At Home on Ladybug Farm (35 page)

And Bridget added, “Okay, you’re right, maybe he does have a right to know his mother is alive, and maybe he does deserve to get to know her . . . but to send him away to live with her—under these circumstances—surely he’d be better off in foster care, even if it’s not with us.”

“That will have to be decided by the Department of Family and Children’s Services in Richmond. I’ll file a report with them, of course, and they will follow up . . .”

“And that could take months,” Cici said.

“Months,” repeated Lindsay. She stood. Her friends followed suit.

“Ladies,” Carrie said, coming around the desk. Her face was soft with genuine regret. “I know this doesn’t seem fair, and I am so sorry it happened. But there’s really nothing more we can do. I’ll talk to Mandy again, and maybe we can come up with some kind of support plan . . . but in the meantime, the kindest thing you can do for Noah is to prepare him for the news. We’ll be by to pick him up this afternoon.”

They were barely out the door before Lindsay snatched her phone out of her purse and flipped it open.

“What are you doing?” Cici said.

“Lawyers,” she responded crisply. She scrolled down her address book as she walked. “The whole damn world is run by lawyers. Well, I know a few lawyers and I’m not afraid to put them to work.” She pushed a button and clamped the phone to her ear.

Bridget said uncertainly, “Do you mean . . . take this to court?” She had to quicken her steps to keep up with Lindsay’s angry stride. “Can we do that?”

“Lawyers can do whatever they want.” She took the phone away from her ear, scowling, and redialed.

Cici said carefully, “That would be one way to go, I guess. Once a jury heard all the sordid details of his mother’s background—and there have got to be plenty, no matter what she’s done with her life now—they would never grant her custody of Noah. Of course, Noah would have to hear all the details, too.”

And Bridget added hesitantly, “These things take an awfully long time. She might not survive the trial.”

“Either way,” Cici added, “with no other living relatives, and without any real wrongdoing, I don’t think the court would intervene while the case is pending. Noah would still be living with her.”

Lindsay suddenly threw the telephone, hard, down on the sidewalk. “No service!” she exclaimed furiously. “God damn it!”

The other two stopped, startled, and Lindsay turned away from them. She drew a breath and pushed her hands through her hair. And in a moment she said, wearily, “I’m not going to take it to court, am I? I’m not going to torment this poor woman who only wants a chance to make things right, and I’m not going to humiliate a fifteen-year-old boy in a court of law and turn his last days with his mother into a nightmare, and I’m not going to file a complaint with Social Services in Richmond. I’m going to let him go.”

Bridget reached down and retrieved Lindsay’s phone. Cici slipped her arm around her waist. “Let’s go home,” she said.

20

Coming Home

Ida Mae was on a stepladder, using an extension pole brush to sweep cobwebs from the living room window casings, when they came in. “For heaven’s sake, Ida Mae, get down from there,” Bridget exclaimed, rushing toward her. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s about time somebody swept up these cobwebs is what I’m thinking.” But she did accept the assistance of Bridget’s hand on her elbow as she climbed stiffly down from the stepladder. “Looks like nobody lives here but ghosts. Time to take that chandelier down and wash it, too. You can’t hardly see for the dust.”

“Why don’t you get one of the kids to help you with that?”

Ida Mae sniffed derisively. “Oh, they always got plenty better to do.”

“I hope they’re not fooling around out at the barn,” Cici said. “I told them to stay away from there.”

“Little Miss Fancy-Pants ain’t come out of her room all day, and the boy took off right after you did.”

“That was over three hours ago.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

Lindsay looked sharply at Ida Mae. “What do you mean, ‘took off’? Where did he go?”

“He ain’t in the habit of telling me what his plans are, now is he? There’s soup on the stove for lunch, if you want it.” She started folding up the stepladder.

Cici went to the bottom of the stairs. “Lori!” A muffled reply came from behind a closed door, and she called, “Will you come down here please?”

While they waited for Lori to appear, the three women shared a worried look. “He’s probably just roaming around the woods somewhere,” Bridget said. “You know how he likes to go off by himself.”

“I should check the folly,” Lindsay said.

“Maybe he’s in the studio,” suggested Cici.

“No he’s not,” Ida Mae said, passing them with the clattering ladder. “He took off down the driveway with his backpack.”

Lindsay’s hand went to her throat.

Lori came down the stairs two at a time. “What’s up?”

“Do you know where Noah is?”

She seemed surprised. “I haven’t seen him since early this morning, Mom. Why? What’s he done now?”

“Did he say anything to you?” Lindsay demanded urgently. “Anything that might give you an idea . . .”

Ida Mae paused on her way to the pantry with the ladder and looked back curiously. “You don’t think that young’un has run off, do you?”

Sudden comprehension dawned on Lori’s face. “Oh no,” she said softly. “
That’s
what he meant.” She looked at her mother, her expression anxious and apologetic. “I wasn’t really paying attention. I would have tried to stop him if I’d known, honestly I would . . . but this morning, when he came to talk to me, I think he was trying to tell me good-bye.”

