by Donna Ball
“Burlap!” Bridget clapped her hands together happily. “I’m going to use burlap for the tablecloths and the buffet and contrast it with lavender satin runners …”
“And the napkins,” Lindsay put in. “Satin for the napkins.”
“Of course! How cute will that be? Oh my God!” Bridget pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks, her eyes bright. “I think I’ve just come up with the décor for my restaurant!”
Lindsay grinned and gave her a quick one-armed hug, and Cici said, “How are you going to plug them in?”
The other two women looked at her blankly. “The lights,” explained Cici practically. Her gaze traveled from the loft, around the walls, and across the boundaries of Bridget’s imaginary restaurant, assessing. “How are you going to plug them in? The only outlet is on the other side of the barn, fifty feet away. You could run an extension cord, but it would be kind of ugly. And Bridge, you know that with all the hay we have stored in the loft there’s bound to be, well, mice. And the sun really heats this place up by the middle of the afternoon. You’ll need a fan to keep the air circulating, which brings up the question of where you’re going to plug that in, and when you do, there’s no telling what kind of dust and debris it’ll stir up. With all that food out …”
It was at that point that Cici noticed the excitement of her friend’s anticipation was deflating like a balloon with a slow leak with every word she spoke. She glanced at Lindsay, who moved protectively closer to Bridget, and she said brightly, “But, hey, it’s April. What are the chances we’ll need a fan, anyway? And we can spray-paint the extension cord white; you’ll never even notice it. So let’s get this corner cleaned out and start bringing in the trellis. What do you say?”
Like sunshine from behind a cloud, Bridget’s grin returned and so did her enthusiasm. She rubbed her hands together in glee. “I say, what are we waiting for?”
~*~
In Ida Mae’s Kitchen
~*~
Cici sat at the kitchen counter, scowling as she flipped through A History of Blackwell Farms. The kitchen was redolent of the sharp odor of spring greens and new potatoes roasting in pork fat and the faint aroma of turned earth and spring flowers that wafted through the open window.
“Ida Mae,” Cici said, turning a page, “I don’t see anything in here about the Blackwell Farms tasting events. I don’t see how they could’ve been held in that barn. In the first place, there was no refrigeration, and they would’ve had to pull from the house for electricity. In the second place, there was no lighting. I know it was the sixties, but there had to be some sanitation codes and at least a few regulations about serving food to the public. Where did they wash dishes? Didn’t anyone need to go to the bathroom?” She sighed and closed the book. “I just don’t know what to do.”
Ida Mae sprinkled a generous handful of flour over the pie dough she was rolling out, and Cici brushed the residue off the cover of the book. “Bridget has her heart set on opening a restaurant in that barn,” she said, “but there’s no way it’s going to work. Even without a health department permit—I mean, let’s just assume we’re calling this a catering business—it’s just not practical. The ceilings are twenty feet high. To lower and insulate them would be a major construction job—like that’s something that’s easy to do around here!—and to try to heat and cool that space the way it is would cost a fortune. And let’s not even talk about building the walls—you’d have to trench out those gorgeous stone floors—and putting in HVAC. There is no plumbing whatsoever, and if we try to tie into the house I know we’re going to have to apply to the health department for a permit, and you just can’t imagine what kind of can of worms that opens. And did I even mention the electrical situation? Even if all we’re talking about is warming trays and steam tables … I mean, for heaven’s sake, you’ve got to have more than one outlet!” She dropped her head to her hands. “What was I thinking? I never should’ve let her get her hopes up. I should’ve been paying more attention.”
Ida Mae flipped the pie dough and applied the roiling pin with vigor.
“The truth is,” Cici confessed, dragging her fingers down her face as she straightened up, “it would be cheaper to build a separate building for the restaurant than to try to convert the barn. I mean seriously, at $120 per square foot for a commercial building … Oh, what am I thinking? That would take every bit of our windfall, and we’re supposed to be running a winery, not a restaurant.”
