A Late Frost

by Sheila Connolly

  “I’m trying, but it’s not easy. If I hadn’t heard Christopher’s explanation, I probably would have said no way. But if you do hire him, I wouldn’t expect him to change, or at least, not quickly. He appears to have strong opinions about orchards. Can you handle that?”

  “Seth, almost anybody around here knows more about orchards than I do.”

  “Meg, you’ve learned a lot in the past couple of years, and you’ve done well, all things considered. Bree played a part in that, but you paid attention to what she did, and you listened to her. The question now is, can you stand your ground if Larry has very different ideas?”

  “I don’t really know. Christopher says I’m a romantic when it comes to the orchard, and that may mean that I sacrifice some money-making potential. I’m going to have to think about that.”

  “I think you have two major criteria: one, you have to make enough money to support yourself, and two, you have to enjoy what you do. It’s up to you to balance those two. Can Larry help? Maybe. He seems to have the right expertise. But can you enjoy working with him? That’s not as clear.”

  “A tidy summary, Mr. Chapin. I guess I don’t have to decide today. Maybe I’ll sleep on it. I still feel a bit, well, kind of jet-lagged, after the wedding and the honeymoon and what happened at my parents’, and then coming back and diving right into Christmas. I feel kind of disoriented.”

  “Then we’re lucky to have some downtime. Enjoy it.”

  Meg was startled when their landline rang. Nobody ever called, preferring either their cell phones or bypassing a phone altogether and e-mailing them. Seth stood up. “I’ll get it.” He walked over to the old wall phone and picked up the receiver, then walked around the corner into the dining room for some privacy. He was gone for a few minutes, and when he returned to the kitchen, he resumed his seat. “The real world is catching up to us again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That was Tom Moody.”

  “Who?”

  “Head of the Granford Board of Selectmen, remember? He reminded me that we have a meeting tonight—not a regular meeting, but one that kind of cropped up at the last minute, about something that needs immediate attention.”

  Meg shut her eyes and feigned intense concentration. “Okay, you’re still a Granford selectman. Check. When do you run again? Or do you even want to?”

  “To answer your questions, in order: yes, in the fall, maybe. In any case, the only item on the agenda is planning for the WinterFare.”

  “The what?”

  “Okay, I’ll have to take a step back and explain. A few months ago, a woman who had recently moved to Granford with her husband got in touch with Tom and said she’d love to volunteer her time and act as what I guess amounts to a booster for the town. Raise our profile, find ways to make tourists stop here rather than just pass through on their way to Amherst or Northampton. Not a bad idea, in principle, but as you’ve no doubt noticed, we don’t have a lot of things to drag people in.”

  “There’s Gran’s,” Meg protested.

  “Yes, but it’s still young, and it hasn’t quite reached ‘must-see’ restaurant status. That’s not to say it won’t, but it’s not there yet. And apart from that, there’s the Historical Society, which is small, with a mainly local collection. As I told you, it’s possible we may end up doing something with the old library, but that’s still a ways off. But to cut to the chase, we agreed to talk with this woman—”

  “Does she have a name?”

  “Yes, it’s Monica Whitman. Her husband’s name is Douglas. They’re in their late fifties, maybe early sixties. Anyway, there was a meeting in December that I missed, but Tom told me the details about them. He thinks Monica has some good ideas—and of course she’s not charging us—but the most immediate one was to hold a WinterFare. That’s F-A-R-E, not F-A-I-R. She thinks we could hold a food and crafts fair next month, in the high school gymnasium, and offer whatever crops we have in storage plus winter-based crafts, like knitting. Or things like wood carving, pottery. You get the drift.”

  “I suppose. Why February?”

  “Because it’s the slowest time of the year. It’s dark and cold, and there’s not much that can be done outside, for the farmers. People are getting antsy by then, and they’ve been cooped up for a couple of months. I think I agree with Monica—it would be nice to get everybody out of their houses for a fun event, and the timing makes sense.”

  “I can see that. Of course I’d contribute some apples—wait, is this a fundraiser?”

  “I’m not sure we’ve decided, but that’s not essential. Except we need to get it planned, recruit vendors, sort out refreshments and publicize it—all in about three weeks.”

  “Yikes! You all don’t ask much. You think it can be done?”

  “Between the Internet and word of mouth, I think we can pull it off. But we shouldn’t expect too much—this is kind of a test. If there seems to be support for the idea, we’ll start working to make it bigger and better next year. If it falls flat, we’ll have shared a pleasant winter afternoon with our neighbors. We’re not asking anybody to churn out twenty-five knit scarves in three weeks. You’ve already got apples in storage, and other people have other vegetables. Maybe grass-fed beef. Baked goods.”

  “That sounds nice. I assume you’ve already counted me in. So what’s the meeting about?”

  “Planning. Getting the high school on board, since we’ll need their gym for it—we’ve already checked the sports schedule and that’s clear. Talk to Nicky and Brian about food. Check what permits we might need, but it should be pretty much like the Harvest Festival, so they or we may be covered already. Maybe find somebody to provide music. We’ll have a general meeting for all the participants later in the month.”

