Growing Season Page 11

  “Hullo!” Two more men popped in from the back of the store. The younger one, around Auggie’s age, had a rounded face and graying brown hair. His crisp tee shirt sported the local high school’s colors and mascot. He held the door for the older man, who was clad in a bright plaid shirt and spotless overalls and shuffled a bit as he came up the aisle.

  “Hey, Jerry and George,” Auggie raised his hand in greeting. “Melinda’s opening the store today. It’s her first day. Where’s Doc?”

  “He’s out on a call, someone’s horse is in labor. I’m Jerry Simmons.” The younger man shook her hand. “I’m also the mayor of this fair city.”

  Jerry grinned at the surprise on her face. “As you can maybe guess, it’s not a full-time job. Far from it. I was the principal up at the high school before the districts merged. I took the early-retirement buyout and now, I just spend my days helping out the great citizens of Prosper.”

  “That means he knows all the gossip,” broke in the older man as Auggie roared with laughter. “I’m George Freitag. Glad to have you here. Frank will rest easy knowing you’re helping out until he’s back on his feet.”

  George squeezed her elbow with a weak grip that showed his age. He had to be at least eighty. “Can’t wait to see Bill this morning, tell him about the chicken coop he cut for me. Took me a while, but I finally got it done yesterday.”

  “Oh, yes, Bill told me he was working on it. Where were your chickens living before?” I never had this kind of conversation at my last job, she thought.

  “We’ve got an old shed out back that I had fitted with roosts and egg boxes. But the run wasn’t sturdy. It was time to give the girls a better house.”

  Auggie settled into a chair with a mug. The coffee bar was apparently self-serve. “We should let Melinda get started. She’s probably got a to-do list from Miriam.”

  The three men all looked at her expectantly. For a moment, she thought they wanted her to recite it.

  “I just wanted to browse around a bit and get my bearings, maybe sweep the floors. It looked like the plants out front could use a drink.”

  Jerry stepped forward. “Watering can’s under the front counter. Just fill it up in the restroom. I can do it, if you like. Saves you getting the ladder.” He tipped his head over at the wooden one propped in the front corner.

  “Wow, that would be great. I hope I can just figure out where everything is.” Melinda hadn’t expected anyone else in the store at this hour, but this was turning into a blessing. She would get all the help she needed, and then some.

  “Won’t be too hard,” Auggie waved her worries away. “Pet supplies are in the second aisle, and that includes some farm animal stuff, too. Big feed bags are in the back, Bill handles those. You’ve got your groceries and housewares in the third aisle, gardening and seasonal in the fourth row, right there by the register.”

  He gestured at the refrigerated case behind him. “Perishables in there. Then the aisle on this outside wall, of course, has your hardware stuff, like tools, screws and so on. Clothing and related merchandise on the other side, and back by the stairs.”

  Melinda was impressed. “Sounds like you know your way around here.” Maybe she was making this too hard.

  “I worked here during high school, back when your grandpa and grandma still had the store. Then later, I moved over to the co-op. When it came up for grabs I was ready to buy it and run it, thanks to what I learned at Prosper Hardware.”

  “This store’s roots run deep in this area,” George reached over to the cabinet’s counter and added more powdered creamer to his mug. He was clearly the elder of the group, and the others turned to listen, intent.

  “I remember coming here as a boy, especially on Saturdays when everyone came into town to do their shopping. That was a big to-do for me and my brothers and sisters. Back then, there were more stores to browse and crowds of people to watch, but my favorite spot was in front of that glass case over there, since it was filled with penny candy.”

  “Sorry the inventory has changed a bit,” Melinda smiled at George, whose face had lit up over his memories. “But we’ve got some nice prepackaged, processed sugar.” She made a grand gesture at the candy bars and sweet snacks that now took up just a portion of the display case inside the long front counter. Those treats were supplemented by packs of gum and small bags of chips.

  George adjusted the glasses on his nose and peered over to the case. “You know what, I’ll take a Snickers for the road when I leave. Just won’t tell Mary, I’m not supposed to be eating that stuff anymore.”

