Summer at Orchard House: An utterly compelling and heart-warming summer romance (Blue Hills Book 1)

by Ellyn Oaksmith

  Carmen sighed, her body slumped to fake out her sister, before she hopped off the barstool, racing upstairs as fast as she could. “Last one in is a rotten egg.”

  Lola squealed, dashing after her sister, grabbing the back of her T-shirt. “You lousy cheater!”

  Nathalie followed, smiling for the first time in four very long hours.

  Chelan, it seemed, was asleep. Except for the drifting fisherman in the middle of the lake. Sunrise lingered in the buttery light warming the water. The sisters dove into the crystalline blue. Carmen first. She’d beat Lola, who’d lost her flip-flop in the race down the gravel driveway, shouting at Carmen to wait up. They’d tossed their towels on the shore. Nathalie gingerly waded in, but didn’t last long. The water made her gasp and shiver. She ran back to the house to warm up.

  Carmen felt the shock of cold for a second, opening her eyes to the turquoise blue underwater, her face breaking the surface. She trod water, spinning slowly, soaking in the beauty of the lake, the purplish green hills, the sun creeping over the hills above the vineyard. As her sister swam underwater to join her, she realized how deeply connected she was to the lake. How she felt most alive wrapped in its presence. Coming home had been the best thing she could have ever done. It had taken a disaster, or what was shaping into one, to bring her here.

  She felt very small, realizing how a slight turn in events had brought her life to this point. Maybe that’s all of life, she thought. Maybe we don’t have much choice.

  In another life, maybe Evan and she could have fallen in love. Got married.

  She winced, chastising herself for thinking of Evan. She gazed across the water at the rock. Her rock. For a short while, it had felt like their personal island. She shook her head, as if to knock out the memory.

  Lola gasped as she broke the surface a few yards away. She studied the towering shale cliffs bordering the lake, deep blue in the smoky light. “It’s gorgeous.”

  “It is.” Carmen swam over to join her sister. They moved to the rock by unspoken agreement. “I’m so glad I came back.”

  “Wasn’t it hard, leaving your job?”

  Carmen shook her head, her chin dipping in and out of the water. The temperature was perfect. A lonely truck traveled the road at the foot of the cliffs towards town. The engine noise carried across the water. “No. I’ve told you about my boss. My best day at work was the day she was trapped for the three hours in the elevator. We ordered in lunch and had a little party. Isn’t that sad?”

  Lola grinned. “No, it’s funny. But you had a real career. People in town ask me what I’m up to and it’s awkward because the truth is that I’m an art school dropout living at home.”

  Carmen was the first one on the rock. She leaned down to offer her sister a hand while making a game show buzzer noise. “Uh, no. Wrong answer. The correct answer is you left school to help the family. You have an important job at the winery.”

  “I know it shouldn’t matter but can we give it a name?”

  “You’re um, hospitality manager. You oversee our special guest programs.”

  “Thank you.” Lola stood on the rock, wiping water from her face. “Super awkward question. Do you think we’ll ever get paid?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know. Don’t quit on me now. You know I can’t do this without you.”

  “Thanks.” She shielded her eyes with her hands, looking back toward the winery. “What a disaster.”

  Carmen shrugged. Strangely, her feelings about Evan seemed to put it into perspective. She’d been fighting this battle since the moment she arrived. It was a relief to put down her arms, if only for a moment. “I don’t know. We tried. We brought all these great people here. Got in half the harvest. We learned a lot.”

  Lola had tears in her eyes. “We can’t pay the bank, can we?” She was quiet as a duck landed with a splash, slicing the calm water with a neat wake.

  Carmen hadn’t realized until this moment that Lola—sweet, carefree Lola—was as heavily invested, as deeply entrenched, as passionate as she was. Carmen had been so consumed by the daily minutia of running the winery, consuming every bit of information she could on viticulture, she’d never considered that Lola was right there beside her, putting in the hours, sharing the burden.

