Summer at Fraser’s Mill

Trials

F or the first two days after Grace’s arrival, Mom insisted on Grace not working until the afternoon. She would open the store herself, and Grace would close. That way Grace could catch up on the sleep she had lost from having jet lag.

On Wednesday night, after her second shift at the store, Grace confronted Mom during her evening front porch writing session. “You oughtta let me open the store tomorrow,” she said. “You’ve been running yourself ragged, staying up late and getting up early and helping Dad with his foot. This time you can sleep in, and I can open the store.”

“But that’s at eight A.M.,” Mom exclaimed. “That’ll feel like five A.M. in California.”

“I’ll go to bed in plenty of time to get enough sleep,” Grace said. “I want to do this, Mom.”

“Let her, Liz,” Dad said from his rocking chair. “She’s young. She can handle it. You need a rest.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Grace said. “What about it, Mom?”

Mom sighed. “I guess that would be all right. I’ll come in in the afternoon. But you’d better not kill yourself doing all the work.”

“I promise I won’t.”

It was hard getting up at seven A.M., but not as bad as Grace had thought it might be. Her crash came at lunchtime. When Mom came to relieve her at one P.M. so she could go home for a sandwich or something, Grace decided on a nap instead. She set an alarm on her phone and flopped down on the bottom bunk in her work clothes.

She awoke, startled by a loud noise. What was that? Eyes half-shut, she listened. It was knocking. Somebody was at the front door.

Dad probably couldn’t answer it. Grace shot out of bed and hurried out of her room, running to the stairs.

Her foot caught the first step wrong. All at once she was sliding, skidding down the stairs like she was snowboarding, everything whooshing past. With a sickening drop in her stomach, she braced herself for the crash at the landing.

Hitting her back on several stairs along the way, she landed hard, half-sitting on the second-to-last stair.

Ouch. Grace caught her breath and took stock of herself. Her back hurt. But it felt like it was more from rug burn than from anything being injured. She had done something to her ankle, but it didn’t hurt sharply when she moved it. So that must be all right too. She hauled herself to her feet, one hand on the banister and the other hand on her back. How could she have been so clumsy? She must have been groggy after waking up. Well, she wasn’t groggy now.

Someone was still at the door. Through the window, Grace could see it was Doc. What was he doing here?

Grace yanked the door open. “Hello.”

Doc stood on the porch, his expression perturbed. “What on earth was that noise?” he asked. He looked at Grace, who was still holding her back. “Did you just fall down those stairs? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Grace said. “I didn’t exactly fall. I kind of skidded.”

She was still breathing hard. She used to think the swinging pirate ship ride at the county fair was scary. It had been nothing compared to the sickening drop in her stomach as she hurtled down the stairs.

Doc crossed his arms. “You skidded?”

Of all the obvious questions! What was this guy doing here, anyway, knocking and waking her up and causing all this?

“Yes, I skidded, all the way down!” Grace motioned to the long staircase behind her. “I heard you knocking and I tripped at the top.”

Doc shook his head at her. “You might wanna be more careful on those stairs. Only one person with a broken bone per family, please.” The corner of his mouth quirked.

He thought it was funny! And he probably thought Grace was the world’s biggest klutz, too.

“I’m not in the habit of sliding down the stairs.” Grace held her chin high. “I was taking a nap, because I’m still on California time, and I heard somebody pounding on the front door. I figured my dad couldn’t get the door, so I ran to answer it. I think I was still half-asleep, and I caught my foot.”

“Wow.” Doc shook his head again. He peered around Grace at the stairs. “I wouldn’t want to slide down those. At least you’ve got carpet. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“Absolutely sure,” Grace said.

“You don’t have a concussion? Do you know what day and date it is?”

“I didn’t hit my head. I don’t need to do a concussion checklist, thanks.” She began to turn away from the door, but stopped. “Why did you knock, anyway?”

He held out a white business envelope. “Your parents’ mail got put in my mailbox by mistake,” he said. “I guess I should have stuck it in their mailbox. Could have saved you the trouble of falling downstairs.”

He was grinning, and Grace fought a strong wish to tell him off. He hadn’t done anything. But he had a point. Why did he have to come over with that stupid piece of mail?

Grace opened her mouth, decided against saying the thing that came to her mind, and took the envelope from Doc.

“I’ll see you around.” Doc turned to go. He stopped. “Are you sure you know what day and date it is?”

Grace grimaced at him, shut the door, and locked it.

