A Late Frost Read online

  “Other employees?” Larry turned back to Meg, dismissing Seth abruptly.

  “Bree set up a team of pickers for me who come in for the harvest.”

  “No automation?”

  “Not for the picking. No, we pick by hand, and move the apples around with our tractor. When there’s a drought, which we have had recently, there’s a well that supplies the orchard, but we need to install a new pumping system.”

  “Expensive,” Larry said.

  “Yes, it will be.” Meg decided it was time to take charge. After all, she was supposed to be interviewing him, not the other way around. “What’s your background?”

  “I’ve got a degree in plant sciences from Cornell. You know about their apple programs, right?”

  “I’ve heard of them, but I haven’t visited. It’s on my wish list. When did you graduate?”

  “A couple of years ago.”

  “And what have you been doing since?”

  “I’ve taken a bunch of graduate-level agricultural courses at UMass—that’s how I met Christopher. There was some grant funding for apple research projects, so I was working on those. I haven’t made up my mind if I want to go for a grad degree, but I need a job.”

  “Have you worked in an orchard before?”

  “My folks had one, but they’re gone now, and so’s the orchard.”

  “Why do you want this job? We’re pretty small, and there’s not a lot of room to grow. What can you learn here?”

  “Look, I need a paycheck, all right? I know apples, and there are some good ideas I picked up, that I’d like to try out.”

  “Assuming I’m willing. You’d be working for me, and I need to be part of making any decisions.”

  Larry looked like he was swallowing a comment, but in the end he said, “Yeah, I get that. But I can bring new ideas to you, right?”

  “Of course. I don’t pretend to know everything, but I wanted to be clear from the start. I’m willing to listen to you.”

  Meg sat back and contemplated this Larry person. He was kind of abrasive. Defensive? Or just obnoxious? And young. Still, if he’d been raised with an orchard, he must have more experience than Bree had when she took on the job. And if Christopher vouched for him, he must have something going for him. Where the heck was Christopher, anyway? A knock at the back door answered that question. Meg got up to let Christopher in.

  “So sorry I’m late, Meg, my dear. Seth. Ah, I see my young protégée has arrived. How’ve you been getting on, Larry?”

  Larry shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Coffee, Christopher?” Seth asked.

  “Oh, no, no, thank you. I’ve had my fill for this morning.”

  “Have you heard from Bree, Christopher?” Meg asked.

  “My contact in Australia informs me that she arrived safely and is quick to learn. I don’t expect to hear much more from her. And you?”

  “No, but I assume she’s busy.” Not that Bree owed her any personal contact. They’d moved past an employer-employee relationship, but stopped somewhere short of friends.

  “Has Larry seen your property yet?” Christopher changed the subject adroitly.

  “Just from the road,” Larry said. “We were talking about the job.”

  “Well, then, I suggest we take a look at the orchard and the relevant facilities,” Christopher said, rubbing his hands together.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Seth said. “I’ve got some other chores to do.”

  “Seth, can you feed the goats, please?” Meg asked.

  “Sure, no problem. And I’ll give Max some exercise, too.”

  Meg stood up. “Well, then, let’s take the tour.” They gathered up their coats, and Meg led the way out the back door, followed by Christopher and Larry.

  2

  “Ask any questions you want, Larry,” Meg said. They stood huddled together in the driveway, shivering in the January wind. Meg pointed. “That’s Seth’s office space, at the end of the driveway. The barn is obviously the barn. That’s where the storage for the apples is.”

  “Can we take a look at that?” Larry asked.

  “Sure.” Meg led them to the front of the barn and hauled open one of the big double doors. Inside, she pointed to the apple storage units aligned along one wall. “That’s what we’ve got, the ones Seth built.”

  “How full are they now?” Larry asked.

  “About twenty-five percent, I think. The ones that ripened late or hold well.”

  “Where were the apples kept before you built these?”

  “You’d do better to ask Christopher. I’ve got a pretty short history here.”

  Christopher spoke up. “We had no holding facilities here then. The university managed this as an experimental orchard, and while some of the apples were sold commercially, that was not a priority. Some went to the university kitchens, others to local shelters.”

  “So you were more interested in managing the trees than in optimizing the crop?” Larry asked.

  “Yes. That’s how I chose to define my mandate,” Christopher said. “The sale and marketing aspects were handled by others. In your opinion, young Mr. Bennett, would this division of labor have had an impact on the crop?”

  “Maybe. If you’d been interested in producing more apples, or modifying size or resistance, you might have made different choices.”

  “A valid point. One which you and Meg might choose to explore at some point.”

  “We should get moving before our fingers freeze, Christopher,” Meg interrupted him. “I’ll take you up to the main part of the orchard.” She marched up the hill behind the house, followed by the two men, and she explained along the way, “The boundaries are the road that runs in front of the house, up to the one that runs along the crest of the road at the top of the hill—about fifteen acres total, as I told you, plus the new acreage to the north. As you can see, the trees are aligned with the top road.”

  “North-south?” Larry asked. “Why?”

