Secrets At Maple Syrup Farm (17 page)

“If only I could win the lottery,” I said. Wouldn’t that just fix Mom’s life or at least make it a darn sight easier? “Clay says I’ve become a full-fledged farmer’s assistant, and we’re tapping the trees Monday.” I was breathless, so I sat, and plonked my backpack on the floor.

“Gosh,” she said. “You’re the first one to stay on the farm so long. I knew it the moment I clapped eyes on you that you were the one!” Her eyes twinkled.

“The one?” I asked.

“The
chosen
one.” She did some jazz hands and the usual Becca histrionics, like she was an actress. “Let me order some gingerbread coffees and we can have a proper chitchat.”

She ordered at the counter and then returned to the table, tossing her curls over her shoulder.

“So,” she said, clasping her hands in front like she was praying. “I’ve been meaning to drop past and see how it’s progressed but, honestly, people come into the salon, and they get to talking and the day races away. By night-time, I’m not so eager to drive down that dark road, all those shadowy trees scare the life out of me. I’ve had to make do with Clay coming to my house for dinner and hear about all the latest goings-on at the farm.”

“Maybe a weekend visit, then? You’ll be amazed at how much it’s changed.
I’m
amazed. Clay never stops working.”

She chewed on a piece of gum so hard I thought her jaw might dislocate. “Oh, he’s always been like that. One of those people who just
has
to be doing something. There’s no sitting down, no relaxing for him. We’re so different! My idea of heaven is watching a chick-flick marathon, and not moving from the sofa, unless I need more chocolate. I don’t think Clay knows what rest is.”

The street lights flicked on outside. “He said he doesn’t sleep much. I wonder why?”

Becca raised an eyebrow and dodged the question like a pro. “Anyway,” she said. “You must come see me at the salon. Your hair is wild, though it does suit you, all tangled and bed-head like that.” She tapped a finger to her chin. “Some girls spend an age trying to achieve that look. What’s your secret?”

“My secret? I’ll never tell.” It hadn’t dawned on me to worry about my appearance, especially working outdoors. There was no point doing my hair or my make-up only to get to the farm and have the outdoors muss it up. Plus, I was more of a lip balm and pinch-your-cheeks-rosy kind of girl.

“Three gingerbread coffees, and three slices o’ chocolate meringue pie, with a generous helping o’ Chantilly cream, and some strawberry coulis. Don’t mind, if I do,” CeeCee cackled and sat with us, pulling a plate toward her.

“Thanks, Cee,” I said, my belly rumbling just gawking at the piece o’ pie in front of me.

“How’s it going there? You still lovin’ that place?” CeeCee asked, before taking a sip of coffee.

I swallowed a mouthful of pie, the sweetness of the meringue and the rich chocolate almost making me cry out in delight. “My body aches in spots I never knew I had. But today was a good day.” I thought back to the morning, sitting by Clay on the love swing, when he was unguarded and real. “We’re getting somewhere. Tapping starts Monday, and I can’t wait, to see what happens.”

Becca hit the table so forcefully the plates jumped in fright. “What the hell is in that pie?” she yelled. “I’ve never tasted anything so good!”

CeeCee laughed. “You’ll get used to Becca’s dramatics.”

Becca gave me a toothy smile. “Seriously, though,” she said between mouthfuls, “Clay’s raving about you. Reckons, with your help, he just might be able to make that place a success.”

“Raving about me?” Somehow I couldn’t see Clay raving about anyone, or anything.

She nodded. “Oh, yeah, he is. He was all
Lucy read up on how to tap the trees and explained it all;
I know we can do it
. And
Lucy said she’s an artist
,
and I want to see her work
, and
Lucy has this crazy laugh
,
like a hyena
. Lucy this, Lucy that…”

My mouth hung open so wide, I almost had to pick my jaw up off the table.

CeeCee turned to me. “Sounds to me like someone’s been bitten by that old love bug again. Rife round here at times.” She guffawed, and hit her knee, amused at her own antics.

I tried to cover my surprise by eating, but choked on a piece of cake. Becca jumped up and patted me hard on the back. “Sorry.” I fumbled with my napkin.

Becca sat back down, and winked. “I think CeeCee is on to something. You’ve turned a shade of red that’s so bright I’m almost sunburnt just staring at you!”

I took a huge gulp of the gingerbread coffee, which burned all the way down, doing my best not to snort it up my nose at what Becca had said. “No, girls.” I swallowed, tried to compose myself. “You’re wrong. So, so wrong. Clay hardly speaks to me, and when he does it often ends in a petty squabble.”