Inside, she put the piece of mail—the utility bill, as it happened—into the mail basket near the entryway. Where on earth was Dad? Maybe he was outside somewhere. She hoped he was being careful with his crutches. The last thing she needed was for Dad to get in another accident and require Doc’s services. She had seen enough of Doc for one day.

§

Grace had the early shift again on Thursday morning, but this time she had gotten enough sleep before waking up at seven. She washed her hair, leaving it to air dry, drank an extra-strong cup of French press coffee for energy, bolted a bowl of cereal and a banana, and hurried over to open the store.

That lingering funny smell was stronger today. Grace followed her nose. Now the smell obviously came from the produce section—not the vegetables from the Martin farm, but the ones from the store’s main supplier.

Grace traced the stench to the potato bin. Ugh. She held her nose, her stomach lurching. She would have to deal with that. But first she had to prepare for customers. She got the door unlocked, the lights on, and the cash register ready for the first transaction. No one else was there—Natalie started at eleven. Grace had the first three hours in the store by herself.

She turned her attention to the potato bin. The potatoes on top of the bin looked fine. But it was hard to tell through the plastic of the five-pound bags. Why didn’t her parents sell potatoes individually? Probably more of a hassle. Maybe more expensive, too. Grace sighed and began lifting bags of potatoes out of the box, examining each one. There had to be something rotten somewhere. Small flies hovered around—some kind of fruit fly, Grace figured. But they weren’t hanging around the fruit. Maybe these flies liked potatoes. In any case, it wouldn’t do to have a bad smell and flies in the store.

At the bottom of the bin, one of the bags Grace picked up dripped foul brown juice. A putrid smell arose. Yup, that was the culprit. Rotten potatoes. Ugh. The smell was so bad, she had to breathe through her mouth. And customers could come in any minute.

Grace ran for a big trash bag. She’d better get the rotten potatoes out of there first. Then she would need to check for any other bad ones. And she’d have to clean up all that awful brown liquid in the bottom of the bin. At eight A.M., it was already one of those days.

A customer’s shuffling footsteps came in while Grace was still dealing with the situation. She had found all the rotten potatoes—there had been two more bags—and taken them out to the trash. The good bags of potatoes were all stacked next to the bin, and she was about to clean out the bottom of the bin.

“Phew!” the customer exclaimed. “What’s that smell?”

Grace looked up to see Walt, Dorothy’s husband, a burly, bearded man.

“It was potatoes that went bad,” Grace said. “I threw them out, but I’ve still got to clean out this bin.”

Walt shook his head. “That’s a rough start to your morning.”

Grace groaned. “Tell me about it. It’s probably my fault it got this bad, too. I started smelling something funny in here a couple days ago. I should have realized something was wrong before now.”

By the time Walt had finished his shopping, Grace had finished cleaning out the potato bin and put the rest of the potatoes back. There. She could have a normal rest of the day.

Twenty minutes later, while Grace checked out a customer’s groceries, a thud came from the other side of the store. A loud “Oh, no!” followed the thud. That didn’t sound good.

Elaine Keller, a woman in her seventies who had been the town librarian for as long as Grace could remember, came around a corner, her face distressed.

“Grace, I’m terribly sorry,” she said. “I dropped a gallon of milk, and it broke and went all over the floor. I can help you clean it up.”

Milk—oh no. Even a trace of spilled milk would reek later.

“No, no, that’s all right,” Grace said. “I’ll get it. I can get you a new jug of milk, and then I’ll deal with the spilled one.”

Elaine put her hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t have to clean up after my clumsy mistake.”

Grace put her own hands on her hips. “This is standard procedure. If you went to a big grocery store in the city and dropped a jug of milk, they’d do just the same thing.”

Elaine shook her head. “I shouldn’t let you do it,” she said. “But since I don’t know where you keep the cleaning supplies, I’d have to go all the way home to get mine. And then I wouldn’t have the energy to walk back here again. So I’m afraid you’re stuck doing it.”

Grace couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll go get your replacement milk, and you can finish the rest of your shopping.”

Her smile faded at the sight of the spilled milk. How could one gallon of milk go so far? She’d need the mop and a lot of towels. She couldn’t get a replacement gallon from the refrigerator without tracking spilled milk all over the store, so she’d have to start the cleanup first and get the milk to Elaine in a minute.

Elaine didn’t mind. “I was the one who caused all that trouble, so I shouldn’t complain if I need to wait while it gets cleaned up. I’ll just sit here by the counter and read. There’s an article on my phone I’ve been meaning to finish.”

