Red Delicious Death (30 page)

Mrs. Goldthwaite listened in stony silence, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Tom nodded and said little for most of it. Finally he spoke. “Who’ve you talked to?”

“Several farmers.” Seth rattled off names.

“What’s their take on it?” Tom went on.

“Overall, they like it. Of course, we’ve still got to work out an acceptable legal structure—that’s where you come in, right, Fred?”

Fred’s eyed jerked open. “Um, yeah, right. Happy to help.” Meg wondered if he knew what he’d just volunteered for.

“And we’re under some time pressure,” Seth continued, “because they want to open at the beginning of September. That would give them a shot at snagging the parents bringing all their kids to school, and also take advantage of the late summer crops.”

Tom turned to Fred. “Is that a reasonable time line for you to work out the details? Assuming we have something like oral agreements in place?”

Fred nodded. “If you keep it simple. How many partners you talking about?”

“Does it matter, up front? I’m guessing twenty, but we’d like to keep it flexible, so we can add on if we find someone new. Or so that people can drop out if it doesn’t work for them.”

Fred nodded. “Let me see what I can put together. Tom, am I billing you on this one?”

Tom and Seth exchanged a glance. “Yeah, but we should put a cap on it. Say ten hours? If you can’t get something cobbled together in that time, let me know.”

“I don’t suppose anyone is going to ask my opinion?” Mrs. Goldthwaite said, speaking for the first time in several minutes.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Goldthwaite. What’s on your mind?” Tom asked.

Mrs. Goldthwaite straightened her already-straight back and smoothed down her skirt. “I think this whole discussion is absurd. Seth, you’re asking us to condone poor business management, and support a pair of strangers who have made some faulty decisions. What kind of message does that send? I know that bailouts are popular in some circles, but I don’t see why Granford need follow that model. And do we have any reason to believe that they’re here to stay? Or will they get tired of their new toy and go back to wherever they came from, leaving that building unusable as a home?”

“Mrs. Goldthwaite,” Seth began patiently, “I think the restaurant will be a real asset to Granford, as well as a source of revenue for us ultimately. You’ve met Nicky and Brian—they’re good people, the kind we want to attract and keep. And we’re not asking the farmers to give up anything. They’ll get paid, and they’ll get a share of the profits. What’s more, they’ll be directly involved in bringing new financial and social life to the town. What’s wrong with that?”

“I do not see that the commercialization of the town center is desirable. I’m not convinced that the attention such a restaurant attracts is what we want for Granford.”

“And I disagree,” Seth replied. “All the people I’ve talked to have welcomed the idea, whether or not they plan to provide any food. We need a place like this here. And Nicky and Brian need some help to make it happen. Of course, the plan is to make it a profitable business, once they get over the first hurdles.”

“Then we must agree to disagree.” Mrs. Goldthwaite shut her mouth with finality.

Seth turned to Tom. “Tom, do you support this project?”

“Sure, and for all the reasons you outlined. We need new life, and we need new revenues. The town isn’t going to be out of pocket for this—unless Fred here goes wild. And I like the owners. So, sorry, Mrs. Goldthwaite, but I’m with Seth on this.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she said, and Meg was startled at the bitterness in her tone. “Have we finished our business here? Because I’m tired and I would like to go home.”

“I think we’re done.” Tom stood up. “Meg, thanks for coming tonight. And thanks for your input regarding the finances. Maybe we can count on your expertise on a few other matters?”

“Tom, I’m happy to help out any way I can.”

Tom rubbed his hands together. “Great. Well, I guess we’re adjourned. Thanks for coming, Fred. Why don’t you send us all what you pull together on the partnership structure? Say, by the end of the week.”

“Yeah, okay, fine. ’Night, all.” Fred made his escape, and Meg wondered if he would produce anything at all. Still, it was a start.

Mrs. Goldthwaite stalked out next, without saying good night to anyone. “She’s not happy,” Seth said to Tom.

Tom sighed. “When is she ever? She wants everything in Granford to stay just the way it’s always been. I hope I’m not that stuffy when I get to be her age.”

“It’s her home, and it always has been. Do you know if she plans to run for selectman again?”

“She hasn’t said, and I haven’t asked. Besides, that’s months away. But if anything comes to a vote, and I’m not even sure it will, then I’m on your side, Seth. Meg, good to see you again. Good luck talking with the rest of the farmers—let me know how it goes.”

They went out the front door, with Tom turning off the lights behind them. He waved as he headed toward his car.

Meg looked around the town. It was still light, but there weren’t many people around, on foot or in cars. There were lights on in the restaurant: apparently Nicky and Brian were barreling ahead at full speed.

“Seth, is Mrs. Goldthwaite going to be a problem?”

“I don’t think so. She’s usually pretty reasonable, even if she’s kind of out of step with the world. And worst case, Tom and I outnumber her. But I hope it doesn’t come to a real confrontation. You ready to go home?”

“I guess. I’ve got more markets to call on over the next few days, but I think I’ve made a good start. Now all I need is apples to sell them.”

“All in good time.”

The next week passed in a blur. Pickers came and went, bringing boxes, shifting things around in the barn—doing almost anything but actually picking. Meg was becoming accustomed to the sound of voices outside the house at odd hours, but there was no rushing the apples. Monday morning she woke with a start and realized she hadn’t seen Professor Christopher Ramsdell since her class had ended in May. She knew he was busy. This was, after all, peak growing season, and he had many commitments to field research. Add to that the new integrated pest management project that the pharmaceutical company DeBroCo had proudly announced earlier in the year, and the construction of a new building on the UMass campus to house it, and Christopher must have been run off his feet. She knew that Bree had consulted him periodically. Still, she felt she should check in with him, report on Bree’s admirable progress, and make sure she was on track. She needed to ask him what equipment she still needed, who had bought the crop before this, and what if any spraying was still necessary. In fact, the list kept growing, and Meg sprang out of bed just to stop the spinning in her head.

