
“I couldn’t stay there. I begged your father to move. I was so isolated at Idun’s. I didn’t realize how empty Door County was in the winter. When we married, I had only known it in the summer with all the tourists, but the summer is when all the work needed to be done. I hated it. I hated everything about it.”
“You hated us?”
“You need to understand, Sanna. I can’t even look at a map of Door County without a black hole swallowing me up. That was a very dark time for me.”
A waiter placed their food in front of them, but Sanna couldn’t look at her spaghetti. Her mom studied her with her fork poised above her plate.
“Eat. It’s the best food in the area.”
Her mom had just admitted she had hated her as a child, or at least didn’t deny it, and now she was telling her what to do. She shouldn’t have come here. This was all wrong. This woman didn’t deserve to know her. She needed to leave. Right now.
Sanna stood.
“This was a mistake.”
“Sanna, don’t be ridiculous. Eat and we’ll talk more. I want to know about you and I want you to know about me.”
“No. Don’t contact me again.” She wrapped her scarf around her head and swung her coat around her shoulders.
“At least let me drive you back. It’s freezing out.”
Sanna crammed her hat on her head.
“I’m tough.”
She walked into the arctic temperatures, letting the cold freeze out any remaining thought of her mother. By the time she’d arrived back at the dorm, her heart was as numb as her toes. After she graduated, she would return to the orchard and not leave—finally able to breathe deeply again for the first time in four years. Idun’s was safe and peaceful and predictable. Idun’s was home.
Except it might not be much longer.
• • • • •
Isaac knocked on the door to the Lunds’ house and waited. Nothing. He could hear a hard thudding from inside and knocked again. No response, so he opened the door. He needed to talk to Sanna about Bass, and it wasn’t going to wait until morning when he could hear that she was inside. He reached the top of the steps and saw her standing at the counter, hacking an enormous loaf of bread into uneven chunks with a bread knife, wielding it like a machete. Red blotches marked her cheeks and throat, and her hair shook with each thud. His initial response was to help her, but then he remembered why he was there.
“Sanna. Do you have a few minutes?”
She paused her bakery abuse and looked at him, though it took a few moments before she pulled back into the present, the journey from wherever her mind had taken her lasting a few moments. She set the knife down.
“Of course.”
He joined her at the counter. Sesame seeds were scattered everywhere like sand, including on her shirt, her hands, and even her cheek. He longed to wipe off the seeds for her, cup her chin in his hand, but he ignored that impulse and continued.
“It’s about Bass. He hid in the orchard after you yelled at him. That’s not okay. He’s a little boy who has been through a lot, and he doesn’t deserve to be scared by you. If you ever speak to him that way—”
“Scared? He was afraid of me?” Her forehead wrinkled in confusion.
“Yes. You’re almost twice his height and not the warmest person. To a ten-year-old, that can be terrifying. I know you aren’t a big fan of kids, but if you do it again, we’ll leave.”
Sanna blinked at him, then swallowed. She brushed the seeds off her hands and shirt, scattering them on the ground, and then tears fell down her face, washing away the one seed stuck to her cheek. Isaac didn’t know what to do. He came here to yell at her and make sure she understood that her treatment of Bass wasn’t acceptable, but he didn’t mean to make her cry.
So he did what any kind person would do in these circumstances—he hugged her.
They stood in the kitchen, his arms around her, and her head fell to his shoulder. He could feel her body shake, and it kicked something inside him. He pulled her closer and smoothed her hair with his right hand. A few more seeds found their freedom. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there. It seemed like forever, yet when she finally pulled away it was too soon.
She plucked a fresh towel from a nearby drawer and wiped the tears off her face.
“There is no acceptable excuse for how I behaved toward him. I’ll apologize immediately.”
That, right there, was his favorite thing about Sanna. She saw straight to the center of the issue and addressed it. She didn’t equivocate or make excuses. She always told the truth, even if it meant admitting she’d made a mistake.
“You’ll have to wait until tomorrow, he’s at the Dibbles’ for an overnight.”
She nodded and wiped at some remaining wetness. Now that the weight of Isaac’s task was lifted, he wanted to help Sanna, too.
“So, do you want to tell me about the unacceptable reason you did it? I’m a great listener.”
Sanna smiled and wiped absently at the counter. After a few moments she spoke.
“I think we’ll need some drinks.”
She pulled two bottles from the fridge and popped them open.
Isaac took a long swig from the unmarked bottle. He’d tasted her cider before, but this bottle was completely different, yet just as wonderful. The apple was more prominent, yet not sweet, almost funky but in a good, blue-cheese way. He held the bottle up to the light and could see the sediment swirling in the bottom.
“This is amazing—so different from the other one.”
Sanna grinned.
“You really like Olive? I wasn’t sure when I blended it. Not everyone likes the murkiness.”
“Olive?”
Sanna leaned against the counter, putting her weight on her wrist as she studied him for a long moment, her eyes squinting. She took a long drink from her own bottle.