CeeCee exchanged a look with Becca, her face crinkling into a wide smile. “Aw, now ain’t that the sweetest thing? When two people pretend that little spark of love ain’t there? Them there’s the fireworks, you see? It’s Cupid saying, here you go…celebrate!” Her voice turned wistful. “Some folk read the messages from the cherub all wrong, thinking, oh lookie here, I need to douse this fire ‘fore it spreads.” She tutted. “Love, ain’t that hard. You just gotta recognize it. And I surely do.” She looked me straight in the eye. “Do you?”

I dropped my fork, which clattered to the floor. “No.” What was this crazy talk? My belly somersaulted so hard I hugged myself to stop the sensation.

***

“So, what’s the problem? You’re starting to feel something for him, but you’re fighting it, because it doesn’t make sense? Is that what you’re saying?” Mom’s voice was heavy with confusion.

I sighed, it wasn’t clear in my mind so how could I explain? All I knew was when I watched Clay something inside me flickered on, something I’d never felt before. “I don’t know what I’m saying!” I laughed. It was crazy. I was crazy. “He’s the most infuriating person I’ve ever met, so what the heck am I thinking? And…I really don’t know a thing about him when it comes down to it.”

“I bet you’re painting him a lot, right?” In the background, I heard the usual blare of a TV.

“In oils.” And they were magnificent. I had far too many canvases with Clay’s face adorning them. Michelangelo would be proud of this specimen. He put David to shame.

It was Mom’s turn to giggle. “This is the best thing you’ve ever done. How about you send some of those to the Van Gogh Institute? After seeing the photo of him you sent, phew…” she pretended to be hot under the collar “…they’ll choose you first thing, no questions asked.”

“Mom! You’re saying use his looks to get me in!” And I bet it would go a long way too in their decision. But there’s no way I’d ever part with those paintings. They were too private.

“Well why not! After all, it’s your brushstrokes that bring him to life!”

I fell about laughing, missing Mom, but loving our conversations, it was almost as good as being with her, in fact better, because now we had something else to talk about other than my sad life in Detroit.

Chapter Twelve

Monday morning, I was back in the café with Lil, jittery, and not paying much attention on account of it being tapping day.

Lil touched my arm to get my attention. “Now that the oats and honey mix is cool we can add it to our dough mixture and knead it.” I shook the maple daydreams away and tipped the contents of the bowl she passed me into our dough mix.

Lil said, “Time to get your hands dirty.”

We broke the mixture into two and kneaded it. We were making honey, oatmeal bread rolls for the breakfast crowd. The town was lucky to have the café, everything baked from scratch, the menu endlessly rotating.

“So what happens next?” I grabbed a pad and pencil. I had started taking notes of the recipes we cooked together.

Lil kneaded like an expert. Her dough was already together and smooth, whereas mine was still a globby mess. “We let it rest for an hour in a warm spot and the dough will rise and double.”

I tried to copy Lil, the way she rolled the dough into itself with her nimble fingers. I looked almost like a surgeon with my blue latex gloves on. My hands were still a blistered, calloused mess after farmwork.

“Then section into rolls, and bake. Easy!”

I groaned. “I’m going to miss these coming out of the oven as well!” Most things we cooked took longer than thirty minutes or so to bake, and I’d have to head to the farm, missing them coming out of the oven warm and heavily scented.

Lil laughed. “I promise I’ll save you some. I really mean it this time!”

Whatever we made sold out during the hours I was away, or Lil ate the rest because she claimed the jellybean made her do it. Secretly, I was thrilled to spend the mornings soaking up her knowledge, and enjoying the friendship. And while the produce at the café was heavenly I went for the company more than anything.

“Have you been to the Maple Syrup Farm, Lil, besides the applecart out front?” I asked Lil, copying her as she put the dough in a bowl and covered it with plastic wrap, setting it aside next to the warmth of the oven.

She nodded. “I used to play on the farm when I was a child. A group of us used to tear through the trees and try our luck fishing in the lake. Jessup knew we were there but never said anything. One day, we turned up and there was an old tractor tire tied by rope to a tree. He’d made us a swing.”

I slipped my gloves off and threw them in the bin. Lil motioned for me to sit while she made us breakfast, our morning as routine as the sun coming up. “That was so sweet of him.” There seemed to be no end to the mysterious man. Again I wished somehow I’d had the chance to meet him.

