Eyes on the Prize Read online

  Lloyd stepped closer, just missing an onion plant growing nearby. “But look at it!” he urged, as if they hadn’t just been doing that very thing. “Don’t they hold competitions for giant vegetables? You need to enter it in a contest.”

  “It’s not that large yet,” Louise said. “Craig told me about a giant pumpkin weigh-off in Baskenburg every year. I understand they hold contests all over the country. Mine isn’t big enough for that, though. The record is 1,502 pounds. So far, this might be eight hundred pounds. That’s a big difference.”

  “Is it finished growing?” Lloyd asked.

  “Not quite,” Louise said.

  “Hello-o-o,” another voice called. They turned toward the sound. Patsy Ley’s arms were swinging as she strode down the slight hill on the path from Grace Chapel, the church Louise’s father had pastored for sixty years just down the road from their home. Patsy’s husband was the associate pastor, and they lived in the rectory on the other side of the church.

  “I could hear you laughing all the way up at the church. It looks like you’re having a party. What’s the occasion?” she asked as she came through the garden gate.

  “Be careful where you step,” Ethel warned. Patsy looked down at her feet and picked her way between rows.

  “We’re admiring Louise’s pumpkins,” Vera said.

  “Oh my,” Patsy said, peering around the group at the large yellow orb. “Louise, that’s fabulous! I thought you couldn’t grow anything.”

  “Indeed, that was the common perception,” Louise said, her tone dry. “As you can see, I have in fact grown something.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just, I know I’ve heard you say …” Patsy stopped speaking and blushed.

  Louise gave Patsy a kindly smile. “I’ve probably said that more than once. I haven’t spent much time in the pursuit of gardening. On a whim, I decided to see if it was true. As you can see, I have a little talent. Not as much as my sister,” she added. “It’s just not … ‘my thing.’”

  Jane laughed. “I’m grateful for that. It is my thing, but I wouldn’t have any room for my garden if I had to compete with Louise.”

  “Well, I love gardening,” Patsy said, holding her hands up, framing the pumpkin with her fingers. “This is extraordinary. May I come take pictures of it for my scrapbook? With the bright umbrella, it looks like something out of a garden in Tuscany.”

  Jane stopped pruning and stood to stare at the pumpkin. She cocked her head to one side. “You’re right. It does. I just may have to immortalize your pumpkin in a painting, Louie,” she said, giving her older sister a smile.

  “Humph,” Louise uttered, but she didn’t look displeased at all the attention her plants were getting.

  “What’s happening in there?” yet another voice called from the direction of the yard.

  Clara Horn stood just outside the garden gate. She was pushing her baby carriage, and Daisy, her miniature Vietnamese potbellied pig, was sitting up, wearing a blue ruffled bonnet, eyeing the garden with rapt attention.

  “Uh-oh,” Vera said to Alice in a low tone. “Perhaps we should disperse this gathering and distract Daisy before she decides to join the party. She’d have a heyday in this garden.”

  Alice nodded as an image of a destroyed garden flashed in her mind. She removed her gloves and handed them to Jane. “We’re going walking now. Aunt Ethel, you’d better get going too.”

  “Yes, it’s time,” Lloyd said, taking Ethel’s elbow and helping her around a row of carrots. “I’ll be back with my camera later,” he said over his shoulder to Louise.

  Louise looked out toward the gate. “Yes. Good-bye,” she said. Under her breath, she said, “I do hope Clara doesn’t feel rejected. She’s a sweet lady, but I don’t want Daisy loose in here.”

  “Amen,” Jane said.

  “I’ll help distract her,” Cynthia said, heading for the gate behind Lloyd and Ethel.

  “I’d better run along. I was doing a bit of dusting in the sanctuary. I get sidetracked so easily,” Patsy muttered, falling into line behind Cynthia.

  “Looks like you two have the garden to yourselves,” Alice told her sisters, as she and Vera moved toward the gate.

  “My helpers are all deserting me,” Louise said, watching the exodus. The cat was watching lazily from the shade of a row of tall basil. “At least I still have Wendell. He comes out every day to help me.”

