The Sugarhouse Blues

by Mariah Stewart

  “Has the alarm ever gone off?”

  Seth nodded. “I’ve chased off a few foxes and another owl.” He took her arm again. “So the tour usually goes this way after the visit to the chicken coop.”

  He led her through knee-high weeds to the back of the barn, where a field had been plowed into neat rows as far as the woods at the back of the property. The ground was soft from the recent rain, so her shoes—a favorite pair of ballet flats—sank slightly with every step. She really wished she’d gone home to change.

  “What are you growing?” She nodded in the direction of the field.

  “A bit of everything.” He pointed to a row of tall, thin, light green, wispy branches that stretched upward like bony arms. “Asparagus, which is seasonal, and the season has pretty much ended. That was here when I moved in, which is fortunate because it can take a few years to mature. Strawberries—the season is just starting to wind down now, but it was a good year. Mostly because I planted several varieties, early, midseason, and late.”

  He took her arm and steered her across the rows.

  “Tomatoes—more varieties than I care to admit to. I got a little carried away when it came time to ordering plants and I didn’t keep careful enough records of what I ordered. I’m hoping they all do well this year. There are several heirloom varieties there that have become very popular, so my restaurant friends are psyched at the prospect.” He smiled. “Now, the next couple of rows are cucumbers, a couple of kinds of squashes, several varieties of beans. Pumpkins. Then over here . . .” He took her arm again. “I have greens. Kale was big for a few years, but collards are coming into their own along with Swiss chard, so I’ve eased off the kale a little and planted more of the others. Lettuces—five varieties here.” He stopped as if admiring his work. “I have plans for an herb garden, but haven’t gotten beyond the basics—dill, basil, parsley, rosemary. On Saturday I’m picking up a bunch of blueberry bushes. They should have been in the ground by now, but a guy I know wanted to get rid of his extra stock and gave me an incredible price on them. Don’t know if they’ll fruit well this year or not, but we’ll see.”

  Seth looked back over the fields he’d shown her. “These’re all mostly cash crops. I take a truckload of produce to a couple of restaurants in Clarks Summit and a few in Scranton twice a week right through till fall.”

  “You never mentioned any of this to me before. I thought your job was being the mayor of Hidden Falls.”

  “Well, I am, but that’s not a paying position.” He stood with his hands on his hips and looked out at his fields as if seeing them for the first time.

  “Did you always want to be a farmer?” She was still somewhat astonished that he’d never told her about his farm, and she said so. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It never came up.”

  “That’s pretty lame, Seth. We spent a lot of time together working with your dog at Barney’s.”

  “Well . . . a lot of people think farming’s something people do when they can’t do anything else.”

  “What people are they? Farming’s tough. Anyone can see that.”

  He smiled that half smile again, the one she was beginning to like a little too much. “Then let’s just say that most women aren’t interested in a guy who makes his living farming rather than working in a more respectable profession.”

  “Farming is respectable. You mean a higher-paying profession.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

  “If women are turning you down because you’re a farmer, you’re meeting the wrong kind of women.”

  “Maybe.” He slipped an arm over her shoulder, and though she sensed there was more he wanted to say, he fell silent.

  “Well, I think your farm is great,” she said. “What made you buy this place?”

  “When I came back from Afghanistan, I was in pretty bad shape.” He gave her some space but kept his arm around her shoulder.

  “You were wounded?”

  “Shot in the leg, but that’s a story mostly for another time. Suffice it to say I wanted to find a quiet place.” He smiled wryly. “It doesn’t get much quieter than right here. When I was a kid, I used to come out here and steal apples. Of course, eventually I got caught. The old guy who owned the place promised not to tell my folks as long as I worked off my crime.”

  This time, Seth’s smile reached his eyes.

  “He taught me a lot. Of course, he didn’t care about the apples. He just needed a hand here and there. This was the place I thought about all the time I was away, all the time I was rehabbing my leg. We kept in touch while I was gone, even when I was in the hospital. While I was recuperating, I got a letter from his son telling me his father had had a stroke, that his dad wanted me to come visit when I got home. Well, I did that, and it turned out that my old friend needed more than a little help by then, since he couldn’t do much on his own. I was still a bit shaky, but I took care of a couple of fields, kept up his brood of hens. After he passed away, I found out he’d left instructions that if the farm was to be sold, I should be given right of first refusal.”

  “Obviously you exercised that right.” She thought for a minute. “Did his son mind? That you were so close to his father?”

  “No. Jim—that’s the son—is a lawyer in Scranton now. He told me many times he had no desire to farm, but he was glad I did. He offered me the farm at a price far lower than he might have gotten from someone else, said he figured I’d worked off the difference by helping his father over the years.”

  “That was really nice of him.”

  “It was.” He gazed around at the fields surrounding them. “The thought of coming back here kept me motivated through some bad times. Once I knew I was needed here, I couldn’t get out of that hospital fast enough.” His steps led toward the apple orchard on the other side of the barn.

  “Returning to the scene of the crime?” she teased.

  “Something like that.”

