Chapter 4
Josh
Though I didn’t want to delay my chores, I’d made a promise, and at least the chickens had been fed, and I’d checked on both greenhouses, even ordering new panels to replace the ones that were cracked.
We didn’t grow a lot here, but I maintained a half-acre garden, growing mainly fresh herbs and greens along with a bed of strawberries I’d planted with my mom when I was in kindergarten.
Every summer, I ate the first fat, juicy strawberry and cried.
In a matter of weeks, I’d be knee-deep in winter prep.
In the maple business, we called the fall “training camp.” The autumn months were filled with prepping for winter’s game time.
I’d check miles of sap lines for cracks, squirrel damage, and weather wear.
I’d replace tubing, clear brush, and inspect the tap holes from last season to make sure they closed properly.
The repetitive rhythm of the work soothed me. So did logging tree health and modeling out yield projections. Documenting the weather and inspecting trees and estimating yardage for food-grade plastic tubing were all tasks that made sense to me. People, however, did not make sense.
Here and there I’d hear whispers about the Wall Street suit who freaked out and became a farmer.
But life here wasn’t all that different from what it’d been like there.
Either way, I was under constant pressure.
Except out here, Mother Nature fucked up my life, not the stock market.
The repetitive nature of the work was comparable.
So was the need for precision and strategy, and ultimately, the inevitable moment where one had to start over and do it all again.
And fall was my favorite. The weather was mild, giving me ample opportunity to work hard and run through the checklists.
This year, especially, I was anticipating the way muscle memory and sweat would carry me through Thanksgiving, giving my brain a bit of downtime to recover from the shit show of the past year.
None of it made sense, but a young guy had confessed, and he’d been arrested.
It was a terrible tragedy, but now that he was locked up, we didn’t have to walk around paranoid about a murderer being on the loose.
The hit to the business had been intense, but now that law enforcement wasn’t crawling around, I had hope that I could get things back to normal.
That is, if normal had ever even existed in Maplewood.
I pulled out my phone, intending to leave myself a note to call Gabe tonight to get the latest news, when screams floated through the air. My shoulders tightened on instinct. This was a workday. A real one. Not a petting zoo open house.
My heart took off at a gallop. Was this the fun kind of screaming or the call 911 kind? I’d gotten good at distinguishing between the two when my nephews were little and running around this farm like wild animals.
And a moment later, when Celine and her kids came into view, I let myself believe that it was the fun kind.
Her children had not forgotten about my promise to give them a tour, and clearly, they were eager for it.
It was sweet, but also annoying. When Callie had come to me asking if I’d be willing to rent out the cottage, she’d been insistent.
So, wanting to get out from under her scrutiny, I hadn’t asked as many questions as I should have.
Not that it would have mattered. I’d never say no to a single mom with three kids needing a home to start over.
Even without Callie’s pressure and no doubt the full force of the Maple Street Mafia.
My mom, God bless her, would haunt the shit out of me if I didn’t do what I could to help her.
And after what my sister Jess had been through as a single parent, I was even more committed to helping.
Callie had been light on details, but I’d read between the lines, and after last night, it was obvious to me that Celine had run from something.
But I wasn’t one to pry, so with any luck, I’d satisfy the kids’ curiosity about the farm and then go back to work.
I couldn’t possibly rearrange my life around a tenant and her kids. This was a courtesy. Nothing more.
It wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes, anyway. Thirty tops.
At my feet, Wayne snorted.
I peered down at him. “They’ll probably have a lot of questions.”
He barked once in agreement.
Celine and her kids headed down the hill toward the barn, moving like three chaotic weather systems, each different from the last, anchored by one exhausted mother.
Her long red hair was tied up on top of her head and a halo of curls framed her face. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall, and she had the wiry muscles of a woman who had carried more than her share of burdens. She was tiny but fierce. A body made by survival, not the gym.
As they made their way to me, she lengthened her strides, stepping in front of them, instinctively forming a protective barrier. Despite the confidence with which she carried herself, fear and hesitation radiated from her. And my instinct told me it had nothing to do with me.
I lifted my hand in a brief acknowledgment. Friendly took energy I couldn’t spare.
