A Late Frost Read online

  “That’s about it. But I think it is a good idea, and she’s willing to put in the work to make it happen. Winter’s hard on everybody, and a little human contact and fun would be welcome. You have any ideas? It’s open to everyone.”

  “Is anybody doing a jumble sale?”

  “You mean, like all those items from the attic that people want to get rid of?”

  “Yes, that—although most people usually end up going home with as much as they brought. It brings in a little money, and people are happy to think their possessions are going to a good home rather than a Dumpster. Is there any fundraising involved? A worthy cause to donate to?”

  “I haven’t heard, but it’s likely. As for the jumble thing, mention it to Seth—I like the idea.”

  Seth came stomping in the back door. “Oh, hi, Mom. Mention what?”

  “Lydia has an idea for WinterFare,” Meg told him. “Want some wine?”

  “Let me warm up first. What’s your idea, Mom?”

  “A jumble sale, sort of an indoor yard sale, or known to some as a junk sale. Do you have one lined up?”

  “Not that I’ve heard, although we’re letting Monica Whitman run with the ball. You could call her, but be prepared to have your ear talked off.”

  “The poor woman is probably lonely and looking for a way to keep busy.”

  Seth and Meg exchanged a glance. “That’s what we keep telling ourselves. She does seem nice. I’ll hunt up her number for you.” He settled in the third chair at the table. “Making space in your house for some reason?” he asked slyly.

  Lydia didn’t bite. “Meg says you know all about Christopher and me. And no, we haven’t made any plans in that direction. But the possibility is open.”

  “That’s fine by me, Mom. He’s a great guy.”

  “I think so. Meg’s been telling me about the new orchard manager. What’s your take on him?”

  “I haven’t talked to him much—Meg’s spent more time with him, and it’s up to her.”

  “Seth Chapin, are you avoiding the question?” his mother asked.

  “No. He’s young, and he’s got a chip on his shoulder, kind of.”

  “So did Bree when she started, if you recall,” Meg reminded him.

  “This is a different kind of chip, but I think he does feel the need to prove himself. My guess is he was hoping for a larger playing field here, to show what he could do. He seemed disappointed that this orchard is so small.”

  “I think he is. But that doesn’t mean he won’t do a good job for me. And nobody stays around forever. In a year or two, I’ll know more about apples and the orchard will be in better shape, and he can move on with my blessing. Okay?”

  “Great,” Seth said—then changed the subject. “How’s Rachel? And the baby?”

  “Your sister is wondering why you haven’t bothered to call her since Christmas—and there wasn’t time to talk then and she was busy with the kids. The baby and everyone else in the family is fine, thank you.”

  “Why don’t we have everybody over for dinner on Sunday?” Meg said suddenly. “I’ll never have more free time to cook than I have now, and there won’t be all the pressure of the holiday, and the kids won’t be completely wired. We can just hang out and eat ourselves silly and have a good time.”

  “I like it. You want me to call?” Lydia said.

  “I can do it. And invite Christopher, will you?”

  “I’d be happy to.”

  6

  After a couple more weeks, Meg’s life had finally settled into a sort of routine. It wouldn’t last, she knew, but she’d found ways to enjoy the downtime, especially since Seth was available for much of the same time. In a way, the bubble of January time was more of a honeymoon than the official one had been. They went their own ways when they had business to attend to; came back together for meals; visited with friends and family. It was almost boringly normal, not that Meg wanted anything different. She had even managed to finish reading a couple of books, something she rarely had time for during apple season (or could stay awake long enough to do).

  “Don’t forget the all-hands meeting for the WinterFare tonight,” Seth reminded her at breakfast.

  “Oh, that’s tonight? I’ll have to check to see if my calendar is clear.” Meg spread the last of the homemade apple jelly on her toast.

  “Very funny. It’s the only chance we’ll have to get all the people involved together before the event, and make sure we iron out any wrinkles.”

  “Are there any guidelines for displays? Like, does everyone have the same size table? Table covers or not? I assume there’s no wiring laid in, so things won’t get too fancy, and there’s overhead lighting in the gym. How are Nicky and Brian handling the food?”

  “A, there won’t be a lot of hot stuff, and they’ll have room for a couple of sterno warmers. B, they’re going to bring it in shifts, not all at once, so it won’t clog up the area. They’ll be serving on paper plates—oh, remind me to make sure we have enough trash barrels, including one or two next to their tables. We promised the school we’d leave the place in good shape, so it would help to keep ahead of the mess as we go along.”

  “Is there room for all the vendors?”

  “I think we’ll be fine. Oh, and another reminder: the school is lending us folding chairs, but we have to set them up and break them down after.”

  “That’s your department, not mine. How’s Monica holding up?”

  “She’s been far better organized than I expected—I guess she wasn’t kidding about having done plenty of these before. I’ll admit I was worried that she was all talk and no action, but she’s stayed on top of things, and even looked like she was enjoying it all.”

  “Will she have any sort of table or booth, or will she just wander around making sure everything is working?”

  “Probably the latter. She said she didn’t have the knack for crafts or cooking.”

  “So this meeting is just the final polish on the plans?”

