A Hopeful Harvest. Ruth Logan Herne
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like that. Well, Cleve, we had a bad windstorm, as bad as I’ve seen it get, and it took down the big barn and the smaller one, too. So we got them cleaned up today, and we’ll have supplies brought in to start rebuilding soon.”
“Supper’s ready.” CeeCee dashed down the drive to meet them. “Mommy said to tell you.”
Cleve glanced back as they moved toward the house. “Them big trucks came, right?”
Jax encouraged the memory. “They did. They cleared the site for us.”
“I told Mother. I told her our insurance policy was plenty good enough and she argued to beat the band but I stood my ground.”
“You did just fine, Gramps.” Libby shot Jax a look of gratitude as he helped Cleve up the stairs. “It all worked out.”
“Won’t she be surprised when she gets home and sees I was right all along?” Cleve almost preened at the thought. “She’s smart as a whip but there’s no flies on me. If you know what I mean.”
“That means you’re smart.” CeeCee offered the old fellow an adorable grin. “You told me that and I believe it, Gramps.”
Cleve’s smile grew. He took a seat. For the moment, he was happy. Satisfied. But when Jax glanced back at Libby, he read the emotions there.
She knew it wouldn’t last. She understood. But how could one woman handle an elderly, sometimes contentious, dementia patient and run an apple orchard at harvest time? With a little girl who loved to run around?
She couldn’t.
But she could with his help, and that made it a no-brainer. As long as he could keep his distance.
“Can you say grace, Mr. Jax? Please?”
He froze in place, wondering how to reply.
Libby laid one hand on Cleve’s and one on his, and gave a soft blessing. A sweet note of thanks. Then she looked up and met his gaze. Held that look longer than she needed to.
She saw him.
The real him.
He sensed it in her eyes, in her touch, in the prayer. Somehow she glimpsed the soldier behind the civilian facade. The soulfulness in her gaze reached out to him.
His heart sped up even though it shouldn’t. Even though it couldn’t.
She held his gaze one beat longer, then smiled.
When she did that, he realized something else. She might be helping him as much as he helped her.
And that wasn’t a thought he dared to contemplate.
“The town won’t approve a building permit to replace the barn until they have a plan in front of them,” Jax told her the next morning. He tipped his army cap to block the angle of the morning sun as they waited for CeeCee’s bus. “I didn’t know what you had in mind, because there are several ways to go. We should sit down and talk about it. Get a plan drawn up.”
Should she? Libby wondered as CeeCee’s bus pulled to a stop in front of them. She kissed CeeCee goodbye and waved until the bus was up the road while she considered the question.
Did it make sense to rebuild the barn if she was going to sell the orchard?
It didn’t. Yet it felt wrong not to, as if she was shrugging off part of her family’s past. It couldn’t be built in time for the current harvest, so what was the point? “I need to really think about this,” she told him. “There are multiple issues and we’re in a time crunch. I’m in danger of having the Galas overripen, and no place to put them. I asked the Bakers if they wanted to buy them wholesale and market them with theirs, but it’s a bumper crop year and they’re overloaded. Who would ever think a great harvest was a bad thing?”
“A bumper crop year is perfect for cider production,” he noted.
“Gramps was the only one who could get the press to work,” she told him. “And the press was in the small barn that no longer exists. When I was a little girl they would buy tons of apples from the other farms to make cider. It was amazing to see. Now most of the apples are produced by the major fruit producers and Gramps stopped pressing cider when it became too difficult to find enough affordable apples. Did you know that our state exports over thirty percent of the apple crop now?”
He hesitated momentarily. “That bothers you?”
She answered as she moved toward the house. “No. It’s smart marketing. There’s only so much that can be used in one area or even one country. While that drives up the retail prices, it doesn’t have the same effect on wholesale prices. People expect us to be lower priced without the middleman but it’s a narrow profit margin.”
Jax didn’t hide his surprise quickly enough and she frowned. “You didn’t think I knew about margins and break-even levels and median production, did you?”
He made a face. “Busted.”
“I have a bachelor’s degree in supply-side logistics and merchandising, but when I got my degree I realized that I didn’t care as much about shuffling goods as I did about the presentation of goods. The final package. But one feeds the other, I guess.”
“The producer cares about one and the retailer rules the other.”
“Exactly.” She paused by the door and faced the now-empty barn site before addressing him again. “I want to take a couple of days to figure things out. About the barns, the rebuilding, the deductibles, what makes sense in the long run. I’m not fooling myself about Gramps’s condition.” She lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t know if it makes sense to put all that money into this property and then walk away. And if I don’t do it, I’m putting another nail in the farm’s coffin by inaction, which will limit my choices even further.”
He started to speak but paused when she held up a hand. “Give me three days. I’ll pray. I’ll sound it out with a few others around town and gather some advice. I’m always better when I have the facts surrounding me.”
“Fair enough.” He motioned toward the orchard. “I’ve got some bins being dropped off. We’ll get the early apples off the trees this week. I rented some cold storage space just outside town.”
She frowned. “That’s pricey.”
“The insurance had a clause for rental facilities as needed. It wasn’t a generous amount, but it will cover a couple of weeks. Enough to buy you a little time.”
He’d seen a need and developed a plan, which made him seem even more ideal because he’d not only saved her time, he might have saved the early apples. “That’s perfect.”
He was carrying a laptop bag over his shoulder. He motioned to it. “Can I take a spot on the back porch and run some figures? If you have Wi-Fi, that is.”
“We do and yes. Unless you’d be more comfortable inside?”
He headed for the shaded porch. “Too nice a day. When I was a kid, a day like this was called Washington Perfect. It got to be a saying with my brothers when something went right. We’d look at each other and say, ‘Washington Perfect.’”
“How many brothers do you have?” she asked, but the moment she did, he went quiet. Then he answered normally.
“Two. One older, one younger.”
She was going to ask if they lived locally, but he was already rounding the corner of the house. Just as well. She didn’t need to know personal stuff about him. Nor him about her. She was okay keeping her marriage to Keith to herself.
You’re afraid he’ll think you were stupid.