Her cell phone rang, a shocking mechanical sound in the muffled quiet of daybreak. It was the first call Maggie had received since moving out to Original Farm three weeks ago.
Her boss, Della, sounded like she was in a hurry.
“Maggie! Good! I was hoping you were up. Listen, could you come in early today? We’ve got people dropping left and right from the flu and there’s a backlog of orders. Even a three-quarters day would be appreciated.”
When Della paused to take a breath, Maggie answered, “Sure. I can do that. Give me an hour to get ready and drive into town, would you?”
“Yes! Thank you. You’re the best.”
Hanging up the phone, Maggie growled to herself. She hoped she’d be alone in her highly sanitized lab and wouldn’t have to worry about exposing the baby to some nasty flu strain.
This morning’s call from Della was a surprise, but it wasn’t the first time she’d gotten a hold of Maggie. The emails had persisted. Maggie had been working part-time for a while, phasing slowly back into her life at PhyllaSlide. It had become clear to her that Della expected the old workhorse Maggie, not this new, by-the-clock Maggie who put in her four hours a day and stayed not a minute longer. Maggie might not be putting in sixty hours anymore, but Della was aware Maggie was still one of the company’s most productive employees. If Della could sense there was more to Maggie’s reduced hours than mourning, she was right. Maggie had been searching the job market, looking for a different kind of job.
She had not yet told Della about being pregnant.
For now, Maggie baked or helped out on the farm in the mornings then worked at PhyllaSlide from one to five. Since today was not a baking day, Maggie had planned to go into River City to see if there were geographic information system (GIS) records at the library or, better yet, records she could peruse online. No local GIS records would mean trekking down to Adel to talk to the county recorder.
She was curious if Tor still owned the ten acres of land near town, and if there were any records of offers made on the property. Maggie also wanted to look up the River City council members and see if any of them knew who owned the ten acres. If they knew, Fennel would certainly have known. Maggie wondered if any of the councilors had witnessed a disagreement between Fennel and Tor on the subject of land being sold to Val-U-Shop.
Those plans would have to wait for now.
Maggie slipped downstairs to take a shower. She had learned to make sure she was done in less than ten minutes, as the hot water would run out after that time. She dried off quickly in the chill air of the bathroom and dressed for work.
When Maggie rounded the third floor stairwell to return toiletry items to her room, she heard the floor boards creak and saw a shadow cross the open doorway. Tiptoeing up the remainder of the stairs, Maggie peeked through her bedroom door.
TomTom stood with her back to Maggie. She was standing in front of the dresser, holding an object. Her back shuddered, as though she was crying.
She jumped when Maggie stepped into the room.
“I’m sorry,” TomTom sputtered, turning around.
Maggie saw Fennel’s shell box in her hands.
“What are you sorry about?” Maggie asked.
“It’s just—I came up here to give you a gift, then I saw this box. It was mine at one point. I got it when I was a kid and my family went to Hawaii.” TomTom sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Once, Fennel came into my room—we were planning to go into town together that day. She saw this little box and fell in love with it. She liked small things, delicate things. That’s how she was.”
Maggie nodded so TomTom would go on.
“I let Fennel have the box. At first, she wouldn’t take it, but I told her how happy it makes me to give people things. Happy lasts longer than stuff, you know?” Tears ran down TomTom’s face. From out of nowhere TomTom confessed, “I feel like it’s my fault she died.”
Maggie was confused. “What do you mean?”
TomTom threw herself on the bed, face first, and clenched her fists over her head.
Maggie went over cautiously, sat down, and began patting TomTom’s foot. TomTom twitched and pulled her foot away.
“I’m ticklish,” she explained, rolling into the fetal position.
“How could it be possibly be your fault that Fennel died?” Maggie asked again.
TomTom sat up and wiped her face with her shirt tail.
