Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm

by Rebecca Raisin

  “Come back to bed.” He patted the empty space beside him.

  “No, I have to go,” I said, dropping the sheet and searching the floor for my clothes. It was mid-April, and I’d already decided to apply for the institute. Clay’s words only steeled my resolve to be accepted.

  ***

  In the cupboard, rows of canvases lay stacked against each other—paintings I’d done since I arrived in Ashford. Some soft watercolors, others intense and dramatic oils. One by one I leaned them against the wall where the light was bright, and knelt down to scrutinize them.

  The first was called Wake me this way. It was the imaginary little girl, her rosebud mouth the same color as her cheeks, her blankets ruched up under her chin. The open window, the full moon a speck in the distance, landing in soft shards on her face. The scent of Lil’s fresh bread melding its way in light and glittery, like fairy dust, pulling her from her dreams.

  The second painting made my heart tug. I’d called it Friendship. Lil had an arm draped over CeeCee’s sturdy shoulder, their shiny white teeth showing, as they laughed over a joke. CeeCee’s brown crinkled face shone and she had one hand over the soft swell of Lil’s belly. Their unconditional love for one another radiated from the canvas, and for the first time ever, I couldn’t find fault with my work. I narrowed my eyes and leaned closer. Surely there was something I could have improved? But I couldn’t see anything. Maybe it was because I’d managed to capture how they felt about each other.

  The third and final painting was of Clay, and I’d called it Unrequited. At the time of painting it, we hadn’t even kissed. My stomach somersaulted as I gazed at it. I could never part with this painting. When I left, I’d always have this reminder of Clay, and the times we shared here, in Ashford. There he was gazing at me with that fiery look in his eyes, his full lips parted like he was about to kiss me, his strong jawline begging to be touched. I’d never met a man so magnetic, so irresistible. And I felt heartbreak, honest and real, that one day he would love someone, and it wouldn’t be me. Some girl would come along, and find the key and unlock all of him. As a desperate kind of envy washed over me, I hoped he’d be happy, with or without me. I loved him enough to wish him that.

  I picked up the little-girl canvas, and the one of Lil and CeeCee. I’d send them to the Van Gogh Institute and hope they accepted me. Paris was calling.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A few weeks later, I walked the familiar road to Ashford, taking note of the yellow buttercups that sprouted in the bright spring day. I’d spoken to Mom earlier and she was cheerful, and sprightlier than I’d heard her for a long time. With the sun warming my back, and Clay on my mind, I felt as happy as I’d ever been. I was dressed like the real me: denim cut-offs, a cheesecloth singlet, and bangles galore. The town was busy. People sat outside soaking up the golden rays, and shielding their eyes as they spoke. I smiled and waved to them all, stopping here and there to chat before placing flyers for the festival on their tables with a backwards wave.

  The paint was still drying on a canvas that I’d just had to paint, aptly named The Darling Buds of May. Ashford sure was a pretty town in springtime and with the new month colorful flowers were abundant. People here tended their gardens, and even helped plant seedlings along the roadside. I walked the length of the main street, asking storekeepers if I could hang flyers for the Sugaring-Off Festival in their windows. The faces were mostly known to me now, give or take a few. And everyone pulled me by the elbow for a chat, so instead of it taking thirty minutes, it’d taken me two hours.

  “Hey, I wondered if I’d catch you today!” Henry said, standing on the stoop of the travel agency. “Have you got time to shoot the breeze for a minute?” He gave me a questioning look.

  “Yes.” I laughed and followed him inside. Each local had used the same term to ask for a chat. “While I’m here, can I give you some flyers to hang in the window for the Sugaring-Off Festival?”

  “Sure,” he said amiably. “I’ve heard all about it! The town’s buzzing with it all.”

  I took a couple of flyers from my backpack, and handed them over. “I hope you can make it.”

  He gave me a big smile. “Of course—wouldn’t miss it for the world. “Besides, Lil’s cooking and it’s all you can eat—you got a sure-fire winner there, and then there’s the maple-syrup-flavored everything. Lord, I wish it was June already.”

