Page 10 of The Pumpkin Patch Sisters

"It wasn’t just charity," she argued, her shoulders tense under her denim apron. "It was a community. When the storm broke the roof of the cider barn two winters ago, the Millers spent three days up on the rafters with their own shingles. They didn’t send an invoice. If we start treating them like corporate clients, they’ll start treating us like a corporate business."

"We are a business," Dahlia reminded her, pointing toward the open ledger on the table. "An insolvent one. If we don’t make the farm profitable, the bank will take the land. Then there won't be a farm stand, there won't be a cider barn, and there won't be any pumpkins for the local school."

Junie stopped stirring. She set the wooden spoon down in the bowl, leaving it sticking out of the white flour. She wiped her flour-dusted hands on her denim apron, leaving two pale handprints across her thighs, her eyes narrowing and flashing with anger.

"You left thirty-two years ago," Junie whispered, her eyes fixed on the neat stacks of paper. "You didn’t see how hard it was during the dry summer three years ago. You didn’t have to look our neighbors in the eye and tell them we couldn’t help them because we had to pay a bank in Boston. Mother refused to do that. She kept this family respected in the valley."

"Respect doesn’t pay the interest on the equipment loan," Dahlia countered, her voice softening slightly as she looked at her sister's tired face. "I’m not trying to destroy what Mother built. I’m trying to save it. If we don’t make some hard choices during this autumn, the decision will be made for us by a bank manager who has never even seen a pumpkin patch."

Junie stood still. She looked down at the color-coded spreadsheets, the tiny numbers arranged in perfect, sterile columns.

"I won't double the price of the cider bread," she insisted, her chin rising defensively. "I bake those loaves myself, with my own hands, in this kitchen. I won't make our neighbors pay eight dollars for a loaf of bread they have bought for four since they were children."

"We can find a compromise on the baked goods," Dahlia offered, taking a step back from the island to ease the physical tension between them. "But the wholesale pumpkin orders and the cider distribution must be updated to market rates. That is non-negotiable if we want to open the gates next week."

Junie's jaw clenched, her shoulders dropping with a slow, exhausted sigh. She turned back toward the bowl.

"I have fifteen loaves of apple bread to prep before the stall is opened," she muttered, picking up the wooden spoon once more. "I don’t have time for this right now."

"You focus on the baking. I’ll handle the prices and the paperwork." Dahlia said, walking back to her seat and sitting back down.

Junie didn’t reply. She began to beat the batter, the rhythm of the wooden spoon returning to the kitchen, heavy and persistent in the quiet house.

The screen door in the mudroom banged open, the wooden frame rattling against the exterior siding with a loud crack. Cold morning air rushed into the warm kitchen, bringing with it the damp smell of wet soil and bruised hemlock.

Evan, Junie’s son and second-born child, entered first. At twenty-four, he looked just like his late father, with a tall frame and broad shoulders. He carried a heavy wooden crate of Hubbard squash, his knuckles white as he gripped the splintered pine handles. Evan’s breathing was short and audible in the quiet room. He took three long steps across the linoleum, and set the crate down on the counter near the sink with a hollow thud that rattled the clean glasses in the drying rack.

"Hi, Aunt Dahlia," Evan greeted her before walking over and hugging his mother. “Morning, Mom.”

“Hey, kiddo,” Dahlia smiled at her nephew. “I see you’ve been busy this morning already.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” Junie greeted him, not looking up from her mixing bowl. She used her wooden spoon to scrape a thick ribbon of yellow batter into a greased tin, her movements steady and rapid. “Where is your sister?” She finally glanced at him.

“She’ll be along shortly,” Evan replied, then turned to Dahlia. “We’ve finished with the far field for now.”

Before anyone could respond, Carrie, his older sister, walked into the room carrying another crate of Hubbard squash, which she set down beside her brother’s.

“Morning, everyone,” Carrie’s cheerful voice echoed through the room.

“Morning, Carrie,” Dahlia stood and walked over to the crates to inspect the squash.

“Honey, did you finish your morning chores in the egg room?" Junie asked Carrie.

"The baskets are clean, and the cartons are stacked in the cooler," Carrie replied, reaching into the cupboard for a tall glass. She joined her brother at the sink to wash her hands before walking over to the refrigerator and pulling out two bottles of water. She handed one to Evan.

Dahlia watched the three of them move within the kitchen. It was a quiet dance. No one ran into the other, and no one stopped to ask where things were. Junie took the empty mixing bowl to the sink just as Evan stepped aside, popping open the water. Carrie stepped back to allow her mother to reach for the cinnamon shaker on the shelf before moving around and taking a seat beside Dahlia.

“Mom, what is needed for today at the farm stall?” Carrie asked her mother, grabbing an apple from the bowl in the center of the table.

"We have ten loaves of apple bread to bake before the farm stand opens at nine," Junie mentioned, her voice tight as she slid two metal tins into the hot oven. "The tour bus from Springfield is scheduled to arrive at ten, and they expect hot cider and fresh pastries."

"I can help with the cash register after school closes," Carrie offered, taking a bite of her apple.

"Don’t you have to take the cross-country practice after school?" Junie frowned at her daughter. "Evan, can you handle the register?” Evan nodded. “I’ll manage the press."

"The press is still leaking," Evan reminded her. "The seal around the main cylinder is dripping hydraulic fluid."

"Can you tighten the collar before the bus gets here?" Junie asked Evan