Introduction
I woke up at sunrise as usual, not needing an alarm clock in years. Still a bit cool in the earlier morning this time of year, I hang a tee shirt over my shoulder just in case I’ll need it and when I leave my room I pause a brief moment outside Art’s door. After a heavy sigh, I go about the normal routine of starting the coffee maker, putting on my boots and checking the day’s work list while waiting for my first cup of the morning.
I’m rather pleased to see some of the hands out and about already when I step off the porch, cup of black coffee in hand and my shirt still draped over my shoulder. What doesn’t please me is what the boys are pointing at and talking about when I stroll up. Ahead, just past the third row of apple trees is Mrs. Millers pesky horse, stomping at the roots and helping itself to apples still hanging off the vine.
Arthur Ambrose, my friend and mentor died a few months back. I’ve been handling most of the duties for him since he first got sick and since his death. He was estranged to his only son who had a falling out with him years before, moving overseas last I heard. He more or less treated me like a son I guess you could say, we got along just fine.
That damn horse has been getting loose and being a nuisance here for years, and after a long haul from my cup I say to one of the hands in a low tone. “Fetch the shotgun”.
Sipping my coffee, I hang my shirt over the fence, set my coffee cup down on the top of the nearest post and reach out for the weapon when the field hand returns. This time of year we usually have as many as a dozen men, mostly young men or drifters that help around the farm and orchid. Most are derelicts, have records or are otherwise un-hirable for most work. In a few months we’ll hire the high school kids during the summer break to pick apples, run the farm stand and even have a few ladies who come down that time a year to bake pies and the like. I first met Art Ambrose as one of those summer kids, coming back a few years later after dropping out of my 3rd year in college at UMO. I’ve been here ever since, some thirty years ago.
The horse, as usual just did its thing even as the bunkhouse emptied and the rest of the morning stragglers showed up, rubbing their eyes, scratching their asses, some barely dressed. There hasn’t been a woman living full time on the property since Art’s wife died twenty years back. The boys were mostly laughing and carrying on as I took my stand, rested the butt of the shotgun to my shoulder and took aim….
I never heard her arrive, I don’t reckon any of the field hands had either, but all of a sudden, as I was taking aim toward the apple thieving plow horse, she stepped right into my sight line a mere second before I was about to squeeze off the trigger.
She wore a sundress, yellow as I recall with some sort of purple flower pattern, her arms at her sides, chest out and looking right at me with an intense gaze, and then, just as casually as can be, she picks an apple and starts feeding it to the horse. There was a stunned murmur that washed over the crowd of men as they watch the scene unfold. I lower the shotgun and say “Listen lady, this is private land, you need to be stepping off to the side now, I don’t need no tree hugger encouraging the accursed animal…”
She rubs the horse’s mane and turns back to me, my God she’s stunning, the morning light washing over her pale skin, dark hair, a light breeze pushing along the fabric of her dress. “You will not shoot this animal.” she replies in a casual tone, her accent English maybe, certainly she was not from Maine.
“Look lady, that there horse is eating our profits, look how it stomps about, shoeing up the roots and knocking over the caterpillar traps, step aside…” I bark
“Your profits? Well sir, I must inform you that this place belonged to my grandfather… “as she steps toward us while flipping her hair over her shoulder. “…and while I am around there will be NO horses getting shot!” The murmurs and the leering from the men already started getting lewd as she approached but I was too stunned to hush them.
I set the shotgun against the post and picked up my cup, taking a long haul as I looked the handsome woman over, then it dawned on me. “You’re not….You’re Mia Ambrose?” I knew Art’s son had a daughter, she’d visited as a girl I’d been told by Art on a few occasions but had never met her. She replied “Yes that is I .You must have known my grandfather, mister??”
“Ray, it's Ray Gamache Miss, and you gotta understand" I looked her up and down a bit too slowly then looked to the horse to keep from looking too hard "That there horse belongs to the neighbor lady, I've told her, your grandfather told her time and time again to keep that beast penned up"
“Well Mr Gamache, I am well aware of Mrs. Miller, that lady has been around here since I was a little girl and this is not a beast! It is a horse, a beautiful creature! Guaranteed my Grandfather wouldn’t have wanted it here, but, as I’m sure you are aware although he was an hard man he too had an heart”!, She snapped at me .
I stood there still in shock somewhat when one of the creepier looking men near me mutters just loud enough for me to hear "Fuck, if she likes horses so much I'll show her my horse coc...." the words never left the guys lips before I pushed my coffee cup into his chest so hard he fell over a nearby fence. Without breaking stride, I walked right up to her, “That horse not only eats the apples Miss, but stomps at the insect traps that can cause a whole crop to be lost.”
