7. Charlotte

7

CHARLOTTE

A n hour later, Charlotte was equipped with more information about how ice cream was made than she ever thought she would need to know. Zane had also shown her how they prepared milk and cheese for the family’s use.

“You actually seemed interested in that,” Tag remarked with a note of surprise as they stepped outside again.

“It’s really neat,” she told him. “I never thought about how much went into making ice cream or cheese. Your brother is passionate about this stuff.”

“He doesn’t normally talk that much,” Tag said, frowning and walking a little faster.

“Where are we going?” she asked, jogging a bit to keep up.

“Lunch,” he told her, slowing down a little when he realized she was struggling. “We’ll be early, but Mom and Dad can probably use some help.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I like helping.”

He looked over at her, and there was that hint of a smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth again.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head again. “You remind me of someone. That’s all.”

She waited for him to tell her who, but he just kept walking toward the stone farmhouse, and she had no choice but to follow.

When he opened the front door, the scent of something savory and delicious wafted out to them, along with a hint of pine.

“Dad brought in a tree last night,” Tag said, indicating the big tree set up in the living room off the center hall. “But they’re waiting for the weekend to decorate so all the grandkids can help.”

“That’s nice,” Charlotte said, as she soaked in the house itself.

The center hall was narrow and crowded, but cheerful—with hooks for coats, a pan where half a dozen muddy boots rested, and a shallow bookshelf practically exploding with varied titles. It all served to make it instantly clear just how many members this family had.

The opening to the living room revealed faded, knotted rugs covering the wide, painted planks of the floor. The Christmas tree had been set up by the front window. In the back of the room was an upright piano that clearly got a lot of use, if the amount of sheet music practically overflowing the rack was any indication.

The side of the room boasted a wall of family photos with a timeline that spanned all the way from grainy black and white formal portraits, through sepia-toned seventies color snapshots, right up to crisp school photos that looked like they might have been taken this year.

Every single window showed a panorama of the snowy fields or hillside, and most of the interior wall was taken up by a massive stone fireplace, with a bookshelf beside it that held puzzles and games as well as more stacks of books. The space was neat and tidy, yet it had a warmth that made Charlotte know immediately that this wasn’t a formal space—children played on those rugs and had stories read to them on the lumpy sofa and the blanket-draped loveseat.

“We’re not allowed in the house with muddy boots on,” Tag told her quietly.

She turned and noticed that his boots had joined the others on the pan in the hall. She hurried to remove hers as well, feeling glad she’d put on cute, fluffy Santa Claus socks this morning.

“Hey, Ma,” Tag called out as he headed down the center hall, presumably toward the kitchen.

The rich scents intensified as they walked. When they reached the kitchen, Charlotte could see that Mrs. Lawrence had the lid off the slow cooker to check on the stew.

“I could have just dropped the biscuit dough on top,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “But they’re already in the oven.”

“Should I taste it?” Tag asked hopefully. “Make sure it doesn’t need salt?”

“I heard that,” his father said, stepping out of the pantry beside the back door. “It’s a trick. He just wants to eat all my stew.”

The kitchen was a massive space with windows overlooking the hillside. But a low ceiling with exposed wooden beams made it feel cozy anyway. There were no upper cabinets, just an open shelf along the top of the walls displaying a sort of evolution of pottery—from lumpy beginner attempts to smooth, polished work. It was mostly mugs and pitchers, but there were also some bowls and trays.

“We had to take a couple of walls out,” Maggie said with a smile, as if she had read Charlotte’s mind. “Houses this old don’t usually have big kitchens, but we’re a big family, and we like to cook and eat.”

“It’s wonderful,” Charlotte told her, appreciating her hostess’s unspoken permission to keep looking.

Maggie had chosen simple wood lower cabinets with a plain stone top, but the appliances looked more like something out of a commercial kitchen.

“I splurged on my stove,” Maggie said, looking a little embarrassed. “And then half the time I just use the crock anyway.”

“Maggie lived for years with appliances that were older than she was,” Daniel said, gazing at his wife with so much love in his eyes. “And she always made them work. But when it was time to buy new ones, I knew I wasn’t going to cut any corners.”

“Daniel,” she said with a smile, looking just as smitten.

“What can I say? You married a man with a healthy appetite,” he teased her. “And I like to do some cooking myself, too.”

“Come help me with the biscuits then,” she told him, laughing.

I want that, Charlotte thought to herself as she watched the two of them moving around the kitchen together with an effortless grace that made it clear how often they prepared meals together.

“It’s like they’re dancing,” Tag said quietly. “That’s what Allie always says.”

“That sounds like Allie,” Charlotte said. Allie was a big reader, and it had given her a romantic way of thinking. But in this case, she wasn’t exaggerating.

“We’ll wash our hands and then set the table,” Tag told her.

They moved past his parents to the big farmhouse sink. Then Tag grabbed plates from a cupboard and they set them out on a dining table that was probably big enough to seat twenty. After that, he handed her real cloth napkins and put a basket of rustic looking napkin rings on the table.

“From Mom’s pottery phase,” he said.

