Part 7
Both numbers meant the restoration contractor called both sisters, which proved less harmonious than June had imagined.
They disagreed about the width of the equipment-shed door, whether three surviving apple trees inside the easement should be grafted or removed, and which stones from the farmhouse foundation could be reused without turning the upper orchard into a shrine. Tessa sometimes ended a call before June considered the issue settled. June sometimes composed a corrected drawing and deleted it before delivery.
The contractor learned to send questions in one email addressed to both of them. June answered the first three within minutes. On the fourth, which asked whether the upper shed should have separate work bays, she waited until Tessa replied. Her sister wanted one open room with a painted line neither of them was allowed to move alone. June disliked the line and approved it.
By April, the farmhouse was gone. The floodway widened through the lower field in a curve planted with sedges and willow. The county replaced the old trash rack with an open-span crossing and a removable debris screen upstream, where crews could service it from the road. The north-wall stones waited in a neat stack beside the shed until the sisters chose what, if anything, to build with them.
June lived in a rented cottage near Hearthstone while the upland site was studied. She disliked the low kitchen counters and the motion light over the steps. She also slept through heavy rain without putting on boots.
On the first community planting day, she reached the orchard before Tessa and immediately found the willow bundles stored with their cut ends exposed to wind. She moved them into shade, covered them with wet burlap, and wrote the correction on the contractor’s clipboard.
Then she crossed out the sentence and wrote: MOVED TO SHADE AT 8:10.
The second line recorded what June had done and left everyone else’s competence alone.
The restoration foreman arrived while June was fastening the burlap. He thanked her, then asked whether she wanted the surviving Northern Spy shoot included in the planting plan.
“My sister and I haven’t decided,” June said.
It was the truthful answer. The shoot had been protected with a flagged circle rather than removed or claimed. Saving it and cutting it were both decisions; this week the sisters had signed neither.
Tessa arrived in the old minivan, which a body shop had made roadworthy without erasing the dent along its rear quarter. The recovered sewing machine rode in back. Tessa had cleaned the iron base and replaced the bent handwheel, though a brown line remained where floodwater had dried inside the enamel.
“For the shared workshop,” she said.
June opened the shed door. One half held her survey tools and orchard equipment. The other held Tessa’s worktable, fabric rack, and a chair frame waiting for springs.
“The floor slopes an eighth inch toward your side,” June said.
“Then spills are yours.”
They carried the machine in together.
Tessa set it on the painted line until they could choose a permanent table. June began to point out that the shed outlet needed a dedicated circuit, then noticed the new conduit already fixed to the wall.
“Ben’s electrician,” Tessa said. “I copied you on the invoice.”
“I saw it.”
“And?”
June inspected the breaker label. “He spelled Calder correctly.”
Tessa smiled. It was not approval of the electrician so much as recognition of effort.
The planting crew laid a string line along the new bank and marked holes at four-foot intervals. June was assigned a level board. Tessa took the sledge used to drive support stakes beside the taller willows.
At the third hole, Tessa set her stake two inches outside the line.
June saw it before the hammer rose. Her hand came up by habit.
Tessa paused. “What?”
June could have said the bank would fail, which was false. Two inches would not undo the floodway. She could have said the plan required exact spacing, which was true but not urgent.
“The mark is under your left boot,” June said. “Do you want to move it?”
Tessa looked down. “Yes.”
She moved the stake herself.
By noon their gloves were muddy and the first row leaned at imperfectly similar angles. The restoration foreman checked root depth, adjusted two plantings, and approved the rest. June accepted both corrections without citing her former title.
During lunch, a length of blue irrigation hose came around the bend and snagged against a willow stake. A volunteer stepped toward the planted bench to retrieve it, but the foreman raised a hand.
“Let the water show us what it will do.”
The hose bowed, slipped free, and traveled beneath the crossing. Thirty yards downstream, it curled into a quiet eddy the restoration plan had left for debris. The foreman sent two volunteers along the dry access path with a hook.
June watched them remove the hose without entering the current. The old rack would have caught it broadside. The restored channel had room for the nuisance to move somewhere reachable.
Tessa sat on an overturned bucket with her sandwich. “You’re measuring.”
“Only with my eyes.”
“Progress.”
June almost explained that observation and control were separate operations. Instead, she broke her apple in half and offered Tessa the larger piece.
Tessa took it. “Now I’m worried.”
In the afternoon, meltwater rose from the shaded gullies. It entered the restored channel above row seven, spread across the planted benches, and narrowed beneath the county crossing. No water backed toward the road. There was no steel for branches to hammer against, only the low sound of current moving over stone.
June held the level board while Tessa drove the final support stake. The first blow went crooked. The second brought the stake upright. Tessa stopped with the sledge raised.
“Check it.”
June set the level against the wood. The bubble touched the left line but did not cross it.
“Close enough for a willow,” she said.
Tessa lowered the hammer. “That sentence cost you.”
“More than the easement.”
They laughed, brief and tired. When it ended, Tessa reset the string and June picked up the level board.
There was one bundle left for the next section. June carried it along the bank while Tessa moved the string. At the open crossing, the water deepened around their boots and cleared again below the road.
Tessa chose the next mark and pressed a stake into the wet ground. June lifted the sledge, tested its weight, then passed it to her sister handle-first.