“Like you said, hard work is good medicine.”
He chuckled. “Well, I suppose I can always hire some young fellers from town to take over if it proves too much for her.”
“I wouldn’t be in too big of a hurry to do that.” She sipped her coffee.
“Don’t worry. I’m not.” He grinned.
“Besides housecleaning, I was thinking about Grandma’s garden. Does it need any work? I’m a good weeder.”
He nodded. “I started to do some weeding a few weeks back, but it just made me miss her more. I knew she’d have had it all cleaned up and partly planted by now. Peas and beans would be sprouting. She’d be moving plants from the greenhouse. I hope they’re not all dead by now. I don’t even go in there.” He sighed. “The garden and greenhouse . . . well, they were like her sanctuary.”
“I know. But it’s sad to just let them go. How about if I spend some time out there? I could try to bring some order to it. I used to help her out there sometimes.”
“I think your grandma would like that.” His eyes lit up. “You know, Marie always kept her garden diary in the greenhouse. She listed exactly when to plant what and then she’d record how various plants did when she planted them a bit early or late.”
“Yes, I remember that.”
“And she stored a lot of leftover seeds in the freezer chest. Kept ’em in a big zipper baggie. I saw them the other day. I’m sure they’re still good . . . in case you feel like planting.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all. I’m sure it would make your grandma happy too.”
“Great.” She picked up their now-empty bowls. “Looks like we both have our work cut out for us today.”
“And I’m ready to get to it too.” He smiled. “I’m sure glad you came home, Dillon. It’s been lonely.”
She nodded. “I know.”
After Grandpa left, Dillon did a quick cleanup in the kitchen. She was about to dump the last of the coffee when Margot came in. “There’s still coffee if you want.” Dillon pointed to the carafe.
“You can toss that poison. I drink ginger tea and lemon water for breakfast.”
“Oh . . . okay.” Dillon poured the coffee into the sink, carefully rinsing the dark brown streaks from the recently scrubbed white enamel. She rinsed the carafe, then forced a smile for Margot. “Then I’ll leave you to it.” She picked up the bucket of cleaning things she’d gathered to use in the rest of the house. “I’ve got work to do.”
“Uh-huh.” Margot walked like a zombie over to the fridge. Naturally, she was oblivious to how much cleaner the kitchen was. Big surprise.
Eager to escape her mother, Dillon hurried out to the living room and, after a thorough de-cluttering, started in on “deep cleaning,” as her grandma called it. Grandma had taught Dillon the “proper way” to do these chores twenty years ago. During the school year, Grandma managed on her own. But in the summertime, when school was out and Grandma’s time was devoted to her garden, it became Dillon’s job to manage the housekeeping. She well remembered the routine—almost as if Grandma were talking to her now.
First, open the windows and give the curtains a good shake. Next, haul all the throw rugs out to the front porch and vigorously shake them away from the house, then drape them over the railing for some sunshine. Grandma called sunshine “God’s free cleaning service.” After that, sweep the hard floors and vacuum the carpet.
Since she’d also spent a night on the dusty sofa, Dillon decided to vacuum the upholstered furniture and lampshades too. Next she dusted the wood furnishings, followed by a good rubdown with lemon oil. Finally, she ran a damp mop over the hard floor surfaces and returned the throw rugs to their places. Despite the worn furnishings, the room looked much happier now.
Dillon performed similar services in the downstairs bathroom and the master bedroom, which needed a thorough airing and cleaning. The gray, grungy sheets looked like they hadn’t been changed in months . . . maybe not since Grandma had done it. Dillon was tempted to throw them away, but instead she decided to run them and some equally filthy towels through the washer with bleach. If nothing else, they’d make good rags.
It was almost one o’clock as she loaded the washing machine, and it looked like Grandpa was coming in for lunch. “I put some ground beef in the fridge yesterday,” he told her. “I know Margot didn’t use it in the spaghetti sauce last night, but I thought you and me might like burgers for lunch. What d’ya think?”
