Summer at Fraser’s Mill

The First Day

A fter lunch that day, which seemed too early because Grace’s brain was stuck on California time, Grace went down to the store and clocked in. Mom and Dad had never taken her off the list of timeclock employees. She found a big apron in the back room (she didn’t plan to spill on herself, but anything could happen), tied it on, and went to relieve Mom from the cash register.

“I’ll go see how Natalie’s doing with the unpacking in the back room,” Mom said. “Holler if you need me or if you forget how to do anything.”

“Mom, I worked here every summer when I was in college.” Grace adjusted the screen above the cash register. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, it’s been a while,” Mom said. “Just call me if you need me.”

She disappeared, leaving Grace in charge of the store. Grace could see only one customer at the moment—a woman named Dorothy, who was an old friend of Grace’s parents. Dorothy’s hair was going from red to gray, but as she put baking supplies in her basket she appeared as energetic as ever. She was known for being involved in every town project and church event, including running the ladies’ guild. Besides that, she regularly volunteered to read children’s stories at the library and was a champion grandmother. The woman must have some extra source of energy other people didn’t have.

Grace had often benefited from Dorothy’s advice growing up. Maybe she should ask her for advice on getting more done throughout the day. Life was slower-paced here than in Los Angeles, but working in the grocery store in the day and doing National Board prep in the evening was probably going to be a full schedule.

The grocery store’s door opened, and Grace looked over to see Dad maneuvering his crutches through the doorway.

“Dad! What are you doing here?”

Her father looked sheepish. “Don’t tell your mother I was here. She hasn’t let me in the store since I broke my foot.”

“So you picked the first time I was running the store to sneak in without her knowing? Dad, she’ll kill you.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t take long. Did your mom show you all the new stuff yet?”

“Most of it, I think.”

“You saw the fresh produce?” Dad crutched his way over to a display near the front of the store. “See this? It’s from the Martins. It’s all grown using organic processes, although they can’t get their farm certified organic yet.”

“Oh wow, I saw the local produce sign, but I didn’t know it was from the Martins. That’s so cool.”

The display was impressive for so early in the year. It contained asparagus, several different kinds of greens (some Grace hadn’t heard of), small new potatoes, and rhubarb. A big sign on the display read: “Local Produce! Grown with Organic Processes!” Some jars of honey stood at the front of the display. The Martins must keep bees now.

“We’ve also got local eggs,” Dad said. “The Hoffmans started raising chickens. They’ve got all kinds of eggs, even blue ones.”

Dorothy was coming toward the cash register, and Grace hurried behind the counter to check out her groceries.

“It’s great to have you back, Grace.” Dorothy smiled. “Your parents could certainly use the help. I remember when Walt was on crutches. He kept trying to do landscaping projects, getting down on his knees in the dirt. He said he wasn’t putting any weight on his foot. But his cast would be covered in mud all the way up to the knee!”

“Now, that’s just Walt for you,” Dad called. “You can’t keep the man away from his projects.”

Dorothy shook her head. “Men! They never listen. I tried to convince him to ask for help on the town social media page. I know somebody would have been happy to help him.”

“The town has a social media page?” Grace could hardly believe Fraser’s Mill was that modern now. Her family had had dial-up internet until she was halfway through college.

“Yes, for the last couple years. I run the page, but anybody in town can post on it. Anytime there’s a local event, or if somebody needs help with a project, or if bad weather’s coming, people can share on the page. It’s a great way to stay in touch with the community. There’s another page for the Ladies’ Guild at St. Anthony’s, too.”

“Wow, I’ll have to check those out. It sounds like you’ve been busy.”

“Oh, I just keep going along,” Dorothy said. “There’s so much to do, and only so much time to do it in.”

Grace handed her her receipt. “I think you’re the busiest person I know.”

Dorothy smiled. “I couldn’t do any of it without God’s help.” She gathered up her bags of groceries and went out.

So that was Dorothy’s advice for getting things done: not planners, not calendar apps, but a firm trust in the Lord. Maybe Grace should pray more about her day-to-day busyness, too.

Dad came up to the counter. “I’ve got a project idea for you. I wanna hear what you think about it.”

“Sure, Dad! What is it?”

“Ever since I broke my foot, I’ve wanted to rearrange the dry goods so there aren’t so many heavy cans on the higher shelves. We can put cereal and pasta and rice up top—things that won’t hurt anybody if they fall—and put all the cans lower down.”

