Growing Season Read online

  The swinging metal sign jutting out between the second-floor windows wasn’t original to when Melinda’s ancestors opened the store. That one had been repainted and repaired over the decades until it rusted right through. Uncle Frank thought a more modern sign would be best, but residents made it clear they loved the old one, a sentiment that Aunt Miriam shared. Uncle Frank had grumbled about the expense, but then combed over the books for the extra cash to have a replica made by a Chicago company. Aunt Miriam turned the new sign’s arrival into a grand celebration of the store’s history. She loved to remind Frank that the extra revenue brought in by the publicity stunt had, in the end, covered the cost of the custom sign.

  And that wasn’t the only detail on Prosper’s Main Street that reflected Aunt Miriam’s love for her community. This block was dotted with benches of iron scrollwork and wood slats, encouraging people to stop for a chat and to soak up the little town’s welcoming atmosphere. Hanging baskets of purple and white impatiens, reflecting the colors of the local high school’s teams, danced in the early-summer breeze on decorative iron hooks installed on the light poles. Miriam had rallied the business community a few years ago to get both projects completed, and Melinda suspected her aunt had pulled a large chunk of the cost from her own pocket.

  Right across from the hardware store stood Prosper City Hall and the next-door library. The library was just one story and City Hall was two, its upstairs housing a community hall once used for plays and social events. Behind those buildings, back across an alley and facing Oak Street, was the metal shed that housed the volunteer fire department’s single fire truck and its only ambulance. There hadn’t been a Prosper Police Department for several years; instead, a Hartland County Sheriff’s deputy cruised through town a few times a day.

  A squat, gray stone building between Prosper Hardware and Third Street held the town’s post office, its American flag listing in the slight breeze. The sign in the front window declared the place was open ten to two on weekdays and ten to noon on Saturdays. Melinda was glad to see the post office was still operating. Some tiny communities, even though they were still incorporated, had seen their post offices closed.

  As she turned into one of the diagonal parking spaces in front of Prosper Hardware, Melinda peered down Main Street to see how the rest of the town was faring. The old bank building, a grand, three-story stone structure between the library and Third Street, across from the post office, still appeared empty and unused. She had noticed the former gas station, across from the Methodist Church, also remained vacant. Shades were pulled in the windows of several other properties along Main.

  The farm crisis of the 1980s, along with an ongoing exodus to larger towns and cities, had been tough on small communities like Prosper. And there had been further strain when the Prosper school district consolidated with Swanton a decade ago, resulting in the middle- and high-school students being bused nearly fifteen miles to the county seat. That left only the elementary grades at the renovated, century-old building a block off Main, just across Oak Street from the fire department.

  Even so, Prosper’s residents loved their town and were determined to preserve its identity. The buildings in the third block of Main Street weren’t as grand as the second, instead being single-story structures in various states of upkeep, but there were still several vehicles parked there. Melinda guessed most of those people were inside the Watering Hole, Prosper’s only bar and restaurant. But across from the tavern, one of the buildings had additional flower baskets out front and its concrete steps appeared to have been recently painted. A modest sign above the door declared it was an insurance office.

  As Melinda got out of the car, not bothering to click the door locks, she thought about how urban residents always bragged up city life, that everything was so convenient and all the neighborhoods had their own shops within walking distance of most people’s homes.

  “It’s no different here,” she said, feeling the blast of summer heat radiating off the asphalt-coated street. “Get your mail, pick up some nails, grab a free book and chug a beer, all within about a hundred feet.”

  Melinda craned her neck and looked to the end of Main, down past the Catholic Church. Although she couldn’t make out the sign, she was sure the dark green building with the gleaming white trim was still the home of Prosper Veterinary Services. Her search was rewarded when she spied an adorable black-and-white calf, its red halter tied to a yard stake, munching the emerald-green grass under the front lawn’s oak tree.

