Читать книгу Molly's Garden - Roz Denny Fox - Страница 11
ОглавлениеMOLLY WAVED GOODBYE to the children and teachers who’d loaded onto the school bus. For their first day at the farm they’d accomplished an amazing amount of work.
When she had first approached two elementary schools with her idea, she hadn’t expected immediate support. In her nine years with the Peace Corps she’d come to accept that every request got bogged down in tedious bureaucracy. So she’d gone to the initial school meeting armed with proof that programs of the type she proposed were successful in other areas, including in urban settings where kids grew flowerpot gardens.
Surprisingly she had found a dedicated staff already deeply worried about an excess of poverty-stricken families. She’d only had to mention that kids loved to eat what they grew and the principals and their staff were all in. In addition to arranging to transport third-graders out to her farm once a week, teachers at all grade levels asked if she might provide fresh vegetables for their Backpack Fridays, where they sent every child home with a backpack filled with foodstuffs. For some it was all they’d have to eat over the weekend.
Of course she’d agreed. But the meeting had opened her eyes to how many families in her area were in need. She hadn’t expected to hear that US families ever went without food. In truth, she’d like to give away everything she raised, but that wasn’t possible. She needed to sell enough to make ends meet and to pay her workers. She was still dipping into her savings and her dad’s insurance.
The bus stopped at the end of the lane, waiting for the automatic gate to open. After it drove out Molly watched the gate close again. She stood there thinking back to the other day when the man from some oil company had parked on the main road and hiked onto her land.
A closed gate couldn’t keep somebody out if they really wanted to get in.
She shivered.
Henry was probably right in saying the whole perimeter should be fenced. But fencing was costly. And what about the land sloping to the river? She irrigated from there. Yes she had seen people cross the river who shouldn’t. Her dad’s philosophy and that of her grandfather’s had been to live and let live. She did the same.
Now that the children were gone, she unhooked Nitro’s leash. He never roamed far from her side, but he liked being free to sniff out a rabbit or two.
“Come on, boy. I need to go to the barn to look at the latest application.” The man who’d ridden in on the motorcycle.
As she made her way to the office Molly wasn’t sure she should hire Adam Hollister, even if he ticked all the boxes. Something about him had thrown her off balance. It went beyond how easily he’d won over her dog—her supposed guard dog.
Revisiting the impression the man had left brought him squarely back into focus.
At thirty-two she could count on one hand the men who’d stirred her. A fellow Ag student in college. He’d changed his major to computers, eloped with his high school sweetheart and gone on to make his mark at IBM.
The other had been a doctor volunteering in Kenya while he did advanced studies on jungle fevers. She’d thought they’d had a future until a female physician had showed up to work as part of Molly’s extended team. Mark Lane, MD, had broken her heart when he and Penelope Volker, having snagged twin fellowships at Johns Hopkins, had left without even a backward glance.
Worse, the couple’s dual departure had left only a nurse and a nurse practitioner to care for the desperately ill who showed up at their village Peace Corps compound.
Shaking off the memory, she entered the barn and strained to see in the dim light. Nitro loped over to drink water from a big bowl they kept filled for him.
Henry stepped out from the office. “Molly, I think we’ve found you a truck driver. I checked his references and the folks he listed all said you’d be lucky to get him.”
“Really?”
He handed her the double-sided application she’d put together after placing the ad.
“Where has he worked before? Why isn’t he working there now? Or, if he is, why is he looking to change jobs?”
“He’s currently working at a bar near Catarina. For a friend. The guy said Hollister has done everything from ordering to serving to cleaning up to being his bouncer in just short of two years. He pretty much ran the place, because the owner was renovating a house. Oh, and he also said when the bar was closed Hollister picked up housing materials and helped with construction.”
“Hmm.” Molly glanced over the form. On the line about education he’d written “some college.”
“His second reference, Kevin Cole, has a Dallas address and phone number. Did Hollister work in Dallas?”
“That’s Cole’s private cell number. He said Hollister handled a lot of different projects. I asked if he could drive a diesel truck. Cole laughed and said Hollister never met a job he couldn’t handle. I gathered he lived in Dallas but worked in different places—even doing contract jobs overseas. Cole was vague. I figured it must’ve been for the government. Government guys are hard to pin down.”
