“So, what exactly are the Looms?” Isaac asked, holding on to the roof handle over his window as they bounced over roots.
Sanna couldn’t help but smile a little, thinking about her special trees.
“They’re the heirloom trees, but we’ve always called them the Looms. You can tell you’re in them because the leaves aren’t as full as the younger, newer trees. They produce fewer, smaller, and weirder-shaped apples than the rest of our trees.”
They were why Sanna would never leave the orchard.
As a child, she had always been drawn to the oldest trees, the ones from her great-great-great-grandpa. The craggy branches whispered stories of the past as she had scrambled up the limbs, her bare legs scraping against the aging bark. She’d learned quickly that the bitter apples from the old trees didn’t make for good snacking, falling and rotting on the ground as the autumn turned colder. The lost harvest disappeared to hungry animals and time. Back then, she didn’t understand why they would even keep these trees. Why plant apples you can’t eat? But once she’d grown up and realized these bitter apples were meant for cider, she was determined to put them to use. She never wanted to give her father a reason to cut them down and plant new, fancy hybrid varieties that tourists would pay ridiculous amounts of money for.
Sanna stopped the truck and hopped out without waiting for Isaac, her face tilted to the sun, her hat slung around her neck. Insects buzzed around, a fat bumblebee hopped from flower to flower, and the grass already stretched up to her calves. They would need to mow soon, letting the clippings act as natural fertilizer. Even her unexpected company couldn’t disrupt the peace that thrummed to her bones.
“So, these are the Looms.” Though she wasn’t about to shush him, Isaac’s voice seemed louder than necessary. Whispered voices always felt more appropriate out here, as though it were an outdoor cathedral. “I thought there’d be more bees in the orchard.”
“We’re way past bee season. The ones that are here are sipping from the flowers.” Sanna brushed the nearest branch. “The L1s brought these trees when they came from Sweden.” She noticed the confused look on Isaac’s face. “Oh, it’s a biology thing I picked up in college, a way to track generations. L1s are first-generation Lunds. Dad’s an L4. I’m an L5. Anyway, most of the original trees have been replaced. But this little nook is still all original. We don’t know why they’re still alive, let alone still producing. Most apple trees are productive for forty to fifty years. These are almost a hundred and fifty years old and still giving us apples every year.”
Sanna ducked into the tree’s canopy and rubbed the trunk. The bark practically buzzed with life under her hand, reassuring her of its vitality. This was one of the trees she and her dad had taken a branch from to graft new stock a few days ago. Above her head, tiny apples the size of marbles loaded the branches that remained, still green, a few clinging to petals that hadn’t found their way to the ground.
She looked back over her shoulder at Isaac, who wasn’t studying the tree as she was, but instead had his eyes on her. The buzzing she’d felt in the tree moved under her own skin, up through her hand to her arm, and vibrated through her to the ends of her hair and the tips of her toes. She became aware of her dry, almost chapped lips, and her hair tangling in the branches above her head. But, quickly distracted from thoughts of herself, she noticed the flecks of silver in his dark hair, both in his curls and his beard, complementing the smile wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. He was the kind of man who would get more attractive with each passing year.
Sanna licked her lips, shocked at the thought that had just popped into her mind.
“I should check some trees we just grafted.” She skirted around Isaac back to Elliot, where she had a few moments to pull herself together before he joined her. By the time they’d reached the newly grafted trees, on the east side of the barn, she’d gotten control of her irrational thoughts.
The afternoon shade from the barn on the tiny trees made it hard to tell what was off about them—but something was definitely wrong. The trees were as she had left them, tiny sticks in black pots, coated in wax until the scion fused to the root stock and new growth started. She closed her eyes to let them adjust and moved so she would be in the shade, too, to help her see. But her pulse skipped as she bent down to touch them, disbelieving her eyes. Her heart stopped when she easily snapped one in two. What should have been still green and supple was already dry and brittle. A quick walk down the line revealed they had lost all twenty.
“No,” she whispered. Isaac picked up on the change in her.
“What?”
She held up the broken twig, but Isaac only looked more confused.
“They’re dead. All of them.”
Sanna sat down, leaning against the barn and letting the defeat sink in.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything we can do?”
Isaac plopped down next to her. The genuine concern clear on his face touched her more than she wanted to admit. She shook her head and tried to explain.
“These were yet another failed attempt to expand the Looms. Each time I try to graft them, it fails. With the trees so old, it’s only a matter of time before they start dying and we’re already well beyond it—I need to know I can make more.”
“What about the seeds from the apples? Can’t you plant those?”
It was a fair question from someone unfamiliar with apple husbandry, so Sanna did her best to not sound testy.
“Not if I want to get the same apples. Apple seeds are a product of two trees: the tree where the apple grows, and the tree that supplied the pollen. When an apple blossom is fertilized, there is no guarantee that the pollen came from the same species of tree, so the seeds will most likely not be what you want. The only way to guarantee the same kind of tree is to graft, to take some of the tree itself and marry it to other stock—but I, apparently, can’t do that with the Looms.”