She squared her shoulders and pushed back from the table. “On the other hand, it’s just a party, right? And why not hold it in the barn? It’s going to be cute. I mean, we don’t even have a vintage, for heaven’s sake. It’s not like we’re going to be doing a tasting today. The restaurant is the last item on the business plan, right? We have months to figure it out.” She sighed. “It’s just that I feel so bad. I don’t know what to tell her.”
Cici pinched a piece of pie dough from the rolling board and popped it in her mouth. “Umm.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “You know, Ida Mae,” she decided, “I think you’re right. What’s the point in breaking her heart? Not yet anyway. We’ll have the party. I’ll figure something out. Who knows? Maybe the vine blessing will bring us luck.”
She plucked off another piece of pie dough. “Good,” she observed, pushing away from the counter. “What kind of pie are you making?”
“Peach,” said Ida Mae, glaring at her. “If I have any crust left.”
“I love peach,” said Cici, closing the book as she stood. “Thanks, Ida Mae. You’ve been a big help.”
Ida Mae said, “Hmph.” And she didn’t look up as Cici left the kitchen.
~*~
Bridget said, “The bad news is, no one within fifty miles is available to bless our vines.” She sank down into her rocking chair, cradling a glass of wine, resting her head momentarily against the back rail of the chair. “Can you believe that? What kind of world do we live in? Reverend Holland was appalled. You’d think I’d asked him to sanction public drunkenness. And Pastor Winfred was conveniently noncommittal. This is not, and I quote, ‘in the purview of the Methodist church.’ So I found an Episcopal in Staunton, but he has a wedding that day. Then I had to go all the way to Charlottesville to find a Catholic priest, and it turns out I was in luck. He’s done dozens of blessing of the vines ceremonies. In fact, he’s doing one next weekend … in France. So that pretty much lets him out for our event.”
She sipped her wine and slid a glance, from one side to the other, to her friends. Neither of them missed the secretive sparkle in her eyes. “The good news is,” she said, “Paul and Derrick sold their house!”
Over the exclamations of delight and excitement, she raised her voice. “They have to be out in two weeks. They’re coming to our blessing of the vines, but …” She waited for the excitement to die down. “They’re staying in the B&B until their house is finished.”
“Are you kidding?” Cici declared, insulted. “We have all these empty rooms and they’re not good enough? I’m calling them right now.”
“The B&B?” Lindsay repeated, frowning. “Whatever gave them that idea?”
“And,” declared Bridget firmly, the sparkle unrelenting, “they have a priest for our ceremony! So the blessing of the vines is on for April twenty-third.”
“Oh, Bridge!” exclaimed Lindsay sincerely, “I’m so glad. That’s fabulous news.”
But Cici’s frown was unrelenting. “I still don’t understand why they don’t want to stay here.”
“Come on, Cici,” said Bridget, “it’ll be weeks, if not months, before their house is finished. Why would they want to move in with somebody else for that long? They’re going to have a nice vacation at the B&B, so good for them.”
Cici thought about that for a moment, and then agreed, “Well, I guess it can get a little hectic around here with Noah in and out, and all the animals, and Lori back and forth between here and Charlottesville. Speaking of which, I invited Lori and Mark for the weekend, but not his p
arents. I’m just too embarrassed that, not only is the roof still not fixed, the hole has actually gotten bigger. So let’s just keep it to people who already know we don’t really live like squatters, okay?”
“Not a problem,” declared Bridget. “Just people we know. I invited everyone from the bank who helped out with the loan—even though they didn’t come through, their intentions were good—and the entire Friends of the Library Book Club, because I know they drink, and Jonesie and his wife from the hardware store, and all the real estate agents because we definitely need them to spread the word, and the president of the Chamber of Commerce … I figure about thirty people.”
Cici tried not to show her alarm. “Bridget, that’s a lot of people.”
“The barn is a big place,” she replied happily. “Not a problem.”
