Chapter 3 #2
By the time I finished my shower and came back from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following behind me, Jen and Willow were waiting for me on the bed with a snack: homemade crackers with local cheddar and some honey that I assumed came from the farm.
I’d get sick of honey after a few weeks, but as of now, I craved it; so I sat on the edge of the bed in my towel and accepted the offering, savouring each bite, sacrificing only a single crumb of cheese to my beggar of a dog.
“So,” Jen said once I’d finished my snack, taking a loud sip of her tea. “I have some news.”
Something in her tone made me look up sharply. “Good news or bad news?”
“Good, I think. Or, at least, necessary.” She wrapped her hands tightly around her mug, a sure sign that she was nervous about something. “You know the grant we received from the council?”
“The one about ‘putting Abergavenny on the map’?” I’d helped write parts of that application during my last visit, outlining our sustainability practices and community involvement.
The council had insisted we needed to focus more on events, which was why I’d worked so hard to get us spots at festivals and markets this summer.
“That’s the one. Well, it turns out they want us to host events. Here, at the farm. And the more I looked into that, the more I realised I was out of my depth.”
I frowned. “Why didn’t you mention this?
” Jen only paid me when I was on the farm, which was why I had to deal with hapless guests at Ren Faires and festivals during the off season, but I still helped her all year with the horticultural side of things, advising her on the garden, and reminding her what to do with the hives and when.
She usually treated me more like a partner than an employee, even during the months when I wasn’t on the payroll.
Jen shrugged. “I knew you’d be here soon enough.”
“So, what do we need to do?” I asked, wishing she’d brought this up on my first workday tomorrow instead of when I was sat there in my towel, but whatever.
“Well, actually, we don’t need to do anything,” Jen said, her voice sounding guilty in a way that instantly raised my hackles. “The new hire will take care of it.”
My stomach dropped. “The new hire? What does that mean?”
“I hired someone from the area to help with the marketing and event planning. I wanted to wait until you got back to make any decisions, really, I did, but I couldn’t afford to miss the season.”
“You hired a whole person?”
Jen nodded. “I did.”
“And the grant covered that? I don’t remember it being that much.”
Jen grimaced. “Not entirely.”
For years now, we’d been putting away a little bit of the farm’s meagre profits every year to cover a visa sponsorship for me.
My seasonal work visa meant I could only spend six months of the year in the UK, and we both wanted me to be able to stay more permanently.
Or, at least, that’s what I’d thought. But I knew from the way Jen had said it that she’d used some of that money to hire this person.
My face must have visibly dropped, because hers did, too. “Teddy—”
“I know it’s your farm,” I said quickly, hating how petulant I sounded. “I’m not saying you needed my permission. It’s just that we usually discuss these things.”
Jen covered my hand with hers. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I should have called. But I was worried that if I waited much longer, we wouldn’t be able to get an event in the diary this summer…”
She trailed off, but I could fill in the blanks.
This was our chance to really establish the farm as a destination; to bring in the kind of tourism revenue that might help grow our profit margins.
And bigger margins meant a more reliable way to keep me around.
I just wished I didn’t have to let someone else jump the line to get there.
I’d actually convinced myself that, if the events I’d signed up for went well enough, we might have been able to do it this year.
“What’s their background?” I asked, forcing myself to think like the business partner I wanted to be, not like an overlooked niece. “Marketing, I assume?”
“Event planning, actually. And she’s really passionate about mead, too.
” Jens expression brightened. “I think she might be exactly what we need, Ted. Someone with experience in bringing people together; making connections. She’ll be here soon, actually, for her first day.
I thought you might want to meet her, get a sense of what she’s trying to accomplish, maybe even make a friend? She’s about your age, and queer.”
I don’t need any friends, I thought. Most of the people I knew, present company excluded, were other seasonal workers or people I’d met at markets and festivals over the year, and even then I’d never made much of an effort to remember them.
I was only here half the year, after all. What was the point?
“I think I’ll take Willow for a hike before the new girl gets here,” I said as I shot to my feet, suddenly finding myself with a surplus of anxious energy to burn. I grabbed my clothes off the bed. “Get my bearings back.”
“Good idea,” Jen said, standing up to leave. “Just don’t wear yourself out – I want you to make a good impression.”
I paused my hurried dressing and raised an eyebrow at Jen. “When do I not make a good impression?”
“Do you want me to answer that honestly?”
I stuck my tongue out at her, which made her laugh as she pulled the door shut behind her. I heaved out a sigh and turned to Willow, who stood on the bed wagging her tail.
