Vintage Ladybug Farm (12 page)

“It will snow,” predicted Lindsay confidently. “Or maybe the sheep will escape and maraud the wedding party.”

“It’s going to be an interfaith ceremony,” Bridget went on, undeterred, “just like Chelsea Clinton and
Marc Mezvinsky’s
.
I just love the Jewish wedding ceremony. Did you know it’s one of the oldest wedding ceremonies in the western world? Well,” she corrected herself, “the Greek Orthodox ceremony may have elements that are older, but as a whole, the traditional Judaic wedding tradition has been passed down virtually unchanged for over four thousand years. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

Lindsay slid her a skeptical look. “How do you
know
these things?”

Bridget shrugged complacently. “I read it somewhere.”

In a moment, Cici said, “I don’t think Lori has even noticed that she’s marrying out of her faith. And I don’t think Mark cares at all one way or another. I think what bothers me is not that she didn’t tell me, but that she didn’t even think it was important enough to mention. How seriously can she be taking this, anyway?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Bridget assured her. “Kids these days are not as concerned about those things as we were.”

“Well,” said Lindsay, “it’s really not surprising. They’re exposed to so much more at an early age than any generation before them. The whole world is at their fingertips, and the transition from one culture to another doesn’t seem nearly as dramatic. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“I don’t know,” said Cici. “I think it’s important to be raised in a culture with strong traditions. It helps define who you are.”

“Studies have proven that children who are raised with a strong religious background grow up to have better overall mental and physical health as adults than those who aren’t,” Lindsay said. “It doesn’t matter whether they practice that same religion when they’re grown up or not. Just the childhood background is what makes the difference.”

The other two considered that for a moment, rocking. “Where did you learn that?” Cici asked curiously.

Lindsay shrugged. “Church, I guess.”

“Speaking of church …” They all turned their heads toward the sound of a vehicle turning into the driveway, the sound they had all been waiting for, without bothering to acknowledge it even to themselves, for the past hour. A black-and-white streak dashed across the lawn and halfway down the drive, barking furiously, then abruptly veered off toward the sheep meadow.

Lindsay looked at her watch. “Really,” she said, “I know he could do a lot worse than Amy, and I should be glad he’s spending so much time in a wholesome environment, but we have
got
to get those last college applications finished up tonight.”

Cici looked surprised. “You mean they’re still not done?”

Lindsay shook her head. “I’ve never seen him procrastinate like this before. Writing is not his strongest subject,” she confided, “and I know he’s struggling with the essay. I offered to help him, but …” Again, she shook her head. “I’m just not sure he understands how important this is.”

“Noah has turned into a very responsible young man,” Bridget said firmly as the car, with Noah at the wheel, pulled around the drive toward the garage at the back of the house. “And he has you to thank for that. He always does the right thing in the end.”

Lindsay tried to look reassured. “I’m just afraid by the time ‘in the end’ gets here, the application deadline will have passed.”

They heard the car door slam, and in another moment Noah came bounding up the steps. “Afternoon, ladies,” he said cheerfully. “Taking in the sunshine, I see. That’s good for people your age. Builds strong bones.”

“Hey!” objected Bridget with a frown. “How old do you think we are, anyway?”

Noah grinned and lightly tossed the car keys to Cici. “Thanks for the use of the car. I gassed it up on the way home.”

“Thank you, Noah,” said Cici. “It was thoughtful of you to save an old woman a trip to the pump. I might have broken a hip swiping my credit card.”

She held out her hand and he said, “Right.” He dug into his jeans pocket and returned her credit card to her. “Forty-two fifty on the pump,” he said.

Cici groaned. “I have
got
to get a car with better mileage.”

“Or a smaller gas tank,” suggested Noah. He settled one hip on the porch railing, swinging his foot. “Is everyone gone already?”

“Don’t worry, you missed them,” Cici said.

“You’re missing a lot of things lately,” Lindsay added pointedly.

He shrugged pleasantly. “I’m a busy guy.”

Lindsay opened her mouth to reply, but Bridget spoke over her. “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, it was great. They had chicken and dressing for lunch. Not as good as yours, of course,” he was quick to add, “but not bad. Then we all went over to the youth center and watched this movie about three kids on drugs who saw an angel and straightened up. Then we went to choir practice. I’m thinking about taking up the guitar. Amy says I have the hands for it.” He spread out his fingers and examined them in the light. “What do you think?”

“I think,” replied Lindsay, “those hands could be put to very good use finishing up your college essay.”

“Almost finished,” he assured her.

“I’m not kidding, Noah, this is important. We’re already taking a huge chance on not getting financial aid and you can’t keep putting this off.”

“‘To everything there is a season,’” he told her, “‘and a time for every purpose under heaven.’ Ecclesiastes 3:1.”

He sprang down from the rail and said, “I’m going to change clothes and feed the animals. I hope the company left some pie. I’m starved.”

“Don’t ruin your supper,” Lindsay called after him, turning in her chair. “And we’re not finished with this subject.”

At the door he paused and looked back. “Um, listen,” he said, “I’ve been thinking and … well, I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

All three women turned. There was an odd look in his eyes that was impossible to miss, as though he wanted to say something and didn’t quite know how. Lindsay encouraged, “Sure. What is it?”

He seemed to gather up his courage. “Well, the thing is …” Then he hesitated and faltered. His gaze went from one to the other of them, then dropped to his shoes. He cleared his throat and looked back up again. When he spoke next there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that it was not what he had originally intended to say. “I’ve got a chance to pick up a few extra bucks cleaning up after church services, vacuuming and polishing the pews and whatnot. It’s only a couple of hours a week, but you know I’m saving for a car and every little bit helps. I was wondering if it would be okay if I took it on until they find somebody permanent.”

