by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
Her expression indicated she wanted to say more.
“What is it? I will listen, even if I disagree.” Edith might still live at home, but she was no longer a child and would decide for herself.
Her mother looked away. “Wait until your father gets here.”
Papa came upon them and looked from mother to daughter. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Mama sent a pleading look at Papa. “We’ve often talked about the serendipity of our farm sharing a boundary with the Oscar farm, and the closeness you and Grant shared when you were younger. Look at the way he calls you Edie. You hate it when anyone else uses that nickname, but your face goes all pink when he says it.”
Edith squirmed. She remembered those days of near hero worship, which only deepened when Grant joined the navy. But now she had put away childish things. Were her parents hinting at something more?
“Grant Junior is a fine young man, a lot like his father. What a blessing of the Lord. We have often wondered, hoped even, that the two of you might find happiness with each other.” Her father beamed at her, as if he had just given her pure gold.
Edith nearly collapsed. How dare her parents try to play matchmaker for her? Did they think she needed the dowry of her land to be an acceptable bride for Grant or anyone else? She drew on her training in discipline. “I wish to be known as the best baker in New England. I hope to start a business that will provide an income independent of the farm. Marriage would interfere with the dream I believe God gave me.”
Her parents exchanged looks, and her mother spoke for both of them. “But, my dear, you see, marriage to the right man will only make your success sweeter. And turning your back on love will make you sour and bitter, no matter how sweet your baked goods taste.”
Edith chose not to answer. The truth behind their words stung her heart. She did want more. Success, a business—yes, even love. Once she had dreamed of Grant, when she was but a girl and he was so handsome in his uniform. But she had grown up and couldn’t see a future with the man who saw only dollar signs in the meadow.
But wasn’t she just as bad? She loved the meadow and wanted it to stay unchanged. But she also wanted its honey, for her business to succeed. How was that different from Grant’s objective?
It would take the wisdom God gave Solomon to figure it all out. While people said God worked in His own time, she had a deadline. For her to succeed in the baking business, she needed the recognition of winning a blue ribbon at the state fair. But what good would winning do if she couldn’t replicate the flavors because she no longer had the honey?
Did Grant have some need, some urgency, to plow under the meadow, something that drove him the way the fair, and all the opportunities it represented, drove her? If so, he should speak up. Maybe he would today.
Edith tuned back in to her parents’ conversation. “It is unfortunate that Mr. Oscar can’t come today. The land belongs to him, and he is still of sound mind, from what I’ve heard.”
He was, which made Grant’s decisions all the more perplexing. Maybe they had discussed it, and only her wishful thinking implied Mr. Oscar Sr. would never agree to farm the meadow.
“The surveyor is here already.” Mama pointed to Mr. Nelson waiting at the boundary stone.
“And there comes Grant,” Papa said. The wagon he drove trundled over the ground.
Grant looked over his shoulder. “Are you doing okay back there, Pa?”
“Yes.”
He could imagine a wide smile on his father’s face. This was the first time Pa had left the house since Grant had returned home. “I’m glad you could come today.”
“Thanks.” Pa’s speech was still unclear, but he could usually make his intent understood. Lately it had improved, and Grant hoped he could make himself understood today.
When Grant had told him about the boundary line running through the meadow, he’d nodded his head in violent agreement. Perhaps that fact lay behind his father’s reluctance to plow under the meadow to begin with, but he couldn’t communicate it clearly.
The Graces approached from the opposite direction, although Edie had separated from her parents. Her carriage, her confidence, her beauty, took his breath away.
When he’d joined the navy nine years ago, she’d shown signs of the beauty now in full bloom. On his last visit home, Pa had hinted at romance between the two. Grant had scoffed at the idea of marriage to anyone. Now that he was destined to settle down, the idea no longer seemed ridiculous.
Was there any chance Edie felt the same way? Had she remained unmarried because she was pining for him? He shook his head. Foolishness.
Mr. Nelson, the surveyor who would decide the fate of the land, waited for them at the boundary rock. Grant got his father settled in his chair on the ground. Their roles had reversed. The child who once looked up to the father could now pick up the shrunken man as easily as a schoolchild.
Edie dashed forward. She flicked a smile in Grant’s direction but bent down on one knee in front of his father. “Mr. Oscar, how delightful to see you here today! I wasn’t expecting such a pleasure.” She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, and Grant’s father slowly lifted his hand to place over hers, leathery fingers over delicate white skin. “Edie—”
“Yes, Mr. Oscar. It’s Edie.”
She didn’t mind her nickname when his father used it.
“I wish we had talked about this”—she flung her free hand in an arc, indicating the field surrounding them—“before now. But I’ve been praying that we find a solution to the questions plaguing us today.”
Grant’s father nodded.
“Is everyone here?” Mr. Nelson’s high-pitched, nasally voice made it hard to take him seriously.
When everyone agreed, he said, “Let’s get started.”
All chatter ceased as five faces turned in his direction.