Molly chewed on that. Even working in remote Africa she’d met some black ops guys. Tough men. Shadowy figures. From her brief assessment of Adam Hollister, he fit the image.
Did she want someone like him on her payroll? Perhaps she should do more of a background check.
On the other hand, she needed someone now. It was worth giving him a trial, she supposed.
“You can always fire him if he doesn’t work out,” Henry said, making Molly wonder if her thoughts were that transparent.
“I can, but you know I’m better at hiring than firing.”
Her cell phone rang, cutting off Henry’s remark. Dragging it out of her pocket, Molly saw the call was from Tess Warner, an artisan bread maker she’d met at a farmers’ market near Cotulla.
“Hey,” Molly said as she answered, gesturing to Henry that the call was going to take a while. “I haven’t seen you out and about at any markets for a while. Is everything okay?”
“Great!” Tess replied. “Has it really been that long?”
“A few weeks at least. Where’ve you been?”
“Corpus, if that counts as going anywhere.” She laughed. “I guess we haven’t seen each other since I tracked down an old friend of my grandmother’s. The woman still lives in Sicily.
“Gabriella sent me a bunch of recipes in Italian. I needed my mom and my aunts to translate them, so I’ve been in Corpus trying out the recipes and transcribing them into English.”
“I miss you! I toasted my last slice of your cranberry-pecan bread this morning for breakfast.”
“Funny, I have loaves waiting to bake. I called to invite you over and to ask if you could bring some fresh dill. I’m home and baking up a storm. If you come over, we’ll have warm bread slathered with butter and some wine my mother made.”
“How can I refuse an offer like that? I have a lot to tell you, too, Tess. My truck driver got beaten up. He’s the second one—the other guy quit on me.”
“That’s horrible. I hope you’re okay.”
“I’ve been hauling loads to markets all week in my SUV and nobody seems to bother me.”
“Just the thought is bad enough. Hey, bring Nitro. Coco misses him.”
“Wait until you hear how my big scary dog totally caved over a guy I may hire as my next driver.”
“A new man? Wonderful, I can’t wait to hear.”
Molly said goodbye and turned to leave the barn.
Henry called out, “Tomorrow we’ll have a large load. A lot of buyers stock up midweek. Do you want me to call Hollister to see if he can be here and ready to hit the road by seven?”
Frowning, Molly again scanned the application she forgot she still held.
“Do you have time to run a check at the DMV on his license?”
“Sure. You’re doing too much on your own. If we hire Hollister, it’ll free you up to do what you like best—dig in the dirt.”
“You know me too well. Okay, if his license is current, offer him the job. Did you talk to him about salary?”
Henry plucked at his lower lip. “I don’t recall him asking about money. Not usual. But he didn’t strike me as a man with champagne tastes. Know what I mean?”
“Okay. Suggest the same rate I paid Ramon. If he wants more, go up fifty dollars a week. But that’s tops. If he’s good with that and can work tomorrow, no need to let me know. If he backs out and I have to juggle my workload again, put a note on my kitchen door. I don’t know how late I’ll be at Tess’s. She’s offering bread and wine.”
“Your papa would like seeing you get out with friends your age. But he would’ve liked it better if you were going out with a young man.”
Snorting, Molly handed back Adam Hollister’s application. “Don’t you be stepping into Dad’s shoes and giving me a hard time. Maybe I’ll choose to remain single.”
The old man, who’d been like a grandfather to Molly, raised an eyebrow but ducked back into the office without saying another word.
Molly went to the house with Nitro, stopping to cut and bag stalks of dill from the herbs lining her front porch. She added rosemary and thyme to the burlap bag. That barely left time for a speedy shower.
After dressing, she worked equally fast and tossed together ingredients for a summer salad. Placing the bowl on ice in a small cooler, she pocketed dog treats and left the house with twelve minutes to reach Tess’s.
The freeway made the drive easy. Still, she was a tad late. Because her windows were rolled down, she smelled the fresh bread when she turned onto her friend’s street. There weren’t a lot of homes nearby, but the people living closest must drool a lot, she thought. Few things set a person’s taste buds tingling as did warm, fresh bread.
She parked behind Tess’s car, collected everything and clipped a leash on Nitro.