  “See, Melinda, you’ve made your first sale,” Auggie slapped his knee with his palm. “Nothing to it.”

  “Good thing you aren’t taking delivery until later, George,” she grimaced. “I don’t know how to run the register yet.”

  “I can help you with that.” Bill came in from the back, tying on his tool apron as he walked. “I see you got Jerry watering the hanging baskets. Nice work. He’s a master gardener, you know, got a green thumb.”

  “I may need his help, then. I’m renting the house out at the Schermann brothers’ farm, and Horace planted a massive garden. I haven’t had time to do more than a walk through and I’m not even sure what some of it is.”

  Bill didn’t seem surprised by this bit of news, and she figured Aunt Miriam had told him all about her living situation. But Auggie and George looked up in shock from their coffee, and Jerry, who had just come back inside, looked like he might drop the watering can.

  “You’re taking over the farm?” George asked quietly but raised his eyebrows.

  Auggie looked as if he wanted to say something, but was so shocked he couldn’t get the words out.

  “I’m just staying there for the summer, while I help out here,” she shrugged and tried to keep her voice casual. This was breaking news. What she said, and how she said it, would be spread around the county by nightfall.

  “Horace went up to the nursing home in Elm Springs the other day. Wilbur’s roommate moved out.” She rounded the counter and made a show of putting her purse on the shelf below and arranging the pens in the little bucket. “Kevin, their nephew, was trying to come up with a way to get Horace to go, too, at least for a while. Horace said he’d only go stay with Wilbur if someone was living at the farm, looking after the animals.”

  “And his dog,” Auggie nodded, seeming to collect his thoughts. “He loves that dog.”

  “You’re going to do it, Melinda?” She couldn’t tell if the look on George’s face came from shock or admiration.

  “I’m going to try. It’s only for a few months.” She noticed the questions on the men’s faces and decided honesty was the best approach. “I grew up in Swanton and no, I don’t have any experience with farm animals. But the chicken and sheep chores aren’t much right now. And I’m spending as much time with Hobo as possible.” This was directed at Auggie, who at last gave an encouraging nod.

  “That’s wonderful.” Jerry, regaining his ability to move, set the watering can on the counter. “First, you’re helping out Frank and Miriam, and now this elderly man.” His expression grew wistful. “I know how hard it can be to get an older relative to give up farming. I went through that with my parents just last year. They were over west of Chariton and finally moved into a little house there. They love it now, but it was a hard transition.”

  “Mary and I came to town of our own accord,” George lifted the cup balanced on his knee and took a satisfied sip. “But somedays I still drive out by the old place. A young couple bought us out, they’re making some nice improvements to the house. I see their kids running around in the yard and I know we did the right thing. Besides,” he brightened, “we brought our chickens with us. And Bill, that new coop is great, by the way.”

  “Glad it all worked out, George.” Bill unlocked the register and counted the drawer, writing the total on a tablet that slid underneath. “I’ll show Melinda how to run this thing and we’ll be ready to open.”

 
; She quickly learned Prosper Hardware was either packed and busy, with people lined up at the register, or so quiet there was time to fix displays and just hang out with Esther and Bill. And she never knew what kind of request was going to come her way next.

  Early that morning, she helped a woman pick out the right motor oil to mix with gas for her lawnmower. Then a gaggle of little kids rushed in after a special summer story time at the library, jostling each other as they chose candy out of the glass case. One farmer needed some medicine for his cows. It was something the store didn’t carry and, after consulting with Bill, she sent the man down to the veterinary clinic. Several people dropped in for eggs and milk, and more came by to purchase lumber for various projects. She’d been glad to hand those customers over to Bill.

  Melinda spent her lunch break on one of the iron benches in front of the store. As she sat in the shade of the store’s awning, swigging her soda, she was struck by how different this view was from the one she had enjoyed for years from her favorite bench in the park across from WP&S. There, she’d been anonymous and blissfully ignored, able to let her mind wander as the crowds of office workers hurried by. Here, she was getting curious stares but friendly waves.