  I laughed, again. The sentiment had been similar with the other locals I’d encountered. Lil’s cooking was famous around here, and they were mighty sure there was no limit to the amount they could eat.

  He turned his computer monitor to face me. “After our talk about Paris, I’ve been keeping an eye out for flight specials like you asked, and one popped up today! It’s a round-the-world trip, for only a fraction more than what you’d pay to go to Paris. It’s a new airline, and they’ve got the most amazing specials. I’m half tempted to close up shop and venture off myself!”

  “Around the world?” My eyes widened.

  He grabbed a pen and pointed to the screen. “So, that basically means it’s open-ended. You can pick four destinations; you just need to nominate the countries you want to go to.”

  “Wow, four countries. I could dash off after I’ve been to Paris. See some of the world.” I thought of Mom’s book, the places she’d loved in her twenties. Greece, Sri Lanka, Australia.

  Henry nodded eagerly. “Check out the price.” He pointed to the bottom of the screen.

  My eyebrows shot up. “Wow! Why is it so cheap?”

  “It’s their first day of trading so they’re calling them birthday prices!” Henry was jiggling around, as nervous excitement got the better of him. “The only catch is, you have to book the first flight within six weeks of today. As I said, the other flights can remain open, as long as you choose the destinations.”

  I hugged myself, thinking hard about what to do. Every dollar saved was a bonus, but leaving in two months? That would be right after the festival, meaning I’d be in Paris mid-June.

  I’d be leaving Ashford. And Clay. And all the friends I’d made here. Was I ready? Part of me wanted to stay here forever.

  What did I have with Clay? He’d never asked me to stay. And would I? Would I be the girl who gave up her dreams for love?

  “There’s only a few seats left, so whatever you decide we have to be quick.”

  My mind reeled with so many emotions.

  He refreshed the screen. “Oh, golly, now there’s only two left.”

  “Let’s book it then,” I said decisively, taking my purse from my bag. I tried very hard to ignore the fact my heart seized at the thought of saying goodbye.

  “Great,” Henry ran a hand over his balding pate. “So Paris it is? Six weeks from today?”

  I rubbed my face. “Yes. Paris.” The city of romance. And art, and culture, and…people other than Clay.

  I was really going to leave Ashford.

  “You’re going on the adventure of a lifetime, Lucy. If I was younger, I’d be off again too.” He lifted his cane ruefully. “These days, the memories have to sustain me. So thank God, there’s enough of those here.” He touched his temple.

  “You’re right,” I said, his sentiment convincing me. I had to travel while I could. Who knew what the future had in store for me? I’d forget this place, one day. Maybe the pull I felt here, I’d feel everywhere. I left the travel agency with heavy steps.

  ***

  At the cottage the next week Becca was bouncing around the room, her skirts swishing as we discussed the festival. “Oh,” I said. “I almost forgot! I had Tiffany make these! I thought we could sell them on the day, a little keepsake for guests.” I handed her a box of maple leaf charms made out of silver.

  “Ohhhh,” she breathed. “These are so pretty! I bet you’ll sell out early. You’ve done so much to help Clay, I wonder sometimes how he’ll go when you leave.”

  I steered the conversation back to the festival, not wanting to talk about leaving yet. “He�
�s helped me too. What if no one turns up?” I went from moments of wild panic we’d be overrun, to worry that we’d spend a fortune and only a handful of people would arrive.

  Becca waved me away. “Everyone’s talking about it already. Don’t you worry. Besides, the rumor mill won’t miss an opportunity to meet the mysterious Clay.”

  Clay chose that moment to walk into the living room and rewarded Becca with an eye roll. “Yay,” he said, heavy with sarcasm, and flopped on the sofa beside me. “I can’t wait for the Sugaring-off festival.” He slapped his forehead. “I’d love nothing more than the farm being overrun with strangers. It would bring me joy!”

  “Yeah, people celebrating your successful season, eating delicious food, listening to a live band, buying your maple syrup, paying to attend. It sounds horrible, doesn’t it? I don’t know what we were thinking! I mean, what’s to like?” I threw him an icy smile. “He’s super excited Becca, as you can see.”

