Vintage Ladybug Farm (17 page)

The next one had too much shine, another too many little buttons, the next pooched out in the middle. Eventually, she allowed that the Vera Wang might be made to suit if they cut off the train, six inches of hem, and the satin bow. At this point, Paul, who was on the verge of going into respiratory distress at the mere thought of slaughtering a Vera Wang original, suggested they postpone the selection for another time.

“Maybe a denim jacket,” suggested Lori, examining her reflection critically in the dark windowpane, and the fashion show was definitely over.

Derrick proposed to take everyone out for a Valentine’s Day dinner to cheer them up, but forgot this wasn’t Baltimore. The only place besides the Pizza Inn that was serving dinner on this bleak February night was the Holiday Inn an hour outside of town, which was overrun with people who had the foresight to make reservations. They stayed home for hearty meatloaf with brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes, which was a fine winter meal, to be sure. But it wasn’t very romantic.

After supper, Paul recovered from the wedding dress debacle enough to bring out his color chart and
Bride
magazines. “The important thing is color scheme,” he explained patiently to Lori, who was properly fortified with a glass of Montrachet and a previous forty-five minute conversation with Mark, which, to those overhearing, had consisted greatly of I love yous and I love you mores. “Once you incorporate your color scheme into your theme, everything just falls into place—the bridesmaids’ dresses, the table settings, the invitations …”

“We really need to get the invitation design to the printer as soon as possible,” Bridget said. “These people get completely backed up in the spring.”

“First we need to know how many invitations to print,” Cici said. “It would help if we had a guest list. Even the beginning of one.”

“Do you know what would be adorable?” Derrick put in. “OMG, I am seeing it now: grapevine runners on the tables, goes without saying, right, entwined with tiny white lights and clusters of fall-turning grape leaves, yes? And a huge, I’m talking twelve foot, grapevine chandelier—”

“Twelve feet?” exclaimed Cici. “That’s bigger than our whole dance gazebo!”

“Six foot,” conceded Derrick. “And of course, monogrammed wineglasses for each guest to take home, filled with—are you ready?—wine-flavored jellybeans! I know this company that makes cabernet, chardonnay, pinot noir …”

“Love it!” exclaimed Paul. “And, oh my God, too perfect—a wine-flavored ice cream bar!”

Lindsay scrunched up her face. “Wine ice cream? I don’t know.”

Derrick continued blithely, “So, obviously, I mean,
clearly
,
you’ll do the invitations in a grapevine motif. I’m thinking a simple card—”

“Parchment,” supplied Paul.

Derrick nodded his head. “Parchment with deckle edge.”

“And a vellum overlay,” Paul added.

“Right. Held together with an interwoven grapevine twig …”

“Oh my God, right?” exclaimed Paul. “And delivered in an embossed velvet—”

“Wine bag!” declared Paul and Derrick together, and Derrick added, “Do you love it?”

Paul said, “So you see, as soon as you choose the color theme, we’ll know what to go with for the colors of the wine bags …”

“And the tablecloths,” Derrick added.

“And the flowers,” Lindsay pointed out.

“And the bridesmaids’ dresses.”

“And the cake,” added Bridget expectantly.

“So, sweetie,” said Cici, watching her daughter carefully. “Have you decided on the bridesmaids yet?”

Lori said, looking from one to the other, “You know my dad could buy a whole winery for what this wedding is costing, right?”

“Not even close!” Paul scoffed.

And Derrick insisted, “Grapevines? You pick them up off the ground!”

Cici said, “Seriously, Lori, not the same thing at all. This is your day. The sky’s the limit … within reason, of course.”

“Colors, sweetie,” Lindsay urged. “Just pick the colors.”

Lori sighed. “I don’t know. I’m not really a colors sort of girl.” She sipped her wine and turned a page. “This is nice. Peaches and cream.”

“How did that get in there? So 1996!” Paul swooped in immediately with an overlay. “This year’s Pantone colors, sweetkins. Let’s keep it in the decade, shall we?”

“Really?” Lindsay leaned over Lori’s shoulder. “Let me see.”

Bridget scrunched in on the other side of Lori. “Margarita,” she said, “love that.”

