A Wedding in Apple Grove

by C. H. Admirand

  “And spoil your fun, thinking no one would know you’d found the stash of Funny Bones and eaten half of them?”

  “Hey,” she said. “I only took one package.”

  “This time.” Her father grinned and she couldn’t keep from smiling back. “So have you sorted it all out in your head?”

  She knew he wanted to ask how the talk had gone with her mother, but it was a subject they both avoided. He’d made his peace when her mother had died, but Meg still needed that earthly connection in the form of visits to the cemetery.

  “I think so. I was just enjoying one last midnight walk through the house and out here on the porch.”

  “Just because you are moving out doesn’t mean that you can’t spend the night once in a while.”

  A lump the size of a grapefruit constricted her throat while tears filled her eyes. But Meg wouldn’t cry. She’d already put this off for too long; any longer and she was afraid that she’d never leave. “Thanks, It means a lot that you understand and aren’t trying to make me doubt my decision.”

  “I’ve been expecting it to happen someday, so I’m more or less prepared. It’ll be hard, but anything worthwhile is never easy. Spread your wings, Meg, but know you can always come back to roost if you need to.”

  “They don’t make them like you anymore, Pop.”

  “You know they broke the mold after me.”

  They sat side by side for a while listening to the owl calling and another answering. “He’ll have found his mate by the sounds of it.”

  She nodded. “I wonder if they mate for life like some birds.”

  “You can check out our field guide tomorrow; you’ll want to hit the sack soon, or else you won’t be able to stay awake long enough to get through the long list of service calls Grace lined up for you.”

  Meg sighed and got to her feet. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in the morning, Pop.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. He ruffled her hair and said good night. Walking away, she wondered if he would miss having someone to sit with in the middle of the night, when their worries were many and the need to talk about them overrode the need for sleep.

  She would make sure to ask her sisters to keep an ear out for their father and to take turns sitting up with him. The last thing she wanted to do was send him back into the downward spiral he’d descended into when their mother died.

  With that new plan forming in her tired brain, Meg rinsed out her milky sweatpants and hung them over the shower rod to dry. Exhausted beyond belief, she slid between the sheets and was asleep before she could say her prayers.

  ***

  “Do you need help moving into your new apartment?”

  Meg paused and looked over her shoulder at her friend Melanie. “Are you offering your back or Jim’s?”

  Melanie laughed and handed two cookies to Timmy and two to Tommy. “One for each hand, you rascals.”

  They laughed and said something Meg didn’t even try to decipher. “They’ve grown so fast.”

  “Babies do,” her friend answered. “But to answer your question, I was offering to help with whatever you need. If it’s a strong back, Jim’s is definitely stronger. But if it’s a little organization and unpacking, them I’m your woman.”

  Touched, Meg nodded and continued to screw the hinge into the door frame. “I just might take you up on your offer. This should hold for at least one more season.”

  “Good, because we just don’t have the extra funds to replace that storm door; it has to last.”

  Meg tested the hinge and said, “This will hold, even though that last storm took a chunk of wood with it when it ripped the door off the hinges. I added a little extra wood glue to the block of wood and a few extra screws. It will definitely hold.”

  “Can you stay for a cup of coffee?”

  Meg looked at the kitchen clock and shook her head. “Grace has me on a really tight schedule today, but I’ll take a rain check.”

  Stowing her toolbox in the pickup, she marveled at the speed with which good and bad news travels. This was her third stop today and so far everyone knew that she’d shaken hands with Mrs. Graves and rented the apartment on top of her three-car garage. Good thing she’d been saving her pennies since she’d started working; she had a nice cushion that would take care of the utilities and a few odds and ends that she would need starting out in her life as a single woman supporting herself.

  Just saying it was exciting. She could watch whatever she wanted on TV, once she could afford to buy one, and she could eat meals standing up over the sink without her dad telling her to sit down or she’d ruin her digestion. But the biggest change that she’d be making was that she would have to answer to no one but herself if the dishes weren’t done or the bed not made.

