Vermont Valentine

A furious barking broke the spell. With a shake of her head, Celie turned to see Murphy barreling toward them down the aisle of trees. She fell upon him in relief, the strange moment ended. “Who’s this? Who’s this? Who’s this doggie?” she asked, ruffling his neck fur while he leapt around her deliriously.

“Down, Murph,” Jacob said and Murphy subsided, tail wagging so furiously his whole body shook with it.

“Look, Murph, it’s a cookie. I’ve brought you a cookie.” Celie brought the baggie of dog biscuits out of her pocket. “Here’s a cookie for you, here’s a cookie for this good dog.” She held it up. “Do you think if I give it to you your dad will let me look at the inside of the house?”

Murphy barked.

Celie looked at Jacob, laughter in her eyes. “I’d say that’s a yes. What do you say, daddio?”

And he, this generation’s Trask loner, merely nodded.

Isaac Trask had been far more than just a maple-sugar-maker, Celie thought in the glorious entrance hall of the house. He’d had an architect’s sense of design combined with a builder’s meticulousness. The golden oak floors gleamed, the ceilings soared a good ten feet overhead. Sunlight streamed in through the beveled glass oval that lay in the center of the front door.

“My God, this is gorgeous,” she murmured.

“Isaac went ahead and lived in it even without Sarah Jane. He died pretty young—basically drank himself to death.”

How could something so beautiful come from tragedy? “It’s incredible, like something you’d see in Newport, Rhode Island. Tell me it didn’t just stay vacant.”

“Oh, different people from the family lived in it for a few years here and there. Never for long, though.”

“Bad karma?” she asked, but it didn’t feel forbidding. It seemed like a house that would welcome life and warmth.

“It was too remote, I think, even when we tried to rent it. Hard to find people who want to be so isolated.”

“So what happened?” She trailed her fingers over the antique wallpaper and turned to him. “Did it just sit empty?”

“More or less. My dad and my grandfather did enough to keep it from falling apart, anyway. You know, replacing windows and that. When I read Isaac’s journals, it really got to me. After that, I did some stuff here and there when I got the chance. I started in earnest when I moved in.”

“When was that?”

“About seventeen years ago. My parents wouldn’t let me until I’d turned eighteen, and then I wound up spending about a year working on major structural stuff first. Some of the subflooring had rotted out, and the porch pillars. Once I got that out of the way, it just came down to a lot of interior detail work.”

“Which you excel at,” she murmured, trailing her fingers over the gleaming moldings around the French doors leading to the living room. “May I?” she asked, tipping her head.

“Sure.”

The carpet was Persian and swirled in a complicated pattern of geometric wines and blues. An ornate plaster ceiling medallion surrounded the chain that held up the bronze-and-crystal light fixture. And the walls were almost entirely lined in bookshelves, bookshelves groaning with books. Some were leather-bound and perhaps dated back to Isaac’s time; mostly, the shelves were filled with the splashy color of paperbacks. She’d understood from Ray that Jacob read; she’d had no idea how much.

“Were the bookshelves Isaac’s idea?”

Jacob shifted his feet a little. “No, those were mine.”

“A house like this ought to have a library.”

“Yeah, but I like my books close at hand.”

Actually, the room felt like a library with its shelves and green lamps and its leather couches and chairs. And then she was surprised again, because next to the chair that faced the fireplace and sat under a brass floor lamp, the chair that was obviously Jacob’s favorite sat…

“You play guitar?” She sat down to admire the satiny wood of the well-worn and perfectly cared for acoustic.

He looked suddenly trapped. “Yeah, some.”

“How long have you played?”

“Oh, I don’t know, since I was about eleven, I think.”

She looked at him in amusement. “A little, he says? Twenty-five years? What do you play?”

“Oh, different stuff,” he said, drifting toward the door. “Old Creedence, roots music, some classical, some blues.”

He was uncomfortable, she realized. Solid, certain Jacob Trask was embarrassed. There was something about it that tugged at her heart. “Well, don’t walk away, play something for me.”

He stopped and stared at her. “I don’t play for people.”

