Small Town Secrets

by Roxanne Snopek

  He paused for breath.

  “That’s so sad,” she said. Of course, the families were friends, and he and Mary had once been close but she couldn’t see why such news about the neighbors would cause him such emotional upset?

  “There are other interested buyers, but they want all the Lewis land, not just the one section. Not only that, but they want my father’s farm as well. Both families would have money, but their homes would be gone.”

  Understanding came with a rush. Nathan’s farm, gone? No wonder he was so unhappy.

  “Your father wouldn’t sell… would he?”

  “What else will he do, if I don’t take it over?”

  Guilt assailed her. Until she’d begun filling Nathan’s head with talk of travel and adventure, his interest in the Jackson cherries had been unwavering. Now, without interest from the only son and heir, Nathan’s father would have to make alternate plans, just as Lewis was doing. It was only practical.

  “But you will, Nate! Of course you will. It’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

  “It was,” he shouted. He turned away from her, gripping the fence post tightly. “Now… I don’t know what I want.”

  But he did know. He’d always known. Like a tsunami, the truth rolled into her. There’d never been any question about Nate’s future – until she’d come along, making him think of other worlds they might see, other paths they might explore together. She’d been a distraction, making him forget the life laid out before him, but it had always been there, waiting.

  He still knew what he wanted, but not knowing her change of heart, he was afraid to tell her. How happy he would be to learn that she’d already decided that their life belonged here. That they had a future, together, just like he wanted.

  “It’s your farm, Nate.” She walked up to him and touched his shoulder. “Of course you will stay and run it. But I have a surprise for you. I’m ready to stay here, too.”

  Instead of the joyful shock she expected, her words were met with an agonized groan.

  “Oh, Pansy, Pansy.”

  His anguish frightened her. She took him in her arms and this time, he allowed it. He clutched at her, burying his face in her hair. Hot, salty tears mingled on her skin. He wept against her like this for some time, his lithe young body wrenching until he was worn out. Pansy wept too, afraid to think just what all this meant, pretending that her worst fears weren’t lurking unsaid, pretending that she wouldn’t rail at fate for whatever grief lay around the corner.

  Finally, they simply stood there, holding each other.

  “They want me to marry Mary,” he said. “It’s that or they’ll sell.”

  And the bottom of Pansy’s world fell out.

  *

  “What about me, Nate? What if I stayed? We could run the farm, and then, when we’re old, we’ll go travel, see the world. Why not?”

  For just a moment, as he held her in his arms, breathing in her vanilla scent, feeling the sweet silken brush of her hair around his face, Nate allowed himself to consider the fantasy Pansy held out to him.

  The two of them, hand in hand, walking through the orchard, pink petals floating through the air around them. Together, working the land, raising a family, sharing their adventures small and large.

  Sharing their lives.

  “I want that, Pansy, I do.” His throat felt like it was on fire. “You have no idea. I love you so much. But…”

  His chest contracted, choking off his words. If she stayed, if he chose her, there wouldn’t be a farm for them to run. Even if there was, how long would it be before her restlessness tore them apart? She’d never wanted to be the wife of a small-town farmer. She dreamed of seeing the world.

  He dreamed of building their world here.

  There was no answer. There was no way for them.

  “I love you, Nate!” She gripped his upper arms with her fingers and shook him lightly. “In the end, what else matters? We love each other enough to get through anything. Nothing is more important than love, and we have enough for a lifetime. We can make it work.”

  “How, Pansy? If you know, tell me, because I can’t see it. Sure we have love, but we have no money and nowhere to go. And this isn’t just about us.”

  She paused, opened her mouth again, then closed it and simply held him.

  He’d never been so miserable in all his life. If he chose Pansy, his family would sell out. The Lewises would sell out. The Jackson orchard would be gone. Two families uprooted, torn away from the lives they loved because, well, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Men of his father’s generation had little faith that opportunities spurned might come around again.

  They had love and plenty of it. But what else did they have? Nothing. Without a penny to his name, or hers, without a home, shunned by his own family, where would they go? How long would it be before their love was not enough to hold back the miseries of a life scrambling for crumbs?

  Without an occupation, how could he support her? And – fresh horror hit him – the children they’d undoubtedly have? What then? How would he feed not only a wife, but a family?

  He had to face the unpalatable truth that his mother’s jaded words might be right. Perhaps love was not enough. Adventures, despite Pansy’s lack of concern, did not come without price. Even basking in love on a mountaintop in Peru, one still had to eat.

  And yet… and yet… how on earth could he bear to live without her?

  He couldn’t. It was as simple as that.

  Finally Pansy lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy with tears.

  “I’m so sorry, my love,” she said and something about the way she said it sent a cold finger of dread running down his spine.

  He opened his mouth. His throat felt as if he’d swallowed broken glass. “I’ll die without you, Pansy. Surely we can get through this. There must be a way. You know how much I love you.”

  She nodded and stepped away from him, but held his hands, looking him over as if memorizing his features.

  “It’s late,” she said. “I have to go. I don’t know what to say except to tell you that I love you. And that I want the best for you. Do you believe me?”

  He nodded. “And I, you.”

