Rest in Peach (14 page)

“Maybe things will get more exciting closer to election time,” I offered. I started to get into the truck, struggling to figure out a way to lift my leg high enough to climb into my seat without having to hike up my dress.

Hawk watched with amusement. “Need a boost?” He started to reach for my hips.

I slapped his hand away. “No, thanks. I can manage.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender and stepped back, watching with a smirk as I turned this way and that. Finally, I gave up, lifted the hem of my dress to my thighs and clumsily worked myself into the seat. Midway, I glanced over my shoulder and caught him ogling my legs. Sliding behind the wheel, I adjusted my dress and shot him a dirty look. He answered with another smirk and a solicitous
wink.

Debutante Fact #064:
There’s one thing debutantes should know about religion: Good Baptists always recognize one another at church, but never at the bar.

Sunday morning before church, Mama loaded me down with a large coffee thermos and a bag of carefully wrapped muffins to take out to the orchard for the workers. Roscoe tagged along, his short, stubby legs propelling him forward on the grassy path between the rows as his nose hugged the ground in search of interesting scents. Every once in a while, I turned around to make sure he was still following. I’d found out the hard way that one tempting whiff could set him off on a wild goose chase.

As I walked, I basked in the feel of the warm sun on my shoulders and inhaled the familiar smell of fresh-cut grass mixed with the tanginess of ripening peaches. Every once in a while, I’d hear the hollow din of doves as they called out their morning greeting. Spring had always been my favorite season on the farm. I had such fond memories of spring morning walks with Daddy, each of us kids following him as he wandered the orchards testing peaches for
readiness. We’d squeal with excitement when he picked the first ripe gems of the season, holding them out for us to taste and laughing as peach juice dribbled down our chins.

This was my first harvest since coming back home last summer, and I was too busy with other aspects of the business to help pick peaches. Not that I minded running Harper’s Peach Products. In many ways it was just as satisfying to take our peaches and turn them into a product that could be enjoyed any time of year. It was like providing people with a bite of summer all year long. Still, I missed the familiar earthy connection I’d always felt after spending the day working the crop.

Suddenly, the rumbling of the bin tractor coming down the path caused Roscoe to whimper and scamper for my heels. “Fraidy cat,” I teased, squatting down next to him and running my hand along his fur for comfort. Manny Rosales maneuvered the tractor alongside us and cut the engine.

“Good morning, Nola.” He nodded hopefully toward my bag. “Something from your mama?”

“Sure is,” I said, pulling out a muffin and holding it out to him. “Peach streusel muffins; still warm, too.”

He graciously accepted my offering, biting in and rolling his eyes with pleasure. I retrieved a paper cup from the bag and poured some coffee from the thermos. “Is that your first pick of the day?” I asked, eyeing the packed bins in the back of the trailer.

“Yes, ma’am. We’re on the second round in the west orchard and will probably start picking the Sunbrite peaches this afternoon.”

I nodded. Peaches were picked in rounds, starting at the top of the tree where the fruit ripened first. Workers would pick only peak fruit, leaving the rest to mature until a later date. Eventually, after three or four rounds, the entire tree would be
harvested. The whole process could take up to two weeks per variety, with pickers rotating through the orchards to ensure that all fruit was harvested at the height of ripeness.

“Your papa’s working us hard today,” he added with a grin, finishing off the last of his muffin and reaching over to shove the tractor into gear.

“How’s he holding up?” I asked. Sometimes I worried about my daddy working too hard. Just last summer the doctor told him to take it easy, even recommended a vacation so he could rest up a bit.

Manny thumped his fist against his chest. “Don’t worry. Mr. Harper’s a strong man,” he assured me. Then he cranked the engine to life and took off with a spurt and puff of blue smoke. Like many things around the farm, the old tractor had seen better days. But hadn’t we all, I thought, my daddy flashing to mind. He’d hinted more than a few times that he and Mama were ready to retire. I knew they were hoping I’d take over the farm, since Ray was busy with his law firm and Ida had her own life with Hollis and the kids. Guess I was their last hope of preserving our family heritage. Not that I was feeling pressure or anything.

“Come on, boy,” I beckoned to Roscoe as I continued down the row toward the work site. A few minutes later, I came upon the crew. They were busy packing peaches into front packs that were strapped to their bellies like baby carriers.