  “I have no idea. Christopher, you have any thoughts?”

  “There’s been an orchard here since long before my time. But a north-south alignment is generally recommended.”

  “You could plant more densely now,” Larry pointed out. “Close spacing.”

  “We’ve tried that for the new plantings, but we haven’t seen the results yet. That’s the wellhead there, in the center. I’m going to have to run the numbers for this past season before I know whether we can afford a more efficient irrigation system.”

  “You used it much?” Larry asked.

  “A few times, in dry spells.”

  “How’ve you been distributing the water?”

  “We’ve used a water tank pulled by our tractor.”

  “So essentially you’ve been hand-watering the whole orchard? That’s a lot of work.”

  “Yes, it is. But I had priorities more important than replacing the irrigation.”

  “What kind of production did you get this past year?” Larry asked, and Meg launched into an accounting of bushels harvested, for each apple variety and in total, and timing of the harvest, and handling, and any number of arcane items Meg hoped she had an accurate handle on.

  Finally Larry seemed satisfied. “You said you put in some new trees last year?”

  “Yes. Technically they’re planted on Seth’s property, which adjoins mine, but I lease the land from him, so it’s part of my business.” When all that had happened, they’d had no thoughts of marriage, and Meg had wanted to keep a clear boundary between business and personal issues. But Larry didn’t need to know that. She and Seth had arrived at a different agreement regarding his use of the office space on her property, although she’d had no other use for it, so it was standing empty anyway. It didn’t hurt that he’d improved the space, adding storm windows and dependable heating to what had been a
ramshackle outbuilding.

  Meg dragged her attention back to Larry when he asked, “Equipment?”

  “An elderly tractor, with a trailer for collecting the harvested apples. Some hand-carried sprayers. I practice integrated pest management here, so I don’t use pesticides, or only biologicals.”

  “Got it. What did you plant?” After Meg had listed the choices she had made, Larry said, “These new trees you put in—they’re not the most productive varieties.”

  “I know that. But I wanted to preserve some of the heirloom varieties, and I’ve found a niche market for them locally.”

  “So you’re not all about making money from this orchard?”

  Meg was getting tired of Larry’s abrupt attitude. “No. As I told you, I inherited the house and property, and I knew nothing about raising apples at that time, although I have a financial background. I’ve spent two years learning the business and trying to see where I fit. If I fit. I’ve enjoyed it, and I’m committed for the near term. But I respect the old ways of doing things, and I don’t want to sink any profits I make into fancy new machinery. It’s a small orchard. If that doesn’t work for you, you don’t have to work here.”

  Larry looked down at his feet, suddenly appearing younger. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was just trying to get a feel for what you wanted. I’m not against small, but I do think that efficiency matters, and trying to optimize your yield. I know there’s a trade-off between mechanizing the operation to produce more and staying small—boutique, even—and enjoying the process more.”

  “Exactly. Have you seen enough?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Nothing else to see?”

  “No, that’s the whole operation.”

  “Why don’t we go back down the hill now?” Christopher suggested. “I for one am a bit chilled.”

  They filed down the hill in silence. Meg was fuming internally. What did Christopher see in this rude young man? Why on earth did he think that Larry would be a good fit for her admittedly small orchard operation? There must be more to the story.

  Back in the driveway once again, Larry said abruptly, “Look, I’ve gotta meet a guy in Amherst. Thanks for showing me around, Meg. Christopher, I’ll call you.” He turned on his heel and loped toward his battered far-from-new car before either Meg or Christopher could respond. They watched as he pulled out of the driveway.

  “What was that all about?” Meg asked.

  “He doesn’t make a very good first impression, does he?” Christopher said ruefully. “If you’ll invite me in, I’ll try to explain.”

  Back in the kitchen, Seth was seated at the table reading the paper. “Chicken—is that the work you just had to get done?” Meg said.

  “Forgive me, Christopher, but that kid kind of rubs me the wrong way,” Seth said. “Whatever made you suggest him?”

  “He was just about to explain that to me,” Meg told him. “I felt pretty much the way you did, Seth. Can I get you something, Christopher?”

  “Could you manage a cup of tea? The wind’s a bit cutting.”

  “Of course.” Meg set about boiling water, locating the teapot, and scrounging up some tea bags. At least they were imported, not generic. She listened with half an ear to what Seth and Christopher were saying.

  “I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you, Seth, but you were gone for a time, and . . . well, the appropriate opportunity has not arisen until now.”

  Seth help up a hand. “Christopher, I think I know what you’re talking about. I don’t need the details. But you and my mother are both adults, and if she’s happy, I’m happy. I’m not going to ask if your intentions are honorable. By the way, Mom hasn’t said anything. Are we okay?”

  “And here I thought we’d been so discreet. How did you know?”

  “Well, we saw you together at the wedding,” Seth told him, “and if we noticed in our state of newly wedded bliss, I’d say it had to be pretty obvious.”

