Sour Apples (12 page)

“Fair enough. So it looks like I’ll be going to that event in South Hadley tonight.”

“Up close and personal with the candidate, eh? What a treat.”

“Why are you being snide about it?”

“I guess I’m surprised that Lauren invited you, is all. I mean, it’s not like you can do anything for him. But from your point of view, having the ear of a congressman can’t hurt, in this or any other business.”

“Oh, so now I’m supposed to represent the struggling small farmer? Anyway, I get the sense that Rick is using Lauren to get to Seth through me. She keeps asking me to draw him in, but I have no idea why. And so far Seth has been resisting, which is unlike him. It’s all very odd.”

“Well, I’ll let you figure that out. Right now I’m going to go back to the new land and mark things more carefully. You work on the lease agreement and get that backhoe lined up.”

“Will do.” Meg watched as Bree swept the last crumbs off her plate, stood up, and deposited the plate in the sink, then headed back up the stairs. She envied Bree’s energy. And the season was just beginning. With a sigh she carried her dishes over to the sink and peered out the window: yes, Seth’s car was there. Might as well talk to him now, before he disappeared on one job or another. She pulled on a jacket and went out the back door, crossing the graveled drive. She waved at the goats, who ignored her, and noted that the maples were beginning to leaf out.

At the building at the end of the drive Meg climbed the stairs and rapped on Seth’s open door. He looked up from the stack of paperwork in front of him.

“Hey, you’re up early. What’s up?”

Meg dropped into one of the mismatched chairs in front of his secondhand desk. “It’s business. Turns out Bree had a line on a batch of apple trees, cheap. That’s why she was pushing me to commit. The thing is, they’re arriving tomorrow, and we have to prepare to plant them, fast.”

Seth sat back in his chair. “Wow, she doesn’t mess around, does she? What do you need?”

“One, to formalize our agreement for the land. Not that I don’t trust your word, but I want things to be tidy, in case you get hit by a meteor or something.”

“Gotcha. Easy enough. I’ll ask Fred Weatherly to draw up a boilerplate agreement.”

“Fred? Oh, right, the town attorney. Anyway, Bree’s up there now—she could tell you more precisely how much we want to use if you need that info, but she said it would be about three acres. We walked through it yesterday. How do you get something surveyed?”

“You find a surveyor.” When Meg made a face at him, Seth laughed. “Yes, I know someone. Anything else?”

“Well, Bree tells me I need a backhoe to plant them. You have one handy?”

“I can find you one. How long will you need it?”

“Maybe two days? I’m really not sure.”

“Okay. Why not an auger? Then you could drill nice neat holes for the new trees.”

“Bree tells me the holes you make that way aren’t big enough. We have to loosen the soil so that the roots can spread easily.”

“Got it. Okay. I’ll get back to you later today. I’ll call Jake—he helped us out when I installed your septic tank. Is there more?”

“Just one more thing. Lauren was around for more than five minutes last night, so we finally got a chance to spend some time together. She asked me to go to one of Rick’s events, something small, over in South Hadley tonight, and I wondered if you wanted to go?”

Once again Seth’s expression clouded at the mention of Rick’s name. “I don’t think so.”

Meg waited a moment for him to provide an explanation, but he didn’t add anything. “That’s okay—I’ll go, at
least for a while. I’d like to see Lauren in action, not to mention Rick.”

“Is she really committed to this guy?” Seth asked.

Meg considered. “She says she is. Lauren has a pretty good track record for picking winners, at least in the business world. But she hasn’t known Rick long. One more reason to go and see what the dynamic is. At least I feel like I owe it to her to listen to what he has to say.”

“Enjoy yourself. Let me know if there’s anything else you need for the planting. Like muscle.” Seth mimed a bodybuilder pose.

Meg grinned but said firmly, “Seth, you’ve got plenty to keep you busy. Besides, these are baby trees, saplings maybe three feet high. I think Bree and I can handle the heavy lifting.”

“I never doubted it.”

When it came time to get dressed for the Sainsbury event, Meg realized how out of practice she was for attending anything even vaguely formal. She had little reason to dress up these days, and Granford was a very casual place. Heck, the Spring Fling was the dressiest occasion she’d attended all year. Half the “good” clothes from her Boston days no longer fit.

Still, she wanted to make a good impression. Maybe Rick Sainsbury
was
a great guy and a potential ally, and she didn’t want to show up looking like a hick. In the end Meg opted for plain black pants, a plain black jacket, and a blue knit top that she hoped showed off her eyes. There was nothing to be done about her hair—and she couldn’t remember when she had last had it professionally cut. At least she’d scrubbed the dirt from under her fingernails, and even put on makeup.

Stop it, Meg!
she commanded herself.
You’re a smart, capable woman. You’re managing a farm. You’re also a voter. No candidate is going to snub you or make you look foolish. And you can always leave early.

At the door she called out, “I’m leaving now,” and she heard Bree yell something garbled back. She made sure the back door light was on and pointed her car toward South Hadley.

She found the address that Lauren had given her with no trouble. It was a sleek mid-twentieth-century modern house, its many glass windows glowing gold in the twilight. She could see perhaps a dozen people through the windows when she parked, and there were already plenty of cars lining the street. Taking a deep breath, she marched up the front walk and rang the doorbell. The door was opened by a twentyish young man wearing an oxford shirt and khakis, unusually preppy compared to the grubbier local college population. His hair was short but not buzzed, and his teeth were very white. Son of the owner? Campaign volunteer?

“Hello,” he said briskly. “You’re here for the Sainsbury event?” Before Meg could answer, he gestured her in. “Just go on through to the living room—it’s at the back, on the right.” He gave her another pearly smile, then turned to greet more new arrivals.