“You must have played for your family, at least.”

He shifted uneasily. “It’s mostly just for me.”

“So Murph’s the only one who’s gotten a concert?”

Hearing his name, Murphy raised his head and rose from his cushion in the corner.

Jacob played with the dog’s ears absently. “Playing for other people turns it into something else. It’s not about impressing people for me. It’s just something I like to do.”

“How about if I promise not to be impressed?” Celie offered.

That had him fighting a smile. “Later,” he said, walking to the door.

“Is there going to be a later?”

His glance brought warmth to her cheeks. “We’ll see.”

The light was fading to dusk. The living room was empty but for Jacob and Murphy. The soft and somehow plaintive strains of an Appalachian finger-picking piece he’d found sounded through the room. He stopped and frowned. Play for me, she’d said. It was absurd for him to feel bashful at the idea. He’d probably sounded more than a little eccentric when he’d told her he hadn’t even played for his family. Not that he should care what Celie Favreau thought of him.

But he was lying to himself if he tried to pretend he didn’t.

Only two days had passed since he’d found her crouched at the base of one of his maples. Only two days that she’d been lurking in his mind, dancing through his thoughts. Somehow it felt as though it had been much longer. It wasn’t as though he’d never been with a woman. He knew what it was to want, he knew what it was to bury himself in the warmth and softness of a woman he cared about.

And he knew what it was to watch them leave. There was little to keep a woman in Eastmont. Most of them wanted more, most of them wanted more of him than he was willing to give. Somehow, he was never ready, perhaps because he always saw them walking away, just as Sarah Jane had walked away from Isaac.

Idly, he began playing a slow blues riff.

It was the tag end of January and the pace of his life was beginning to pick up. Winter might be the dormant season for most, but for a sugar-maker, it was when things got exciting. Suddenly, there was more work to be done than hours to do it. He didn’t have time for a bright-eyed woman with a disconcerting tendency to get him talking. So what if she made him laugh? So what if she crept into his dreams?

He knew how it went, get involved, see a woman a few times and suddenly there were obligations. Suddenly he’d find himself defending the way he lived, defending who he was. Living with Murph, he didn’t have that problem. Alone was the way he was comfortable. Alone was the way he wanted to be.

Especially this year, of all years, when it felt as if everything was piled high on his shoulders. He’d always figured he was strong enough to take on anything that came along, but he was beginning to wonder. There was so much at stake, so much to lose if he screwed up. And now with this maple borer thing, who knew what the future might look like?

Without realizing it, he slipped into a slow, mournful gospel song. When the phone rang, he let it. The answering machine clicked and he heard himself. “It’s me. Leave a message.”

“It’s Gabe. Pick up the phone.” He heard his youngest brother’s voice. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re there. Hey Murph, you there?” Murphy gave a low whine. “Pick up the phone, will ya?”

Murphy barked and with a grin, Jacob reached out for the receiver. “What do you want?”

“I knew you were there.”

“So why are you bugging me?”

“I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“You get in a fight with Hadley?”

“Naw, she adores me. Can’t stop hanging all over me an—ow,” he complained to someone in the background. “That hurt.”

“Sounds like some pretty energetic hanging,” Jacob observed.

“Don’t let it fool you, she’s crazy about me,” Gabe confided. “So what’s going on out there? You left a message?”

Jacob’s grin faded. “Some things you ought to know about. We might have trouble.”

“Trouble how?” Gabe asked sharply.

“Some USDA plant health people are poking around looking for a bug that targets maple trees.”

“Targets as in kills them?”

“Yep. Hides in the bark, girdles them and transmits a fungus so that if the chewing doesn’t kill them, the fungus will. Reproduces quickly.”

“Sounds like a nasty customer.”

Jacob reached for his coffee. “It is.”

“Has it got any of ours?”

“They don’t know. They’ll be looking.” And Celie popped immediately to mind. He frowned. “If they find it, they could wind up taking down a lot of trees.”

“How many, a lot?”

“Like acres.”

Gabe digested this for a moment. “That would suck. What would that do to your income?”

