break room was a large thirty-cup pot and she tried to remember how many scoops per cup of water, hoping for the best.
“Holy crap!” Tom Cavanaugh exclaimed. “Think you got enough coffee in this brew? My spoon could stand up in it!”
“My dad used to like it strong,” she said, squaring her shoulders, though she had no idea if her father even drank coffee.
“Go to the house,” he ordered. “Maxie is in the kitchen. Ask her for cream and sugar.”
No please. No if you don’t mind. “Sure,” she said.
And rather than walk, she jogged. Then she knocked on the screen door. “Come on in, Nora,” Maxie said. She was still wearing her robe and slippers, sitting at the kitchen table with her own coffee and a paper folded open to a crossword puzzle. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been sent for cream and sugar for the coffee. So far today I’ve failed in arrival time and coffee that’s too strong.”
Maxie laughed. “Is that right? Drain a cup or two and add water. That should shut him up. What was wrong with your arrival time?”
“I guess I got here too early and since I don’t know where anything is, I’m useless. Except for destroying his coffee.”
Maxie got a weird look on her face. “Sounds like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed. I’d be likely to admire that in an employee. The early arrival part, I mean. By tomorrow, you’ll know where things are. And he can make his own coffee.” She pointed to the counter. “There’s the cream and sugar. Which, by the way, Tom forgot to take with him.” Nora lifted the small pitcher and bowl and Maxi said, “I’m probably going deaf, but I didn’t hear a car or truck.”
Nora turned back. “I don’t have a car. Or truck.”
Maxie regarded her steadily. “I see. Quite a long walk, isn’t it?”
“Three-point-four,” Nora said. Then she smiled. “I made very good time. I won’t come so early tomorrow, since Mr. Cavanaugh isn’t in the mood for company first thing in the morning.”
Maxie grinned and said, “Fix the coffee like I told you. The first couple of days on a new job are always kind of sketchy. You’ll be fine.”
“I’ll try. And thanks for the job—I know it was your doing. I can’t tell you how much I—”
“A long, long time ago, many years before you were born, when I didn’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, some old woman gave me a job picking apples and it was the best job I ever had. I hope it all works out for you.”
And that brought a very grateful smile out of Nora. “Thank you, Mrs. Cavanaugh.”
“I’m Maxie, and that’s final. You’re entirely welcome.”
* * *
The knee-high rubber boots were an excellent investment in keeping her feet dry. The ground beneath the trees was sometimes very soggy. She wore the boots over her tennis shoes. But it was cold on the wet ground, especially in the early morning, and rubber boots did little to keep her feet warm. Her toes were icy cold and when she took her lunch break, she pulled off the boots, the socks and tennis shoes she wore inside them and gave her feet a rubbing, trying to warm them.
The other pickers, all men, wore their rubber boots over expensive, steel-toed, lace-up boots. They didn’t need to rub the life back into their toes.
Nora ran into trouble with her hands, feet, arms and shoulders. She got blisters on her hands from toting the canvas bag she looped over her shoulders and after a few days of picking apples, the blisters popped, bled and hurt like the devil. She cut her hands on wooden crates and bins if she wasn’t careful. The men wore gloves most of the time; she didn’t have gloves and her hands took a beating. She had matching blisters on her heels, just from more walking than she’d done in her life. Although she was armed with Band-Aids, they rubbed off too quickly. Even though she was in good physical condition, carrying almost fifty pounds of apples up and down a ladder in a sack that strapped over her shoulders took its toll on her shoulders, back and legs. Her right shoulder was in agony from picking, but she didn’t dare let it