Vintage Ladybug Farm

by Donna Ball

  ~*~

  Bridget came into the small room off the sun porch that they used as an office and tapped Cici on the shoulder. The little room might once have been what the original owner would have called a morning room, with east-facing windows that flooded the room with early light and just enough space for a breakfast table and a few occasional chairs. They had furnished it with a wraparound desk, a computer, wooden filing cabinets painted in bright colors, an easy chair, and walls decorated with Lindsay’s artwork and enlarged photos of the three of them on various vacations together. Here they paid bills, checked e-mails, reconciled the household accounts, and, on occasions like this one, labored over special projects such as preparing a business plan for Ladybug Farm Winery.

  Cici clicked the mouse and brought up another screen without glancing at Bridget. “The child goes to college for four years to learn how to write a business plan,” she muttered, “and where is she when I need her?”

  “Quitting time,” Bridget said and handed her a glass of rich red cabernet sauvignon.

  Cici accepted the glass with both hands. “You are my best friend forever,” she declared fervently and took a sip.

  Bridget tilted her head meaningfully toward the front of the house. “Bring a coat,” she advised.

  The two of them took their wine to the front porch, Bridget wrapped in a thick, scratchy Alpaca wool throw, and Cici in a heavy knit cardigan that she had grabbed from the front hall tree. Lindsay was already outside, standing at the front porch rail in her fur-trimmed jacket, wine in hand, gazing out over the most spectacular sunset any of them had ever seen.

  A silver-edged, scarlet cloud bisected the deep purple mountain landscape. Beyond it, a slash of clear cerulean-blue faded into pink, bright yellow, and viridian green. Against this breathtaking backdrop, the black fingers of winter trees stood in stark relief.

  “Oh my,” said Bridget softly, leaning against the rail beside Lindsay.

  “Wow,” agreed Cici. Her breath frosted on the chill evening air. “Now I remember why we live here.”

  Across the barren, winter-brown meadow, a black-and-white border collie circled a flock of muddy, lazy sheep. They gave him little argument as he moved them with laser-like efficiency toward the shed where several bales of hay had just been unwrapped. No one ever told the border collie what to do with the sheep; he just did it. It was a mystery.

  “I’m not speaking to you,” said Lindsay, staring straight ahead. She spared a quick impartial glance toward Bridget. “You either.”

  “Good,” said Cici, enjoying the sunset. “Let’s not spoil the moment.”

  Bridget sipped her wine. “Oaky,” she observed. “A touch of blackberry. A little young, I think.”

  Both women stared at her, and she shrugged. “Just trying to develop my palate. Dominic says that’s the minimum requirement for a wine maker.”

  Cici tasted the wine, tilted her head thoughtfully, and shrugged. “Pretty good for $11.95, if you ask me.”

  The scarlet cloud turned purple, giving off a radiant glow of orange and pink, and they watched in respectful silence for a moment.

  “Dominic,” said Lindsay, tossing back a swallow, “doesn’t know everything. And it doesn’t taste like blackberry. It tastes like thyme.”

  Bridget took a sip, and so did Cici. Bridget pursed her lips thoughtfully and agreed. “You’re right.”

  Cici took one more sip. “So that’s what it is.”

  A dove-gray shade descended over the mountain, leeching brilliance from the sky. The women moved back into the shadows of the porch and settled into their rocking chairs, watching the last of the light show from a distance. Bridget arranged the throw over her shoulders, and Cici zipped up her cardigan.

  Lindsay said, “If I wanted a boyfriend, I could get one for myself.”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Bridget. “You’ve always had the most interesting sex life of any of us.”

  Cici’s eyebrows shot up in protest. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Sorry, Cici, but it’s true,” Bridget said, unperturbed. “Although,” she added kindly, “I’m sure you could be a contender if you had more free time.”

  Cici drew a breath to reply to that but seemed to fall short of words. Instead, looking a little confused, she took another sip of wine.

  “I don’t need you guys making dates for me.” Lindsay maintained her stiff shoulders.