  “Have you met Monica?”

  “Not yet—I only know what Tom told me. But she seems really eager to get involved in the community.”

  “I should have thought of that when I moved here—my life would have been a lot simpler if I’d introduced myself. But I didn’t expect to stay.”

  “And yet, here you are. Are you sorry?”

  “Of course not.”

  They smiled at each other across the table. “Uh, you want to . . .” Meg said.

  “Definitely.”

  • • •

  After lunch Meg wandered out to chat with the goats, Dorcas and Isabel. They were undemanding creatures: fairly quiet, not messy, and always curious. Meg had rescued them when they were headed for a local Greek restaurant, destined for dinner, but she hadn’t made any further plans for them. Breed them? They were both female, but then she’d have to find a male, and worry about birthing baby goats. Kids. No, she had enough else to worry about. Shear them for their wool? Even to her inexperienced eye, she wasn’t sure she’d want to wear anything made from their coats. Make goat cheese? But if she remembered her biology correctly, the goat would have to be pregnant and produce a kid before she made any milk. Rent them out to clear other people’s fields of poison ivy? She’d read somewhere that the nasty weed didn’t bother them, and they could offset the cost of their feed. But that would take organization, and again, she didn’t want to add another task to her to-do list. So mostly they remained a decorative addition to her otherwise unused field. They didn’t seem to mind. As she leaned on the fence, they stared at her with their weird eyes, and when no treats were forthcoming, they went back to grazing on the frozen grass.

  She was surprised to see Larry’s car pull into the driveway. She leaned back against the fence and waited for him to approach.

  He spoke first, in a rush. “Look, I know I was pushy and, well, kind of rude before. I guess I was showing off, telling you how much I know. I’m not good with people.”

  “Christopher told me a bit about your history. I’m surprised you wanted to go into agriculture at all.”

  “It was all I knew
. And it’s easy to manage trees and plants—they don’t argue with you. Look, I’m out of cash and I really need a job. I don’t want you to hire me because you feel sorry for me—I can do the work, and I think I can help you make your orchard better.”

  “You don’t think I’m silly to want a few old-fashioned trees?”

  “Not if you accept you’re giving up some yield. But I figure you’re not in it for the money, right?”

  “I already told you that. I want enough, not a lot—I don’t expect to get rich doing this. I like this town. I like the work, not that I’m looking for a bigger orchard, after that last addition. I don’t much like big machines, but I know I’ve got to upgrade the ones I’ve got, if the money’s there. I’d be willing to listen to your ideas because I know you know a lot more about all this than I do. But it’s still my place, and I don’t like arguments.”

  “I don’t, either. So, you want me or not?”

  Meg sighed. “Larry, you’ve got to polish up your people skills if you’re going to survive. Do you want to work for me?”

  Larry swallowed. “Yes. I’d like that.”

  “I can’t pay much. I pay the pickers market rate, and a lot of them have been working around here for a long time. Can you work with them? Most of them are older than you, and they’ve got a lot of experience. I’d hate to lose them. But I can only pay so much.” Meg named a figure and watched for Larry’s response. He didn’t seem horrified. Was he really scraping the bottom of the barrel? Because he hadn’t found a job for a while, or because he’d lost the ones he’d found?

  “Where’ve you been living?” Meg asked.

  “Here and there.” He looked away, and Meg wondered if he’d been sleeping in his car—not good weather for that.

  “Bree lived in the house here, which was part of the deal we made. Seth came along later. But since we’re married now, we’d kind of like more privacy—nothing personal. But there are some other options. You want me to ask around?”

  “Yeah, that’d be good. You pay cash? Check?”

  “This is a business, and I keep good records. I’d prefer a check, but if I pay cash, I’m going to declare it all, and I’m going to give you a tax form at the end of the year. I won’t pay you off the books.”

  “That’s fair. So, we got a deal?”

  “I think so. Let’s try it for a while and see how it goes. What’s the next thing we’ve got to do?”

  “Did you fertilize in the fall?”

  “Yes. Bree saw to that, and she left the reports.”

  “Pruning, then, in the next month. And look into that irrigation system, before you need it and it craps out on you. Look for a secondhand tractor, too—that one you’ve got is pretty old. Nothing fancy, just sturdy.”

  “That’s about what I was thinking. So, anything you need to work out or take care of before you start?”

  “Nope. Thank you, Meg.” He stuck out his hand, and Meg shook it. “I’ll come back tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

  “No rush—this is about the only downtime I get. I’ll pull together the tree records and we can go over them later.”

  “Great. See you tomorrow.” Larry turned and strode toward his car with a noticeable bounce to his step.

  He’d just pulled out of the driveway when Seth emerged from his office. “Was that Larry?”

  “It was.”

  “What did he want?”

  “The job. By the way, he apologized for being rude and pushy.”

  “Did you hire him?”

  “I did, at least until I see how well we work together. I think he needs a place to stay, and I don’t think Bree’s old room will work out for him. Any ideas?”

  “I’ll think about it. Can we do an early dinner? That meeting tonight’s at seven.”