  The enormity of the change hit her between the eyes and she had to pull over so she could catch her breath. “I’ll be on my own—all alone—just me.” She tilted her head back and let it all out. “Woohoo!”

  “From now on, it’ll be all about me—just me.” Her hands were shaking when she gripped the steering wheel to slip back onto the road. Who knew that it would be so liberating to move out? She sure as heck hadn’t.

  “OK, next stop on my list is… crap. Where’d I leave my list of appointments?” Damn, she’d have to call Grace.

  She hit the number three on speed dial and Grace answered on the first ring. “Hey, Gracie, I lost my list. Where am I supposed to be after the Culpeppers’?”

  Grace sighed. “Again? That’s three times in the last two weeks, Meg.”

  “Oh, you know I don’t do it on purpose. I’m just better with fixing things than I am scheduling things. You’re the whiz at that, Gracie.”

  As expected, her sister laughed. “When you’re right, you’re right. Your next stop is the Hawkins’s, to change out the frozen lock mechanism on their back door, then Doyle’s to see if you can trace out a faulty wire in their kitchen that keeps tripping their circuit breakers and cutting their power.”

  “OK, but isn’t there one more stop after Doyle’s?”

  “Yes,” Grace said slowly. “Mrs. Winter—”

  “Hot damn and hallelujah!” Meg crowed. “I’m getting a cherry pie and I don’t have to share it.”

  “Yes,” Grace said. “You do. Payment is payment, whether it be a dozen eggs, one cherry pie, cash, check, or credit card. Besides, you know how mad Pop got the last time you brought home half a pie.”

  Meg sighed theatrically. “And here I thought I could just bring the pie back to my apartment and no one would be the wiser.”

  Grace chuckled. “Except for the little fact that I schedule the repair visits and know that you would be due to receive said pie.”

  “I guess I can’t pull the wool over your eyes anymore.”

  Grace snickered. “You haven’t been able to in years. Just be sure to bring the whole pie home.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Meg said. “I’ll bring home the whole damn pie.”

  “And no swearing on the job, Sis.”

  “I’m not on the job yet, Grace. I’ll be there in a few. Talk to you later.” She disconnected and wondered if there was a way to finagle a piece of pie from Mrs. Winter in addition to the pie she’d give Meg as payment for whatever job she needed Meg to do. Of all the residents in Apple Grove, she always loved chatting with Mrs. Winter while she worked.

  The widow was pushing seventy—not quite as old as Miss Trudi and definitely not as spry as the owner of their local garden center. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Amelia had broken her leg in three places a few years back. She never really did bounce back from that.

  She made short work of the next two jobs on her list, grateful that today’s job list was all in town. Not that she minded driving to one of the farms on the outskirts of Apple Grove; she enjoyed the chance to dr
ive on Route 70. She always put the pedal to the metal and cleared out the carbs; she couldn’t do that inside the town limits. It wasn’t safe.

  Pulling up in front of the Winters’ two-story farmhouse, she took the time to admire the way the leaves were changing color. Tall maples with golden leaves stood beside oaks turning a rich reddish-brown, and the Virginia Creeper hanging on to the oak tree by the barn added just the right touch in all its crimson glory.

  The planters on either side of the front steps were colorful no matter what season. Right now, her friend had a mix of bold chrysanthemums: rust, orange, yellow, and gold. It wouldn’t be long before they too would die off and the planters would be empty until spring.

  Meg noticed that some of the white paint had started to check, cracking and lifting, on the left side of the screen door. Once that happened, there wasn’t much else to do but scrape it off, check for water damage, prime, and paint.

  “She should start using her front door more.” She shook her head, knowing that the widow wouldn’t. Mrs. Winter insisted that the front door was for company, and since most of her visitors were friends and friends were an extension of family, well then, they’d use the back door like her family.

