Sour Apples

by Sheila Connolly

  The kettle boiled, and Meg set about putting ground coffee in her French press and adding the water. When the coffee was ready, she filled two mugs and sat down across from Seth. “So, what’s Joyce’s story? I don’t think I’ve seen her around before, not that I get out all that much myself.”

  “She runs a small dairy operation, maybe thirty or forty head, on the north side of town, just before the ridge this side of Amherst. She grazes all her cattle on the pastures there. It’s really a labor of love for her. She used to be a federal dairy inspector, but she decided that she’d rather be a producer than a bureaucrat, so she and her husband Ethan bought a nice piece of land, with a house and milking barn. She sells organic raw milk and makes some cheese. The regulations for selling raw milk—and calling it organic—are pretty specific, but she knows the ropes.” He stopped to take a swallow of coffee.

  “So what was she complaining about? And why did she come to you? Apart from your recognized role as Granford’s own Mr. Fixit, not to mention an elected selectman.” She smiled at him.

  Seth grinned back. “A couple of years ago Joyce decided she wanted to expand the operation, give herself a little more cushion, without adding staff and facilities. So she came to the town and leased some pasturage that the town owns, and she spent a year improving the field, mostly getting rid of weeds and invasive plants and adding some good feed grass, before turning any cows loose on it. She was thinking long term and she did it right, plus the town gave her a good rate for it, since we weren’t using the land anyway. So, a couple of weeks ago she let out some of her cows for the first time—you should see a herd of cows the first time they get out into a field in the spring! They frolic, there’s no other word for it—and anyway, they’d only been out a couple of days when some of them started getting sick, and one died, so she pulled them off the field. She came to me to complain, since I’m on the town’s board of selectmen, and I can’t say that I blame her.”

  “That’s a shame. Any idea what the problem is?”

  “Not at the moment. The land hasn’t been used for anything for decades, and even though you think I know everything there is to know about Granford, I haven’t memorized the history of each plot of land here. I wasn’t just stalling when I told her that I’d have to do some digging before I could tell her anything about the history of that parcel.”

  “You said the records are scattered all over? Not at town hall?”

  He smiled ruefully. “You’ve seen town hall—it used to be a mansion for some people from Boston who came out summers to enjoy the country air. It was never intended to be a municipal building. There are a lot of files shoved into the basement, which at least is dry, but I have a feeling that what I need to check goes back quite a ways. We’ve put the archived documents wherever we can find space, much like the Historical Society does. It’ll take me a few days to track down whatever went on with that field. Since the town owns it, there must be some kind of story behind it.”

  “Have you known Joyce long?” Meg asked, getting up to freshen her cup. “You want more coffee?”

  “Please.” Seth held out his mug as Meg poured. “Not that long. Neither she nor her husband grew up around here, but she knows the area pretty well. She did her homework when she picked her location, and she’s got a good local reputation for her milk. You’ve probably eaten some of her cheese at Gran’s.”

  “I’ll have to ask Nicky the next time I’m in the restaurant.”

  “Speaking of using land, have you considered my offer?”

  “Which one?”

  “I’d be happy to let you use some of my land to expand your orchard.”

  Meg had been putting off giving Seth an answer because she was torn. In part it was a business decision: did it make financial sense for her to expand? If so, how much? It had taken a while to get the numbers assembled and to review them with Bree, and the answer had been a tentative “yes” to the expansion. But the more complicated issue was, did she want to enter into that kind of commitment with Seth? She’d only just started to really feel like they were dating…using his land for a long-range purpose felt akin to making a public statement that they were together for the long haul. And although Meg was cautiously optimistic about the relationship, she wasn’t quite ready to make that kind of declaration. Still, whether or not to expand the orchard was something she would have to decide soon, before the window for planting closed.

  “Let me get back to you on that, okay?”

  Seth eyed her a minute before he shrugged and said, “Okay. It’s up to you, and I have no other plans for the land. But I’d like to see it put to good use.”

