The Simplicity of Cider

“Yes, but the alternative is you lose the orchard completely.”


Sanna thought about it. She didn’t want anyone telling her how to run Idun’s. She and her dad had lived here their whole lives, they knew best. She didn’t want any non–family member owning any piece of it. But despite all her pleading and hard work, if they didn’t get some cash, and they needed more than they could make off the farm stand in the first few weeks, they would default on their loans—and that would mean zero Lunds running the orchard. Sharing ownership was definitely the lesser of two evils.

“Okay, why weren’t we thinking of this before? And where do we get these investors?”

“We’d need to raise over two hundred thousand, at least. More if we can get it. We could get a lot of small local investors, or a few larger investors. And I didn’t think of it before because I was blinded by the huge offer from WWW.” He looked down at his feet. “Taking the money was an easy out, this will require a lot more work. Pa told me about the girdling and how you worked to save the Looms. Idun’s is where I grew up—past tense—but it’s your home, your livelihood. I get that now.”

“I’m in,” Isaac said from behind her.

Sanna turned, torn between wanting to glare at him and wanting to hug him for his enthusiastic offer. Though he might be offering to get back in her good graces, which she was willing to sell to him if it helped the orchard. Against her better judgment, she softened toward him.

“I’ll consider your offer.” She turned back to Anders. “Who else?”

“Julie and I have a bit saved, too. We talked about it and thought this would be a good investment. With luck, it might pay a sizable portion of the girls’ tuition in ten years.”

“How did you convince her?” Sanna asked.

“The reason we don’t spend more time here isn’t just because of Julie, it was because of me, too. I needed to separate myself—prove I was more than this place. She actually saw way before I did how much Idun’s means to you, and what I would be forfeiting to give up on this place.”

Sanna covered her mouth with a hand and closed her eyes to keep tears of gratitude from falling. They’d had so many differences over the years, and he and Julie still wanted to help. Too often, she and her father seemed to be two against the world keeping the orchard running, but knowing Anders and Isaac had her back felt like the reinforcements had arrived. Maybe there was hope for them yet. She stepped toward Anders to give him a hug.

“Don’t hug me yet. You haven’t heard who the final investor I have in mind is.”

Sanna shook her head.

“I don’t care who it is if it means Idun’s is still ours. Done.” Sanna looked at her dad, but he was watching Anders warily.

“Who’s the last person?” he asked.

Anders took a step back and swallowed slowly before he said the last possible person Sanna ever would have guessed.

“Mom.”

? ? ? ? ?

“No. Absolutely not. We’ll find someone else.”

Isaac stood behind Einars and Bass in the shaded stand while Anders and Sanna glowed like angry Norse gods in the sunlight. “Sanna, she wants to help. I’ve told her all about the cider business—she thinks it’s a great idea.”

“Since when are you and the Donor chummy?” She poked him in the chest, her face reddening with each emphatic jab. “Is this why you wanted to separate yourself from us? You’re too busy living the high life with her? Traitor.”

Anders caught her hand, his mouth a grim line, then gently moved it to her side, where she let it stay.

“First, stop referring to her as the Donor—you’re more mature than that. If you don’t want to call her Mom, call her Susanna. Second, I started seeing Mom in college. She reached out to me, just like she reached out to you.” Sanna gave her father a quick glance, and Isaac could tell from Einars’s pressed lips that he understood everything. “I chose to listen to her, to try to eventually understand why she left us.”

“I know why. She was too busy with her new husband and new life.”

Isaac didn’t like watching Sanna have to relive these painful emotions from so many years ago. He wanted to help, but knew there was nothing he could say to shield her from the truth any longer. She and Anders needed to have this fight to get all the ugly truths out on the table.

“Wrong. She tried over and over again to see us. Dad wouldn’t let her. Ask him.”

He pointed to their father, whose face had drained of color, reminding Isaac of the day he had fallen from the ladder. Perhaps he and Bass should head back to the house and give the family privacy, but he didn’t want to draw attention to themselves by leaving.

“Pa? Is this true?”

Einars’s shoulders melted even lower and he rubbed his hands over his eyes.

“She left us,” he said. “She didn’t deserve to see you two if she wasn’t willing to come here.”

“The D—Susanna wanted to see me and you didn’t let her.” Sanna fought to keep tears from falling.

“Sanna-who, she could have seen you if she would’ve come to Idun’s. She refused. We were happier without her.”

Sanna stepped away from Anders and away from her dad until she bumped into the garage door’s frame. She clenched the wood for support until her knuckles whitened.

“Don’t call me that. Not now. You were happier without her. Not us. We weren’t happier. I wasn’t happier. A part of me has been missing my entire life, and now you tell me it didn’t have to be that way?” Sanna used the heel of her hand to wipe the tears on her face. “How could you?” She turned back to face her brother. “And why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier?”

“You seemed happy,” Anders said.

“Sometimes what looks like happiness is just people making do.” She started toward the house. “Does everyone have deep, dark secrets they are keeping except me and Bass? No investors. You don’t deserve to be a part of Idun’s Cider.”

? ? ? ? ?

Five months ago Sanna had stepped into their clean, remodeled barn, ready to start planning the new season, sketching out ideas for new ciders to create with all the shiny equipment. She could make huge batches of her most popular versions, while still making smaller specialty batches. She could make bottles of any size, or a quarter barrel for a bar to serve her cider on tap. A cold room and a walk-in freezer could store pallets of cider and juice—enough for her to keep cider production going year-round. It was way more than she needed, but if her dad believed she could do it, then she believed, too.

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