  “I hope so.”

  • • •

  The conference room in the town hall was crowded when Meg and Seth arrived at six that evening. Meg estimated that there had to be at least thirty people around the big table and the chairs along the walls, although some of them were probably couples, so there would most likely be fewer than thirty booths, which would fit in the gym—it would look well filled without being crowded. Meg spotted Nicky and Brian at the far end of the room and waved, but there were no seats available near them. Seth joined the other selectmen in the middle of the long side of the table; Monica was seated next to them, looking excited. Meg hoped the meeting would be short, because most people would want to get home for dinner or to oversee kids. This was just a final check, right? With time allowed for fixing problems.

  When the room was filled, Tom Moody stood up. Seeing him again after a few months, now Meg recognized him—a cheerful, stocky man with a lush head of brown hair. She tried to remember if he’d been at the wedding, and failed. Tom said loudly, “Settle, people! This is not a town meeting, but an informal get-together to make sure we’re ready for the first Granford WinterFare just two weeks away. Thank you all for volunteering to take part and support Granford. I’ve got only one instruction for you: have fun!” Several people around the table clapped.

  Tom went on, “The school is ready for us, and there’s a packet at your seats that outlines what they expect from us for setup and breakdown, and other useful information about things like where the restrooms are, in case you haven’t been inside the gym for a few years, and where the other important utilities can be found. Oh, and you’ll notice the lower parts of the bleachers on the far side will be opened, so if you’re sampling some of the great food we’ll have, you can sit down over there. And that’s all I’ve got! I’ll turn the rest of the meeting over to Monica Whitman, who’s done an amazing job in a very s
hort time. Monica, take it away!” Tom sat down, looking relieved that his part was over.

  Monica stood up, smiling broadly. “I can’t believe how kind you’ve all been—most of you said yes the first time I asked you!” That brought a quick laugh from the crowd. “There are twenty vendors lined up. I’ve included additional information in that packet that Tom gave you, showing you the layout of the space. I’ve tried to distribute the tables so that the food is spread out, not all clumped in a corner—except for you, Nicky, Brian—you can have all the space you want, and plenty of room for people to get to your tables. But we want people to wander around and mingle, and maybe buy a thing or two. But this isn’t about making money, although we hope to do a little of that. It’s about brightening a dark time of year and, like Tom said, having fun! Read the materials, and if you have any questions or need to make any changes, I’ve put my cell phone number at the bottom of the sheet. Does anyone have questions now?”

  Someone Meg didn’t know raised a hand. “How’ve you publicized the event?”

  Monica answered promptly. “Through the town’s website and social media pages and local papers. I’ve put up posters in local libraries in adjacent towns and other town halls when they’ve permitted it. I’ve talked to selectmen in the towns closest to Granford and asked them to include us in any publicity they’ll be doing over the next couple of weeks. Some even have closed-circuit television that they use for announcements. If you have any other suggestions, I’m happy to hear them. Oh, and word of mouth is always good!”

  Meg felt tired just listening to Monica, and that was only a short portion of the list of things she’d accomplished. She scanned the room to see who she recognized, in addition to Nicky and Brian: one of the alpaca ladies; Gail from the Historical Society; a couple of the people who ran the farmers’ market near her house, although they were closed in the winter. She had met or at least seen maybe as many as half of the people. Lydia wasn’t there, and Meg wondered if she’d abandoned her jumble sale idea, although for some odd reason people loved buying tacky old things, hoping to pick up treasures for a low price. Meg had to admit she’d been guilty of indulging on more than one occasion, filling in the gaps in her house with gently used furniture. The general mood was happy, and nobody voiced any complaints. Maybe this would actually be fun. Meg hoped so, for the sake of the town.

  The meeting broke up well before seven, but a number of people lingered to chat. Brian waved as he headed out the door, back to the restaurant at the top of the hill, but Nicky waited to greet Meg.

  “Have I told you how great your wedding food was?” Meg asked as Nicky came near.

  “Only about twelve times. It really was a nice wedding, and I think it may have given some other people some ideas. We’ll see how it goes. So, how’s married life treating you?”

  “You heard about our so-called honeymoon?” When Nicky nodded, Meg went on, “Well, it’s gotten better since then. Sometimes it feels like the wedding never happened, and then I realize I actually have a husband and he’s not going anywhere. It’s a slow time of year, so we’re still getting used to it. And we’ve hired an orchard manager.”

  “Yeah, I heard Bree had moved on. How’s the new one working out?”

  “So far, so good. Mostly we’ve been planning, since there’s not much to do in the orchard at the moment.”

  “You’re selling apples at the WinterFare?”

  “The ones I have. I’ll probably spend a lot of time at the table explaining to people that no, they’re not imported from South America, and yes, some varieties of apples last well when refrigerated. Some even improve in flavor. You’ve seen that yourself.”

  “I have indeed. Maybe we should whip up a WinterPie together?”

  “That could be fun. You have any issues with serving food at the WinterFare?”

  “Brian and I have done plenty of catering, and we can handle it. We’re not planning anything exotic or tricky, just good New England food. And our permits cover the food preparation at the restaurant—we won’t be cooking anything at the school.”