  The shade cast by Prosper Hardware’s awning was inviting. She was tempted to flop down on one of the two benches out front, close her eyes for a minute or two. But it had been at least three years since she had last been inside the store, her most-recent visits with Miriam and Frank being at their house on Cherry Street, a few blocks away. Melinda was curious to see if anything had changed at Prosper Hardware, and secretly hoped it hadn’t.

  CHAPTER 4

  The familiar scent of sawdust and lemon-oil polish drew her into the cool, air-conditioned store, the bells on the inside of the heavy oak door jingling to announce her arrival. In an instant she was four again, toddling down the main aisle to press her face against the glass window of the wooden showcase, which still held a selection of candy. The oak cabinet stretched down the center third of the store, its weathered top serving as Prosper Hardware’s checkout counter. She could still see Grandpa Shrader at the register, smiling as his metal scoop dropped her carefully chosen candies into a rustling paper sack.

  Frank and Miriam had modernized the store over the years, filling its four rows with metal shelving and hanging industrial florescent lights from the pressed-tin ceiling. All the candy in the case was now shrink-wrapped, and the ornate cast-iron register had been replaced by a digital version with a credit-card reader. But the plaster walls retained their soft, creamy hue, and the worn oak floors were still buffed until they glowed with a soft sheen. The oak counter was just as it had been decades ago, when Frank and Miriam took over the business from Miriam and Diane’s parents. Melinda wondered if Frank and Miriam really loved the counter that much, or simply couldn’t figure out any possible way to haul the twelve-foot-long cabinet out of the building.

  Her reverie was broken by the smiling, inquisitive woman behind the counter. Even on this warm day, she wore a corduroy shirt with embroidered kittens romping on the front. She was short and stout, her whitish blond hair tucked behind her ears, her hazel eyes studying Melinda.

  “Can I help you?” She leaned her elbows on the counter, and Melinda noticed the tiny gold kitten earrings she was wearing.

  “I’m Melinda, Frank and Miriam’s niece. Miriam asked me to drop off some extra keys for Bill. She forgot to leave them here this morning and …”

  “Oh, Melinda! It’s wonderful to see you again!” The woman hurried to the far end of the counter and came around to offer a proper welcome. Melinda didn’t recognize this woman, but sensed a big hug was on the way. And it was.

  “How was your trip down from the city? Miriam called an hour ago to say Frank’s on the mend, thank goodness.” The woman reached for a flannel cloth resting on the counter and began rubbing the glossy oak surface, as if she couldn’t stand to be idle. “Knowing him, he’ll want to get out of bed tomorrow and be back here stocking shelves. But he needs his rest, poor man. And Miriam was fretting this morning that the front windows haven’t been washed in a week with everything that’s been going on. You’ve got to get out the big ladder, you know, and I’m getting a little far along in years for all that. Besides, we’ve been pretty busy today anyway.”

  Melinda couldn’t place this woman, even with her obvious love of cats. But then, she hadn’t visited Prosper Hardware for some time. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I know you.” She offered her hand to the woman. “How long have you worked here?”

  “Oh, I don’t work here, honey. I’m retired from the school, worked in the kitchen for thirty years until that silly merger.” She grasped Melinda’s
palm in a warm squeeze with one hand and continued to dust the counter with the other.

  Melinda tried again. “And you’re? … ”

  “Esther Denner,” the woman said with a nod that jangled the golden kittens in her ears. “Frank and Miriam’s neighbor. As soon as I heard Frank had that heart attack, I rushed right over here to help out in the store.”

  Esther tossed the dust cloth down and started fussing with the top of the counter, which held a small glass bowl for spare change and a red tin bucket of pens with silk flowers taped to their tops.

  “Miriam’s asked me to keep an eye on things and wait on people when Bill’s working in the back. Good thing we had these new digital cash registers at the school, or I’d be lost running this thing.” She gestured over the counter, then turned to straighten a cardboard display of garden seeds across the aisle.

  “I grew up with Miriam and your mom,” she smiled over her shoulder at Melinda. “I was in your mom’s grade in school. But it’s been so long since I’ve seen you! I heard about your … unfortunate situation.”