“I see colors when I make ciders. I can’t explain it. Each juice has its own hue. That’s what those paintings represent.” She pointed at the watercolors over the fireplace. “A new color comes to me, and I blend the juices until I can re-create it in the flavor. And this one is Olive.”
“You color-code your ciders?” He struggled to understand what she was telling him.
“No.” She reached across the counter and pulled her journal toward her. She opened it and handed it to Isaac. As she sipped her cider, he studied the page, then the next page, then the next. On each was a swatch of layered color, all wildly different from one another—reds, greens, teals, colors he didn’t really have names for. Next to the colors were measurements, apple varieties, percentages, and flavor notes. Scribbles filled the margins and equations contained both numbers and words. Things like sugars and acidity were measured and tested. It was part recipe book, part coloring book, and part wine label, with a hint of spell book. Looking at it was like opening a tiny door into the back of her head. She saw things that no one else did, an imaginary world of cider only she could see.
“You can see the color in your head?”
“It’s the easiest way to explain it. A color pops into my head, and I know what it will taste like. When I blend the different raw ciders together, I know I have it right when it matches what I’ve imagined.” She pulled her journal back toward her, then finished off her cider. Isaac did the same. She pulled two more bottles out of the fridge and popped the caps with steady
movements. She moved the way tree branches sway in a breeze, slow and graceful, but full of power.
“Do you have a whole rainbow in there?”
“There are a few rainbows in there. That’s part of the problem. All stock, no sales. Here’s Chartreuse.”
Sanna walked around to the stools on the other side of the counter, pulling a hunk of bread with her. She ripped it in two and gave half to Isaac, oil dripping off her fingers.
“Why no sales? Anyone who likes cider would snap this up.” He stuffed the sopping bread in his mouth, the soft middle giving way as he bit into the crispy, oil-drenched bottom. It was just what he needed, as the cider had gone straight to his head.
“I have no idea what to do or where to start. We sell them at the stand, but there’s not enough traffic there to make the sales we’d need to justify the equipment Pa bought.”
“The website and social media can help a bit there.” He took a drink of his fresh bottle. This cider sang of crisp apples, fresh and green, not too sweet, not too tart—refreshing and easy drinking. He took another gulp, then ate more bread as he settled onto a stool next to this remarkable woman. She licked the olive oil and clinging sesame seeds off her fingers. “Ready to tell me why you decimated this scrumptious bread?”
Sanna spun her bottle in her hands and pursed her lips.
“I think my brother is right.” She closed her eyes as she spoke, and Isaac noticed how her pale eyelashes disappeared into her cheeks, then slowly darkened as they let a few new tears escape. When she opened her eyes again, wiping the tears and pushing her lashes into soggy clumps, she stared at him directly, not shying away from what she had to say. “My father mortgaged everything for the cider-making equipment, and I don’t even have labels for the bottles. This place is my sanctuary, but where can I go when we sell my safe place? Or when they knock it down?”
Isaac nodded to let her know he was listening to every word. Even though he had heard similar things from Anders and Einars, he wanted her to continue. He wanted to hear what she had to say about it.
“Growing up tall and rural wasn’t always easy. I didn’t have a mom to walk me through the changes. I towered over the boys, so they never wanted to dance with me, not even Thad, and he was my best friend in middle school.” Isaac’s fist clenched automatically. Another reason not to like that jerk. Sanna continued. “But no matter how gangly and awkward dances and high school clubs made me feel, I could always come home and feel safe, climb the trees, eat our apples, stare at the sky between swaying branches. Thinking about leaving makes my lungs stop working.” She held a hand to her chest. “To answer your question about the bread—it had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What can I do?” He meant it. Every word. He wanted to help her keep her home, the one she deserved. He understood the importance of needing a safe space.
“See us through the season, then get your boy back to his mom. It seems like he misses her.”
Isaac swallowed the last of his cider, hoping it would drown the guilt bubbling up from the mention of Bass’s mom. He ignored it and focused on Sanna, a plan already forming to help the Lunds keep Idun’s.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Sanna took a deep breath, though her chest still tightened from all she had learned last night. And all she had said. She’d never shared her family gift with anyone but her dad. She never even spoke to Anders about it, though he, at least, knew the family legends. Isaac hadn’t thought she was crazy. He’d looked at her like he was intrigued. She wanted to tell him more about it, more about her, listen to his reassurances of help. But first she had one very important apology to make.
She looked out the kitchen window to see Isaac and Bass standing in the shade of the barn. She stuffed the last of her breakfast into her mouth, grabbed her hat from the peg, and avoided looking at her dad. She still hadn’t spoken to him about the bills and she still couldn’t wrap her head around how she wanted to approach him. While last night she’d felt as defeated as he did, the morning promised new possibilities. There had to be another way—they just weren’t looking at the problem from the right angle.
As Sanna approached them, Bass stepped closer to his father’s side. That was okay. She had made him afraid of her and she accepted that she had earned the guilty feeling in her stomach.
