CHAPTER 10
Colt
I check the tension indicator spring, noting it’s a few pounds short. This prompts me to give a few cranks on the tension strainer, and I check the spring again.
Perfect. Rigged to withhold two hundred and fifty pounds of grapes.
I wipe the back of my arm across my forehead, removing the layer of sweat that has formed. Even though it’s in the upper sixties today, the nature of the work we are doing building the grape trellises is strenuous.
And these aren’t the flimsy type of lattice trellises that most people think of. These are large T-shaped timbers sunk into the ground twenty feet apart with tension wire strung between that will support the heavy vines. They aren’t pretty, but they are functional.
“Boss… got a visitor,” one of the workers operating the auger two rows over calls out to me.
I hold my hand up over my eyes to shield them from the sunshine and see an aqua-blue Ford F250 long bed truck—a mid-sixties’ model—bouncing down the dirt road toward us. The smile that comes unbidden to my face when Darby hops out of the truck is proof positive I enjoy her company.
I grab my T-shirt I had discarded from one of the overhead wires and put it on. Just as I’m yanking it down over my stomach, Darby is close enough she can tease me in a low voice, “No need to put your shirt on in front of me.”
Her face is beaming with amusement, and she looks extraordinarily bubbly today. She’s wearing her blonde hair up in a high ponytail, and she’s rocking a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved thermal T-shirt, and work boots. Not quite sure when that type of clothing for women became attractive to me, but I find I like it very much.
“Gotta get dressed,” I tease her back. “Don’t want to discombobulate that brain of yours with all my male glory.”
Darby’s laugh is melodic and bubbly all at the same time. Her gaze turns to the trellis I’ve been working on, and she gives a nod toward it. “These look fantastic.”
“I decided to go with a double-curtain trellis,” I tell her as I study the several acres we’ve already built up.
“Smart,” she praises as she takes in her surroundings. “More sunlight through the top of the vines equals a greater yield.”
“Exactly,” I agree.
We set the pressure-treated trellises so the rows are ten feet apart, which will eventually allow me to bring in harvesting machinery down the road. Until then, I’m going to be doing a lot of grape picking with some seasonal help to save on costs.
“Nice truck.” I nod at the vehicle she had pulled up in.
Darby chuckles as she peers over her shoulder at it. “It’s Carlos’s truck. He told me I shouldn’t be driving my Beemer on the farm roads.”
“He’d be right about that.”
“I’m going to trade my car in for a truck once I can find some time. Definitely a newer model than Carlos’s because I would never be able to survive without air conditioning in the summer.”
Summer is a good seven months away. That means Darby is here for the long haul.
My stomach rumbles, and I look down at my watch. Almost noon. I take Darby’s elbow and turn her toward my Gator. “Let’s go get some lunch.”
“Lunch?” she asks in surprise but walks peaceably by my side.
As we climb into the Gator, I explain, “Up at the main house. Mama always fixes a good lunch.”
“I don’t want to impose,” Darby says.
We take off with a lurching jump forward, which causes Darby to grab hold of the roll bar. I chuckle and explain to her how things work in the South. “My mama would have my hide if she knew you were here at a mealtime and I didn’t bring you to the house to eat. That’s just the way we do things around here.”
Darby beams a bright smile. “Then by all means, I would like to preserve your hide. Let’s go have lunch.”
I take Darby the long way back to the house, so she can see more of the farm. I point out the sections we have currently leased but explain the crops we used to grow on them. She has lots of questions about the way we grow and harvest. I take her past pastures that hold the cattle and finally past Mainer Lake.
I point across the southern end of the lake. “That’s where I live. It used to be my brother Lowe’s but since he moved into Mainer House, I hated to see that little cabin sitting empty.”
“It’s beautiful,” Darby exclaims.
Nodding, I tell her, “I love looking out over the lake in the morning at sunrise. Lowe built it all by himself.”
Darby gives a low whistle. “That’s impressive.”
“All of my siblings are impressive,” I say with a burst of pride. “Every one of them is so very accomplished.”
Darby turns to regard me thoughtfully while she holds tightly to the bar. We bump along the dirt road filled with more potholes than not, but it doesn’t prevent conversation. “You’re close to your siblings, aren’t you?”
I give her a nonchalant shrug. “We fight more than not. But yeah, pretty close. We get together every Sunday for dinner at Mama’s. Even though that’s about the only time we get to see each other during the week because we’re all so busy, it’s like no time has passed in between. Know what I mean?”
Darby nods vigorously, and her face softens. “That’s how it is with my sister Kelly. She’s almost nine years older than me and often acted like a mother figure growing up, but we’re extremely close. We don’t get to see each other often, but we talk all the time by phone.”
We skirt past the lake and through a small trail that traverses through a thick copse of pine trees, continuing by the big gray barn that we open to the town of Whynot for the Lantern Festival every summer, and through another copse of trees before the farmhouse comes into view. Darby breathes out, “Oh, that house is so pretty.”
I think we have one of the prettiest houses in Scuppernong County. It’s massive… Three stories and covered in gray clapboard siding with white trim. Mama had the shutters painted burgundy about a decade ago, and I note they could use a little touch up. As with most farmhouses, there’s a wide porch across the front she has studded with burgundy-colored rocking chairs and tiny tables with plants on them. The right side of the house has a detached double garage Lowe and I helped Dad build several years ago. There’s about an acre of lawn surrounding the house with nothing but fields all around. Just a few months ago, it was green with field corn that’s all harvested now.
