Harvest Moon

Six




Kelly’s small shipment of household goods from her San Francisco flat arrived at the end of her second week in Virgin River. Together, she and Jill sorted through the boxes—the personal items went up to the third floor, the kitchen items stayed in the kitchen. It took less than an afternoon to set up Kelly’s bedroom and arrange the loft into a sitting room complete with desk, sofa and chair, table and TV.

“This looks very comfortable,” Jill said. “Colin and I will be sure to knock on the wall if either of us is coming upstairs for any reason. The open staircase doesn’t give you too much privacy, but at least the door to your bedroom closes.”

“This is too comfortable,” Kelly said. “If you put me in the cellar, it might motivate me to look for work.”

Jill flopped down on Kelly’s couch. “I’d be happy if you never left.”

“No offense, cupcake, but I don’t want to live with my little sister forever.”

“I can understand that. Really, I can. But I felt a lot of pressure to make some kind of decision about what I was going to do next when I got up here, and to keep my hands busy while I was thinking, I ended up plowing the back forty and growing everything I could imagine. Now it’s what I’m going to do next. Can’t you justify a few months, at least?”

“But I’m not even thinking about what I want to do next, Jill,” Kelly said. “All I can think about is what I don’t want to do next. I could be emailing people I know in the business to let them know I’m available, but every time one comes to mind I remember working with them was a real challenge. I should post my resume on several different chef’s employment websites, but I’m afraid all that will turn up is one more crazy, stressful kitchen. I need something different. And I have no idea what that might be.”

Jillian just smiled at her.

“What?” Kelly said.

“Some new kitchen appliances are arriving in a couple of days. When I closed on the house, Paul ordered me some custom appliances to fit the kitchen because the stuff that’s in there now is all temporary. I’m getting a double Sub-Zero refrigerator/freezer, six-burner Wolf range, two dishwashers, trash compactor. It’s going to be so beautiful…”

Kelly sat up straight. “Seriously?”

“It had nothing to do with you coming,” she said, shaking her head. “Even though I didn’t think I’d use most of that stuff, I thought the kitchen should be properly finished. Next year, if planting goes well, I’m going to furnish the living room, dining room and sitting room and have a decorator come out to talk about window coverings and area rugs.”

“You little seductress,” Kelly said.

“So just relax awhile. Do whatever it is you do to unwind. Enjoy the attentions of that man who keeps coming around…”

“During school hours,” Kelly added with a laugh. “I never actually had an affair with Luca, but I sure feel like I’m having one with Lief.”

“So how is he in…you know…bed?”

Kelly leaned close as if imparting a secret. She looked right and left before she whispered, “I don’t know.”

“Crap,” Jill said, disappointed. “Well, why are you sneaking around?”

“I’m not. He is. I thought he should just tell his daughter we’re dating and include her sometimes and he said I didn’t know what I was suggesting. He said Courtney can complain about a million dollars. But he also said she seems to be having some happier days—she has a friend that Lief feels pretty good about, a counselor she doesn’t seem to mind talking to and he’s trying to convince her to go to a local stable where she can get some riding lessons. She’s thinking about it. She might, if only to have more in common with her new friend, who has a couple of horses. I have no idea what all that means.”

“Do you know anything about teenagers?” Jill asked.

“I was one once.” Kelly said. “That’s it.”



What Kelly liked to do to relax, to think, was cook and bake. She had squash, blackberries and apples coming out her ears. There was also a healthy amount of late tomatoes, heirloom peppers and beans. It wasn’t really enough in the tomato department to keep her too busy, but she reminded herself that California was the tomato world and she could go to the farmers’ market. She got online and found out when it was held and made a note to herself.

She borrowed Jill’s truck and made a run to Eureka to buy some larger pots and cases of canning jars. One nice thing about these small, country towns—they carried those quaint, old-fashioned country canning jars that would be hard to find in San Francisco.

Over just one weekend she produced jars of applesauce, sliced apples for pie filling, more blackberry preserves and pie filling, freezer bags full of her grandmother’s Italian sauce and acorn squash bisque. And what she had was enough product to open a booth at the farmers’ market.