“I told Fennel she should stay inside and take it easy that day. She wanted to come out and help, but she had all this other stuff to do. I know she felt guilty about her allergies, about doing more inside the house than out on the farm. But her work was important, too. I was the one who suggested she catch up on ordering. The rest of us made a point to leave the house pretty early that morning, so Fennel could work in peace.”
“How does that make it your fault?”
“If I stayed, if we’d all hung around, we might have heard her fall. Maybe she could’ve been taken to the hospital. I don’t know.”
“Do you remember anything else about that morning?”
“Like what?” TomTom looked miserable.
“Fennel had an allergic reaction, remember? There was nothing you could have done about that, without her medicine. It’s not your fault, TomTom.” Maggie hastened to say, then added. “Maybe Fennel did something that she didn’t normally do that morning.”
“Remember when Sun said she made Fennel’s tea? Fennel drank her tea every day, so that was normal. Now that I think about it, I do remember Sun messing around with water on the stove that morning. She must’ve put the cup over by Fennel without anybody noticing, because I didn’t even know about it till she told us, remember? Really, Sun is a decent person. She just acts tough.”
“Yes,” Maggie replied.
“I can’t remember much. We were all being quick, kind of sneaking out the door. I wanted Fennel to stay put and not make a big deal out of having to stay inside. Loki and I made a game out of it, to see how quiet we could be. Namasté is always quiet, and Tor was already outside.”
Tears welled again in TomTom’s eyes, “If only we’d been noisier. I could’ve said good-bye.”
Maggie decided not to point out the twisted logic of this statement.
“I’m sorry—I need to get going. Work called this morning,” Maggie said.
“Of course.” TomTom was on her feet. A paper bag rustled on the floor.
“Here,” she said. “I made this for you, for the baby.”
She handed Maggie a sack. Inside was a baby blanket in warm, earthy shades.
“It’s made from organic, clay-dyed cotton,” TomTom said. “I learned how to knit last winter. I can only do rectangles right now.”
“It’s beautiful,” Maggie said, pressing the blanket to her face. “Thank you so much.”
“Sure.” TomTom walked toward the door.
“Hey,” Maggie said.
TomTom stopped and turned around. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t you take the little box?”
“Thanks. I think I will.”
Maggie hesitated for a moment, then spoke again. “I still need a midwife. I’ve been reading a lot lately and I’d like to try a home birth. Are you really interested?”
TomTom ran over and gave Maggie a hug. Her tearfulness had vanished completely. “Are you kidding? Of course! I didn’t want to press. I know this is all shocking and new for you, but I was hoping you’d ask me!”
“It is. Shocking and new, that is. But I’m getting used to the idea that someone else is steering this vessel.” Maggie patted her abdomen.
“Yes. It’s best to get used to that,” TomTom responded sagely. “Why don’t we do a prenatal exam this afternoon when you come home from work?”
Maggie was grateful for her new midwife’s suggestion. She had only a vague idea as to time of conception. She knew from her reading that an experienced practitioner could take measurements in order to estimate a due date.
“Yes,” Maggi
e said. “Let’s meet this afternoon.”
“By the way,” TomTom asked. “Have you seen my silver bracelet? It’s been missing for weeks and I thought maybe it was in Fennel’s room.”
“Haven’t seen it,” Maggie said.
Why can’t anyone keep track of their possessions? she wondered irritably. People are always losing things in this house.
Then an idea struck Maggie. She felt sure that she knew exactly where all the lost things had gone.
Chapter 19
It was a week before Maggie had time to drive into River City. When she finally had a free morning, Maggie downed a hasty breakfast and showered quickly. She wanted to vacate the premises before anyone could come up with an alternate way for her to spend the morning.
Halfway to the door, she heard a sound like a cat with hairball problems. It was Tor coming down the stairs, clearing his throat.
Of all the Originals, Tor would be the one to assign her an impromptu task, Maggie knew, so she grabbed her coat and tucked it under one arm, planning to put it on after she had slipped outside.