“Cheeseburgers?”
He smacked his lips and nodded.
She pointed to his dirty hands and shirt. “Why don’t you go clean up? Put your feet up while I fix us some lunch.”
“Don’t worry about your mom. I just noticed her car leaving.”
She grinned. “Good timing too.”
Something about being in this kitchen, systematically fixing food for Grandpa, was so comforting. Like really good therapy. As Dillon served up their lunch, she could hardly believe that she’d felt hopeless and broken up only a few days ago. It felt like a month had passed since then.
As they sat down to lunch together, Grandpa talked about how he’d given his old tractor a tune-up yesterday. “And she’s running like a top today. I’ll have the south field all tilled up by tomorrow.”
“Is Margot going to use that whole field for lavender?”
“No. It’s far too big for that.” His blue eyes twinkled. “I got some plans of my own.”
“Really? What?”
“Pumpkins. It’s a little late, but if I get ’em in soon, they should be ready in time. I just called Atwood’s and asked them to order me a bag of seeds. Supposed to be here in a week or less.”
“Growing pumpkins? Now that’s different. What about Paulson’s Pumpkin Patch? Won’t they resent the competition?”
“George Paulson leased all his land for hay last year. No more pumpkin patch. I remember how disappointed Marie was to hear about it . . . so concerned the school kids wouldn’t have anyplace to get their pumpkins for Halloween. Of course, she passed away in early October . . . so she never found out she was right. Everyone in town was upset.”
“So you’ll have a pumpkin patch.” Dillon smiled to imagine this. “And will you invite school kids out here before Halloween?”
“I hope so.”
“That’s a great plan. And if Margot’s lavender is a success, it should all look pretty. Pumpkins and lavender. I hope I’m still around to see it in the fall.”
His brow creased. “Well, sure you’ll be around, Dillon. You said you’d come home. You’re not going to take off again, are you?”
She forced a smile as she began to clear the table. “Well, it’s hard to say. But I guess time will tell.” She didn’t want to admit to him that sleeping in the living room was already getting old. And even though it was barely two in the afternoon, she was starting to dread that old sofa again. But another more careful check on Grandma’s sewing room had been too overwhelming to even think about. Besides being packed full, she could tell that many of the things in there couldn’t be simply given away or disposed of. There were boxes of old photos and mementoes from family and all sorts of things. Margot had been right about one thing. It would take more than a month to sort through it. Dillon’s best hope of getting her old room back was that Margot would tire of digging in the dirt and go back to Don. Not that it appeared to be happening anytime soon.
CHAPTER
5
For the next couple of days, most of Dillon’s time was spent in Grandma’s garden and greenhouse. Although it was clearly neglected—no one had cleaned it last fall and weeds had started to grow this spring—it wasn’t quite as hopeless as Grandpa had painted it. Thanks to good vents and a drip watering system in the greenhouse, a lot of the sturdier perennial plants were still alive but in need of TLC. And some hardy plants, like kale, were already coming up as volunteers in the garden beds.
Still, it was a challenging project. Probably not as challenging as what
Margot had taken on. And it gave Dillon a good excuse not to help her.
“Hello there.” Grandpa opened the gate and looked around. “Well, Dillon, I’m impressed. You’ve made good progress.”
She stood up straight, rubbing her back. “Thanks.” She looked over the garden, which looked remarkably better. “I didn’t realize I liked gardening so much.”
“Must be in your blood.” He pointed to his watch. “It’s past six.”
“And I’ll bet you’re hungry.” Seeing another unweeded section, she was almost reluctant to stop but knew it was quitting time.
“I used to work late this time of year—when the sun stays up so late—but I’m worn out.” He patted her shoulder. “You probably are too.”
“And I never made it into town.” She frowned. “I was going to get bacon and eggs.”
“Don’t worry about that now. But if we don’t get into the kitchen, Margot might start concocting some sort of health food. I don’t know about you, but I’m not eating grass and beans tonight.”