“I heard that,” his mother said from the counter. “It wasn’t a phase. It’s a hobby.”

“Then why did you stop?” Tag asked.

“I guess I filled up the house,” she said, shrugging.

“The boys have houses too, you know,” Daniel said. “You shouldn’t stop doing something you love just because it takes up a little space.”

Tag was smiling again as he got back to work. Charlotte watched him roll a napkin and slide it into a glazed clay ring. Then she tried one herself.

“How many people are here for lunch today?” she asked.

“Just Tripp, Zane, Mom, Dad, and us,” he said. “We have hands working here too, and Mom sometimes invites them for a hot meal. But they’re doing their own thing today. The kids are at school and Allie’s teaching, West really only comes by for Sunday dinners lately, and of course Cash is the one Lawrence who actually left Vermont, so you won’t get to meet him.”

It was funny to think of six people as a small group. Charlotte had always wanted a big family, and she was seeing now that all of this was part of it—wanting to take out walls and have big tables and a six-burner stove that wasn’t really a luxury. It was all practical.

“My grandmother had ten kids,” Daniel said as he slid biscuits off the tray and into a towel-lined basket. “My dad and his brothers and sisters had to eat in shifts.”

“But she would have been furious to think that we took away her back parlor to do this,” Maggie said, shaking her head.

“Well, she’s not using it,” Daniel pointed out.

Maggie smacked him with a potholder, and he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her on top of the head.

“Smells good,” a deep voice practically roared from the front door.

“ Boots,” Maggie yelled back in reminder. “And hands.”

“Tripp always forgets,” Tag said quietly.

Charlotte smiled at the idea that the big flirt was too eager for his lunch to take his boots off. Tag only scowled and laid out the napkins in their rings.

“Hey, Ma,” Tripp said, heading for the sink. “Smells good.”

She reached up and tousled his hair as he passed.

Tag ignored him and grabbed some silverware from a big buffet in the corner of the dining area.

“What did you think of the farm, Charlotte?” Tripp asked, wiping his hands on his jeans as he strode over to the table.

Tag put the silverware down on the table a bit too forcefully and Charlotte jumped a little.

“Easy, tiger,” Tripp teased his brother cheerfully.

“It’s wonderful,” Charlotte said quickly, before Tag could react. She had no idea what had gotten into him, but she certainly didn’t want to see him prove his brother right about his grumpy behavior. “I love that the cows have names.”

“That’s the fun part,” Tripp agreed. “They’re a lot of work, but they love you back.”

“They’re like pets,” Charlotte said, nodding.

“No,” Daniel put in as he carried the crock over to the table. “Pets take resources away. Our girls put the roof over our heads and the food in our bellies.”

“We love them,” Maggie said, setting down a folded towel so her husband could place the crock on it. “But they’re here to do a job, and that means we have to treat them like the workers they are.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Charlotte asked.

Tag gestured for her to sit, and she complied, watching the rest of the family move around to gather the rest of the lunch things.

“The cows have regular veterinary visits, of course,” Maggie explained. “But we also test their milk regularly.”

“Zane was talking about that in the creamery,” Charlotte remembered.

“That’s right,” Maggie said, looking pleased that Charlotte had been paying attention. “Each cow eats and drinks so much each day you’d be amazed, Charlotte.”

“You’d be amazed at how much they poop, too,” Tripp grumbled.

“But our neighbors can use that as fertilizer,” Daniel explained. “And having Stone Creek running through our property helps a lot with the cows’ water consumption. We talked earlier today about how we move around to get the best grass when it’s not covered in snow.”

“We have to think about the cow’s whole world,” Maggie said. “It’s not just about how much milk each cow produces, it’s about the grass she eats, the water she drinks, the shelter she has in bad weather—all of those things have to be in balance for good quality milk.”

“ Happy cows mean sweeter milk ,” Zane said as he strode into the kitchen. “That’s what Grandpa always said, and it’s true.”

“Zane,” Maggie said fondly as he headed to the sink to wash up.

“So really,” Daniel said, smiling at Charlotte, “it’s all about keeping the cows content. We do all we can to give them a happy life, and they give back the only way they know how.”

Zane headed to the table, wiping his freshly washed hands on his jeans, just like his brother had done.

“This looks amazing,” Zane said.

Maggie was ladling out bowls of fragrant stew and passing them down as Daniel sent the basket of biscuits around the table in the opposite direction. And Charlotte hoped her stomach wouldn’t start grumbling before they were all ready to eat.

Once everyone was served, they all bowed their heads for a moment of silence.

Charlotte felt a pang of longing for her grandfather, who had always done the same. When she bent her head and closed her eyes, she found herself overcome with gratitude for the people who were welcoming her into her new life.

Charlotte was standing in the main pasture a few hours later, taking turns forking hay into the feeders for the happily mooing cows when she heard the sound of something big coming up the drive.

“Go on,” Tripp told Tag.

Tag nodded and headed up toward the sound.

“Kids are home,” Tripp said, glancing back before applying himself to the feed again.

Charlotte turned to see a big yellow school bus stopping by the farmhouse.