  She’d never been in this alone. Maybe that was the point of this whole journey. Rediscovering her sister. They’d drifted into adulthood, stranding their father on the shores of old age. Maybe the loss of the vineyard wouldn’t be the worst thing if it had let her reunite with Lola.

  She put her arm around her sister. “No matter what, Lola, we still have each other.”

  Lola rested her head on Carmen’s shoulder. They watched the day begin on the lake. A lanky teen on the Wapato dock checked the rental boats. A water skier threw up a lacy spray. The Lady of the Lake, the passenger ferry heading to Stehekin, near the North Cascades National Park, passed by on its daily commute carrying tourists and hikers. The thrum of the motor echoed off the cliffs. As the boat neared, Carmen and Lola grinned.

  It was an old tradition from their childhood. Morning and night, the Lady of the Lake threw a wake of premium waves on an otherwise still lake. As kids, they’d timed their summer swims with the boat schedule. Now, they waited for the waves to grow closer, then jumped into the water as they had as children, bobbing like otters in the turbulence.

  When the lake quieted, Lola swam closer, pointed her chin at the shore. “Shall we?”

  It was a loaded question. It would be so much easier to float here, staring up at the cloudless sky.

  The sisters swam back and climbed out of the water, wrapping themselves with towels. With one last shared smile, they crossed the street to whatever awaited in Orchard House. Carmen decided she’d take Lola to the bank with her to admit defeat. She didn’t need to do this alone.

  There was a car they recognized in the driveway of Orchard House: Adella’s. Lola had called her, knowing she was an early riser, pleading for help. But the gravel drive was also lined with a dozen unfamiliar cars. Who on earth would show up this early in the morning? Carmen and Lola were so busy speculating about the cars, they didn’t notice Evan in his living room window, his eyes switching between the two towel-clad sisters and the sky.

  The prayer group had arrived. Their old mini vans and sedans, purchased for hauling around children that had long since grown up, clogged the driveway. It was, both sisters thought, reminiscent of their high school days when their mother had hosted the prayer group.

  Walking into their kitchen was like entering a warm bath of love. The kitchen counter was covered in baked goods and casseroles. Sixteen ladies spoke Spanish, hugging the sisters so tightly they gasped for air.

  “Aye, Carmencita, Lolita, we heard about the food poisoning. What bad luck. Me personally, I never eat fruit. Bad for the digestion.” Martina Runes dyed her graying hair a black that seemed to absorb light.

  “Sí, we heard about you girls running the harvest. Helping your Papi. We should have come sooner,” said Nece, a short woman with a single gold tooth. “But when we heard, we spread the word.”

  Growing up, the sisters had called it the Mexican Party Line, back from when the phones had been on shared trunk lines. All you had to do was tell one Mexican mama and it was as good as it would be nowadays posting on Lake Chelan Now, the community Facebook page.

  The women were clustered into the kitchen like a brood of hens, all talking at once in a mixture of Spanish and English. On and on it went. The harder Carmen and Lola tried thanking them for the food and show of support, the more the ladies apologized for not showing up sooner.

  It went around in circles until Carmen was exhausted.

  “Well, you’re here now and thank you all so much. It’s so nice to see you.” Carmen’s face hurt from smiling so much.

  After another eruption of Spanish, Lola managed to quiet them down. “Mami would be so happy.”

  “She’d be so proud of you girls. Look at you. Taking care of your Papi. Getting
the harvest in,” said Lenore Fretter, serving everyone coffee.

  “How are the pickers? I heard terrible things,” Adella said.

  “The doctor said that when the people upstairs wake up, we should make sure they are hydrated and eat soft food.” Carmen looked at the offerings covering the counter doubtfully. “So, thank you so much for coming to help take care of them. Hopefully the worst is over.”

  Patrizia, a plump woman in her seventies with a bubble of curls pulled into a bun that never seemed to contain the mass, stepped to the front, shaking her head. “No mija, we’re not here to take care of the people.”

  Lola nodded. “Okay, well, thanks for the food.”

  Patrizia shook her head rapidly. “No. We’re here for the harvest.” She pointed up at the hill.