Isaac awkwardly patted her arm, evaporating her need to mourn the lost saplings. Alone by the shady side of the barn, those gentle touches pushed at her carefully constructed barriers. She fought the urge to lean into his shoulder.
This wouldn’t do. They’d only met yesterday.
She stood and briskly wiped dirt from her backside. “Come on. I’ll show you how to trim the trees.” Sanna left him to follow in her dust.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bass carried the bucket full of soapy water, careful to not slosh too much out. Mr. Lund had spotted him juking in and out of the trees and promised that if he helped him wash the mud off the ATV, he’d get to drive it. He totally won that deal. He would have washed all the cars and the house and the barn for a chance to drive that sweet thing. It was way better than the golf cart his dad had let him drive a few weeks ago. He had checked the speedometer, and the ATV could go over fifty.
As he dipped the sponge into the warm water, he envisioned himself behind the wheel, tearing through the orchard, flying over bumps so all four tires left the ground. It would be baller. He squeezed out most of the water and started on the tires, the dirt turning to muddy rivulets as it ran down the sides.
“Start at the top and work your way down, son,” Mr. Lund said. He towered over him. Bass wondered if he had two of himself and if one stood on the other’s shoulders, would he be as tall as Mr. Lund? Did he see dust in spots that other people didn’t?
Before his mom had moved out of their house, he remembered her frantic cleaning sessions. She’d haul a ladder from room to room, washing every inch with soapy water, even the ceilings. It would go on for a couple of days, then his mom would sleep. He knew to be quiet on the sleeping days. Dad had told him, too, but he knew. If he did make an extra-loud noise, Mom would get really angry and storm out of the bedroom with wild hair and wearing an overlarge T-shirt.
“Here, let me show you.” Mr. Lund held his own sponge that he dipped into the water and started soaping the top where it was only dusty, then stopped when he got to a spot where Bass could reach. “Now you f
inish this side, and I’ll go around to the other sides, okay?”
Bass nodded. He kind of wished there were more kids here, but he didn’t mind Mr. Lund. And it was pretty cool to be staying at an orchard. It was like having an entire forest to himself where he could act out the very best battle scenes from Star Wars. Miss Lund even said she’d show him how to climb the trees without hurting them. With all the land to explore, the summer would be over before he had discovered all the best hiding spots.
“How did it go with Sanna?” Mr. Lund asked.
“Good. She’s funny.”
Mr. Lund stopped washing.
“She’s funny? That’s a new one. Why do you think that?”
“She doesn’t lie to me.”
“How can you tell?”
“Well, Miss Lund told me she doesn’t really like kids and she’s only working with me because she has to. Why would she say that if it wasn’t the truth?”
Mr. Lund laughed.
“You are right. She didn’t lie to you. And you weren’t upset?”
“Nah. She answered my questions anyway. And gave me a notebook where I could write down more questions to ask her later.”
Bass slopped now-dirty water all over his clothes and kept scrubbing, enjoying how the dirt came off so easily. This didn’t even seem like a chore. They washed in silence for a few moments.
“Do you like being tall?” Bass finally asked. He had wanted to ask Miss Lund, too, but hadn’t worked up the courage yet. Maybe tomorrow. Mr. Lund was different. He smiled all the time and laughed a lot. He seemed like the kind of guy who would buy him cotton candy and ice cream at the same time—just because.
Mr. Lund straightened to his full height. “I love being tall. I can pick most apples without a ladder, I can reach the top shelf in the cupboard, and I can tell which of my friends are hiding bald spots with a comb-over.”
“What’s a comb-over?”
Mr. Lund bent at his waist so Bass could see the top of his head, then pushed some hair to the side to reveal a smaller patch of bare skin.
“A comb-over is when you comb your hair over the bald spot on your head so people still think you have all your hair.” He smoothed his hair back where it had been and straightened up. “But I’m so tall, no one but you knows that I do that. Think you can keep that between us?”
He winked at Bass, and Bass held out his hand with his pinkie raised.
“Pinkie swear.”
Mr. Lund reached out his own little finger and they shook on it. Bass returned to his now very muddy water and looked for another spot to wash. Mr. Lund came to stand next to him.
“Looks like we’re finished. You do good work. I’m glad you’re helping us this summer. We’ll have to add you to the payroll.”
“For real? Like real money? Will I make the same as my dad?”
As Mr. Lund chuckled, his thin frame shook like a tall tree in a windstorm.
“That might be pushing it, and I’ll need to talk to your dad about it. How about ten bucks a day?”
Bass thought about that. It would be fifty dollars a week, maybe more if he helped out on Saturdays and Sundays. He could buy his mom a really nice present when they got home. He hadn’t seen her as much since his parents didn’t live together anymore, so he wanted it to be something good. He last saw her the week before he and his dad left for this trip. She had been really sick and skinny looking. She had had dark circles under her eyes and was really shaky. Bass had worried he would hug her too tight and break her. He had kissed her gently on the cheek and tucked blankets around her. She had promised to take him to Disneyland when she felt better. When they left, his dad had warned that it might take her a long time to feel better, but, duh, Bass already knew that.