He pulled a piece of paper from a leather packet and put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “I was able to find the original land grants from the Crown to Mr. Oscar and Mr. Putnam—that’s Mrs. Grace’s grandfather—for their service in what we now call the French and Indian War.” He cackled to himself. “Did you know that our first president was once a surveyor? Just think if he had surveyed this land. However, I believe he performed that service on the Ohio.”
If the original document had been done by George Washington, that would solve all their financial problems in a heartbeat. It would fetch a pretty penny at auction.
“The good news is that the description of the boundaries—the western boundary of the Oscar land and the eastern boundary of the Putnam claim—match. There is no question about where the boundary lies. So let me start with the first point of reference.”
Grant held his breath. If the boundary followed a straight line, the starting point would reflect how the meadow was divided.
Nelson took out a compass and paced until he found the right spot. “We are standing at the northern end of the boundary line.” He smiled. “Or we would be, if that big rock wasn’t in the way.”
“Boundary rock,” Edie said.
Her words echoed Grant’s thoughts. He looked right and left. The rock lay slightly past the halfway point. If the boundary followed a straight line, his family owned close to two-thirds of the meadow. He relaxed a smidgen. The log gums almost straddled the line.
“If you, sir—Mr. Oscar Junior—will walk twenty paces south, measuring with this chain.”
Grant walked forward the required distance. He passed two hives to the north—on Grace’s side of the boundary land. Mr. Nelson checked his notes. “You’ve reached the second coordinate given on the description.”
That suggested the boundary was going to change direction.
“Now turn to the north—your right. Walk fifteen paces with the chain.”
Grant planted a rock on the chain to keep it from moving and turned north. After a couple of steps, he hesitated. Fifteen paces would place him uncomfortably close to the third log gum.
Edie joine
d him where he stood. “Would you like some company?”
He glanced at her hand, which had returned to normal, and praised her silently for her courage. “I would appreciate it.” They continued pacing to fifteen, which took them less than a yard past the hive. Standing still at this spot was uncomfortable, with bees buzzing around and behind them. One of them landed on Edie’s head. He reached for her hand, and she allowed it. The slight tremor in her hand didn’t relax until Mr. Nelson verified the spot.
From the third hive they moved twenty paces to the south, passing two more log gums before Mr. Nelson called for them to turn west again. So far that made two log gums on Grace land and three on Oscar land.
The boundary returned to the original line and passed the sixth and final bee log gum.
The beehives were split evenly, three for each family. Had whoever set up the contraptions originally done that on purpose?
Edie looked at Grant and smiled. “Oh dear. It seems the Lord intends for us to find a compromise, since He split the honey between us.”
“And since you will keep your log gums, how can I use that parcel of land for farming? The bees don’t respect boundaries.” He tried to frown, but his mouth refused to cooperate. “God must have a sense of humor.”
Chapter 6
Three log gums stood on Grace land. Edith couldn’t stop smiling. That should supply all the honey she needed for as long as she needed it. Would the Oscars object if she moved the remaining log gums to her side of the boundary? They shouldn’t mind, since Grant had planned on destroying them all when he plowed the land under. Would the smaller parcel produce as much honey?
When Edith glanced at Grant, she knew he wasn’t pleased. He didn’t own all the land he thought was his all along, but the Oscars still had the larger portion of the parcel, and the thorny issue about the honey could be easily resolved.
“What’s troubling you, Grant?” She spoke quietly so only he could hear her.
He ground his teeth together, which informed her more certainly than anything else that the result hadn’t pleased him. “I should be laughing. God’s played a pretty trick on me.”
A puzzled frown replaced her smile. “What more could you want? I have plenty of honey, and you have most of the land to farm.” A thought struck her. “Or did you hope that the shared meadow was a tall tale and you did own all the land after all? Perhaps we ought to put up a fence so that our grandchildren don’t make the same mistake a hundred years from now.”
His face went red at the same time she realized what she had said. If they had grandchildren together—she wouldn’t allow her mind to go in that direction. She would rather be a spinster than marry a man so they could join their farms together.
“You don’t know anything.”
She barely understood his words, the way his mouth hardly moved, his jaw shut tighter than a sealed can of peaches. “Then explain it to me. We’re friends. At least we used to be, and I am very fond of your father. I would never do anything to harm either one of you. But I don’t understand what difference a few square feet of farmland can make.”
She needed to calm down. The meadow had been her sanctuary for years, a place she could come and commune with the God who created it all. She breathed in and out. Bees flew around their heads and hands. How beautiful the creatures were, the furry black and yellow stripes dancing around the black center and yellow petals of the sunflower.
“You wouldn’t understand.” Grant repeated his answer and walked in the direction of their parents. He wouldn’t let things rest until they resolved the situation.
Picking a sunflower, she pressed it to her face and breathed in the sweet smell before twirling the flower between her fingers. She started pulling off the petals. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. The final petal said “He loves me.” Edith looked toward heaven. “You love me. I already knew that. But is there someone else?” She looked at Grant and shook her head.
Her mother was smiling, apparently as happy with the outcome as Edith was herself. Papa was paying Mr. Nelson for his services. Edith looked behind them and saw the posts wavering in the wind. They would need to get them firmly planted so no one—that is, Grant—could question the boundary markings.
