Growing Season Page 14

The morning of George’s birthday, Melinda hurried to make sure she was the first one to arrive at Prosper Hardware. She arranged the jam and a platter of biscuits on the sideboard, setting out napkins, small plates and plastic knives. Then she began to tidy the store as usual, picking up where Esther had left off the evening before.

  She was sorting the display of nails and screws when she heard mumbled conversation and then the squeak of the back door. It was George and Doc. She just called out a “hello” and continued with her work, waiting to see their reaction.

  “What’s all this?” George stopped, his eyes growing wide.

  “I heard somebody is turning eighty-two today,” Melinda said. “And I don’t think it’s Doc.”

  “Are you sure it’s not Auggie?” George laughed, but she could tell he was pleased. “Those biscuits look wonderful. You made them yourself?”

  “I like to bake now and then,” she offered, setting down a pack of nails and joining the men at the sideboard. “Now that I’ve been here a few weeks, I promise to start contributing to the morning snacks once in a while. Have a seat, guest of honor. I’ll get your coffee. Lots of creamer, right?”

  “I’ll make you up a plate, George,” Doc said, slicing a biscuit and piling the halves with preserves. “Is this homemade jam?”

  Melinda tried to keep her grin in check, her voice casual. “Just made it the other day, strawberry-rhubarb. That’s just some of the leftovers I had in the fridge.”

  “Well, I think I speak for the others when I say we’ll be happy to sample anything you want to bring in,” Doc said, passing George his share and then getting his own biscuit and coffee. Melinda went through the line next, then Auggie arrived with Jerry right behind him. It wasn’t long before only one biscuit remained on the platter.

  “Bill’s lucky he’ll be here by eight, or we wouldn’t leave him any,” Jerry said, wiping the crumbs off his hands. “I haven’t had strawberry-rhubarb jam in years, it’s not something you can get off the shelf at a store. Actually,” he turned to Melinda, “I know you’re busy, but I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  “Sure, I’ll try. Your expertise has helped me keep Horace’s garden going. What is it?”

  “Well, you know the Fourth of July festival’s coming up and it’s the biggest event of the year. Most of the plans are done, but we need help getting the word out. Nancy and I were talking about it yesterday, and she’s swamped.” He hesitated for a moment. “Might you be able to put together a press release? Our city website isn’t much to speak of, but the info could go there, too. Maybe you’d have some new ideas to get the word out?”

  She might as well say yes. Auggie had mentioned the festival planning committee on her first day at the store, and she’d forgotten all about it. It was clear her friends wanted her input, and her mind was already running ahead to all the possibilities.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “You know, I could use a little help, too,” Doc ventured. “Now, this you’d get paid for.”

  Jerry started to chuckle. “No, I’m serious,” Doc said. “I always drive my truck in the Fourth of July parade. I’ve been meaning to get some new signs made up for it. My son was going to do it, but he’s busy with baseball right now. What do you say?”

  Before she could respond, Bill came in from the back. “That reminds me. We need to do something for the parade, even if it’s just a vehicle with signs, like Doc. Miriam and Frank always handle that and with everything going on, I just thought of it now. And we’ll want to have special store hours during the festival, maybe offer something to draw people in to shop.”

  Melinda sighed but found herself smiling. “Oh, dear. Doc, let me know what your ideas are about the signs. Bill, let’s talk to Esther when she comes in at noon. And Jerry, I guess you’ll see me at the next committee meeting. When is it?”

  That’s how, two nights later, she hurried home from the store to do chores and gulp down some leftovers. Hobo was puzzled when he saw her rush out again.

  “Don’t wait up,” she called over to him. “I may be home late.” So much for the quiet country life, she thought as she backed around the car and headed down the driveway.

  CHAPTER 13

  Property owners along Main Street unfurled flags and set out patriotic decorations in the days before Prosper’s Fourth of July festival. The hanging baskets in the tiny business district were in full bloom, and a group of volunteers scrubbed the park benches resting up and down the sidewalks.