Tess had already thrown open her front door, greeting Molly with a hug as she crested the top step. Her friend’s chubby three-year-old beagle barked and dashed out to rub noses with the much taller Doberman, who acted silly again, the way he had with Adam Hollister. The big dog scooched toward Coco on his belly, uttering what could only be described as crooning. “You ham,” she accused him as she and Tess laughed.
“I thought my last batch of bread would be out of the kiln out back before you got here,” Tess said. “I’ll pour us each a glass of Mom’s sangria and we can let the dogs run in the backyard while we wait. It feels like ages since we even talked.”
“It all sounds heavenly. I’ve scarcely sat down all day.” Molly handed Tess the burlap bag of herbs and followed her through the dimly lit living room into the bright, cheery kitchen. Molly had only been here once before.
Now, as Tess poured wine, Molly opened her cooler and stored the salad in the fridge. Then she unhooked Nitro’s leash. It took about ten seconds for the dogs to dash out through the doggie door, and for Molly to wind his leash through the handles of the cooler. Straightening, she noticed the wall of floor-to-ceiling metal racks filled with cooling loaves of bread.
“You’ve been baking up a storm.” She accepted the glass of chilled sangria from the woman who was four years her junior, six inches shorter but much curvier. “Cheers,” Molly said, touching the rim of the stemware to Tess’s glass.
“I’m making up for lost time. When I visited my family as long as I did, I put a dent in my bank account. Let’s go outside.”
Tess elbowed open the back door and the smell of baking bread wafted in on the evening breeze. A red glow flickering in the domed wood-fired oven emitted enough light to make the porch feel cozy.
Molly sat on the bench that flanked a rustic table. “How do you know the right amount of wood to make bread bake at the temperature you need?”
“Practice,” Tess said, taking a sip of wine. “Also, when I had the stove built I installed temperature gauges in the fire box and the oven. See that digital readout? The oven is basically like one my grandmother would have used in Sicily, but with modern bells and whistles.” She went over to check both gauges. Returning, she sat and said, “A few more minutes and I can pull the loaves. Is that long enough to tell me who in the world beat up your truck driver and why?”
Molly heaved a sigh. “I still don’t know. Ramon didn’t recognize any of his assailants. The local deputy claims they have no suspects. Between us, I doubt he’d tell me if they found the culprits... Has anyone objected to how you sell your bread?”
“How so? I’ve got two types of ovens, which lets me operate under cottage food industry laws. Why would they object? Who objects to you selling organic vegetables? Wait, don’t answer. Let me pull out the loaves first.”
The dogs raced up the steps and flopped near Molly, who took two treats from her pocket and fed one to each dog.
“Where were we?” Tess asked, stepping over Coco to take her seat.
“Discussing the harassment of my drivers. I’m disheartened after talking to Deputy Powell. He insinuated that locals think I hire undocumented immigrants, or at least supply them with food. He didn’t mince words when he said I should be more circumspect about which hungry families I give produce to.”
“Why is that their business? It’s your food. If I didn’t take pre-orders, which pretty much ensure I sell out every time, I’d donate leftovers. Also, are they leaning on the big ranchers or area builders? For sure they don’t check status when they hire.”
Molly shrugged and dipped a slice of orange out of her glass and ate the pulp.
“What are you going to do about a driver?”
“With luck, Henry’s hired a guy today who answered an ad I ran. I didn’t interview him, but we spoke. He’s...well, he rides a Harley, dresses like a biker and doesn’t strike me as the type to take any guff.”
Tess grinned.
“So, tell me. It’s not my imagination that your tone changed when you described him. I take it he’s hot?”
“Don’t be silly.” Molly sipped her wine. “When do we eat? The smell of your cranberry bread makes me want to tear into a loaf right now.”
Tess hopped up again to check. “The bread is cool enough to move. But don’t think changing the subject will make me forget about your hot biker guy. I’ll ply you with more of Mom’s wine.”
“I didn’t say he was hot. And one glass is my limit. I’m driving.”
“Hot was implied. I understand if you want to keep him for yourself. How old is he, out of curiosity?”
Molly jumped up and stepped over dogs to help carry in the rack. “Honestly, Tess, did I even say he’s single?”