“I understand,” she replies “but isn't there some way else we can handle this? Maybe fix Mrs. Millers fence? Or, well I don't know, but I just got here and I will not allow this horse to be shot.” I sigh heavily, scratch my chin, + won't say out loud that I would have only shot over the damned horse’s head anyway. I look right at the creepy fuck with coffee spilled all over his tee-shirt "Frank, you take the new kid with you, round up that horse and take it over yonder to the Miller farm. If it's just her there, go mend the damn fence again but don't make it an all-day affair." I look back at her, right in the eye...."But there gotta be something done about this Miss" I keep calling her miss, my tone too harsh.
“My name is Mia Mr. Gamache, and you can call me Mia and thank you.” She returned to my new orders.
I turn away rather abruptly "They’re your apples Miss…Mia...." I nod backward to one of the last hands standing there "Well you go help the lady with her things, someone’s gotta tend to the livestock," As I walk off, she adds “Mr Gamache, I hope you’ll stop by the main house and fill me in on what’s been happening on our farm.” With that I stop short, our farm she said. I inhale deeply, exhale and without turning I reply “I’ll stop by and open the ledgers for you when the chores are done.” And I keep going.
As I head to the largest barn along the east pasture, I glance back a few times. I knew the ol’ man had a granddaughter, still I wasn't expecting her to show up here, figuring the place would hold in escrow until the money dried up or was sold at auction. I certainly wasn't expecting her to be so damn hot. After stealing a glace, I disappear into the barn.
She appears to be a tough woman, giving that façade anyway, but she looks to be out of her depth with so many men around, a little uncomfortable. I spend the rest of the day avoiding the house, I'm a bit distracted at times, not at all like me. I started working here not long after her last visit as a girl, worked it for her grandfather as if it was my own land. We got along great the ol’ man and I.
When I finally make my way back toward the main house, my shirts off, my pants are covered in dirt and I walk right into the house, letting the door fall shut behind me, forgetting someone else was here now momentarily.
Mia was sitting at the kitchen table, looking at a pile of old photographs, many of which had me in them working alongside her grandfather, smiling, shaking hands, putting up fence posts and the like. I had walked right in as I have for years, sweat rolling off my chest, hair still wet from hosing down my head before walking inside. She seems distracted suddenly by the sight of me, like she was trying not to look at me, but she was stealing glances, an odd expression as if there were something about me, familiar maybe, I couldn’t quite read it. I stop short just inside the room and say “Oh shit, I forgot you were here, I should have knocked I guess" I step back to the door and wipe my feet, stomping them a bit. "I usually, I use to... use the shower behind the pantry when I’m done for the day so I don’t mess up the house. I'll just use the one at the bunkhouse now. I'll get those books for you." all business like, moving toward the old draw down desk
She had been seeing how close I was to her grandfather, obvious from the photos. She says “It’s ok for me to use the shower here still and that she can leave for a little while. The books can wait, after all the reading of the Will isn't until tomorrow morning.” I reach into the desk, take out two ledgers and walk over with heavy footfalls to the table, pull out the chair and sit across from her. I set down the ledgers and look up at her, tilting my head. "I didn't now Art....Mr. Ambrose left a will..."
“It's ok Ray. May I call you Ray? Yes, there will be a will reading in the morning, I am the only living relative of my Grandfather , my parents are dead and I have no brothers or sisters. So, I'm here alone. And, it's ok for you to still call my Grandfather by his name. I can see you were both very close. These pictures, some are years old. How long have you been here?”
I nodded, cleared my throat "Well, the ledgers can wait but there ain't much to tell, been awhile since we turned any real profit over. I guess we were I suppose. Been here hell, 30 years give or take. Right after......well I started out a hand not much older than them boys you see out there, your grandfather taught me all I know. You'll be comfortable in here. I put in a new boiler two years back, the ol' man got cold a lot at the end."
She listened, paying full attention as I speak. "And you Ray, where do you normally..... I mean ... did you live in here?” she asked
"Well I best get washed up and pack my things up, I been in the room next to Art for a few years too. I'll bunk with the help tonight and move back into the guest house when there's time." I reply
“That really won’t be necessary, you can stay here. Besides, if I am honest, this place is a little big and I never did like to be alone, please stay, my Grandfather would expect that.”
I looked at her and ran my fingers down my jaw. I know just what will be said by the hands come morning when they know I still spent the night in the house, but I know how to deal with that. I shrug "Fine, suits me well enough. I'm sure you'll fit right in, you're an Ambrose after all." I slap the table a little too hard and stand up, heading for the back shower. Again I find myself looking back at her just once as I enter the room, only to catch her looking right at me with that same expression again.
I turn on the water and undress, the mental image of her in my head as I step into the shower to wash the day’s toll. This day took a turn I wasn't expecting, I hope this woman is as concerned about tradition and heritage as Art was. We’ve been doing things here the same way for generations. Who knows, after the will reading in the morning she might have me sacked. She could I suppose. She had spoken to him in a way he’s not used to, in front of his men, protecting the horse as if it were her own.
I rest my head against the shower stall wall, and just let the warm water wash over me. This woman is trouble, I just feel it.
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