A week later, the Graces prepared to meet with Grant and the land surveyor to determine exactly where the boundary line stood. If the Lord saw fit, the log gums would stand on Edie’s side of the boundary line. She glanced at her bee bonnet, wondering if she should bring it with her in case walking the property involved getting close to the bees.
If only Mr. Oscar could come to the meeting. If he knew about the common property, it explained his willingness to give her the honey. Grant was a different matter altogether. When they spoke last week, he stood as if at attention, a man used to getting his way. Even though he was of average height, his demeanor commanded respect. But underneath that solid exterior, she sensed fear. His father’s health? Something more?
“Are you ready, dear?” Her mother called up the stairs.
“Coming.” Edie brought the bee bonnet, in case one of her parents wanted it. She trotted downstairs. “Thank you again for letting me accompany you.”
Her mother looked her up and down and smiled, as if aware of the extra pains Edith had taken with her appearance. “Of course, you must. It’s your inheritance. In the same way Grant Junior must take part. We don’t want a shadow of uncertainty hanging over the next generation.”
Her expression indicated she wanted to say more.
“What is it? I will listen, even if I disagree.” Edith might still live at home, but she was no longer a child and would decide for herself.
Her mother looked away. “Wait until your father gets here.”
Papa came upon them and looked from mother to daughter. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Mama sent a pleading look at Papa. “We’ve often talked about the serendipity of our farm sharing a boundary with the Oscar farm, and the closeness you and Grant shared when you were younger. Look at the way he calls you Edie. You hate it when anyone else uses that nickname, but your face goes all pink when he says it.”
Edith squirmed. She remembered those days of near hero worship, which only deepened when Grant joined the navy. But now she had put away childish things. Were her parents hinting at something more?
“Grant Junior is a fine young man, a lot like his father. What a blessing of the Lord. We have often wondered, hoped even, that the two of you might find happiness with each other.” Her father beamed at her, as if he had just given her pure gold.
Edith nearly collapsed. How dare her parents try to play matchmaker for her? Did they think she needed the dowry of her land to be an acceptable bride for Grant or anyone else? She drew on her training in discipline. “I wish to be known as the best baker in New England. I hope to start a business that will provide an income independent of the farm. Marriage would interfere with the dream I believe God gave me.”
Her parents exchanged looks, and her mother spoke for both of them. “But, my dear, you see, marriage to the right man will only make your success sweeter. And turning your back on love will make you sour and bitter, no matter how sweet your baked goods taste.”
Edith chose not to answer. The truth behind their words stung her heart. She did want more. Success, a business—yes, even love. Once she had dreamed of Grant, when she was but a girl and he was so handsome in his uniform. But she had grown up and couldn’t see a future with the man who saw only dollar signs in the meadow.
But wasn’t she just as bad? She loved the meadow and wanted it to stay unchanged. But she also wanted its honey, for her business to succeed. How was that different from Grant’s objective?
It would take the wisdom God gave Solomon to figure it all out. While people said God worked in His own time, she had a deadline. For her to succeed in the baking business, she needed the recognition of winning a blue ribbon at the state fair. But what good would winning do if she couldn’t replicate the flavors because she no longer had the honey?
Did Grant have some need, some urgency, to plow under the meadow, something that drove him the way the fair, and all the opportunities it represented, drove her? If so, he should speak up. Maybe he would today.
Edith tuned back in to her parents’ conversation. “It is unfortunate that Mr. Oscar can’t come today. The land belongs to him, and he is still of sound mind, from what I’ve heard.”
He was, which made Grant’s decisions all the more perplexing. Maybe they had discussed it, and only her wishful thinking implied Mr. Oscar Sr. would never agree to farm the meadow.
“The surveyor is here already.” Mama pointed to Mr. Nelson waiting at the boundary stone.
“And there comes Grant,” Papa said. The wagon he drove trundled over the ground.
Grant looked over his shoulder. “Are you doing okay back there, Pa?”
“Yes.”
He could imagine a wide smile on his father’s face. This was the first time Pa had left the house since Grant had returned home. “I’m glad you could come today.”
“Thanks.” Pa’s speech was still unclear, but he could usually make his intent understood. Lately it had improved, and Grant hoped he could make himself understood today.
When Grant had told him about the boundary line running through the meadow, he’d nodded his head in violent agreement. Perhaps that fact lay behind his father’s reluctance to plow under the meadow to begin with, but he couldn’t communicate it clearly.