She was out the door and almost had it closed when she heard, “Maggie?”
Reluctantly, she stepped back inside. “Good morning, Tor.”
“Could we sit down and talk for a minute?”
“Okay,” Maggie sighed.
“It looks like you’re going somewhere.”
“Yes, I was just going into River City to do some baby shopping,” she said, ready with the fib she had cooked up last night.
“This won’t take long,” Tor said. He looked around to make sure they were alone, then launched into a conversation that sounded as if it would, indeed, take a long time. “Did I ever tell you I was going to hike the Appalachian trail?”
Maggie blinked. This was unexpected. “What?”
“Yes. I’m quite the experienced trekker. I had all the gear and a friend lined up to come with me. It’s good to have a buddy on the trail,” he explained.
“I see.”
“This was just after college,” Tor chewed on his bottom lip pensively. “My dad died, though, a month before this guy and I were planning to take off. I had to cancel and then never got around to going after that. Things came up, you know? Life took me in a new direction.”
C’est la vie, Tor’s voice said, but his face was pinched in self-pity.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said.
“Yeah. I wanted to go to Iceland, too, but that was out of my price range. Sending me to college just about broke the bank. I went to IU. Dad always called Indiana “out East.” Anything east of the Mississippi may as well have been New England to him.”
Maggie was now sure of this conversation turning out to be more than a momentary side-track. If she could steer Tor’s free-associating train of thought, however, she might be able to glean a bit of helpful information from him.
“Why Iceland?” she asked.
“Well, what’s not to like?” Tor asked. “Black sand beaches next to stark white cliffs. Rolling grasslands and sod houses. A natural volcanic landscape barely altered by human hands. And the history—wow! The history of Iceland is amazing. Did you know they were one of the first democratic governments in the world? In fact, they might have been the first, as far as recorded history is concerned. I can’t remember now—I’d have to look it up.”
“That’s very interesting,” Maggie said politely, biding her time.
Tor looked down at his feet, where one of his long toes was poking out of a hole in his sock. He sighed. “Money sucks, you know? If this were a barter society, we’d all be much better off. But life costs. The things we want and need always cost us a lot.”
Maggie chose this as her moment to be direct.
“Do you need me to start paying rent, Tor?” she asked.
He looked at Maggie appraisingly. “You’re really sharp, you know that?”
Maggie did not answer.
“No,” Tor said. “I don’t think you paying rent would help.”
“Is the farm losing money?”
“Small operation farmers often lose money. Honestly, I have never made more than just enough to get by.”
Maggie did not fail to note that Tor said “I” and not “we.”
“How much debt are we talking about?”
“A lot. More than anyone here knows.”
“What can I do to help?” And here was the real point of his wanting to talk to her, Maggie knew. Tor had pulled her aside to ask for help.
“I have an iron or two on the fire, but if they don’t heat up, I may have to sell.”
“Tor, what can I do?”
“I have a couple of ideas. I wonder if you would mind keeping this quiet, though? I don’t want to panic the others.”
Maggie nodded her assent.
“First, could you come with me to a city council meeting? I think your perspective as a resident of a larger community might be helpful with something we’ve been discussing. The other things is, I wonder if you could talk to your dad and see if he might want to invest in the farm, take part ownership maybe. I don’t know how his business is doing, but your siblings are mostly grown, right? So he’s got fewer expenses now. And Joe was always a devoted fan of Fennel’s. Perhaps he’d do it as an ode to her memory?”
Maggie thought these sounded like two very bad ideas. Joe would never in a million years buy part of Original Farm. He had plans to retire soon. Well, Mary had plans for Joe to retire, anyway.
Maggie was well aware what Tor wanted her to say to the city council. He wanted her talk up the big box stores in Des Moines, and act like any civilized burg worth its salt would have a Val-U-Shop. That would lend credence to Tor’s argument and perhaps set in motion the series of events he believed would get him out of debt: council approval of utility extensions, Val-U-Shop buying his land, extra money in his pocket.