Grace used old towels to absorb as much of the milk as possible, then mopped the floor, wringing the mop into the bucket at frequent intervals. Somebody ought to make gigantic sponges for things like this. Grace didn’t think even a car-washing sponge would be big enough to do anything.

She finished mopping up the spill, got Elaine her jug of milk, and checked out several customers who had come in during the ordeal. Now she had to mop again with a cleaner so the floor wouldn’t stink.

The floor finished, Grace collapsed on a chair by the cash register to rest. Two big messes so far, and it was only ten A.M. She hoped her parents’ days in the store weren’t usually like this. This was more work than teaching classes.

What should she do now? There was that project Dad had mentioned, switching the canned and jarred food to lower shelves and putting the boxed food on higher shelves. She could do that.

She got the rolling cart from the back room and started putting the high-up cans and jars on it. She could see how Dad had knocked that can onto his foot. They should have a step stool for the things on the top shelf. Grace could reach them, but they were far above her head and she had to stand on tiptoe to get them down. It must be hard for short people.

She brought down several glass jars of pickles and started on the pasta sauce, stretching to grab a jar of marinara.

“Good morning,” a male voice said behind her.

Grace jumped, losing her grip on the pasta sauce. The jar shattered at her feet, sending red sauce in every direction.

Grace whirled around and found herself face to face with Doc.

Doc opened his mouth to speak. Grace cut him off.

“You—you—why did you have to sneak up on me like that? You scared me!”

Every towel in the back room had been used, and sticky, tomato-covered broken glass was everywhere. What an awful morning!

Doc was saying something, but Grace wasn’t taking in what he said.

“Just look at this!” Grace threw her hands up. “All I’ve done this morning is clean up rotten potatoes and spilled milk. Now this!”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned her back on Doc, resting her forehead against the second-to-top shelf. She was standing on the broken glass. It didn’t matter. Tomato sauce and glass covered her shoes anyway.

It wasn’t Doc’s fault. He hadn’t meant to scare her, she was sure. But it was the last straw after Grace’s long morning.

A gentle hand touched her shoulder. Doc’s words came through this time, although his voice still sounded as though it were coming from a long way off.

“I said I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll help you clean this up. Do you have any towels?”

“No, I used them all up earlier.” Grace wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

“Then I’ll get some towels from my office.” Doc’s footsteps retreated.

She shouldn’t let him help her. It wasn’t his job. Grace looked down at her feet. She didn’t want to track the sauce all over. She wiggled off one of her shoes and stepped outside the area with the tomato sauce, avoiding the broken glass. She stood on one foot to take off the other shoe. The store had a policy against people coming in barefoot, but this was an emergency. Grace went for the broom. Better deal with the large pieces of broken glass first.

Doc came back as she was sweeping up the glass. He set a stack of towels on the cart Grace had been using.

He reached for the broom. “Allow me.”

Grace held on to it. “It’s my job to clean it up,” she said. “But thanks for the towels.”

Doc raised an eyebrow. “It seems like you could use some help.”

“No.” Grace bent down to sweep the glass and some of the tomato sauce into a dustpan. “Thanks anyway. You can go get whatever you were trying to get.”

Him scaring her had been the last straw this morning, and she’d lost her temper and blown up at him. It was so embarrassing and unprofessional. She couldn’t bear to let him help now.

“Suit yourself.” He dusted off his hands and went into one of the aisles, whistling, while Grace worked on the floor. She would have to rinse the broom before sweeping up the shards of glass that had gone farther away. What a mess. She would have to wash her shoes too.

Doc wandered over to the cash register. Maybe he intended to wait there until Grace finished cleaning up the floor, but Grace didn’t want to let him be heroically patient. She leaned the broom against the shelves, made a wide berth around the broken glass, and went to check out his groceries.

“What are you doing here so early, anyway?” Grace asked, as she scanned a package of ham, a bag of lettuce, and a bag of potato chips. “Don’t you have appointments?”

“My ten-thirty appointment canceled.”

“Well, I hope the next time you come in, you don’t sneak up on people who are lifting jars,” Grace said. “I could have dropped something heavy on my foot and broken it, the way my dad did.”

Doc nodded solemnly. “I’ll make sure to whistle on the way in.”

“Just make a regular amount of noise walking in, like a normal human being.” Grace grabbed a bag for Doc’s groceries.

He took the bag from her hand. “Allow me.”

She let him pack up his own groceries.

“You know,” he said, the hint of a smile on his face as he turned to go, “you could put a bell over the door.”

Grace made a face at him, but it was hard to keep from laughing. He wasn’t all bad.