  While an air of excitement and anticipation spread throughout the town, a range of emotions filled Frank and Miriam Lange’s Victorian house on Cherry Street. The family was thankful Frank was finally able to come home, which allowed Miriam to drop her daily seventy-mile round trip to Mason City. She was now able to come by the store a few times a week to settle the books, but Frank couldn’t be left alone for long.

  At least, that’s what Miriam said. Frank disagreed.

  “I’m supposed to rest, but I don’t need to be hovered over twenty-four-seven,” he grumbled to Melinda one night when she stopped by their home with a hamburger casserole and a large container of fresh-picked strawberries. “I’ve read every magazine in the house and all the puzzles have been put together at least once. Thank goodness there’s plenty of baseball on TV.”

  Uncle Frank was pale but despite his complaints, Melinda could tell he was glad to be home. His doctors warned Frank he wouldn’t be returning to work anytime soon, a directive that had him discouraged and grumpy. Prosper Hardware would push him to spend too many hours on his feet and provide too much stress for someone recovering from heart surgery.

  “Am I glad you’re here,” Miriam whispered to Melinda as she washed the berries in a colander at the kitchen sink. “Frank’s driving me crazy because there’s so little that he can do. That man’s worked ten hours a day since high school, first at that grocery over in Swanton and then at Prosper Hardware once we were married.”

  Miriam flicked her paring knife in swift strokes as she sliced the berries. “That store is his life; mine, too. I miss it. I miss the people and the comings and goings and hearing all the news.”

  “Well, don’t worry. I’ll keep you updated on all the gossip,” Melinda wedged her casserole into the refrigerator. From the look of its cramped shelves, Frank and Miriam wouldn’t run out of donated meals for quite some time.

  “Bill and Esther have taught me what I need to know, and they handle the rest. Maybe you could arrange for some of Frank’s buddies to come by when you need to get out for an hour or two? You’ll need to find some way to let off steam. When we have a crazy day at the store, I go home and pull weeds in Horace’s garden. But then, even when we don’t have a crazy day, I still have to pull weeds.”

  Miriam gave a short laugh, then sighed.

  “I’ll take your help as long as I can get it. I’m starting to think Frank may never be able to go back to work, at least not full time. But I don’t know how he’d ever accept retirement, especially since I’m nowhere near ready to hand the store over to anyone else, I’m only sixty-three. What will Frank do with himself if he can’t run Prosper Hardware?”

  Then Aunt Miriam answered her own question. “He’ll drive me nuts, that’s what he’ll do.”

  Melinda saw her chance to bring up an idea that she, Bill and Esther had been discussing for a few days now. The two-day festival would bring visitors from miles around, and the more that came into Prosper Hardware, the better. Along with special discounts on certain merchandise, they had come up with the idea of hosting an open house.

  “Aunt Miriam,” she began hesitantly, “what if Frank could come back to the store, if only for a few hours? It would boost his spirits and give him a chance to personally thank people for all their support.”

  Miriam blinked but didn’t immediately shoot the idea down, so Melinda plunged forward.

  “Bill and Esther and I were thinking it would be great to have Frank there on the Fourth of July, as sort of a ‘welcome home’ ce
lebration. We’d make him a comfortable spot by the register, bring in some lemonade and cookies. Nothing too extravagant. We know Frank wouldn’t want to feel like some kind of sideshow act.”

  “I think he’d go with a circus theme if it gave him a chance to set foot in the store.” Miriam considered for a moment, then nodded. “I love that idea. We were just talking last night about how much it’s meant to both of us that people have called, or sent flowers, or brought food. The refrigerator’s full, as you can see, and there’s more baked goods coming in every day.”

  Miriam made herself comfortable in one of the kitchen chairs, motioning for Melinda to take the opposite one. “I’m sure you’ve got this all worked out in your head. Let’s hear the plan.”

  She was right, of course. Melinda’s mind had been working overtime since she joined the festival committee.