  A waist-high fence enclosed a small area between the barn and the first row of trees. As they drew nearer, she saw a dozen white headstones standing within the enclosure.

  “Your friend is buried here?” Des asked.

  Seth nodded. “Henry Paul Bisler and his wife, Nancy. That small stone marks their daughter, Ellen. The others are his parents, grandparents, a sister who died young.”

  She tried to think of an appropriate thing to say, but she couldn’t come up with anything other than, “Well, I guess it’s good that he’s here.”

  “Henry was the nicest man I ever met. Oh, I know we say that about everyone, but Henry really was the nicest person I ever met. Spending time with him was a gift. His friendship was a gift.” Seth swallowed what appeared to be a lump in his throat.

  “So you wanted to be a farmer because of him?”

  “I wanted to live on this farm because I wanted to be like him. He taught me to appreciate the changes in the seasons. Taught me about soil and how to be a good steward of the land. He taught me everything he knew about growing things.” Seth paused before adding, “And he taught me more about being a man than my father ever did. He never struck his wife or his kids, and he never bullied or insulted them or treated them disrespectfully. I loved to spend time here because it was such a happy, peaceful place. I didn’t have any plans to farm the way he did—he had all the fields in corn and soybeans—but I figured if I was going to spend my time growing things, I’d grow things that were interesting to me. I knew a few guys who were just getting into the restaurant business and were looking for reliable sources of organic produce, and they introduced me to a few others. I figured I could fill that need. I did okay last year, I’ll do better this year. I think Henry would have approved.”

  Seth turned to Des somewhat sheepishly. “Sorry. More than you wanted to know, I’m sure.”

  “No, no. Henry sounds like someone I would’ve liked. I wish I’d known him.”

  “You would have liked him. He’d have liked you, too.” He stuck his
hands back into his pockets. “Want to see the rest of the place?”

  “Sure.”

  The barn held an array of farm equipment, most Seth had bought with the property, other implements he’d purchased at auction, and a monster of a black motorcycle. The tractors and tillers were all mud splattered, but the bike was spotless. When Des commented on the fact, Seth grinned.

  “Can’t be seen riding a dirty bike. It would be a serious violation.”

  There were two other outbuildings, one of which had a long dog run attached to the front and a large fenced-in yard in the back.

  “Henry used to raise hound dogs,” Seth explained. “He’d keep the ones he was selling out here before they went to their new homes. His wife liked dogs well enough, but she liked them best outside. I keep telling Ripley if he doesn’t mind his manners, he’s going to be spending a night in the kennel there.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “No, I wouldn’t. He’s an inside dog.” Seth ran his knuckles lightly over the top of the dog’s head. “But it’s a pretty nice space, all things considered. Henry had the building heated so if he had litters in the winter, they’d be nice and warm, and the building’s situated so the pen gets afternoon shade. It’s spacious and clean, so it wasn’t much of a hardship for the dogs and their pups.”

  He started to walk away, Des and the dog following.

  “Like everything else around here, it needs to be painted. I will get to it, but it’s tougher than I thought it would be to keep up with the crops and do everything the house needs.”

  “The house looks fine.”

  Seth raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, so maybe a little paint on the outside.”

  “And on the inside.”

  Des nodded. “Yeah, that, too. But you’ll get it done. I was lucky that the place I bought in Cross Creek was totally done. All I had to do was move in.”

  “You were lucky. Fixing a place up while you’re living in it is a pain in the tail.”

  “The powder room looks great,” she said as they approached the house.

  “I did that and a bathroom upstairs over last winter. I have a lot more spare time in winter. The year before that, I did two bedrooms. This winter, I’m planning on the kitchen. I was hoping to have it done before it was time to plant, but that time came and went. I had to leave a lot of things on hold. I just haven’t been at this long enough to get my routine down pat.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Just three years. The place needed some work before I could move in because it sat vacant for a while. I had enough saved up to take care of the mechanicals, but that was about it.”

  “I can sympathize. I’m dealing with a monster that’s been vacant for a long, long time myself.”

  Seth led the tour in the direction of the fields on the other side of the farmhouse. Des could see wooden structures rising from the ground, but it wasn’t until they drew closer that she realized what she was looking at.

  “You’re growing grapes.” She looked up at Seth. “Rows and rows of grapes. I’m guessing you’re not going into the jam business.”

  “And your guess would be correct. What you’re looking at here is the beginning of Willow Lane Vineyards. And hopefully, eventually, Willow Lane Wines.”

  “I didn’t know you could grow wine grapes in Pennsylvania.”

  He nodded. “Oh yeah. It’s a multibillion-dollar business in the state. There are wine tours, wine festivals, you name it. Some of the vineyards are B and Bs, and some are wedding venues.”

  “Sorry. I grew up in California. I just wasn’t aware that other states were as into it,” she said sheepishly.

  “Well, you’re excused, since you’re from California,” he teased. “I guess when most people think of U.S. wines, they think first of California, then maybe New York. Pennsylvania’s making strides in catching up.”

  They walked along the rows, Seth stopping here and there to secure an errant vine to the trellis.

  “Why wine?”