“Do the math. We’ve got a hundred acres right now, forty-five-hundred-some-odd taps. Knock that down by ten percent, it’s going to hurt.”

“Will you and Ma still be okay?”

“I assume so.” Though the uncertainty had been a constant, nagging worry ever since the maple borer situation had turned serious. “It’ll cut the shares for you and Nick, though.”

Gabe snorted. “Like we care. I’ve got a job, Jacob, and so does Nick. You’re the one working your ass off on the farm. You’re the one who should get any money, you and Ma.”

“But it’s your land, too.” And he felt the responsibility every single day.

“As long as I can come and go to the farm as I please, I’ve got what I want. So with this bug thing, you worried?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure what to think yet.”

There was a pause. “You feeling all right?”

“Yeah, fine. Why?”

“Because you’ve never in your life been short of an opinion. I thought maybe you were sick or something.”

“You’re a regular laugh riot, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Gabe said modestly. “Seriously, though, what’s up?”

“Don’t know yet. Celie’s coming out on Monday with her team to look the place over. I assume we’ll know more once we see what they find.”

“And then you’ll know if you’re going to lose trees?”

“I’ll know if we’re going to lose trees. They belong to all of us, Gabe. I don’t forget that.”

“And we appreciate it,” Gabe said. “So how’s Ma taking all this?”

“She seems okay. I haven’t gone into huge detail just because we don’t know enough yet and I don’t see the point in getting panicked. Anyway, I think she’s distracted right now.”

“Yeah,” Gabe said quietly. “We’re getting close to a year.”

“Month after next.” This time a year before, Adam Trask had still been around, striding through the maples with his rogue’s grin. This time a year before, Jacob had still had a father and business partner, and Molly had had a husband. And then one morning, out in the sugarbush, everything had changed….

“How’s she doing?”

“A little rocky, when she thinks no one’s looking.” He stared moodily at his coffee. “I caught her crying one day.”

“Crying?” Gabe echoed uneasily.

“Yeah.” Easily one of the most unsettling experiences of his life. “You know Ma, she was fine two minutes later but things are hard for her right now.”

“She needs us around,” Gabe said, in answer to his brother’s unspoken comment.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, I’ve got business in Montpelier next week. I figured I’d drop in at the end of the day, maybe for dinner.”

Trust Gabe to come through. “I think she’d like that. Bring Hadley, if you can.”

“She won’t be around. She’s got to go to New York for the week to close on some corporate business and see about her condo.”

“Oh yeah? She selling?”

“The place in New York, anyway. She’s got a flat out here in the manager’s house at the hotel.”

“The same manager’s house you live in?” Jacob asked innocently.

“Might be.”

“So what’s hotel ownership going to say to the two of you shacking up together?”

“Considering she’s hotel ownership, not a whole lot. Besides, we’re not shacking up.”

“No?”

“Nope. She’s still got her flat, I’ve still got mine.”

Jacob stretched, amused. “You losing your moves, little brother?”

“I’ve learned to be patient. When it’s right, we’ll know.”

“Good luck on that.”

“Yeah.” Gabe paused a moment. “So who’s this Celie?”

Chapter Four

“Okay, let’s get started.” Celie looked across the Institute conference room at the team of foresters who’d been recruited for the inspections. A half dozen of them were from the Institute—not just Marce but Bob Ford and several others. The rest were either from APHIS and the forest service or the state. Nearer at hand, Dick Rumson glowered at her from a ringside seat, arms folded over his chest.

“Good morning, everyone,” she began. “First of all, thanks in advance for your help. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. It’s essential that we get through the inspections by the end of March, before the borers hatch. If the situation’s not under control by then, we’ll have worse trouble on our hands.” She picked up a stack of sheets and handed them out. “This is a summary of the project to give you an idea of how we’ll be dividing up the acreage for maximum efficiency.”

Rumson looked up from the summary sheet she’d handed out. “Says here you see this going on for six or seven weeks.”

“That’s roughly how long it should take the sixteen of us to cover the county,” Celie said calmly. “We’ll start at the areas of concern and work our way out.”