  “Have you talked to Monica much?” Meg asked cautiously.

  Nicky leaned forward. “You mean, have I listened to Monica much? Some. I don’t want to run her down, but she’s got so much enthusiasm, it can be hard to take. Still, she and her husband have become regulars at the restaurant, so I want to stay on her good side.”

  “What’s he like? I haven’t met him yet.”

  “Quiet,” Nicky told her. She laughed.

  “Does he have a choice?” Meg said, joining her laughter.

  “I doubt it. Maybe we can all get together for dinner when the fuss dies down and get to know each other.”

  “Nice idea. She really seems to want to make friends here, and who can blame her? It’s hard being the new kid, as we both know.”

  “You’re right. Well, I’d better get back to the restaurant. See you soon, I hope?”

  “Of course.”

  Seth took a few more minutes to disentangle himself from Tom Moody and the other member of the select board, then came over to Meg. “Ready to go?”

  “I am. No problems?”

  “Nothing important. I have to give Monica credit for what she’s done, and the town has really stepped up. This should be a good event.”

  As they walked back to the car, Meg asked, “Did your mother decide not to take a table?”

  “Yeah. I guess she found she had less junk to get rid of than she thought, and she didn’t feel like calling everyone in town to ask for more. That would mean a lot of driving around and collecting stuff, then making it reasonably clean, then pricing it, and . . . well, you get the drift.”

  “I do indeed. She’s still got a day job, and then there’s Christopher. Maybe she can think about doing it at the Harvest Festival, and I doubt the town’s junk is going anywhere.”

  “I don’t think I’ll even ask about how Christopher figures into whether or not my mother can collect the town’s junk. Let’s just say she’s busy, all right?”

  “Of course. Any thoughts about dinner?”

  “Pizza? We’re going right by the place on the way home.”

  “You’ve convinced me.”

  • • •

  Food ordered, picked up, and consumed, pets fed and walked as needed, Meg and Seth made their way upstairs. “It’s been nice, hasn’t it? Not being rushed off our feet and running in opposite directions, but actually getting to spend some quality time together?” Meg said.

  “It has. Isn’t that what everyone hopes for?”

  “Yes, but they don’t always get it. And you and I both know it can’t last—we’re going to get busy again pretty soon. Should I pencil in ‘get to know my husband again’ for November?”

  “I suppose we could swap roles now and then. I’ll learn to pick apples, which I assume is less simple than it sounds, and you can learn basic carpentry. Then we can work together.”

  “Might be fun. I think any woman should know the basics of carpentry, plumbing, and the like. I can’t stand helpless women. But you’re right—if you don’t pick apples right, you lose some of your crop, and that means you lose income.”

  They got ready for bed and crawled under the covers. “I’ve been thinking about that tiny house idea,” Seth said.

  “Oh? Larry didn’t seem very excited, but maybe he’s always like that—you know, cautious? Why are you thinking about it?”

  “Because a lot of people these days want a private space, somewhere to escape to,” he told her. “They might not think about moving into a little place full-time, but it could make a great office space if you wanted to write a book or work on something delicate like ship models. I bet kids would love it as a playhouse. It could be a guest room, for one flexible person. Heck, with all the online options these days, you might even be able to rent it out for short-term stays. Or put one
or two of the pickers in it.”

  Meg reared up on one elbow and looked at Seth. “Wow, you have been thinking about this! How much work would it take?”

  “Hard to say. I think the foundation is strong enough to support a full building, and the framing is good, but that still leaves a lot to make it livable. But it’s fun to imagine.”

  “Well, you go right on thinking about it. Maybe we could install a goatherd there. Or put in a loom for making stuff from goat yarn . . .” Meg said, warming to the topic.

  But Seth was already asleep.

  7

  Meg had pulled together three bushel baskets of late apples, and she drafted Larry to help her polish them. He helped her load them into the car, and then backed off. “You aren’t coming?” Meg asked, surprised. She thought he’d become a bit more sociable over the past couple of weeks.

  “Nah. Not my thing. You gonna be okay carrying the baskets in?”

  She almost laughed. “I do it all the time, you know. Seth and I will be back later in the afternoon, and we’ve both got our cell phones if you need anything.”

  “What would I need?” Larry said.

  Good question. He wasn’t a child, and there wasn’t anything in progress that he might need help with. Why was she feeling oddly protective of him? “See you later!” she said as she started the car.

  The weather had cooperated: no snow or ice. The sky was uniformly gray but the forecast was reassuring. Meg arrived at the high school after a five-minute drive, and was pleased to see the parking lot was already half-filled. She parked at the far end to leave plenty of space for non-vendors, retrieved the first basket of apples, and started her trek to the gym. In her shoulder bag she’d brought a length of brightly colored oilcloth to cover her table, plus a bundle of paper bags for apples if people didn’t come with their own bags, and an envelope with small bills to make change. She had drawn the line at accepting credit cards—one complication she didn’t need. She’d even printed out labels for each of the three kinds of apples she was bringing, with a brief description of what they tasted like and what they were best used for.