Chocolate Season (February) Part 5

 Lisa grieved; this was harder than losing her grandmother. Her grandmother had led a long, full life and reached the end of it naturally. The trees didn't have to die. Someone wanted to kill them on purpose. She couldn't even conceive of such a thing. She still climbed those trees just as she had as a child. They still bore fruit generously. She'd been asked to shoulder a lot of burdens since her grandmother's death, but someone casually talking about killing the orchard broke her.

 Fabian held her, rubbing her back and swaying slightly. Maude came out of the hearing room.

 "What's wrong?" she asked.

 "I don't know," Fabian told her. "She just lost it. Lisa, honey, can you tell me what's wrong?" Lisa tried, but all she could manage was "Trees. The trees!"

 "Lisa, shh. Calm down. Maude, I think I'd better take her home."

 "That's probably wise. Believe me, my little brother is going to pay for this. That was obscene! Who is going to buy homes in that price range?"

 Martha Epperson came out of the hearing room.

 "I suspect he'll go after the camp again," she said. "He's always wanted to re-make this town into some type of playground for idle rich people. Not sure what he'd do with the mills."

 "Oh, I know," Maude said. "Museums. Both of them. This development is the thin edge of a very big wedge. He'll eventually start trying for the farms. By the time he's done, Twin Mills will be no different from anyplace else. In fact, worse. It all works together, and he has never understood that. The river, the lake, the mills and the farms -- they all combine to make the essence of Twin Mills."

 Martha nodded.

 "And that essence is why the tourists come here. Any why they keep coming back. If we let him get this foot in the door, Maude...."

 "I know. Fabian, go ahead with Lisa. Take her home." Fabian felt Lisa shake her head against his chest and leaned down to her.

 "Not home?" She shook her head again.

 "How about my vardo?" This time, she nodded. Maude raised an eyebrow.

 "She sleeps well there," Fabian explained. "I stay over with a friend or family member when she borrows my bed. I don't mind -- I can sleep anywhere. Come on, Lisa." He guided her out of the building.

 "Now that," said Martha, "is a sterling young man."

 Fabian stirred up the fire in the Aga and added wood. Then he sat on the sofa-bench and pulled Lisa into his lap. She was no longer crying so hard, but tears still fell from her eyes.

 "Talk to me," he said. "Tell me what happened to you." He handed her a box of tissues and she set to work cleaning herself up.

 "It's really stupid," she said, relaxing against him with her head on his shoulder. "I just never thought about them removing the trees.  I knew he planned to tear down the house and garage, schoolhouse, and whatever other buildings, but I never thought about him killing the trees. And there's no reason for it, except for Uncle William's greed. If they were dead or dying, I could understand, but they're healthy, living trees. I guess this sounds really silly to you, after I insist that you not make friends with the chickens."

 "It doesn't sound silly at all, and I don't think it's a contradiction," he told her. "As you've said, the chickens are usually at the end of their lives for one reason or another when they become dinner. The trees are not at the end of their lives, and there's no reason to clear them. I don't think that it's silly that it hurt you to hear that."

 "I don't even know what I expected he would do with the orchard," she said. "I just didn't think about it."

 "Deep down, I think you knew," he said. "It was seeing it spelled out so bluntly that hurt so much."

 The kettle on the Aga started to whistle softly. Fabian carefully slid out from under Lisa so that she was sitting by herself on the sofa and poured water into mugs he'd prepared earlier.

 "This should help you calm down a bit," he said, handing her a mug. Lisa looked into it. The tea was very light in color but smelled wonderful. "It has chamomile in it, so if your stomach is upset that should help that, too. With Dennis's honey, of course." He sat next to her on the couch. Bruiser came over, stood on his back legs with his paws on Lisa's lap and whined. She smiled and gave him some ear scratches.

 "Yes, I'm feeling better," she told the dog. He licked her hand and then flopped down at her feet. "Is this the alfalfa honey or the orchard honey?" she asked Fabian.

 "The orchard," he told her. "What does Dennis do, anyway? Besides odd things here and there with geese and bees?"

 "Dennis has a very successful contracting business. He has some guys who work for him -- he hired some of the carnies, as a matter of fact. They do all kinds of repairs and some building projects. He's had engineering training, and I know the Morenos and the Hornbergers call him for things at the mills. It can be hard finding someone who is a trained engineer who is content to fix something without trying to improve it. Dennis will, if it's a good machine in the first place, like at the mills." She sipped her tea. "Oh, this is good!" she said. "One of Maggie's blends?"

 "Busted," Fabian smiled. "When you had that headache last month, I wound up having dinner with the Mowerys. Maggie discovered I'm a tea drinker and sent some samples of her teas home with me. I've used it pretty exclusively since. How many hives does Dennis have?"

 "Two," Lisa told him. "One in the orchard and one that moves from year to year depending on where the Hornbergers plant the alfalfa."

 "Lisa, what exactly makes you so uncomfortable on your property right now? Would you rather be in your old apartment? Is it the house?"

 "No! Adrianna asked me the same thing after I slept here the first time. It's the whole property. Since Grandma died ... no, come to think of it, I was okay with being there until the Will was read. After that, knowing Uncle William protested, I started to feel like an intruder."

 "You're paying rent, sweetheart. You're not an intruder; you're a legal tenant. I don't understand why your mother and Uncle Paul are letting this go this far." Fabian frowned. "Your grandmother left the property to you. It is yours."

 "Uncle William is threatening to contest the Will," Lisa said. "I don't really understand it, either. Mom and Uncle Paul seem to be biding their time, for some reason."

 "I get that feeling, too. It might help if they told you what they're up to."

 "It might. Or it might make it worse." She put her legs across his lap. "I expect they don't want me to get my hopes up in case things go wrong. And with William, things could go wrong, I suspect."

 "I don't." Fabian frowned again.  "William strikes me as being too arrogant to think he could ever make a mistake. Men like that do make mistakes. And frequently. That might be what your mother and uncle are waiting for. A mistake from William."

 "You could be right. Dad said on Thanksgiving that they wanted to give him rope. They must be pretty sure he'll hang himself."

 "As I told you before, sweetheart, you're always welcome here."

 "I love this place, Fabian. Do you remember the playhouse on the farm?"

 He did. Carol and Lisa had a playhouse in the yard on the Kreider farm. It still stood, waiting for the next generation of little girls. It had electricity and an old, working refrigerator in it -- it had once been a summer kitchen. The children had eaten lunch in it quite frequently when Fabian had been there.

 "This place sort of reminds me of that playhouse," Lisa told him. "A place to get away to when things feel complicated."

 "I'm glad you feel that way," he said.