“That’s a long time to have a full team inspecting. I don’t think I can spare my specialists for that long, especially if you’re not finding anything. If we don’t see any sign of your bug in the first two weeks, I’m pulling my team back.”

Celie gave him a level look. “We’re not going to make any decisions about early termination until we’ve been out in the sugarbushes.” And you’re not going to undermine my authority.

“But if—”

“We’re not going to make any decisions about early termination until we’ve been out in the sugarbushes,” she repeated, keeping her voice even. “We’ve got a job to do. Let’s focus on that. The data will tell us what comes next.”

Rumson subsided with a glare.

Celie gestured to the wood sitting on the table before her. “For those of you who haven’t seen what we’re looking for, I’ve got some show and tell. First, Mr. Scarlet-Horned Maple Borer himself.” She passed around a clear sample case with a small beetle inside. It was mostly brown with gaily striped red and brown feelers. “Big things come in small packages, as the saying goes. It doesn’t look like it could decimate the hardwood forests of the northeast, but there you are. Now, it’s unlikely in the extreme you’re going to see one of these beetles. They spend most of their life in the wood of the tree and right now they’re at the tail end of their dormancy period. What we want to look for are signs of incursion.”

She lifted the section of wood off the table. “See the lightish streaks and the way the bark has thickened? That’s a response to the fungus the maple borer carries. Most trees also release a chemical to combat the beetle. If you find a tree that looks suspicious, mark it and scrape the inside of the bore holes to obtain a sample. Detecting the fungus, or better yet, the inhibitor chemical is the most conclusive method we have for confirming the presence of the beetle.”

Ford stirred. “I thought I read somewhere that certain trees are resistant.”

“They are. The borer doesn’t like ash or black oak, for example. It’s not just a taste thing. Those trees have high levels of the inhibitor chemical—if he keeps eating, he dies. Unfortunately, in the sugar maple it’s not sufficiently strong for protection.”

“Aren’t there any insecticides we can use?” asked one of the state forestry specialists.

“None of the insecticides currently approved for use in the U.S. are effective against the maple borer.”

Ford looked at her keenly. “So there is something, just not for us?”

“Sort of. I was part of a team that isolated the inhibitor chemical and concentrated it into an insecticide called SMB-17. It was commercially released last year in Canada and in Japan.” She waited a beat. “The trade name is Beetlejuice.”

That got a round of laughter from all except Rumson.

“What about here?”

She tamped down all frustration so that none would sound in her voice. “U.S. agencies appear to require a little more time and data.” And meanwhile, trees by the thousands came down. “We have hopes the red tape part will be done soon.”

“Soon enough to help us?” asked Marce.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath, although I’m told the regulatory action leader has been reviewing data and should make a decision soon.”

“That’s encouraging, isn’t it?”

“The RAL’s been reviewing the data for about six months.” And ordering more tests, and stalling and stalling and stalling…

“You ask me, they’re being responsible,” Rumson said heavily. “Just because you think it’s hot stuff doesn’t mean we can just start spraying it around.”

“You don’t spray it, you inject it.” Her voice was curt.

“There’s more involved here than just your program. Maples produce a food product and if you think that you can just whip up something in your lab and expect us to take your word on it, well, you don’t know how things work. Taking the time to do it right is the responsible thing to do,” he added pompously.

Good old Dick, she reflected, always most patronizing when he didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “Well, they have five years of data from three independent sources, all of it submitted two years ago, to work with. I’d hope they could make a decision based on that in less than a year.”

Several of the state specialists looked amused, she noticed. Interesting. It appeared that Rumson wasn’t any better liked by his staff than he was by her.

“At any rate, that’s the future. It doesn’t change what we do today,” she said briskly, moving on. “Right now, our only weapon is removal of the infested and high-risk trees, the sooner the better. The inspection process might be hard work, but it’s critical to the future of this area, so stay alert. If you find a suspicious candidate, mark the tree, log it, take a sample. I’ll collect them from you at the end of the day and follow up from there.” She passed out a stack of maps. “Here’s where I want you deployed.”

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