A Wedding on Ladybug Farm (8 page)

“Sure,” he replied.  “The chow is great.”  He wrinkled his nose a little and admitted, “Well, not great.  Not as good as yours.  Not very good at all, really.  But there’s plenty of it.  I sure did like those cookies you sent.”

“I’m mailing more today,” she promised him.  “And some cotton socks and paperback books.”

He looked puzzled.  “They give us socks, you know.”

“I know, but I read on the Internet—”

“And I’m sending a new drawing pad,” Lindsay said. “Portrait grade like you asked for.  And two gum erasers and a charcoal pencil sharpener.”

“Hey, cool.  Thanks.  I can’t find them in the PX.”

“Do you need anything else?” Cici asked.  “Blankets or a warm coat or—”

“Come on, guys.”  His smile was both self-conscious and affectionate.  “It’s the desert. And I’m a Marine.”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean,” Lindsay began tartly, but Dominic came up behind her just then and laid a hand on her shoulder.

“It means he can take care of himself,” he reminded her.  He leaned into the camera and said, “How’s it going, Private?”

Noah grinned.  “Hey.  I hear they finally got a rope on you.”

“That’s what I hear too.  I count myself a lucky man.”  His fingers massaged Lindsay’s shoulder lightly.

“Yes, sir.  I’d count you right.”

Lindsay leaned her head back to smile up at Dominic.

Dominic said, “We sure miss your help around here, son.  You get home safe, you hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dominic added casually, “Say, who’s guarding the gate over there, anyway?”

Noah returned forcefully, “The Marines are, sir!”

Dominic grinned, gave him a two-fingered salute, and straightened up.  Cici took his place.  “We’re putting another prepaid phone card in the box, too,” she said.  “You’ll call when you get it
, won’t you?”

“Yes
, ma’am.  As soon as I get to a phone tent.”  He glanced over his shoulder.  “Listen, my time is about up.  How’s that ol’ dog?  What do you hear from Jonesie?  Do you see Amy much?  How’s she looking?”

They spent the next ten minutes catching him up on all the local news and goings-on around the farm, and when it was time for him to go the ladies all blew kisses, as they always did, and he looked embarrassed, as he always did, but also secretly pleased.  When the screen went dark
. Lindsay sat back in the chair and everyone was quiet, feeling empty.

“He looks good,” Dominic said.

“Did you see those shoulders?” Bridget added.

“He said he was lifting weights,” Cici reminded her.

“He’s changed,” said Lindsay, sadly.

“But in a good way,” Bridget insisted.

Lindsay said, “He doesn’t need us anymore.”  She shifted her gaze upward to Dominic and added, “You were right.  I was afraid the Marines would turn him into one of those mean-eyed, robot-brained brutes you see on TV, but you were right.  He’s different, but better.  Grown up.”

“The military can ruin some boys,” Dominic admitted, “but others know what to do with it, how to take advantage of what it offers.  That kid never had anybody before you ladies who cared enough about him to make him challenge himself.  He’s going to be fine. Now.”  He caught Lindsay’s fingers and pulled her to her feet.  “How about coming down to the office and helping me with some of this bookkeeping?  I need to check the irrigation pump, and start
netting the vines before the birds eat our crop.”

Cici said, “Do you need any help?”

“Yeah.”  He looked wry.  “How about giving that daughter of yours a call and see if she can be here by lunchtime? What this winery needs right about now is another winemaker.”

Bridget took Lindsay’s place at the computer as she and Dominic left the room and opened up a search page. “Do you suppose there even
is
a wedding photographer around here?”

“Try Staunton.”

“We don’t need anything fancy—none of those sepia still-lives with the bride’s veil floating against a sunset sky—but it would be nice to have a couple of good portraits, especially since who knows when we’ll ever get a chance to wear those dresses again. And of course,” she added, “Lindsay and Dominic will want one to frame.”

Cici gazed thoughtfully at the door through which the couple had left.  “Have you thought about what we’re going to give them for a wedding present?”

