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Lying there, by itself aside from the critters and dust, was a worn, leather journal. Slowly, I reached my hand down to grab it. Pulling it out, I blew the dust off. The layer of dust had made the journal look gray, but in reality it was brown and the pages were yellowed from age. I turned it over and noticed there was no back cover. It was bookended by a yellow page like the others inside the journal.
I fanned the pages, coughing as more dust was kicked up. There were scribbles and diagrams and notes all over the pages. Most weren’t written in neat, orderly lines, but rather strewn about in a leaded mess. It looked like the work of a mad scientist who never had a coherent thought in his life. There were a few pages with long diary-like entries, mostly just about apples trees and traveling abroad. I shook my head at what was supposedly Dudley’s coveted journal. The object that was supposed to reveal my purpose here, my instructions to receive his inheritance.
Still sitting on the floor in the front entrance, I read through each page thoroughly, looking for information about this mysterious business I was supposed to see through to fruition. I stopped at a few diagrams that were squished onto a page already filled with writing. Unlike the other diagrams, it looked like he had come back and added these later, needing to find room in a filled journal, perhaps? I tried to make sense of their scribbles. One showed what I assumed to be two seeds side by side. The insides of the seeds were filled in to show layers I didn’t know apple seeds even had. There were arrows connecting the two seeds to each other. Above the drawing was a question, written in Dudley’s handwriting:What is their cross-breeding process?
I flipped the page to find another diagram with circles and numbers I couldn’t make sense of. Next to it was a drawing of a tree. I stood up and made my way to the back window, holding the journal up so it was sitting beside the singular apple tree in Dudley’s backyard in my line of vision. The drawing was nearly identical to the tree. On top of this drawing was another note:Need to perfect drought resistance or seeds will be wasted.
“What were you up to, Dudley?” I whispered.
Drought resistance. Where had I heard that term before? I thought back to my first dinner with Brenton. He had told me that the reason his business was so successful was because of their patented drought resistant seeds. Nothing like them existed in the California apple market. I dropped the journal and gasped, the pieces finally coming together.
Dudley wanted to cross breed his tree with Brenton’s patented technology. This tree in his backyard must be rare enough that he couldn’t waste its seeds until he was able to make them drought resistant. That must’ve been why the tree was planted in a raised, weirdly colored dirt plot. It was the only way it could survive without drought resistance.
I found further notes about the tree that explained how it only had a few good seasons left until the seeds would be unusable in the California heat. Dudley was in a race against time to somehow get his hands on the drought resistance technology for his tree. From what I’ve learned about him, Dudley was no scientist. He loved apple trees, but he didn’t have the knowledge to develop new technology. That must’ve been why he was so pissed to have been fired from TruFruit. He had no means to develop his new apple tree species without them, and they were making all this money from trees that he must have discovered. But if he wanted help breeding this tree, why had he been so rude to Brenton? He could have asked Brenton to help and then split the profits.
I continued to flip, still not knowing the exact steps I needed to follow to get Dudley’s inheritance, but I reached the end before I found that information. The final page was ripped and the backside of the leather cover was frayed where it had been torn in two.
“Damn it.”
Maybe Dudley had found the formula and needed to hide it at the last minute, so he ripped it out from the original pages. Or maybe he was just angry and ripped the journal. Maybe nothing was in the second half. I cursed myself, confused and tired. But still, I had made progress. Now, I just had to find the other half of the journal, if it existed.
A loud crash outside brought me out of my thoughts. I looked out the window on the side of my house to see Brenton loading his truck. I looked at my clock. Almost three. He must have been preparing to go to the edge of his property. Another idea hit me. Dudley needed to know more about the science behind cross-breeding apples. Who better to learn that information from than Brenton?
I wasn’t even sure exactly what I was looking for yet, but any information was good information until I found the other half of this journal. The inheritance money was almost within reach and I felt as if I could smell it. I thought about the book I was writing and grew ecstatic. This new find would bring my story to life, and the inheritance money would fund my time to keep writing it. I made up my mind: I would suffer the outdoors for my inheritance. I stomped out of my house, down my gravel drive to Brenton’s truck.
“Hi,” he greeted me, slightly surprised.
“Hi! Packing for your little trip down the property?”
“Yep. I was just about to head out.”
“Is the offer to join you still on the table?”
His face lit up and a smile emerged on his lips.
“Of course!”
“Perfect.” I began to open the passenger door of the truck to hop in, but Brenton stopped me.
“First things first. You need better shoes. And more comfortable clothes. We’ll be walking around on the trails down there quite a bit.”
“Oh,” I said looking down at my current attire. I was in flip flops and skinny jeans. “Right. I’ll be right back!”
I rushed back to the house and up to my closet. Sifting through my designer clothes in frustration. What does one wear to hike among apple trees? I opted for a plain green t-shirt and some jean shorts. The best shoes I could find were some gray converse sneakers, so I tied those up and headed back out.
Brenton was back at his truck, holding a pair of small boots and a red flannel.
“These should fit you.” he handed me the small brown boots that looked slightly worn. I eyed them suspiciously. I guessed they could be his ex wife’s or girlfriend’s, so I shrugged it off and replaced my sneakers with hiking boots that were exactly my size but not exactly my style.
“I also grabbed you this, in case it gets cold. We should be back before it’s totally dark, but sometimes it gets chilly down there around sunset. The very edge of the property faces West and has a perfect view of the sunset. That’s why I wait until the afternoon to head down there.”
“I can’t wait.”
Finally ready, we hopped in the car. Brenton opened the back seat and let Samson jump in before we began the surprisingly long drive to the edge of his property.
