The Year Money Grew on Trees

by Aaron Hawkins

We pushed the unsold boxes into the station wagon and walked home together. After a hundred feet, Lisa said, "Oh, yeah!" and ran back. She returned carrying a glass jar with money in it. She held it up to show us.

  "So is the jar part of your system?" I asked Lisa with a smile.

  "Yeah, but just one part," she replied secretively.

  Chapter 14

  Double-Crossing Old Lady

  We quickly discovered that with an $8 price, we could sell apples faster than we could pick them. I told Lisa to try $10 to see if we could get more dollars per box. She reported that sales slowed to a trickle and customers complained that they could buy them cheaper down the road. Years later I learned this had something to do with supply and demand and that people would go to college for four years to learn about it. We didn't know what to call it, but seemed to be stuck with $8 boxes. On Saturday we unloaded all that we had at that price by the early afternoon and moved our salesmen back to the orchard for picking.

  Lisa liked to announce running totals every day for the number of boxes sold and dollars collected. She put our weekly total at $720. It was a lot of money for a bunch of kids who had never held a $20 bill before, and Michael knew enough math to let us know we could buy 2,880 candy bars with it. Still, we only had maybe six more weeks to sell, and I knew it wasn't enough per week to come close to $12,000, or even $8,000. In a way, the trees had grown money like Mrs. Nelson predicted. She was going to get it all, though, unless we could pick faster and get more apples out on the road.

  That Saturday the new boxes from General Supply arrived on a flatbed truck that drove up to my house. Lisa, Jennifer, and Michael helped stack the new boxes, which were white with bright red lettering that said "New Mexico APPLES." The boxes looked so clean and crisp, they almost seemed too fancy after using the dump boxes. After covering them with plastic, we decided we would save them until all the others were gone.

  The arrival of the boxes reminded me that even if we could fill and sell the thousand we started with, at $8 a box there wouldn't be enough money to even pay off Mrs. Nelson after clearing the General Supply bill. By then, I knew that each tree produced at least four boxes of apples, so there was enough in the orchard to fill at least twelve hundred boxes. On the way home from school the next Monday, I was deciding whether to place an order for two hundred more from General Supply when Lisa said, "It's too bad we don't have some smaller boxes too."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Because a lot of people don't want a whole bushel box, and they ask for something smaller."

  "Really? Like how many apples do they want?"

  "Maybe a dozen. I guess like what you would put in one of those plastic bags that you use at the grocery store."

  "Hmm. So do you think they would buy them in those kinds of bags?"

  "Probably."

  When my sisters and cousins had all gathered around the old station wagon later that night, I brought up the possibility of using the bags.

  "They're just sitting out at the supermarket. Why don't we just get some there? They don't charge you for them," said Amy.

  "But we would need hundreds. Don't you think they'd care?" I asked.

  "Can't hurt to try and see how many we could get," said Amy. "Someone should go with one of our moms the next time they go to town."

  "Okay, who?" I asked.

  Amy looked around. "Michael, because he wouldn't be afraid of anyone working there."

  Michael didn't disagree, and it was decided he would go with my aunt the next time she went grocery shopping. When my aunt heard the plan, she thought it was funny and even agreed to make a special trip the next day. She mentioned something about paying Safeway back for their high prices and agreed to give Michael time to collect bags by staying extra long.

  ***

  After school on Tuesday, the two of them left for town, and the rest of us started picking and selling. Michael returned about two and a half hours later and ran out into the orchard with plastic bags clenched in his fists.

  "I got 'em!" he yelled as he ran up to us. "Look!"

  "How many did you get?" asked Amy.

  "I don't know," said Michael, "a lot, though. At first I thought of just taking a couple of rolls, you know still rolled up. But I didn't think they would let me out of the store that way."

  "So what did you do?" I asked.

  "I just started tearing them off the roll one at a time. I figured once they were torn off, no one else would want to use 'em, so they wouldn't stop me."

  "So you just stood there tearing off bags? Didn't anyone say anything?" asked Amy.