  Jane laughed. “I’m sure he’s a big help, batting at your giant leaves,” she said. “Guess you and I will have to pick the tomatoes and carrots and beets and …”

  “Excellent idea,” Alice said. “I can just see them trampled underfoot, or worse, rooted up by Daisy’s snout.”

  “Heaven forbid,” Louise said.

  “I’ll be back to help after Vera and I have our walk,” Alice said.

  “Don’t be concerned. We’ll be done by then. I don’t want to take a chance on losing all this produce to an invader,” Jane said, brandishing her hoe like a weapon.

  “Let’s go before she starts swinging, Vera.”

  “Right. See you later,” Vera told Louise and Jane as she headed for the gate. Alice followed right behind her.

  Chapter Four

  Cute bonnet,” Cynthia said, patting Daisy on the head, to which Daisy let out a little snort. “And how are you, Mrs. Horn?” she asked.

  “We’re as well as can be expected. It’s been a long time, Cynthia. So nice to see you.” Clara’s brow wrinkled as she watched the departing crowd. “I didn’t know your mother and your aunts were entertaining this morning. Were they having a garden party?”

  “Oh no. We were checking on some plantings, and a few people stopped by to say hi.”

  “Good morning, Clara,” Alice said. “Are you and Daisy out for a morning walk? Vera and I will join you if you like.”

  “Oh no. We’re just finishing our walk. We’re on our way home. Daisy tires so easily, you know.”

  Alice didn’t know. She suspected Clara was tired from pushing Daisy in the baby carriage. She couldn’t be sure, but Daisy looked like she’d put on some weight, as even miniature pigs were prone to do.

  “Nice to see you again,” Cynthia said, as she gave a brief wave.

  Jane came hurrying up behind them and held out a sack. “Good morning, Clara. Would you and Daisy like some vegetables? Here’s a head of cabbage, some carrots and beets, and I left the beet greens for Daisy.”

  Clara’s eyes lit up. She took the sack and tucked it into the pouch behind the carriage. “Thank you. I’m sure Daisy will enjoy them. We’ll have them for lunch.”

  “I’ll be happy to save some of our peelings for Daisy,” Jane said.

  At Clara’s affronted look, Alice said, “Vegetable peels contain the highest concentration of vitamins. Jane makes delicious broth out of them.”

  “Of course,” Clara said, but she didn’t look convinced. Daisy ate food prepared carefully by her owner. Clara wouldn’t think of giving less than the best to her precious pet.

  “I’ll make sure to save the very best for Daisy,” Jane added.

  “Thank you, I’m sure,” Clara said. She said good-bye and walked away, pushing the carriage.

  “I didn’t mean to insult her,” Jane said.

  “I wonder how Daisy would like pumpkin,” Alice ventured.

  “I heard that,” Louise said, coming out to join them. “Don’t get any ideas about my pumpkins. They’re still weeks from maturity.”

  “And then we’ll have enough pumpkin to give a pie to everyone in town,” Alice said.

  “Only if you help me do the cooking,” Jane replied.

  “I’ll help,” Cynthia said. “If I get one all to myself, that is.”

  “It’s a deal.” Jane headed back into the garden.

  “Just the thought of pumpkin pie and whipped cream is making me hungry,” Vera said.

  “Me too. Let’s stop at the bakery after our walk.”

  Alice fell into step next to Vera as
they walked across the inn property and turned up Chapel Road. They walked in silence for a few moments, power-walking up the hill. When they reached the top they slowed their pace and breathed deeply.

  “What a gorgeous day,” Alice said, enjoying the sunshine and the cool breeze. “I love the approach of fall. I think it’s my favorite time of year.”

  “Me too,” Vera said, but then she fell back into silence.

  Alice thought that was odd. They usually chatted away, catching up on the latest news. They hadn’t walked since the previous Saturday. Finally, Alice asked, “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I think so. Fred and I are fine. I do have a dilemma, though. What do you know about assisted living centers?”

  “We often have patients at the hospital from the ones in Potterston. I’ve been to them to visit some of my former patients. From what I’ve seen, most are wonderful facilities.

  Why?”

