2. Teddy
TEDDY
The late-August sun hung low over the western ridge of the valley, casting long bars of amber light across the floor of the farmhouse kitchen.
After the exhausting drive down from the Maine coast, the scent of the orchard was incredibly sharp, smelling of cut grass, damp earth, and sweet apples.
Teddy stood near the scarred oak table, her muscles stiff from the hours spent behind the wheel of her overloaded pickup truck.
Her heavy tool chest remained secured in the truck bed, its brass latches catching the fading light.
In her pocket, her phone vibrated with a soft hum, a quick text message from Prue over at the flower cottage joining the continuous digital stream of check-ins that had kept her sisters connected since her tearful confession in the loft.
That digital thread of support had been a comforting current for the last twenty-four hours, but now, standing in the physical center of her childhood home, she sensed her defensive walls beginning to slide back into place.
Junie stood near the soapstone sink, her hands busy folding a stack of clean flour sacks, while Dahlia sat at the kitchen table.
On the oak surface between them lay a massive, heavy volume with color-coded plastic tabs and a glossy manual for the new automated register terminals.
The compassionate, protective atmosphere of their Portland rescue seemed to evaporate under their executive focus, replaced by the familiar humming energy of a harvest season that was only days away.
They had been back in the valley for less than an hour, and the free-flowing stream of support they had shared during the move already felt as though it was being channeled into organizing things for the harvest season.
"We've compiled the entire operational schedule for the opening week," Dahlia said, tapping the thick compilation with a manicured finger.
"We’ve gone digital this year. The digital calendar is synchronized with the main orchard database, and the new cash register terminals will automatically update the inventory levels as the transactions occur. "
A tight tingle of resistance flared behind Teddy's ribs, her posture immediately hardening. She knew Dahlia was only trying to help but she couldn’t help her reaction.
She looked at the color-coded tabs and the neat columns of the digital calendars, her mind flashing back to the structured schedules Ian had used to dictate her social calendar.
He had managed her life with that same clean, professional efficiency, treating her time as a transaction to be optimized for his Boston firm.
Now, seeing her sisters standing over her with that same organized precision, she watched her defensive walls rise.
She wondered if their rescue had been less about sisterhood and more about managing a broken project.
In her mind, their helpful manuals stood like an indictment of her competence, a silent declaration that she was too fragile to handle her designated harvest season because her personal life was a mess and her marriage had collapsed.
"The inventory totals are fully integrated so we know what needs to be restocked," Junie added, offering a smile as she stacked her folded towels on the counter. "The temporary assistant can manage the displays at the front counter, leaving you free to focus entirely on the cider barn repairs."
"I don't need my schedule managed," Teddy replied, keeping her voice tight as she leaned her hip against the pine counter.
She didn't touch the plastic-bound printed out schedule on the table, keeping her hands tucked into her pockets to hide her tension.
"The cider barn is my responsibility under the terms of the will.
I've already drafted my own timeline for the timber restoration. "
Dahlia raised her head, the professional focus in her expression giving way to thoughtful concern.
She closed the heavy compilation, the snap of the plastic rings sounding uncommonly loud in the quiet room.
"We aren't trying to interfere with your work.
The success of the previous harvest showed us how easily the crowds can overwhelm the cash registers.
We've established these systems to ensure you don't wear yourself out like Junie did. "
"I'm perfectly capable of managing a crowd," Teddy countered, her tone sharp with defensive pride. The warmth of their sister bond she’d experienced earlier seemed incredibly distant now, replaced by the cold fear of being treated as an object of pity.
She had spent her entire adult life proving she was the undemanding child who never caused trouble, who could lift the heavy beams and complete the restorations without a single hand.
"I survived five years in Portland without a laminated planner. "
"This is a shared effort," Junie urged, reaching across the table to touch the corner of the schedule print-out. "We've learned to distribute the load so we don’t have a repeat of last year. Don’t make the same mistake as I did."
"There's a difference between sharing a load and being managed," Teddy murmured, tensing as she stared at the bright spreadsheets. "According to the will, this is my season. It’s a legal obligation. I don’t need one of you taking control. I’ll complete my required season, but I don't need to be handled. "
Prue entered the kitchen through the back porch door, the screen settling into its frame with a soft rattle.
She carried a basket of late-blooming marigolds, their bright orange petals casting the scent of damp soil and spice through the room.
She immediately froze near the threshold, her gaze shifting from the closed cover to Teddy's stiff posture, instantly recognizing the tensed air between them.
"The valley wind is getting chilly," Prue said, setting her basket on the corner of the counter. "We should have some hot tea before we start the evening prep."
Teddy turned her gaze to the window, watching the long shadows of the apple trees stretch across the driveway.
It had been so comforting to have sisters come to Portland to help her, but the physical reality of the farm and all that entailed seemed like a trap somehow.
She had always been so sure of herself, knowing that she was independent and capable of achieving anything she set her mind to.
And then her marriage fell apart and ever since then, she had been questioning herself.
Maybe she wasn’t so capable after all. She was tense with the fear of her own inadequacy, terrified that if she let down her guard for even a single hour, her sisters would see the failed, broken woman Ian had always claimed she was.
She needed to remain strong, self-sufficient, and entirely unyielding, even if it meant fighting the very stream of support she had longed to find.
She looked back at the table, noting the neat row of freshly sharpened pencils resting beside the manual for the new cash registers.
Everything was set up so perfectly, so seamlessly, that her presence seemed almost ornamental.
It was as though they had prepared for her arrival by building a soft play pen, lining it with color-coded safety parameters so she wouldn't bruise her knees.
They had even hired a temporary manager for the opening weekend, leaving her with nothing to do but hide in the dust of the cider barn.
It was the same polite exclusion she had experienced with Ian's Boston family, who had smiled patronizingly while gently guiding her away from the major decisions.
"I've got work to do in the barn," Teddy said in a flat, even tone that brooked no argument. She ignored the stack of papers Dahlia tried to slide toward her. "I'll be cataloging the timber frame until dark."
Dahlia let out a slow breath, hands resting flat against the plastic cover of the compiled papers. "We just want to help."
"I know," Teddy replied. Her phone buzzed in her pocket with another quick message. "But I need to do this my own way."
She crossed the threshold of the kitchen, her shoulders tense with the heavy weight of her pride, ready to retreat into the safety of her physical labor.
The kitchen remained wrapped in a heavy quiet as Teddy stood, her fingers curled tightly around the leather strap of her satchel.
The laminated schedule she had rejected lay on the oak table, its neat colored grids standing as a silent demand.
Dahlia sat still, her posture rigid as she absorbed the sharp dismissal, while Junie remained by the sink, her hands hovering over a linen towel.
The warm afternoon light that streamed through the windows seemed to expose every line of strain in the room, turning the welcoming ease of their recent drive into a distant memory.
Prue broke the silence, lifting a ceramic teapot from the stove. She poured the amber liquid into a clay mug, the rich scent of lavender rising with the steam to soften the friction in the air. She approached the table, keeping her movements slow as she offered the mug toward Teddy.
"You've had a long drive," Prue said, her tone carrying genuine affection and concern as she placed the mug on the wood near Teddy's hand. "I’m sure the cider barn can wait. Take a minute to sit down and rest before we worry about the logistics."