Meg followed the hall to the back of the building, then paused in the doorway. It was a large and open room, elegant in an understated way—Meg always marveled at people who had furniture that matched, much less real art on the walls. Clusters of people stood talking, and the general buzz in the room was enthusiastic. Meg was relieved when Lauren spotted her, then excused herself from a conversation to come over to greet her.

“Meg, you made it! Come on in and meet people. Is Seth joining you?” Lauren began walking backward into the room even before she had finished speaking, drawing Meg with her.

“No, he had other plans. Who are all these people? Where’s our host?”

“Over there, in the corner. Jasper Fredericks and his wife
Alyssa. He’s in poli-sci, she manages a local art gallery. Come on, I’ll introduce you.” Lauren all but dragged Meg across the room. “Jasper, Alyssa, this is Meg Corey. She owns an orchard in Granford, but we used to work together in Boston.”

Jasper looked like someone had ordered up one stock college professor from Central Casting: trim, graying beard, well-worn tweed jacket worn over a casual shirt, a watch that was neither ostentatious nor cheap. His wife completed the set, with some nice lightweight wool pants and a sweater that definitely had not come from the sale rack. “Welcome, Meg. Have you lived around here long?” Alyssa said graciously.

“I moved here about a year ago, although the farm with the orchard was settled by one of my ancestors a couple of centuries ago.”

“How delightful. Are you interested in local history?”

“When I have the time. I’m new to farming, and I hadn’t realized how much work was involved. And how constant it is, except for a few weeks in midwinter. I have much more respect for my ancestors now—it’s a wonder they survived.”

“It’s never been an easy life,” Jasper agreed. “Tell me, are you one of the new wave of organic farmers?”

“Not exactly.” It was an innocent-enough question, but why did his tone make it sound as though Meg was an ageing hippie on a mission? “I use an integrated pest-management strategy. In fact, my property used to be the UMass experimental orchard, so while it wouldn’t qualify as organic by current standards, it’s pretty close. Perhaps you know Christopher Ramsdell?”

Jasper’s expression altered into one of respect. Or so Meg thought—it was hard to tell behind that beard. “Ah, yes—he’s the director of that new center on campus. Charming man, and he’s done a lot for his discipline at the university.”

Meg, having dropped the only “name” she could lay claim to, was relieved when Lauren came up and laid a hand on her arm.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Rick’s got a moment free and he wants to say hello,” Lauren said breathlessly.

“Of course,” Meg said. “Nice to meet you, Alyssa, Jasper.” As she and Lauren walked across the room to where Rick Sainsbury was holding court, she leaned toward Lauren and said in a near whisper, “Are they all that pompous?”

Lauren giggled and responded in an equally low voice, “They are a bit self-important, aren’t they? Gotta love academics—big fish in a tiny pond.” She raised her voice a few notches. “Rick, this is my old friend Meg Corey. She runs an orchard in Granford.”

“Ah, Meg, a pleasure to see you again. Lauren has talked about you—whenever I let her get a word in at all.” His laugh was carefully calibrated to be self-effacing, and Meg wondered if he’d practiced it.
Stop it, Meg! Give him a chance.

“I’m surprised you remembered meeting me at that event at the Granford high school last Saturday. You talked to a lot of people.”

“I’ve known a lot of them most of my life—I’m a Granford boy, you know. You were there with Seth Chapin, weren’t you? Is he here, too?”

Why were he and Lauren so hung up on Seth? “No, he couldn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I’d love to talk over old times with him. So, Lauren tells me you took over an old orchard last year and you’re making a go of it? Tell me about it.”

Meg allowed herself to be drawn out by Rick’s questions, all the while studying him. He was good, no question. For one thing, he was entirely focused on her. She’d taken part in plenty of conversations where the other person never stopped scanning the crowd for someone more interesting or important to talk to, but Rick kept his gaze on her. His
questions were specific and intelligent, and he listened to her answers. Almost in spite of herself, she found herself warming to him. Maybe he was synthetic and packaged, but he was definitely good at his job.

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to help us out? Lauren is terrific, but we can always use help. And I feel it’s important to have people working with us who are in touch with local concerns.”

Meg laughed. “Sorry, but I really don’t have any time to give. This is only my second year working the orchard, and I’m just about to expand my plantings. What’s worse, fall is the busiest time of year for me—and I assume for you as well. Tell me, have you filed the papers to run yet?”

“You
have
been paying attention, Meg! No, the nomination papers are due in early May. What I’ve been doing is traveling around the district talking to people—and not just local politicians, but regular citizens like you, Meg. Sounding them out, getting a sense of the issues they believe are important. And as I’m sure you—and your friend Seth—know, these days the problems that small towns like Granford and larger cities like Holyoke face are pretty similar: too few jobs, not enough money, crumbling infrastructure, kids failing in school because the classrooms are too crowded and there aren’t enough teachers to go around. I could go on, but I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, now, am I, Meg?”

He looked so sincere that Meg wanted to poke him with a pin and see if he deflated. He had all the lines right and he delivered them well, including using her name at every possible opportunity. Why couldn’t she bring herself to like him?

“You’re right, Rick.” Might as well give him a dose of his own medicine. “What do you suggest we do about those problems…Rick?”

He looked abashed. “I don’t pretend to have all the answers, Meg, but I’m working on it—collecting information,
consulting with local leaders. What’s most important is that we all work together to arrive at the best possible solution under difficult circumstances. Ah, I see my wife signaling me. It’s been great talking to you, Meg. If you have any ideas, please let Lauren know and she’ll make sure I get them.”

Was that a retreat? “Great to meet you, Rick. Good luck.”

He was gone quickly, leaving her standing alone, feeling vaguely amused. That little dialogue had been kind of fun, unexpectedly. Yet she had come away knowing little more about Rick Sainsbury, other than that he had prepared carefully for his new role.