“I like cockatoo.” Lindsay took the chart and held it up for Cici. “That would look gorgeous on the mother of the bride.”

“We don’t want to get too literal,” cautioned Paul as Cici reached for the chart. “Personally, if I see one more tangerine tango bridesmaid dress …”

“Oooh,” said Cici, pulling her chair closer, “I love the lilac. And the belleflower. Bridget, wouldn’t those colors look fabulous cascading down a wedding cake?”

Lori murmured, “I think I’ll get more wine.” She wriggled out of the crush and Lindsay took her place, turning pages, matching colors, holding up choices for approval. It was some time before anyone noticed the bride-to-be hadn’t returned. By that time, Lori had already gone to bed.

~*~

The weather cleared overnight into a bright, crisp morning, and the mood at the Ladybug Farm breakfast table was a remarkable improvement from the day before. “You know,” Bridget said when the platter of whole wheat waffles topped with fruit compote had been devoured and the last of the coffee had been poured, “if you think about it, everything probably worked out for the best. I mean, two graduations and a wedding within six months of each other … Who has time to open a new business?”

“Not to mention helping your friends move,” Paul pointed out with a wink.

“That’s right,” agreed Lindsay. “There’s more than enough excitement around here just watching you guys put that house together.”

“And I don’t think we ever really thought about the kind of work that would be involved just setting up,” Cici added. “I mean, we’re talking some major construction here if we were going to remodel the barn into a restaurant.”

“And don’t forget the gift shop,” Lindsay added.

“Not to mention the real work with a winery,” Lori said. “The marketing, the management decisions … You guys haven’t even designed your label yet, much less thought about bottle color, oak or steel barrels—and if you go with oak, you’ll probably have to send to France for them. And without me here to help you …” She shrugged. “It would probably be more than you could handle.”

“Well, if you all don’t take the cake,” observed Ida Mae sourly. “Yesterday, all you could do was fill up my kitchen with your dark thunderclouds because you didn’t get your way, and now it’s all sunshine and rosebuds because you ain’t got time to put in the work anyhow. I wish you’d make up your mind what it is you want, because you’re just about to give me a headache.”

“‘All things work together for good to those that love the Lord,’” Noah said, rising to clear the table. “Romans 8:28.”

“The Lord helps them that help themselves,” Ida Mae muttered, wiping down the countertop. “Ida Mae Simpson.”

Noah didn’t notice the smothered grins that went around the table as he started scooping up the dishes and platters. One of his chores was to clear the breakfast dishes before he left for school in the mornings, and he did this now with dispatch, causing Paul to reach protectively for the waffle he hadn’t quite finished eating. “Sorry, folks, I’ve got to hustle. Assembly this morning and all the seniors are supposed to do something.”

“What are they supposed to do?” asked Lindsay, handing him her plate and Cici’s.

He shrugged, building an efficient tower of dishes. “Dunno. That’s why I’ve got to get there early.” He carried the swaying stack of dishes to the sink without breaking a single one and slid them into the soapy water with a flourish. “See ya!” He pulled on his jacket and backpack, snagged a set of keys from the hook by the door, and was gone before anyone at the table could draw breath for a reply. A cacophony of wild border collie barking followed his progress across the yard.

“He certainly is a busy young man,” observed Derrick, sipping his coffee. “Always rushing here and there.”

“All boys his age are like that,” said Lori sagely. “They only have one speed—full.” She glanced at her watch and gulped down the last of her juice. “Well, I guess I’d better get on the road. I don’t want to hit traffic coming into Charlottesville.”

Cici hid her smile with her coffee cup. “Some girls are like that, too.”

Lori tossed her a quick apologetic smile. “Sorry we didn’t get very far with the wedding. I promise I’ll put a guest list together before I see you next time, and I’ll tell Mark’s mother to fax you hers.”

She stopped by Paul’s chair and dropped a kiss atop his head. “Thanks for bringing the dresses down, Uncle Paul. They just weren’t me, you know?”

“I do. A bride’s gown should be her every dream come true.” He caught her fingers as she passed and kissed them. “What do you say we make a date to go shopping in DC in a month or so?”