  Was he disappointed? “Let me talk to Bree about it, now that we know what’s survived the winter. So, anything else going on?” she said to change the subject.

  “There’s the Spring Fling this weekend.”

  “The what?”

  “Oh, that’s right—you were a little preoccupied around this time last year. It’s a party that we hold each year to celebrate the arrival of spring, since by now everybody’s usually got a serious case of cabin fever. It’s not fancy—we hold it in the high school gym—but we’ve got a good local cover band who plays the kind of stuff most people like, and there’s food and dancing, and raffles and prizes. Half the town turns out. Will you come?”

  “Are you asking me to be your date?” Meg tried to keep a straight face.

  “Of course. But my mother may tag along to chaperone.”

  “Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing I like your mother.”

  2

  “Are you going to the Spring Fling, Bree?” Meg asked at breakfast on Saturday.

  Bree snorted. “Who came up with that idiotic name, huh? And why would I want to go? From what I hear, it’s just a bunch of old fogies like you, and a band that plays songs that were popular before I was even born.”

  “Gee, thanks—I’m not even ten years older than you. But you could look on it as public relations for the orchard. Or are you trying to say that your boyfriend can’t dance?”

  “Michael may call it dancing. I think he looks like a stork with epilepsy. Can Seth dance?”

  “I haven’t got a clue—I’ve never seen him dance. If I had to, I’d guess he’s more of a shuffle-your-feet dancer, but I’d bet he’ll be out there on the dance floor anyway.”

  “Yeah, and he’ll ask every little old lady there to dance at least once. You’ll be lucky to get one dance in. How about you?”

  “Do I dance?” Meg searched for an appropriate image. “I would call myself…enthusiastic. Kind of stiff, but I enjoy myself. I don’t get much practice.” She hesitated a moment. “You know, Seth brought up the idea of expanding the orchard onto his property again. When do I have to decide, if we want to plant this year?”

  “Oh, like yesterday,” Bree replied. “Seriously, we’d need to order stock, and set aside time to prepare the ground, and plant the trees once they arrive, and all that. You serious about it?”

  “Does it make financial sense?”

  “You and your numbers! It depends on your long-range goals. You know you’re going to lose some trees every year, but usually we replace those as needed. But a whole new batch? You want me to do a cost-benefit analysis?”

  Meg laughed. “Since you asked, yes. Keep it simple, like one page. And tell me what you’d recommend we plant.”

  “Will do. I can work on that while you’re out dancing.”

  “What the heck am I supposed to wear to this thing?”

  “Your overalls?”

  Meg looked at Bree to make sure she was kidding. “So, jeans?”

  “Yeah. Nobody dresses up around here. And comfortable shoes.”

  “That I can handle. You going over to Michael’s later?”

  “Maybe. Or if you’re going to be out, he might come here—his place is pretty cramped. And messy.”

  “Fine with me. Okay, I’ve got some errands to run, and then I’d better allow time to primp, even if it is ca
sual. Seth says there’s food there, so you’re on your own for dinner.”

  “I won’t starve. Have fun at the party.”

  As Meg drove from place to place, picking up groceries, prescriptions, tools, and whatnot, she found herself once again thinking of the changes in her life over the past year. She had no memory at all of any mention of the Spring Fling the prior year, but why would she? She had barely been in town a few weeks by then and had had no social life. But now—well, she was lucky to have found a group of people here she liked spending time with. While she had never before thought of herself as a historian, she had found she enjoyed digging into the past in Granford, where it had some personal relevance. She felt connected to the people who had built her house and who had lived in it before her. Maybe that was one reason why the idea of planting heirloom apple varieties appealed to her: she wanted to see an orchard like the one her ancestors could’ve known.

