Jake rolled his eyes, saying nothing.
The other fellow on the ground, Greg Perez, carefully carried pumpkins to a pile he was building. No point in having Hester cuss him out, plus she might give him a big tip.
Inside the other truck, his partner, Stafford Schikel, groaned as he lifted another major pumpkin. “Hester, these are the best pumpkins you’ve ever seen.”
“Big,” she replied simply. “Did you cheat and put grow dust on them?”
“No. You know we do everything organic. We lose a lot to worms, birds, and rats because of it and you.” He grinned. “You only buy organic.”
“You charge me enough.” She hadn’t put her broom back.
“You want organic pumpkins, you pay.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She pushed her pointed hat a bit to the side. “You know I go by your fields, I get out and smell everything. I run my fingers over the skins.”
“We know.”
She’d told them this ad infinitum.
Olin picked up another apple crate and asked, “Ever find anything?”
“Not at either of your farms, but let us never forget the owner of the organic store in Charlottesville who got busted for lying. His stuff was no different than Food Lion’s.”
Greg couldn’t help but tweak her. “Food Lion is a good company, and, Hester, not everybody can afford organic produce. It is more expensive.”
“You are what you eat,” she forcefully replied. “If you care about your body, you eat right. No processed foods. No foods that have suffered chemical sprays. That’s that.”
Harry joined the conversation. “Well, I am eating this fresh lettuce and I will buy one of your super pumpkins. Think I’ll make a big jack-o’-lantern.” She smiled.
“Fellas, excuse me.” Hester walked back inside to the cash register.
Lolly Currie quickly put down her e-book reader.
“Now, girl,” said Hester to Harry, “it’s time to buy those hayride tickets.” Hester reached next to the old cash register as Lolly slipped out two large glossy tickets decorated with an illustration of goblins riding on a hay wagon drawn by spectral horses. “Two?” Hester asked.
Lolly piped up: “We have lots.”
“I bought my tickets,” Harry reminded Hester, “but I’ll see if I can sell some.”
“Hmm. So you did.”
“Shameless.” Cindy Walters laughed as she pointed her forefinger at Hester. “You’ll chain people to the pumpkin stand before you’ll let them go without a ticket.”
“Well.” Hester blushed, then introduced Cindy. “Harry, this is Cindy Walters from Florida and this little tyke is Heidi.”
“Hello.” The schnauzer barked.
“We met at an environmental conference years ago. Been friends ever since.” Cindy checked the clock on the wall. “I’d better push off.”
“Oh, stay the night,” Hester offered.
“If I get into North Carolina I can make Florida the next day.”
“Wait! You can’t go without buying a Halloween Hayride ticket.”
“And I want to buy your best pumpkin,” Harry quickly interjected.
“I’ll have Greg pick out the biggest and put it in your station wagon. How’s the mileage on that?”
“Good,” said Harry. “Of course, newer cars get even better.”
“Save where you can so you can help the library.” She grinned. “Our two-year book fund is $175,000.”
Harry laughed. “Hester, you’re relentless.”
She nodded. “I know, but this is critical to not just Crozet but the western part of the county. For years Crozet was always the weak sister, but we’re coming up. This library means a lot. Mike Marshall, the Crozet reporter, is coming on the hayride. You know he’ll write about Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker. Cindy, don’t you dare walk out of here without a ticket.”
Mike Marshall was the editor and publisher of the Crozet Gazette, so if he covered it, it was news.
“Hester, I’m touched that you remember my cats’ and dog’s names.”
“Family.” She exited with Harry. “Greg, pick the biggest and prettiest pumpkin for Harry.”
“You bet.”
Cindy walked with them, ticket in her hand.
Just then Buddy Janss pulled up front, crates of late sweet corn in the back of his well-used pickup. A minute later, he walked toward them.
Hester turned to Buddy and fired away: “How many acres of late-maturing sweet corn did you plant?”
“Just like I told you last week and the week before, I planted two hundred acres. And those cool September nights just make the late sweet corn taste like candy. I harvest it twenty days after the first silks appear, I put it in huge tanks of ice water, and I bring it to you.”
“Mmm?” She raised her carefully plucked eyebrows. “Long, long summer. You were smart to plant so late.”
“Well, I planted corn every two weeks throughout the summer, but I waited extra long for the Silver Queen. Read my Farmers’ Almanac. Better than the National Weather Service.” He grinned, revealing a slight gap between his front teeth, as he winked at Harry.
“Odd, isn’t it?” Harry agreed. “I find the same thing and I read it every morning.”
A few cars rolled by. One turned in, lured by the display.
“A new customer.” Hester beamed as she walked over to welcome the young man.
Buddy shook his head, smiling. “She asks me the same thing again and again.”
“Yep.” Harry crossed her arms over her chest. “If there’s one tiny deviation in your story or one of mine from one week to the other, she’s like a chicken after a grub.”
“Just her way.” He shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Some people can’t fully trust,” said Harry. “They can like you but they can’t accept what you tell them. They have to see it for themselves or check and double-check, just like Hester. Buddy, can you imagine how exhausting that is?”
“Never thought about it.”
“Means you can’t learn from other people, your world becomes very narrow. I guess I thought about it as a kid because I had a great-uncle like that. After all these years, I now believe that trust is the bedrock of a community and it’s the only way we can progress. Each of us doesn’t have to invent the wheel.”
“Harry, how do you think of this stuff?” He took off his ball cap, revealing tightly curled jet-black hair.
“On my tractor. Bouncing along jogs my brain.”
He chuckled. “I’m on my tractor more than you, and I think about how dry the soil is, what is the soil temperature, should I check it, and what’s the chance of rain.”
“Yeah, but your tractor is like a Rolls-Royce. Doesn’t bounce.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it while they both had a laugh.
Hester returned just as Tazio Chappars drove onto the crushed-stone parking lot. Brinkley, her yellow Lab, sat in the car, with the windows rolled down.
Tazio, now in her early thirties, became more lovely with each year. Harry liked her very much but had to wonder what her secret was: great bone structure or an unerring fashion sense? Whatever it was, Harry felt she didn’t have it, but she muddled along and in extremis would smack a full coat of makeup on her face. Fortunately, she, too, had good bone structure.
“Taz!” Harry waved as the gorgeous architect walked in. “It is true! Hester attracts the best people.”
Under his breath, Buddy muttered, “And the most beautiful.”
“Why, thank you, Buddy.” Harry punched him lightly in the stomach.
“Violence! No violence at my stand.” Hester joined in the fun.
“You look happy,” Harry remarked to Taz.
“I just got the green light to redesign the Western Albemarle High School library.” As she looked Hester’s way, Tazio’s gorgeous features displayed the beauty of her African Italian heritage. “And I thank you for that,” she said.
The older lady smiled. “I didn’t do a thing.”
“Yes, you did. You fought for me to work on the new Crozet Library, and what a difference that has made in my career. I thought I’d be knocking out development houses forever and then I prayed I would be once the crash came. I can never repay you, Hester.”