  “Well, someone needs to,” Cici said. “Dominic has asked you out four times already.”

  “I went with him for ice cream at the county fair, didn’t I?” Lindsay defended.

  “With Noah and Ida Mae tagging along.”

  “And to the Christmas parade,” Lindsay pointed out.

  “You were dressed as an elf,” Bridget replied patiently, “and he was a reindeer. Not exactly what I’d call romantic.”

  Lindsay frowned uneasily. “I’m too old for romance.”

  “That’s probably true,” Cici agreed, and when Lindsay shot her a surprised look, she explained. “Romance is all about hormones, and we hardly have any hormones left.”

  “Speak for yourself,” muttered Lindsay.

  “No, I think she’s right,” Bridget said. “Not necessarily about the hormones part, or even about the romance … but women our age are looking for an entirely different set of things in a relationship than someone, say, Lori’s age.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Cici. “For example, a man who knows how to give a good foot massage is going to win out over a guy with great pecs every time.” She thought about that for a moment. “Well, maybe not every time.”

  “If anyone were to tell Lori that the most important thing to look for in a man is someone who knows how to listen,” Bridget said, “she would laugh.”

  “Someone who knows what you’re thinking before you do,” added Cici.

  “Who can take care of himself and not be underfoot,” added Bridget.

  “Who always has something interesting to say,” Lindsay suggested, “and knows how to be quiet.”

  “Someone who makes you laugh.”

  “Who knows things you don’t know and doesn’t try to make you like everything he likes.”

  “Who makes you feel like there is someone who’s always on your side.”

  “The trouble is,” said Lindsay, smiling a little into her glass, “I already have somebody like that.” She glanced at them in the bluish twilight. “You guys.”

  “Well,” Cici said, “except for the foot massage part.”

  They all laughed softly and rocked in gentle silence for a while, sipping their wine and enjoying the still breath of winter on their hands and faces as the day slipped away into a pale purple evening. In the distance, Rebel gave forth a series of barks that seemed to have no purpose whatsoever, except to announce his presence to the coming night, and then was silent.

  “Anyway,” said Lindsay with what sounded suspiciously like a muffled sigh, “it doesn’t matter now. If Dominic is going to be our business partner, he can’t be my boyfriend.”

  Bridget stopped with her glass midway to her lips. “Who says?”

  Lindsay seemed momentarily confused; then she shrugged. “There are rules.”

  “They only apply to companies with ten or more employees,” Cici assured her earnestly.

  “You know what I mean.” Lindsay frowned uncomfortably. “We’re depending on him. He’s taking money from us. It’s complicated.”

  Bridget nodded, pretending to understand. “Which is why no one ever dates her accountant.”

  “Or lawyer,” added Cici, “or building contractor, or piano teacher.”

  “Ah,” Bridget remembered with a smile, “I had this piano teacher once …” And when the other two stared at her, she insisted, “What? I was of age.” And then she hid her grin with her upraised glass. “Well, almost.”

  It took a moment for Lindsay to bring her attention back to the matter at hand. “What I mean is,” she said, “what if we have a fight, or he gets tired of
me, or I get tired of him …? How happy is he going to be about helping us out then? I don’t want that kind of responsibility.”

  Cici, with one last puzzled glance at Bridget, replied patiently, “Lindsay, you’re awfully cute, but I really don’t think a grown-up man with a college degree and thirty years of expertise would agree to go into business with three women he barely knows just because he likes you. He’s doing it because he wants to and because we’re paying him thirty-five percent of our profit for the first five years.”

  “We are?” Bridget said. Then she turned to Lindsay and added practically, “Besides, grown-up people don’t just get mad and walk out when things don’t suit them. By the time you get to be this age, you know there’s not a whole lot of time left for second chances, so you’re a little more careful about what you leave behind.”

  “But,” added Cici, “if it bothers you, you should talk to him about it. After all …” she smiled as she sipped her wine, “you’ve got a date Sunday.”

  “Yeah,” said Lindsay, as though the thought had caught her by surprise. “I guess I do.” And then she lifted the glass in a tiny half-salute to herself and sipped.

