by Donna Ball
Noah offered gallantly, “They’re not that old.”
Lindsay inclined her head toward him. “Thank you, Noah.” And to Lori she said, “It’s not that we look on the dark side. It’s just that, at your age, more things have turned out for better than worse for you, percentage wise. The older you get, the more experiences you have, and the percentage goes down. Therefore, you learn that it pays to be prepared.”
That made Dominic smile. “Spoken like a practiced teacher. At any rate, Lori, they’re right. You know it will take five years for any investor to start seeing a return, and that’s if everything goes according to plan. In agriculture, things rarely go according to plan.”
Noah said to Derrick, “Have you all been out to that B&B? Our stuff looks nice there. I’ve got one of that big old rooster …”
But at the slow looks that were turned on him, he trailed off. “I guess I’ve got homework to do.” He pushed up from the table.
Ida Mae set a frosted cake on the table with a thunk. “Red velvet,” she said. “If you’re gonna be taking up space at my table, you might as well be eating.”
Noah sat back down again. “Not that much homework,” he said.
Ida Mae plucked the wine bottle off the table and replaced it with the coffee pot. She began distributing cups and saucers. Bridget cut the cake.
“I don’t see what the real big deal is,” Noah said, spearing a forkful of cake. “You’ve got all those cuttings that I helped Dominic bury last month. You said they were going to be your vines, right? And there were an awful lot of them.”
“That’s true,” Bridget said, stirring sugar into her coffee. “But it will take two years before those vines even start producing fruit.”
“Always does,” acknowledged Noah. “Good cake, Ida Mae.”
Dominic said, “I think what Noah is trying to say is that you’re no worse off now than you were this time last year. And he’s right. Wonderful cake, Ida Mae. Thank you.”
Paul said, “Good point. You could look on the bright side. You have a vineyard with old vines that still produce and cuttings that are ready to go in the ground. That’s a lot more than most people have when they start out. The cake is out of this world, Ida Mae. You are a genius.”
“It could even be a blessing in disguise,” Derrick agreed. “You wanted to reproduce the Blackwell Farms wine, and the only way to do that is to start with Blackwell Farms grapes. Pure heaven, Ida Mae.”
Ida Mae scowled at him. “You’re not supposed to be eating that.” Then she glared at Lindsay. “I thought you was on a diet.”
“Cocoa is excellent for heart health,” Derrick assured her.
“It’s okay; it’s red,” Lindsay said, carefully scraping the white frosting off the cake. “It’s on my list. Thank you so much. It’s heavenly.”
“It’s just,” said Cici, pushing around a small piece of cake on her plate, “I really wanted to do something big. Something important, like a legacy, you know? And …” she cast a sad half-smile toward Lori, “I wanted to toast my daughter’s wedding with Ladybug Farm wine.”
Bridget said, “I know we don’t have anything to complain about. We really do have everything we could ask for … this wonderful house, good friends …”
“Plenty of wood in the bin,” added Lindsay, “thanks to the tornado.”
“A roof over our heads, more or less,” supplied Cici.
“The animals,” Noah added helpfully.
“Ida Mae’s cake,” offered Lori.
“And it’s not like we can’t still go through with the plan,” Dominic pointed out, “in a few years. The economy could turn around, and one good harvest will set us up.”
“I know,” Bridget agreed, but she still looked wistful. “It’s just that, after a certain age, you start to wonder how many more chances at success you have, and postponing them is hard. And wouldn’t it be great if, just once, something actually worked out for us?”
No one knew how to reply to that, and they finished their cake and coffee in silence.
~*~
In Ida Mae’s Kitchen
~*~
Lori cut herself another thin sliver of cake—because everyone knew the calories didn’t count as long as the slices were small enough, no matter how many slices you actually had—and scraped the frosting off the knife with her finger, popping it into her mouth absently. Everyone else had adjourned to separate parts of the house to make phone calls or try to work on some kind of plan. Lori lingered at the kitchen table, absently eating cake with one hand and tapping intently on the keypad of her electronic tablet with the other. Thank heavens Wi-Fi had finally come to Ladybug Farm. Otherwise, they would all be standing in line to use the phone or the computer. It had broken her heart, but she’d already called to cancel the order of custom crush.
Ida Mae snatched her plate away, and Lori looked up from the tablet with an indignant, “Hey!”
“You keep on eating cake and you won’t be able to fit in that wedding dress—if you even had one, that is.” Ida Mae marched the plate to the sink, tossing over her shoulder, “Or maybe that’s not something you’re worried about.”
Lori blew out a breath. “To tell the truth, I’m a lot more worried about what’s going to happen to the winery today than I am about how I’m going to look in a dress in September.”
“That winery ain’t none of your business,” Ida Mae informed her. “What is your business is getting married.”
Lori didn’t look up from her tablet. “Oh, Ida Mae, that’s so old fashioned.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“I can be married and still have a career.”
Ida Mae slid her a shrew look. “Can you still be married and fool around with that Italian fellow on that fancy toy of yours?”
