By Carol Grace
@ Copyright 2011 Carol Grace
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Miranda Morrison peered hopefully into the depths of the plastic gallon bucket, but it was dry. Pressing her head against the bark of the giant red maple, she swore under her breath. Damn, double damn, not a trace of sap, and here it was mid-March. No sense in even checking the other pails on the other trees. If Big Red didn’t produce, there wasn’t much hope for the rest of them. Mud oozed over the toes of her black rubber boots as she plodded back to the house to change her clothes. Good thing she didn’t count on the farm for her living. Good thing she had a job in town, or she’d have to sell the farm.
It wasn’t the best job in town, she reflected as she maneuvered her old pickup truck down the two-lane road, it was the only job in town. Northwood was a company town and she worked for the company—Green Mountain Mailorder Merchants. Her job was not only to handle customer complaints, but to pose for the catalog pictures, along with most of the other employees under the age of sixty-five. She hadn’t been there all that long, but sometimes it seemed as if it were an eternity. It was just that she didn’t want to work for anybody but herself. If she could only spend all of her time on the farm, then she’d see some progress, wouldn’t she?