  “I think we’d run a short ‘thank you’ item in the newspapers, and include the time and date for the open house.” She ticked the fine points off on her fingers. “Maybe plan it for the two hours immediately following the parade, when the most people will be in town. Bill’s going to put the signs from last year on his truck for the parade, and we can make something simple to attach to them reminding people about the open house. We could make a large card from poster board and have everyone sign it for Frank.”

  It was hard for Melinda to contain her excitement about the festival, now that she had joined the planning committee. Most of the events were the same year to year, but she had discovered that promoting the celebration was where committee members felt they were falling short. It was a perfect fit for her skills.

  “Did you know that Jerry started a Facebook page for the city two years ago? No one has had time to work on it, so it’s been just sitting there. I’ll be posting items about the festival there and also on the city’s website. The press release about the celebration goes out in a few days. I’d include the store’s open house in that, just like all the other activities in town. What do you think?”

  Aunt Miriam’s answer came in the form of a big hug.

  “I think I’ve got the best niece anyone could ask for. Frank was really down the other day when the doctors said he couldn’t ride in the back of Bill’s truck in the parade. It’ll be too hot and humid. But this way, Frank can still meet with people for a few hours, inside where it’s cool. I’ll get busy making cookies and will get the lemonade, too.”

  “And I’ve got more news.”

  Aunt Miriam rubbed her temple but tried to smile. “It’s not a job offer already, is it? Because I’d hate for you to have to go back so soon. I mean, I know that is your home now …”

  “It’s not that,” Melinda shrugged. “I’ve been looking, but there’s just not that much out there to apply for, anything I’d really want. Besides, my subletter isn’t moving out until the third week of August.” She saw her aunt’s shoulders relax.

  “My news is that Cassie and Susan are coming down for the weekend, the one after the Fourth of July. Kevin said if I wanted to take on any painting projects, he’d provide the supplies. I know it’s not my house, but the living room and kitchen are in desperate need and I’m itching to take it on.”

  “I’m so glad your friends can come for a visit.” Miriam selected a covered dish from the refrigerator and set the oven to preheat. “Prosper will be a big change from what they’re used to.”

  While Melinda was excited to see Cassie and Susan again, she felt a little nervous about the weekend. “Cassie is a city girl through and through, but at least Susan is from a small town in western Iowa. She’ll feel more at home than Cassie will.”

  “Well, I’m sure you girls will have a great time. You deserve a break, honey, even if it includes painting someone else’s kitchen.” Miriam winked, then reached for a divided container on the kitchen counter. “Well, I better get these pills in to Frank.”

  Melinda busied herself cutting slices of angel food cake for supper, her mind on her friends’ upcoming visit. Susan and Cassie wouldn’t turn their noses up at the weathered farmhouse or mock the deepening “farmer’s tan” on her forearms. Both of them had been so supportive of her “adventure,” as Cassie loved to call it.

  So, what was it, then? Melinda paused with the serrated knife in her hand. She was the one who was changing. She hadn’t been away from Minneapolis for quite a month yet, but it felt like much longer. Her old job and her former life there seemed distant, and not just because they were a three hours’ drive away. Would she feel as close to her friends as she had before?

  She missed Minneapolis, of course. But she had to admit she was happy here, more content than she expected to be. She found herself coming in the back door of Prosper Hardware in the mornings with a sense of happy anticipation, wondering who she might meet that day and what funny or odd request would come from a customer. While she had a circle of close friends in the city, she now realized she really didn’t know that many people. Here, everyone was connected somehow.

  Melinda was even more surprised by how much she enjoyed caring for Horace’s menagerie. Watching the sheep graze in the pasture and the chickens waddle about brightened her day. The cats were a challenge, but a rewarding one. And then there was Hobo. She still sometimes found him sitting at the end of the driveway in the evening dusk, watching for Horace. She would drop everything and go down the lane to sit with him for a while, wrap her arm around his plush brown fur and scratch his ears. But the other night, he had astonished her by joining her for a walk up to the creek bridge. She couldn’t imagine Horace had roamed very far, but she was honored to be Hobo’s substitute walking buddy and told him so.