Lindsay waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she glanced at Cici and Bridget, then looked back to Noah. “You already have one after-school job,” she pointed out, “and I was counting on you to help me with an art project I’ve been thinking about. But I’ll tell you what. When you get your college essay finished, we’ll talk about it.”

He looked relieved. “Okay, sure. Thanks.”

“Noah?” Lindsay stopped him as he started inside. “Was there anything else?”

His expression was perfectly innocent. “Nope, that’s it.” He tossed her a quick grin and a salute. “‘Who can find a virtuous woman?’” he declared. “‘For her price is far above rubies.’ Proverbs 31:10.”

They waited until Noah was gone to share another long, puzzled look. Then Cici ventured, “What was all that about?”

“I don’t think it was about virtuous women,” Bridget said, looking troubled.

“And I can pretty much bet it wasn’t about saving up for a car.” Lindsay’s tone was grim. “If that girl is pregnant, I will kill them both.”

“You won’t have to,” Cici said. “Her daddy will do it for you. Besides, I don’t think it’s about Amy.” When Lindsay looked at her hopefully, she explained simply, “He wasn’t nearly scared enough.”

Bridget nodded in agreement and Lindsay cautiously relaxed. “Still …” Bridget’s expression was thoughtful. “Have you noticed every time you bring up college he changes the subject?”

“Have I ever.” Lindsay frowned. “But this can’t be about college. We had that conversation last year when we first started getting the applications together. He was excited about it. It was all he could talk about for weeks, remember? The whole thing about getting a car was so that he could have it to get back and forth while he’s away at school.”

“What if it’s not about college,” suggested Bridget, “but about the
kind
of college? All this time he spends at church, his sudden interest in memorizing the Bible … What if he has a, well, a vocation?”

The other two women stared at her with absolutely blank expressions, not understanding at all, or perhaps choosing not to. Finally, Cici said, “Are you talking about—seminary?”

Bridget nodded. “It would explain a lot. You have your heart set on him going into the arts, but what if that’s not his calling?”

Lindsay started to laugh, thought better of it, stared at her friend in disbelief, and then sank, loose-boned, back into her chair. “Noah, a minister. Well, you should pardon the expression, but Jesus take me now, because I’ve heard everything.”

“It’s probably just a phase,” Cici said, but she looked uncertain.

“What if it’s not?” said Bridget.

Lindsay seemed to turn that over in her mind for a moment. “Well, there’s only one way to find out,” she decided, pushing up from her chair. “I’ll ask him.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Cici said, and Bridget chorused at the same time. “Bad idea.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not your call to make, for one thing,” Cici told her frankly. “He’s eighteen. He’s worked hard to get this far and he has the right to make his own decision about where he’s going to college.”

Lindsay said, “Wait a minute. Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because it’s the speech you gave to Noah when we all first talked about college last year. I liked it.”

“He’ll talk to you about it,” Bridget assured her, “when he’s ready.”

Lindsay rubbed her arms against the chill of the dropping sun, looking torn. “Nothing ever turns out the way you expect, does it?”

“What would be the fun in that?” Cici said.

“Ida Mae made fresh bread this morning,” offered Bridget, trying to cheer her. “What do you say we warm up the leftover
bourguignon
and have supper in front of the fire with a great big glass of wine?”

“No, thanks,” said Lindsay with a sigh. “I’m on a diet.”

Cici lifted an eyebrow. “When did that start?”

Lindsay looked at her watch glumly. “About two hours ago.” She opened the door. “The good news is I can have any flavor gelatin I want.”

Cici and Bridget hung back as Lindsay went inside, sharing a smile. “She is so dating,” Bridget said.

And Cici agreed, “Oh, yeah.”

They followed their friend inside and closed the door on the fading day.

~*~

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Wine and Roses

T
he three friends huddled together in the freezing drizzle, their umbrella tops bumping, while Paul and Derrick posed for the camera a few feet away, a spray-painted gold shovel between them. Their heavy ribbed sweaters were frosted with moisture and their faces chapped with cold, but their determined smiles never wavered as Lindsay counted down, “Three … two … one … Got it!” She checked the display on her digital camera and held it up to them as both men hurried over.

“I don’t know,” Derrick worried. “It’s kind of dark.”

“That’s because it’s s-s-seven thirty in the morning and raining,” Bridget said, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

“The light’s not going to get any better, fellows,” Cici agreed. “And those guys on the backhoe are going to go home if it gets much wetter. Do you want to break ground or take pictures?”

“Okay,” Paul agreed. “Just one more of us turning over a shovelful of dirt.” They hurried back to their spot, and all three women smiled indulgently as he called back, “This is for posterity!”

The property was beautiful, even on a wet, gray winter day. Acres of rolling meadow—currently a well-mown shade of brown—were sectioned with crisp white paddock fencing along a curving hard-packed drive that led from the county road to the small knoll upon which they now stood. A perfect rectangle, approximately 40x30, had been staked out with yellow tape, flanked by two smaller rectangles, 10x20, at diagonal corners. To the east, a tall oak, naked now but no less formidable, stood sentry, and to the west, a blue mountain faded into the sky.

To the north, a yellow backhoe chugged impatiently, waiting to dig the foundation, while a crew stood around their pickup trucks and smoked cigarettes.

Lindsay snapped the perfect picture of the two of them crouched down to lift a shovelful of dirt while grinning into the camera. “Okay,” she called, waving them over. “You’re ready for Twitter. Let’s go home.”