A Killer Crop Page 8
A question about the orchard? Whether it was simply polite conversation or her mother was actually interested, Meg rushed to answer. “Surprisingly little, actually. The techniques for propagating fruit trees have been around for millennia, and there may be descendants of some of the apples our ancestors planted in the orchard even now. Spraying? Pesticides have come a long way, but more and more we’re finding that they create as many problems as they solve—just ask Christopher. So sometimes we have to fall back on the old ways, which were simpler and cheaper. Harvesting? Apples are still fairly delicate, so you mostly have to pick them by hand. I think Thoreau would have recognized most of what we’re doing—well, except maybe the Jamaican pickers,” Meg joked.
“That’s an interesting twist—I wasn’t aware that Jamaicans were so numerous around here. Mainly we hear about Hispanic migrant workers when people talk about harvesting crops.”
“According to Christopher and Bree, the Jamaicans have been working around here for decades—they come back to the same places year after year. Bree is second generation, although she’s a lot more than a picker. And she grew up around here.”
“I’m still surprised that you hired her. Given your own lack of expertise, I would have thought you would go for someone more experienced.”
Meg tried to stifle her impatience at her mother’s naïveté. “I couldn’t afford anyone more experienced, Mother. But Bree came highly recommended by Christopher, whom I trust completely. And he’s available for backup if she gets in over her head. She knows the pickers and she’s been great at handling them so far. I don’t regret giving her a chance.”
“You don’t need to take my head off, Meg. I was just curious.”
“Sorry. You’re not the first person to wonder, but it seems to be working out. Next year will be easier.”
“You’ll be here next year?”
It was a question Meg really hadn’t answered for herself, but her mother’s surprise rankled. She turned on the bench to look directly at Elizabeth. “Why wouldn’t I? Look, this is not just a little hobby to keep me busy while I find the next desk job. For one thing, it’s a lot of work, and if I’m going to put this much sweat into it, I’m damn well going to stick to it, at least for a while. I don’t pretend I can learn everything about orchard management in a year or even two, but I’m going to learn as much as I can. And believe it or not, I like it here. I’ve made friends. People know who I am. That’s more than I could say when I was working in Boston.”
“But don’t you miss things like restaurants, culture?”
Meg laughed. “I’ll have to take you over to Northampton again. You may not have noticed, but they’ve got just about everything there—restaurants for all and any tastes, from vegan to snob; theaters; music venues. And that doesn’t even count the local colleges, which are some of the best in the country, and they bring in terrific lecturers. So I’m not exactly stranded in a cultural desert, you know. And I never had time to do anything of that kind of stuff back when I was in Boston anyway—we were all too busy trying to prove to each other how ambitious we were.”
“But how can you hope to meet anyone?” Elizabeth asked.
So that was the subtext. By “anyone,” Meg knew her mother meant a potential husband. An “anyone” that Meg had never felt compelled to pursue with any great enthusiasm. But things might be changing: Should she tell her mother now about Seth? Would it make things more complicated if she waited? As Meg opened her mouth, her phone, deep in a pocket, rang. She struggled to fish it out and checked the number: not one she recognized. “Hello?”
“Hello, Meg? This is Raynard. You need to come home. There’s been some trouble.”
“Trouble? What’s happened?”
“Just come, quick.” He hung up abruptly, leaving Meg staring at the phone.
“Is something wrong, dear?” her mother asked.
“I think so, but I don’t know what. I’ve got to go. Damn, I need to take you back to Rachel’s, but I don’t know if I can spare the time right now. Do you mind coming with me, at least for now?”
“Of course not. Let’s go.”
They walked swiftly but silently back to the parking lot while Meg turned over alternative scenarios in her head. Had the pickers found a new pest and they wanted to know what to do about it? Had the goats gotten loose? What was the worst case? She didn’t even want to go there—she could think of too many possibilities. Somehow, from Raynard’s tone, Meg guessed it was serious, but he would have told her if the house had burned down. Or the barn. Wouldn’t he? Back at the car they climbed in, buckled up, and Meg took off, back toward Granford and whatever awaited her there.