  "Whenever anyone came close to me, I would move so they couldn't see what I was doing," Michael said very proudly.

  "And you went through the checkout line with all the bags?" I asked.

  "Yeah, with my mom."

  "Did the checker say anything?" I asked.

  "She asked what all the bags were for, and I told her I needed them for a project and said, 'They're free, right?' She didn't seem to care."

  "Wow, I can't believe you did it," I said. "Take them up to Lisa and tell her to see how many bags you can fill from a box."

  Michael ran up to the road and then came back about half an hour later. "She says about fourteen or fifteen bags for a box," he said when he returned.

  I looked at Amy. "If we sold them for a dollar a bag, that's $14 a box, and we get the box back," I said.

  "Sounds good to me," she replied. "Michael, go tell Lisa to try and sell them for a dollar."

  "And tell her to really push the bags," I said as he turned to leave.

  ***

  Over the next few days, the bags proved to be a hit. Lisa reported that she sold about two bags for every box. She had also counted all of the bags Michael had taken from Safeway and came up with 715. Soon Sam was bringing empty boxes back to the orchard after they had been used to fill up bags. I hadn't figured out things exactly, but I suddenly was confident that if we could just fill all the bags and boxes, we could at least get past the $8,000 hurdle. Filling them all was going to be a problem, though. I felt like I was picking faster and faster all the time, but there were just not enough hours in the day. With Lisa and Jennifer selling and Sam hauling boxes around, picking came down mostly to Amy, Michael, and me.

  I became so obsessed with picking apples that I hardly noticed anything else once I got home from school. This included Mrs. Nelson's house. I had stopped glancing in the windows to see if she was watching us and just raced by on my way home. I could hardly remember the last time I had seen her. I was lost in picking one afternoon during the second week of apple harvesting when her son, Tommy, sneaked up on me. I was concentrating on stems so hard that I didn't hear him until he was standing next to my ladder.

  "Hey, Jackson! How's business?" he called to me.

  I twisted around to find him staring up at me with a big grin. I hadn't seen him for a while either, so I couldn't hide my surprise. "Pretty good, I guess. Can't pick fast enough though." I eased my way down the ladder and dumped the load of apples from my bag into the nearest box.

  "Oh yeah? How many boxes you planning on selling?"

  I knew Tommy had seen the contract I signed with Mrs. Nelson, although he had never mentioned it to me. I looked over at Amy, who was one tree away and listening to the radio. I lowered my voice so she wouldn't hear anything if the conversation slipped into details about money and payoffs. "We've got to clear $8,000, so that's gotta mean over a thousand boxes," I said to Tommy with a resigned shrug.

  Tommy gave me a knowing smile. "I don't know where she got that $8,000 number."

  "She said your dad could make that easily in a year."

  Tommy let out a little chuckle. "I doubt he ever made even half that much. My mom doesn't know the difference between $800 and $8,000. She's terrible with money."

  My shoulders sagged. "Really? She made it sound, you know, so doable."

  "Well, what do you think now? Is it doable?"

  I put my head down and
looked at my feet. "I guess it has to be. We'll just have to work harder." I looked over at Amy. "I can't just walk away with nothing. I've got to give the other kids something."

  Tommy's mouth curved up into a sympathetic grin. "It's kind of a crazy situation."

  He said goodbye and lumbered out of the orchard while I quickly climbed back up my ladder and a new dread hit me. What if Mrs. Nelson had known the $8,000 target was impossible? What if she wanted me to fail all along so she could keep the orchard and the money while playing mind games with her son? I flushed from my neck up, but kept hidden among tree branches so Amy wouldn't notice.

  ***

  After school the next day, Mrs. Nelson was waiting for me outside her house as I ran home from the bus stop.

  "Jackson? Can you come talk to me for a minute?" she called sweetly.

  I skidded to a stop and reluctantly followed her up to her porch. My sisters and cousins stood watching from the dirt lane, but I waved for them to keep walking before trudging through Mrs. Nelson's door.

