A Hopeful Harvest. Ruth Logan Herne
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would never need to say that.
The five-year-old met her at the door. “Look. I got all dressed for school so I can see the fixer guys. Okay?”
“Okay, once you eat breakfast. What’ll it be? A bagel or cereal or an apple?”
“Apple!”
“Ginger Gold or Gala?”
“The redder one.”
Libby cut the Gala into slices. She’d seen a study online that talked about the amazing health benefit of apples, how modern science proved the old adage “an apple a day” true. How apples were like the perfect food.
They would have lots of apples for the coming months. That was an added bonus of being on the farm. But with the barn gone and the insurance shortfall and the co-pays on Gramps’s meds, the already tight situation had just become impossible.
With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.
One of Grandma’s favorite verses in the Bible. The walls of the house were peppered with cross-stitched Bible verses.
Libby would cling to the idea that all things were possible. She hadn’t come back here by choice but by necessity. God had worked that timing out perfectly. So now?
She would put this firmly in His hands because once CeeCee was on that school bus, she had an orchard to spray, and right now she was just real glad she’d parked the tractor outside the barn before it blew down.
The tractor wasn’t parked outside the barn.
It was under the barn. Buried. And as the gaping mechanical claw reached in and scooped up a serving of weathered wood, a generous section of the tractor went with it.
Libby couldn’t take her eyes from the scene.
She’d parked the tractor here. Right here. At the edge of the driveway leading to the orchard because her phone alarm had startled her. And besides, they rarely put the tractor in the big barn except at the end of the season, once the apple sales were complete.
Gone.
Demolished.
Emotions didn’t just rock her this time. They fought their way for possession, like that giant claw digging through a debris field of shattered hopes and dreams.
Now there was no tractor to lift the crates of apples to the barn storage or the sale bins.
No tank to give that last vital spraying.
No nothing.
Nothing at all.
Was this God’s message to her? To tuck Gramps in a safe spot and walk quietly away with CeeCee? Because it was coming through loud and clear.
“You okay?” Jax was coming her way and his question brought her up short.
She wasn’t all right. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever be all right. But Libby Creighton was a survivor, so she wiped moisture from her cheeks and turned.
Sympathetic gray eyes met hers beneath his military-cut brown hair. Ocean-gray eyes, they were. Not a hint of blue, but not storm gray like yesterday’s clouds. Softer. Gentler. She pulled in a deep breath and paused.
Then she blew out the breath and nodded. “Fine. As fine as I can be now that I see the tractor under thousands of pounds of roof and wall debris.”
“You didn’t know the tractor was in there?” Surprise furrowed his brow.
“Nope.” She made a face. “I parked it here when I realized I had to run to CeeCee’s school. Right here. There’s no way the wind could have pushed it into the barn, is there?”
“Not feasibly.”
“Then how?” She paused when she spotted Gramps talking enthusiastically with a very patient dump truck driver. “He must have moved it. After he woke up. Every now and again he’ll hop on it as if ready to work. Sometimes it’s a chore that needs to be done. Sometimes it’s a memory of what he used to do. He must have come out here and moved the tractor before you found him.”
“Into the barn. During the windstorm?” Jax looked disbelieving. “Do you know how close he came to being killed?”
His tone stung. She folded her arms, then unfolded them. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cower again. Not now. Not ever. “I do now. I can’t imagine what he was thinking.”
Jax stared at her, and she read his gaze because no one knew what Gramps was thinking. Or what he might do from moment to moment. It was obvious that Gramps couldn’t be left alone anymore. Not even for short periods of time. How was she going to manage that with everything else on her plate?
Libby didn’t have a clue.
She turned back toward the cleanup. “We’ll make sure someone’s with him from now on. We’ve been seizing the good moments as if they were the norm, but they’re not. Not anymore. It’s time we faced the fact that now they’re the exception.”
“I like to see them as a gift.”
His words surprised her.
“When we get those moments of lucidity. Of recognition. An hour here or there.” A slight wrinkle formed between his eyes. “Like opening a curtain on the past.”
“That’s exactly what it’s like.” She faced him more squarely. “He wasn’t this bad when I got here last year to see my grandmother through her hospice time. She loved him so much. When she saw what was happening, she made me promise to keep him on the farm as long as possible. To let him find peace among his apples. And then Central Valley Fruit stepped in to buy the farm, Gramps had a mighty row with their sales rep, and Grandma died while they were arguing the merits of small versus big at the top of their lungs. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven himself for not being at her side when she died. When he remembers, that is.”
Central Valley Fruit.
The business his family began when irrigation was approved for the arid valley soil a hundred years ago. Central Valley Fruit was a megaproducer that had helped put Washington State on the map as a premier source of fruits, not just for American stores, but internationally. With European fruit production decreasing, Central Valley Fruit was happy to fill the void. His father had filled him in on their need for more land a few weeks ago, and available land wasn’t an easy find. So they’d put in a bid on this farm? Probably so.
“They contacted us again a few weeks ago. They said that our specific location would be especially good for certain apples because of the microclimate of a slope facing southeast.”
“And what did you tell them?” He didn’t mention that he understood the ins and outs of selective orcharding.
“I didn’t say anything. I left it to Gramps because the farm is still in his name, and he was adamant as he told the fruit rep to leave.”
“So he left?”
“He did. And he didn’t seem insulted. He said…” She paused a moment as if gathering her thoughts. Or maybe her emotions. “He’d give us time to think about it because he understood what a big decision it was. And he left the contract with Gramps, just in case.”
That would be Kenneth, his older brother. Kenneth had a heart. But he also had a goal, and if they needed more land, Ken would find it.
“Total world domination of the world’s fruit market.” That was a tongue-in-cheek corporate goal.
They used to laugh about it but Libby’s expression showed this was not a laughing matter.
The acquisition of land near the Yakima and Wenatchee