“Good choice,” a small older woman said. She had come up beside him quietly. Her smile and bright skin contrasted with the silver hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head. She had kind blue eyes that crinkled as she smiled up at him. “They’re the best in the county, other than my own of course.”
She stood a few feet from him, close enough to talk comfortably, but not so close that he felt encroached on by a stranger—though he couldn’t imagine anyone feeling cramped by this tiny woman who radiated a gentle spirit. “Well, how do I get yours?” Isaac said.
“Charmer.” From her arm dangled a shopping basket containing a pound of coffee and a bag of frozen cherries as she took him in from head to toe. She looked around him at Bass, who was doing his best to remain unnoticed. “Are you here for vacation?”
“I think so?” Isaac meant it as a statement, but it sounded more like a question.
“You don’t sound too sure. How long are you staying?”
“I’m not too sure about that, either. We came here on a whim and aren’t too sure what to do next.” Maybe she could share some pointers on where to stay more long term and how they could pass their time. “Can I treat you to a coffee in exchange for more local tips?” He pointed to the four-table café at the back of the store.
The older woman studied him. He envisioned her judging prize cattle at a state fair, her skilled eye seeing below the surface to the quality underneath. She nodded and let him pay for two coffees and one cherry soda for Bass.
As they settled onto their chairs, Isaac stuck out his hand. “I’m Isaac. Isaac Banks. This is Bass.”
She shook it with her soft, warm hands.
“I’m Mrs. Dibble.” She poured a generous amount of cream and sugar into her coffee, unabashedly. “So, where are you staying?”
“We have reservations at Cherrywood Motel.”
She nodded and tapped a short, wrinkled finger to her lips.
“That’s a lovely place if you’re here for a weekend or so. But if you’re looking to stay longer, you might want to try something other than staying at a motel—even those get pricey here during the summer.”
“What else is there?”
“Some people rent their houses, but that’s not cheap either. If you’re looking to make a little money, though, a lot of the orchards hire extra help during the summer. Some provide housing.”
Isaac liked the idea of spending the rest of the summer here. Already it seemed a million miles away from home, away from having to deal with his ex-wife’s death. On the flip side, staying still might give the truth time to catch up to him. He shook the thought away. He thought about where they could go next—maybe south through the Appalachians—and the muscle in his right shoulder twitched in protest. He rubbed it with his left hand. While he had enough money saved to finance a month or two on the road, earning some income meant they could stay as long as they needed. Plus, having some work would also keep his mind from dwelling on the past.
“That would be great. Where would I find a list of places hiring? Is there a website?”
Mrs. Dibble chuckled.
“We’re not so fancy. I happen to know of a perfect orchard that might suit you. It’s not too big—run by a small family. They don’t normally hire help until the harvest, but I know the owner is looking for someone now.” She clicked her tongue. “You might just be perfect. And I know they love kids.”
She nodded toward Bass. Warmth spread up Isaac’s arms—a sure sign this idea had merit.
“Do you have a number?”
She wrote it down and handed it to him.
“You’ll get his answering machine, but he’ll call you back after dinner. He’s always very good about returning phone calls.” Her lips curved into a soft smile.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of me.” Sending a quick smile toward Bass, Mrs. Dibble rose from the table and said her good-byes.
Isaac turned to Bass, who was gulping the last of his cherry soda.
“What do you think, Tuna? Should we check it out?”
Bass’s quick nod reaffirmed his own thoughts. The muscle twitch, the fortuitous meeting of Mrs. Dibble, and the overall easing of tension all colluded as if by design. Isaac dialed the number feeling more certain than he had in years.
CHAPTER THREE
Sanna measured the apple juice into a large glass beaker and added it to the carboy, swirling a cheery red—like Santa’s suit. She wrote down the amount in her notebook and did the same with the next juice, this one a bold sapphire blue, which mixed with the red into a vivid purple. When it came to cider, colors and flavors blended together for her. She knew she had the right blend when it matched the color she had envisioned. It wasn’t scientific—and it didn’t happen with anything else Sanna tasted—but here, with her beloved trees, it worked. She carefully tracked the blends in her journal. The sun streamed through the window, lighting up the colors in the carboy like Christmas lights. She was close—one more juice should do it. She closed her eyes, calling to mind all the juices in the barn’s cooler and their corresponding colors.
Every juice she tasted from their apples had a slightly different hue, differing among individual varieties, but even varying slightly from tree to tree. When she was twenty-four, she had stood at the tall kitchen counter tasting freshly pressed juices she had made for the first time with the press she had unearthed from the old barn. Her plan had originally been to sell them in the farm stand, but she wanted to pick the best. As she sipped each one, an unmistakable color came to mind—different for each juice—and she finally understood the watercolor apple portraits above the fireplace. They were proof she wasn’t the only family member who could see the colors. After she explained it to her dad, he smiled.
“I thought you might have the gift.”
“You knew about this?”
“It’s family legend. My dad said Grandpa could taste colors in the apples, but no one in my lifetime has been able to, so I thought it might be myth. When you returned home after college—the way you were drawn to Idun’s—I thought you might have it.” He had put his hands on the side of her face. “This means something good, Sanna.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t I know before?”
“Would you have believed me?”
“I’ve had apple juice from the Rundstroms a thousand times. Why can’t I see it with theirs?”
“I think it has something to do with apples from our land. We’re connected to it, and it to us.”