“I’m going to have to spread this around,” she told Jillian. “Seems like a waste of money, doesn’t it?”

Jill shook her head. “Didn’t cost anything but the jars. I was growing just to see what I could grow, giving most of it away. I only got my commercial licenses a couple of months ago. I have no idea what kind of licenses and permits you need to sell processed food.”

“I do. It’s a lot of inspections and paperwork. Some of the certificates I already had to have to work as a chef in this state, but your kitchen isn’t approved, although it can be.”

“Well, we can put up some shelves in the cellar…”

“You should really have Paul Haggerty get someone out here to put a wine cellar down there—it’s perfect. I’m trying to fill up the pantry. You’ll have plenty of stuff after I leave.”

“Spread your goods around town, Kelly. Take a bunch of it to Preacher. He’ll serve some and put some up in the bar. Take a couple of cases to Connie at the Corner Store—she’ll either sell it or hand it out. I mean, it’s safe, right?”

“I’m a chef!”

“And Nana didn’t kill us with her stuff,” Jill added. “Wow, look at this kitchen and pantry. How did you do all this?”

“Well—while Lief’s daughter is off school on weekends, he’s busy hovering over her so I couldn’t see him. I just kept going.” She smiled as she looked around at the many jars. “It was really fun. I can get into a one-woman kitchen.”



When Monday, a school day, rolled around, Lief wanted to spend time with her. But Kelly had things to do. She had boxed up many of her prepared canned and deli items, labeled them and put a calculated shelf life on them. The canned applesauce, apple pie filling, blackberries and Italian sauce were good for a year, but the tomato bisque and squash bisque contained butter and cream, which gave them a very short shelf life—five days if refrigerated.

Lief, still working his way into her good graces, was more than happy to load his truck, cover the boxes and drive her into town. “If you’re giving some to Preacher to sample and serve, I’ll be glad to buy you lunch and a beer. How does that sound?”

“Like you’re seducing me,” she said.

“No, I’m serving your needs, after which I hope to seduce you!”

“I have to admit, I like the way you think,” she said.

So they went first to the bar. It was before the lunch hour when Jack and Preacher would have a little time on their hands.

Kelly lined up her jars on the counter for the proprietors. “All of these were made from organic Jilly Farms produce. I’m saving some in her pantry because next week I’m going to hit the farmers’ market, buy some local end-of-season vegetables and make batches from other growers’ stock. I’m willing to bet that my sister’s produce has better flavor, but who knows? Maybe it’s all about the cook and not the ingredients. We’ll see.”

They lined up spoons and small bowls. Lief was allowed to participate in the tasting. It was like a wine, beer or coffee tasting—flat crackers between samples, new spoons for each. “And I’d like to heat this bisque,” Kelly said. “Permission to use the kitchen?”

“Granted!” Preacher said.

The reviews were raves all around, and of course Preacher wanted to know how much she could sell him, what recipes she would share with him, whether she’d provide more.

“You can have this supply if you’re willing to serve it—I’d like to know what your diners think. I don’t share my great-grandmother’s recipes, but I have lots of recipes I can share with you. I’m going to make my nana’s pumpkin soup, roasted pumpkin seeds, pumpkin pie, pumpkin bread and pumpkin muffins for the Halloween open house.”

Preacher’s cheeks got rosier as she listed these items until she finally finished and he said, “Whoa! I have to give you something for this, Kelly.”

“How about a couple of sandwiches,” Lief suggested.

“Just sandwiches? And a slice of my chocolate velvet cake?”

“Perfect,” Kelly said. “And I’d like the jars back, if you don’t mind. I’ll reuse them after sterilizing.”

“It’s turkey pastrami today,” he said. “And if you play your cards right, a little tomato bisque.”

“Lay it on me,” Lief said.

“We’ll eat slow so we can hang out awhile and maybe pick up some reactions from your lunch crowd.”