9
Meg drove the speed limit back to her house—barely. The twisting two-lane local roads didn’t permit speeding anyway. She focused on the road, trying to avoid thinking about what she was going to find, and her mother tactfully didn’t interrupt her thoughts.
As she neared her house from the north, she was relieved to see that it was still standing, as was the barn behind it. No fire, then; no natural disasters. But as she passed the orchard, she could see the pickers standing aimlessly in a loose group, not picking. She pulled into the driveway, stopped the car, and jumped out, heading straight up the hill. When she reached the orchard, she followed the sounds of angry voices: Raynard and Bree, engaged in a furious argument. Bree was holding one arm across her chest, and as she approached, Meg thought that Bree looked near tears.
They didn’t notice her until she was only a few feet away. “All right, what’s going on?” Meg demanded.
Both turned to her and started talking at once. Meg held up a hand. “One at a time. Bree?” While part of her wanted to let the older—and apparently cooler-headed—man talk, she didn’t want to undercut Bree’s authority.
“It’s nothing. My ladder slipped, and I fell on my wrist. It’ll be fine—I just need to wrap it up good.”
Raynard cut in. “It is not fine, it is broken, and you need to see a doctor. I have seen plenty of broken bones in my day, and you do not fool with them. Are you an expert, that you can tell all will be fine?”
“Let me see,” Meg ordered. Not that she had any medical knowledge, but if something was seriously wrong, wouldn’t it be obvious?
Bree glared at her, and extended her injured arm. The wrist was clearly red and swollen. “Can you move it?” Meg asked.
“Not well. Hurts too much,” Bree added reluctantly. It obviously hurt more to admit that in front of her crew.
“Okay, then we’re going to the emergency room,” Meg said firmly.
“It’ll cost too much!!” Bree protested. “I’ll be okay.”
Meg was beginning to lose patience. “Bree, I made sure you had insurance. And if that doesn’t cover everything, I’ll take care of it. But it’s important to make sure it’s all right. If it’s just a sprain, fine. But if it’s broken, doing nothing will just make it worse. Go get into the car.”
Bree looked like a sulky child, and Meg was reminded just how young her orchard manager was, despite her tough exterior. Meg looked over at Raynard, who nodded his approval. The other pickers looked relieved, or avoided Meg’s eyes entirely.
“Raynard, you’re in charge for now. We should be back in a few hours.” Meg hoped. Her experience with emergency rooms, and hospitals in general, was limited. But right now, it seemed more important to act decisively.
“Right, ma’am.” Raynard turned back to the workers, calling out orders and pointing, while Meg guided Bree down the hill. At the car Meg realized her mother was still there, leaning against it, watching them approach.
“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked.
“I think Bree’s got a broken wrist. I’m going to take her over to the ER at the hospital in Holyoke.”
“I’ll come with you. Bree, get in the front seat—you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll take the back.” Elizabeth opened the front door and waited until Bree had settled herself before sitting in the back.
“Not much, and we had enough guys to cover it. I thought you could use some time with your mother.”
“Thank you, Bree—I appreciate that,” came Elizabeth’s voice from the backseat.
Great, now Meg had another reason to feel guilty. Bree had been trying to help her out, and look where things had ended up—not that her being there, rather than enjoying a fine luncheon in Amherst, would have prevented the fall. If it was a fall. “Bree, was that the whole story?” she asked as they drove. “I know you’re careful.”
“What’re you asking?”
Meg wasn’t sure. “Did someone do something to the ladder? Or maybe stumble over it and make you fall?”
Bree didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t think so,” she muttered, looking at the road.
Meg had known there might be problems—a young and untried woman bossing around more experienced, older, mostly male workers. But she had counted on Raynard to keep them in line, and Bree hadn’t complained. “Have you had other problems?”