Maggie decided it was time to cut to the chase.
“What about your ten acres close to town?” she asked.
A series of W’s formed above Tor’s thick eyebrows.
“How do you know about that?”
“I happened across an aerial photo upstairs. The office is right next to my room and I heard a sound in there one day. When I went in to check, the photo just popped out at me. I’ve been wondering about that land ever since.”
“Well, I was hoping—” he began. Sunflower chose that moment to bang open the kitchen door and start pulling out coffee-making materials with the tender finesse of a rhinoceros.
Tor looked grateful for Sunflower’s interruption.
“Hey, you’d better get into town,” he said to Maggie. “What were you shopping for? Diapers?”
“I don’t think the kid needs diapers yet,” Sunflower called from the kitchen.
“Just baby things,” Maggie said.
Tor was already on his way to the kitchen. Maggie could see that he wasn’t going to talk any more.
On the way to River City, Maggie spied a Deputy patrol car approaching in the opposite lane.
Please don’t be Lyle, she thought, grinding her teeth.
The patrol car slowed to a stop adjacent her Bug.
Lyle lowered his window and smiled.
Maggie rolled her window down. The wintery wind reached in and whipped scarf fringe about her face.
“Long time no see,” Lyle called across the icy divide. “Still mad at me?”
Maggie grimaced. “I’m sorry about that,” she said.
“It’s okay. Most exciting part of my month, actually. It’s been quiet around here. Cold weather keeps people indoors and out of trouble, mostly.”
“Yes. That makes sense.”
There was no traffic coming or going which Maggie might have used as an excuse to drive on.
“Still on the case?” Lyle asked casually.
Maggie’s nostrils flared. “Yes.”
“I looked up that allergy to chamomile.”
“You did?”
Lyle nodded. “It’s rare,
but definitely possible. It could still have been an accident, but I’m willing to hear what you else come up with.” He paused. “If you want to chase bad guys, Maggie, at least consider asking for help from an expert.”
His window began to ascend.
He wants to have the last word this time, Maggie thought. She was happy to let him end the conversation, then something occurred to her.
“Speaking of experts,” she said through the wall of wind.
Lyle’s window paused midway.
“I’m thinking of moving to River City permanently, but I’d like to find out more about the town. Any idea who I might talk to? Is there a visitor center? Maybe I could speak with a city council member?”
Lyle’s window descended again.
“Are you really going to move here? For good?” he asked. “What do you want to know? I know a lot about River City. I researched the place while applying for this job. I get around town. I talk with a great many people and—wait a minute.” Lyle frowned. “A city council member?”
Maggie shrugged innocently. “Just an idea.”
“Uh-huh. You never stop, do you?” His smile was admiring.
“I really am considering the move. I’m definitely pregnant. I’m looking for a different job and a quieter place to raise my child. River City seems like it might work.”
Anything is possible at this point, so I’m not exactly lying, she reassured herself.
Lyle said, “Congratulations on the baby, Maggie. River City is a good place to raise a child.”
“Thanks. Honestly, I’m flying by the seat of my pants on this whole parenting thing. I’m trying to make positive choices.”
“You’ll be a wonderful mom. I know you will.”
Finally, a car was coming up behind Maggie’s Bug. They could both see that she needed to get moving soon.
“Why don’t you try the River City museum, along the river front?” Lyle said. “Vivian Delay runs it—she’s on the city council and has lived here all her life.”
Maggie began inching her car forward. “Thank you, Lyle.”
“Sure thing. Be seeing you.”
The River City Museum was a converted one story house with red, white and blue painted siding. The Iowa and United States flags snapped in the wind on the pole outside the museum. Maggie parked in the tiny lot and walked up to the entrance. The posted hours of operation stated that the museum would not be open for another hour.
Shallow Roots: An Iowa Girl Mystery (Iowa Girl Mysteries Book 1) Page 15