Grant was on his knees, talking with his father face-to-face. That showed a good side to him. Mr. Oscar was shaking his head, as if he disagreed with something his son had said.
Grant moved closer, his knees almost touching his father’s. Did Mr. Oscar feel intimidated? Not that Grant was doing it on purpose. She decided to join them. What harm could it do? She walked to the wagon and gave Mr. Oscar a quick hug.
“Honey yours.” He smiled at her.
“Half of it is, at least. And that’s probably as much as I need.” She stood to face Grant. “Do you want to secure the boundary posts, or shall I? Or perhaps you want something more permanent—like a fence?”
Mr. Oscar shook his head, and even Grant had the grace to blush. “We could do it together.” Grant’s mouth quirked into a crooked grin. She blinked, taken aback at the humor. “And no, I don’t want a fence. We’ll find another solution.”
“Leave alone.” Mr. Oscar pounded the ground with his cane. “God’s way.”
Her parents interrupted. “Now we know how the property is divided, we all need time to think about what we’ve learned. Then we can iron out any problems together. Shall we come to your house in a week?”
“Two days,” Grant said.
Edith’s eyebrows raised. Why so fast?
“We’ll be there on Friday, then.” Mama made arrangements for a picnic lunch. “Are you ready to head home?” she asked Edith.
Edith wanted a few minutes alone with Grant, to see if he would open up to her, but Mr. Oscar needed to get back home. “If you have time this afternoon, why don’t we both work on fixing the poles? We can make quick work of it.”
Grant opened his mouth, and she feared his refusal. “That sounds wise. Two o’clock?”
“I’ll see you then.” Edith followed her parents, dropping the stripped flower.
Grant picked up the sunflower and stared at its brown center. Pulling the petals seemed so unlike her. It reminded him of the child’s game to determine a boy’s interest. For a second, he hoped that’s what she had done and what the answer was.
“Edie like you.” Pa pointed to the flower.
Grant shook his head. “She thinks I’m crazy to plow the meadow.” He picked up his father and settled him in the back of the wagon.
“You are.” Grant felt the cackle against his chest. He secured the chair so it wouldn’t roll off the wagon and wiped a weary hand over his forehead. “I’m not going to argue with you about it today. Let’s ask God for an answer neither one of us has come up with yet.”
Maybe he should ask Edie. That one was full of ideas and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.
When they reached the house, Grant again lifted his father. Pa was so worn out, he couldn’t lace his arms around his son’s neck, making it harder to carry him. Grant himself was tired by the time they settled inside the house. “I could use a cup of tea with honey right about now.” He might as well enjoy it as long as he had it.
The answering smile on Pa’s face decided the matter. While the tea was brewing, Grant threw together ham sandwiches and drew a couple of pickles from a jar.
The honey tempted him to run his finger around the rim of the bottle after he sweetened his tea. The first cup went down so quickly that it almost burned his throat, but the smooth honey eased the pain.
After lunch, Grant settled Pa in his favorite chair by the front window for his afternoon nap. Grant went over the account books again, checking for a loophole he had missed the first three times he had looked. Pa hadn’t kept business and household expenses separate, so Grant couldn’t tell for certain what had created the debt. Back in 1893, during the bank crisis, Grant found a few entries that suggested his father had helped his neighbors out. The numbers were listed without names. Tha
t was Pa, generous without protecting his future. He’d probably say that was God’s job.
Grant glanced at his father. If he asked, Pa might refuse to answer. And would Grant understand the names, with his garbled speech?
The day’s mail contained mixed news. One request for payment had been returned, the client having moved without a forwarding address. Grant’s temples pounded while he checked the balance in the account book. Fifteen dollars. The amount wasn’t ruinous, but every extra penny mattered.
On the other hand, another envelope revealed payment in full for one of the larger accounts.
Unfortunately, unpaid accounts outnumbered the paid accounts. For businesses affected by the bank crisis, Pa had either written off the debt or continued to carry it. Not only so, he continued to sell to them, long past the point of financial sense. He didn’t seem to understand that he couldn’t feed anyone if he didn’t keep the farm.
If Grant had been home, he might have seen the danger signs earlier. If he had been home, he could have eased the workload his father carried and perhaps prevented his stroke. If only. He couldn’t change the past, and he had asked God’s forgiveness. He still felt the daily panic, and he lashed out at the closest person. Even Pa, which made Grant even angrier at himself.
And also at Miss Edie Grace, who with her winning attitude and determination represented all the things the Oscar farm needed. Pa was right. She’d make someone a fine wife, a fine farm wife, and she was pretty, smart, a believer—everything a man could want. But while she might love Grant Oscar Sr., she had made it clear how she felt about the junior version.
Maybe today when they pounded in the poles, he could help rectify that.
The final piece of mail was a circular that Grant dangled over the trash can until the headline caught his eye. FIFTY-DOLLAR CASH PRIZE FOR BEST VERMONT-MADE PRODUCT in celebration of the 50th annual Rutland State Fair. Other cash prizes promised for the best in produce, animal husbandry, and housewifely arts.