  “Fine by me.”

  4

  Seth came back from his meeting around ten, looking troubled. Meg was tucked up in bed, trying to read a book, although she kept nodding off every few pages. But she was determined to stay awake until her husband—husband!—came home. “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. You’ll have to meet Monica. She is a bundle of energy.” He didn’t sound exactly happy about it.

  “Has she done this kind of organizing before?”

  “It sounds to me like she’s been an uber-volunteer most of her adult life. She said she’d give us references from her last community if we wanted.”

  “Do you think she knows what she’s doing?”

  Seth threw himself down on the bed after kicking his shoes off. “I think so. We’ve done enough of this kind of event here ourselves, and she seems to have touched all the bases. If there’s one rule in management, even on the most basic local level, it’s ‘never turn away a volunteer.’ And I think she’s got a grip on reality—she doesn’t expect the moon from this. She sees it as a trial run. Maybe all she really wants is to get to know some of the people in Granford. This is a great way to get a lot of them together, under happy circumstances.”

  “Was her husband there?”

  “No.”

  “Where do they live?”

  “They bought the old Keyser place, on the road to Amherst. Not far from here, actually.”

  “That tumble-down old farm? Are they planning to farm it?”

  “No, I don’t think so. The outbuildings are pretty far gone anyway. I may try to talk to her about working on the house, which is in decent shape considering it’s been empty for a while.”

  “Small-town networking—gotta love it. Who else has signed on for the event?”

  “Nicky and Brian were there, and they’re enthusiastic. This time of year is slow for them, so they’re happy to show off what they can do.”

  “But not meals as such, right? More like munchies, sandwiches, that kind of thing?”

  “I think so. And plenty of coffee, and hot cocoa for the kids.”

  “Sounds nice. Should I plan for a table? Large? Small? Are you charging a rental fee for space? Does the town expect a cut of the profits?”

  “Slow down. We’re trying to keep things simple this year. We may implement some of the things you just mentioned next year, if this works out. As for your own table, you won’t be the only person with apples, so don’t go overboard.”

  “Who else has apples?” Meg asked.

  “A few families—I don’t know if you know them. Most of them have a range of crops, and just a few apples, but more than they can use themselves and not enough to sell. But there’s one organic farm that I don’t know much about.”

  “I didn’t know there was one in Granford. Where is it?”

  “At the foot of the mountain, north of here. There’s been an orchard there for a long time, but it wasn’t managed well, and the last owners kind of let it go. These people bought it maybe three years ago, but they’ve been working to get the trees back in shape, and clear out the weeds and junk. It’s taken them this long to produce even a small crop, which is probably why you haven’t been aware of it, but they’re eager to show it off. That and the fact that they haven’t had a lot of time for socializing.”

  “Are they registered as organic?”

  “Yes. They take it seriously. Or at least, the wife does—she came to the meeting without her husband, said he was home watching the kids. But all their registrations are in place, so they can officially call themselves organic.”

  “That’s not easy to do—lots of paperwork, and lots of restrictions. Bree and I talked about it at some point, remember? It seemed too complicated to deal with then. I’ll look forward to meeting them. What’s their name?”

  “Virginia—Ginny Morris. I think he’s Alden on paper, but Ginny called him Al.”

  “How about the alpaca ladies? Are they in?”

  “Oh, yes—they’re really excited. They’ve got a good website business goin
g, but they think they’ll sell more if people can actually handle the wool products. They mostly do socks, mittens, hats—that kind of thing. Too bad they can’t bring the alpacas into the gym—the kids love ’em.”

  “Sounds good. Looks like it’s coming together, despite the short notice.”

  “I think it is. I’m going to grab a shower.”

  “Before you get wet, any ideas about a place for Larry?”

  “Sorry, haven’t had time to think about it.”

  “You know, Bree once said something about turning the old chicken coop into a tiny house. Would that make sense?”

  “You’re asking me to do it?”

  “No, because you’re supposed to be earning money, right? But maybe Larry could handle the conversion, with a little guidance from you. If he’s interested, that is.”

  “What about lighting? Heating? Plumbing?”

  “Hey, I didn’t say I’d worked out the details. I’m just putting the idea on the table. You could let him use your house, if you’d rather. That’s one of those things you and I need to talk about for the long term. It shouldn’t just sit empty.” Seth’s house was a true Colonial much like her own, but over the past year Seth had been spending more and more time in hers, leaving his own orphaned. Meg understood why he didn’t want to sell it, since that house, as well as his mother’s next door, had been built by Chapin ancestors a couple of centuries earlier. But leaving it unoccupied was not a good option, and Seth hadn’t explored the idea of renting it out. Not that Larry would be a good candidate: it was too big for one person, but he didn’t seem like the kind of person who wanted multiple roommates. Something to think about.

  “I know. It’s on my list. Let me sleep on both ideas, okay?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  • • •

  The next morning Meg was awakened by an insistent rapping at the back door. Seth wasn’t in the bed, so she assumed he was already downstairs, a guess that was confirmed when she heard the sound of the door opening and a piercing female voice greeting Seth.