“Well,” said Bridget, typing, “we’re giving them a wedding.”

“I know, but Lindsay’s paying for it, and if we can’t figure out a way to trim that guest list without having half the county mad at us—not to mention Dominic—”

“And Paul.”

“—it won’t be much of a wedding.”  Cici tapped a finger against her lips thoughtfully.  “It should be something they both can enjoy.  And it should be nice.”

Bridget stopped typing and glanced up at her.  “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Cici said, her tone still thoughtful as she left the room.  “But I might have an idea.  I’ll let you know.”

~*~

Cici found Ida Mae sweeping off the back porch, which she liked to do every morning.  The porch didn’t really need sweeping, and it took Ida Mae four times as long to do it as it would have taken any one of the younger women, but it was her routine and they had all learned not to argue with Ida Mae’s routine.  Cici came out from the kitchen, careful to cushion the screen door with her hand so that it wouldn’t slam behind her. Ida Mae hated it when they let the screen door slam.

“Ida Mae,” she said, “didn’t you say that that room next to Lori’s old room, the one we’re using as a guest room—didn’t you say that used to be Miss Emily Blackwell’s old room?”

Ida Mae grunted in reply, not bothering to look up from her work.

“Because I couldn’t help noticing it’s a lot smaller than the other rooms on that side of the hall, and so is Lori’s.  It seems to me that the owner of the house would have had a bigger room.  Is that where she slept when she was married, too?”

Ida Mae looked at her, scowling.  “Now how in blazes would I know that? How old do you think I am, anyhow?”

Cici tactfully refrained from answering that.  Ida Mae’s exact age was a mystery on par with how the pyramids were built.  She said instead, “What I mean is that you said there was a lot of remodeling done during the sixties, and I wondered why they didn’t make that room bigger.”

“Because they just got done making it smaller, I reckon.”  Ida Mae swept a speck of imaginary dust over the edge of the porch and into the bushes with an expression of satisfaction, and started on the steps.   

“I knew it!” Cici’s eyes lit with triumph.  “Lori’s room and the guest room used to be one big room, didn’t they?  That’s why there’s a fireplace in the guest room and none in Lori’s room, and why there’s only one bathroom between them.”

She lifted one shoulder expressively.  “Could be.  All I know is they changed a lot of rooms around during the war, when all them women lived here.”

The house, built at the turn of the nineteenth century as a grand mansion with all of the latest amenities—electrical wiring, indoor plumbing, dumbwaiters, marble floors, and imported chandeliers— had undergone many incarnations in its life, one of which was as a rooming house for war brides during the nineteen forties.  It made sense that some of the large rooms might have been subdivided to accommodate more people.

“Perfect,” Cici murmured, eyes shining.  “Thanks, Ida Mae!”

She hurried down the steps, practically skipping as she crossed the yard to the tool shed.  There was absolutely nothing that made Cici happier than a project.

Twenty minutes later the grind of a saw and the clatter of falling wood sent Bridget rushing up the stairs.  She found Cici in the guest room, power saw in hand
, smiling proudly at the six-inch hole she had just cut in the wall.  The floor was covered in a plastic drop cloth and the furniture had all been moved to the other side of the room.  Crowbars, sledgehammers, and an assortment of power tools were scattered at her feet, and a forty-gallon trashcan awaited filling.  She pushed back her safety glasses and grinned at Bridget.  “Look!” she invited.

Bridget looked, her expression a cross between astonishment and horror.  “There’s a hole in our wall!”

“It’s just a pilot hole,” Cici explained, “so that I could make sure there were no electrical wires or pipes in the way.”

“But
…”  Bridget stepped carefully into the room, her dismay growing as she looked around.  “We’re having a wedding!  This is our guest room!”

“Wrong,” replied Cici with a grin.  “This is our wedding present to Dominic and Lindsay.”

Bridget stared at her.  “A hole in the wall?”

Cici spread her hands expansively.  “A master suite.”