  The last of the day vanished abruptly from the sky, leaving nothing but charcoal smudges across a paler dark background, like a blind man’s failed attempt at finger painting. The cool of a night that would soon turn cold crept up damply from the ground, smelling of still, icy streams and deep, dark earth. Yet the warm fragrance of their own wood smoke mingled with comfortable kitchen aromas kept them content, and they stayed and rocked and sipped their wine.

  “You know,” Bridget said thoughtfully, “the barn really is the perfect place for the tasting room. Right there just steps from the barrels and the bottle storage and close enough to the kitchen that you could cater almost any sized crowd without much trouble at all.”

  “It’s not insulated,” Cici pointed out.

  “I would love to try to repaint that mural Dominic was talking about,” Lindsay said. “Wouldn’t that make a fabulous backdrop for the restaurant?”

  “There’s only one electrical outlet,” Cici said.

  “But it has a great stone floor,” Bridget pointed out.

  “Which smells like sheep pee.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t use that part.”

  “There’s no plumbing.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Bridget sat up straight, her eyes dancing. “We could have Lori’s reception there!”

  Cici looked alarmed. “In a barn? Did you hear the part about no plumbing?”

  “Noah could help with the painting,” Lindsay said excitedly. “Wouldn’t that be something—to help recreate his grandmother’s art?”

  “I wonder if there’s a picture of the tasting room in that book,” Bridget said, rising.

  “Maybe there’s a picture of the mural!” Lindsay followed her inside.

  “Wait.” Cici twisted around in her chair to call after them. “In a barn?”

  But the door had already closed behind them, and after a moment of debate, Cici, with a shrug, settled back to finish her wine.

  ~*~

  CHAPTER SIX

  A Matter of Faith

  Cici and Bridget stood on the front porch in their Sunday best, shivering a little in the cold, watching the Lexus make its stately way down their long and mostly barren driveway. Lindsay, in her Sunday brunch best—which involved slightly more décolletage than the other two—lingered stubbornly beside them before departing on what she liked to call her “diplomatic mission” on behalf of Ladybug Farm. Of the three, it was generally agreed that Lindsay was destined to have the most fun ... if only she could be persuaded to go.

  “Okay, they’re here,” Cici said impatiently, glancing at her watch. “Go, already. We’ve got this.”

  “Are you kidding?” Lindsay replied, standing on tiptoes to watch the car round a blind spot in the drive. “Do you think I’m going to let Lori get married before I meet the in-laws?”

  “Dominic will think you stood him up,” Bridget said worriedly.

  “No, he won’t. I texted him.”

  Both women stared at her. “You text?”

  “Nice car,” observed Lindsay as the sound of the car’s tires crunching on the gravel drew closer.

  Her two friends turned their attention back to the approaching vehicle.

  “I don’t know,” Bridget said with a small frown. “I kind of expected a limo.”

  Cici spared her a dismissing look. “It’s a Lexus, for heaven’s sake.”

  “But he’s a congressman.”

  “State representative. Former.” But Cici rubbed her palms absently along the crease of her jacket, a sure sign of nervousness.

  The car pulled up in front of the house and the three women put on their best smiles, lifting their hands in a welcoming wave. Noah had made certain Rebel, the border collie, was locked up in the barn before leaving for his Sunday date with Amy—which would begin with lunch at her parents’ house and end with choir practice—but Bridget still glanced around anxiously as the car doors opened. Guests at Ladybug Farm had been known to be assaulted by a goat, chased by a rooster, and startled by the pet deer, in addition to being terrorized by the dog.

  The back door opened almost before the car completely stopped moving and Lori got out, long legs clad in dark denim and suede wedge boots, her torso covered by a playful cut-velvet bolero jacket with brightly colored, oversized glass buttons, and her coppery curls gleaming beneath the brim of a tweed fedora hat. She looked around excitedly, waving to the group on the porch, chattering at full-speed to the people who hadn’t even left the car yet. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and the women smiled as they watched her.

