Vintage Ladybug Farm

by Donna Ball

  The painting was a trompe l’oeil depiction of Ladybug Farm as seen through two swagged black velvet curtains: the sweep of lawn, the stately house, the sheep meadow, the rose garden, the vineyard in the distance, the barn and the gravel drive that curved toward the winery with its wooden sign: Ladybug Farm Winery. And if one looked very closely, a faint cloud formation in the eastern corner bore a very distinct resemblance to a feathery flying horse.

  Bridget approached it with her hands pressed to her cheeks, her eyes wide and glistening, unable, for a moment, to even speak. Cici beamed at Lindsay. Dominic dropped a hand lightly on Lindsay’s shoulder, and Noah nudged her affectionately with his elbow, grinning. Lindsay impatiently struck a tear from her eye, not wanting to miss a moment.

  “It’s …” Bridget finally managed. She half turned to them, choked on an exclamation that was part laugh and part sob, then whirled back. “Oh, look!” she cried, stretching out a hand. “There’s Rebel under the porch.”

  “I painted him in,” Noah said. “Bambi, too, over there by the barn.”

  “We’ve been working on the panels all winter,” Lindsay admitted, trying to sound casual. The glow of pleasure on her face betrayed her. “I was going to surprise you and move them in to the barn when you got your restaurant set up there, but as it turns out …” she shrugged, “This was a better place.”

  Bridget turned back to them, one hand still shielding her trembling lips, her face flushed and her eyes full. “You … these last couple of days … you did all this? For me?”

  “Dominic and Noah helped move all the art stuff to the loft,” Lindsay replied, casting a quick grateful smile from one to the other of them, “and they helped Cici build the table.”

  “What luck Family Hardware had sixteen matching chairs out in their storehouse,” Cici put in. “They’re just plain pine, but they look nice painted like that, don’t they?”

  “I can’t believe we were able to sneak them in here without you noticing,” Dominic added. “Didn’t you hear Farley’s truck yesterday morning?”

  “And the dishes,” Noah said. “Don’t forget the dishes.”

  “I saw them in Staunton when I was Christmas shopping,” Cici said, “so I called the shop and luckily they still had two sets. I had them keep the store open last night while Noah drove in to get them. Of course, we’ll order a lot more.”

  “And I had all those glass bottles in the attic,” Noah added. “You know, picked up here and there around the place while we were planting stuff. Some of them are real antiques.”

  “And see? We brought in some of the other artifacts from the house and the old barn to use as art.” Lindsay gazed around proudly at the polished-steel dairy cans that held fresh daffodils, the age-darkened chicken crate mounted on the wall, the horse collar that framed a mirror. “I know it’s not finished, but we were running out of time. And it does look a little like a real restaurant, doesn’t it?”

  Bridget said, still struggling to get the words out, “It looks … it looks perfect! But Lindsay, your art studio.” She looked at her helplessly. “You can’t do this. Did Lori talk to you? I told her not to. This is your studio!”

  Lindsay looked momentarily confused. “I think it was Ida Mae who first mentioned the idea to me,” she said, “but I didn’t give it much thought until I saw the barn. Bridget, really, what worked fifty years ago simply will not fly today.” She looked at Dominic for reassurance, and he nodded.

  “The entire setup of the farm was different back then,” he said. “It was practical to have the tasting room upstairs because it was unused space. But now you’re using it for a different purpose. There’s no sense in trying to make something work for you just because it worked for someone else.”

  “Seriously, Bridge, the expense of converting the barn would be enormous,” Cici said.

  “Not to mention the smell,” added Noah.

  Lindsay said, “And this place already has good lighting, a new electrical box, heating, plumbing, and a real bathroom with another one roughed in. And did you see the serving area Cici walled off for you? Right there by the sinks so you can do prep and clean up and with six—count them, six!—electrical outlets.”

  Dominic cleared his throat. “Farley did the wiring,” he pointed out. “You might want to have it checked by a licensed electrician.”

