New Amsterdam: Tess Read Free Page A

one time, in the summer of ‘99, when Shelby had to be rushed to the emergency room for consuming a dozen fermented peaches. But a stomach pump didn’t stop the Sinclair kids from returning to the orchard the very next day to beat the record.
    As Thessaly grew older, the peach orchard served as a hidden make-out spot with her high school boyfriends. It was fairly accessible by car, yet hidden from the main house and her over-protective father. One Thanksgiving, home from Duke University with her college boyfriend, Thessaly experienced the most erotic vertical sex pinned against a peach tree. And then a few days later, under the same peach tree, she and her boyfriend promised to move to New York after graduation.
    Swinging her bag over her shoulder and shielding her eyes from the sun, Thessaly hops into one of the farm’s pickup trucks near the service entrance to the back of the barn. She cranks up the air-conditioning, adjusts her designer sunglasses, and then drives the three miles on a gravel road to the warehouse.
    The brick cottage has always been one of Thessaly’s favorite places on the farm. Packaging honey and jam is more of a scientific process rather than a culinary method, and Thessaly remains fascinated with the product-end of business. So much so, that she opened her own artisanal store in New York City selling handcrafted condiments.
    Thessaly parks the truck in the small, paved lot and presses the horn. After fastening her shoulder-length blond curls in a low ponytail, she grabs her bag and exits the truck. The glossy yellow door to the warehouse swings open as a short, round woman with bright-red hair comes stumbling out.
    “Tess! Get over here,” the woman urges, arms wide open and ready for a hug.
    Standing almost a foot taller, Thessaly embraces the woman and closes her eyes. “Junebug, I’ve missed you! How was your Fourth?”
    June giggles as she takes a step back to study Thessaly’s appearance. “Stayed up at the cabin and fished – ended up grilling hot dogs for dinner.” June winks. “Oh my, you’re so thin. And your clothes! Tess Sinclair, you’re a New Yorker.”
    Blushing, Thessaly replies, “Junebug, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
    “C’mon, Tess. Let me show you the first batch of wildflower honey – such a pretty shade of pale yellow.”
    June takes Thessaly’s hand and leads her into the warehouse. Actually, warehouse is an industrial term – the cottage is more like a modern kitchen with shelves of bottled honey and jam, baskets of fresh fruit and herbs, and walls lined with family photos and honeybee watercolor canvases. The familial feeling inside the warehouse reaffirms the importance of capturing nostalgia within the business. In fact, the Sinclair success comes from excellent products packaged and branded to mimic southern traditions.
    “God, it smells delicious!” Thessaly runs her hand along the stainless steel counter of the work station, stopping at a large copper pot lined with Teflon.
    “That’s your daddy’s special request,” June whispers between pursed lips.
    Thessaly nods and says, “Ah, nectarine honey with Stevia.”
    “Yep. Smells divine, tastes like shit. But your daddy is determined to put the agave folks out of business with this sticky goop.” June scoops a ladleful of the cooling orange liquid and grimaces.
    “It is pretty nasty,” Thessaly teases, leaning against the counter. “So, Junebug, how’s the summer supply? I need a fairly large shipment this month.”
    Replacing the large spoon in the pot, June replies, “We’re busy as bees, Tess!” That joke never retires on a farm. “The warehouse is expecting so much honey this summer that your mama was looking into some new buyers – natural skincare products, I think.” June wipes her hands on her blue apron and moves to a small desk. “Fill out the form so I can set your order aside.” June taps the page of her puppy wall calendar and adds, “Percy is scheduled for the