  “You do make pretty babies,” Bridget told Cici and slipped her arm through Cici’s.

  “World class,” added Lindsay, wrapping her hand around Cici’s other arm.

  “That I do,” agreed Cici, with an indulgent gaze fixed on Lori, and affectionately bumped each of her friend’s shoulders with her own. “Shall we welcome the dignitaries?”

  “Hi, Mom! Hi, Aunt Bridget! Hi, Aunt Lindsay!” Lori called as they came down the steps. “Where’s Noah? I’m starved! But first, I want to show everyone around, okay? I’ve been telling them all about the winery. Is Dominic coming for lunch? Because I wanted to talk to him about this place I found in upstate New York that specializes in old vine Burgundies. Their blog said they’re releasing two hundred barrels of custom crush this spring, so we’ll need to order it now if we’re going to get on the list.” She gave her mother and then Bridget and then Lindsay a perfunctory hug. “What’s for lunch?”

  “Sweetheart,” Cici said, smiling at the handsome, well-dressed couple that emerged from the front seats. “Manners.”

  Mark laughed and came forward to kiss Cici on the cheek. “It’s okay,” he said. “My folks feel like they already know you. But just to make it official, may I present my parents, Jonathon and Diane Clery. Mom and Dad, this is Lori’s mother, Cici Burke. Bridget Tyndale, and Lindsay Wright.”

  Mark’s parents had the easy good looks of old money worn casually—his father with the kind of chiseled features that were meant to be captured in oils, and his mother with the delicately polished patina of a real southern belle. They shook hands all around, and both of the newcomers paused to admire the façade of the old house with genuine appreciation.

  “Well, Lori’s description didn’t do it justice,” remarked Jonathon. “This is a Jason Anderson design, isn’t it? He only did a few private homes in Virginia, but this has to be one of them.”

  “Why, I think you’re right,” Bridget said, surprised. “I remember the name from the book,” she explained to Cici.

  Lindsay shared a quick appreciative look with Cici. “Imagine your knowing that,” she said to Jonathon. “You know, the quickest way to impress us is to admire our house.”

  “I can’t imagine you meet very many people who don’t,” said Diane, with genuine warmth. “How lucky you
were to find this place! And just look at this view.”

  Lindsay turned to Cici and gave her a quick, waist-high two thumbs-up and a grin. She turned back to the Clerys. “I have to excuse myself,” she said, once again shaking each one’s hand. “I have a previous engagement, but I couldn’t leave without meeting you both. I hope I’ll see you again soon.”

  “Lori is a lucky young woman to have such good friends,” said Jonathon.

  And Diane added, “We’ll be seeing a great deal of each other, I’m sure, and I’m looking forward to it.”

  Once again, Lindsay quickly turned her back on them and mouthed broadly to Cici, Love! Them! She briefly hugged Mark and then Lori, whispering in her ear, “Go, girl!” just before she said her final good-byes and hurried to her car.

  “Where is Aunt Lindsay going?” Lori said, looking dismayed. “I thought she’d have Dominic here for lunch.”

  Cici said, with what she hoped was a meaningful look to Lori, “Dominic is taking Lindsay to brunch. You know, private time.”

  Lori’s eyes lit up like a rainbow. “OMG! Aunt Lindsay and Dominic are dating?” She wrapped her arm around Mark’s and exclaimed to him, “Do you have any idea what this could mean for the winery?”

  Cici widened her eyes meaningfully at her daughter. “Don’t you dare use that word in front of Lindsay.”

  She looked confused. “Winery?”

  “Dating.”

  As Lindsay’s car sped down the gravel dive, Bridget gestured everyone inside. “We’ve had a little trouble with the roof,” Cici apologized, indicating the tarp.

  Diane laughed lightly. “I should imagine that half the fun of owning a place like this is keeping up with the repairs.”

  “We don’t always call it fun,” Cici said, liking them both already. She gestured them up the front steps. “We have time for a tour, if you’d like. Come in.”

  “Mom, Mark and I are going to look at the winery,” Lori said. “Don’t start lunch without us.”