  She turned away then, fighting back a sob.

  “Meet you in two days?” he called after her.

  She didn’t turn around, merely lifted a hand in a wave of tacit agreement.

  It didn’t occur to him until late that night that he’d never asked what it was that she’d wanted to tell him.

  Nor did it occur to him two days later, when she didn’t meet him at the appointed hour, that he’d never get the chance to ask.

  *

  Spring, 2006

  Jackson Cherry Orchard

  As difficult as it was for Nate to watch Jessica carry on with the boys vying for her attention, it was almost worse watching Carrie.

  She laughed and joked as much as the others, but there was a tightness about her that worried him. In that regard, she was much like her mother. Cathy had indeed married her rich businessman and was militant in performing the duties of such a man’s wife, that is to say, the mask she donned fit her well.

  But it was still a mask. The daughter Nate had known before Mary’s death seemed to have died with her. Perhaps Cathy was happy; she was so busy trying to appear prosperous and content that it was difficult to tell.

  From sweet, gurgling infancy, Carrie had fit neatly into the mold Cathy set out for her. Smiling, accommodating, agreeable Carrie, who’d needed no discipline and strove to be the role model for her younger and less compliant brother and sister.

  “Has Carrie heard back from the art institute?” said Pansy.

  Nate sighed. “Yeah. She got in.”

  It was the one thing Carrie had ever stood up to her mother about.

  “Cathy still won’t let her go, huh? That woman.” Pansy shook her head. “I’m sorry to say it about your own daughter, but she needs to pull her head o
ut. Both those girls are messed up, and it’s rolling down to their own daughters. Can’t you talk to them?”

  A firecracker burst below them, sending a spray of sparks skittering across the clearing and shrieks of laughter followed. Nate was relieved to see Carrie and Will jump to their feet to stomp out the embers.

  What was Will even doing there? Just protecting his future interests? Or maybe he was dating someone from this class. Knowing Will, it was probably worry over the orchard.

  “And say what, Pan? Neither of them will listen to me. They each have very specific ideas about what their children should be. Jess has resisted Jane at every turn but this is the first time Carrie has stood up to Cathy. Cathy has made it clear that they will support Carrie if she studies business at Montana State, like they’ve always wanted her to. But anywhere else, she’s on her own.”

  “Bozeman is too close to home,” said Pansy.

  “Which is why Cathy wants her there, I’m sure. She’s deathly afraid her good little girl is going to discover the world and become her own person.”

  “And you’re not?”

  Through the darkness, Nate could hear the gentle mocking in her voice and felt humbled that, after all they’d been through, Pansy and he remained able to talk openly about the important things, calling each other out when necessary. Though it was mostly her calling him out. She’d never strayed from her own path or betrayed her true self for the sake of someone else’s wishes.

  “Of course, I don’t want her to change,” he confessed. “And I’d miss her dreadfully if she went. But I fear for her if she stays. If she doesn’t follow this dream of hers, I think a part of her will die.”

  It had taken him many years to understand why Pansy had had to leave, and what she’d nearly given up to stay with him. If he wished anything for Carrie, it was that, like Pansy, she’d come back, happy, her spirit intact and strong, in full possession of herself.

  As if reading his mind, Pansy leaned her head against his shoulder.

  “You’re a good man, Nathan Jackson.”

  Fresh laughter rose around the campfire and they both looked out. They strained to hear the conversation.

  “Is that Tony Caputo?” said Pansy, leaning forward.

  It was. And he was sitting next to Carrie, who was angling away from him.

  Nate got to his feet. “Yeah. And whatever he’s saying, she doesn’t like it.”

  Then Nate saw the boy sling his arm across Carrie’s shoulders. She shrugged out from under him but he grabbed at her, hauling her onto his lap and kissing her.

  “I’m gonna kill that boy,” growled Nate.

  Pansy tightened her grip on his arm. “Wait.”

  To his relief, he saw Carrie give the kid a backward head-butt, catching him on the lip and sending him tumbling off the log.

  “Whoo-hoo!” shouted Pansy.

  Nate cringed. “Shh! They’ll hear you.”

  Pansy waved away his caution. “They haven’t yet, have they? What’s she doing now?”

  Carrie stood above where Tony lay sprawled, her hands on her hips, saying something they couldn’t hear. Then she walked over to the circle of girls and took refuge with them.

  “Maybe she’s not as sweet and helpless as you thought,” said Pansy.

  He had to admit, he was impressed. Tony Caputo got to his feet, to more laughter and razzing from the boys around him. The kid was immature and impulsive but not, Nate hoped, vindictive.

  Then he heard the mocking rise-and-fall of teasing voices, the only word he could make out being virgin.

  Poor Carrie.

  “Someone needs to give that Caputo boy an attitude adjustment. With a crowbar,” said Pansy.

  “I’ll hold him down for you,” said Nate, only partly in jest. Tony, the fool, had no idea the relentless campaign Pansy could wage against him, if she so chose.

  Just then, they saw Jess standing in front of him, gesticulating furiously. Though they couldn’t hear the conversation, the body language and tone were clear. Jess poked Tony in the chest a few times to punctuate her message, then sat down.