  Meg turned around and, before walking down the steps, paused, and noticed the dried honeysuckle vine clinging to the lattice at one end of the porch. Meg wished it was spring; she loved when the pretty little yellow blossoms were in bloom—it not only shaded that end of the porch, but it’s light, sweet scent filled the air around Mrs. Winter’s home. “Maybe someday, I’ll have my own house with honeysuckle vines, sweet peas, and morning glories growing all over the front and back porches.”

  She shook her head at the fanciful thought. “I guess it’ll have to wait until I can see if I can pay the rent for Mrs. Graves’s apartment first.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, she tucked those thoughts away for another day when she had time to dally. Walking around the back, she wondered how Jimmy could leave Apple Grove behind. He hadn’t been able to wait to blow the dust of their little town off his shoes. Funny, but his need to leave town because he didn’t love it as much as she did hurt more than his need to leave to play football.

  She opened the wood screen door, knocked on the back door, and waited for Mrs. Winter to answer. When the door opened, she breathed in the welcoming smell of freshly baked cherry pie. “I will do whatever you need me to, as long as there’s a piece of that pie in my future.”

  “Land sakes, Megan,” Mrs. Winter said. “You surely do love your sweets.”

  Meg laughed. “It’s a good thing I work hard every day, or else I’d probably be as big as a house.”

  The older woman shook her head and motioned for Meg to come in. Happy to follow her nose toward the pies cooling on the Formica countertop, she stepped inside. Mrs. Winter’s kitchen always made Meg miss her mom. Maureen Mulcahy used to bake up a storm on Tuesdays. It was something Meg’s grandmother had always done too—have a day dedicated to a certain chore. Mondays were for laundry, Tuesdays baking.

  Knowing that Mrs. Winter thrived on routine, Meg set her toolbox down on the left side of the back door and walked over to sniff the pies. “What do you need me to do today? I lost my list—”

  “Again?”

  Meg paused with her hands on the countertop, poised to breathe in the tempting scent of cherries through the slits in the top of the pie. Mrs. Winter knew her too well. “Yeah, so I don’t know what needs fixing.”

  Mrs. Winter tut-tutted, but Meg was so close to paradise, she leaned close and got a good whiff of the flakiest pie crust in Licking County. Forget the McCormack sister’s pie—they didn’t use butter in their crust like Mrs. Winter did.

  Now that she’d gotten a nose-full of the fabulous scent, it would hold her until she’d repaired whatever needed fixing. “So, what needs my attention today?”

  The woman held out both her hands, took Meg’s right hand in hers, and patted the back of it. “I do. I haven’t seen you in a while and woke up wanting to bake a cherry pie.”

  Meg tried hard not to tear up, but she couldn’t help it. Mrs. Winter had a way of getting to the heart of any matter… no matter how small. “I need to fix something if I’m going to earn that pie.”

  Amelia released Meg’s hand and looked around the kitchen. “Everything’s still working from the last time you were here, but the igniter on my stovetop is acting finicky and doesn’t always light.”

  With a nod of understanding, Meg focused on the ten-year-old stove and set about unclogging the tiny holes at the bottom of the sealed gas burners and tried lighting the burners a few times before she was satisfied that all of them were in working order. “All fixed. Anything else?”

  “How is that handsome father of yours, Meg? Is he happy with your move?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. “I guess you were talking to—”

  “I had my hair done at Honey B.’s this morning.” Mrs. Winter patted the back of her short bob and asked, “What do you think of the color? It’s more silver than my usual gray.”

  “Gorgeous. Honey B. has a way with color.” Knowing what was expected, she asked, “So what’s the shade of the week?”

  Mrs. Winter smiled. “Honey B.’s dyed her hair a lovely rich auburn—a lot like your color. I wished my skin tone hadn’t faded quite so much, because if I was just ten years younger, I would have insisted Honey B. dye mine the same color. Smartest thing that young woman ever did was to change her hair color every week to advertise the latest shades in her shop.”

  “Has she been outside to sweep the sidewalk in front of her shop yet?”