He led Grace to the side wall of the store, where there was one large display of canned food and another of non-perishable boxed food.

“Sure, I think that would work,” Grace said. “I’ll wait for a slow time and then start on it.”

“Your mother thinks it’s a waste of time,” Dad said. “She says I only knocked that can down because I’m naturally clumsy. But I say it’s best to avoid accidents in the first place.”

“Avoid accidents? Are you dropping things on your feet again?” a male voice asked from behind them.

Grace turned around. The new doctor from next door surveyed them with his arms folded.

“Ben, how many times do I have to tell you not to put weight on that foot?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be completely non-weight-bearing until you get the cast off.”

“Oops, sorry, Doc. I keep forgetting.” Dad lifted the foot with the cast off the floor. “That better?” His smile was disarming.

Doc lifted one eyebrow. “As long as you don’t put it down again as soon as I go out the door. You’re supposed to get rest. What are you doing in the store?”

“What are you doing in the store?” Grace cut in. “Don’t you have patients to see?” Sure, it probably wasn’t a good idea for Dad to be standing around in the store, and Mom was going to be mad at him, but he didn’t need a doctor hovering over him all the time.

Doc grinned, his face crinkling. “I need apple juice. The clinic’s out of it, and we need it for patients with low blood sugar.”

“Gracie, you know where the apple juice is?” Dad asked.

“Sure I do.” Grace headed for the right aisle.

“No, I’ll get it—I know where it is.” Doc overtook Grace and headed for the apple juice. Grace gave up and went back to the register.

Doc came back with three packages of juice boxes. He must be stocking up, or the clinic had a lot more patients with low blood sugar than Grace would have thought.

“That’ll be $9.27,” Grace told him.

Dad crutched his way up to the counter. “Doc, you got any tips on getting around better with crutches? Or carrying things when you’ve got a crutch in each hand?”

Doc shook his head. “I think you’re already doing about the maximum activity possible for somebody who’s on crutches.”

One would think that in the twenty-first century they would have better equipment for people with foot or ankle injuries. They were always making advances in modern medicine, weren’t they?

“Isn’t there anything Dad could use that works better than crutches?” Grace asked. “They make all kinds of walking aids for people who have trouble walking. Isn’t there anything else for people with injured feet?”

“That’s all right, Gracie,” Dad said. “Doc, don’t worry about it.”

Doc pursed his lips. “Well, you could get a knee scooter. That way you won’t forget and put weight on the cast. But they’re expensive as heck.”

“Would insurance cover something like that?” Grace asked.

“In some cases. Want me to look into it, Ben?”

“Knee scooter?” Dad asked. “What’s it like?”

Doc pulled out his phone. “I’ll show you a picture.”

He showed Grace and her dad the knee scooter. It looked like the kind of scooter Grace had as a kid, except that the rider put a knee on the elevated seat of the scooter instead of standing on it.

“That’s pretty ingenious,” Dad said. “I’d get around better with that, for sure.”

“Then I’ll look into it. Take care of yourself. Don’t drop any more cans on your feet.” Doc picked up his purchases and went out, whistling.

Grace shook her head. “I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Dad asked.

“He knew about knee scooters this whole time, and he even knew they might be covered by insurance, and he didn’t tell you about them. You’ve been struggling with going around on crutches for how long? Isn’t this the sixth day? What a jerk!”

“Now, Gracie,” Dad said, “it’s not Doc’s fault. Like he said, those things are expensive as heck. Could be we can’t even afford it. Besides, I hadn’t complained to him before about the crutches. He probably thought I was doing fine. And I am doing fine. Lots of people have to be on crutches. Won’t hurt me to deal with it for a few weeks.”

Grace shook her head. “I still think he should have offered you that option from the start.”

“Oh, Doc’s all right.” Dad waved a hand. “Well, I’d best be going. I’m pushing my luck in here—your mom could come in any minute. I’ll be back at the house if you need me.”

“Thanks, Dad. You really ought to go sit down for a while. You must be putting a lot of strain on that other foot.”

“Don’t you start bossing me too!” Dad chuckled. “Between your mother and Doc, I feel like I’m taking orders in the army.”

The afternoon went on. Traffic in and out of the store stayed fairly slow, but Grace kept busy by restocking depleted shelves with products from the back. They were out of juice boxes to replace the ones Doc had bought, however. Those shelves would have to stay empty for the moment.