And that was what happened, with a twist Kelly didn’t realize was unusual for the bar until Jack explained it to her. Preacher usually served up one item per meal, per day and there was no fanfare. He could be talked out of leftovers by the right person, but there wasn’t anything as fussy as a menu. He stayed mostly in the kitchen, brought out finished meals as they were ready, kept to himself and was not usually talkative.

However, on this special day, he was literally meeting every diner, explaining the presence of a guest chef and her special bisques—referring to her as a chef rather than a cook—and offering a free sample of either squash or tomato bisque. His samples were hearty servings, typical of Preacher; the lunch crowd raved and shook her hand in welcome. This gave her a chance to invite everyone she met to the pumpkin patch for a pumpkin picking and more of her goodies.

Then a couple entered, sat up at the bar, and when the woman looked around, Kelly’s breath caught. Muriel St. Claire, Oscar-nominated actress. Celebrities had visited La Touche many times—this was hardly Kelly’s first sighting. But it was astonishing to see her here. And the shocks just kept coming. Muriel locked eyes with Lief and said, “Oh, my God, as I live and breathe!”

“Muriel!” Lief said in surprise. And the two of them met in the middle of the bar and embraced like old friends.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her.

“I live here,” she answered, laughing. “And you?”

“I bought a house here—I wanted to get Courtney out of L.A. And maybe have a quieter life.”

“It doesn’t always stay quiet,” she warned him. “We have our wild times in the mountains! Meet my guy. Walt, come here!” she called.

Kelly watched as a handsome guy in his sixties joined them; Lief shook his hand and Kelly heard Muriel introduce Lief as “The Wunderkind”—an Oscar-winning screenwriter for a movie she was in, one in which she’d been nominated for supporting actress. “How old were you when that happened, Lief? About twelve?”

“Thirty-five, Muriel,” he answered with a laugh. “Come meet a friend of mine.” He turned toward her, and Kelly, still in a state of shock over many revelations, stood up. “Kelly, meet Muriel and Walt. Muriel is an old friend.”

And you, she thought, are an Oscar-winning writer? Not just a writer, but a famous writer? But she said, “Pleasure.” She put out her hand.

“I’ll write him a recommendation,” Muriel said. “This one is a gem. If he weren’t young enough to be my son, I’d chase him myself.”

“I’m not young enough to be your son,” Lief said. “In fact, in the years I’ve known you, you’ve dated men younger than I am!”

“Sh,” Muriel said. “I don’t want Walt to know too much about my shady past.”

“Too late for that,” Walt said. “Nice to meet you both.”

“Join us,” Lief invited. “I want to hear everything you’ve been doing.”

Kelly was mesmerized by Muriel’s update about films she’d done since Lief’s, both nominated but not winners, and her attempt at retirement near where she grew up—a place she could keep her horses, do some riding and get in some duck hunting with her Labs. Kelly heard about Walt’s army career and family. And then, thank God for Walt—he asked about Lief’s work. Kelly had realized she knew terribly little about it because of her assumptions and his downplaying of his importance in his field.

“I’ve been writing or attempting to write since junior high and finally settled on screenwriting, moved to L.A., got work building sets while I took some courses at UCLA and wrote a little.”

“And wrote a blockbuster called Deerslayer that took six academy awards,” Muriel said.

Deerslayer? Kelly thought. She’d heard of it; never seen it. But the movie, at less than ten years old, was already a classic.

“I don’t think I know that film,” Walt said. “Chances are the army didn’t ship us that one in country…”

“It’s a brilliant retelling of The Prodigal Son or James Fenimore Cooper’s Deerslayer, or both,” Muriel explained. “A teenage boy is angry with his parents because they have to put down his horse, runs away from the farm, gets caught up with a militant group of anti-government isolationists who are at odds with the Feds and has to be rescued by the family who won’t stop believing in him. The boy is caught in the middle. Everyone is in danger. It’s the most touching film!”

“A little coming of age, family kind of thing?” Kelly heard herself say to Lief. She had so much to learn about him. No one seemed to notice her awe.

“Lief, I’ve asked Sam to come for a visit, do a little riding and hunting, and he’s threatened to accept. I’m going to call him and tell him you’re here—that might get him to commit.”