“A motorcycle jock? Of course he is.” The younger woman juggled her end of the rack, walking backward into the house.
“Hey, that’s judgmental! I’d say he’s close to forty. At that age—if he’s single—he’s probably divorced. Enough about my maybe new driver. I’ll get the salad. I see the table is set.”
“Spoilsport.” Tess sighed. “My mom bugged me about not having a man in my life while I was visiting, so it’s been on my mind. She thinks twenty-eight is over the hill. Of course she was married at seventeen and had me at eighteen. And at forty-six, she’s outlived three husbands. Preferred older men.”
“Wow, don’t tell her I’m thirty-two and still single. She’ll think I’m a bad influence.” Molly held up a cruet filled with oil and herbs she found in the fridge. “Is this the dressing?”
“That’s a new recipe I got from Aunt Luisa. And grab the blue container, will you? I whipped some butter with fresh berries.”
Molly eyed everything once it was on the table. “I wish I liked to cook. For me it’s a chore,” she said, sitting. “My dad hired a cook. I tracked after Dad with the cattle, in the barn, riding horses. I was too much of a tomboy to care about cooking.”
“We’re both products of our backgrounds. My mom has five sisters, and being a big Sicilian family, every meal is reason to gather and eat big. Everyone cooks, and bread is a staple.” She tore off a chunk of warm bread and passed the loaf to Molly.
“If you hire that new driver,” she asked, “will you quit going to your booths at the markets?”
“I’ll still deliver on weekends. My drivers typically work five days. And, during peak season, we have high demand six or seven days a week.”
“Good. Let me know what days and which markets you’ll be at. I’ll adjust my schedule so maybe we can grab lunch or dinner together. I didn’t make friends here until I met you.”
Molly nodded. “It’s the same for me, even though I grew up here. Most of my high school friends have left the area. My college friends weren’t from around here. They’re spread all over the globe now.”
“Mom says if I’d gone to college I’d be married by now. But of my former friends who went on to university, those who moved back to Corpus act like I’m a lamebrain or something.”
“They’re the lame ones.” Molly sat back with a sigh. “You have tons of talent.”
“Oh, you are good for my ego. Do you have time to watch a movie?”
“I’d love it, but unfortunately I’ve got to get home.”
“Well, here, let me send you off with a loaf of cranberry bread at least.”
“No, you won’t. I’m buying one of those and a loaf of dark rye. It’ll save me chasing you down at one of the markets only to find you’ve sold out.” She pulled out her billfold.
“Shall I put you on my weekly e-newsletter?
“Please do.” Molly counted out cash and set the bread aside, admiring Tess’s logo on the bags: colorful hearts around the words Bread From The Heart.
“I wish I had something clever to call my business other than McNair Gardens. But Dad already had the arch that said McNair Cattle. It was simpler to change out Cattle for Gardens.”
Taking her cup to the dishwasher, she said, “We’ll have to do this again. My house next,” she said, picking up the bread she’d bought.
“Perfect. I guess if I miss anything about home, it’s that my aunts, uncles and cousins were always popping in and out, bringing food and games.”
Molly tickled Nitro. He got up, shook himself and yawned. Coco sprang up and wagged her tail. “The few times we’ve talked I’ve never thought to ask if you have siblings.”
“No. My mom picked older husbands who didn’t want kids of their own. And she was honest about saying her big family lacked money to go around. She wanted better for me. My dad died when I was five. Luckily I had cousins who were like siblings.”
“I used to wish my dad would remarry and have kids so I’d have siblings,” Molly mused. “Dad claimed he was a one-woman man. People said that was noble. Now that I’m older I think it was an excuse to not risk being hurt again. Cowardly, even.”
“Maybe not. None of us can really know why another person makes the choices they make.”
“I guess I feel so alone in the world since he died. My mom was orphaned and grew up in foster care. Dad’s family all died before him.”
Tess put a hand out and squeezed Molly’s arm. “I’ll be your pretend sister. Truly, if anything says we need to get away from our work and mingle more, you just reminded us that we’re both such loners.”
“Did I sound totally pathetic? All this talk of family made me melancholy.” Striving to regain her earlier joy, Molly hugged Tess and headed for her SUV. The dogs both whined.