“Can we see the animals?” Maggie asked. She was wearing pink shorts and a T-shirt with a cat on it. Her hair was blond, and she eagerly smiled at me as she pushed her glasses up her nose.
“Depends,” I said. “On whether you can follow directions.” Clearing my throat, I put my hands on my hips and assessed them. “Which is still up for debate.”
Ellie rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Maggie. Chill. There are no horses.” She was all in black, and her strawberry blond hair was cut into a blunt, short style around her chin.
Celine had mentioned last night that she was twelve, but she had the attitude of a jaded thirty-five-year-old and was already several inches taller than her mother.
Behind the facade, though, there was a kid still in there.
Maybe it was in the knobby knees and elbows or a flash here and there in her eyes.
“But why?” Maggie asked, scanning our surroundings. “Seems like you’ve got room for horses. They are very versatile animals.”
“This farm is illegit,” Ellie grumbled.
Julian, who was staring intently at Wayne, with a pair of headphones worn around his neck like a scarf, looked at his sister. “I’m pretty sure you could ride this dog if you needed to.”
Wayne sat up a little taller, preening.
Yeah, this would not be a quick and easy afternoon. Dammit. I supposed it wasn’t the first time I’d lied to myself.
I took a breath and attempted to smile at Maggie. “Back in the old days, we had giant draft horses. My grandma loved them and cared for them every day of her life. We’d load the sap from the trees into large buckets on sleds, and the horses would pull them through the snow to the sugar house.”
Maggie perked up, her face brightening. “I knew it. They are useful for everything.”
“But now we drive ATVs and snowmobiles out through the maple stand.”
Her mouth turned down thoughtfully. “What’s a maple stand?”
“A stand is a big group of trees. We’ve got over ten thousand maple trees,” I explained. “We use tubing and other equipment to gather the sap into massive plastic containers and then drive them on the ATV back to the barn.”
“So you killed the horses?” she asked, panic flitting across her features.
“Of course not,” I said, cringing. “They died of old age. They had wonderful retirements filled with treats and lots of brushing.”
She hummed skeptically. “So what animals do you have?”
I looked at Wayne, who was watching me with a nonplussed look. “We have chickens,” I offered.
She scoffed. “Chickens are boring.”
“Untrue,” I offered, rocking back on my heels. “They have complex social structures and do hilarious things. And some of them like to be picked up and cuddled.”
Head tilted, she studied me, her face relaxing a little. “You should think about goats,” she said. “They eat poison ivy.”
I nodded. The last thing I needed was another animal to care for, but goats really were great at taking care of poison ivy, which seemed to have been winning its power struggle with me this year, and my nieces had been going on and on about goats all summer.
But if Logan caught wind of that, I’d have a dozen of them by the time I woke up tomorrow.
“Let’s walk up this way.” I nodded toward the largest barn. “I’ll show you around and point out potential dangers.” I added the last part, figuring it would satisfy Celine.
“What does sap taste like?” Ellie asked.
“Like watery maple syrup.” I slipped my phone back into my pocket and took off toward the barn. “The sap is mostly water, which is why it gets boiled down into syrup.”
“Because the water evaporates.” Ellie finished my thought.
“Exactly. It takes forty gallons of sap to make one gallon of maple syrup.”
“What?” Maggie’s eyes went round. “That’s way too much.”
I shrugged. “Take it up with the trees.” I gestured up the hill toward the tree line, where generations of my family’s hard work towered over us.
I felt closest to them up there—Mom and Dad, and even my grandparents. This land was important. To me and to generations of my family. It had been easy to walk away from the money and the suits and the private clubs of New York. Because my heart was here, in these tree roots.
In the main barn, Julian immediately jumped on top of a backhoe, the machinery too tempting for him.
Celine was right behind him, pulling him off.
“Stop,” I barked. “Don’t climb on that. Ever.”
He froze, his head lowering.
“There’s a lot of stuff here that could hurt you. You should never come in here without me.”
Maggie and Ellie both nodded. Julian continued staring at his feet.
Celine crossed her arms, her posture defensive, like a coiled snake about to strike. “I do watch my children.”
“Good,” I said flatly. “Because this place doesn’t give second chances.”