  Bridget looked from one to the other of them, brimming with hope and despair. “But, Lindsay, it’s your studio! It’s your dream. Where will you paint? Where will you have your classes?”

  She shrugged it off cavalierly. “So now I have a better dream. My classes are down to practically nothing, and I never needed this much room for myself. The important thing is now I have a place to sell my paintings—with actual people coming through here to look at them. I can always paint upstairs in the loft when you’re not using the downstairs, right? The light is better up there anyway.”

  Bridget ran to her and embraced her in a hug so fierce it almost knocked her down. Lindsay was laughing; Bridget was crying. “I love you!” she cried. “Thank you!”

  She turned her embrace on Noah, and then on Cici, and then on Dominic. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” She stepped back and wiped her damp face with both hands. “You’re the best friends in all the history of friends. I don’t deserve this.”

  “Maybe not,” replied Cici with a grin, “but we wanted to do it anyway.”

  Lindsay draped her arm around Bridget’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. “Because we love you, too.”

  Cici caught her hand. “Come here, let me show you where I thought you could set up your buffet station.”

  Noah hurried after them. “Did you see the grape leaves I painted on the doors?”

  Dominic, smiling, watched them for another moment, and then he turned and quietly left the building.

  ~*~

  Paul looked around the entrance of the B&B, with its polished plank floors and country-bright décor, and observed, “I may be taking a risk here, but at first glance it doesn’t look a thing like the Bates Motel. Always a good sign.”

  Derrick called out, “Hello?” His voice echoed.

  Paul opened the door to a small, cluttered room marked “Office” and found it empty. Derrick looked around until he spotted a painting of a deer and another of a basket of wildflowers, each on opposite walls. “Aha,” he said, going over to them. “Noah and Lindsay Wright. I would know their work anywhere, however badly displayed. And I don’t see price cards on either one of them. Very bad marketing.”

  “If it were me,” Paul said, “I’d turn this entire area into a gallery wall, get some proper lighting in here …”

  “Lose the quilts and the tchotchkes.” Derrick bent to peer inside an old-fashioned glass-fronted hutch. “Really? Miniature teapots?”

  “Tell me that’s not a wallpaper border,” said Paul, looking up toward the ceiling.

  “I like the chandelier, though,” said Derrick. “Painted antlers. Just retro enough to be amusing.”

  Paul went over to a pink birdcage displayed on an ornamented pedestal and lifted an eyebrow. “Someone has a sense of humor.”

  “Now this room is not bad.” They left their luggage behind and wandered into the sitting room adjacent to the entrance. There was a tall stacked-stone fireplace and French doors leading out onto a stone patio and a walled garden just coming into bloom.

  “I could do without the velvet settee,” suggested Derrick.

  “And I would so paint that ceiling white,” said Paul, craning his head backwards, “beams and all. That dark wood just brings the whole thing crashing down.”

  They made their way through the house, randomly opening doors and critiquing choices, occasionally fluffing a pillow or rearranging a candy dish, and pronouncing it on the whole acceptable. In the room that had been assigned to them there was a decanter of sherry and two glasses, which was a nice touch, and in the big, granite-and-steel kitchen there was a covered platter of chocolate chip cookies. They helped th
emselves to both and returned to the front room.

  “We should call the girls,” said Paul.

  “Maybe they’ll invite us to dinner.”

  “You’re right. It might sound a bit needy to call them before dinner.”

  “We could drive out and look at the house site.”

  “And leave this place unlocked?”

  “It was unlocked when we got here,” Derrick reminded him.

  “But it didn’t have any of our possessions in it.”

  “Good point.”

  They spent a moment sipping sherry and contemplating the dilemma. Then Paul said, “Dinner on the terrace?”

  “I saw some camembert and eggs in the refrigerator.”

  “And fresh spinach for a salad.”

  “We could open the bottle of Malbec we brought.”

  “I’ll get the candles,” Derrick said.

  “I’ll start the omelet,” said Paul.