  Pansy punched the air and hooted. “You go, girl! That’ll teach him. Those girls of yours are all right, Nate. They can handle themselves.”

  It heartened him somewhat to see that Carrie could stand up to the class idiot. But the characterization of her as the lily-white good-girl that she’d always been for Cathy would not serve her. Reputations in a small town had a way of sticking, as he knew all too well.

  The only way Carrie could break free would be to leave.

  Maybe it was time for a little intervention, he thought. Sometimes, a father could only mend his mistakes a generation away. Cathy had been lost to him years ago. Perhaps the only way to keep Carrie from being lost as well, was to help her take a chance on herself.

  Nate swallowed. He’d miss his granddaughters dreadfully, but what choice did he have? All he could do was hope that one day, Cherry Lake would call them back.

  He was so very tired of saying good-bye.

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  Summer, 1978

  Jackson Cherry Orchard

  “Honey, can you bring me the hose?”

  Mary’s voice drifted over from her massive garden, where she was currently waging war on the bugs in her potato patch. Each summer, she hand-picked jar after jar of the iridescent insects and drowned them in the dug-out, rather than use chemicals. The vibrant green potato plants still wore ragged, lacy-edged leaves, but the red-skinned nuggets beneath were plentiful and delicious, feeding the family well through the winter.

  Nate attached the hose to the pump that brought well water to the yard and dragged the heavy beast to the garden.

  Mary sat on a stump in the shade, wiping her face with a handkerchief.

  “Where do you want it?”

  “On the salad greens,” she said.

  He attached the hose to the oscillating sprinkler and set it up in the area Mary indicated. The hose bucked and skipped for a moment, then settled into the comforting tick-tick as the droplets sprayed onto the thirsty plants. The dusty smell of earth rose to his nose, combined with the acrid bite of tomato plants and marigolds.

  The smell of summer.

  He breathed it in, marveling as he often did, how lucky he was to be able to live and work in the fresh air, surrounded by mountains, glacier-fed streams and ice-blue lakes. So they weren’t rich yet; with the orchard business finally taking off, it was only a matter of time.

  He walked over to his wife and handed her a jug of water.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Mary washed out empty plastic bleach and vinegar bottles, filled them with drinking water and froze them each night, so the men would have cold water while they worked. She drank deeply, water spilling down her cheeks onto her sleeveless plaid shirt. Her arms were muscled from work, as most farm wives’ were, but too thin, the skin stretching taut between tendons and bone. Her brown hair was sun-bleached white in spots and beneath the freckles on her fair skin, she looked pale.

  “You okay?” he asked. Though she was still as slender as a girl, lines crinkled the skin by her eyes, beside her mouth.

  “It’s hot today,” she commented. “That’s all.”

  It was hot. Though it was still early in the day, she’d been up since dawn and was probably tired. It was a big garden to manage on her own.

  Each year during the growing season, Nate spent long days in the orchard, leaving Mary to handle everything else, the kids, the animals, the farm, the house. It’s how it had always worked. She’d grown up on a farm, as had he. It’s how it was for everyone. She never complained. She too, had gotten the life she’d dreamed of.

  Turning the two family farms into one large, commercial operation had been a smart move, Nate had never questioned that. From the beginning of their marriage, he’d thrown himself into the orchard, working day and night throughout the summers and studying horticulture, business, marketing, whatever he could get
his hands on, during the winter. He was driven to succeed but not just for the sake of his family.

  If Jackson Cherry Orchard failed, he’d have lost Pansy for nothing. So while it had cost him everything, it had also saved him.

  He wasn’t unhappy with Mary. It was a good union, as his mother had predicted. But something inside him still chafed, just under the surface, invisible and inaudible in the waking hours, only rising to nudge him as he drifted into sleep, reminding him that he’d acquiesced to the plan, for the sake of their families and damn it, he deserved to have everything they’d promised would come with it.

  Too bad the one thing he wanted was not part of that deal.

  But he didn’t think about her.

  Instead, he loved his wife and children as much as he could, he built his farm, he sat on boards, and gave his opinions at meetings. He helped turn the two streets scattered with a few houses punctuated by gas, grocery and hardware stores into an honest to goodness town.

  They had a good life, a thriving business, healthy children and a solid partnership. But sometimes, as he looked at Mary’s shoulders slumped in weariness, he wondered how she’d describe their life together. They did not discuss such things. What would be the point?

  And he feared he wouldn’t like what she might have to say anyway.

  He’d left the responsibilities of childrearing to Mary, as people did then. Jane and Cathy had been born when Robert was barely two years old, with Hal following the year after. Four children in five years, with Robert arriving on their first anniversary. It was a lot. Poor Mary.

  Now, though, the demanding years were over. The kids were all in high school, pulling their weight on the farm, earning their own spending money and driving themselves. Life was easing up.

  Though he still wasn’t around much in the growing season.

  An idea struck him.

  “Let’s go down to the lake,” he said. “Just you and me. Robert can look after things for the rest of the day.”

  “Really.” Mary looked at him with wry but affectionate disbelief. “Now?”