Kristen nodded her approval. “I say we add Ginger’s solution to the things we are trying. What have we got to lose?”
Chapter7
What have we got to lose? Only the entire tree farm,Ethan thought as he trudged through the snow back toward his cabin. But his sister was right—he was running out of ideas, and right now, he couldn’t afford to be picky.
What if her concoctions ruin all the trees?
On the flip side, what if they didn’t? The alternative was equally frightening. If he decided not to let her use her serums—or whatever she called them—and the tree farm withered and died under his watch, he would carry the weight of that guilt. And it would be all his fault because his mother and Kristen had wanted to give Ginger a try.
As he crossed the yard, the snow crunched beneath his feet in an almost musical rhythm, and the crisp winter air tickled his nose as he took a deep breath. He tugged on his hat and scarf—both were knitted by his mother in a comically loud pattern that could only have been described as “festive”—and headed toward the woods.
The small house he lived in—a log cabin built by his grandfather—sat about a quarter mile away down a dirt road. It was just the right distance to be close to his family but far enough to be isolated when he wanted to be, which was most of the time.
He had a four-wheel-drive truck, but he enjoyed walking through the woods, looking at the trees and birds. He’d always been drawn to nature, and the solitude of the woods in winter was appealing.
A familiar furry figure emerged from the trees, bounding through the snow. With a graceful leap, he landed in one of Ethan’s footprints before hopping to the next, providing a comical sight that was impossible not to smile at.
“George!” Ethan chuckled, momentarily forgetting his troubles. “You always know how to make an entrance, don’t you? You’d better get back home. My mother will be mad.”
The cat simply stared back at him, his blue eyes glinting with mischief.
“All right, fine. You can come along,” Ethan relented, his voice softening. “But don’t tell anyone I let you, got it?”
George mewed nonchalantly, clearly unfazed by the notion of being a rule breaker.
As they continued through the woods, Ethan found himself opening up to his unlikely confidant. “You know, George, sometimes I just feel like I’m carrying the weight of the entire farm on my shoulders,” he admitted, pausing to lean against a tree trunk and look down at the cat.
George didn’t offer any advice. He usually didn’t, but Ethan liked discussing his problems with George. He didn’t really have anyone else to talk to. He didn’t want to bother his mother or sister, and talking things out with George was better than just talking to himself. Of course, Ethan didn’t want to let anyone know he confided in the cat, so when his family was around, he pretended to be indifferent. Ethan didn’t want anyone to see his soft side, because that was how you opened yourself up to getting hurt.
Ethan pushed off the tree and continued on with George following behind him, playfully hopping from footprint to footprint.
“I am getting quite worried about the trees. The blue spruces are fine, but people love balsams, and if word gets out that our balsams aren’t any good, people will get their trees somewhere else, even the spruces.” He paused, and George tilted his head, as though listening intently to every word. “I’ve tried all the things Dad taught me to do.”
They’d reached the part of the property where the groomed trees were planted. They stood in neat rows separated by species. Just beyond the fir trees was Ethan’s cabin. He decided to inspect the trees one more time. Maybe a miracle had happened.
Ethan bent down and pulled some needles off one of the trees. As if sensing the importance, George sat down and watched. He examine the needles closely. They were dry, brittle, and a far cry from the lush green foliage they should have been. His last treatment hadn’t yielded any improvement.
Ethan’s phone rang, jolting him out of his thoughts. The screen flashed with the name of one of his friends—Dave.
“Hey, Dave. What’s happening?”
“Hey, Ethan,” Dave replied, sounding slightly out of breath. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I heard from a reliable source that Mayor Thompson has been contacting other tree farms in the area.”
“Really?” Ethan frowned, suddenly very interested. Dave worked in the town hall, and his town gossip was usually reliable. “Has he made any deals with them?”
“I don’t think so,” Dave said. “But I thought you should know. Is everything okay at your tree farm?”
“Yeah, sure. Probably just a miscommunication. We’re good.” Ethan hated lying to his friend, but the last thing he needed was the whole town talking about how his tree farm was going under.
“Oh, great. If you need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks, Dave,” Ethan said, his mind racing. “I appreciate it. I’ll straighten things out with the mayor.”
As he hung up the phone, Ethan looked around at the trees surrounding him, their branches weighed down by snow and worry.
“All right, George,” Ethan said with determination, watching the cat pounce on a leaf. “Let’s hope this Ginger person can turn things around.”
Chapter8