“Bass, can I talk to you for a minute?”
He looked up at his dad, who nodded to him and winked at Sanna. Her heart eased. At least this she could make okay. She knelt on the ground so she could look him in the eye but was careful not to crowd him. Isaac stayed behind him so he felt safe, and she felt safer, too. Bass’s big brown eyes looked everywhere but into her face as his hands twisted together.
“I should not have yelled at you yesterday. Knocking over the crates was an accident, one I’ve made myself. I wasn’t angry with you. I haven’t been doing a good job and I was angry with myself. Sometimes adults do stupid things—and I took my frustration out on you, which isn’t right. I’m sorry. You don’t have to forgive me, but I sure hope you can.” Bass nodded at each of her words, and even met her eyes as she finished speaking.
It wasn’t even eight in the morning, and he already had a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Sanna wanted to pull her bandana from her pocket and wipe it off, but she hadn’t earned that right. The tender urge surprised her. This little boy had come to matter to her, against her best judgment. She stood.
“How about some cookies as a shameless attempt to get you to like me again?”
Bass smiled broadly before he remembered to be cautious. He looked up at his dad, who nodded.
“Okay,” Bass said.
Sanna headed back toward the house with Bass behind her, even though every cell of her being shouted it was time to work, not to go back to the house. She ignored it, this was her time to make it right, not hide in the cidery. Her dad hobbled through the door as they approached. Over the past few weeks, he’d gotten quite skilled at moving with his crutches, though he still needed to rest regularly. He gave a small smile to Bass, then continued on to meet Isaac, who had the ATV ready to go.
In the kitchen, she pointed Bass toward the table, then poured two glasses of cold milk and carried them over with a package of Oreos—the classic kind, no creative flavors in this house. Bass settled into her dad’s spot and the sight gave her pause. She’d never seen anyone else sit in that chair during her entire life, yet there was young Bass with his floppy hair and cautious eyes locked on the cookies.
She set a few in front of him and left the package open in case he wanted more.
“Aren’t you having any?” Bass asked.
“I don’t eat cookies in the morning.”
“Why not? You’re a grown-up. You can have cookies anytime you want. I’d eat cookies all day if I was a grown-up.”
Sanna sipped her cold, boring milk and thought on his question. Habit had kept her going for years without her realizing what was really happening around her. She didn’t eat cookies in the morning, she ate a cold lunch in the field every day, and she never thought to check her father’s paperwork. It was time to break habit.
She pulled an Oreo from the package and twisted it, licking out the cream the way she’d been doing since she was a child. Bass smiled and did the same, then dipped his cookies in his milk.
“I like your style.” Sanna copied him, giving the milk a moment to soften the cookie before popping it into her mouth. Bass gave her a cookie-dusted smile and reached for another one.
“You grew up here, right?”
“I did. I’ve never lived anywhere else.”
“What did you do when you were bored when you were a kid?”
Sanna finished chewing her cookie as she thought.
“I don’t ever remember being totally bored because there was always so much to do. We helped our dad in the orchard, took turns practicing the perfect swinging dismount from the trees, and caught fireflies.” One memory made her smile widen. “When Anders a
nd I had a free afternoon, which didn’t happen often once we were teenagers, we’d run to this secret path across the road from the north corner of the orchard. There’s a huge oak and a lot of smaller trees. There’s a small path there that leads to a cliff where you can jump into the water. On a hot summer day, it was better than flying.”
Bass twitched with excitement.
“Can we go? That sounds awesome.”
“Not a chance. Your dad would kill me. Anders and I were a lot older than you, and we knew exactly where to jump so we didn’t hit the rocks.” His shoulders melted in disappointment. “Sorry, Bass.”
He shrugged and they twisted and crunched in silence as they pulled more cookies from the package until an entire row was gone.
“How was your sleepover?” she asked as they finished their milk with crumbs at the bottom.
Sanna set their glasses in the sink and led them outside. Breaking habit or no, they still had work to get done. Bass bounced a bit as he answered, clearly excited to talk about the fun.
“We named our butts. Mine is Gary. Theirs are Harvey and Waldorf.”
Bass giggled as he said the names. He still had a ring of Oreo dust around his lips.
“You named your butts?”
Bass nodded and snorted. Boys were weird, but Sanna wanted to keep his good mood going.
“Should we name mine? Or is this only for boys?”
“Yes, name it.”
They climbed into Elliot and she wiggled in her seat, trying to think of the right name for her backside.
“Marge. Marge seems like the right name. What do you think?”
“Perfect.”
Bass and Sanna kept the joke going as they worked all day in the warm sun. Sanna hadn’t giggled like this since the last time Anders and she had spent the night in the orchard catching fireflies. As the sun started to set, she texted her father and Isaac that they’d be a little late for dinner.
She parked Elliot in the Looms, and Sanna turned the headlights off on the truck.
“When the car lights went dark in the movie we watched last night, it did not end well for the people. Should I be making a run for it?” Bass asked.
The Simplicity of Cider Page 17