“Tell him I have room for him if he can’t take much more of you,” Lief said jokingly.

“Sam?” Kelly asked.

“Sam Shepard,” Muriel said. “He was in the film with me, my counterpart. He’s a brilliant writer himself and kind of mentored Lief.”

Lief covered Muriel’s hand briefly. “He was harder on me than my father, and I still like him. But I’m not showing him any work! I’ve become sensitive. He’s brutal.”

For an hour or so Kelly just listened while Muriel and Lief reminisced. She didn’t recognize most of the names of their mutual friends and colleagues, but then occasionally one would drift into the conversation that anyone would know. Jack Nicholson. Meryl. Diane Keaton.

But there was a lot of non-Hollywood talk. Lief caught them up on his family in Idaho. Muriel squeezed his hand and asked how Courtney was doing, and Lief said, “Okay, but just okay. Getting used to the idea that she’s stuck with me hasn’t been easy on her.”

“She’s lucky, that’s what,” Muriel said.

“I don’t know about that, poor kid…” Lief replied.

I told the man everything in the world about me, knowing so little about him. I was hoping we’d have a meaningful relationship because I’ve been hungry for that without remembering that this is a real man with a deep and complicated life.

She’d asked a few questions, but accepted his superficial answers happily. Because I was more concerned about protecting myself without even considering how vulnerable he might be.

While they talked and laughed, while Muriel and Walt raved about her bisques and asked where they could get more, Kelly kept stowed inside that there was so much she wanted Lief to tell her. No one noticed that she was quieter than usual because Lief and Muriel were having a reunion. And then when lunch was finished and it was time to carry on with their plans, they all hugged and promised to get together very soon, at the pumpkin patch open house for sure.

The next stop was Connie and Ron’s Corner Store right across the street, where she found Connie thrilled to be able to stock some of Kelly’s offerings. “Since it’s not on my inventory, I’m sure I can’t afford it,” Connie said.

“No problem. It’s all yours if you’ll just display some of this stuff and ask for some feedback. That would be so helpful. I know the women around here are fantastic cooks—I’d love to know how I measure up.”

“I have to give you something if it sells,” Connie insisted.

“A donation to finance new jars would be helpful,” Kelly said. “And when the soups get close to their expiration date, either enjoy them or give them to Preacher. They’re all natural, no preservatives, and won’t last long. Maybe you have hunters or fishermen looking for something to warm up.”

“Maybe,” Connie agreed. “We’ll see how it goes!”

When they were back in Lief’s truck, he took her hand. “I want to show you where I live,” he said. “Can you take a detour by my house on the way home?”

She turned to him and said, “Oh, Lief, we have so much to talk about.”

He lifted his eyebrows and looked a little surprised. “Like?”

“Like this life of yours that I haven’t really known about.”

“I kind of liked that you didn’t know the public part,” he said. “You know—that exploited part—the conjecture on who’s seeing who, who’s divorcing, who’s the next Oscar bet. But of my real life? I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Then let’s go see where you live. And have the conversation we should have had a couple of weeks ago.”



Lief’s house was utterly beautiful. Now that Kelly knew a little more about his background, this came as no surprise; he must certainly have a good income. It was new, spacious with high, open-beam ceilings, was tastefully decorated and, the real selling point for her, had a wonderful, big kitchen.

After a brief tour, they sat at the kitchen table with coffee. She asked him how he grew up.

“A fairly poor farm kid who read James Fenimore Cooper?”

“We were pretty well-educated farm kids,” he said with a smile. “The schools were good. And my folks were strict. That little Amber who Courtney is hanging with these days? Her folks remind me of mine in some ways. They’re pretty simple people, who know the value of an A.”

“Why did you want to be a writer?”