  “Err, yes.” Melinda grimaced, still not quite sure when she had seen Esther last, if ever. As always, word traveled fast in a small town, and she was sure Esther prided herself on always knowing the latest. She didn’t want to give Esther too many details. “It’s been tough the past few weeks. But I’m looking, and I’m sure something will turn up.”

  “Those big-city corporations are just terrible,” Esther set her jaw and shook her head. “My daughter Kate lives down in Iowa City, does telecommunications. She lost her job one time, at some big company down there, and it took her a year to find another one. But never mind,” Esther waved her hand as if swatting at an annoying insect. “You’ll do fine, just fine.”

  Melinda could only nod. Then she realized she was gripping the counter tightly, bracing herself against it. A year? It took Kate a year? She couldn’t offer a breezy answer in return.

  “Well … I can leave the keys with Bill, if he’s here.”

  “Bill’s in the back,” Esther called over her shoulder. Melinda took it as a sign to follow. As they passed a display of kitchen and bath towels, the oak floor creaking slightly under their shoes, Melinda was reminded at the store’s range of inventory. Prosper Hardware stocked everything from a few pots and pans to flashlights and holiday decorations, and that was just on the shelves to one side of the main aisle. It also appeared to carry just about anything anyone would need for day-to-day life in a rural area. In an open space toward the back, where a set of sturdy wooden stairs made a turn and climbed to the second-floor office and storage rooms, there were shelves stacked with tee shirts and jeans, and two circle racks crammed with rugged jackets and work pants.

  Melinda knew another aisle was stocked with pet food and supplies and seasonal items. One row was filled with boxed and canned groceries, and the outside aisle still carried all the hardware and home improvement inventory. A battered wooden cubbyhole cabinet on the far wall was filled with dozens of sizes of screws and nails.

  Esther leaned her small shoulder into the gray steel door that separated the main store from the cavernous back room. “It sticks,” she grunted to Melinda as she cranked the knob and shoved the door, which burst open with an indignant squeak.

  “Bill!”

  A high-pitched mechanical squeal assaulted Melinda’s ears.

  “Bill! Melinda’s here! Turn off the saw!”

  The screeching noise lowered its pitch and stopped. Bill Larsen slid the cover over the table saw’s blade and pushed his safety goggles up to settle them over the bill of a faded purple ball cap.

  “I’m cutting that order for George Freitag, that chicken coop he wants to build. He’s got quite the Taj Mahal drawn out here.” Bill set aside an unfolded sheet of white paper scribbled with measurements and shook Melinda’s hand. He was in his middle thirties, she guessed, a stocky guy, wearing a gray tee shirt and jeans. There was a carefully arranged stack of two-by-fours next to the work table.

  “I didn’t know you still cut wood here,” she said, noticing the boards and plywood piled nearly to the ceiling on metal shelves along two of the back room’s walls. “I knew Frank and Miriam still kept quite an inventory of hardware supplies, but not all this. It must be really popular with customers.”

  “Well, yes and no,” Bill laughed. “Many people around here have a table saw, do their own cuts. Nearly everybody’s got a truck or van to haul home what they need. But this makes it easier for them.” Bill leaned in, his gray eyes twinkling. “Some guys wouldn’t dare admit they get their cuts done here. It’s an ego thing. But we’ve got a great setup and it saves them time.”

  He turned back to the plans, then reached for a smaller sheet of plywood and the pencil stuck behind his ear. “It’s perfect for guys like George, who’s older and now living in town, since he doesn’t have his own shop anymore. Still wants to build his own stuff, though, no prefabs for him.”

  Melinda was surprised to hear people were allowed to keep chickens inside the Prosper city limits, even in a town this small. Bill noticed her expression and grinned.

  “Yeah, chickens are legal birds here, in case you’re wondering. Been that way for a long time. Not sure if they were ever outlawed, really, but the city did take a stand last year and wrote them into the bylaws, as some younger residents were wanting to have them.”

