Rotten to the Core Read Online Free PDF Page B

padlock to the barn. Although I think anybody could get in there with a rusty nail, so it’s probably more symbolic than practical.”
    “Okay.” Bree pocketed the key ring.
    Meg retrieved her coat, and they set off up the hill. Bree seemed more at ease outside, loping easily up the slope. At the top she stopped, waiting for Meg to catch up, and Meg could have sworn Bree looked on the rows of trees with a kind of proprietary pride. Meg could understand that, since she’d caught herself doing the same lately. At least Bree cared about her work.
    “Okay, where do we start?” Meg asked.
    Bree scanned the orchard, then launched into a check-list of tasks that stretched on and on, ticking them off on her ungloved fingers.
    “Okay, now. The pruning’s done—Professor Ramsdell and his class took care of that. The dead stuff is gone—that’s good. Bloom’s still a ways off, but there’s some spraying that needs to be done before then. We’ll have to check what insects are emerging, keep an eye on them.”
    Meg listened with half an ear. Right now she was more interested in getting a feel for her new employee’s personal and working style. So far she was impressed, at least by the latter. Bree talked a good line, and if Christopher had endorsed her, she must know her stuff.
    They spent a productive hour walking from one end of the orchard to the other, and by the time they were done, the sun was sinking and there was a chill in the air. But Meg felt good. The more time she spent in the orchard, the more secure she became in her ownership of it. It was an odd feeling, possessing a large and living entity, especially one whose history stretched back more than two centuries, and though it sounded silly, Meg didn’t want to let the orchard down.
    Still, the nonstop flow of Bree’s information was a little much to absorb all at once. “Can we call it a day now? Because I’ve got to process everything you’ve told me so far, and my toes are getting cold. Let’s head back down the hill,” Meg suggested.
    “I guess,” Bree said, looking disappointed. Silently they set off toward the house.
    Once they were back in the warm and steamy kitchen, Meg shucked off her coat and poked at the large pot of stew she had left on the stove. “You don’t have any, uh, eating restrictions?” Meg asked Bree, who was prowling around the kitchen studying things. Heaven forbid she should turn out to be a vegetarian.
    “What? Oh, no, I eat about anything. That smells good.” She nodded toward the simmering pot.
    “Thanks. I’m not used to cooking for more than just me, so I’m kind of making it up as I go. But it’s fun. I can’t believe how many new things I’m learning, and all at once. Like house renovation.”
    “I like this place. It’s a good house. Strong.” Bree ran her hand over a door molding.
    “I hope so. It needs to be—it’s been pretty neglected for a while. I’ve got a list of things to do as long as my arm, and that doesn’t even include the orchard.”
    “At least your trees haven’t been neglected—they’re in good shape. How old is the orchard, do you know?”
    “Around 250 years, I think, in one form or another. It’s mentioned in the town records as early as 1760,” Meg said proudly. “The house was built by the Warren family, before the Revolution. In fact, Seth told me once that the intersection there used to be known as Warren’s Grove, until the nineteenth century. I’m related to the Warrens somehow—my mother could explain how, but I’ve never been interested in that kind of thing until recently. Anyway, as you probably know, Christopher’s been overseeing it for years.”
    “Sure,” Bree nodded. “Orchards were a big part of life in the colonies. Back in the early days, every house had apples. Professor Ramsdell knows what he’s doing. You know anything about what’s been done with your apple crop?”
    “Not really. I think the people here before—renters—just sold the