  She fell onto the recliner and folded her arms. “Clay, will it kill you to mingle?”

  “Probably,” he said.

  “Let’s change the subject!” Becca picked up a bottle of maple syrup. “You guys are a great team.” The syrup was a darker amber than our earlier bottles. The later it was in the season the stronger the syrup tasted of maple.

  “You haven’t tasted it yet,” Clay said.

  “Oh, please. I know how good it’ll be. Lots of people are excited about buying it. Hey, can I take some for Missy?”

  Clay nodded. “Sure.”

  I chewed a fingernail, wondering when I’d tell them I had booked a flight. Each day it was a little harder to fathom, and I’d try and get the words out, but they’d catch in my throat.

  “Great,” Becca said, then knitted her brow. “This might cheer Missy up. She’s been so down in the dumps, I haven’t seen her in town for a few weeks.” Missy owned the salon where Becca worked.

  I was grateful for Becca’s chatter. It was so much easier to focus on her than my erratic emotions. “What’s wrong?” I asked. I knew a lot about Missy. Locals at the café spoke fondly, but I’d yet to meet her.

  “Lil and CeeCee seem to think she’s having some trouble getting the baby to settle. She’s got colic, or something that keeps her up half the night. Missy’s usually coiffed to perfection, but she came to the salon a few weeks ago and looked downright bedraggled. CeeCee shooed her straight home and followed her there.”

  “Poor Missy,” I said. “Where’s her husband? Can’t he help some nights?”

  A shadow crossed Becca’s face. “He’s working double shifts at the dairy to help keep things afloat. With the salon’s takings going to my wages, I guess they don’t have enough to make ends meet. Sometimes the takings aren’t even enough to cover my wages so Tommy adds to it. I feel awful about it.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Becca.” She fiddled with her cup, and averted her eyes. “You need a wage, and I’m sure Missy knew it was going to be tight while she was away. It’s not your fault.” I felt for Tommy—a new baby and double shifts wouldn’t be easy. And Missy, being up all hours with no notion of what to do to fix it all.

  Becca sighed. “I know, the guilt gets to me, knowing she’s on her own most nights, while Tommy works himself to the bone. Both of them plus bubs aren’t getting enough sleep. I just feel bad, that’s all.”

  I knew how tiring double shifts could be, let alone adding to it with other strains. “Maybe we can offer to babysit one night or something? They can just go ahead and sleep.” I took a sip of coffee.

  “Yeah, I’ve offered but Missy is breastfeeding, and has trouble expressing enough to last if she was to go out. She’s really struggling all around.”

  “That’s so hard.” I’d heard Missy was this vivacious, lively woman, who made everyone laugh with her self-deprecating style of humor. “Why don’t we have the festival planning night at her house…make it more of girl’s night? You can do her hair, and paint her nails, something to lift her spirits. Lil and I can bake, fill up her freezer? I’m sure we can all try and rock the baby to sleep or something? If we keep our talking down to a whisper Missy can go ahead and snooze.”

  Becca clapped her hands together. “That’s such a great idea! Why don’t I ask the girls, and we can all go?”

  “Perfect.”

  Clay groaned. “I might just stay here, if it’s all the same.”

  I laughed. “And miss the girl’s night? Are you sure?”

  He grinned. “I’ll try my best not to feel left out when you go. I’m going to make dinner,” Clay said, retreating from girl talk with a wink.

  “What’s got into him?” Becca whispered, watching him retreat. “He’s like another person!”

  I gazed into my coffee cup hoping my face wasn’t as pink as it suddenly felt. “No idea.”

  “Is that so?” She lobbed a cushion at me. “Well, secrets are hard to keep in small towns.” She waggled her eyebrows.

  I grinned. “They sure are.”

  “If your taskmaster is finished working you to the bone today, I can drive you back to town, and we can see if Lil’s still at the café and if they want to arrange a night for Missy.