  “I’d rather keep mine in the freezer,” Esther guffawed, “pick them up at the supermarket over in Swanton, dressed and ready to go. But I do get my eggs here when I run low.”

  “Here?” Melinda raised her eyebrows. There weren’t any chickens strutting around in Prosper Hardware. But then, she hadn’t been out back yet, and Frank and Miriam did seem to have a wider array of merchandise than she remembered …

  “Did you see the refrigerated case up front, on the wall by the side window?” Esther pointed in the general direction. “Used to be, there was just a cooler for a few gallons of milk and some pop. But Frank ordered that bigger unit last year. They keep it stocked with more milk than before, a few cartons of orange juice, eggs, and some butter, even. The stuff folks tend to run out of. It’s fifteen miles over to Swanton, a long drive for just one or two things.”

  “And about twenty miles east to Charles City,” Bill added as he set up the saw for an angle cut. “North to Mason City, it’s even farther. Everyone around here stocks up, of course, but someone’s always in need of something probably two, three times a day. Frank and Miriam sell things in the refrigerator case at cost, people say they really appreciate it.”

  Melinda could see the expanded grocery selection was a savvy move to draw more customers into the store. “Once they’re here for a gallon of milk, they realize they need other things, too,” she said. “It’s a great marketing tool.”

  The discussion reminded her of the suggestions she had prepared for her small-business client, the one who was always looking for ways to draw more visitors to her pottery shop. She wondered who had that account now, then tried to put it out of her mind.

  “Exactly. And it’s being a good neighbor,” Bill said, tapping the work table with his pencil for emphasis. “Just like this order I’m cutting here. Good service and caring about the customers, that’s what keeps this store going. Keeps the town going, too, when you think about it, people looking out for each other.”

  Esther leaned her shoulder into the steel door. “Speaking of customers, I’d better get back up front. Melinda, it was so good to see you.” Esther waved and disappeared as the door gave out another angry squawk.

  “I know, I know, it’s a hardware store and we’ve got a door that sticks,” Bill rolled his eyes. “We’ve tried everything. WD-40, wax, you name it. But this building is over a hundred years old. The higher the humidity, the more shoulder action it takes to get that door open.” He glanced toward the door to make sure it was closed all the way before he leaned over the table. “So, Miriam says you might help out for a few weeks. Are you really going to do
it?”

  Did the entire county know about Miriam’s plan? It started to seem like she had rallied everyone in and out of Prosper to put the heat on Melinda until she agreed.

  “I’m thinking about it, but I don’t know.” She dropped her eyes from his questioning gaze and picked up the drawing for the chicken coop. Its descriptions and measurements were written in the firm, slanted handwriting of an elderly man. “I think the world of Frank and Miriam, but haven’t been back here for more than a week at a time since high school. I don’t know if I’d fit in here, really.” Or if I even want to, she added to herself.

  Bill put down his measuring tape and leaned against the workbench. “It would be a big adjustment from what you’re used to, I’m sure. My wife and I lived in Des Moines for a few years after we got married. We’d met at Iowa State, and both of us said Ames wasn’t big enough. We loved Des Moines. Always something to do, great restaurants. But once we started a family, we decided we wanted what we’d given up.”

  He shook his head, his voice turning thoughtful. “Isn’t that the way? You’re in one place, but then always think you want to be in the other. Anyway, she was willing to come to my hometown instead of going to hers, and we moved back about five years ago. We’ve never been sorry.”

  “I’m glad you like it here so much.”

  Melinda didn’t know what else to say. Coming back for a few weeks to help at Prosper Hardware was one thing; she couldn’t imagine moving back to the area for good. But Bill seemed content enough. And proud of his work, too, based on how carefully he was marking cuts for the chicken coop.

  “Well, we could use the help if you’ve got some time to spare. I’d better get this done. George said he’d be by to pick everything up before the store closes.”