  But she found herself enjoying the view from her bench and watching people come and go. Many of the vehicles in the next block were clustered in front of the Watering Hole. A faint fried smell drifted out each time the bar’s front door opened. A handful of people went in and out of City Hall. She couldn’t see down the street and around the slight bend to the co-op, but she assumed Auggie’s shop was as bustling at noon as it was in the morning. The library seemed silent once story time was over, and she wondered what its hours were. She’d have to get a card and see what it had to offer.

  It was hard to tell if the insurance office across from the bar was open. The building’s front steps, however, were freshly painted a dark gray and the hanging flowers out front looked robust, as if they were being watered regularly. At the far end of Main, she spied a maroon truck with a metal tackle box parked in front of the veterinary clinic. Doc must have returned from delivering that horse’s foal. She supposed such a call would be routine for the town’s longtime vet, but found herself anxiously wanting to know what happened. Maybe Doc would be there for coffee the next morning, and she could find out.

  The day passed quickly and with no major upsets. She had just one moment of true panic when a customer rushed in looking for a certain size of lag screw. Her communication skills served her well as, heart pounding but with a smile on her face, she guided him to the fasteners aisle and made general comments about the inventory, promising herself that she’d memorize the contents of the cubbyholes as soon as possible. It was a relief when the man spotted what he needed and thanked her profusely for her help.

  She was really committed to this now, Melinda decided as she waved to the customer as he left the store, a tiny brown sack under his arm and the bells jingling above the door. A little friendliness would take her a long way, and the rest would come with time.

  CHAPTER 10

  Melinda’s legs ached from a long day on her feet, but she felt triumphant as she drove west out of Prosper that afternoon. For the first time in several weeks, she felt useful. She had a purpose, a reason to get up in the morning. She’d helped so many people, guided so many customers to what they needed. She had survived her first day, and she knew she could go back tomorrow and do it again.

  But first, it was time for an icy glass of lemonade at the picnic table. As she neared her driveway, the sight of the white farmhouse winking at her through the windbreak made her smile. Even better, Hobo was waiting for her when she pulled up in the yard.

  “Hey, Hobo,” she patted him on the head as she hauled herself out of the car. “Everything go OK today? Did you keep the sheep in their yard?”

  He touched her palm with his nose, but then tried to peer around her into the car, his brown eyes searching.

  “I’m sorry, Hobo, he’s not here. I don’t have Horace with me.” She crouched on the gravel and looked into his sad eyes. “But I’m here to take care of you. We’re going to have a great summer. And … I think I know what you might like.” She brightened her tone and Hobo tipped his head at a questioning angle. “Let me check in the kitchen and see if there’s anything special in there for you.”

  A light blinked on the answering machine. It was Mabel, calling to say she was coming over Monday morning to show Melinda how to can strawberries. Angie was coming, too, another neighbor. Melinda wasn’t going to be lonely this summer. And she wasn’t going to be bored, either.

  She poured a glass of lemonade and added some ice, then reached into the cabinet near the stove for the package of dog treats. Hobo was waiting on the steps with just the slightest wag in his tail, as if he knew exactly what she had fetched for him. She shook some of the snacks onto the sidewalk, and Hobo snatched them up. A few happy slurps from his water bowl and he flopped down, content, in the cool dirt under the picnic table.

  Melinda sat on the north side of the weathered wood table, which allowed her a sweeping view of the fields stretching past the barn. She glanced at her phone, which she’d brought outside with the intention of going through messages, but didn’t feel like scrolling through it just now. She had constantly been on her phone at WP&S, online or texting, “plugged in,” as everyone liked to say. But now, stretching her legs under the picnic table, she thought of how much time and stress had gone into keeping up with every text, every message the moment it came in.

  Sitting in a cubicle texting people who were just across the room wasn’t really being connected. She’d had more face-to-face conversations during her first day at Prosper Hardware than in probably an entire month at her last job, and had been so engaged in her work that she rarely glanced at her phone. Many of those conversations were about the weather, or Uncle Frank’s health, or which aisle held the cereal. All of them were with strangers, but the friendliness shown by the customers made her feel welcome.