Grace was in the back doing inventory while Natalie Vanderberg, another employee, manned the cash register. Someone knocked on the back door. Grace opened it to find Alex Martin standing there with a crate of vegetables.

Alex—short for Alexandra—had grown up with Grace and still lived on a farm nearby. Alex wore her long brunette hair twisted up in a hair clip. A plaid shirt tucked into blue jeans emphasized her wiry frame. A grin stretched across her face.

“I heard you were back in town.” Alex put down the crate and pulled Grace into a hug. “How long are you here? Is this your vacation? Do schoolteachers get all summer off?”

“We get June and July off,” Grace said. “I was going to work for Shipt, but then my dad broke his foot, so I thought I’d come help out here for a few weeks. I’m here until July 16 th.”

“Yay!” Alex’s brown eyes danced. “There are all kinds of things going on this summer—it’s going to be great. Are you gonna have any time to hang out?”

“I’d love to, when I can,” Grace said. “There is one project I’ve got in the evenings—I’m getting ready to apply for National Board certification.”

“What’s that?” Alex asked. “Sorry, I know you’re working. I don’t want to hold you up.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I’m just restocking.” Grace put packages of flour and sugar onto a rolling cart. “You can follow me around, unless you have to get back to the farm.”

Alex smiled mischievously. “I told Mom you were back, and she told Dad and Sam I’d be late getting back from town.”

Grace laughed. “Have I told you I love your mom?”

As Grace worked, she told Alex about the National Board certification process. “I figure I’ll work my way through the instructions in the evenings,” she said. “Then I’ll know just what to do in the fall when I start putting together the things I’ll need to submit.”

Alex shook her head. “I think you need an intervention. You’re planning to spend your days in the store and your nights squinting over a computer? I thought I had a lot of work, but that’s even worse.”

“It’s no worse than teaching classes all day and grading in the evening.” Grace shrugged. “Don’t worry, I’ll still get outside. I’m planning to go for a run every day before work.”

Alex raised an expressive eyebrow. “You must be used to getting up early now. I remember in high school you would always roll out of bed just in time to get down to the store. Then you’d agonize all day about how you hadn’t worked out yet.”

Grace laughed. “Well, actually, I did that most of the time this last semester. But I don’t have to drive to work every morning here, so I’m gonna try to use the extra time and get my run in.”

Despite her mom’s prediction that she would be late coming back, Alex only stayed a few more minutes. She had a lot of work waiting back home.

Grace relieved Natalie at the cash register. It was interesting saying hello to the townspeople who came through, some of whom she hadn’t seen in five years. She’d only been home for brief visits since she’d moved to California.

A young woman, about Grace’s age, with designer sunglasses on top of her smooth brown hair, approached the counter. Grace couldn’t place her. She wore a striped tank top and white shorts—early in the year to do so. Wouldn’t she get cold?

“Excuse me,” the newcomer said. “Do you have coconut water?”

“Let me check,” Grace said. She hurried away to the drink area. Lemon juice, apple juice, bottles of pop, boxes of tea, bags of coffee—no coconut water. Maybe it was in a different section. Grace checked the baking aisle. Nothing. She checked the drink cooler, in case it was mixed in with the iced coffee and pop. No success.

The young woman was leaning back against the counter, checking her pristine nails, when Grace got back.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said, “we don’t seem to carry it. I could talk to my mom and see about adding it to our inventory.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll just go to Cadillac. They’ve got it at Walmart.”

She was going to drive forty-five minutes each way to get coconut water? Who did that?

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help,” Grace said. “Are you new in town? I’m Grace Murray.”

“I’m Hannah. Hannah Fraser.” The young woman turned to go.

“Hannah Fraser, like Fraser’s Mill?” Fraser’s Water-Powered Sawmill stood at the north edge of town. It was the oldest business in town and was still in operation.

Hannah flipped her hair back. “That’s right. My grandfather founded the town.”

“It’s funny—I grew up here, but I don’t think I ever met you.” Grace tapped her cheek. Why didn’t she recognize Hannah?

“I didn’t grow up here,” Hannah said. “I’m from Chicago. When my grandparents moved to Florida a few years ago, they sold my parents their house for a summer cottage. I’m staying there this summer.”

“That explains it! Well, nice to meet you, Hannah.”

“Uh-huh.” Hannah continued out the door.

“Is she gone?” Natalie popped out from one of the aisles, string mop in hand.

