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He stared at her hard. He wasn’t offended, shocked was all. Shocked she might be right. Shocked that he’d been so stupid and more appalled that she might be alone out on this farm managing everything while practically running the town. He turned his head to Sybella who was humming as she took close-up photographs of the berries before placing individual strawberries into the container.
It wasn’t a discussion for now.
9
Caleb stood, stretched out his back and rubbed his aching muscles. It was early, too early and he wasn’t a morning person. But the day dawning around him with its muted palette of colour was spectacular, except it was freezing. The sun hadn’t yet reached the tips of the trees, nor did it provide any warmth. Caleb blew on his fingers to warm them up. Manual labour was not his strength, he cooked the food, didn’t pick it.
Jacqueline worked beside him, along with a small but worthy crew prepared for the back-breaking work. He’d rung the mayor knowing she’d have both the people power and the persuasion to gather an assembled group to help.
‘You’ve done a good thing here,’ she said and rubbed her own arms to get the blood flowing.
‘How did everyone not know that Bridie manages this place alone?’
For once, Jacqueline was speechless and her response slow. ‘She’s so capable, no one suspected.’ He’d confided in her on the basis she didn’t blab. Wasn’t gossip rife in small towns? He hadn’t known Bridie long, but it was easy to work out she didn’t want her dirty laundry aired, otherwise people would know of her plight. So, on the basis her dad was laid up, and because of the freak storm yesterday, help was needed to pick the decimated strawberries. And like he knew she would, Jacqueline had shone, and the arrangements were made before the moon was out in the night sky.
‘Are we throwing these?’ Jacqueline asked and pointed to the buckets of bruised berries.
‘No. Give them to me, I have an idea.’ The mayor studied him but simply nodded.
Caleb glanced once more towards the house. He hadn’t advised Bridie they were coming, hadn’t spoken to her after yesterday. Given she hadn’t run through the field and demanded to know what was going on, and refusing their help, he guessed she wasn’t in a good place today. He hoped she was fast asleep.
At home hours later, he sat in the kitchen with Sybella, his laptop in front of them. ‘You know ‘bout the web, right?’
‘Yeah, duh,’ she replied.
‘Right. Okay, search French strawberry treats or something like that.’ Sybella stuck out her tongue in her signature move and typed with one finger.
‘Wow,’ she said, ‘yum, yum. There’s heaps of options.’ He scuttled closer beside her.
‘Remember the festival?’ Sybella nodded and he continued. ‘Okay, what we’re gonna do is make strawberry desserts with berries from Bridie’s farm and sell them at the festival. She gets the proceeds and the credit. Like those pink macarons, everyone will love them, right?’
Sybella nodded enthusiastically but said with a straight face, ‘I think we need to practise and make these right now,’ and she pointed to the screen. Caleb shot his look between the computer and her and after a few agonising seconds, smiled and agreed.
‘And make extra for tuckshop,’ she said as they were half-way through making the strawberry mousse, ‘because this is tasty and it’s made from fruit, so it’s healthy.’
Caleb put his finger in the bowl and licked it. ‘Absolutely, this is damn good.’
Sybella hugged him around the waist, her eyes wide and round. ‘Bridie is going to love them!’
Caleb tucked his chin into his chest and walked down High Street. How did the locals manage these weather conditions? It wasn’t just cold, Sydney was cold in winter, this was arctic. Wasn’t Queensland the sunshine state? The lake he passed wasn’t solid yet but displaying a thin sheet of ice and any visible blade of grass was unyielding with frost.
End of July now and he’d been in town three weeks.
Tucking his head almost out of sight was useful, though. He could hide from people (and thereby ignore them) particularly with his cap on his head, and his bare neck wasn’t exposed to the weather. Perhaps he needed to invest in a scarf? But buying winter clothes would acknowledge he was hanging around. Was he?
John the greengrocer was setting up his footpath stalls as Caleb passed. Large and healthy oranges and carrots the centre of his display. ‘Well done, mate, can’t thank you enough. I’ve got a littl’un at the school and he’s coming home everyday raving about tuckshop. You’ve sure made a difference. First, challenge healthy food for these kids, and then next conquer their addiction to computer games. You can’t help with that, can you?’ he joked but didn’t wait for an answer.
Outside the next shop, Pretty Petals Flowers & Gifts, the owner, a woman he hadn’t met before, rushed out from behind the counter wearing a bright purple apron and holding a bunch of yellow flowers. He had no idea what they were, but the scent was distinct jasmine, like he’d use in cooking. The fragrance conjured up memories and he batted them away, desperate to stay in the here and now. ‘Oh, Caleb. I saw the article. Well done to you, thanks so much for helping our community. We can’t thank you enough. And the festival, too. We need more newcomers like you,’ she said before galloping like a gazelle back inside the shop, taking the delicious smell with her.
Shortly along the road he came to the Koffee Shoppe. These country people were showing him such gratitude, he’d forgive the cliché and kitsch name and see if they delivered on their promise of ‘the best coffee in town.’ He pushed open the door and a bell trilled. The place was buzzing, that was a great sign. But it was also tourist season with city-slickers in town for the roasting fires and winery tours. In the queue, women with prams smiled in his direction, and the kids running around high-fived him. A couple of old-timers sitting at the table in the front window came over and slapped him on the back. No words, just a nod of the head.
It had to be the article. Was Bridie right? Had the locals accepted him? His gut twisted. He didn’t want to help in the tuckshop or be on the festival committee; he’d been bullied into both positions and never talked his way out of them. The persuasiveness of the town and its people had done him over. He’d only ever acquiesced with the view to getting out of both as quickly as possible. But he hadn’t acted on it, that spoke volumes, right? And if he pulled out now, who would feed the kids and make sure the festival wasn’t a flop?
Plus, Sybella had been so proud of him. That smart little beggar had known how to earn the hearts of the community. At the top of the queue, the barista smiled extra brightly, and he placed his order with his chest thrust out and shoulders back, standing tall. He ignored that it was a bean he wasn’t familiar with. It might be local produce and the best he’d ever had.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he extracted it. His business partner, Marco, again. Feeling better than he had in weeks, he reckoned he could manage a chat.
Marco was momentarily speechless. Said he’d been ready to leave another lengthy voicemail message that would be ignored. Caleb winced. If he owed anyone something it was Marco, who’d believed in him and his restaurant vision and had invested his hard-earned money. His friend deserved better.