  “Bree noticed, too,” Meg said as she set the full teapot on the table. “And she’s not particularly sensitive to human beings’ emotional states.” Which, Meg had to admit, was sort of like Larry. She went back to retrieve mugs, spoons, sugar, and milk.

  “So I have your blessing?” Christopher asked, helping himself to the tea.

  “Of course you do,” Meg said firmly. “You’re grown-ups. Gee, Seth, so are we now. We’re an old married couple.”

  “I hope so. Grown-up, that is—not old,” Seth said. “But definitely married.”

  Meg turned her attention back to Christopher. “So now that’s settled, what’s the story with Larry? Does he even want the job here, or did he come here today just to keep you happy?”

  “Let me say first, I do hope Bree returns, although I’ll concede coming back to work here might not be the best career choice she could make for herself. But I’d like to leave that door open.”

  “So you think Larry would be a short-term placeholder, until Bree decides what she wants to do?” Meg asked.

  “Something along those lines. Let me be frank with you. Larry Bennett is clearly lacking in some fundamental social skills, but he is a talented orchardist. He mentioned he had grown up with orchards?”

  “He said that, yes.”

  “It was not an easy life. The orchard itself was played out—it had been neglected for too long, and his family was in no position to bring it back, nor did they care to. Larry was an only child, and apparently his father was allergic to hard work. So Larry did what he could do, and kept it going until he reached college age. Then he told his father and mother that he was done, and if they wanted to keep the farm, they could take over. They sold it within months. Larry attended Cornell on scholarship, combined with part-time jobs and student loans. He came to UMass, and I found some grant funding for him. He is, if nothing else, a hard worker. But he never had the opportunity to socialize with his peer group, and it shows.”

  “I hope you don’t think I’m supposed to fix that, Christopher,” Meg said.

  “No. You would be his employer, not a surrogate mother.”

  “I have another question, which might be more relevant to his working here,” Meg said slowly.

  “And that would be?” Christopher asked.

  “Several of his comments seemed to me to suggest that he was displeased with the way Bree and I chose to manage things. Like, we should be getting higher production from our trees. We should have made upgrading the irrigation a higher priority. We should have chosen different trees for the new section—that heirlooms were a waste of time.” Meg stopped, wondering what her question was, exactly.

  “I understand what you’re saying, Meg, and it’s a valid concern,” Christopher said. “He sees running an orchard as a business and no more. In contrast, I’m going to guess that you harbor a slightly more romantic notion of it?”

  “Romantic?” Meg sputtered. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Hear me out. You have a familial attachment to this place. The old house, the ranks of trees, the barn—all of this is the quintessential New England to many Americans, and New England is the psychological icon of your country. In addition, you value hard work, even overcoming hardship, and to some degree you have chosen that as your lifestyle. You could simply have walked away when you first saw the place, could you not?”

  “I guess,” Meg admitted. “I had no better idea at the time, and I guess I thought hard work might distract me from my own lack of plan or direction. I suppose I see why you might call it romantic. It certainly wasn’t practical on my part. But what’s your point, as it applies to Larry?”

  “Larry is the antithesis of a romantic. As was Bree, in her own way. She came to you with a chip on her shoulder, as if daring you to find fault. Larry doesn’t feel he has something to prove, but he believes he’s right in his ideas. In a way, he is, from a practical viewpoint.”

  “Can
you see us working together? Or rather, him working for me, with my so-called romantic, impractical ideas?”

  “Let me put it this way: he will do what he believes is best for the orchard. If you disagree with him, for what he sees as frivolous reasons, then you will have to justify those reasons to him. But clearly those decisions are yours to make. Not his. That he has to learn.”

  Meg nodded. “I see your point. Do I have to decide right this minute?”

  “I’d say you have a week or two. I don’t know that he’s talked to any other places around here. As you’ve noted, he doesn’t present himself well.”

  “Then let me think about it for a few days, all right?” And discuss it with Seth, who’d have to live with Larry, too.

  “Of course, my dear. Now you must tell me about your honeymoon. I’ve never had the opportunity to visit Jefferson’s orchards, although I’ve read about them. Are they all they’re said to be?”

  And the talk turned to more pleasant matters.

  3

  After Christopher had left, Meg settled back at the table with Seth. As she had told him, having free time left her unsettled. She had a long list of household projects she could be working on, and there was always the looming accounting for the orchard waiting for her, with taxes following hard on its heels. As a result, she had to force herself to sit still and enjoy the moment. Unfortunately she couldn’t turn her mind off, and it kept churning away, popping out new Things to be Done at intervals.

  “We should talk about Larry,” Meg told Seth.

  Seth neatly folded the newspaper he had finished. “Yes. How much input do you want me to have in this decision about a manager?”

  “It seems to me that you have to—well, not exactly live with him, but share space with him, see him regularly—so you should have some say. But as I think you’re suggesting, this is my business, so I should be making the decisions. And I have no intention of meddling in your business affairs, unless I think you’ve taken on more than you can possibly handle and you’re wearing yourself out. So, back to the question. Can you see Larry working here, with me?”