  She was back by five and took a leisurely bath, then found a clean and unshabby pair of jeans that fit well. Rifling through her half-empty closet, she realized that a lot of her clothes hung on her now—she had lost weight since she arrived the year before, or at least had transformed it into muscle in different places, but she hadn’t had the time or need to spruce up her wardrobe. She added a belt and a lightweight sweater, let her hair air-dry, then put on a bare minimum of makeup and was ready to go. She went down to the kitchen and fed her cat, Lolly, while she waited for Seth.

  Seth was prompt, as usual. “Hey, you look nice.”

  Meg felt flattered but said, “I wear this kind of thing every day, you know. Do we need tickets or anything?”

  “We’ll get them at the door. They’re holding them for me.”

  “What, they’re sold out?” When Seth nodded, she said, “Okay, and I’ll pay for the pizza.”

  “Deal. Shall we?”

  Seth drove to the high school, which lay just past the center of Granford on the main road through town. Meg had been there only once before, to vote in the fall elections, but the brick and cinder block building reminded her of her own high school. “Isn’t there anywhere else in town to hold an event like this?” she asked Seth.

  “Not really. The church hall isn’t big enough. There’s nothing in town hall that would do. Ditto the Elks Club. We could go out of town, I guess, but that kind of defeats the purpose of the event. Not fancy enough for you?”

  “I guess I feel kind of nervous, meeting half the town at once. I know they know about me, but they don’t know me.”

  “Don’t worry. They’re good people, and they’ll be on good behavior tonight. And if they’re not, Art Preston and the rest of the police force will be on hand to keep them under control.”

  “You know, if the entire police force is here, this would be a great night to rob the rest of Granford,” she pointed out.

  “You worry about the strangest things! Anyway, it’s never happened.” Seth pulled into the high school parking lot, already close to filled. “Ready?”

  “As ever I’ll be.”

  Seth parked, and they walked together to one set of the double doors that led into the gymnasium. Even before Seth pulled open a door for her, Meg could hear the visceral thump of the bass; when the door opened, a wall of sound washed out into the night. Inside, the bleachers were folded against the walls, and in front of them were ranged six-foot rectangular tables with plastic tablecloths, flanked by folding chairs. Many of the chairs were occupied, and the coats thrown over the empty ones had to belong to the people crowding the dance floor, aka the basketball court, bobbing to an oldie that even Meg recognized.

  Seth collected their tickets at the table just inside the door and drew Meg into the room. He seemed to be headed for the other side of the gym, but every few feet he stopped to talk to someone. He addressed everyone by name; everyone seemed glad to see him, although from what she could hear—which wasn’t much, since the thumping bass was even louder inside, bouncing off the polished floor and cinder block walls—they all segued quickly into some sort of town-related question. Seth managed to extricate himself politely in each case, and he finally reached his goal: his mother, Lydia, who was sitting at one of the tables farthest from the band on the makeshift stage. She waved, and when they came nearer she pointed to two additional chairs at the table. Meg saw that Nicky and Brian Czarnecki, the young owners of the local restaurant Gran’s, sat at the other end of the table. Meg smiled and nodded at the others, knowing conversation was futile over the music.

  “I saved places for you,” Lydia yelled. “I had to fight for them. Great turnout!”

  Meg sat in the chair closest to Lydia. “Good to see you! This is amazing!”

  “It is, isn’t it? Seth, you going to get two thirsty women something to drink?”

  “Sure. What do you want?”

  “I’ll take a rum and Coke,” Lydia said, and Meg nodded in agreement. “Keep an eye on Joe, though—he’s bartending, and he doesn’t hold back on the rum.”

  “Got it. I’ll be back…whenever I can.” Seth turned and waded back into the crowd, toward the bar.

  Just then the band opted to take a break, and relative quiet fell over the room. People drifted toward the tables, laughing and panting.

  Lydia beamed at everyone and waved occasionally. She turned to Meg. “How are you doing? How’s everything going?”

  “Good, I think. The orchard’s cleaned up and ready to go, almost. Now we just have to wait for Mother Nature to do her thing.”

  “Are you working on anything in the house?”

