Chapter 3
It was after ten when Carol—Dolly never did learn her last name—was ready to head for home. Her vehicle was a beat-up, faded red Chevy truck that bounced along the uneven asphalt as she steered north toward Oak Bluffs.
“How long are you staying on the island?”
Dolly wasn’t sure she should answer truthfully. Could this woman know about her millions? Could she be trying to worm her way into Dolly’s confidences?
“A while,” she answered vaguely. The truth was, she was booked at Blythe Cove Manor for six more days, although it sounded like the week might be a bust. She’d have to consider her options. Ms. Calvert might want to charge her for an early cancelation if she decided to curtail her stay. She might now be rich, but she wouldn’t forget how it felt to be poor.
“Do you know the guy that owns Frederick Farm?”
Carol’s gaze remained on the road. “Josh? Sure. Ever since he was a little squirt.”
“What’s he like?”
“Oh, a great guy. Kind, good-looking,” she said and waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“Ms. Calvert said he was a teacher and a farmer.”
“Yes. The farm has been in his family for four generations. His parents retired a few years back and he’s taken it over.”
“Sounds like a big job for just one man.”
“He has help,” Carol said and braked.
Up ahead, Dolly could see a dirt road off to their left and as they pulled onto it, she saw a faded painted sign that said Frederick Farm. Underneath were painted the hours: 10 am to 4 pm. She glanced at the truck’s dashboard clock and saw that it was nearly ten thirty. The place should be hopping. But instead, as they approached a barn and what looked to be a produce stand, there was nobody around the place.
Carol stopped the truck and shifted into park. “Here you go.”
“How will I get back to Blythe Cove Manor? Will you pick me up and take me there?”
“Sorry, honey, but I’ve got plans later this afternoon. Don’t worry. Blythe will make sure you get back to the Manor.”
Dolly opened the cab’s door, grabbed her purse and got out, slamming the door. Then she remembered what Blythe had told her. “Thanks for the ride.”
“You’re welcome. See you tomorrow at the Manor.”
And with that, Carol reversed the truck and then drove back the way she came. Dolly watched until she reached the main road and continued north. Now what was she supposed to do?
She heard the sound of what she figured were chickens squawking in the barn and headed in that direction. Maybe there was someone there who could tell her where to find Josh Frederick.
“Hello?” Dolly called as she approached the open barn door. She stepped onto the concrete floor inside, where scattered corn was being pecked by a number of chickens and wondered if they’d bite her bare toes. A door at the back of the barn was also open, with bright sunlight shining through. “Hello!” she called again.
“Can I help you?” came a man’s voice from the back as a silhouette appeared in the far doorway.
“My name is Dolly. Blythe Calvert sent me to see you. That is if you’re Josh Frederick.”
The man approached. As Carol had said, he was good-looking, but his expression wasn’t all that welcoming. Maybe he wasn’t as nice as Carol had indicated.
“Yes, she called. Said you wanted to taste my wine.”
“Do you have a vineyard?”
He shook his head, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got ten vines. It’s enough to make a couple of cases every fall.”
“Do you sell them?”
He shook his head. “But I do serve them when we have a Taste of the Farm celebration.”
“And when’s your next one?”
“This weekend, as a matter of fact. It’s sold out.”
Dolly frowned, disappointed. “Oh.”
“But I could use some help at the event. One of the waitresses canceled on me.”
Dolly blinked. “You want to hire me to wait on tables?”
“Why not? That is if you’re willing to tie on an apron—and a smile.” That last sounded like a dig. Who did this guy think he was?
Dolly–a waitress?
“It’s the only way you’ll get to taste my wine,” he teased.
Dolly thought it over. Why not help out at the little shindig? She had nothing better to do during her stay on the island.
“Okay. You’ve got a deal. When do I start?”
“Right now.”
Chapter 4
It turned out the farm wasn’t deserted after all—everybody had just parked their vehicles behind the barn. Dolly was introduced to a number of men and women decked out in jeans, T-shirts, and work boots, which made her feel a little silly for dressing so casually. But nobody mentioned her rather inappropriate attire.
Dolly never worked so hard in her life. It turned out that Josh Frederick possessed unquestionable Simon Legree tendencies. Toting barges and lifting bales would have been easier. As it was, Dolly was asked to help lift and arrange bales of hay, as that was part of the décor for the upcoming farm-to-table dinner party. Still, she had to admit that Josh worked just as hard as those in his employ. And there was plenty of water and snacks, and the scheduled breaks were scattered throughout the day.
With the grass cut and the gardens weeded, the outside decorating was complete, it was understood that tomorrow most of the women would be helping with the food prep, while the guys set up the tables and chairs for the ticketed guests. It would take a lot of chopping and grilling to feed fifty hungry people. An older man, by the name of Benny Metzger, was in charge of the barbeque, and he’d been smoking the beef for a day so that it would be ready on Saturday.
A palpable air of anticipation seemed to hover over the little organic farm, and Dolly wasn’t immune to it, either.
By the time Josh drove her back to Blythe Cove Manor later that evening, Dolly found it difficult to stifle a yawn, and it was all she could do to keep her eyes open.