“Is who gone?” Grace asked.

“Hannah Fraser.” Natalie wrinkled her freckled nose. “Just because she’s rich, she thinks she owns the town.” She put muscle behind the string mop, her long blonde braid swinging back and forth. “She doesn’t even live here. But she goes all over town taking photos and videos and posting on social media about what life in a small town is like.”

“How do you know so much about her?” Grace asked. “I thought she just moved into town.”

“Yeah, she did,” Natalie said. “But she posted on the town social media the first day she came here, telling people to follow her video channel and her social media page. She’s an influencer.”

Grace knew little about influencers. She had the general idea that they did advertising for assorted products.

Natalie leaned on her mop. “She’s always going around with Doc. My sister said she snapped him up the minute she came to town. And he’s the only new guy we’ve seen in town in forever.” Her voice was peeved.

“The new doctor?”

“Yeah. He just got here this winter. Have you seen him? Isn’t he good-looking?”

“Good-looking? Yeah, I guess.”

Natalie was a little young to be interested in guys Doc’s age. Maybe Natalie’s sister, a few years older, was interested in him. Sure, he was handsome, and his arrival must have made a stir in this small town. The girls in town must think of him as an eligible bachelor. But Grace didn’t see the appeal. She encountered too many handsome guys on a regular basis in L.A. to have her head turned by this one, whose personality grated on her.

§

Grace worked until seven P.M., when the store closed. She could imagine the outrage if a grocery store in the city closed as early as seven, but the people here were used to it. With the small number of employees the store had, it made sense to close early and let the workers go home. Grace swept the floor and wiped down the counter by the cash register. She smelled something funny, but she couldn’t identify the smell or where it came from. It didn’t seem like a big issue, so she added up the day’s totals and locked up for the night. She headed over to the house, where Mom had kept dinner warm for her.

Her parents had already eaten and were sitting on the front porch. They often did that in the evening. Grace got a plate of food and came out to join them. Dad was reading something aloud and stopped to make comments to Mom, who was taking notes.

“Come join us, Grace,” Mom said. “We’re going through the first few chapters of that novel I’m trying to write. We could use somebody with an English degree.”

“I’m afraid my degree isn’t in creative writing,” Grace said. “But I do get a lot of practice going over people’s grammar.”

Mom tucked her pen behind her ear. “That’s just what I need. Every other sentence I write is a run-on sentence with commas in all the wrong places.” She glanced at Grace’s plate. “Did you find the carrots? They were on the back of the stove.”

“Yes, here they are,” Grace said, pointing out the carrots on her plate. “Thanks, Mom. Roast pork is one of my favorites.”

“I bet you don’t have a lot of time to cook, teaching school,” Dad said, looking up from Mom’s novel. “What do you eat? Rotisserie chickens and pre-bagged salad?”

Grace laughed. “Pretty much. When I get home from school the last thing I want to do is spend the whole evening cooking.”

“Not much fun doing fancy cooking for just one person, anyway,” Dad said. “Well, Liz, I’ve got a couple more comments for you.”

Grace’s parents returned to their analysis of Mom’s manuscript, and Grace ate her roast pork, potatoes, and carrots. The evening was fair with a light breeze. If she stayed out there much longer she would want a hoodie.

A crash from the driveway next door made her look over. Doc was halfway underneath a long blue car, doing something to it. At least, Grace assumed it was Doc. She couldn’t see much of him. Well, it was a nice night to work on your car.

But as nice as it was outside, Grace couldn’t stay. After she finished eating, she excused herself and went inside. She was going to figure out more of this National Board stuff.

She found general overviews, starting guides, and guides that focused on different subject areas in which a teacher might get certified. It was all pretty complicated, and Grace found herself going down an Internet rabbit hole into more and more specific stuff before she even understood the general overview. There ought to be a starting guide to the starting guide. Maybe the whole thing was a test of the teachers’ reading comprehension: if you couldn’t figure out the information, you weren’t smart enough to be a certified teacher.

Grace realized she had been twirling her hair for who knows how long. She twisted the curly mess into some kind of bun and stuck three hairpins into it. That should keep her from touching it anymore.

Her parents were still on the front porch, their voices floating up through Grace’s open window. Maybe she should go join them. She had looked at this stuff long enough for one evening. She’d get a headache or eyestrain if she wasn’t careful.

Grace closed her laptop, grabbed a hoodie, and went down to the porch.