  "Come in, come in," she called, and pointed me into one of her chairs. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

  Her sudden friendliness was very transparent. "No thanks."

  Mrs. Nelson sat across from me and put on a big smile while she smoothed down her hair and checked that her earrings were in place. "Tommy said he stopped by and watched you pick apples last night."

  "Uh-huh," I grunted, nodding my head.

  "He said you've got your own little fruit stand up on the road. Said you were determined to make that $8,000. Now, is that what we agreed on? It seems so long ago. I didn't realize you were taking things so seriously."

  "I thought that's what you wanted. I was supposed to prove I was the true heir."

  "What I wanted? Oh, I don't think so. I just wanted to see that orchard alive again. You kept pressing me for money. Looking back, it kind of seems like you were taking advantage of me when I was vulnerable." Her broad smile faded and then drooped into a self-pitying frown.

  My skin began to get hot. A shock wave of anger almost pushed me out of my chair, but I stayed quiet and looked away from Mrs. Nelson's face.

  "Now Tommy thinks we should make a different agreement," she continued. "He thinks we should just split the money no matter how much there is. And I would keep the orchard, of course. I mean it's ludicrous to think of just giving it away to a child. That land's probably worth more than your parents will ever have in their lifetimes."

  Her voice had the same sugary sweet tone she had started with, but the words were bitter and resentful. All of a sudden it was like I was trying to steal something from her—something I wasn't good enough to have. She really had hoped I would just give up and go away when she started ignoring me.

  "I wanted that in the first place. Just to split the money," I said in a shaky voice. I spoke slowly, forcing out every word.

  "Good. Then let's say you can have twenty percent of it. That should be more than enough to make you happy. You're only thirteen."

  I sat in the same chair I had in February when she had practically begged me to become the orchard's "true heir." Now she was staring me down through a fake smile and telling me I should be happy with whatever crumbs she threw me. I had done more than she had ever imagined and now she was insulting me. She should be getting 20 percent. No! She shouldn't get anything! She hadn't lifted a finger in that orchard. I couldn't hold the anger back anymore.

  "What if I just keep all the money?" I growled, narrowing my eyes menacingly.

  Mrs. Nelson jerked back in shock and stared back at me with horrified eyes. "You wouldn't dare! I'd sue you for it! I'd ... I'd have you arrested for trespassing."

  I wanted to reply with something clever about child labor laws and slavery, but my brain was too agitated to get any of that out. "I'd like to see you try!" I grunted, and jumped to my feet.

  "You disrespectful brat! You stupid, stupid child!" she stammered.

  I rushed to her door and then called back, "We've got a contract! You signed it!"

  Once I got out the door, I realized my whole body was shaking. I stumbled around the corner of her house and bent over trying to control my breathing. After five minutes, I ran into the orchard and grabbed my picking bag.

  "What did she want?" called Amy from atop a ladder ten feet from me.

  "Just wanted to see how the picking was coming," I answered, trying to sound natural.

  Amy looked at me suspiciously but didn't ask more questions.

  Chapter 15

  No Sleep until We're Through

  It all came down to the apples. It was as simple as pulling them off the trees and putting them in the boxes. I convinced myself that if we could just do that fast enough, everything would work out. I would simply stick to the contract. Somehow the money and Mrs. Nelson would all work out. It was easiest to only think about the apples.

  Amy and Michael picked at a steady pace, although Michael had slowed down trying to be careful with the stems. I borrowed a watch and figured out that between the three of us we could fill about four boxes per hour. There were about four hours between getting home from school and when it got dark. At sunset everyone automatically headed home for dinner comparing who deserved to be the most tired. During that second week of picking, I decided filling sixteen boxes a day wasn't going to be enough and I had better keep working after dinner. I was afraid to ask anyone else to help, so I grabbed the cheapest lamp I could find in the house and headed back out to the orchard alone. Michael's long line of extension cords was stretched between his house and the trees so we could listen to the radio. I unplugged the radio and plugged in the lamp.

