The next question was no longer whether she could make vinegar once. It was whether she could make it responsibly, consistently, and in enough quantity that anyone beyond the barn might care. Emily's first instinct after the successful batch was to tell everybody. She opened the camera on her phone, arranged the clear bottle on the windowsill, and typed a triumphant message beneath the photograph.
Then she deleted the message and put the phone facedown on the table. The previous year had taught her that a promising result was not a finished enterprise. Before she asked strangers to believe in her, she wanted to know whether people who did not love her or pity her would willingly taste what she had made.
She started with Frank. He arrived on Sunday carrying replacement shingles and a bag of groceries, and Emily met him beside the kitchen table with two small glasses and a bottle without a label. She asked him to taste it without telling him what she thought. Frank eyed the glasses suspiciously.
"This isn't the stuff that tried to escape the barn, is it?"
"No."
"The one that made the entire place smell like a truck stop drain?"
"Also no."
"All right, then. You've ruled out my first two concerns."
He tasted cautiously. His eyebrows rose, and he took a second sip before remembering how strong vinegar was when sampled by itself. "Well," he said, setting down the glass. "That's actually vinegar."
Emily waited. "Is that a compliment?"
"From a man who's smelled the other five batches? A very big compliment."
She laughed, but he became more serious as she explained what she hoped to do. He wanted to know how much it cost, whether she could produce it again, who would buy it, and whether a small business could pay for a farmhouse roof. Emily had answers to some of his questions, partial answers to others, and no useful response to the last one. Frank listened without interrupting, then told her he would help with the roof if she promised not to confuse gratitude with a business plan.
Her next sample went to Tessa Brooks, who ran the local feed and farm supply store. Tessa was in her forties, with a sharp memory for names and a way of speaking that made flattery nearly impossible. Emily had bought gloves, buckets, and replacement fittings from her all year. During the period when people were making jokes about the apple piles, Tessa had been one of the few who asked what Emily was learning instead of whether she intended to stop.
Tessa unscrewed the sample jar and smelled it. "Now that's interesting," she said.
"Interesting good, or interesting like something you found in the back of your refrigerator?"
"I don't sell compliments by the pound, Emily. Let me try it."