“You wouldn’t keep a secret like that from me, would you, girl?” I asked as I scratched her wiggly haunches. But I supposed Jen had every right to keep it a secret if she wanted to. Because as much as the farm might have been home to me, it wasn’t mine. Not really.
* * *
The path up the hill behind the farm was overgrown, even after winter, but I could still follow it easily.
I’d been walking this route for years, even though I had never been entirely sure who owned the land.
It didn’t matter – no one had ever challenged me, and the view from the top was worth the risk of trespassing.
There were no sheep to be seen, which meant it was the perfect spot to exercise Willow; the only such spot in walking distance where we didn’t risk encountering a protective farmer.
Willow bounded ahead, following scents and chasing shadows, while I let my mind wander. It felt good to move after hours of sitting on planes and in cars; good to breathe air that smelled like grass and earth instead of exhaust and recycled air conditioning.
At the top of the hill, I settled onto the flat, moss-covered rock that served as my usual perch. Below me, Gwenynen Hollow lay spread out like a living map.
The mead production happened in the large blue warehouse that had been built five years ago along one edge of the small parking area, all clean lines and temperature control that looked slightly out of place next to the traditional stone structures of the house and barn.
The flower garden followed the side of the warehouse; I’d worked hard to make it as bee friendly as possible over the years, which meant walking a fine line between intentionality and over-cultivation.
Beyond that was the orchard, where a few rows of mature apple and pear and quince trees followed the contour of the hills.
Across it all, the hives dotted the space, different clusters perfectly positioned for different honeys.
The rainbow of colours and materials told the story of the farm’s growth; I’d started out hand-building the boxes from reclaimed materials, but as we’d expanded, it had become impossible to keep up, and now there was a mix of my carpentry, commercially manufactured boxes, and second-hand salvages.
The large storage barn – refurbished several years ago so it could be used as an office, too – sat nestled between the parking lot and the hill.
Next to it was a little yellow shepherd’s hut-style holiday cottage that, in theory, Maggie sometimes stayed in, though mostly it was used as overflow storage.
Then there was the house, behind which was a patchwork kitchen garden that had grown bit by bit each year, where rhubarb, spring onions, and early cabbages were ready for harvest. And beyond it all, between the farm and the B road, was the old field that Jen had immediately given over to Mother Nature, now rich with wildflowers and grasses and self-seeded willow; in fact, I’d been out there harvesting some for weaving six years ago when I’d found my little pup gnawing on one of the strands, desperate for something to eat. Hence her name.
Gwenynen Hollow was beautiful and functional, and I wanted nothing more than to be a part of it for the rest of my life.
I remembered every decision that had shaped it over the years, and I had so many more visions for it in my mind.
The thought of leaving again this fall – of packing my single suitcase and flying back to California to spend another winter drifting – made my chest tight with sadness.
I’d hoped that maybe this would be the year I wouldn’t have to say goodbye, but if Jen had hired someone else, what did that mean for me?
Movement in the driveway below caught my attention, and I squinted down to see a figure walking up the gravel path. I was too far away to make out details, but they moved with purpose; like someone who knew exactly where they were going.
“Come on, girl,” I said to Willow, who was investigating something fascinating in the undergrowth. “Lets go meet the new hire.”
By the time I made it back down the hill, the visitor had disappeared inside.
I could see Jen through the windows, gesturing animatedly as she spoke to someone whose back was turned to me, their dark red hair cascading over their shoulders.
I pushed open the studio door, running my suddenly sweaty palms down my jeans to dry them.
There was no logical reason to be nervous about meeting a new team member, but my heart sped up as if it knew something I didn’t.
“Jen, I’m back!” I called, stepping into the light-filled space. Then the person looking at Jen’s latest painting turned around, and my world tilted sideways.
Long, auburn hair, pale skin, and the same face that had been haunting my thoughts for three months.
But instead of glitter freckles and a ridiculous pair of wings, she was wearing tailored trousers and a silky purple blouse, looking like she’d stepped out of a boardroom, not like she’d come to work at a rural honey farm.
“Teddy,” she said, as if greeting an old friend, her pale pink lips twisting into a smirk. “What a coincidence.”
She stuck out her hand, and I instinctively reached out to shake it before I even knew what I was doing.
“You,” I managed, my voice coming out rougher than I’d intended, though there wasn’t much thought swirling around in my mind. Just one long, continuous whisper of huh?
“Me,” she said, her smirk giving way to what felt like more of a sneer, still shaking my hand. I felt my shock and confusion solidify into annoyance. “Chloe Barlow. Looks like we’ll be working together.”
Like hell we would.