“I hear persistence runs in the family,” he teased.
“And then some,” Libby replied. “But I can barely stay afloat with what I’ve got going now. How do I add a dog into the mix?” She shrugged. “Maybe next year. I need to know where I’ll be before I can commit to something that’s going to be around for a dozen years or more. Do you have a dog?” she asked. For some reason, the question caught him off guard. He almost stuttered his reply.
“I did. Now I don’t.”
She noticed the pain in his voice. He saw the recognition in her face. “It’s hard to say goodbye, isn’t it?”
He’d never gotten a chance to say goodbye. Flint had died four weeks before he’d come home, killed by a hit-and-run driver.
His friends gone because of a mechanical mistake.
His dog gone when a careless driver had left him lying in a ditch along Route 2. He walked toward the back door. “I’m going to stow these, put my laptop away, then get to work.” Thoughts of Flint and the war put a vise grip on his temples.
He stowed the computer and the barn plans, grabbed a stack of bags and gave one to each bus driver. While the earnest pickers began bringing in what might be Cleve O’Laughlin’s final harvest, he piled apple crates onto his truck, then unloaded them in strategic locations along the straight, trimmed rows of the old-style orchard.
He’d made it through these last few years by keeping busy, holding thoughts at bay. As long as he was moving, he could make it through the days because if he stayed busy enough, there wasn’t time to consider the problems that plagued him at night.
The doctor had prescribed sleeping pills.
Jax refused to take them because being kept asleep artificially was almost as scary as being unable to sleep. What if the meds never wore off and he just stayed asleep forever?
He shoved the thoughts aside, dropped off the crates, then joined the pickers, doing a job he’d been raised to do from the time he could walk. To pick Washington Perfect apples, like everyone in his family before him. For today it would be enough if the pain would just stop.
Chapter Five
“I’m sorry, Libby.” Sylvia Drummond, the local bank officer, met with Libby the next day. She sounded apologetic, but sympathy wasn’t going to keep things afloat on the farm. “I’ve run the numbers on your application for the mortgage and they don’t work. The bank has to turn down your request because there isn’t enough sustainable income to make it a worthy risk. If you were working, it would be different, but you’re not.”
How did one work while caring for a sick relative? Or did people expect her to shut Gramps in a home and walk away? Doing that would solve several problems. She could work. The mortgage would be approved. And Gramps would be cared for every single day with no worry on her part except that the person who raised her would suffer.
“I’ll go back to work once Gramps gets either too sick for me to care for at home, or—” she had to swallow hard at this part “—when he’s gone. But for now it’s impossible to hold down a job and care for Gramps and the farm. And there’s clearly no money for before-and after-school care unless I’m working, and if I’m working, I can’t take care of Gramps.”
“A catch-22, for sure,” the bank officer agreed. “I’ve known your grandparents since I was a kid. Your grandma had such a giving heart. Cleve, too, although he’s always had a stubborn streak.”
A streak that deepened with his illness.
“Unfortunately a decision like this is out of my hands when the numbers are this far off, Libby. Will insurance money cover most of the barn? Can you scale back the building size to fit the insurance payout?”
“The plans are downsized,” she explained, and she held out the online pictures of the proposed barn. “Not an inch of wasted space, and it’s a pole barn, so we’re saving there, too, but construction isn’t cheap and the insurance will only cover about a third of the cost.”
Sylvia’s mouth thinned. “So the barn would eat up every penny of the insurance payout and the loan.”
“Yes.”
“And it wouldn’t be ready in time for this year’s crop sales in any case.”
Libby’s chest tightened further. “Correct.”
Sylvia sighed softly. “I know that CVF has been buying land in your area. Everyone is aware of it, and while we’ll all miss our roadside stands, have you considered offering them the orchard lands? I know CVF is huge, but they’re good land stewards and everyone who borders their orchards is pleased to have them as a neighbor. Would it be in your best interest to sell them the land and ask if you can occupy the house temporarily? Or maybe have the house acreage legally separated from the orchards and sell just the farmland. That would leave the house free and clear,” she continued. “And money in the bank from the sale. Would Cleve even have to know that the orchard changed hands? That could get you by until...”
Sylvia meant well, and in some ways it made perfect sense, but her proposal meant that Libby and CeeCee had to use lies and deceit to cover up the land sale. If Gramps found out accidentally, he would be crushed.
She’d be following Grandma’s request in deed, but not in spirit, and she’d be doing it dishonestly. “I can’t lie to him.” She stood, effectively ending the discussion. “He helped raise me. He taught me everything I know about orcharding, and these sixty acres have been in the family for generations. My great-great-grandfather was given irrigation rights in the early part of the twentieth century and we’ve planted and replanted this land ever since. Thank you.” Even though the bank’s position put her in a severe money crunch, she refused to forget her manners. “I understand the numbers behind your decision, but I want to thank you for considering me.”
She shook Sylvia’s hand and left the bank with her chin held high. It didn’t matter that she choked back tears once she stood on the sidewalk.
She’d held it together inside.
