A Hopeful Harvest (Golden Grove Book 1)

by Ruth Logan Herne

  He did. He always had. And as they made their way back to the waiting room, she made a firm resolution to God.

  She might not be able to forgive her mother’s selfish acts, but Gramps deserved every possible chance to reconcile with his prodigal daughter. And she’d be a wretched person to stand in the way of that.

  She drew a deep breath, then pushed through the double doors leading into the waiting area.

  She walked in, head high. She’d do what she had to do for now because it was right. Then she’d quietly close the door on that chapter of her life. Her mother had never once requested forgiveness, not like that was a big surprise. And if she did?

  Libby was quite afraid that she’d never actually be able to do it. And that put the onus squarely back on her shoulders.

  Chapter Twelve

  The local news labeled Jax a hero for finding Cleve and bringing him to safety.

  A small group of local news media had shown up as Rescue One pulled away, and the reporter had done a clever job of winnowing information out of the people there. They’d interviewed the responding sheriff, added in a doctor’s warning about safety precautions to employ when caring for Alzheimer’s patients and the cameraman had gotten several shots of him holding CeeCee in his arms.

  He hadn’t needed to say a word because he was no hero. If he hadn’t delayed his return to the house by kissing Libby, he’d have been there and the old fellow wouldn’t be fighting for his life right now.

  CeeCee was tucked into bed, sound asleep. The bungalow-style house was quiet around him, and the chill of the autumn air quieted the night, a sure sign that change was in the air.

  He’d cleaned up the kitchen and straightened Cleve’s sitting area. Cleve liked his magazines just so, and his reading glasses to the left of them, although he didn’t seem to do much actual reading these days. Still, he liked his personal order of things, and Jax understood the importance of that.

  He’d just folded Cleve’s favorite afghan when a knock sounded at the side door. He crossed the two rooms and checked the driveway from the kitchen window.

  His father stood at the door, waiting.

  Jax crossed to the door and yanked it open. “Dad.”

  “Getting cold out here.” Richard Ingerson stepped into the side entry. “Got any coffee?”

  “I can make some, sure. I don’t generally drink it this late.”

  “Me, either, but tonight promises to be one of those times I make exceptions.” His father clapped him on the back. “Any word on Mr. O’Laughlin?”

  “Holding his own, they’re raising his temperature gradually.” He knew that because Mortie had texted him. Not Libby. “How did you know?”

  His father hooked a thumb toward the small television across from Cleve’s chair. “Caught half the news alert on Channel Nine. Saw you. And when you weren’t at the cabin, I figured you must be over here or at the hospital.”

  Jax indicated a magnetized picture of CeeCee on the fridge. “Her mom’s with Cleve. There’s no family around to watch her and it didn’t seem right making a five-year-old sit around a hospital for hours.”

  “So you stepped in.”

  “Wasn’t much choice,” he told his father as the coffee brewed. “And even if there was, I’d have done it.”

  “You’ve been that way since you were born, Jax.” Richard took a seat at the worn kitchen table and seemed quite comfortable there. “You’re a protector. A nurturer. Great qualities to have.”

  “Well, I messed up today.” The rich scent of fresh coffee tempted him. He didn’t drink caffeinated beverages after two in the afternoon because he had enough trouble sleeping at night. Why risk more? Sure, maybe the circumstances offered an allowance tonight, but he’d been scripting his life and habits with care for three years. The firm schedule kept him grounded and focused.

  “You saved a man’s life today,” said Richard softly. “Don’t minimize it, son.”

  “If I’d gotten back to the house when I was supposed to, this might not have happened, Dad. I got here ten minutes late and Cleve had disappeared.”

  “Making this your fault won’t help you or anyone else, Jackson.”

  He knew that, but—he couldn’t stop feeling like it was.

  His father went on. “Sometimes things just happen. If we govern ourselves by the what-ifs, we spend our whole lives questioning. Nothing is foolproof. The news report said there was a home health person on hand, watching over him.”