“I don’t know. I liked to do a lot of things, but when I had my nose in a book or when I was scribbling out a completely made-up story, I’d get a little lost. If no one could find me, I’d be up in the hayloft with a book or a notebook. I’d go to a different place in my mind. Maybe my real life just wasn’t interesting enough for me. My older brothers thought I was a complete geek and never shut up about it. I also played football, did farm chores, rode my horse, hunted, fished… But I wrote when I was alone because it felt good. I thought I was going to write novels, but eventually movies got my attention and I decided I liked film. I think it’s all the dialogue. I like to listen to the way people talk to each other. What made you want to be a chef?”

“Nana,” she said. “Jillian was five and I was six when our family was in a bad car accident. My dad was killed and my mother was disabled and confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life. My great-grandmother took us in. Now, we were poor—sometimes desperately poor. Nana knew how to make it—she gardened, canned, could turn beef rough as old shoe leather into something you could cut with a spoon, she cooked like a genius… She also ironed and did laundry for neighbors, anything that would keep the wolf from the door. She was our mother’s caregiver, but we all helped with everything—we were a team. All that, along with Social Security, not only got us by, she managed to save a little for emergencies. Jill loved the garden, hated the kitchen. I loved the kitchen.”

“Hate the garden?” he asked.

“I like the selection of food. At La Touche we had vendors we ordered from, but I liked to go to the dock to select the fish, go to specialty markets for some of our produce, go straight to the butcher for meat. I don’t have much interest in growing it, just using it. I can alter the outcome of everything with the pinch of one spice, the addition of one herb.”

“You have a gifted palate.”

“Sensitive palate. I know because I test it against the palates of other tasters. I listen. I experiment. What was once survival is now art.”

He smiled as though he knew.

“Oh, boy,” she said. “Tell me about Deerslayer. I think there’s some history there…maybe survival to art…”

“It might be me spinning gold out of straw,” he said. “Country kids rarely have it easy. I resented that until I was at least thirty—that nothing was ever given to me. Everything came so damn hard. I hated that the only way I could play football was if I used my older brothers’ gear—I was the third one to use the helmet, pads, even the nut-cup. Do you have any idea how beat-up that stuff was? My dad said, ‘Guess you’ll have to play real good then since your gear ain’t so fancy.’ I was kind of scrawny and asked for a weight set Christmas after Christmas, birthday after birthday. And one year my dad said, ‘Lief, got you a weight set—follow me.’ He had just gotten a hay and firewood delivery—he told me to stack it all in the barn. Before dinner.”

She laughed at him; she imagined he must be gifted because listening to him tell a story was wonderful!

“I wrote about those things in my classes at UCLA. I was working as a builder, writing at night, taking classes on film, writing and production. I wrote about putting down a dog when she had a run-in with a piece of farm equipment and lay whimpering…”

“Aw,” Kelly said. “Did you take her to the vet?”

He shook his head. “We didn’t have time or money for vets unless the family livelihood depended on that animal, and my dog was suffering. I had to do it. And then there was my horse—he’d been my horse since I was about eight and I was sixteen when he tore a tendon and went lame. My dad tried a lot of home remedies, even called the vet for that one, but we didn’t do expensive surgery on leisure animals. It was a major indulgence to have that gelding in the first place. But he did splurge and have the vet put him down. I ran away, I was so pissed. But once I got cold, lost and hungry, I headed home. My dad found me when I was about halfway home. He’d come looking for me. And my dad said something like, ‘Look, Lief, I’m sorry life is hard. I wish to God it wasn’t.’”

“Deerslayer?” she asked.

He reached for her hands. “It started as a short story, like the football gear, the dog, the weight set. I was taking a class from a writer who told me my writing was good but quaint. He asked me if I wanted to tell quaint, down-home Americana stories, because if I did, that was all right. Someone might even film it. Or I could ratchet it up, try to capture some experience and emotion that would take that kid’s experience to the next level. I experimented—I tried having him snatched by aliens… I liked that one,” he added, grinning. “Then I had him accidentally kill his brother… I think I was pissed off at one of my brothers at the time. Finally I came up with an idea that I thought might work—an innocent but dangerous involvement in a militant anti-government group that rescues the runaway, then flips him against his roots, then puts him in the middle and uses him against the Feds. And he has a family who wants him back—a family on no one’s side—not the isolationists’ or the Feds’. Just the kid’s.” He shrugged. “I guess it worked.”