Lil took flour, butter, and milk and whisked it in a bowl. “A gentle man, an old soul, from what I saw.”

“In the journals, he talks a lot about the maples, and how they’re his friends in a way.”

Lil cradled the bowl under one arm and continued stirring it. “He
was
friends with those trees. As kids, we used to spy on him. He’d croon lovingly to them like they were real people. Once I’d climbed a tree, and got stuck there for hours, when he came and sat at the foot of it. I didn’t want him to know I was using his ‘friend’s’ as a playground. He spent hours sketching.”

So they were definitely Clay’s uncle’s journals.
Jessup
. A man who loved and lost, and lived in solitude for the rest of his days.

“It’s so sad. In a way, I miss him, and I didn’t even know the guy.” How could I explain the connection without sounding like a fool?

With the clang of the frypan, and the element lit, Lil dolloped a pat of butter in. When it sizzled she poured batter in. “Pancakes with berries and cream,” she said when I gazed at the mix. “Maybe the maple trees were enough for him. He surely did make the best syrup I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s like I recognize his artwork, or maybe it’s just I feel his pain. I don’t know.”

Lil flipped the first pancake. “What does Clay say about it all?”

I grimaced. “Doesn’t seem to care either way.”

“Men.” Lil shook her head. “So today’s the big day? Rested after a weekend of relaxation and ready to tap?”

I blew out a breath. “Yep. I’m nervous—I don’t know why! I think because Clay’s edgy about it too. Doesn’t want to mess it up.”

“It’ll be in his blood. His uncle was a master at it, so I’m sure he will be as well. Those kinds of things seem to stay in families. Tapping trees isn’t as hard as it looks, it’s just a lot of work.”

“I might just have a bottle of maple syrup for you soon, if all goes well.”

Lil added more pancakes to the plate. “Well then, we’re going to have to scout out more maple syrup recipes. You’re going to need to learn to cook with it.”

“Speaking of which,” I said, “Sarah found me a pile of books about maple syrup farms, and we read all about the traditions, one being a summer Sugaring-Off Festival. Lots of maple-flavored food, music, and fun. Clay said he’d consider it, if the first batch is good.”

Lil’s eyes widened. “Now you’re talking! So what’s the plan?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t really got one yet. But I was hoping you’d consider catering it, if Clay says yes.”

“Are you kidding, I’d love to! We need to start planning… I know the syrup’s going to taste great! We need to find some recipes.” Lil wiped her hands on a tea towel, and took a notepad from next to the phone. “So, the first thing that springs to mind is some maple bourbon barbequed ribs, can you imagine how great that smell will be for people wandering around the farm?”

My mouth watered just thinking of sticky, sweet, fall-off-the-bone meat. “That’s a winner, for sure, Lil. How many people do you think we’d need to cater for?”

“Hundreds,” she said grinning. “The Chocolate Festival drew a huge crowd, and if you want to have your party in summertime, then I’d say even more would attend. We better think of some recipes that will feed the masses!”

“What about slow-roasted beef? With some kind of maple marinade…”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes! We could use Damon’s rotisserie—he can be in charge of that. And the desserts, well, that’ll be the fun part.”

We abandoned our pancakes, and instead discussed various recipes, narrowing down a shortlist. Lil’s face was animated, the thought of catering for hundreds of people inspired her, rather than scared her. I was swept along in all the planning, only once or twice, thinking of Clay who hadn’t actually agreed to it as yet. It paid to be organized though, especially for an event this size. There was no harm in making a plan.

Once I arrived at the farm, I dashed straight to the maples. Hazy morning light filtered through, landing in soft shards on the velvety ground. Feeling energetic, and a little crazy, I dashed from one trunk to the next, running a palm over and warning the trees of what was to come. If Clay saw me now, he’d peg me as downright cuckoo. The old man, eccentric, or just sensitive to his environment, had loved these trees. I wanted to follow his method, and if that meant explaining to these magnificent maples about what was to come then that was easy enough.

Laughter spilled out of me, as I ran. “Sorry,” I said, breathlessly. “We’ll try to be gentle. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” I imagined the maples nodding, respectful that they knew their fate. It was like Jessup was standing behind me, in my shadow. My skin prickled, and all at once I felt as weightless as I ever had. For that brief moment in time, it was simply me and the astounding beauty of the trees, the light, and the feeling that life in all its forms was miraculous.