Lindsay said, “You’re not planning to do a full lunch for all of them, are you?”
“Just heavy hors d’oeuvres,” she assured her. “Spring rolls and pepper shrimp …”
“Shrimp!” exclaimed Cici before she could stop herself.
“It’s a business expense,” Bridget informed her archly. “Besides, it’s important to set the tone for what the future of The Tasting Table is going to be. Upscale casual with a touch of country nouveau cuisine.”
Lindsay looked at her curiously. “What is country nouveau cuisine?”
“You know. New potatoes stuffed with fresh herbs and manchego, tossed in olive oil. Crispy battered green beans served with a chipotle dipping sauce. Grilled peaches drizzled with balsamic and sprinkled with ground black pepper. Fresh raspberries …”
“Okay, enough.” Lindsay held up a hand in protest. “I can’t believe I just finished dinner and I’m hungry again.”
“Sounds pretty ambitious, Bridge,” Cici said cautiously. “Thirty people and all.”
She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s practically done. Everything I need is in the freezer, and our Christmas party is twice as big as this. I’ll toss it all together that morning. Oh! And the best part is that Dominic was able to get a couple of cases of wine from the very winery we ordered our crush from. He says it’s perfectly acceptable to serve another winery’s vintage at our blessing of the vines. Although …” Her expression fell slightly, “it’s against the rules to put our label on it.”
“Bambi!” Lindsay exclaimed, surging up from her chair as the deer wandered close to the house and began stripping leaves off a hydrangea bush. The deer looked up with interest, then returned to nibbling the hydrangea.
Cici clapped her hands loudly, which attracted the attention of Rebel, who darted out from under the porch, barking madly. Bambi bounded away in one direction, and Rebel scrambled off in the other, looking for something else to bark at. Lindsay sank back into her chair.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into that deer,” she said. “Noah is going to have to keep a better eye on him.”
“He’s a deer,” Bridget pointed out. “He eats hydrangeas.”
“He used to eat the carrots and cabbages we fed him, and a few weeds and maple leaves. Now he eats everything.”
“We’re going to have to build some kind of fence if we expect to have any flowers left at all this year,” Cici said. “And what about your roses?”
“Speaking of roses,” Bridget said, glancing at her, “I haven’t seen Dominic in a couple of days.”
“So?” Lindsay sipped her wine, staring deliberately across the meadow where the sheep bunched lazily, their fleece glowing faintly pink in the setting sun. “He doesn’t live here, you know. He has a life.”
Bridget shrugged. “I know. But I’ve gotten kind of used to having him around. And he usually does stop by once or twice a day to do whatever it is he does with the wine.” She glanced at the rocking chair, which had been relegated to a lone place on the opposite side of the door. “It was nice of him to give us the chair,” she observed innocently. “You know, in case Ida Mae ever wants to sit with us.”
Lindsay frowned into her wine. “She never does.”
“Or for when Lori comes,” added Bridget. Then she corrected herself, “But now there’s Mark. So I guess that doesn’t work. But Paul and Derrick will visit.”
“When they get tired of the B&B,” observed Cici darkly.
Bridget gave a quick, bright smile. “I guess he really should have given us two chairs. It seems as though everyone is a couple!”
Cici tossed her an impatient look. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She turned to Lindsay and demanded frankly, “Are you ever going to tell us what’s going on with you two?”
Lindsay rocked and sipped her wine and said nothing. Rebel sailed over the pasture fence, circled the flock twice, and jumped back over the fence. She said finally, “We worked so hard to get here. I don’t just mean here.” She gestured vaguely to include the house, farm, the sheep, the dog, the deer. “I mean here. In this moment. Do you know what it takes to reach a dream? I mean, of course you do, because you did it, too; we did it together. But do you know how many people never get to do that? And now here I am, finally, with everything just the way I want it, and somebody has to come along and complicate things. It’s not fair.”
