At Home on Ladybug Farm (5 page)

Lindsay shot him a look. “That’s not a polite term, Noah.”

“Jeez, where were you raised, in a barn?” Lori added. “They’re gay, okay?”

He shrugged. “Queer is queer.”

Lori opened her mouth again and Cici cut her off with a warning. “Lori . . .”

Bridget said quickly, “Do they know something about the wine?”

In the 1960s and ’70s, the farm—known then as Blackwell Farms—had operated a winery. Ida Mae had given the women the last bottle of Blackwell Farms wine from that era as a Christmas present, and it turned out to be quite valuable. Derek, an amateur wine connoisseur, had offered to help them place the wine for auction with a friend of his who specialized in such things. They had been waiting weeks to hear how much it would bring.

“I think so,” Cici said, her eyes taking on a spark of excitement. “Derek said he wanted to talk to us about it in person.”

“That could be really good,” Lindsay said hopefully.

“Or really bad,” Bridget ventured.

“I better start airing out the guest room,” Ida Mae said with an air of martyrdom as she trudged back inside. “Like we didn’t have nothing better to do.”

“What I’d really like to do,” Cici said, “is get the floors finished before they get here.”

“They’ll be our first real overnight company,” Bridget said happily. “We’ll have cheese blintzes with wild blueberry sauce for breakfast.”

“You’ll have to make scones,” Lindsay added. “You know Paul will consider the trip wasted if you don’t. And I think we need to spruce up the guest room a little if people are actually going to stay there. There’s still some furniture left in the loft. “

“Maybe we could use the money from the wine to hire somebody to clean out the pools,” Lori suggested hopefully. “You know, a professional.”

“Wouldn’t cost but a couple of hundred dollars to fix up that little ole place in the woods,” added Noah.

“Sorry, guys, the money is already spent,” Cici said. “On taxes.”

Lori sighed. “Well, it’ll be nice to see them again. To have a conversation with someone who, you know, remembers the Internet.”

Noah said, “Is this meeting over? I’ve got to tune up the lawn mower.”

“French Revolution,” Lindsay reminded him. “Fifteen pages.”

“It’s in my head.”

“It had better be on paper by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

He returned a wave that might have been acknowledgment, agreement, or dismissal as he took the stairs with a leap and trotted across the lawn.

Bridget said fondly, “Recent difficulties aside, he really is a good boy.”

“He’s come a long way,” agreed Lindsay.

“Thanks to you,” Cici pointed out, and Lindsay shrugged modestly.

Lori said, “You know, there’s a lot to be said for doing what you’re good at.”

“Oh-oh,” murmured Cici, “I recognize that tone.” Nonetheless, all three women turned their attention to Lori with a look of polite interest.

“Like Noah, for instance,” Lori went on earnestly. “He’s really good at lawn mowers and hoes and chain saws. You should go with your strengths. Do what you’re good at.”

Bridget inquired helpfully, “And what are you good at, Lori?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Lori answered with enthusiasm. “And you know how much I love this place and want to contribute.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Bridget.

“No doubt about it,” added Lindsay.

“Absolutely,” from Cici.

“But I’m a business major,” Lori pointed out. She took a breath, her eyes brightening with expectation as she came at last to the pièce de résistance. “That’s what I’m good at. So what I’d like to contribute is—a business plan!”

The three women were silent for a moment, appearing to consider this. Then Cici said, “True enough. You were a business major. But did you actually take any business courses?”

Lori looked momentarily at a loss. “Well, that doesn’t mean I couldn’t come up with a good business plan.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Bridget assured her. “I’m sure you’d be just great at it.”

“But what would we do with it?” Lindsay inquired.

“Make money!” explained Lori happily. “Listen, I know how expensive this place is. I think I can find a way to make it pay for itself, and I think I can do it
without
going back to college.”

Cici drew in a sharp breath, and Lindsay and Bridget immediately turned their attention to their glasses of iced tea.

Lori rushed on before Cici could speak, “Just hear me out, Mom. I know we’ve had this conversation before, but I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. The whole point of college is to find your calling, right?” Cici opened her mouth to reply but Lori didn’t give her a chance. “Well, I think I’ve already found mine!” She made a sweeping gesture with her arm, her face lighting up. “This place, this house, living off the land and communing with nature . . . I have a chance to do what other people only
talk
about doing!”

The three women shared a quick and secret look. Hadn’t they said almost the same words when they had decided to leap into this adventure? Wouldn’t it be somewhat hypocritical—not to mention selfish—to deny the younger woman her chance at finding what they had found?

Sensing her advantage, Lori pressed on. “College isn’t for everyone, you know. Look at you, Mom. You worked your whole life in real estate—”

“I went to college,” Cici pointed out sharply.

“But you didn’t have to,” Lori said. “That’s the point. And Aunt Bridget married a college professor; she didn’t become one. And even if Aunt Lindsay was a teacher her whole life, now she’s an artist, which is what she always wanted to be, and you don’t have to go to college for that! All of you are doing what you always wanted to do. It just took twenty-five years—and
no
college education—for you to get around to it!”

Cici drew a breath, released it; looked to Lindsay for help, who shrugged; looked to Bridget for help, who suddenly discovered her shoelaces were untied; started to speak, and took a sip of her tea instead.

“This is what
I
want to do,” Lori said passionately. “I want to restore old houses. And I don’t want to spend twenty-five years working in the wrong job before I do it! I know I don’t have your talent with a hammer and T square, Mom,” she rushed on, “or yours in the kitchen, Aunt Bridget, or yours with paint and decor, Aunt Lindsay. But I
do
have something to offer. All I’m asking is a chance to prove it to you.”