  “I got a call from my cousin Reggie in Shelton Cove. Remember I told you that my Aunt Agatha fell and broke her hip several weeks ago. She had surgery and then she developed pneumonia. Well, she’s recuperating in a rehabilitation center. They have her using a walker to get around.”

  “That sounds encouraging. So what’s the dilemma?”

  “The doctor, the physical therapist and the occupational therapist all want her to move into an assisted living center, where she will have professional staff and help in case she falls again. Reggie said that she has gotten fragile since her accident and she’s supposed to use a walker from now on.”

  “That often happens. An assisted living center would be a good choice for her. I suppose she’s against the idea.”

  “Adamantly. I doubt she’ll keep using the walker either, if she can help it. Personally, I think the move makes sense. She’s eighty-six and she’s showing her age. But she’s used to being independent.”

  “What is her house like? Can she get around easily?”

  “No. It’s a monstrosity, at least for someone who has trouble navigating. It’s a big, three-story house with a long sloping yard that goes down to the Delaware River. It’s a lovely old home with a beautiful view, but she shouldn’t be climbing stairs anymore.”

  “That’s a problem. What are you going to do?”

  “I told Reggie I’d go to see her and help him find a place for her. She can afford a nice apartment. Convincing her to move is the problem. She trusts me, but she won’t like it.”

  “I see that kind of reaction all the time. Patients can’t take care of themselves, but they don’t want to leave the security of their homes and all that’s familiar. No one wants to give up his or her independence, and that’s what it amounts to.”

  “That’s it exactly. She ran the family business after my Uncle George died. It’s only been the last few years that she stepped aside for Reggie to take over, but he complains that she won’t completely relinquish the reins. Now we’re asking her to give up some control of her own life.” Vera stopped walking and turned to Alice. Frowning, she put her hands on her hips.

  Alice stopped too. She could see that this problem weighed heavily on Vera’s mind. Vera was one of the most capable, levelheaded people Alice knew. “How can I help you?”

  “I’m taking a week off to go see the situation for myself and talk to Aunt Agatha. I hate to ask you, but would you consider going with me? I remember that you were only scheduled at the hospital for two days next week, and you would be able to tell better than I can whether she’s healthy enough and strong enough to go home.” Vera’s eyes widened hopefully.

  “Of course I’ll go with you,” Alice said, giving her friend a reassuring smile. “I don’t know how much help I can be, but I can put on my sternest Nurse Ratched face and sound very official with your aunt. When do you want to go?”

  “Next week. I thought we could drive down Saturday morning, then come back the following Sunday, if that’s all right with you. You’ll miss one week of your ANGELs group.”

  “No problem. I’ll ask Jane to cover for me. The girls love her. I’ll make arrangements to take off the time from work. It’s been slow at the hospital, so they won’t miss me.”

  Vera gave Alice a big hug. “Thank you, dear friend. I know that I’m asking a lot, but I feel that I can always count on you.”

  “It’s warmer than I thought,” Jane said, bending over, resting her hands against her knees and breathing deeply, waiting for her heartbeat to slow down.

  Cynthia came up behind her, plopped down on the grassy side of the path and let out a sigh. “It’s all the expended energy. I know we’re supposed to keep jogging in place, but I’m too tired.” She laughed breathlessly. “And I thought I was in good shape.”

  “Me too. I’m not used to that many hills. I can feel this in my shins,” she paused for another breath, “not to mention my burning lungs.” Jane dropped down next to Cynthia. “I’ll never be ready for that race if I keep stopping like this.”

  “How long have you been training?”

  “This is day one,” Jane said, wiping her forehead on the sleeve of her T-shirt.

  “Oh well, no wonder. But you walk and jog regularly, don’t you?”

  “Most days. I do just about a mile or two. So far, we’re getting well beyond that.”

  “This is way more than my typical walk. I usually wear my walking shoes to work and speed walk to the T or the bus or to lunch.”

  “I did something like that when I lived in San Francisco,” Jane said. “It keeps you in shape.”

  “Yes, but doesn’t train you for distance runs. How much time do you have to get ready?”