  For the first time, Carmen noticed that the women were dressed rather casually. Most of them favored summer dresses and sandals this time of year. The sisters exchanged glances.

  “What?” Carmen frowned. “But it’s—”

  Patrizia shook her head. “Listen, mija. Your mami was a sister to all of us. We all…” she motioned around the room. “When we first came from Mexico we all worked in the fields. Your mami was one of us and she would do the same thing for us. We know the harvest has to be in and the workers are…” She fluttered her fingers in the air. “So, we do it.” She flicked her wrist at girls. “You get some sleep and we go.”

  “I can’t let you…” said Carmen.

  Patrizia pushed Carmen towards the stairs. “You don’t got no say. Get some sleep and maybe you feel better. Don’t want you getting sick.”

  The kitchen was immediately filled with chattering Spanish once more. There was a festive atmosphere as the women showed each other their gloves and clippers, comparing notes and what their husbands and children were up to.

  Carmen and Lola looked at one another. The chill of the lake and the swim had made them relaxed and sleepy.

  “What should we do?” asked Carmen.

  “Sleep,” said Lola, shrugging.

  “Maybe you fix us lunch,” said Patrizia, once again pushing them towards the stairs. “Later. Okay? Rest now. Sleep.”

  The two sisters watched the kitchen empty as the older ladies marched in a steady stream of pastels up the hill, chatting the entire way as if they were heading to a picnic.

  “This feels like the weirdest dream,” Carmen said.

  Lola shook her head. “Maybe Mami sent them.”

  “Maybe she did.”

  Their father came barreling down the stairs, clutching his hat to his head. “Did you see them? Mami’s friends. They came to help!”

  It was the most elated they’d seen their father in years. He grabbed a piece of cinnamon pull apart, shoving it in his mouth as he opened the kitchen door, racing to join the women, checking to make sure his gloves were in his pocket.

  Lola went to the window. “He’s running. He’s actually running to catch up to them.”

  Carmen laughed. “I don’t think any of them have picked grapes in like, thirty years.”

  Lola shook her head. “What if a bunch of seventy-year-olds end up saving the vineyard?”

  Carmen tilted her head, watching the older people disperse into neat rows like a professional crew. “Then it will be a miracle.”

  Twenty-One

  Prayer Ladies

  Carmen hated leaving the prayer group behind, but when she went up the hill to tell her father that she had to go to the First Crush booth, he happily waved her off. “¡Es como los tiempos viejos!”

  It did feel like the old times. As if her mother was in the kitchen, getting lunch ready. But Lola was fixing the food. Carmen had to rush off to pick up Stella and hurry to the booth at First Crush. With her father and the women picking with greater speed than the guest harvesters had ever managed, it was beginning to seem like they might get the harvest in on time. The brix was at the tipping point. The heat of the day could send it over the edge, but if they could cool the grapes with the shade inside the winery, they might be able to slow it down.

  Carmen went down the hill with a lightness she hadn’t felt since she’d first arrived in Chelan. Lola was hard at work in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. There was no sign of the stricken harvesters.

  “How’s it going up there?” Lola wiped away tears from the onions.

  Carmen shook her head. “It’s the craziest thing. Those old ladies can pick like monsters. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Car, think about it. They’re first generation immigrants. They raised their families in a totally foreign environment. They’ve faced racism, poverty and hard physical labor. They’re fierce.”

  Carmen looked up on the hill. Already, they’d progressed up the hill to rows closer to the top. They were working at warp speed while keeping up a steady patter of Spanish and English. “They are.”

  Lola went back to chopping. “We could learn a thing or two from them.”

  Carmen nodded. “We already have.”

  Stella got out of the car and shouldered her bag, gazing around at the First Crush Festival with wide eyes. There were close to fifty vendors with impressive displays. Five Horses Vineyard had planted rows of grapevines, forming a mini vineyard with beautiful watercolor painted boards highlighting different types of grapes and wines. Rustic white tents featured bars in every corner, offering wine and cheese tasting. There were giant wine bottle balloons and a Dunk-the-Winemaker fundraiser to raise money for wineries affected by the wildfires.

