*****
"There's been a change of plans," Bethany announced later that night at supper. "I'm running additional, training seminars in Boston straight through the weekend."
"Well then," Houa replied, "you will remain here with us and save the expense of a hotel room and all that frivolous nonsense."
"Are you sure-"
Her uncle raised a mottled hand indicating that the issue was not open for debate. "How did you find Braxton?"
She wanted to say that Braxton resembled one of those surrealistic, satanic scenes straight out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting, that Braxton was the unmitigated toilet of the universe - Shitville USA! "A bit down at the heels."
"So I heard." Uncle Vern reached for another slice of meatloaf. "If you came for an extended visit during the summer, we could take day trips to Cape Cod and Martha's Vineyard - maybe even view a Red Sox baseball game at Fenway Park."
Houa positioned an ear of sweet corn on the side of Bethany's plate and nudged the crock with Freda's homemade butter closer. Though the woman wore the same pokerfaced expression, Bethany had the distinct impression that the oriental was holding her breath while smiling inwardly. "Yes, I'd like that just fine. I'll come back for an extended stay in the spring."
"Well then, it's settled," Houa announced in a whisper-soft tone. "May is nice around here… June equally so."
"Look out your bedroom window as soon as you rise in the morning," Uncle Vern counseled, shifting gears. "You'll probably see a family of white-tailed deer wandering about the backyard. They clean up the fallen apples before wandering off elsewhere."
"They're also crazy for acorns," Houa noted. "Sometimes I see them over by the oak trees eating their fill of nuts."
*****
In the morning just as Uncle Vern assured her, the deer - a buck with a narrow set of velvety antlers, his doe and two Bambiesque youngsters with speckled pelts - were meandering close by the apple tree, gorging on fallen fruit. "I generally take my vacation the beginning of June." Bethany hugged and kissed her uncle before heading off to Boston on the second full day of her visit.
Houa was lingering at a safe distance, but Bethany approached and kissed her too and the dark-skinned woman generously returned the favor. "When the worst of the winter is over," Houa said, "your uncle drills tapholes with an auger and we make our own maple syrup. You might enjoy joining us." "We boil down the syrup usually in the spring," Houa explained, "once the sap begins rising through the roots and -"
"Autumn, too," Uncle Vern blurted, lurching awkwardly closer to the driver's side door. "The practice is less common, but there's plenty of sugary sap flowing in these beauties before the New England winter sets in." He gestured at the thickly wooded countryside bordering the farm. "We got plenty of sugar maples but also red, silver and black. Personally, I favor the blacks 'cause of the high sugar content."
"Well then," Bethany eased onto the front seat of her car and smiled mischievously at her newfound relatives. "That changes everything!"
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