  “Doing dishes.” His frown deepened. “Why would dishes be more important than looking after a real, live person?”

  “You don’t multitask?”

  Jax growled because he always multitasked. He’d done it all his life; it was his way. He’d never minded having multiple plates spinning in the air, and he rarely let one fall. “Dad—”

  “My mother was like an escape artist before her disease progressed to keeping her in bed.” Richard sipped his coffee and sighed. “She slipped out time and again. It was like having a preschooler running around but she was tall enough to reach locks and maneuver them. That’s why your aunt Connie gave up her job to stay with your grandma Molly. We paid her as if she was a regular employee because she had two girls to raise, but we couldn’t leave Grandma Molly unwatched. And still she managed to give Connie the slip now and again. The sad truth is that most people don’t have the financial option to make choices like that. Fortunately, we did.”

  He’d been in college for some of that time, but his father’s words struck a chord. “Remember that time when I tracked her down at the rail station?”

  Richard hiked both brows. “That was a scare. Fortunately she remembered how to drive for those few hours and got there safely. She used to oversee fruit shipments for the company back in the fifties and sixties, and she’d told you about that and you put two and two together.”

  Jax brushed the praise aside. “It wasn’t rocket science, Dad. Anyone could have done the same.”

  His father’s forehead creased. “Not true. No one else took the time to listen to her ramblings. To help her out into the gardens she loved, or to take her for walks in the orchards.”

  “She liked the plums best.”

  “They were her favorite.” His father’s face eased into a smile. “And our new variety is named Molly May after her. She had an eye for fruit and a heart for God.”

  Faith-filled.

  Jax hadn’t thought of it in a while. Thinking of it now, the serenity of her face warmed his memories. “She liked going to church.”

  “With or without family, that woman stood solid for three generations of Ingersons and McClarens.”

  “And she never got mad at God for letting her get sick. Even when she was cognizant enough to know what was happening.”

  “Well, it wasn’t God’s fault, so why lay blame?” asked his dad. “Do we throw blame at God for human frailty? Or because our bodies don’t last forever? We’re not perfect.”

  He started to answer, but his phone buzzed a text from Libby. He grabbed up the phone and read the message quickly. Waking up somewhat. Befuddled, but temp rising. Prognosis is better.

  He texted back quickly, Good news! CeeCee is asleep. All quiet here. He hit Send and set the phone on the table.

  He wanted her to text back. He wanted her to forgive him for being late...

  Not for kissing her, because that had been absolutely wonderful, as if he’d come home to a place he’d never been. A place that beckoned with the peace and hope he’d lost years before.

  The phone sat silent, and his dad had just poured a second mug of coffee when a soft ping indicated a new text. He tried to be casual, but when he snatched the phone off the table, he couldn’t miss the slight smile that softened his father’s face which meant he still couldn’t fool his dad. He read the text, and as he did, his shoulders relaxed. So did his mind.


  Thank you for staying. For finding Gramps. For being you. I would have lost him today if it wasn’t for you, and I’m not ready for that yet. I want some more time to say goodbye. To give him one last earthly harvest. Bless you, Jax McClaren.

  She wasn’t blaming him.

  She was blessing him.

  The gentleness of her heart humbled him. He wasn’t sure what to text back. He wanted to apologize, he wanted her forgiveness, he wanted—

  I heard the news station called you a hero, she texted again. And this grateful apple farmer can’t disagree. I’ll talk to you in the morning.

  No anger. No accusations. No finger-pointing, so why was he doing it to himself?

  He hauled in a breath, then texted back, We’ve got tomorrow covered. You hang tight with Cleve.

  She replied with a thumbs-up emoji.

  His father stood. “I’m going to get on my way so you can get some sleep. You’re going to need it for tomorrow. I may have quietly placed a few ads around town to let people know about the O’Laughlin apple stand reopening.”