Daddy spied me as he was emptying his peaches into one of the bins. “Hey, darlin’.”

“Hey, Daddy.” I eyed the way he was rubbing his lower back. “You doing okay? Are you working too hard?”

“Now don’t you get started on me, Nola Mae. I get enough of that from your mama. She’s always fussin’ at me. Says I’m too old for this, too old for that.”

“Sorry, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a break and sit down
for a while.” I held up my wares, trying to entice him away from his work. “Mama sent coffee and muffins.”

“Tempting, but I best not.” He glanced up at the tree branches. “They’re really coming on fast. It’s the heat. If we don’t get this entire parcel picked today, they’ll over ripen and we’ll lose money.”

I nodded. “Take it you won’t be coming in for the noon meal, then?”

“No, we’re going to have to take our lunch out here. Let your mama know, okay?”

I didn’t even try to talk him out of it. Mama would be furious that he was missing Sunday brunch, but once Daddy decided on something, there was no changing his mind. So, I left the goodies, waved good-bye to a couple of the fellows and called Roscoe. We’d barely started back to the house before he let out a high-pitched howl and took off through the trees. “Roscoe!” I called. “Come back here!”
For heaven’s sake, what does he smell now?

But I didn’t have to wonder for long, because I spied Joe Puckett up ahead working over one of the trees and filling a large white bucket with peaches. Roscoe reached him first, jumping anxiously against his legs. Joe immediately took out a piece of jerky from the reserve he kept stashed away in the front pocket of his bib overalls and offered it to an eager Roscoe. “I see you have a friend visitin’,” he said as I approached.

“You remember Roscoe, don’t you?”

Roscoe rolled onto his back, eliciting a belly rub from Joe. “’Course I remember Roscoe. I might not be standin’ here if it weren’t for this little fellow.” True, Roscoe—or more accurately, Roscoe’s nose—saved Joe from taking a chest full of buckshot last summer. “Only he’s not so little anymore. Looks ’bout full grown,” Joe was saying. “Is he a good coon dog?”

“Heck if I know. You’d have to ask his owner. I’m just taking care of him for a few days.” I nodded toward his bucket. “Preparing to make a batch of brew?” Joe lived in a shack in the woods that bordered our property on a piece of land his granddaddy won—“fair and square,” as Joe liked to say—from my granddaddy over a hundred years ago. The Puckett family had lived a self-sufficient lifestyle on the land ever since. Somewhere along the line, my father struck a deal with Joe, allowing him to take as many peaches as he needed to continue making his special brew—a sort of peach-infused corn whiskey that people around these parts referred to as peach shine. Much like the legally distilled Peach Jack that my Daddy was so fond of, but a whole lot more potent.

“You bet,” he replied, reaching up high with his good arm to squeeze a peach. Satisfied, he plucked it from the branch and placed it in his bucket. “What do y’all call this type again?”

“Sunbrites.”

He rubbed at his whiskers. “Sunbrites, eh? Well, they’re my favorites.”

“Mine, too.” The Sunbrite was a firm yellow flesh peach, great for making cobblers and pies. Apparently they made good hooch, too. I picked a few more and added them to his bucket. “Ms. Purvis suggest any good books lately?” I asked, noticing his face light up when I mentioned the librarian’s name.

“As a matter of fact, I’m ’bout through with a book called
Soldier’s Heart
. It’s all about the Civil War. Ms. Purvis suggested it.”

That reminded me of something Joe had told me earlier. “Remember when I gave you a ride into town the other day?”

“Yup. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my memory.”

I cringed. “Of course not. I was just thinking about
something you said. About Vivien Crenshaw being at the library working on some sort of project. Any idea what type of project?”

Joe shook his head. “Nope.”

“How about Maggie Jones? Ever see her there?” Mama mentioned seeing Maggie at the library—the whole Scotsman-in-a-kilt thing. I was wondering if there might be some sort of connection.

“You mean the preacher’s wife?”

I nodded.

“Yup. She’s there all the time. Using the computer for somethin’ or another.”

“Really? Ever see her and Vivien talking?”

He pull a red hankie out of his back pocket and took a few swipes at his neck while he mulled over my question. “Not that I recall,” he finally answered. “Oh, maybe a word in passin’, but that’s about all.” His blue eyes settled on me. “Why? You fixin’ on Maggie for the murder?”