“Let’s beat her to it.” Dillon dropped her spade and hurried out behind him, securely closing the gate since she knew deer could wreak havoc in a garden.
“I got a couple of thick sirloin steaks out of the freezer last night,” he said in a hushed tone as they walked to the house, almost as if they were planning some kind of heist. “They’re in the bottom of the fridge right now, in the meat drawer and out of sight.”
“Hiding them from Margot in case she wanted to throw them out?”
His eyes flashed. “She wouldn’t dare.”
Dillon wasn’t so sure, but just the same she hurried to the kitchen and set to work getting dinner ready. Although she knew Margot wouldn’t touch red meat, she did make extra salad. And hopefully Margot had no reason to ban Grandma’s home-canned green beans and peaches.
“Look at you,” Margot said as she entered the kitchen through the back door. “Making dinner again.” She sniffed. “But what’s that I smell?”
“Grandpa and I are having steak.” She checked the broiler to see they were almost done. “There’s leftover spaghetti if you want to warm it up.”
“You’re letting him eat red meat?” Margot scowled. “If he rolls over from a heart attack, you’ll only have yourself to blame.”
Dillon considered this. “Grandpa’s a grown man, Margot. He has a right to make his own choices. And he’s the one who wanted steak tonight.”
“Humph.” Margot turned toward the sink and washed her hands.
“How’s the lavender project coming?” Dillon asked lightly.
“Well, I thought I got all the sprinkler parts I needed yesterday, but it seems I missed some pieces.” She dried her hands. “It’s aggravating to have to make another trip to town.”
“Maybe I can get them for you to—”
“Oh, would you? Can you get them this evening?”
“I was about to say tomorrow.” She turned off the broiler, leaving the door open.
“But I need the parts first thing tomorrow. I’d be so grateful, Dillon. I’m exhausted.”
“I’m worn out too.” Dillon used the mitt to pull out the broiler pan.
“I’ll clean the kitchen for you.” Margot’s brows lifted. “You can leave right after dinner. The hardware store is open late in the summertime. But only until eight.”
As Dillon loaded two plates with steaks and green beans, she remembered the man who’d helped her with windshield wipers last weekend. Would he be at the hardware store? “Okay.” She nodded. “I guess I can go for you.” Now she called for Grandpa. “We’re eating in here tonight,” she told Margot. “Less work than using the dining room.”
“That’s fine with me.” Margot busied herself at the sink.
“Something smells mighty tasty.” Grandpa rubbed his hands as he came in—then stopped. “What on earth?” he demanded.
“Dinnertime?” Dillon pointed at the table with confusion. “Sirloin steaks, just like you—”
“Not you.” He pointed beyond her with a horrified look. “Your mother.” He marched over and grabbed Margot’s free arm. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
Margot held up a colander full of peaches. “Just washing the peaches.”
“Grandma’s canned peaches?” Dillon frowned.
“I’m getting the sugar off.” Margot shook the colander. “Do you have any idea how much sugar Mom used to make—”
“I do not care how much sugar she put into it!” Grandpa declared. “Those are my peaches and that is my sugar and you are not allowed to wash it off!”
“But sugar is like cocaine, Dad, it’ll kill you.”
“And what a way to go,” he growled. “You can eat those washed-off peaches, Margot, but from now on you keep your hands off your mother’s preserves.” He turned to Dillon. “Please, go fetch us a fresh jar, Dilly.”
She just nodded, trying not to chuckle as she hurried to the pantry. Dinner was quiet and somewhat awkward, but Grandpa eventually calmed down. He appreciated his steak—and his peaches as well. When they finished, Dillon reminded Margot of her agreement to clean the kitchen, then excused herself. If she was going to the hardware store—and possibly crossing paths with that Jordan fellow—she didn’t want to look like a grungy old farmhand. And she didn’t want to get there just minutes before closing either.