Cici put down the saw and knocked her fist against the wall with the hole in it.  “I always suspected this was a dummy wall,” she said.  “The way these two rooms at the end of the hall are so oddly shaped, with the big windows and the little doors. That’s because they used to be one great big room—and they will be again as soon as we knock down this wall.”  Bridget’s eyes went big and Cici corrected quickly, “I. 
I
knock down the wall.  It’s going to be fabulous,” she went on before Bridget could speak.  “A master retreat away from everyone else, two closets, that marvelous big bathroom, the view, plenty of room for a king-sized bed and any furniture Dominic might want to bring … I figured I could do the construction work and you could do the painting and decorating.  It’ll be just like one of those makeover shows on TV!  Don’t you see?” she insisted.  “Telling Dominic he’s welcome here is one thing, but showing him—and Lindsay—is another.”  She gave a final, decisive nod of satisfaction.  “It’s the perfect wedding gift.”

Bridget’s expression went from alarmed to thoughtful as Cici spoke.  She gazed around the room. She went into the hallway and to the room next door, looking through the hole in the wall. She returned to Cici.  “You know,” she said, “you’re right.”

Cici grinned.

“I’d put a nice big overstuffed chair there in front of the fireplace, and that darling little secretaire from Lindsay’s room underneath the window.  And
…” Her eyes lit up.  “That tea table in the attic that I’ve been dying to find a use for!  A few bookshelves …”

“I don’t know if I’ll have time for bookshelves,” Cici objected.

“That oriental rug of Lindsay’s we’ve been using in the sunroom, a few candles, some art …” And then she looked at Cici sharply.  “If you’re
sure
that wall will come down—without bringing the roof with it.”

Cici gave her a patient look.  “Of course I’m sure.  Do you think I would have cut the hole if I wasn’t?  We can take it down with a sledgehammer in an afternoon.”

“There you go with ‘we’ again.”

“I might have to get Farley to help me take down the frame,” she ad
mitted. “But two days tops.”

“It’s not going to be easy to keep a secret like that from Lindsay for two days,” Bridget pointed out.

Cici frowned.  “Oh, I don’t think we can keep it a secret from Lindsay.  Maybe from Dominic.  But we should at least ask Lindsay what color she wants the walls painted.”

Bridget looked around the room dubiously. “That means all this wallpaper will have to come off.”

“Not all of it,” Cici pointed out.  “Just three walls.”

“Six.  There are two rooms, six walls.”

“It’s as crisp as parchment,” said Cici, peeling back a strip near the hole she had cut.  “It should come off like wrapping paper.”

Bridget’s expression grew speculative as she peeled back a longer strip.  “You know,” she said, “I might be able to use this in the invitations.  Or the place cards. It’s too pretty to waste. ”

“It’s not garnet or rose,” Cici pointed out.

“Maybe I’ll leave one wall as a feature wall.”

“Or two.  Then you only have to paint four walls.”

They had been dimly aware of the border collie’s attack-mode barking for some time now, but they had become so accustomed to the unpredictable nature of his moods that they barely noticed anymore.  It wasn’t until they heard Ida Mae shouting up the stairs, “Comp
’ny!” that they registered their surprise.

“What in the world?”  Bridget went to the window, and let out an exclamation of delight.  “It’s Kevin!” she cried. 

“Kevin?”  Cici went to the window to see for herself.  Bridget’s son, though he only lived a few hours away, wasn’t in the habit of dropping in unannounced.  “Were you expecting him?”

Bridget shook her head, looking both puzzled and pleased as she turned toward the door. “It’s not like him to be impulsive, is it?”  She hesitated, her expression slowly settling into suspicion as she added, “Something must be wrong.”

~*~

There was a list that every young man carried around in his head of things he never wanted to tell his mom, and not as many of them had to do with sex as the average mother might think.  At the top of that list, no matter who you were or what you had done, were two simple words:
I failed.
Conversely, there was no time in a man’s life that he needed his mother more than in the midst of a devastating failure.