  “Oh, that’s OK.” I waved her away. “I think we’ve got more to do. We’ve spent half the afternoon inside.” I bit my lip. Of all the things I could have said!

  She pulled a face. “Is that so? Doing what?” she asked, a teasing tone to her voice.

  I coughed into my hand. “Just…” I had a mental blank and the only thing that sprang to mind was, “I’m leaving…in five weeks.”

  Becca’s face fell.

  Clay leaned against a door jamb, his expression black. “What?”

  I silently cursed myself. “I’ve booked to go to Paris. You know, world travel calls and all that.”

  Clay folded his arms so tight his veins popped out. “Oh yeah?” A muscle along his jawline pulsed. “Sorry to have kept you so long then.”

  What was I supposed to say to Becca? She’d put me on the spot. We hadn’t told anyone about our relationship, or whatever the heck it was.

  “Are you angry at me?” I asked him.

  His eyes glinted with a type of ferocity. “Why would I be angry, Lucy? You can just come and go as you please. There’s nothing keeping you here, is there?”

  I blinked, surprised at the hostility in his voice. “Clay, that’s a stupid thing to say and you know it! You’re the one who said go and apply for the institute! I can’t just give up my dreams on a whim!”

  “I’m a whim?”

  “What institute? Who’s a whim?” Becca’s face moved back and forth between us like she was watching a tennis match. “Is this some kind of lover’s tiff?” She scrunched up her nose in confusion.

  I scoffed. “Absolutely not! Steely heart over there wouldn’t be capable of love! It might offend his reclusive sensibilities!”

  “O-O-O-K. It is!” Becca somehow found it amusing, while Clay and I continued to glare at one another.

  “So are you leaving Lucy, or not?” Becca asked. “I was teasing you to see if the old rumor mill is true and you are indeed sneaking kisses under the maples at twilight, but now I’m just confused.”

  I colored. People had seen us all the way from the road?

  “Well?” Becca asked, cocking her head, her face not as bright.

  “Yeah, I am, Becca. The ticket’s booked and paid.”

  The room was static with silence, and I couldn’t help feel I’d hurt them deeply.

  ***

  “How was I supposed to know what to say?” I pulled weeds from the garden bed, tossing them into a pile.

  Clay was on his haunches next to me, his aftershave wafting over, making me want to bury my face in his neck. “Leave it, Lucy. It doesn’t matter.”

  I held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. It?” I never knew how he really felt. Was he angry I hadn’t told him first, or upset that I was leaving? He shut down, and was frosty with his attitude.

  He
grabbed a shovel, and dug into the garden bed, his muscles flexing. I’d miss those arms around me, more than he would ever know. “Why can’t we talk about it?” I put my hands on my hips.

  “What’s the point?” He glared at me. “I think we should just forget about us.” He motioned from me to him where our hearts were. “It’ll be easier.” He dropped the shovel to the earth with a sigh.

  I scrunched my eyes closed. He was hurt. Eventually, I said, “I don’t want to forget about us, Clay,” I stepped into his arms, and he held me tight, his heart beating against my face a sound I would never forget.

  “The farm sure will be quiet when you leave,” he said, his voice light.

  What had I expected? Him to beg me to stay? I knew Clay wasn’t that type of guy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “There’s only two weeks to go until the festival! We’ve sold over two hundred tickets already, and there’s more orders coming in every day. At this stage I’m worried about finding enough space for them all, but Lil says they’ll bring picnic rugs, and we’ll have plenty of tables and chairs…”

  “You’ve always been great at organizing things, honey. I’m so proud of you,” Mom said slurring her words more than usual.

  “Have you seen the doctor lately,” I broached.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “I’m fine. My voice has taken a hit, that’s all. I sound worse than I am. Have you heard from the institute yet?” I’d told Mom about applying two weeks before the cut-off for submissions. I’d had to pay extra for express freight, so not my finest choice.

  Outside on the porch of the B and B, Rose walked out carrying a basket of laundry to hang on the line. She hung sheets and pillow slips. With the warmer weather the B and B had its first flurry of guests.