  “I have a month.”

  “You can do it.” Cynthia pushed to her feet. “How much farther do we have to go?”

  “Ten kilometers is 6.21 miles, but we don’t have any more steep hills.”

  “So is there a reward at the end of the trail?” Cynthia asked.

  “Carrot cake. I plan to make it this afternoon and use up some of those carrots I pulled this morning.” Jane took off jogging slowly. Cynthia caught up and paced herself in stride and rhythm to keep even with Jane.

  “I’ll peel the carrots,” she offered. “That is, if I can do it sitting down.”

  Jane laughed. “It’s a deal.”

  They’d reached a level stretch of farmland. The landscape shone with the evidence of summer’s end. Across a field of hay stubble and acres and acres of corn, the stalks, beginning to dry and turn golden, rustled in the sunshine. Off to the west, branches in an apple orchard hung heavy with red fruit.

  “I need to get out here and pick apples. By next weekend, these orchards will be crawling with people,” Jane said. “I canned peaches a few weeks ago. I’ll send a couple of jars home with you.”

  “I’d love that. I wish I could stay and help you do up the apples. I’d like to learn how to can fruit and make jam. Mother and I made apple butter one year. It was fun and so good, but we made so much that we got tired of it.”

  Jane laughed. “Too much of a good thing isn’t so good. I usually go easy on the apple butter. I make apple chutney and mix the apples with rhubarb or raspberries for jam.”

  “Yum. I remember your chutney. You served it at Easter with the ham, didn’t you?”

  “Good memory. Yes. It goes really well with pork and chicken. And there’s something very satisfying about putting up food. You should take off a week and come help me with the canning. Then you can take home some of the results.”

  “Maybe next year.”

  The road curved around a field, and they jogged along a stretch of evergreen forest for a while. The trees gave way to a cultivated field, bright green with alfalfa. Set back from the road, a long, white, two-story Victorian farmhouse came into view.

  “That’s Bellwood Farm, isn’t it?” Cynthia asked, pointing at the house. “I remember years ago coming to Grandpa Howard’s for Christmas. He brought us out here to see the living nativity they had set up in their barn. They used their own cows
and sheep. It was so cool.”

  “It was probably cold, but I know what you mean. They’ve hosted a lot of activities for the townspeople. There’s Rose now. Hey, Rose!” Jane shouted, waving her arm.

  A petite woman was walking down the driveway toward the mailbox. She was looking down, and the sun glinted off her shiny brown hair. She looked up and waved back. She had an envelope in her hand. The three women reached the end of the driveway at the same time.

  “Hi, Jane. Cynthia, it’s nice to see you. Are you just down for the weekend?”

  “Yes. I have to leave Monday.”

  “That’s too bad, but how nice for your mother to see you. I live for the weekends when Samantha can get home from college. Why don’t you two take a break and come up to the house for a glass of iced tea. You look parched.”

  “That’s probably because we are,” Jane said. Cynthia’s face was flushed and her hair clung to her forehead in damp tendrils. “We’d love a glass of iced tea. Thanks, Rose.”

  “Let me put this in the mailbox so the mailman will pick it up.” She walked over to the weathered white wooden box that surrounded the mailbox. The name Bellwood Farm was painted on the side of the box, framed by cheery red and yellow tulips and hearts around the edge. She set the envelope inside and raised the metal flag. “I suppose you have all the zucchini you need,” she said to Jane.

  “I do. The pantry is full from the garden. I’ve made zucchini relish and piccalilli and I’ll freeze some for cooking this winter. I’ll still have half a bushel leftover.”

  “Any you don’t use, I can feed the hogs, so don’t throw them away. Don’t you wonder why zucchini and cucumbers are so prolific? I wish I could do so well with some of my other plantings.”

  They walked to the front porch, where Jane and Cynthia sat on rocking chairs while Rose went inside for refreshments. A silvery wind chime tinkled in the light breeze. Hummingbirds vied for a spot at the feeder hanging from the porch beam next to an overflowing basket of pink and purple petunias. A round, red and green hex sign with tulips, hearts, birds and a star bid Wilkum over the front door.