“Sounds fabulous.”

“I’ll say!” exclaimed Lindsay. “Now that’s something to look forward to.”

“We’ll get our hair and nails done,” said Bridget, clapping her hands together like a girl. “And have sushi for lunch.”

“And get our own dresses for the wedding while we’re there,” added Cici. “And shoes.”

“We might have to stay over,” cautioned Lindsay, looking pleased.

“We have guest rooms in the suburbs,” Derrick volunteered.

“See?” declared Bridget happily. “Who even needs a winery anyway?”

Lori laughed. “Well, I guess it’s a date, then. Thanks for breakfast, Ida Mae. I’m going to get my things together and let Mark know I’m on my way. What
is
that dog still barking about?”

But no sooner had she said it than there was a quick light rap on the back door and Dominic poked his head inside. “Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not calling too early.”

Lindsay quickly smoothed back her ponytail and straightened the cowl neck of her sweater. “Dominic! What are you doing here?”

“We didn’t expect you,” clarified Bridget, standing to welcome him.

“You missed breakfast,” said Ida Mae, taking down the coffee canister. “I’ll put on another pot.”

“No, don’t,” he insisted. He unzipped his fleece-lined denim jacket as he came inside, rubbing the cold from his hands. “I’m not staying. I just came to bring some news I didn’t think could wait.”

“Uh-oh,” said Lindsay, regarding him cautiously. “News that can’t wait is hardly ever a good thing around here.”

But his eyes were sparkling and the flush on his cheeks might have been from more than the cold. From his inside jacket pocket he took a sheet of paper, unfolded it, and spread it out in the center of the table. Lindsay got up to read over Bridget’s shoulder, and Bridget put on her reading glasses. Cici squinted at the paper.

“Wait a minute,” she said. “This looks like it’s from the bank.”

“Ladybug Farm Winery, Inc.,” agreed Bridget, and then she gasped softly. “It’s a balance sheet.”

Cici rubbed her eyes. “That can’t be right.”

Lindsay snatched Bridget’s glasses and put them on, peering at the paper. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed.

Lori grabbed the paper away, scrutinizing it. Her face lit up like a thousand Christmases. “It’s true! This is actual money! In our account! Your account, I mean. More than enough money to …” Her eyes went big as she stared at Dominic accusingly. “This had better not be a mistake. Tell me it’s not a mistake.”

Paul and Derrick got up to read over Lori’s shoulder. “It looks real enough to me,” Paul declared, and Derrick agreed. “Ladies, you’re rich!”

“We got the loan!” Cici cried, leaping to her feet. “The bank came through after all. The letter we got must have been a mistake.”

Lori said uncertainly, “That doesn’t sound like something a bank would do.”

Lindsay whirled and threw her arms around Dominic. “Thank you, thank you! This is the best surprise ever.”

Cici hugged Lori and Bridget hugged Paul and Derrick hugged Ida Mae, who shrugged away irritably. All of them were laughing from sheer relief mixed with more than a little astonishment that, for once, the strange and unpredictable twists of fortune had somehow managed to actually favor them.

And then Dominic said, “Okay, I will definitely try to be the bearer of good news more often. But …” he gave Lindsay’s shoulders a final, one-armed squeeze and looked around the room, “the bank didn’t come through. They were as surprised as I was. Happy for us, of course. But surprised.”

The laughter left their eyes to be replaced by puzzlement. “What?” said Cici.

Lindsay stepped away from him. “I don’t understand.”

Lori said, “I told you banks don’t make that kind of mistake.”

Ida Mae gave what might have been a grunt of satisfaction. “Guess you’ll be wanting that coffee now. “

Everyone sat back down. Dominic pulled out a chair. “Frank Adams asked me to stop by and see him this morning. I figured he’d gotten a copy of the loan letter, his office being on file with the bank for all the paperwork, and he’d want to know what our plans were. But that wasn’t it. What he wanted was to let me know that late yesterday afternoon an anonymous investor—those were his words, anonymous investor—had transferred $100,000 into the Ladybug Farm Winery account. I knew you’d want to see it for yourself, so I had the bank print out a balance sheet for you.”