  “Not right now. It’s kind of nice, taking a break. At least nothing has broken down or blown up lately, knock on wood.”

  Seth returned, carefully carrying two plastic cups and a bottle of beer. “Here you go, ladies. Talking about me?” He sat down next to Meg.

  Lydia reached across to swat him. “Nope, we were talking about Meg’s house. How’s business? I don’t see much of you these days, and I haven’t had a chance to ask.”

  “Good. Now that it’s spring, people are taking a hard look at their houses and realizing how much needs to be done. And since most people can’t afford to move at the moment, they’re doing more with what they’ve got. I’ve got a nice list of contracts—mostly small projects, but they add up.”

  “Have you talked to your sister lately, Seth?” Lydia asked innocently, although clearly she knew the answer. “Rachel says she hasn’t seen you for weeks. I was hoping she and Noah would be here tonight, but one of the kids has a bug. We should make plans to get all of us together again—the last time was Thanksgiving, wasn’t it?”

  “No, Christmas Day,” Seth said, “but you’re right—it’s been a while.”

  Meg could see the band members, all men, reassembling on the stage. Keyboard, drums, and a couple of guitars. They looked closer to Lydia’s age than hers: their hair, though worn long, was distinctly grizzled. They spent a few minutes tuning up, while bantering with the familiarity of old friends, before they hit a chord that most of the audience recognized. There was a surge of bodies toward the dance floor.

  Meg noticed that Seth was still scanning the room. She nudged his side. “Looking for someone?”

  He turned back to her and smiled. “I was hoping that Joyce and Ethan Truesdell would make it tonight, but I guess they decided not to come. They’ve lived in Granford for a couple of years now, but they rarely show up at any community functions.”

  “Maybe trying to run a dairy farm doesn’t give them much time for socializing,” Meg suggested.

  “That’s true, but I’d like them to make some more friends in town—it might be useful to them. Well, it’s their loss. Would you care to dance, ma’am?”

  Meg looked at the crowd—whose average age was closer to sixty than to thirty—and said, “Why not?” She drained her glass and stood up. “Let’s go.”

  They hit the dance floor, and Meg lost count of the songs, one segueing into the next, until she finally told Seth, “I need a breath
er. And something more to drink. You’re wearing me out! By the way, you’re a great dancer.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” They made their way back to the table, where Lydia was deep in conversation with another couple, so Meg and Seth dropped into the closest chairs. “Having fun?” Seth asked.

  “Do you know, I am! I get it now. You’re right—I think we all need something like this once winter’s over. We get the kinks out of our muscles, and we get in shape for the season. It’s great.”

  “Thought you’d like it. Let me get you that drink,” he said. He checked to see if his mother needed a refill, but she waved him away and went on talking, so he headed toward the bar.

  Meg pushed her sweaty hair off her face and watched the remaining dancers on the floor. She dredged up a memory of the one and only high school dance she had attended, and even now she flinched from her overwhelming self-consciousness then. Here, nobody cared if she made a fool of herself; nobody even noticed.

  She saw that Nicky was trying to get her attention. “Hey, Nicky. What’s up?”

  Nicky leaned forward and shouted over the din. “I haven’t seen you much lately. Everything all right?”

  “Fine,” Meg shouted back. “We’ve been getting the orchard ready for spring—thank goodness the weather has been cooperating. Have you seen Joyce Truesdell tonight?”

  Nicky shook her head. “I don’t think so. Have you met her and her husband?”

  “Only briefly. Joyce stopped by to talk to Seth the other day, and introduced herself. I’ve never met Ethan.”

  “Oh, you should get to know them! They’re really nice. Joyce makes terrific cheese, and I’ve been trying to come up with some apple varieties that would pair up well. You’ll have to come by and do a tasting with us, okay?”

  “I’d like that. I’ve got some good keepers in the storage chambers, so we could do it anytime. I’m always happy to have an excuse to eat at your restaurant!”