  Later, they lingered in the garden over wine and the dying candles, watching the dart and dive of the hummingbirds from a safe distance, until the garden disappeared into shadows. The stars appeared, one by one, like distant fireflies behind the gossamer veil of twilight, and they agreed that the evening was one of the nicest surprises they’d had in a long time.

  ~*~

  Evening shadows were deep upon the porch when the three women finally settled into their chairs, muscles aching, thoughts peaceful. The sound of Farley’s tractor working in the vineyard had gone on long past suppertime, but now was quiet. They sat and watched the pink paint the sky, sipping cabernet, and Bridget said softly, “Is this the most beautiful sunset ever?”

  A bright blue indigo stopped by the bird feeder, looked at them alertly, then helped himself to dinner and whisked away. Cici said, “Lori picked her bridesmaids.”

  Lindsay looked at her in surprise. “Cool. Who are they?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Paul called from the B&B,” Bridget said. “They’re all settled in.”

  “I thought they were driving down tomorrow.”

  “Change of plans.”

  “Hmm,” said Lindsay, rocking and sipping thoughtfully.

  In the distance, they heard the sound of Dominic’s truck engine starting and saw the flash of his headlights behind the winery. Rebel gave an obligatory bark or two, then lost interest.

  “I do believe that dog is getting tame,” observed Cici. “I’m not sure I can get used to that.”

  “You can get used to anything,” argued Bridget placidly, “if you live long enough.”

  They all watched as the truck rounded the curved gravel drive and slowed in front of the porch. Dominic waved at them through his open window.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said. “Rest well! A big today tomorrow, eh?”

  Bridget said, “We were just having a glass of wine to celebrate our big day. Won’t you join us, Dominic?”

  He glanced at Lindsay, but almost before he did, she said, clearly, “Yes, won’t you join us?”

  He turned off the engine. Cici poured wine into a fourth glass. He smiled as he opened the door.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I believe I will.”

  He came up the steps and took the chair that was waiting for him.

  ~*~

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Blessings

  “It serves you right, if you ask me,” Cici observed archly. She sipped her wine and gazed out over the festivities, pretending to be unimpressed by Derrick’s story of their night at the B&B. “You choose to move in with strangers when we have a perfectly good guest room going completely unused …”

  Derrick cast his eyes to the heavens. “I knew you would be mad. I knew they would be mad,” he told Paul, who dropped an arm around Cici’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Darling, you know we’d never take advantage of you like that,” he assured her earnestly. “Not when we’re counting on every ounce of your goodwill to help us put our house together when it finally is finished. Why, hanging the draperies alone will put us so far in your debt we’ll have to have you over for dinner every night for the rest of the year to pay it off.”

  Cici looked at him skeptically, then relented with subdued reluctance. “Well, as long as there’s dinner involved …”

  The mint-green lawn was awash in early afternoon sunshine and dotted with the pastel colors of all their guests. Some wore their Sunday best (“I’ve never been to a vine blessing before,” declared Maggie Woodall of Woodall Realty, clutching to her head a wide-brimmed flowered hat that wouldn’t have looked out of place at the Kentucky Derby. “Am I overdressed?”) and others were in shirt-sleeves and jeans. Lori floated about in a flowered chiffon maxi-dress with ribbons in her hair, looking like a fairytale princess—sans Prince Charming, as it turned out, who was tied up with “some app or something for work,” as Lori explained vaguely. Everyone exclaimed over The Tasting Table, where Bridget, who wanted to conduct a Grand Reveal, had finally been persuaded to set up the bar. Dominic and Lori took turns pouring the wine, while Noah collected and washed the empty glasses. He was by now resigned to the fact that, no matter what the occasion, he would sooner or later end up bussing tables. And Bridget was paying him fifty cents a glass.

  “At any rate,” Derrick concluded, “it all worked out well. Our hostess returned in time to make apple pancakes for breakfast …”

  “Exquisite,” added Paul, kissing his fingers to the air.