  “Is that code for an advertising blitz?” asked Jax with a smile.

  His father didn’t say no, which generally meant yes. “Just wanted to get the word out, with them starting so late in the season. And because it was the right thing to do. You might need some help on hand. Should I send over a couple of workers from Quincy?”

  If Libby came by and found Ingerson employees at the barn, he’d be outed instantly. “I think the crew from the bus garage can handle it. We’ll pause picking for the weekend.”

  “Good strategy.” Richard grabbed him in a hug. “You did well today, son. I’d give anything if you could see that the way I do.”

  He almost did. Hearing it from others, from his dad and then Libby, he realized that if three people are telling you the same thing, and you still disagree, then maybe your personal perception has gone awry. “My therapist would agree.”

  “She’s a smart lady.”

  So why had he spent the last year ignoring her advice? First thing tomorrow he was making that call to Seattle. If the new PTSD video therapy helped, then good. And if it didn’t, he’d lost nothing but some time. It was time to take the advice seriously. Time to act.

  Richard tugged on his hat. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow night, see how the opening day goes.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” He hugged his father again. Just because. “I’m grateful for everything.”

  “That’s what family’s for, Jax.” His father walked outside and pulled the door snugly shut behind him. He climbed into his white truck with the familiar CVF logo on the side and pulled out, then headed home.

  Jax crossed the living room, went upstairs and checked on CeeCee. She’d kicked off her covers. Tearstains tracked her cheeks from tears she hadn’t let him see or hear. He drew the covers up lightly and touched her head. So sweet. So innocent. So full of life. But he was pretty sure she’d had a tough road the first few years on the planet.

  What would it be like to make sure the rest of her life was good and solid? What would it be like to let himself care again? To put others first? To come out of hiding?

  He tucked her fluffy black-and-white stuffed dog next to her, and went back downstairs. He grabbed a couch pillow and a bright-toned afghan, then sacked out on the couch. He wouldn’t sleep.

  He didn’t dare. What if he woke up screaming with CeeCee upstairs? But he could rest his eyes, so that’s what he did.

  When the alarm on his phone chimed six hours later, he woke up, surprised and pleased. But one look at the time had him brewing coffee quickly. Libby had planned to make signs for the apple store. That hadn’t happened.

  He hunted up a permanent marker and a stack of card stock from a pile near the printer. One by one he wrote out signs and prices. By the time CeeCee got up, he had the signs done, and it was time to head up the road. She came downstairs quietly. He headed her way and lifted her up. “Hey, pretty girl. That’s quite the outfit you’ve got on.” She’d picked an interesting combination of stripes and florals with an apple-red vest over it. A miniature pair of Western boots completed the outfit. For all the crazy patterning, she looked absolutely wonderful.

  “Is my mommy here?” she asked, looking over his shoulder toward the kitchen. There was no missing the concern in her tone. “And my grandpa?”

  He was about to tell her no when a text came in. He saw the image and held it up for her to see as he read the accompanying text. Coming home midday. Gramps is so much better! He misses you, CeeCee!

  “Oh, I miss them, too!” She dropped her head against his chest like she’d done the day before, and the rusty latch on his heart creaked open even more. “Tell them I miss them but I’m going to help you get the farm stuff done. Okay? Then they won’t have to worry the littlest bit. Not if you and me work on stuff together!”

  “I’ll tell her,” he promised. “What do you want for breakfast and can you eat it on the way? Because we need to head over to the barn.”

  “Apples!” She fist pumped the air. “My mom says the one good thing about apple farmers is they can’t ever go hungry as long as they’ve got apples and a cooler.”

  “Then we’ve got a barn full of meals waiting for you.” He texted Libby back quickly, Heading up the road now with CeeCee. We’re double-teaming the apple barn today.

  Thank you!

  There was no time to say more. He grabbed a box of granola bars as backup, tucked CeeCee into his truck with her booster seat and drove up the road.