Downstairs she fed Lolly and pottered around fixing breakfast until she thought it was reasonably late enough to call Christopher. Of course, he should be keeping farmers’ hours these days, right? Just after eight she called his office and was happily surprised to hear his voice.

“Christopher, it’s Meg. Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“Meg, how delightful to hear your voice. I’m about to head out to oversee a spraying, but I can spare a moment. Was there something on your mind?”

“Nothing urgent—I just realized that we hadn’t talked for a while and I wanted to make sure I was doing things right.”

“And is young Briona working out well?”

“She is indeed, and I bless your name daily for sending her my way. Though she doesn’t have your wealth of experience.”

“Ah, Meg, you flatter me.”

“I do. Do you have time to get together today? I know it’s short notice.”

“Let me check my calendar,” he replied, and Meg could hear the riffling of papers in the background. “I’m over in Hadley this morning, but that shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. I’m meeting with the building contractor at two. Could you possibly squeeze in lunch?”

“Perfect. I’ll meet you at your office at noon? Does that work?”

“Excellent. See you then, my dear.”

Meg hung up smiling. Christopher was a sweetheart. His early years in England had left him with a courtly charm that seemed incongruous in an agricultural scientist, but he was a delight to spend time with—in additional to being knowledgeable about both orchards and human character. Meg was happy to have Bree managing her orchard, but she missed the more frequent contact with Christopher that she had enjoyed earlier in the year.

Meg spent her morning talking to still more food vendors— luckily Amherst and Northampton were well supplied with them—and she rapped on Christopher’s office door just before noon and found him at his desk, poring over what appeared to be blueprints, his silvery hair rumpled, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked up and beamed at her. “Meg, please come in. I’ve just been going over the DeBroCo plans. I must say they aren’t trying to cut corners, but I have some quibbles about space allocation—some of the labs are a bit cramped. But I’m sure we’ll be able to work out the details. Shall we go to that lunch spot we’ve been to before?”

“Sounds good. Why don’t you let me drive?”

Once they had parked in Amherst, a feat made easier by the reduced summer population of the university and the college, and ordered, Christopher sat back and looked at Meg. “You appear to be thriving. So the life of an orchardist agrees with you?”

“So far. I’m enjoying it, between moments of panic. I assume Bree filled you in about the hailstorm?”

“She did indeed. You were lucky, but maybe the gods are on your side—you deserve some luck. And she reports that the trees are doing well. I’m sorry I haven’t been by more frequently, but this new center is consuming all of the time I can spare from research activities.”

“Is everything going well?”

“Surprisingly so, touch wood. I was concerned that the corporation might have a hidden agenda, but so far they have made no demands. I could not ask for more, although I fear that my skills as an administrator may be inadequate to the task. And I shall miss the fieldwork.” He took a swallow of his iced tea. “So tell me about your latest scandal. A young man associated with this proposed restaurant, I hear?”

“You
are
well informed. Yes, he was going to be the sous chef there, except he ended up dead in a pigsty.”

“Heavens, how dramatic. Not, I take it, on your land?”

“No, thank goodness. But I’ve been working with the restaurant owners—a really nice pair of newlyweds from Boston—and we’ve come up with a plan . . .” Meg proceeded to outline her collaborative scheme, and was gratified that Christopher paid close attention.

When she’d finished, he said, “You might think of talking to someone at the Department of Hospitality at the university. I would imagine they might have some ideas, and it would be a good opportunity to affiliate with the university—as a source of advice, or even staffing.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Christopher. I’ll tell them to look into that,” Meg said. “So, regarding my potential purchasers, who has bought the apple crop in past years?”

“As I recall, one of the local farmers’ groups. Once the crop was harvested, I had no further oversight. But I might have records in my files.”

“Bree has contracted with the pickers you’ve used before.”

“The Jamaicans. Excellent. They’ll do good work for you. Have you met them yet?”

“I have—Bree brought them by. She does have things well in hand, I think.”

“I’m glad. I have every faith in that young woman. And in you, Meg.”

“Why, thank you. I’m just trying to muddle through.”

“Ah, but it’s more than that. You found yourself thrown into a difficult situation, and you had no compelling reason to stay. And yet you did, and here you are. I admire your tenacity, especially in the face of adversity. I hope the gods of harvest are kind to you this year.”

“So do I. But I can’t control that, can I?”

“Alas, no. But it does help to take a long-range view. If this year’s crop fails, there will always be another year.”

“Oh please, don’t mention the term ‘fail.’ I don’t want to hear it. Though I am lining up contingency plans if the crop is, shall we say, less than perfect. I understand there’s a collective cider mill in the vicinity.”

“You see? You’re already thinking like a true farmer. Hope for the best, but plan for the worst.” Christopher glanced at his watch. “Heavens, I must get back.”

As Meg drove back to Granford after depositing Christopher in front of his office, she reflected that in fact she probably
would
have turned tail and run if it hadn’t been for him. And Seth, of course. But it was Christopher who had assured her that she could handle running the orchard. He had taken the time to explain each step along the way. He had found Bree for her. And he had proven to be a true and supportive friend. Maybe that was what had inspired her to act as guardian angel to Nicky and Brian, since she knew how much that kind of help mattered.