  “I hadn’t set out to do this when I bought the farm. But I went on a vacation two years ago—my first real vacation since I was a kid, I think.” Again, that half smile. “Anyway, I went to Germany and northern France, Austria. I saw all these beautiful vineyards and I started to think how cool it would be to grow grapes and maybe have my own winery. As if it’s that simple.” He rolled his eyes. “But when I got back home, I visited a few vineyards in the area, talked to the owners, got a feel for what was involved. Then of course I had to decide if I wanted to commit to something that would require so much of my time and attention, not to mention the financial investment. But after thinking it over, I decided I wanted to give it a go. I had the land. I had the time. I just had to educate myself, which I did over that winter. Then last year, I built the trellises—”

  “You built all those trellises?” Des’s jaw dropped as she looked over the field, at the rows and rows of white trellis.

  Seth nodded. “I built them in the barn over the winter, and in the spring, I put them in the ground.”

  “That must have been backbreaking.”

  “Yeah, it got tense after a while. But all that work prepared me for actually planting the vines.”

  “You did all this yourself?”

  “With some help from Joe and Ben, yeah.”

  “What are you, Superman?”

  He laughed. “No, just determined. I had a schedule and I was going to stick to it, come hell or high water.”

  “How many acres of vines do you have?”

  “Right now, just the first three you see here. I will be putting in more this fall, but I haven’t finished the trellises yet.”

  “Any chance you might consider something entirely revolutionary, like, oh, maybe buying the trellises already made?”

  “If I could afford it, I would. But right now, I’m on a tight budget, since my income is mostly from the produce I sell to restaurants.”

  “How ’bout taking investors?”

  “Joe and Ben have both offered to buy in, but I don’t know . . .”

  “I’d invest in your vineyard. Once the theater is finished and I get my inheritance, I’ll happily invest in you.”

  “Ah, but once that happens, you’ll be on your way back to Montana.”

  “Well, yes, but . . .” She hadn’t been thinking about leaving when she’d made the offer. “I’d still want to invest in the vineyard. It’ll give me an excuse to come back to Hidden Falls.”

  “Is that the only thing that would bring you back, Des?” he asked.

  “Well, no, there’s Barney. And the theater. I’d like to see that running again.” She paused. Was that disappointment she read in his eyes? She hastened to add, “And of course, I’d want to see you. And Joe, and Ben . . . and, well, you, of course.” Her voice trailed off as the moment began to feel more and more awkward.

  “You’ll always be welcome here, Des,” he told her quietly. “Rip and I will always be happy to see you.”

  She tried to think of a response, but Seth snapped his fingers and that quickly, the subject changed.

  “You came out for the photos. Let’s go inside and I’ll get those for you.”

  “Is there any way I could get a second set? Allie needs them for the Art Department at Althea.”

  “Sure.”

  Des had to hustle to keep up with Seth’s long strides as they covered the ground between the fledgling vineyard and the house. She waited in the kitchen while Seth went upstairs to his office. She sat on one of the kitchen chairs—an old oak armless straight-back without arms or a cushion that wasn’t a match for any of the other three. It took but a minute for Des to realize that none of the chairs matched, though they were roughly the same size and made from the same golden oak. It gave the room an even homier feeling, like the chairs had been found in an attic and brought down as they were needed.

  “Here you go. Two sets.” Seth came back into the kitchen and handed her two envelopes.
>
  “Thanks, Seth. I appreciate it.” She stood and took her sweater from the back of the chair where she’d earlier left it, and picked up her bag. “I need to be heading back. Everyone’s probably wondering what happened to me.”

  “You’re not going to make that trek again in this heat. I’ll drive you.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sure you have other things to do.”

  “Nothing more important. Besides, I can pick up a few things in town. Ready to go?” he asked, and the dog’s ears perked up.

  She glanced down at the shirt she’d borrowed. “Give me just a minute to change.”

  “Nah. Keep the shirt. Amy’ll never miss it.”

  “I’ll wash it and return it.”

  “That implies you’ll be back.”

  “I’d like to come back. I’d like to see your plants start to grow and learn a little about farming.”

  “Crops. When you have a whole field, you call them crops.”

  “Right. Crops.”

  She tucked the envelopes into her bag, then left with Seth through the back door. Ripley raced between them as they walked to the blue pickup truck parked next to the barn. Seth opened the passenger door for her, and she hopped up.

  “Sorry there’s no seat belt,” he told her. “This baby came off the assembly line before they were mandated.”

  The first thing Des noticed was the half-smoked cigar in the open ashtray. She manually lowered the window, hoping to get the smell out.

  There were few things she hated more than the smell of cigars.

  I bet Greg doesn’t smoke cigars, she thought.

  Seth walked around the cab, and when he opened his door, the dog jumped in first, then started to climb over Des.

  “He’s used to riding shotgun,” Seth told her.

  “Oh, well . . .” She scooted over about a foot closer to Seth to give the dog his place at the window, which put her leg next to the gearshift.

  “Could you put that window up about halfway?” Seth pointed to the window she’d just opened. “I don’t want to take a chance of Rip lunging after a squirrel or falling out when I go around a corner.”