I shook my head. “No. But whatever Maggie and Vivien were doing at the library might be important to the case.” I realized that if Mama had spied Maggie’s interest in kilts, maybe somehow Vivien had discovered it as well. Could that be connected to blackmail?

He scratched his whiskery chin. “Sorry I can’t help ya. But Henrietta might know. Want me to ask her?”

“Henrietta, now, is it?” Was I imagining it, or did I notice his cheeks turning red with my chiding? I eased up on the teasing. “Thanks, Joe, but that’s okay. I’ll probably just pop by sometime soon. I’ve been meaning to pay her a visit anyway.” After helping him finish filling the bucket, Roscoe and I hightailed it back to the farmhouse. Mama would pitch a fit if we were late for church.

•   •   •

A chorus of “amens” rang through the congregation as Reverend Jones finished the final blessing. “Now before we start the hymn, I have a few announcements to read,” he began. I shifted uncomfortably, the back of my legs sticking to the wooden pew. Even with all the church’s windows opened wide, it was hot as an oven inside. Most of the gentlemen removed their suit jackets before the opening prayer, and the ladies were fervently fanning themselves with the weekly bulletin. Red-faced babies fussed, and school-aged kids squirmed in their seats. Mama, Ray and I were seated a few rows behind Ida and Hollis. Ida had already left the pew to stand in the back with Junior, and the twins were picking at each other. Several times I spied Hollis leaning over and whispering warnings in their ears.

I tuned back in for a second and listened to Reverend Jones talk about an upcoming potluck dinner, before my eyes started wandering again. This time my gaze landed across the aisle on Cade and Hattie. Hawk was there, too, of all people. That surprised me, but to see him sitting right next to Cade irritated me to no end. Next thing I knew, they’d be going out for beers again, chumming it up and talking about goodness knew what. I sighed. I already regretted pouring my heart out to Cade the other day. What was I thinking, divulging so much of my past like that? What if word ever got back to Hawk about the baby? Not that he’d even care. Or would he? I shuddered, not wanting to think about it too much.

“You okay, hon?” Mama leaned in and asked. I nodded and slid my eyes back to the pulpit.

“Next item, the church bazaar,” Reverend Jones was saying. “As you all know, this is a generous community. As of
today, we have more donations that we know what to do with!”

Happy murmurs ensued from the congregation. The preacher held up his hand for silence and continued, “If any of you can spare the time, please come down to the church this week to help sort and mark items. We’re in desperate need of helping hands. Just remember, you’ll be doing the Lord’s work.” With that, he gave the signal, and Betty Lou Nix fired up the organ. Laney stepped into the choir box, and with a toss of her wildly teased hair she raised her red-tipped nails to her bosom and launched into a heartfelt rendition of “Amazing Grace.” It started a bit wobbly, but by the second stanza she was belting it out like her own salvation depended on it. I noticed Hawk was hanging on her every word. I should’ve known. He didn’t give a hoot about church; he just came by to hear Laney sing.

When she finished, everyone clapped and started filing out of the pews, a few lingering in the aisles to visit while others dashed ahead, eager to get on with their days. I spied Ezra Sugar ahead, quickly told Mama I’d meet her at the car and set out after him. I still needed to double-check the status of the cake for the Peach Cotillion.

I followed him across the lot, gaining on him as he made his way down Blossom Avenue, but I stopped short when I heard someone calling my name. Hattie and Cade came up behind me, Cade saying, “Hope you don’t mind, but I told your mama not to wait for you, that I’d give you a lift home after lunch.”

“Lunch?”

Hattie smiled my way, wiggling the key in her shop’s lock. “I’ve got some things to do. See y’all later,” she said, opening the door and ducking inside.

“I didn’t think she was open on Sundays,” I said to Cade.

“She usually isn’t, but she told me she was going to meet Mrs. Busby here. Guess Mrs. Busby won’t work alone in the shop anymore.”

“I can’t blame her.” A murder in the shop would freak me out, too.

He pointed toward the diner and held out his arm. “So, will you have lunch with me?” He smiled, the lines around his eyes deepening against his tan skin. Something about his expression, or perhaps his manner, put me at ease. All the apprehension I’d felt earlier about revealing too much of my past suddenly melted away.