“No! Nothing serious—just some joking around. It’s been fine. I was just clumsy, all right?”
“All right.” For now. She’d have to probe later, when they had taken care of the immediate problem. Insurance rarely covered all costs. The hospital took credit cards, didn’t they? Meg couldn’t remember. Not that it mattered—if Bree had been injured while working for her, Meg would see that she was taken care of. She knew that the pickers, as her subcontractors, were covered under a state-offered program, but Bree was a different case. She’d have to check when she got home again.
The ride took no more than ten minutes. Meg parked in the hospital lot, but by the time she had reached the other side of the car, Bree had already extricated herself and was stalking toward the entrance, and Meg and her mother had to hurry to catch up. Inside Bree made a beeline for the front desk, with Meg close behind her.
“What’s the problem?” the nurse-receptionist asked.
“I think I’ve broken my wrist,” Bree said, her voice tight. She ignored Meg, hovering behind her.
The nurse slid a clipboard across the counter. “Fill these out and bring them back. Take a seat in the waiting area and we’ll call you.”
Meg led Bree to the waiting area, filled with stiff plastic chairs in rows bolted to the floor. They found three seats together, and Meg scanned the room. Even though it was the middle of the day, there were quite a few people waiting; but nobody looked seriously ill or hurt—or at least, there was no evident bleeding. Maybe this wouldn’t take too long?
It was half an hour before they called Bree’s name. Meg handed over the forms that she had helped Bree fill out, and an orderly guided Bree off to x-ray.
Meg realized that she and her mother hadn’t exchanged more than a few words since they had arrived. “Sorry about dragging you here.”
“Meg, you don’t need to apologize. I hope I’m not in the way, but I thought maybe you could use some company. These things can often drag on for a while. I’m glad you insisted—she’s stubborn, isn’t she?”
“She is, but she’s trying to look like she’s in control. You’ve had a lot of experience with waiting around emergency rooms?” Meg couldn’t think of any time in her youth that she had had an injury that required an emergency room visit.
“Enough.
“Not with me.”
“No.” Elizabeth paused, as if weighing her words. “Your father had a scare, a while ago.”
Meg turned in her seat. “What? You never told me anything about that. When was this?”
Elizabeth nodded. “It was last winter. But it turned out to be nothing. Well, perhaps not nothing—hypertension combined with stress. But of course, Phillip thought he was having a heart attack. It’s controlled with medication now. I didn’t want to worry you—you were going through a rather difficult patch then.”
Meg bit back an angry response. She wanted to say that her mother should have told her, before they knew how serious it might be, but another part of her was relieved that she hadn’t had to deal with one more problem, not at a time when everything else had seemed to be falling apart—and that relief made her feel guilty. Yet another part was hurt that her mother hadn’t asked for her help, or at least her comfort. In the end she said nothing.
An hour passed, and a big chunk of the next one. Finally Bree emerged from a door, her lower arm now encased in a brightly colored fiberglass cast. Meg and her mother stood up. “So it was broken?” Meg asked.
“Yeah, I guess. Not too bad, just a simple fracture, except I’ve got to wear this thing”—Bree waved her fluorescent arm—“for at least six weeks, and I’m not supposed to do any heavy lifting. I told the guy I needed to pick apples and he laughed at me.”
“Bree, you’re going to follow his instructions if I have to chain you to the barn. Did he give you any prescriptions?”
Bree fished a bottle out of her pocket. “He gave me some pain pills, not a lot, and a prescription if I think I need more. Can we get out of here now?”
“If there’s no more paperwork to do.” Meg checked with the harried nurse at the desk and was waved away.
Back in the car, Bree slumped in her seat. Without looking at Meg, she said, “I’m sorry.”
Meg concentrated on avoiding Holyoke’s rush-hour drivers. “Why? Did you do something stupid?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. Maybe I reached too far for one last apple. The ladder tipped.”