Tess captured Coco and they stood on the porch until Molly backed out onto the street.
Nitro hunkered down in the backseat.
It wasn’t that late. But traffic on the freeway seemed extra light. Normally this section was heavily traveled by trucks crossing the border at Nuevo Laredo, although her dad had thought more traffic crossed south at Reynosa, which lead into McAllen. Molly sometimes sold produce in small towns inland from Laredo. But the lion’s share of her business was north of the ranch, toward San Antonio.
It was dark by the time she exited the freeway onto the two-lane road angling toward the ranch. A crescent moon brought out the glitter of stars high overhead. Molly recalled how she used to like riding herd with her father at night.
African nights in the village were even darker, and the stars bigger, closer, for lack of any outdoor lighting.
A rare shooting star caused Molly to brake. She looked for others, but when there weren’t any more, she took the one as a good omen.
Her SUV bumped for a short distance along the private lane that cut across McNair land to the archway entrance. An automatic eye registered her vehicle and she let the engine idle while waiting for the big gate to swing open. Where, as a girl, sagebrush had lined the route from here to the house, now carefully tended vegetable fields flashed green in the arc of her headlights.
As if sensing where they were, Nitro sat up, stuck his head over the seat and panted in Molly’s ear. She reached back and rubbed his nose. “Almost home, boy. Tonight was fun, wasn’t it?”
All at once she saw a slight movement off to her left near the path that ran between bush and pole beans. Her SUV hit a pronounced dip in the road and by the time she’d climbed out onto level ground again, whatever she’d seen was gone.
Nitro began growling and sprang against the right back window.
“Easy, boy. I don’t see anything now.”
Instead of driving head-on into the carport, she turned around and backed in, which left her high beams illuminating the field. Her dad had always carried a loaded handgun beneath his front seat, and often had a rifle prominently displayed in a back window gun rack. Molly had lost count of the number of times he’d counseled her to do the same since she’d come back to nurse him through the cancer.
She knew how to shoot. He’d taught her well. But she didn’t like handling guns and believed they could be turned against a hesitant owner.
Nitro continued to paw at the window even after she shut off the motor and let the lights die. She could turn him loose to investigate, but didn’t, because the shadow might be a coyote. Instead, she clipped on his leash, collected her bread, left the cooler and ran up the three steps to her front door with her key out. She quickly unlocked it and turned on a hall light and the one on the porch.
It was plain by his frenzied barking that Nitro’s keen senses had picked up a scent.
Locking the door, she dragged Nitro into the kitchen and snapped on the bright overheads. Her heart racing, she unleashed Nitro and quickly turned out the kitchen light again. Silencing the dog with a treat, she eased over to the window and scanned the area where she’d seen—something.
Nothing moved. Not even a leaf.
Nitro padded over to his water bowl and proceeded to lap at it noisily.
Still, it took time for Molly’s nerves to settle. Not normally easily frightened, she chalked it up to the attack on her two truck drivers followed by the veiled warnings from the deputy and the less-veiled caution from her insurance agent. He, of course, probably felt compelled to act in her father’s stead as they’d been lifelong friends.
Belatedly she remembered asking Henry to stick a note on her front door if he wasn’t able to hire the new driver so she could prepare to go to market again herself. Eventually, convinced she’d let herself be spooked over something that meant her no harm—even if a poor, hungry person had been trying to steal green beans—she opened the kitchen door and checked all around for a note. Finding none, she closed it with a sigh of relief. For now one problem had been solved. She had a driver.
Setting her alarm for 5:00 a.m., she spent a moment drawing a rough map of Adam Hollister’s first-day route.
Since one person couldn’t sell at all farmers’ markets at once, she had local moms manage her booths. The women kept careful records and never cheated her out of a dime. She trusted them more than, say, for instance, men who ran oil companies.
Which reminded Molly she hadn’t looked up the company listed on the card that rep had given her. Maybe tomorrow. Now she was too tired.
* * *
IN THE MORNING, right after breakfast, Molly walked out to the spot where last night she’d seen an unclear motion. The area hadn’t been irrigated so the path had no distinct footprints. She didn’t see any sign to indicate someone had tried to pick in the dark. Peering down into the rows of the pole beans, she thought dirt may have been disturbed in a few places. Coyotes wouldn’t dig. They chased mice and squirrels. But if a migrant happened to be traveling with a dog...