Grandma had always taught her to have a plan B. She’d lost her ability to arrange a secondary plan when her marriage fell apart. Once she saw Keith’s true colors, she realized that keeping CeeCee and herself safe had to be first on her agenda. He’d definitely done her a favor by walking out.
As she drove home, she counted her blessings. She had CeeCee, her beloved child. She had this time with Gramps, something to cherish in the years to come. She had a house with a solid roof. And as she pulled into the farm driveway and spotted Jax McClaren’s white truck, a part of her wanted to count his friendship as a blessing.
But she couldn’t.
Nice handyman that he was, he was doing them a service as a kindness, nothing more. But when the truck came her way, he slowed it down long enough to tip his hat and smile in her direction as he pulled up to another stack of apple bins.
Her heart beat faster.
She ordered it to stop.
It didn’t listen, and when she climbed out of the patched-up O’Laughlin farm truck, she was determined to walk straight into that house and get on with her day.
“Need help with anything?” he asked, his voice full of kindness.
She started to wave him off, then paused. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, thanks.”
He wasn’t, though. He winced slightly as she stepped closer. “You don’t look fine.”
“Well, gee. Thank you.” He gave her a roguish grin to lighten the moment. “Just what every fellow wants to hear. How’d things go in town?”
“They didn’t. I don’t have enough income to secure the loan and there’s no way I can work off the farm and be away from Gramps, so we might have to table the barn notion. With the insurance shortfall, and no way to fund the balance, it’s a no-go.”
He looked at her, then the barn spot, then her again. “Creative financing is one of my specialties.”
“We need to go beyond creative in this case,” she told him.
; “I know some private investors who understand the fruit market. A bank has overseers to report to. A private investor doesn’t. The fruit on those trees is a hanging gold mine, but we need to get it into the consumers’ hands. Money isn’t our conundrum.”
She made a face because she was pretty sure that finances were a huge problem.
“We need to establish a selling spot. That’s the only thing holding us back.”
“Tents?”
He didn’t laugh at her. In fact, the idea seemed to intrigue him. “I might be able to come up with one. One of those big ones. Not ideal, but better than nothing, right?”
It would be different, but it would give her the necessary cover she needed. There wouldn’t be much road appeal, but for this season, it might work. “That would be a help.”
“I’ll make a couple of calls.”
“Can I get you something for that headache you’re pretending not to have?”
He got a funny look on his face, then shook his head. “It’s gone, actually. I thought it was going to be a killer afternoon, but it’s gone.”
“Good. And if I haven’t thanked you enough, Jax, let me say it again. There’s no way I could be getting all this done without your help. You’ve taken a huge load of stress off my shoulders. I’m not sure how you just happened along at the right time, but you did. And I’m so grateful.” She took his hand. A simple gesture of sincerity, but then she didn’t want to let go of his hand. Let go of him.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
Oh, that smile. The cowboy tone. That look when he touched a finger to that army cap. She could get used to that look. She didn’t dare consider it...
And yet she couldn’t help thinking about it as she went inside.
“That you, Carolyn?” Gramps called out as she slung her purse over a kitchen hook. “I was bringing my clothes out for a washin’. You always liked to do washing on Mondays, didn’t you?” And there was Gramps, in shorts and a T-shirt, lugging a basket of clean laundry in his arms.
“It’s Libby, Gramps, but I’ll be happy to take care of that for you. Where’s Mortie?”
The nurse came out of Gramps’s bedroom just then, carrying a medicine container. “Libby, you’re back. I was just checking on Cleve’s meds for him and—” She sized up the laundry basket, Gramps’s clothing and the situation quickly. “But I’ll let you get that laundry taken care of first. Then we’ll talk. Cleve, it’s not cold out, but it’s not shorts-wearing weather, either. If you want to help that nice young man with the apples, you’re going to need to put something warmer on.”
He handed Libby the basket and studied the small calendar on the living room table. “It says September.”
Libby nodded.
“It is September, Cleve,” Mortie assured him. “Time for harvest.”
“Then we better do what they did in the Bible, don’t you think? Get those laborers on board. Though they only paid a penny for a day’s work in that scripture. I expect we’ll have to go a little higher.” He grinned.
“We’re setting up for the harvest right now, Gramps.”
He rubbed gleeful hands together. “This is where I’m at my best. Old-fashioned hard work. And I don’t need a cent of pay because those apple sales are my money in the bank every year.”
Mortie understood their circumstances. Gramps didn’t.
The home health nurse reached a hand out to his arm. “Well, let’s get some proper picking clothes for you, all right?”
“Don’t know what I was thinkin’!” He followed her like a happy pup and when he emerged a few moments later, he was wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved pullover. “Now I’m ready.”
“I’m on my way out, so I’ll see you over to where that nice young man is getting things organized.” Mortie grabbed her bag and the light sweater she’d laid along the back of the couch.
“Sounds good.”
Jax spotted them coming out the door. He crossed the driveway quickly and motioned to the truck. “Cleve, I’m just heading out to set bins and I’ve got a picking bag with your name on it. Want to ride along?”
