Nice To Come Home To. Liz Flaherty
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Do you have apple dumplings? I remember Aunt Zoey making them when I’d visit during the summer when I was little. They were like bowls filled with heaven.”
“We do have them, although Mrs. Detwiler and a few other Amish women make them for us now. Zoey had a class and taught them all how she does it.”
Cass peered at the structures. The climate-controlled storage barn stood apart. She was almost certain it had been built since the last time she was here. The retail store was in the apple barn. The round barn seemed to be waiting to be used. “Have you thought of putting a restaurant here?”
He nodded. “Zoey’s always wanted to, but Miniagua’s not big enough to support another one. There’s already a café, a bar and grill, a pizza place and a tearoom on the lake, plus we’re a few miles from there so it would be out of the way for nearly everyone. The tearoom doubles as an event center. So does the lake clubhouse and even the country club if you’re in the mood for some exclusivity.”
“What about a coffee shop?” Cass didn’t know anything about restaurants or demand for them, but she did know coffee shops. Most of Cassandra G. Porter’s Mysteries on the Wabash series had been written in them.
Luke looked thoughtful. “There used to be one in Sawyer, but the owners weren’t big on either cleanliness or quality—or paying their utilities, for that matter—so it didn’t last long.”
Cass gestured with her empty cup. “You have a good start with this. It’s good coffee.” She was almost sure it was the same kind she’d found in the house.
“The bulk foods store sells it.”
“You could serve those apple dumplings. Maybe have a limited breakfast and lunch menu.”
“It’s worth some thought. Summer people might like it. I’m not sure lakers would care one way or another, but it could be worth its while with summer traffic, I imagine—although the location might still be a problem.” He didn’t sound especially encouraging, but he didn’t give an unequivocal no, either.
They pulled up at the barn the same time as the hay wagon did. The group of 4-H club members climbed out the back and went into the store, waving at the young people on the driver’s seat. Seth and Royce were the last ones off the wagon. Royce ran to where Cass and Luke were getting out of the utility vehicle.
“Seth says I can help pick apples. Can I? Isaac and Mary are going to help, too. He says they’re picking the Earligolds now. I promise I won’t get in the way.”
Cass looked at Luke. He shrugged. “A dollar an hour over minimum wage. Keep track of your hours and do what Seth says. Fill out your paperwork in the office after work today. Be careful. If you fall out of a tree, Zoey will have my head and it would increase the possibility I might have to climb one.”
“What are you going to do for lunch?” Cass protested. “You can’t go two hours without eating, much less the rest of the day.”
“I will bring enough for Royce if it’s all right.” Mary’s English was lightly accented, and Cass remembered the musical sound of the Pennsylvania Dutch the Amish often spoke. “She can bring lunch for me tomorrow.”
“Well then, sure, if you want to, Royce. Thank you, Mary.” Damaris had been concerned about the influence of some of Royce’s friends in California. Cass had a feeling she’d be pleased with Mary, Isaac and Seth. At least on the face of things.
“If you’ll come to Zoey’s with me,” said Luke, when the teenagers had gone to work, “we’ll get a good lunch plus she and I can explain how the business is run. She still knows more about the orchard than I do. It’s up to you how active you want to be, but you need to make an educated decision.”
“I don’t think Aunt Zoey wants to see me.”
His gaze went to the round barn, then flicked back to her. He took off his baseball cap, pushed back his thick brown hair and put the cap back on. “Based on what?”
“What?” She frowned. What was he talking about?
“Yes, what? What makes you believe that?”
“My mother told me, although what she said turned out to be not exactly true. But the year in high school when I lived here, Zoey didn’t want me to come even though I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And I hardly ever saw her when I was here.” That still stung. Her aunt had been her favorite person in all the world. Finding out the feeling wasn’t mutual had hurt.
“Even if that’s true—and I know Zoey well enough to think there’s more to the story than you’ve been told—would you seriously hold that kind of grudge for, what, twenty years?”
“It’s not a grudge,” she protested. “I love Aunt Zoey. Having her come out to California when Mother was ill and again when she died was what got me through those days.” She hesitated. Talking about her personal life wasn’t something she did, especially with stomach-clenchingly handsome men she hardly knew. “I had divorced parents and numerous stepparents whose revolving-door comings and goings made me relationship shy. My father and some of those stepparents were military—not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it makes for a complicated lifestyle. Add my own shockingly bad choices to the mix and you have someone who stays inside a shell because it’s comfortable there.”
“I’m sure it is.” He touched her arm, leading her away from customer traffic. “Did you like it here? In high school, I mean.”
“Like it?” She shook her head. “I loved every minute, I think.” She frowned. “Did you live here then? I don’t remember you, but I wasn’t here that long.”
“No. My folks transferred here from Pennsylvania long after I got out of high school. Dad worked in Kokomo, but they lived in Sawyer. I liked it so well that when life dictated a change, I got a job as close as I could and bought a fixer-upper on the lake. About the time I got the kitchen paid for, the company I worked for closed. I’ll go back to real work one of these days, but for the time being, I’m enjoying the orchard and the lake.” He stopped. “I just told you my entire life story in what I’m sure was less than a hundred words. Are you impressed so far?”
She laughed, the sound coming easily. “You know, I am.”
“Impressed enough to come to Zoey’s with me? If it doesn’t work out and you have to spend an hour making polite noises, will it really hurt anything?”
Images of her last conversation with her father, facing Tony in court the day their divorce was final and watching cancer claim her mother made a painful collage in her mind. So many things that couldn’t be unsaid or undone. Maybe, just maybe, the fissure with Aunt Zoey could be healed. “No. It won’t hurt a thing. I’ll be glad to go with you.”
“You up for a walk?”
She was. She fell into step beside him to go down a grass-divided lane to the big house that sat watch over the orchard. “I’d forgotten that everyone walks at the lake. Or rides bikes or golf carts.”
“Or all three. Where did you live in California? Not where, exactly, but how? Were you in a house or an apartment?”
“When I was married, we lived in a house in Chula Vista, but when I got divorced, I moved up to an apartment in Sacramento. My mother and Royce and her mother all lived there.” She swallowed, pushing her hair out of her face when a gust of wind tunneled down the lane. “I was sick, and even though I could take care of myself most of the time, I didn’t want to be alone. Then Mother got pancreatic cancer, and I helped take care of her.” She took a deep breath and then another, trying to remember the things she’d learned in yoga class. “I sound pathetic,” she said apologetically, “and I’m not at all.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
The house came into full view when the lane meandered around a wooded curve, and Cass stopped, unable to keep in the soft “Oh” that passed her lips. The big Queen Anne farmhouse, still painted dark