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I smile as I head into the house to tuck the figurines on their own shelf in the curio cabinet.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I break from plucking ripe strawberries to brush hair off my forehead with my forearm and look around the garden. The burgundy tops of the beets are breaking the surface of the soil, and two cabbages look ready to cut. Muriel says to leave the carrots in the ground until fall unless we’re eating them fresh.
Beside me are three large baskets brimming with fruit. Muriel has another three beside her. I feel like we’ve barely made a dent. The heat and my excellent watering skills are to be blamed—the crop is better than Muriel’s seen in years. “So, the farmers’ market … how hard is it to get a table for a Friday?”
“Not hard at all! Just call the office and pay your fee. You can book one week at a time, if you want. There’s always a spot. In fact, I think I remember Laurie sayin’ there’s still space this week.” Muriel pushes her foam knee board over two feet and settles back onto it in front of a new plant. “You’re followin’ in Colette’s footsteps. That’s great to hear.”
I sigh. It’s time for some truth. “Actually, Muriel, I’m looking for a way to get rid of all these, because I don’t eat them and there’s no way Jonah can get through all this jam in a winter without going into sugar shock.” Though I did catch him at the fridge, eating from a jar of last year’s batch with a spoon, so maybe I’m wrong.
Muriel settles back on her haunches to frown at me. “This is an awful lot of strawberries to grow for someone who doesn’t eat them, Calla.”
I snort. “No shit.”
“You should have said somethin’.”
“You should have asked,” I say gently, but I say it nonetheless.
I feel her shrewd gaze on me as I search beneath the broad green leaves for any more red berries.
She chuckles. “Colette always said I was part bull.”
I can’t help but smile. “I think I might have liked Colette.”
“Yeah … she was a good one.”
Emboldened, I decide to forge on. “Muriel, we need a proper marketing campaign for this winter carnival if you want it to succeed.”
“Emily’s workin’ on the poster—”
“A poster, Muriel? No …” I shake my head. “That’s something to blend into a wall, and flyers end up in the trash. If this is really as important as you say it is, then we need something bigger.”
She opens her mouth—I assume to argue with me that I don’t know what I’m talking about—but hesitates. “What do you have in mind?”
“That fireworks show you were asking John to find more money for? You said it’s the biggest winter fireworks show in all of Alaska. Is that true?”
“It is!” she says with indignation, as if I shouldn’t even be questioning it.
“Then let’s make it bigger and call it the biggest winter show in Alaskan history. People around here are so proud of their heritage, we need to give them a reason to celebrate.” She opens her mouth, but I cut her off before she can offer a rebuttal or dismissal. “I might not be from around here, but this is what I’m good at, Muriel. Any one of you can organize this outhouse race.” I set my jaw with determination. “If people haven’t been coming around as much over the past few years, then it’s time to shake things up. I can do that. I can bring fresh ideas, and I can appeal to a younger generation. Plus, hey, if all my efforts don’t pay off, you haven’t lost anything.” I shrug. “It’s not like I’m getting paid.”
Her brow is furrowed as she seems to mull that over. “I’d have to talk to Emily. She’s been handlin’ things—”
“I’ll talk to her.” Something tells me I can find a more polite, creative way than Muriel would. “Emily and I can work on it together.”
She hums. “Well, what can I say, except … I’m excited to see what you come up with.”
I smile as I shift my focus back to my berry plant. So am I, I think. I have a challenge, a task, and it feels like me.
“So, Toby tells me Roy’s been givin’ you a hard time. You two had a fight last week?”
I stifle my groan. This conversation was inevitable. I only wondered if it would happen before or after she demanded that I bring out my new gun so she could teach me how to shoot.
I steal a glance to confirm that our quiet sentry is there, sitting at the tree line. Since last week, Oscar has ventured over every morning, as if he knows that’s when I’m back here, tending to the garden. “Yeah.”
“And you haven’t been back since?”
“Toby said he would go for me while Diana was here.”