Her mouth hung open. “How did you come up with this idea?” she asked.

He leaned toward her. “Local color and imagination. Kelly, where do you think Ruby Ridge is?”

“So what are you doing these days instead of writing?”

“Lately I’ve been watching someone cook,” he said with a smile. Then he grew more serious. “And I’ve been focused on Courtney… And thinking. Sometimes the hardest work I do doesn’t look like writing. You know, there were so many times I wished Courtney could experience some of the challenges I had but not quite as hard. I wouldn’t want her to have to put down a pet—that’s just awful. But maybe if she didn’t have the best of everything, maybe that would help her in ways I can’t help her. But I never wanted her to suffer like she has since she lost her mom.”

“I’d like to hear more about Courtney’s mom,” Kelly said.

But the phone rang and Lief stood to answer it. “Maybe later,” he said.

“Lief!” Courtney said in an almost desperate whisper. “I have to go home with Amber! I have to!”

“What’s wrong, Courtney?” he asked, frowning.

“Amber called home a while ago. The puppies came! They’re here! I have to go home with her! We’ll ride the bus!”

He chuckled. “I thought something was wrong.”

“Can you pick me up later? Like around nine?”

“Eight,” he said.

“Eight-thirty! I’ll do my homework! Please!”

“I’ll be there.”

He turned to look at Kelly. “It happens Courtney is going to be busy tonight.”



Lief might’ve been hoping for a close encounter with Kelly, but he wasn’t entirely disappointed with what he got. She was cooking for Jill, Colin, Shelby and Luke, so she was more than happy to include Lief. And luckily for Lief, Shelby and Luke had a baby in tow, making it their preference to keep earlier hours. By eight Lief was on his way to the Hawkins farm.

Sinette let him in the front door. “Gelda and family have taken up residence in the mudroom, Lief,” she said. “Right behind the kitchen.”

“What have you done to me, Sinette?” he teased.

“If Hawk doesn’t get that dog fixed, I might be fixin’ him! Nine this time. And I swear to God, I think they’re half wolf!”

“Gelda’s not the best planner, I guess,” he said. “Maybe some old wolf snuck up on her.”

“I doubt he had to sneak,” Sinette said, walking away from him toward the kitchen.

There was the sound of hushed voices coming from inside the mudroom, the whisperings of children. He stood in the frame of the door and saw that Amber, Courtney and even Rory were sitting on the floor, cuddling brand-new puppies. Rory’s wheelchair was pushed off to one side. They all looked up at him at the same time.

Courtney held a little blond pup close to her chin. “This one is mine,” she said vehemently. “His name is Spike.”

“Spike?” Lief said, trying not to laugh.

“He’ll grow into it,” she said confidently, gently putting him back in the box. “Seriously, he’s mine.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Lief said. “We’re gonna have to get going, Court. Did you get that homework done?”

“Pretty much,” she said.

Courtney lifted the puppy from Rory’s hands to return it to Gelda’s brood. Then Lief watched in wonder as Courtney stood and gently pulled Rory upright. Rory hung on around Courtney’s neck while she maneuvered him into his wheelchair, propped his feet on the bottom and ruffled his hair. He was almost as big as she was. Or, Courtney was almost as small as Rory.

He felt his eyes sting. That was his girl—kind and loving. Generous. Sometimes he missed her so much.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let me get my stuff out of Amber’s room. Be right back.”

Lief wandered back toward the living room where he found Hawk and Rory’s dad playing a little cribbage by the front window.

Without looking up from his game, Hawk said, “Your daughter won the bet on how many pups.”

“Is that so? What did she win?”

Hawk looked up briefly, a lopsided smile on his face. “The pups.”

Lief laughed. “You’re a real pal.”

Then Courtney was beside him, jacket donned and backpack slung over one shoulder. “’Kay,” she said.

“’Night, Peacock,” Hawk said, still concentrating on his game.

“’Night, Hawk. Thanks for dinner.”

“Always a pleasure, Peacock. You take care.”