A small boy with a mop of chestnut hair scrambled down and sprinted for Tag, a gigantic backpack banging against his back with every step. She smiled as Tag embraced the boy, who looked almost like a tiny, joyful version of himself.

A pair of blond-haired boys who looked almost identical piled off the bus after Tag’s son and raced to Zane, who was coming up from the creamery.

But the bus didn’t move on.

A moment later, a slender girl who looked like maybe she was a tween stepped down. She held a book in her hand with her thumb marking her place, and the expression on her face was almost startled, like she had been so lost in her book she hadn’t realized she was home.

Once they were all clear, the bus rumbled around the circular drive and left again.

Charlotte couldn’t help noticing that while the little boys had run over to the farmhouse porch now and were chattering and laughing together as they peeled off their boots at the door, the girl was still by herself, her eyes on the ridge of mountains beyond the houses and the farm.

“That’s Tag’s oldest,” Tripp said. “She’s quiet.”

“Like Zane,” she said, though something about the girl’s quiet was different.

“She didn’t used to be,” Tripp said softly. “But she lost her mom when she was ten, and it changed her.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, feeling her heart ache for the girl.

“Tag is a great dad,” Tripp said right away, firmly, like maybe Charlotte would think the opposite. “But it’s not the same. Chance, the younger one, doesn’t remember his mom much. But it’s different for Olivia.”

Charlotte nodded, her eyes still on the pensive young woman.

“Allie normally takes them home with her,” Tripp said. “She must have gotten hung up with something at school.”

“That’s too bad,” Charlotte said, meaning it. She had been hoping to connect more with her friend, though she understood that as a new teacher, Allie wouldn’t have much free time.

“Go say hi to the kids,” Tripp encouraged her. “We’re just about done here.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course.”

When she turned back to look, she saw that he had finished the task while she was being nosy.

“Were you going slowly before just to give me a chance?” she asked.

“Maybe,” he said, giving her a wink and a grin.

She shook her head, then headed up to the drive.

Tag and Zane were following the boys inside now, all of them looking glad to see each other. But Olivia remained in her position under the tree, like she needed a moment between the bus and going in with her family.

Charlotte’s heart gave a firm tug. Right after Dad passed, she’d had so many moments where it felt like it couldn’t be possible for the world to keep going on its same rotation when he wasn’t there anymore.

It still hit her sometimes, not as often as it had at first, but she figured she just might get paralyzed by the loss from time to time forever.

Is that what she’s feeling?

She was trying to decide whether to disturb the girl or not as she passed, when Olivia’s eyes finally slid away from the mountains and landed on Charlotte.

Charlotte could see the curiosity in Olivia’s gaze before the girl locked down, eyes moving to the ground, shoulders lifting like she was trying to put a wall around herself.

“Hi,” Charlotte said softly. “I’m your Aunt Allie’s friend, Charlotte. Your family is letting me see the farm today.”

“Hi,” Olivia replied, looking up at her. “I thought you were one of Uncle Tripp’s girlfriends.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, surprised. “Nope, I’m just here to learn about cows. I work in your ice cream shop.”

“It’s not mine,” Olivia said.

“Well, it belongs to your family,” Charlotte said, wondering how to get the conversation back on track. “What are you reading?”

“ Twilight, ” Olivia whispered, her gaze softening as her eyes went to the book in her hand.

“Oh, wow,” Charlotte said. “I read that one too.”

“You did?” Olivia asked suspiciously, as if maybe she doubted that Charlotte had ever been a teenager or read books.

“Yeah,” Charlotte told her. “It was so good. I didn’t want to stop reading until I finished it, and then I just wanted to read it again.”

“Grandma didn’t want me reading it,” Olivia confided suddenly.

“Well, I guess it has some young adult themes,” Charlotte allowed. “But your dad thought you were ready?”

“My dad worries about me,” Olivia said, kicking at the snow a little with a black Converse sneaker. “He told Grandma I was engaging with it, so he didn’t want to take it away.”

“Oh,” Charlotte said, uncertain how to respond.

“But then he read it himself before he gave it back,” Olivia told her, rolling her eyes. “He said he had to make sure it was okay. And that he might want to talk to me about it.”

“Yikes,” Charlotte said without thinking. When she glanced up, Olivia was grinning at her.

“I guess your dad didn’t read all your books when you were my age?” Olivia asked. “Please tell my dad it’s not normal.”

“Mine was too busy telling me to apply myself ,” Charlotte quipped, not wanting to share with Olivia that she would give anything right now for her dad to read with her or tell her to buckle down one more time.

“I can see why Aunt Allie likes you,” Olivia decided. “We should go in now. Grandpa always makes a really good after school snack and you won’t learn anything else about cows until the second milking anyway.”

“Okay,” Charlotte said.

They headed off together, and Charlotte wondered how it was possible to feel so instantly comfortable with another person when you seemed to have so little in common.

We have something big in common, she reminded herself, stealing another glance at the interesting young woman beside her and wondering if Tag talked to her as much about her mother as he did about her reading choices.