  “It’ll be interesting to see how Hobo reacts to having company,” Melinda said as Miriam came back into the kitchen with an empty water glass in her hand and a grim look on her face. Frank hated taking his medicine and made sure everyone knew it. “I’ll need to put fresh sheets on Horace’s bed downstairs and tidy up Wilbur’s old bedroom upstairs, too, and make up that bed.”

  “Well, you girls could just make a regular slumber party of it,” Miriam said as she put the casserole in the oven. “Spread out downstairs, sleep on the floor in the living room. That’d be fun.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” Melinda laughed, knowing that in some ways, she would always seem young to Aunt Miriam. “I’m stiff enough from pulling all those weeds in the garden and being on my feet all day at the store. A soft bed’s what I require, and Susan and Cassie, too. Especially since I plan to put them to work painting.”

  “Well, I’ve got more work coming, too.” Aunt Miriam smiled and reached for the stack of cookbooks resting on a high shelf. “This open house is going to take more cookies than will probably fit on the counters of this kitchen. But the fun question is, what kinds should I make?”

  CHAPTER 14

  The Fourth of July dawned warm and muggy, and Melinda feared the skies might literally rain on Prosper’s parade.

  She couldn’t believe how many people were already in town when she drove in just before seven. Main Street’s parking spaces were roped off as part of the parade route, but the elementary school’s parking lot and the side streets’ curbs were rapidly filling with vehicles.

  As she angled into a lucky parking spot just down from the veterinary clinic, she was filled with excitement and a little trepidation. Her family had been coming to the Prosper Fourth of July celebration for decades, and it remained one of her fondest childhood memories. Since she moved away for college and a career, she had missed some of the annual festivals, instead choosing to attend a balcony cookout or a backyard celebration in the city. She hadn’t been to the festival in more than five years and wondered if it would feel different, now that she was …

  “What am I, exactly?” She put the car in park, the sun already beating hot and steady through the windshield. “A resident? Not really. An employee? Yes, but only temporarily. A local? Well, I guess I am, for now.”

  Doc appeared from behind his freshly w
axed maroon truck, wearing a maroon-and-white “Prosper Vet Svcs” jersey.

  “He’s really taken my marketing advice to heart,” Melinda marveled as she returned Doc’s wave. Just last night, she had finished painting the plywood signs to hang on Doc’s truck. It had been only been a few hours of work but her little marketing project had gone well, and she again had that feeling of accomplishment when a request came together for a client.

  Doc rubbed his hands together and peered expectantly into the back of her hatchback. “It’ll be hot this afternoon, no doubt, but the rain should hold off until tomorrow. At least, that’s what Auggie says.”

  The Prosper co-op had served as an official weather station for more than seventy years, a series of gadgets mounted on a wide ledge outside one of the office windows. The company’s storage room held temperature and precipitation logs going back even further, to the early 1900s. Auggie had proudly taken on those duties when he purchased the business decades ago, and enjoyed sharing his forecasts with anyone who would listen.

  “Let’s hope Auggie is right.” Melinda reached in for the signs. “You know this is an important day when the coffee klatch is canceled.”

  Doc laughed, then whistled. “Well, look at these. I’d say they were worth every penny. By the way, I’ve got your check in the office.”

  She circled for a few minutes to find a parking spot closer to Prosper Hardware. The sweet, yeasty smell of the pancake grill set up in the Prosper Methodist Church parking lot followed her to the store’s back door.

  “I got extra ones from the bank over in Swanton yesterday. Today’s always the highest volume day of the year,” Bill called over his shoulder as he set up a folding table for the open house. They planned to serve Miriam’s cookies, waiting in plastic containers in the back room, from the sideboard’s counter, and put the lemonade and ice water on the table. Miriam was bringing a padded folding chair from home for Frank.