  “And she couldn’t have been sweeter. She refused to charge us for the night—”

  “Although, of course, there will be a little something extra under the pillow when we leave.”

  “And insisted on making a casserole for us to heat up for dinner tonight before she left, even though dinner isn’t included in the price.”

  “She left again?” Cici said.

  “Her daughter had triplets,” Paul explained. “That was the emergency.”

  “Ah,” said Cici. “How long will you be there? How is the progress on the house?”

  Paul and Derrick exchanged a glance. “Actually, we wanted to talk to you about that,” Paul said. “Doesn’t ‘dried in’ mean under a roof?”

  Cici’s eyes widened. “Do you mean you’re not even dried in yet?”

  “Not entirely,” Derrick admitted. “We do have walls.”

  “Of a sort,” corrected Paul. “More like a skeleton of walls.”

  “And floors.”

  “Here and there.”

  “To be fair,” Derrick said, “we didn’t have a lot of time to look around this morning. It was awfully muddy, and we were wearing Italian loafers.”

  “What did your contractor say?” Cici asked.

  “There wasn’t actually anyone there this morning, but when we talked to him last month, he assured us everything goes much faster once they get the roof on.”

  Paul tried to look hopeful. “You know about these things, Cici. Do you think it will be finished in time for Lori’s engagement party?”

  Cici said carefully, “Well, that depends.”

  The engaged person in question flitted by just then, greeted both men with a quick kiss, and turned to her mother. “Have you seen Aunt Bridget? I’m supposed to find out how much longer before the blessing and whether or not we should open more wine. Personally, I think we should save the good stuff for after the blessing, but Dominic says …”

  Paul held up his glass, surprised. “This isn’t the good stuff?”

  Derrick tasted his wine again, more carefully this time.

  Cici drew a breath to answer her daughter and then turned back to Paul, frowning. “We haven’t had rain all week. Why would it be muddy?”

  “Oh, there she is!”

  Bridget was coming toward them, managing to look at once both charming and authoritative in a white pantsuit with a flirty red polka-dot scarf at the throat. She also looked, at the moment, a little concerned.

  Lori said, “Aunt Bridget, how much longer until the cere
mony? I don’t think we should open more wine until you put the food out, do you?”

  Bridget said, “It’s past two. I told everyone the ceremony would be at two. I’ve already started warming the pizzas.” She looked around anxiously. “Is he here yet?”

  For a moment, Paul, who was still focused on Cici’s question about the mud, looked blank. And then he said, casting a quick glance through the crowd. “Oh, Father Mike. Don’t worry. He must have run into a patch of traffic. He’s very reliable, and he has directions.”

  “And GPS,” added Derrick.

  “I’m sure he would’ve called if he was going to be more than a few minutes late,” Paul said.

  Derrick glanced at him. “Is your phone on?”

  “Of course.” But Paul took it out to check.

  Bridget stared at him. “You gave him your cell phone number?”

  “No cell service,” Lori reminded him sympathetically.

  “Sometimes we have cell service,” Cici protested.

  Lori made a face. “When the moon is full and Venus is retrograde in Scorpio. That’s why Mark couldn’t come today—he can’t get anything done without his phone.”

  Paul said, trying not to look worried, “Maybe I’d better make a call on the land line.”

  Bridget hurried away with him, and Lori said, “I’ll tell Dominic to hold up on opening more wine.”

  Derrick took Cici’s arm and turned to walk toward the vineyard. “Tell me,” he invited, “more about this drying-in stage.”

  ~*~

  When Lori entered The Tasting Room, there was no one there but Lindsay and Dominic, and they stood with their heads close together, his hand lightly cupping her hair. Lori couldn’t help noticing that Lindsay was dressed for the occasion in a strapless print sundress, with a nipped-in waist and a flowing skirt that flirted with her knees, and cute strappy sandals with two-inch heels. She even curled her hair, which she almost never did.

  Lindsay stepped away immediately when she heard Lori, of course, and took a sip of her wine, her expression completely neutral. Dominic just smiled.