The Simplicity of Cider

The door opened and in walked Anders, tall and handsome in the morning sun. She waved for him to join her. She started speaking before he even got settled, eager to show him the revisions.

“Thank you for meeting me. I wanted to show you the new plans I had drawn up. I’m hoping the designs are more amenable to you and your sister.” She pushed aside her eggs and pulled the plans out of the canister, unrolling them over the table so Anders could see them. She ignored the uninterested expression on his face. “As you can see, I’ve kept a portion of the Looms and designed around them. I’m envisioning all sorts of ways we can incorporate them into our property—harvest fests, apple blossom balls, even stringing lights on them for the holidays.”

She especially liked the idea of creating events around them—it was something that would be unique to the property. Anders held up his hand and looked over the drawings.

“These are impressive, but I’m not sure you understand my sister. I don’t think I did until recently, either. It isn’t just dirt and trees. She just spent thirty-six hours trying to save trees from something that is nearly always terminal. She’d have an easier time living without air than she would Idun’s.”

The unmistakable chill of failure spread from Eva’s core. This couldn’t be the end—not after everything she’d risked. Her father would send her to the mail room once he found out. Patrick would gloat for a year. Desperation sent tremors to her hands.

“Can you at least share the plans with her? Let her see them and then decide?”

Her voice cracked and Anders noticed—his eyes turned from apathetic to sympathetic. Anything he said now would be only to delay his rejection. She’d given that look enough times herself.

“I’ll think about it.”

He left. Eva put the plans away, curling them tighter than necessary to fit back in the tube, to match the tightness constricting her chest. This had been it. The last stand. The final shot. And she had failed. Reflexively, she started to make a mental list of what needed to be resolved before she could go home, but found herself staring at the bakery case near the door. All summer she’d ignored its contents, telling herself she didn’t enjoy sweets at breakfast time. But she did. She always had. She flagged Ann to take away her cold, dull egg whites and ordered a cinnamon roll the size of her head. If her whole life was going to change, might as well start now.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


If you’re here to tell us to sell the orchard again, you can turn back around,” Sanna said as Anders emerged from his black Lexus and entered the lower barn, where Einars, Bass, Isaac, and she were setting up. His normal suit was replaced with jeans and a button-down plaid shirt. He looked ready for a day working in the trees . . . or at least he would have if it weren’t for his tasseled loafers.

Tomorrow was September first—their traditional first day of public sales. She had made it. They had made it. There was still a lot of work to do, but they’d harvested the first round of apples and tomorrow money would start trickling back into their coffers.

The barn doors to the farm stand were open to the warm day. It was about the size of a three-car garage, and that’s what they used it as during the winter when the snow could bury their vehicles. But during the fall, it was open to the public to sell apples and Sanna’s cider, hopefully more of both now that the website was up and running. Coolers lined the cinder-block walls, stocked with a paint store’s worth of colors. White painted wood tables stood in three neat rows. Only one of the tables had apples ready for sale in bags. Right now, only the Gala and Viking apples were ripe. In a few weeks, the tables would be full with even more varieties. Neatly painted wooden apples identified the type, as did the white-handled paper bag that fit a half peck of apples. A few larger plastic bags contained an entire peck—a little over ten pounds of fruit.

Near the open entry, an ancient cash register sat on another white table. The manual keys still worked for their simple sales. This was the first year Pa had agreed—at Isaac’s urging—to get a credit card device they could use with Sanna’s phone. He sat near the register and filled bags from the large wood crate. Each apple sold was a success for her and Idun’s. They were never overwhelmed like some of the other apple stands, but they always managed to have a steady clientele. The rest of their harvest was sold to the bigger stands who wanted a bit of apple variety. Because they were off the beaten path, most people stumbled across them while crisscrossing the peninsula between the bay side, which overlooked Green Bay, and the quiet side, which overlooked the expanse of Lake Michigan.

Once the season got under way, one of them would work the stand, while the rest would pick in the orchards, then they’d spend the nights getting the stand ready for the next day. This time of year was intense. Long days, late nights, and lots of people. For the first time, Sanna wasn’t dreading the customers like she had in years past.

“Keep working. You’re doing a great job,” Sanna said to Bass. It had been two days since the fire, and she only spoke to Isaac when necessary, while Bass maintained his icy silence. This morning Bass had made eggs and toast for her and Einars, leaving Isaac to prepare his own. With each failed attempt to reconnect with Bass, Isaac’s shoulders drooped more, his eyes following Bass’s movements, longing to be a part of his world again. She’d need to help mend those fences. Bass and Isaac needed to be a family, no matter what happened. She, however, never needed to forgive him for being a shameful liar. She had shared more of herself with him than she had with anyone else. She’d told him about her cider-making gift and about the Donor—and he hadn’t shown her the same level of trust. She’d simply resolved to consider him a bullet dodged—though that didn’t take the sting away from knowing she’d never experience another kiss like she had under the dancing tree. Her lips tingled at the memory.

She looked up, waiting for Anders’s response to her statement.

“I’m done with that idea,” he said. “You’re right that Idun’s needs to stay in the family. But you, me, and Pa need to discuss how we’re going to get through this mess and make money off your cider.” Sanna resisted her urge to feign light-headedness at his admission—it wasn’t her style—but it was still tempting.

“Go on.”

Anders looked pleased that he was getting off that easy. At least she was making someone’s day a little better.

“I got to thinking, if we don’t sell, we still have the debt problem to solve. Your cider is good. You just need time to spread the word. Money will buy us time. What if we got some investors?”

“Doesn’t that mean they would own a share of Idun’s?”

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