Before long, she was crossing the threshold to enter Atwood’s. With Margot’s list in hand, Dillon attempted to locate the right section, taking her time in the hopes that Jordan might appear. Instead, it was a young man who knew as much about irrigation systems as Dillon. “I better get Mr. Atwood,” he told her.
“The owner?” She hid her disappointment, wondering if it would be weird to request Jordan’s help. “I hate to bother him.”
“It’s okay. He really likes helping customers.”
She nodded, immediately deciding to tell the owner how helpful Jordan had been with her wiper blades, how he’d gone the extra mile. Maybe they would make him employee of the month or give him a raise.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
She turned to see Jordan behind her. “Oh, it’s you.” She smiled brightly. “I thought your boss was coming to help.”
His brow creased slightly, but then he grinned. “Nope, just me. So what are you looking for?”
She handed him Margot’s list. “Sprinkler parts.”
He took a moment to study it. “Hmm . . . that’s a lot of sprinkler heads. What’s this for?”
“One hundred twenty lavender plants.”
“Wow. That’s a big garden.” He led her down the row, pointing to a bin. “Hopefully, we have enough.” He bent down and gathered them up, counting as he went. “Well, you’re in luck.” He loaded them into the small shopping basket she’d looped over her arm. “But if you want the other things on that list, we should get you a cart.”
As he walked her to the front of the store, he inquired about the lavender project, but before she had a chance to answer, he was distracted by another customer. Instead of waiting, she put the sprinkler heads in the cart and rolled it back to the irrigation aisle, attempting to prove she wasn’t a helpless female by locating the next item on the list. She thought she had almost figured it out when Jordan came back.
“Sorry to take so long.” He looked at her cart. “Looks like you’re finding your items, but . . .”
“But?”
“Well, my mom’s quite a gardener. In fact she’s president of the garden club. And she grows lavender. Not 120 plants, but she’s got a fair amount of it. Anyway, I just gave her a quick call to ask about watering. And she recommends a drip system laid over landscaping fabric.”
“A drip system?” Dillon tried to appear smarter than she felt. “And why does she recommend that?”
“She said in the long run, it’s better for the plants plus it conserves water. She said you could install sprinkler irrigation—and for sure the lavender plants will require a lot of water in the first ye
ar. Especially since we live in such an arid climate. But after the plants are established, a drip system would be preferable. Besides saving you water, it’s less expensive too.”
“Oh?”
“But it’s your call.”
“I guess that’s what I should do.” Dillon pulled out her phone. “Call.”
“While you do that, I’ll help another customer load something. Let me know what you decide.”
She nodded, and after Margot answered the phone she quickly explained what she’d just been told. Margot let out a long sigh. “But the website I read says to use a sprinkler system.”
“Well, the guy helping me says his mom is an expert gardener.”
“And she uses a drip line?”
“Yes. And he said it’d be cheaper plus conserve water.” She thought Margot should appreciate that. “He mentioned our arid climate, Margot. Is it possible you researched lavender grown on the west side of the mountains? I’m guessing they do things differently over there since it’s so much wetter.”
“You’re right. I’ve been researching a farm I visited last summer and it’s on the western side. Rats! Okay, Dilly, see if my parts can be returned and get the pieces for the system he’s talking about. And don’t forget to put it on the farm account.”
Dillon glanced at her watch. “But it’s almost closing, Margot. I doubt they can get it figured out that quickly.”
“They have to, Dilly. The irrigation has to be installed before the plants come.”
Dillon wanted to point out that “haste makes waste,” but remembered who she was talking to. How many other half-hatched plans had Margot leaped into? “Okay, I’ll do my best,” she told her. “But I’m not a miracle worker.”
Margot thanked her, and as Dillon was putting the sprinkler parts back in their bins, Jordan returned. “Change your mind?” he asked.
“What you said makes sense.” As she replaced the last piece, she asked about their exchange policy.
“No problem.” He smiled.
“Well, there’s still a problem. We need the system installed ASAP because 120 plants will be here on Friday.”
The Happy Camper Page 4