This time, when Cici looked at her friends, it was not for help, it was for confirmation—and, along with sympathetic resignation, she saw it in their eyes. There was only one reply she could legitimately make, and so she did.

“You’ve seen how much hard work is involved in this place,” Cici pointed out, “and it’s about to get harder.”

“I know that,” Lori insisted.

“You’ve got to keep up with your chores, and that includes restoring the pools.”

Lori squared her shoulders. “I promise.”

Once again, Cici passed a silent consultation to Lindsay and Bridget, and received barely perceptible nods in reply.

“Three months,” she said. “You’ve got three months to come up with a viable business plan to make this place self-supporting, and it has got to be accepted by all three of us. If you can do that, that will be enough evidence to convince me you’re mature enough to make your own decisions about your career. But if not . . .” Her tone darkened in warning. “You are going back to college, no questions asked, end of discussion. Fair deal?”

“Fair deal,” agreed Lori, her eyes glowing. She sprang from her chair and threw her arms around Cici’s neck. “I love you, Mom! You’re going to be so proud of me.”

“I’m already proud of you,” Cici assured her, and she couldn’t help smiling. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you.”

“Any of us,” added Bridget.

“Remember,
all
your chores,” added Lindsay.

“And we’re the final judges,” said Cici. “No arguing.”

“I’m going to surprise you,” Lori assured them gaily as she hurried off. “You just wait and see!”

Cici blew out a breath when she was gone. “Well,” she said.

“Well,” agreed Bridget.

Lindsay looked at Cici. “What if she actually does it?”

“That,” replied Cici, and took a long gulp of tea, “is what worries me.”

Evening. Even with two young people in the house, it was a sacrosanct time of day. The supper dishes were done. Ida Mae always went to bed in her downstairs suite immediately afterward. The sheep had been rounded up for the night by the ever vigilant sheepdog, who had been fed and was snoozing on a pile of hay in the barn. Bambi the deer was in his pen, safe from predators and hunters. Noah was in his room, working on his report. Lori was, presumably, watching DVDs or listening to her iPod—with headphones either way, which was the rule at Ladybug Farm. Lindsay, Cici, and Bridget gathered on the front porch to watch the sunset for the first time in four long, cold months. The expression on their faces as the setting sun cast hues of gold and pink across their skin was reminiscent of those of prisoners who had just walked outside the big gate and who stood dumbstruck, barely able to comprehend the glory of the freedom that was offered them.

“Six o’clock,” murmured Lindsay contentedly, “and it’s sixty-two degrees. I love this place.”

“Days like this make you believe Nature has a master plan,” agreed Bridget.

“Speaking of plans . . .” Cici slanted her a sly look. “Good job assigning Miss Lower-Your-Carbon-Footprint to garden duty. I suspect we’ll hear a lot less out of her now that she’s got a chance to practice what she preaches.”

“And how about my contribution to the work schedule?” Lindsay demanded archly. “Was that a stroke of genius or what?”

Cici almost choked on her wine. “I didn’t think I could keep a straight face! Good heavens, Lindsay, you couldn’t pay me to clean out those pools!”

“My solution was to fill them in and make a patio,” admitted Bridget.

“Well, there you go,” said Lindsay smugly. “You want something done, you ask someone with a little ambition.” She sipped her wine. “I have a feeling fixing up an old house and living close to nature are going to seem a lot less romantic to Lori—and college dorm life a lot more appealing—before this summer is over.”

There was a moment of silence in which they knew Cici was trying to convince herself Lindsay was right.

Then Cici said, “Should we be worried about the social worker’s visit?”

Lindsay gave a half chuckle. “It’s just Carrie from town. She’s the one who came up with the idea for us to share guardianship with Reverend Holland in the first place, and she’s already approved the living situation once. It’s just a formality. But I wanted Noah to
think
we should be worried.”

“I think Lori is right,” Bridget said. “We are a little manipulative.”

“It’s one of those self-defense skills they teach you in Mother School,” Cici said.

“What is this about wanting to move back out to the woods?” Bridget wanted to know. “He’s not serious, is he? After we practically broke our necks last fall sneaking things down there to him to keep him from freezing—and starving—to death!”

Lindsay rocked thoughtfully for a moment. “I’m not sure. Part of it is just his Davy Crockett fantasy, I guess. But I think it might have more to do with the fact that he doesn’t know how to be part of a family. It can’t have been easy, all the adjustments he’s had to make this year.”

“Well, he’s not moving back to the folly,” Bridget declared.

“I think we can all agree on that,” said Cici.

“I don’t think we’ll hear much more about those plans for a while,” Lindsay said with a wry tilt of her head, “since it’s going to take him most of the summer to pay off that traffic fine.”

They were silent for a while, listening to birdsong, watching the colors deepen over the mountains and the shadows swallow up the lawn. Then a sudden stream of lamplight poured into the dusky shadows of the porch as the front door opened, the screen door squeaked, and Lori burst out. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got the plan.”

She bounced to a stop in front of them, a yellow legal pad in her hands, a very pleased expression on her face. “What we’ll do,” she declared, “is turn this house into a bed-and-breakfast.”

Cici lifted an eyebrow. The other two sipped their wine and said nothing.

“I was talking to Ida Mae this afternoon,” she went on. “Did you know this place used to be a boarding house for military wives in the forties?”

Cici said, surprised, “I didn’t know that.”

Lindsay and Bridget looked at Lori with new interest. “Is that right?” Bridget said.

And Lindsay added, “A boarding house?”

Lori nodded. “That’s probably how we ended up with all those bathrooms. A house full of women . . .”

Cici grinned and lifted her glass to sip. “How about that? And sixty years later, it’s still a house full of women.”