  “Wow, this is amazing. Why didn’t we ever go to this before?” Stella asked, as they headed for the trailer that served as an office.

  “I don’t know why you didn’t, but I didn’t live here. The wine merchants association started it about five years ago,” Carmen said as they passed a six-foot-tall wineglass overflowing with flowers.

  “Who knew it was such a big deal?”

  Carmen kept an eye out for Evan. She had to talk to him about finding someone to help fix the broken vat. In the rush of helping the sick harvesters, she’d forgotten to remind Papi and take him to the hardware store. They had enough grapes in the back of the truck to fill the bottom of the vat but the juice would all run out if they didn’t fill the crack. What if they were still mending it when the festival started?

  Stella poked Carmen’s shoulder. “Hey, look.”

  Up ahead, situated between a tent and a thirty-foot inflated wine bottle, was the vat, all set up on a platform. Beside it was the sign she’d ordered and had sent directly to the fairgrounds. It was mounted on a rustic wooden stand. In front of it was a long table with a linen tablecloth, bearing wooden crates with the Blue Hills Vineyard logo stamped on the side. Neat rows of Blue Hills Vineyards wines were grouped in front of tasting glasses. Someone had worked hard to organize the entire booth, even going so far as to put out ropes to control the lines.

  “Wow. This is…”

  Stella turned to her as they walked towards the booth. “You told me we had to fix it all up. It looks amazing, Car. Someone’s got your back.”

  Carmen climbed the platform, opened the door to the vat. She searched for the crack. Someone had filled the gap with wood glue and sanded it down. She stood up, dusting her hands. “Maybe one of Papi’s friends?”

  Stella shrugged, looking around at the clusters of people carrying things from trucks, readying their displays. Curious onlookers were already walking past, reading the sign: Crush your own grapes! “Should we go get the grapes?”

  Carmen nodded. “Yeah. They cleaned out the tub and everything. I guess that’s it.”

  And it really was.

  Carmen would have to find whoever had done this and make sure to send them a case of wine. It looked a lot of work. The tablecloth was a rustic burlap-colored linen that worked perfectly with their deep blue and gold logo. The tasting glasses were stacked into miniature wooden crates so the wind wouldn’t blow them over. The napkins, stamped with the Blue Hills logo, were weighted with pott
ed mini roses. They’d thought of everything.

  Standing on the back of the truck bed, Carmen and Stella dumped bushels of grapes into the tub until the bottom was a foot deep. By the time Carmen came back from parking the truck, two little girls were dragging their mothers towards the giant vat. Stella winked at Carmen while she told them that’s how the ancient Greeks made their wine, shrugging at Carmen as she winged it.

  “After you’re done, we have a wine tasting area over here,” said Carmen to the two mothers.

  “And grape juice for you guys,” said Stella to the children.

  Carmen raised her eyebrows at Stella, who pointed to the table.

  “What? I brought grape juice.”

  “What would I do without you?”

  “You’d have bad hair, bad advice and a loser best friend.”

  They watched the children stomping gleefully in the grapes as their mothers laughed. Nobody seemed to care that the children were getting covered in juice. The sun shone as Carmen brought Stella a small glass of wine. They clinked glasses.

  “To friendship,” Carmen said.

  “To love,” Stella replied, keeping an eye out for Paolo.

  They both drank and enjoyed the moment.

  Six hours later, the last people wiped their feet after exiting the barrel, laughing and giggling. Carmen closed the barrel. Slipping on their shoes, the group perused the bottles set up on a table, artistically spilling out of a wooden crate. They purchased three bottles of last year’s vintage, saying that stomping grapes had been entirely therapeutic.

  As the sun touched the top of the canyon wall, making long shadows on the crushed grass, a cluster of teens came up, wanting a turn. Carmen decided to let them. “But no wine!”

  The teens thanked her profusely, shoving one another in their haste to enter the barrel, shouting in glee. “I have grape skin between my toes!” a girl hollered.

  “It feels so weird, right?” another kid said.

  One boy leaned down to paint stripes of juice on his cheek.