A week later, they had left.
Bass looked up at Mr. Lund.
“Twenty,” he said with as much confidence as he could, like he had heard the men on the American Pickers show say it.
Mr. Lund looked down at him, pulled a bandana from his back pocket, and wiped some sweat from his forehead, causing his comb-over to go in different directions.
“Eleven.”
Bass’s mouth gaped.
“That’s not how it goes, you split the difference. You’re supposed to say fifteen.”
“Not when I don’t have to hire you in the first place. I have the leverage. Do you know what that means?”
“Yeeeeessssss. How about twelve?” He paused. “And I get to drive the ATV once a week.”
Mr. Lund looked down at him, and his shaggy hair that kept blowing in his eyes. Finally, Mr. Lund extended his hand.
“Twelve and I’ll let you drive the ATV, but only if I think you did exceptional work. If I see you sleeping in the Looms, then no driving.”
“Done.” Bass shook his hand. “What are the Looms?”
Mr. Lund’s mouth curved into a smaller smile than normal, like he was looking through a fog and liked what he saw.
“Ask Sanna.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Isaac hoisted the bucket of trimmed branches into the back of the truck, setting the clippers alongside it. Then he reached for Sanna’s bucket, accidentally bumping fingers, resulting in a quick intake of breath from both of them. Somehow they’d settled into a graceless dance of accidental contact and mounting unspoken tension. He could address it directly, let her know he was attracted to her, and risk ruining any hope at a congenial working relationship. Or he could try and push past these feelings. They would be working together, and he wanted to get along, maybe have a few laughs and some good conversation.
After they both climbed back into the truck and closed their doors, he gave it his best effort.
“Did Bass do a good job for you today?”
Sanna turned the key in the ignition, but the engine sputtered, not the quick purr it had earlier. Without looking at him, she responded.
“He didn’t break anything.”
“Glowing praise.”
Sanna turned the key again, and it coughed, then silence.
“Guess we’re stuck out here,” Isaac said. Sanna’s nostrils twitched, and she gently placed her head against the headrest. He would swear she counted to ten. Every inch of her reacted to the world around her—she didn’t hide one ounce of emotion or sugarcoat her words. While refreshing, it was a little disarming. Yes, he was attracted to her, but he was also intrigued. Sanna was an interesting person, and he wanted to know more—friendship was the right path, the safe path.
“Do you want me to look under the hood for you?”
Sanna finally looked at him, her eyes wide. This time, when she turned the ignition, she gave the dashboard a sound whack and stomped on the floor. Though science and every auto engineer in America would argue it shouldn’t have made any difference, the truck rumbled to life, and Sanna actually smiled.
“Not stuck after all,” she said, then paused. “I imagine Bass will miss his mom this summer.”
Though Isaac was grateful she was contributing to the conversation, he just wished she had picked a different topic.
“She’s sick a lot, so he’s used to spending time apart from her, especially since we divorced a few years ago.”
Sanna’s lips made a silent O. Way to shut down the conversation, idiot, Isaac thought helplessly.
The sun ebbed toward the horizon, spreading reds and oranges like a kindergarten finger painting, large swaths of bold color. There were worse places to spend some time, and the Lunds seemed like good people who had hosted enough temporary workers to know not to pry into their past. The quiet open air and days spent in the sun would suit him just fine. His only worry was if Bass would stay out of trouble without friends and technology to keep him occupied. And a small part of him wondered if he had made the right choice in the first place. Would Bass have been better off knowing the truth right away, spending this summer grieving but surrounded by familiar people and places? But wondering was useless. He’d already made the decision and now he needed to live with
it.
Isaac waited to make sure the engine didn’t conk out before trying conversation again.
“So what did you have Bass doing?”
Sanna slowed to drive over an especially large bump in the aisle. They’d moved from the larger, older trees to the younger, smaller trees and the space between the trunks barely allowed for the truck to pass unscathed. A branch poked through his window, whipping him in the face with its leaves. Sanna’s lips quirked and she cleared her throat.
“He swept up the glass from the broken window, then helped me bottle a new batch of cider. He did a good job but he talks a lot.”
“You should see him after a Mountain Dew and a candy bar.”
“I’d rather not.”
“As long as he’s not contained within four walls, it’s actually quite the spectacle. The best is when the effects wear off. More than once I’ve had to carry him into bed because he’d burned through all his energy and couldn’t go one more step. It’s kind of adorable.”
“I’ll have to trust you.” Sanna focused on maneuvering the truck, clearly knowing every bump and overgrown branch, which made him suspicious of the one that had made it through the window.
“What did he talk about? Did he ask a lot of questions? Because he always does that.”
“He wanted to know if I still smell farts even though I’m so tall.”
Isaac laughed, and even Sanna broke into a smile. What a Bass question to ask. “I’m sorry, I told him to keep the fart talk to a minimum, but I imagine he couldn’t resist.”
“It’s fine. It’s better than my nieces and their yammering about some tween show they watch or boy band they listen to.”
The Simplicity of Cider Page 6