  Melinda felt her shoulders relax as she watched the ewes, who were clustered in the front pasture. Some of them seemed to be sniffing around for the freshest, newest grass they could find; others were happy to stuff their faces with whatever was in reach. She leaned over the table’s weathered boards and tried to see down the lane to where her dad, Kevin and Horace had mended the fence. It looked sturdy enough to her unskilled eye, but what about the rest of the perimeter? She should walk the pasture line all around, check for broken wires or gaps that might beckon the sheep to break out. And find tools in the basement she could use to fix fence if she had to. And, of course, ask Ed how to do it.

  The chickens were clucking and scratching in their run, picking up grubs and making little inroads in the dirt. Melinda could make out one strutting just inside the screen door. She wondered if that was Pansy, patrolling her turf. How would she ever tell them all apart? Unlike the sheep, the chickens had no ear tags. She had managed so far to distract the hens long enough to pop the eggs out of the nesting boxes, but wondered how long her luck would last. Kevin said he was trying to get out of Horace a list of people who bought eggs on a regular basis, but didn’t have it yet. There weren’t too many, Kevin assured her, but she didn’t know when the kitchen phone might ring and there’d be someone on the line, wanting to stop by for a dozen or two.

  Still thinking about fences and her lack of skills to fix them, she realized the wire panels that made up the chicken yard would need to be checked regularly, too. The last thing she needed was more animals on the loose or a predator getting in. The chicken coop looked solid but it could use a fresh coat of paint, she decided, smiling as she thought about how cute the little shed would be with some improvements. Of course, the other outbuildings could use paint, too. And the garage, whose boards were a faded, dull white. She swiveled around to look at the house. Its comforting lines would be even more lovely with a freshening up. Another coat of white paint, maybe some shutters on the windows. A muted gr
een would be nice …

  She rubbed the side of her face. “There’s not enough hours in the day, and not enough cash in my wallet for any of that,” she said to Hobo, who thumped his tail in the dirt. “Besides, this is really Horace’s place. And yours, too.”

  But there was one task that Kevin had asked her to tackle, and that was the garden. Lemonade in hand, she wandered over to the plot northwest of the house, wondering how she could at least keep Horace’s handiwork alive, if not thriving. She found herself tightening her grip on the glass as she evaluated the plot from one side to the other. It was substantial, maybe three times the size of her parents’ garden in Swanton. It was obvious that Horace had poured hours of his time and energy into designing and planting the plot. She could imagine him crouching on the fresh earth, patting his seeds and plants into rod-straight rows, with Hobo right beside him, supervising.

  The recycled popsicle sticks on the rows’ ends were scrawled with the names of plants that she knew well. There were carrots, onions, potatoes, then several short stretches of pumpkins that made a square patch of their own on the far northeast end. Those wouldn’t need much tending. But then there was a sign for “pole beans” and two rows of sturdy plants that were only a foot high, and no poles in sight. She’d have to ask Kevin about that. Then more than a dozen tomato plants, still short and tender, each clinging to a wire cone. But they were surrounded by round, fence-panel cages that were at least five feet high and two feet across. Surely they wouldn’t get that big? What kind of tomatoes were they, anyway? There were no tags to tell her.

  Then peppers, and what looked to be a few rows of sweet corn stretching to the sky along the back edge. Next were clusters of plants with elephant-ear leaves that she recognized as rhubarb. Finally, on the western edge of the plot, were the rows of strawberry plants.

  They were robust and healthy, just as Mabel had predicted, with heavy clusters of glowing fruits peeking from under their canopy of leaves. She couldn’t believe how many strawberries there were, hundreds of them ready to be picked, even though the birds had apparently been enjoying some, too. She noticed a rotting berry in one dirt path, smashed and buzzing with flies, and wondered how many neighborhood raccoons were out here after dark, frolicking in the moonlight as they stuffed their jaws with berries.