Lori’s hand immediately flew out to cover the screen of her tablet, and color shot to her cheeks. “It’s not like that. Sergio is interested in what’s happening with the winery, that’s all. I thought he might have some ideas.”
Ida Mae said nothing.
“Besides, it’s good to talk to somebody who understands.” She hesitated. “Probably best not to mention this to Mom, though. I don’t think she ever really liked Sergio.”
“And that boy that gave you the rock you’re wearing,” said Ida Mae, using a bottle brush to clean a tall glass, “what does he think about this Sergio?”
Lori tried to look insulted. “Mark knows Sergio and I are just friends. It’s not like I’m keeping secrets from him.”
To which Ida Mae replied simply, “Hmph.”
“I’m going to call my dad,” Lori announced with resolve.
“Your mama told you not to.”
“Maybe. But she didn’t …”
“She’s a grown woman who doesn’t want your daddy lordin’ it over her head that she messed up again,” Ida Mae said, removing Lori’s coffee cup just as Lori was reaching for it. “And I guess she’s got that right. Now you put that thing away and go find something to do. Look at wedding books.”
Lori hesitated and then reluctantly turned the tablet off. She watched Ida Mae wash the last of the dishes for a moment. “How old were you when you got married, Ida Mae?”
“I was sixteen.”
“Wow. I guess he was your childhood sweetheart, huh?”
“Nope.”
Ida Mae turned from the sink and thrust a dishtowel at Lori. Lori got up and took it from her, drying the dishes that were stacked on the drain board.
“So how long had you known him?”
“Less than a month. It was war time.”
“But it worked out okay, right? I mean, you were married a long time.”
“'Til death do us part. That’s what I said; that’s what I meant.”
Lori said, frowning a little, “My parents weren’t married a long time. I’m going to do better than that.”
Ida Mae concentrated on scrubbing the cake pans.
“I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to move to Cal
ifornia. I’m practically from California. I spent a whole year there at UCLA. My dad is in California. I’m basically a bicoastal girl. And Mark really wants to get married. You should have seen how sweet he was when he proposed.” Her face softened with the memory and she hugged the dish she’d been drying to her chest. “He did it in front of the whole restaurant, down on one knee, and his speech was so sweet. Then everyone applauded—I mean, really, could anybody ask for more?”
She sighed, seemed to remember the damp dish in her hands, and finished drying it. “It’s just that I didn’t know so much would be going on here, I guess. And Mark … well, he tries to pretend he’s interested in winemaking and viniculture, but he’s really not, no more than I’m interested in all those algorithms he’s all the time fooling around with.” She smiled a little uncertainly. “But that’s okay. That’s a good thing, really. It’s just … I don’t know. It seems as though everything is happening so fast, and I hate leaving everybody in such a mess.”
“It ain’t like you’re leaving tomorrow,” said Ida Mae gruffly. “You gonna dry that dish or stand there playing with it?”
“I think,” said Lori thoughtfully, “I could get more done on a desktop computer.” She thrust the dish back to Ida Mae with a decisive nod. “Thanks, Ida Mae. You’ve been a big help.”
She left the room, leaving Ida Mae gazing after her in a mixture of dismay and annoyance, clutching the previously dried dish in her wet hands.
~*~
CHAPTER NINE
Valentine
Lindsay didn’t feel like going out for dinner, and Dominic didn’t try very hard to change her mind, although he also made very little effort to hide his disappointment. When he had gone, Derrick scolded her, “That is not the way to find and fascinate a man, my darling. Shame on you.”
Lindsay gazed glumly out the window, watching Dominic’s taillights disappear through the chill, gray rain and fog. “Who wants to go out on a nasty day like this? Besides, the roads might ice tonight.” But then she glanced at Derrick anxiously. “You don’t think I hurt his feelings, do you?”
Derrick just rolled his eyes.
It took some persuading, but Lori finally agreed to abandon the computer—where she was futilely trying to rework the start-up cost figures into a number with less than four zeroes after it—and try on wedding gowns. For a short time, everyone was cheered by the fashion show, and even Noah paused on his way out the door for his date with Amy to grin at Lori as she came down the stairs in a froth of lace.
“You look like a Christmas catalogue Barbie doll,” he told her. And when her brows drew together, he assured her quickly, “That’s a good thing.”
Noah, sensing his luck was about to turn, hurried to the door, and Lindsay called after him, “Home by 10:30! It’s a school night!”
“Yes, ma’am,” he called back.
“And drive carefully!” added Bridget.
“And take that girl a box of chocolates,” Derrick called as he swung open the door on the cold night.
“I will, don’t worry!” The door closed after him and he clattered down the front steps.
Lori wrinkled her nose as she reached the bottom of the stairs, plucking at the chiffon overlay. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m a wedding gown kind of girl.”
“Everyone is a wedding gown kind of girl on her special day,” Paul assured her, adjusting the ruffle of a cap sleeve. “But you may be right. A bit much froth, I think.”
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.”