  Picking in the near darkness was hard. I had to constantly reposition the lamp to give myself some idea of where apples were on the trees. I lost track of time but could tell it was late by how much my neck and shoulder hurt from holding the picking bag. I filled up five boxes, then grabbed the lamp and dragged myself home. The clock said 11:30 when I walked in the door.

  I felt that to have any chance of making the necessary money, we were going to have to pick twenty-five boxes a day. I made it my goal to produce an extra nine boxes every night. After dinner I would grab the light and head out. It took me until two in the morning to get nine boxes picked, and by the third week I had decided I would be better off splitting the extra work between morning and night. I would finish picking at around midnight and then wake up at 5:00 a.m. so I could get a couple of hours of work in before school.

  I had never tried to survive on less than five hours of sleep a night before, and it began to suck the life out of me. I had always been smart enough in school that I could finish any homework assignments during class and very rarely had to take anything home to finish. With my new schedule, though, I found myself falling asleep during almost every period. The undone homework piled up, but I figured I would catch up with it when we had finished selling.

  In general, I avoided looking at myself much in the mirror, but when I did get a glimpse during those days, I could see my eyes had deep black circles around them. The rest of my face had a sickly color with my nose and the whites of my eyes looking a bloodshot red. My mom complained every night that I was working myself sick and looked awful. "Dan, tell him he has to stop spending so much time out in that orchard," she said to my dad one night. "He's going to kill himself."

  "Oh, leave him alone. It's good he has a career he's so interested in," he replied. "He's got to learn what hard work is like. I'm not going to be the one to tell him to stop."

  My mom gave him a dirty look and continued to nag me.

  During those late nights alone, my mind would wan der away from the trees. I began to think that maybe it would be okay to just get 20 percent of the money. At least that was something and I could get some sleep. But I'd have to go beg Mrs. Nelson to reconsider after I'd yelled at her. Even if she didn't slam the door in my face, she'd probably make me take 10 percent or less. It would be humiliating. Tommy might be able to help.
He seemed sympathetic enough but hadn't come around again since our last talk. No. My only hope was that contract. If I could just live up to my end of it, someone could enforce it—a judge maybe.

  I even thought about getting my parents involved. I knew I couldn't ask them to actually help with the picking without explaining the $8,000 deal. And if that came out, things were bound to get even uglier with Mrs. Nelson. The last thing I wanted was my mom going over to her house screaming wildly about how she was killing her baby and she should give me all the money. My dad would probably just call me an idiot for not taking the job at the scrap yard. My brain hadn't had enough sleep to think about any of it very clearly. It seemed the only thing I could really do was to keep my mouth shut, hope for the best, and pick—pick even harder.

  Lisa would make regular announcements about how much money we had made. She giggled in delight as the numbers climbed into the thousands. I tried not to listen, knowing we were falling further and further behind where we needed to be. By the end of week four, I was trying to push out even more boxes and only getting three or four hours of sleep a night. I instantly dozed off in Sunday school when I hit my chair. When class was over, I woke up to Brother Brown shaking me.

  "You all right?" he said gruffly.

  "What, uh, yeah, just a little tired."

  "You look like you fell off a truck."

  I forced a smile and walked out with him watching me.

  ***

  On Wednesday of the fifth week, I began to get a little hysterical. During dinner I kept giggling at everything my sisters said and rocking back and forth in my chair. No one would make eye contact with me, and eventually we all sat in silence looking down at our plates.

  After dinner I grabbed the lamp and started for the door. Jennifer followed me, putting on a coat and hat.

  "I thought you might want some help," she said, looking at me with a worried face.

  "Are you sure?" I asked her as I opened the door.

  "Yeah, I'm not very good at picking, though."

  "That's okay. I've got a better job for you," I said, feeling a little less tired. When we had reached the spot in the orchard where Amy and I had left the ladders, I said, "Here, can you hold up the lamp for me so I can see?"