The Year Money Grew on Trees
Page 19
I also reminded everyone that we had done most of the hard work already. We could probably skip fertilizing the next year, the trees wouldn't need much pruning, and we could even try to hire Brother Brown's work crew for picking. They all seemed to agree, and I was amazed at how short their memories were.
I wrote out a contract right there in pen on a loose-leaf piece of paper. I tried to make it sound as official as possible by including words like "hereby" and "therefore."
Amy said she was "keeping her options open," so she didn't want to be a part of the contract. Everyone else signed their name on the paper. Lisa worked out the math and concluded that I would get 24 percent of next year's profits.
"Twenty-four percent? And he gets the orchard?" protested Michael.
"I'm the oldest. I'm supposed to get the most."
That reminder of our original logic stopped him grudgingly in his tracks.
"And I'm not going to take anything this year," I added.
"Let's give the contract to someone trustworthy to keep so Jackson can't change it," said Michael. "Amy, you better hold on to it."
"You know, though, you have to work hard or the agreement's off," I said.
"We aren't the ones I'd worry about," said Michael.
We split up the money after the contract signing. It wasn't really according to the percentages we had originally agreed on, but I figured it was close enough. I gave $200 to Amy, which she shoved instantly into her pocket. "I'm also going to give you some of my share next year," I said to her, "no matter if you help or not."
"I'll count on it," she replied with a laugh.
Sam got $142, Lisa $122, Michael $102, and Jennifer $80.30. I reminded them again that I wasn't keeping anything for myself. Holding the money seemed to make them almost pleasant. Soon Lisa had convinced Sam and Jennifer that it wouldn't take much to set up a snow-cone stand next to the apple-selling operation, and she happily added up how much money she'd have by next year. I kept reminding her that her percentage of apple money was after expenses, which might include paying for some temporary pickers. Nothing I said slowed her runaway calculations.
When the meeting finally ended, I decided it had gone far better than I deserved. They had started off ready to kill me, and I ended up with a signed work contract for next year.
Amy spent all her money on new clothes the very next day, bringing home six bags crammed with jeans and shirts, doubling her wardrobe. Michael couldn't convince his mom to let him spend his money on pop, so I drove him down to General Supply so he could buy four cases of it. He hid them under his bed along with at least a hundred candy bars. He also bought three pocketknives and a half-dozen baby chicks before I convinced him he couldn't hold down anything more in the wagon without it flying off. Everyone else saved most of their money and, under Lisa's direction, opened savings accounts at the bank.
When I finally revealed the whole story to my parents, my mom couldn't decide whether she was proud or angry. "Why didn't you tell us? I just don't understand it," she kept repeating.
Eventually parental pride won out, and she expressed it by baking about a dozen pies using the last apples I'd plucked from the trees. By the tenth pie, she'd perfected the recipe so that the warm crust and apple slices melted away in your mouth. I got as much as I wanted, plus ice cream on top.
My dad kept reading over the deed without saying much, as if he were looking for some kind of mistake. He finally set it aside and said, shaking his head, "You are one sneaky kid. How did you ever pull this off?" His voice had a mixture of pride and awe in it. "Why don't you sell that place? Someone could probably put three or four houses on that land. If you could get $10,000 an acre..."
"No, no. I can't do that. The trees have to stay," I insisted.
"Whatever you say, farm boy. But since we're neighbors now, you better keep the weeds down on your place." He chuckled and flashed a proud grin.
"I will if you keep your yard cleaned up," I replied.
As I knew she would, my aunt laughed and laughed when she found out the whole story and my uncle started calling me "the apple tycoon." "If you're ever looking for a replacement for Michael, give me a call," he teased.
In some ways, Amy was right about what would happen between us sooner than I ever expected. After the apples were picked, she stopped taking the bus and would instead ride with friends who could drive to school. She also got a serious boyfriend she was always talking to or hanging out with. I hated his guts but didn't dare say so to him or Amy.
I watched her go, feeling more helpless than I ever had surrounded by three hundred wild apple trees. I dreaded her growing up and looking at me differently. Inside I promised that when I thought of her, I would always begin with a scene from somewhere in that orchard. She'd have sunburned cheeks and muddy fingernails. She'd be that same little girl I waited for at the bus stop, her eyes shining in the New Mexico sun.
***
She wasn't with Sam, Michael, and me that next February as we dragged the ladders over the frozen ground. We forgot the radio, so it was quiet when we made our first cuts with the pruning scissors. Beneath its dark winter skin, the wood was soft and alive, as if the trees were expecting us, expecting spring.
"Just think how easy it's going to be, now that we know what we're doing," I sang out.
Sam snipped away diligently on the second ladder.
Michael was already talking about how good the Shasta I promised him was going to taste.
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Aaron Hawkins tended his family's orchard as a child on a New Mexican plateau. He graduated from the California Institute of Technology with a bachelor's of science in applied physics and from UC Santa Barbara with a Ph.D. in electrical and computer engineering. He is now a professor of electrical engineering at Brigham Young University, as well as the author of The Handbook of Optofluidics. He was inspired to write this, his first novel, from his memories of the family orchard. "I was never really paid for any of the work," he writes, "but looking back, I think of it as transformative. I hoped to create a story that contained some of the things I learned—appreciation for nature and growing something, the self-esteem that comes from hard work, and the love for family and friends that comes from struggling together." He lives with his wife and kids in Provo, Utah.
www.aaronhawkins.com
Aaron Hawkins and his little sister Lisa in their apple orchard.
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN BOOKS FOR CHILDREN
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
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