“Don’t mind if I do. Who are you?” he asked bluntly. “I don’t know you, do I?”
“Jax.” He stuck out a hand and gave Gramps that sweet smile. “I’ve hired on for the season, sir.”
“I hope you brought a passel of friends because we’ve got our work cut out for us. We’ll fill that barn so full to burstin’ that we’ll have a year’s supply of money in the bank by November. And then some,” he boasted.
“Sounds like a plan.” Jax directed him to the truck and opened the door for him. Once Gramps had climbed in, Jax turned. He gave the women a quiet thumbs-up. And when he rounded the truck, he spoke softly, so Gramps wouldn’t overhear. “You gals do what you need to do. I’ve got this.”
He offered a respite.
Libby hadn’t realized how desperately she needed a break until it was offered. She smiled her thanks and turned toward Mortie. “You needed to see me.”
“I do, and it’s not easy, is it? Your grandpa’s got a heart of gold but he’s developing the impish nature of a preschooler in some ways. This might be our most dangerous time yet because his trips to reality are growing scarce.”
“Is it normal to go downhill this fast?” Libby asked, and Mortie shrugged.
“It’s not all that fast, sweet thing. It’s been accumulating for years. We’re just now seeing the results of the buildup.”
“Like when a slow-running drain finally gets fully clogged.”
“Just like that. And this could go on for a long time or a relatively short time, there’s no way of knowing.” Mortie put an arm around Libby’s shoulders. “I’m going to recommend an increase in care time. His insurance will cover it and you need it. The problem is, if he gets contentious, the health care workers don’t always stay. We don’t pay them enough to be yelled at or scolded or ridiculed, and those are common enough occurrences with dementia.”
Libby knew that firsthand. “Gramps has gone off on me a few times lately.”
“And that’s not one bit fun, is it?” Mortie asked softly. “To have our mistakes or missteps thrown up at us long after we’ve moved on. Another sorrow of this wretched disease, but here’s what I’m saying to you.” She turned and faced Libby fully. “This is not your grandpa talking, even if it sounds, looks and feels like it is. It’s like when an internet connection goes weak and all you get is that spinning little circle taking you absolutely nowhere.”
“Buffering is such a pain,” Libby agreed.
“That’s what his brain is doing when he goes off like that. It’s buffering, searching for information, for memories, and usually failing. Don’t think of it as being aimed at you, even when it sounds that way. Think of it as being plain old stuck. And move on.”
She gave Mortie a quick hug. “I’ll keep that in mind. And thanks for recommending more help, Mortie. I sure could use it.”
“Well, it’s time,” Mortie replied. “I’ll see you soon, but if you need me, call me. Or call the doctor’s office and they’ll get hold of me right quick. If we approach this as a team, we’re all better for it.”
“I will. And, Mortie, thank you for being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Mortie’s compassion warmed her smile. “That’s what friends and neighbors are for, Libby. To shore one another up as needed because there but for the grace of God go I. And that can be said for every one of us.” She climbed into her car, started it up and did a K-turn. “I’ll give you a call, okay?”
“Yes.”
She watched Mortie leave. Gramps was safe with Jax for a while and she had time to get something done. What she really wanted was to go to the front porch, curl up on the glider and read a book.
But nobody in the apple business had time to read books in the fall, so she shelv
ed that idea until January, took care of some things inside and pushed aside her worries about money. If Jax could find a tent, two weeks of fruit sales would bridge her current gap.
But how would a tent hold up in a storm? What if this was an ongoing weather trend?
She couldn’t change the weather. But she could put the whole thing squarely where it belonged, in God’s hands. He’d gotten her this far. One way or another He’d get her through what could be Gramps’s final harvest.
Chapter Six
Glenn Moyer stopped by the next morning to offer the use of the old barn to the east, the one CeeCee had drawn.
Libby had to fight back tears when he made the offer. “But you sold the land, Mr. Moyer. That’s what Gramps said.”
“I did. But I kept the plot with the barn in case Tug wanted to use it. CVF had no use for it, and that single acre didn’t make much of a difference in the sale price, so keeping it made sense. It hasn’t been used in a bunch of years, but the fruit cooler worked fine the last time we turned it on.” The middle-aged farmer made a sour face. “It’s not pretty, but it gives you an option for marketing your fruit until you can rebuild. I’d help clean it up but Tug’s got his hands full with two kids and no wife, so Darla and I are over there all the time.”
Glenn’s daughter-in-law had passed away three years ago, leaving their son Tug with two kids and a full-time job with the sheriff’s department. “He’s blessed to have your help, Glenn. Thank you.” She hugged him, then drew back, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, it’s been a crazy few days and I’m more emotional than normal. But you deserved that hug.”
The hug made him laugh. Or her reaction. Maybe both. “I’ll take it in any case,” he told her, grinning. “And if you need help minding the stand, let me know. There are a couple of local gals who know the value of hard work, which means they don’t stand around staring at their phones for fourteen dollars an hour. They’re in college now, but I expect available enough to spell you now and again. I’ll text you their names and numbers.”
A Hopeful Harvest Page 5