“My friend Lucy will pick you up tomorrow before eight. Can you be ready?”
“Of course.” At least Dolly wouldn’t have to wait for Carol to give her a lift to the farm, and she felt lucky someone was willing to give her a ride for the next day’s tasks. Dolly had to admit, she was looking forward to seeing how the whole farm-to-table dinner would play out, although she wasn’t sure why.
“See you tomorrow,” Josh said noncommittedly when Dolly closed the cab’s passenger side door. She stood by the inn’s front entrance and watched as he took off down the drive and then until he was out of sight, not sure what to make of the man.
Interesting could cover a lot of territory.
Too tired to walk to the restaurant, Dolly meandered into Blythe Cove’s dining room, once again finding the cookie jar full to the brim. Blythe must bake all day, she marveled and took a handful of the chocolate chip cookies. The water in the carafe was piping hot, and she made herself a cup of tea before she sat down at one of the empty tables and enjoyed her repast.
Most everyone else must have gone to dinner, she figured, although if she craned her neck to the right she could see a couple sharing glasses of wine in the Adirondack chairs on the patio that overlooked the sea.
How lucky they are, Dolly lamented. I’ll bet they have no issues when it comes to who does what and who pays for what in their relationship.
While she wasn’t unhappy that her future was secure and if she lived prudently she would have no financial problems for the rest of her life, living in fear of being taken advantage of was exhausting. Mistrusting everyone she met seemed downright wrong. But once word of her inheritance had come through, people she’d barely known in school, at former jobs, and even strangers had appeared to beg for and berate her for money. It tended to sour one on mankind at large.
But she had to admit that, though she was almost at the brink of exhaustion while working at the farm, she had enjoyed it and the camarad
erie she had felt with the others who shared the workload.
Her accountant had wanted to invest every nickel of her inheritance into personal IRAs, stocks, and bonds, but she didn’t really know the man. Was he honest? She’d heard of people being taken for everything they owned by people professing to be business managers. Superstars like Johnny Depp and Rihanna had been swindled out of millions because they trusted others with their fortunes, only to find themselves broke and at the mercy of the IRS, which had no patience for excuses.
And Dolly had been impressed with the entire Frederick Farm operation. Josh seemed to know what he was doing. He seemed kind. He listened to the people working for him. And according to Blythe, he was successful. All that, and he still needed a day job teaching.
But most importantly, he made wine. Wine Dolly was eager to try.
He’d said that part of the bargain to work for him would be that she’d get to try his version of the nectar of the Gods, and she was bound and determined to hold him to it.
Only crumbs littered the white paper napkin before her, and the pretty bone china mug with a vibrant pink hollyhock motif had been thoroughly drained. And though it was still light, Dolly firmly believed that she would sleep through the night … and dream about Frederick Farm’s wine.
Once again, Dolly awoke early, but instead of dreading the day, she was filled with anticipation and had to keep from singing out loud while taking her shower.
And again, when she entered the dining room early that morning, she found it empty, but the coffee pot was full—and freshly made. She poured herself a cup and wandered toward the kitchen where Blythe once more stood in front of her Aga cooker. “What’s on the menu this morning?”
Blythe turned. “Blueberry muffins. They’ll be ready in about ten minutes. Can you wait that long?”
Dolly’s smile was organic. “Yes.”
“Good. The west side of my property is full of wild blueberries. I picked them this morning when they were still dew-covered.”
“Sounds like the perfect photo op.”
Blythe laughed—a golden sound. “As a matter of fact, I did take a photo. It turned out well, too. I might upload it to my website.”
“You update your own website?”
“Some programs make it easy. You might almost say…magical.”
There was something about the way Blythe said that word, magical, that sent a shiver up Dolly’s spine.
“So, how did you enjoy your day at Frederick Farm?”
“I got hired to help with the Taste of the Farm Celebration.”
“Really?” Blythe asked, although she didn’t sound at all surprised.
“Tonight we’re serving dinner to fifty people. I have a hard time imaging how Josh is going to pull that off.”
“No doubt with aplomb,” Blythe said and laughed. Somehow, it sounded almost musical. “Once again, you’re up early.”
“Someone working at the event is supposed to pick me up before eight this morning.”
“Then you’d better have a hearty breakfast before you leave. I have a feeling it’s going to be a challenging day for you.”
In what way? Dolly was tempted to ask, but then she didn’t. Perhaps she really didn’t want the surprise to be spoiled.
“I’d be happy to make you whatever you want for breakfast,” Blythe said.
Dolly thought about it. “My mother used to make me a poached egg on toast. I haven’t had one for such a long time.”
“With toast soldiers?” Blythe asked.
“Yes, please,” Dolly said and smiled, remembering her long-dead parent and happier days from her childhood.
And as breakfasts go, it was one filled with nostalgia. Almost as if her mom had ordained it.
And just as Dolly took her last bite of toast, she heard a horn outside go beep-beep.
“My ride is here,” Dolly said and made a grab for her duffle, which held the white blouse and dark slacks she would need to wear that evening when she would play waitress to the farm’s dinner guests.
“Have a wonderful time. And remember everything,” Blythe wished.