  Gert’s husband pulled in right behind him. “Gert’s still at the hospital with Mortie and Libby, so I said I’d work the stand.”

  “Thank you,” said Jax, and he clasped the older man’s hand in a quick gesture of respect as two more bus drivers rolled in. They parked around back, and by eight thirty, they’d put signs on everything, moved small wagons out front for customers’ use and by eight forty-five the parking lot was full.

  He swung the doors open, and as the day raced forward, he and CeeCee helped customer after customer with the bus drivers’ help, as two of the men kept replenishing stock from the back cooler. In all his days, Jax McClaren had never seen so many happy faces. And all because they were shopping for apples at a simple roadside stand.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Libby couldn’t believe her eyes when she approached the apple barn midafternoon. Cleve was tucked at home. Mortie had offered to stay with him while Libby helped at the apple stand. The bighearted nurse had practically shooed Libby out of the house once Gramps was settled.

  Cars, SUVs and pickups filled the parking area and lined the street. She took the farm access trail bordering Moyer’s land and drove around back, thinking she’d park behind the barn, but that was full, too. Finally she parked along the grassy area fronting the bare, fumigated land and was surprised when three more vehicles followed her right in to snatch a spot alongside her old truck.

  She climbed out, waved a greeting to the new customers and headed for the barn.

  Organized chaos welcomed her.

  Dave and Jim, two of the helpful bus drivers, were busy restocking apple displays that sold as quickly as the men filled them. Half of her syrup and jam display was wiped out, and when she looked for the backup stock she’d stacked behind the new wall, it was gone.

  All gone.

  She turned in disbelief, and the first thing she saw was Jax’s big smile. CeeCee was snug in his left arm and she was telling someone a story—

  No shock there...

  And the customer was listening.

  Then CeeCee spotted her. “My mommy’s here! Mommy, come look at all the stuff we’re selling, and people are so happy to come see us and buy our apples!”

  Folks heard CeeCee’s invitation and turned.

  Instant heat infused Libby’s face.

  She’d never liked being the cen
ter of attention. CeeCee gravitated to it, but the thought of all these people watching her—

  She was sure her heart was about to implode, but then a woman nearby touched her arm. She turned.

  An old classmate stood there. Cass Summers, a quiet girl who sat on the far right in sixth-grade English and Social Studies during those dreadful years with her parents.

  “Libby, I’m Cass Summers. Well, Cass Bradley, now.” She indicated two busy boys playing checkers on a wooden table using miniature pumpkins.

  “I remember,” said Libby. But the question was, what did Cass remember? A kid coming to class in unwashed clothes when she was with her parents? Or the cleaner, nicer version when Libby lived with her grandparents? Seeing her mother had dragged up every possible bad memory she had, it seemed.

  “I love what you’ve done here,” Cass continued. “My kids are over the moon. We’ve grabbed pumpkins and cornstalks and apples, cider and cheese. This is amazing! It’s gotten so hard to find an affordable place to bring the kids to give them a farm experience.” She reached out and gave Libby a spontaneous hug. “I was sad when I saw what happened to your barn, but this...” She motioned to the sales area. “This is the kind of place we’ll come back to. Thank you for creating the kind of place I can bring my kids to again and again. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

  She moved away as CeeCee threaded her way through the people. “Mommy!” She did her customary leap into Libby’s arms. “Did you bring Grandpa home? Is he feeling better? Is he so happy to be home?” She lowered her voice into a fake monster tone as she asked, then smooshed her mother’s face between her two small hands as if that would help Libby answer.

  She moved CeeCee’s hands away and kissed her cheek before answering. “He’s home, he’s feeling better and he’s promised not to go wandering again.” She added that last as Jax drew near. “A promise he will forget, I’m sure.”

  “Not to worry. We installed new locks on the doors last night,” he told her. “After things calmed down. And they’re coded so he can’t just open the door. I put them low enough so CeeCee could enter the code. We just can’t tell Gramps what it is,” he added.