Bridget smiled kindly. “War isn’t fair,” she said. “Children who never call aren’t fair. Famine, poverty, politics, post-menopausal weight gain, wrinkles on your neck—those are not fair. This is just … interesting.”
Lindsay frowned. “You know what I mean. I like things the way they are. I don’t want them to change.”
“They’re changing already,” Cici pointed out. “Noah is going to college. Lori is getting married. Nothing will be the same after that.” Her tone fell a little as she gazed into her glass. “Nothing.”
Melancholy settled over the porch like the lavender shadows of the evening, sweet and gentle and cool to the touch.
“You’re right,” said Lindsay sadly. “Nothing stays the same.”
“Sometimes that’s a good thing,” Bridget said. “Remember, the reason we started the winery was because we wanted a change.”
“I guess it’s all a matter of how you look at it,” Cici said.
Lindsay tried to smile. “Adapt or die, huh?”
“It’s always better to adapt,” Bridget assured her.
Lindsay sighed. “It’s just that I was so happy.”
Bridget reached across and placed her hand gently atop Lindsay’s, and Cici smiled at her sympathetically. “We know,” she said.
~*~
CHAPTER TWELVE
Surprise
Lindsay leaned on the broom. Cici put down the nail gun. Both of them stepped back to assess what two days of labor had wrought.
Even with the back doors open, the sixteen by twenty section of barn that had been blocked off was dim and shadowy. There hadn’t been quite enough trellis panels to completely enclose the area, so they staggered them at odd intervals, hoping to give the impression of a garden wall. They hadn’t quite succeeded. The dime store grape leaves that Lindsay hoped to use as a backdrop for real lilac blossoms looked like a child’s craft project as they wound in and out of the trellis, and the Christmas lights that were tacked up everywhere looked … well, tacky.
They spent all morning building an L-shaped buffet table from sawhorses and plywood, and scavenged every spare table and chair from every storage area and unused room in the house to make six different dining tables. Bridget had gone to Family Hardware to purchase the burlap and lace that she was certain would transform the tables into charming vignettes. Meanwhile, The Tasting Table looked like nothing so much as a sad little display in the junk section of a public flea market.
“A few flowers, some candles,” Cici offered hopefully.
“The tablecloths will make a huge difference,” Lindsay added.
“After all, it’s just for practice,” Cici said. “It’s not like this is the real restaurant.”
Lindsay looked at her with a sigh. “This is never going to work, is it?”
&nb
sp; Cici looked at her in despair. “Lindsay, it smells like manure in here.”
“It’s right next to the goat house.”
“How can she not see it?”
“I think she sees it,” Lindsay said sadly. “She just doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Thirty people.” Cici’s voice held a note of despair. “The book club, the bank president, the chamber of commerce …”
“Shrimp,” Lindsay reminded her.
Cici groaned. “In two days.”
“Ladies, good morning.”
They both turned at the sound of the voice behind them—Lindsay with perhaps a bit more alacrity than Cici. Dominic stood for a moment, silhouetted in the sun-glare of the open doors, and then came inside, glancing around.
“You all planning on a yard sale?” he inquired.
Cici gave Lindsay a helpless “I told you so” look and turned back to Dominic. “No, Dominic,” she said wearily. “No yard sale. Just a project that didn’t work out. Did you need us for something?”
Dominic’s eyes were on Lindsay, who suddenly decided it was very important to finish up the sweeping. He said, “I just wanted to let you know that your license to sell came in. I’ve got the papers in my truck.”
Cici smiled gratefully. “We have got to get you an office.”
His gaze lingered on Lindsay just a half a moment longer, and then he smiled at Cici. “One of these days,” he answered easily. “Meanwhile, I’m going to walk down and look at the vines. “We haven’t had as much rain as I’d hoped and I want to make sure they’re not stressed. Do you want me to just leave the papers at the house?”
“That would be great,” Cici said. “Thanks, Dominic.”