Remember everything? Dolly thought as she rushed out the door to climb into the truck that awaited to take her to her second day of gainful employment since she’d become an heiress.
For some reason, she felt sure there might be some kind of magic involved with the day, too.
Chapter 5
“You’re not from around here,” Lucy St. James said as they bounced along Blythe Cove Manor’s gravel drive that led to the main road.
Although Dolly had met her erstwhile chauffeur the day before, they hadn’t had any time to converse. “No. I’m … just visiting.” She wasn’t about to say she was on vacation—hiding out—and why. The wind from the truck’s open windows whipped the graying sandy hair that had escaped from Lucy’s ponytail and also spoiled the careful comb job Dolly had given herself. Lucy must have been at least fifteen or twenty years older than Dolly but exuded a confidence that eluded the younger woman.
“Is this your first farm weekend?” Dolly asked.
“Heck no. More like tenth or twelfth. This is Josh’s third year doing them. He usually hosts three dinners every summer and one in the fall—those are for the locals and are a lot more fun because I get to spend time with my friends. That said, don’t give him any ideas about throwing a winter bash,” she said and grinned. The laugh lines around her eyes were deeply etched. She must smile a lot, Dolly decided.
“What kind of food will we be cooking today?”
“Some of us will be baking the desserts—the blueberries are ripe, so my guess is there’d be cobbler and crisp on the menu. That’s what we had last year.”
“I’ve never had either.”
“Then you’ve got a wonderful surprise awaiting you. Of course, first, we have to pick them.”
“Out in a field?” Dolly asked, not certain she wanted to know the answer.
“That’s where they grow.”
Dolly had worn jeans and flats, but she wasn’t sure they’d be appropriate for fieldwork. Lucy wore cutoffs, but she also wore white socks and heavy duty boots. Maybe she had other clothes and shoes in the back of the truck. Dolly crossed her fingers and hoped Josh might pick her for some other work.
It didn’t take long before they pulled up in front of Frederick Farm, which was already bustling with activity. Lucy parked the truck around the back side of the barn, and they grabbed their bags before heading to the big farmhouse. Lucy showed Dolly where to stow her things before they reported to Josh, who was holding court in the home’s dining room. He sat at the head of the big oak table with a clipboard in front of him, calling off names and jobs. And, just like she feared, Dolly was included in the berry picking detail. At least she and Lucy would be working together.
In all, six had been assigned to pick berries; four women and two men. They stopped at the barn to grab straw hats big enough to protect their heads and necks, and each person was given a plastic container that was clipped around their middles, kind of like a fanny pack. “That’s what we’ll put the blueberries in,” Lucy said. And then headed to the blueberry patch.
“I don’t know how to pick blueberries,” Dolly admitted as she buckled on the container, feeling like a walking bushel basket.
“It’s easy. I’ll show you, and you’ll be an expert within five minutes.”
The others were obviously well acquainted with the work, and Dolly felt a little self-conscious, but Lucy had been right. She explained to Dolly that she mustn’t pull the berries from the bush, but to put her fingers under a cluster of them, then wiggle them around until they fell. Anything that didn’t fall, wasn’t ready for eating. “And you want the ones that look kind of dusty, too. We don’t wash them until right before they’re ready to use.”
“That’s good to know,” Dolly said, but she followed Lucy’s lead and wiped the dust away and tried one. Sweet and delicious.
They worked steadily, the others talking
and joking among themselves as they picked while Dolly concentrated on the task at hand. After almost an hour, one of the other women said they’d picked enough, and they headed back to the barn where they dumped all six containers into a bigger tote and Lucy and Dolly took it back to the house, bypassing the rental company’s truck that was delivering tables, chairs, plates, silverware, and glassware.
“Wow—Josh doesn’t have everything he needs for his party?”
“Why own it and have to store it when he only needs it four times a year?”
Dolly nodded. “Do they set it all up, too?”
Lucy shook her head. “No. The guys will set out the tables and chairs and Donna and her crew will set the table.”
“Josh doesn’t grow everything himself, does he?”
Lucy shook her head. “But everything is raised right here on the island, including the meat.”
“Like what?”
“Josh has deals with other farmers for mushrooms, flowers—even some that are edible—and lots of other vegetables. It’s all farm-to-table fare.”
“And what about the wine?” Dolly asked.
“Wine? Oh, mean the stuff Josh bottles?”
Dolly nodded.
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “It’s drinkable, but not if you consider yourself a wine snob.”
“But it’s made here on Martha’s Vineyard. Is it the only wine made here?”
Lucy shrugged. “Maybe other islanders have vines. I wouldn’t know about that. When I’m not working for Josh in the summers, I’m a math teacher at Martha’s Vineyard Regional High School.”
Math had never been Dolly’s core strength. “Is that how you met him?”
“He teaches elementary students, but essentially yes.”
“Is he married?” Dolly asked.
“No, but he’s got more on his plate than looking for a wife, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“I wasn’t,” Dolly said flatly. “I was just making conversation.”
“What do you do?” Lucy asked.
“Um…I’m between jobs at the moment, but I did work in a factory that makes clips that hold car batteries. It was really boring.”
Grape Expectations Page 2