She met the first crew of pickers and directed them to the fields with the produce slated to be sold later that morning in a series of small towns that fell in a circle. The eastern sky banded with faint streaks of gold, and Molly’s crew had just fanned out to pick when she heard the rumbling of a motorcycle. Shading her eyes, she watched her new driver stop next to the silo. Glancing at her watch, she noted that he had showed up about two hours earlier than she’d expected him.
Nitro left his favorite spot under the pecan tree and made a beeline for the newcomer. Molly ground her back teeth together. What was it about Hollister, she wondered, watching her guard dog act like a puppy chasing his tail?
She stepped nearer, at once noticing the man’s broad grin as he removed his helmet. She took in the wrinkles around his eyes, which yesterday she’d termed stormy but altered her perception today. He seemed more approachable.
“You’re early,” she said.
He straightened, still smiling. “Henry said I’d need to fill out tax withholding forms. He suggested I might tour the farm to get an idea of what’s planted where.”
“Oh, sure.” Taking off her gloves, Molly tucked them under her belt. She grew warm feeling the man’s gaze follow her movement. She wore a faded red tank top and jeans with a ripped knee.
Today he was wearing a moss-green, long-sleeved, snap-buttoned shirt and jeans a few washings newer than hers.
Striding past him, she twirled a dial lock and started to open one of the double barn doors. Feeling suddenly surrounded by bulky warmth, Molly froze and glanced back, only to find Adam reaching around her to help.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “That door looks heavy. I thought I’d give you a hand. Do you want it all the way open?”
“Uh, fine.” She let go and ducked out from under his solid arm. “Henry generally has them wide open. The office is there. Well, you’d know that from filling out the application—” she said, breaking off with a shrug. “I’ll get the W-4 forms and a map of how the gardens are laid out.” She stopped again, feeling as if she was running off at the mouth.
“Would you have time to give me the fifty-cent tour?”
It wasn’t a task she’d choose, but since he hadn’t listed farming on his application form, it said something that he was eager to see what she grew.
“I’ll show you around the upper fields planted with produce you’ll be hauling to market this week. My land slopes a mile down to within fifty feet of the river. I have a few hundred acres stretching into McMullen County. The lower part is planted in cabbage and some cranberries. The adjacent section lies fallow now. I hope to add nut trees and citrus soon.”
He finished filling out the two forms she’d handed him, and looked up in surprise. “I didn’t realize you owned so much land.”
“My dad ran cattle until he got too sick. Some say my plan to plant it all so it produces year-round is too ambitious.”
“Hmm.” Adam cleared his throat. “Does your husband do the plowing, harrowing and irrigating? You know...the heavy work.”
Molly set his forms on Henry’s desk and scowled. “I’m single. This is all my bailiwick. I have degrees in agriculture and organic farming. Come on, we’ll start your tour.”
Inclining his head, Adam fell in behind her.
“I’m impressed,” he said some half hour later when they ended up at the truck he’d be driving.
She reached inside the cab and removed a ring with several pages attached. Flipping a few, she selected one. “My crates are color-coded. This sheet shows the code and your stops for today. It lists addresses for the open-air markets. My booths have signs that read McNair Gardens. Your contact is listed above each address.” She turned the page. “This tells which colored crates you leave at which market. You’ll offload those, pick up empties and a money bag with the previous day’s receipts.”
He took the binder, but pinned her with a serious look. “Henry said you’d be accompanying me today and tomorrow.”
“What? No. Why? He didn’t leave a note telling me that.”
“He said Spanish is the primary language of your sales staff. To say mine is rusty would be stretching my abilities. He also said they may hesitate to trust me because your last driver had some problems.”
“My booth handlers are all studying English if they aren’t already fluent.”
But other things ran through Molly’s mind. For one, she pictured running into Tess, to whom she’d vehemently denied that Adam was hot. Today he totally fit the description.
After waging a fierce internal debate she conceded Henry had a point about her staff’s anxiety. “All right. Here’s the ignition key.” She dug the fob out of her pocket. “Drive down to the lower road. Park between the tomatoes and kale and we’ll load up.”