  Mrs. Winter’s eyes practically danced as she clapped her hands in front of her face. “You’d think with the way it sits catty corner across from the sheriff’s office, he’d take a look out his own window once in a while.”

  “He is a busy man; keeping the law around here is more than a full-time job.”

  Mrs. Winter agreed. “Such a handsome man. Why does he have to be so set in his ways? Honey B. is just perfect for that hardheaded bachelor.”

  “The whole town knows it—and so does he,” Meg agreed. “I think he’s just scared to make the commitment. Not everyone wants a relationship, you know.”

  “Isn’t it time you let the past go and focused on someone new?”

  Crafty old woman caught her by surprise, changing the subject like that. Meg started to answer, but Mrs. Winter cut her off. “I hear from Trudi Philo that her grandnephew is a very handsome young man, who has a steady job and just bought his first house.”

  “Er… thanks for the info, Mrs. Winter.”

  She beamed. “Now, why don’t we sit down and have a bit of tea with our pie, then you can take home the second one I baked this morning?”

  Meg knew then that if she lived to be a hundred, she’d never find anywhere in the world like Apple Grove. Friendly but nosy; small in population but big in heart. “I’d love to.”

  “Now,” Mrs. Winter said, sitting across from Meg, “why don’t you tell me what prompted your move and why you didn’t do this years ago?”

  Meg smiled. It was a small payment, in addition to fixing whatever needed it; she always shared news in exchange for her favorite dessert. “Well, it all started at Edie and Bill’s wedding.” As she told her friend about the wedding and falling off the fence into Dan’s arms, she knew that if she didn’t run into him in town, she’d make a point to seek him out. Whether they’d intended to or not, they’d begun something on the side of the road that they would have to take the time to see where it was headed.

  Mrs. Winter’s eyes were misty as she sipped the last of her tea. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there for Edie and Bill. I dropped off a batch of chicken marsala before I left to visit my daughter and brand new grandson at the hospital in Toledo. It sounds like it was a
wonderful wedding.”

  Meg agreed. “It was.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Meg set down her tea and looked over at her friend. “Excuse me?”

  Mrs. Winter got up and wrapped the other pie with tinfoil and then a Turkish towel and set it down in front of Meg. “Edie is the second to last of the young women your age to marry. When are you going to start living again? You’re missing out on life when you spend all of it working—and waiting.”

  “Honey B.’s still single—”

  “She’s a year older than you, dear.”

  Sly fox that she was, Amelia Winter had Meg in her crosshairs and wasn’t about to let her go free. “When I called Bill’s mother to hear about the wedding, she mentioned that her younger son, Jack, saw you flirting with Dan Eagan before you brought him over to meet everyone.”

  Meg could have fibbed, but the truth always seemed to come out. Whether you wanted it to or not, someone was always ready to share news. The only downside to living in a small town; whether you wanted folks to or not, if they thought what you were doing was newsworthy, it’d be all over town. “Busted.”

  Mrs. Winter’s smile was hard to ignore, but Meg didn’t want to have to spill the rest of the beans and tell her about the emergency call to Dan’s house and the amazing-smelling dinner that he’d cooked for his date, because she still didn’t know who he’d cooked it for and that was an important part of spreading the news. So she dangled an irresistible tidbit of gossip out, hoping to distract the woman. “Cindy Harrington said that they received an emergency call through the sheriff’s dispatch this morning.”

  She had the other woman’s full attention. Nothing like news from the local law office to attract and distract. “Really? Who was it?”

  “Apparently, a couple of the boys from the football team decided to leave their mark on the school by putting tires on the flagpole—”

  “That’s not news,” Mrs. Winter interrupted. “Every decade or so they do that.”

  Meg agreed. “Well, this year’s crop of seniors aren’t as smart as they think they are, because one of them decided he’d climb the tires, so they could make a video and put it up on the Internet. Halfway up, Joey realized that he was afraid of heights.”