Her heart sank when she realized there was one more complication: Bree’s injury left them one hand short, literally. Was it possible to manage without her, or would Meg need to find another body to fill in? This was the peak of the picking season, and it was likely that everyone was already committed. How much would Bree be able to do? No heavy lifting: that eliminated most of the direct apple handling. Making deliveries? Obviously not. What about driving the tractor to haul the apples down the hill? Meg’s worries kept her silent for the full trip home. It was getting dark when they finally pulled into the driveway.
The pickers had vanished, but Raynard was waiting in the drive, leaning against his battered pickup truck. He straightened up politely and removed his well-worn baseball cap when the three women clambered out of Meg’s car. Bree was the first to confront him. “Yes, it was broken—does that make you happy?”
“Ah, Briona, don’t be mad at me. You have a problem, you fix it. You don’t just pretend it’s going to go away. You hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear you,” Bree said sullenly.
“And don’t you be trying to do too much either. We’ll get things done.”
Meg spoke up. “I’m glad to hear that, Raynard. I can help out if you need me.”
“It will be fine, you’ll see. Guess I’ll be going—just wanted to be sure our Bree was all right. Night, ladies.”
Meg turned to unlock the kitchen door, and let her mother and Bree pass through before her. Lolly greeted them loudly, complaining about the disruption of her routine. “All right, I know—it’s dinnertime. We’ve been kind of busy.” Meg turned to her mother. “Let me feed Lolly and I can take you back to Rachel’s. Bree, why don’t you go lie down for a while? I’ll put dinner together when I get back.”
Meg could have sworn she saw a brief flash of disappointment cross her mother’s face before she replied, “No rush, dear. Whenever you’re ready.”
Bree said, “I’ll just grab something and crash. Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, if you’re all right.”
“I’m fine, Meg,” Bree snapped. “My wrist hurts, I’m tired, and I feel stupid. I just want to go to bed.”
Meg looked steadily at Bree, who returned her look. “All right. Mother, you ready to go?”
Her mother nodded. “Bree, you take care of yourself. I’ll be back tomorrow—if that’s okay?” Her eyes flickered toward Meg.
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“Of course,” Meg responded, more sharply than she’d intended. She was tired, and she wasn’t looking forward to driving back and forth to Amherst yet again. “Let’s go.”
They drove the first few miles in silence. “She’s an interesting girl,” Elizabeth volunteered finally.
“She is. It can’t be easy for her—she’s taken on a lot. And I’m grateful.”
“This accident comes at a difficult time for you, doesn’t it?”
“I won’t say no. I’m sure she was being careful, but things happen—like I needed a reminder. I hope there wasn’t any malicious intent involved. From what I’ve seen, the workers are pretty decent guys, and I’m paying them the going rate. Unfortunately, though, this means we’re going to be stretched pretty thin for a bit, until we get the rest of the harvest in. Sorry, Mother, but I guess that means I’ll have even less time to spend with you.”
“Meg, as you’ve pointed out, you’ve got a business to run. I have no intention of getting in the way of that. But it’s possible I can help you, you know. Shop for food, cook some meals. If you’ll let me come back?”
In the growing dusk Meg negotiated the country roads that led to Rachel’s house. “I’d be happy to have you back, Mother, and I’d really appreciate the help. As long as you understand if I’m busy and tired.”
“I do. And thank you for not shutting me out. Ah, here we are. Are you coming in?”
It was tempting. Too tempting. Meg knew that Rachel could be counted on to offer sympathy, and maybe some excellent pastry. If she went in, it would be a while before she came out, and she still had to get herself home and think about the ramifications of what had happened and how to cope now that Bree was sidelined. “I don’t think so. Say hi to Rachel for me, though. I’ll see you in the morning. But don’t skip breakfast.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t pass up Rachel’s breakfast. Around ten? Good night, dear, and don’t worry too much, please?”