I lead Darby into the house. She peeks into the formal living room, which is decorated well… formally. Delicate cherry furniture with a flowered print that makes me nauseated to look at. I always feel like the furniture is going to crumble under me if I sit on it. I much prefer the den at the back of the house that’s filled with heavy leather furniture and cushy recliners.
“Is that you Colt?” my mama calls from the back of the house.
“It’s me,” I holler as I start walking that way. “And I’ve got company.”
My mama says, “Excellent,” as we enter the kitchen, where she’s pulling out a loaf of fresh bread from the oven.
After she sets it on the stovetop, she wipes her hands on her apron and turns to face us. She gives me a sweet smile, but her eyes only stay on me for a moment.
They light on my lunch companion, and her smile grows wider. “You must be Darby, the new peach farmer come to town.”
Darby smiles and steps forward with her hand stretched out to shake my mom’s. My mama isn’t having any of that and manages to wrap Darby up into a long, hard hug of welcome. Darby has absolutely no hesitation in giving my mom a good squeeze back, which tells me that she is generally an affectionate type of person. Don’t know why this pleases me so much.
When my mom pulls back, she points to the table and orders us both, “Go. Sit. I’ll grab you some ice tea.”
“What’s for lunch?” I ask, my belly rumbling again.
“I’m just going to throw together some club sandwiches with the fresh bread I just made, and I made a fruit salad,” she says as she walks to the refrigerator to pull out a pitcher of sweet tea. She fills two glasses and brings them over to us.
I watch as Darby takes a sip and then wrinkles her nose as she pulls it away from her mouth. I laugh and say, “Haven’t gotten used to the sweet tea yet, have you?”
She gives a quick shake of her head. “I actually like it. It just takes me by surprise the first time I drink it.”
“I can get you something else,” Mama says solicitously.
Darby waves her away. “I really do like it. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
Before my mom can answer, I tell Darby how things are done in the South. “You are a guest in our home and as such, you are prohibited from helping. In fact, southern etiquette dictates you have to sit there, drink your sweet tea, and engage in idle gossip with us.”
All three of us laugh, and Mama goes back to the refrigerator to pull out the makings of our sandwiches.
While she’s slicing into the fresh bread, I further educate Darby. “But the next time you come to our house, you are considered family and you are more than welcome to help all you like.”
“Duly noted,” Darby says with a laugh.
“So how are you and your daughter settling in?” my mother asks as she builds up our sandwiches from the center kitchen island.
Darby gives a sigh through her nose before answering. “I’m settling in great. It’s wonderful to be working on the orchard, and I’ve always loved farm life. But it’s been a bit of an adjustment for Linnie.”
“How old is she?” Mom asks.
“Seven.”
“Oh, that’s such a great age. How about you and Linnie come join us for Sunday supper at two this coming weekend? I’d love to meet her, and we’ll show her how great this town is.”
“That’s just so nice,” Darby says in a soft voice full of gratitude. She will try anything to help Linnie along. “I’ll accept for both of us. She’s missing a lot of things from back home, so this will be good for her.”
“I can imagine,” Mama commiserates. And because she has no boundaries, which is born only from a natural empathy for other people, she says, “Divorce is never easy on anyone. I imagine Linnie must be very confused.”
I can’t help but cringe internally because that was an overly forward statement. But to my surprise, and probably because my mother just has a way of bringing those things out in people, Darby has no qualms with talking about it. “The split from Darby’s father, Mitch, was pretty contentious. He didn’t want us to leave, and Linnie sort of fed into that.”
“Are she and her father really close?” Mama asks.
I sit back further in my chair, just listening to these two women talk. I’m obviously fascinated by Darby, and I am a grateful beneficiary of the information my mother is pulling out of her.
Darby shrugs and taps her fingers on her glass. “No, they’re not close. Mitch is sort of a hands-off father.”
Now what the heck does that mean?
Leave it up to Mama to get that question answered for me. “Let me guess, he’s one of those men with old-fashioned ideas that the womenfolk raise the children and the menfolk retire to the study with their cigars and brandy after dinner, while the women clean up.”
I stare at my mom in disbelief, my eyes about ready to pop out of my head. I wouldn’t necessarily categorize Catherine Mainer as a feminist, but she is definitely a modern woman and believes a couple should share equally in all burdens. Still, there is no mistaking the condescension in her voice.
Darby gives a light laugh and nods at my mama, who is stacking the sandwiches on a platter. “You pretty much just described Mitch McCulhane. So to answer your original question, Linnie just doesn’t have much of a bond with him. I mean, there’s love there, because he’s her dad. But her reservations and anger about moving here aren’t so much about leaving him as they are all the things that gave her comfort back home. It’s the only home she’s ever known, and I just think she needs to adjust.”
My mom and Darby continue to chat, moving on to things not of such a personal nature. I sort of tune them out, contemplating what I’ve learned about Darby so far. Between what Larkin told me and what Darby said today, it sounds like her husband is quite the jerk. I’m having a tough time comprehending, though, how Darby put up with that for so long. Every bit I have come to know about her tells me she is a strong and independent woman, and I can’t imagine her being pushed and confined into a certain role.
Not that the role of being a mother is bad, but clearly Darby is the type of woman who wants to work and can accomplish so much in her life. I’m sure there was some valid reason why she let her soon-to-be ex-husband keep her from pursuing those dreams, but I’m not going to get those answers today.
I’ll wait until she’s ready to talk about those things on her own.