The Graces approached from the opposite direction, although Edie had separated from her parents. Her carriage, her confidence, her beauty, took his breath away.
When he’d joined the navy nine years ago, she’d shown signs of the beauty now in full bloom. On his last visit home, Pa had hinted at romance between the two. Grant had scoffed at the idea of marriage to anyone. Now that he was destined to settle down, the idea no longer seemed ridiculous.
Was there any chance Edie felt the same way? Had she remained unmarried because she was pining for him? He shook his head. Foolishness.
Mr. Nelson, the surveyor who would decide the fate of the land, waited for them at the boundary rock. Grant got his father settled in his chair on the ground. Their roles had reversed. The child who once looked up to the father could now pick up the shrunken man as easily as a schoolchild.
Edie dashed forward. She flicked a smile in Grant’s direction but bent down on one knee in front of his father. “Mr. Oscar, how delightful to see you here today! I wasn’t expecting such a pleasure.” She lifted a hand to touch his cheek, and Grant’s father slowly lifted his hand to place over hers, leathery fingers over delicate white skin. “Edie—”
“Yes, Mr. Oscar. It’s Edie.”
She didn’t mind her nickname when his father used it.
“I wish we had talked about this”—she flung her free hand in an arc, indicating the field surrounding them—“before now. But I’ve been praying that we find a solution to the questions plaguing us today.”
Grant’s father nodded.
“Is everyone here?” Mr. Nelson’s high-pitched, nasally voice made it hard to take him seriously.
When everyone agreed, he said, “Let’s get started.”
All chatter ceased as five faces turned in his direction.
He pulled a piece of paper from a leather packet and put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “I was able to find the original land grants from the Crown to Mr. Oscar and Mr. Putnam—that’s Mrs. Grace’s grandfather—for their service in what we now call the French and Indian War.” He cackled to himself. “Did you know that our first president was once a surveyor? Just think if he had surveyed this land. However, I believe he performed that service on the Ohio.”
If the original document had been done by George Washington, that would solve all their financial problems in a heartbeat. It would fetch a pretty penny at auction.
“The good news is that the description of the boundaries—the western boundary of the Oscar land and the eastern boundary of the Putnam claim—match. There is no question about where the boundary lies. So let me start with the first point of reference.”
Grant held his breath. If the boundary followed a straight line, the starting point would reflect how the meadow was divided.
Nelson took out a compass and paced until he found the right spot. “We are standing at the northern end of the boundary line.” He smiled. “Or we would be, if that big rock wasn’t in the way.”
“Boundary rock,” Edie said.
Her words echoed Grant’s thoughts. He looked right and left. The rock lay slightly past the halfway point. If the boundary followed a straight line, his family owned close to two-thirds of the meadow. He relaxed a smidgen. The log gums almost straddled the line.
“If you, sir—Mr. Oscar Junior—will walk twenty paces south, measuring with this chain.”
Grant walked forward the required distance. He passed two hives to the north—on Grace’s side of the boundary land. Mr. Nelson checked his notes. “You’ve reached the second coordinate given on the description.”
That suggested the boundary was going to change direction.
“Now turn to the north—your right. Walk fifteen paces with the chain.”
Grant planted a rock on the chain to keep it from moving and turned north. After a couple of steps, he hesitated. Fifteen paces would place him uncomfortably close to the third log gum.
Edie joined him where he stood. “Would you like some company?”
He glanced at her hand, which had returned to normal, and praised her silently for her courage. “I would appreciate it.” They continued pacing to fifteen, which took them less than a yard past the hive. Standing still at this spot was uncomfortable, with bees buzzing around and behind them. One of them landed on Edie’s head. He reached for her hand, and she allowed it. The slight tremor in her hand didn’t relax until Mr. Nelson verified the spot.
From the third hive they moved twenty paces to the south, passing two more log gums before Mr. Nelson called for them to turn west again. So far that made two log gums on Grace land and three on Oscar land.
The boundary returned to the original line and passed the sixth and final bee log gum.
The beehives were split evenly, three for each family. Had whoever set up the contraptions originally done that on purpose?
Edie looked at Grant and smiled. “Oh dear. It seems the Lord intends for us to find a compromise, since He split the honey between us.”
“And since you will keep your log gums, how can I use that parcel of land for farming? The bees don’t respect boundaries.” He tried to frown, but his mouth refused to cooperate. “God must have a sense of humor.”