There was nothing but the sound of someone’s sharply indrawn breath, and for a moment no one moved. Then Cici said briskly, “Okay, first, let’s search the property, just to be sure. Lori, check all the outbuildings, and Lindsay, you check the folly. He wasn’t on the highway. We just came that way. I’ll start calling the neighbors. After all, he couldn’t have gone far. He doesn’t have any money.”

Lori said in distress, “Mom . . . he does.”

They all stared at her.

“He’s been saving these antique bottles and stuff that he found on the property,” Lori explained. “The other day I gave him a ride into town and he sold them to that fellow at the junk shop. I don’t know how much he got for them, but it was at least fifty dollars.”

Lindsay looked at Cici. “You can get a bus ticket to Charlottesville for that,” she said.

Bridget took up her car keys. “I’ll go,” she said.

Lindsay turned for the door as she did. “I’ll check with Reverend Holland.”

Cici said, “Lori—”

“I’ve just got to get my shoes.” She raced up the stairs.

Noah was not at the folly. He was not in the studio or the workshop or the cellar or the old winery under the barn. He was not in the sunroom with the baby chicks or wading in the stream with the dog or sitting in the sun on the rock in the woods behind the house where he sometimes liked to sit and sketch. The motorcycle was still in its shed, gas tank empty. But the extra ration of apples that had been left in Bambi’s pen was not a good sign.

The neighbors had not seen him, and neither had the Hollands. He had not, to the recollection of the ticket attendant at the bus station, been on the bus that had departed at eleven a.m., nor had he purchased a ticket for the one that was to leave at eleven p.m. Of course, if he had hitched a ride to Charlottesville, he might already be on a train.

They met back at the house, exhausted, distraught, and virtually out of ideas. They stood in the foyer, uncertain whether to continue the search by foot or by telephone, or to get back into their cars.

“Lori, did he say anything, anything at all that might give you an idea where he might be going?” Bridget insisted.

Lori shook her head helplessly. “We had a fight. It was a stupid fight. But we’re always fighting. Mom, I’m so sorry!”

Cici put her arm around her shoulders in a brief squeeze. “It’s not your fault, honey. No one thinks that.”

Lindsay said, “We should check the highway one more time. And one of us should go to Charlottesville, to start asking questions there. I’ve got some photographs of him in my digital camera. All I have to do is run them off on the computer—”

“We can’t do this by ourselves. We have to call the sheriff.”

Bridget nodded in agreement. “We should call Carrie.” She looked anxiously at her watch. “It’s almost three o’clock.”

“You don’t suppose he overheard something, do you?”

Lori drew a deep breath. “Mom,” she said, “there’s something I think you ought to know.”

And then, from behind them, Noah said, “What’re ya’ll looking for?”

With a cry, they rushed him. He was dusty and sweaty and his battered sneakers had left muddy footprints across the floor. Lindsay grabbed his shoulders and looked for a moment as though she would shake him, but embraced him instead. When she released him she had to turn away quickly and wipe the tears with both hands before he could notice.

Bridget took Lindsay’s place, hugging him. “Where have you been? You scared us to death!”

Lori said, “We’ve been looking everywhere!”

“Don’t you ever do anything like that again, do you hear me?” Cici demanded, as she pulled him away from Bridget and hugged him hard.

Noah looked embarrassed by all the attention, but, for the first time, also a little pleased. He shrugged away uncomfortably. “I had some stuff to take care of,” he said. “Didn’t mean to cause all this fuss.”

Lori stood with her hands on her hips, scowling at him. “Well, you did. What have you been up to, anyway? We thought you’d run away!”

He looked from her to the others, all of them gathered around looking anxious and relieved and waiting for him to say something. Ida Mae came in from the kitchen silently, sweeping up his muddy footprints, but even she had an obvious ear cocked toward the conversation. Noah shuffled his feet, looked at the ground. Then he looked from one to the other of them reluctantly. “I thought about it. Running away, I mean. Figured it would be for the best. But then I got to thinking, what kind of jerk would walk out on a bunch of women in trouble, all by yourselves like you are . . .” Just then, he flicked a quick glance toward Lori, who looked surprised. “So here.” He dug into his pocket and produced a roll of bills, which he presented to Lindsay. “Here’s what I owe you for the ticket, plus some extra. There’ll be more,” he promised. “But that’s all I could raise today.”

Lindsay took the money, regarding it as though it had sacred powers. She looked up at him in confusion. “But—how . . . ?”

“I sold some stuff,” he replied with a shrug. “That fancy iPod was nice, but I got too much to do to be fooling with it.” There was a small sound of protest from Bridget, but he went on. “And Jonesie gave me twenty-five dollars apiece for some of my paintings,” he added with an unmistakable note of pride. “He thinks he can sell them to tourists out of his store. He said that job of his is still open, too, but I’ve got to have your permission before he’ll hire me.” He was speaking faster now. “Two afternoons and a half day on Saturday, unloading trucks and stocking shelves. I turn sixteen in six months, and I can get a legal license, so getting back and forth to work won’t be a problem and I can keep up with my chores here and my schoolwork, too. And he said he’ll give me a discount on hardware—I had to talk him into that one, though—which I figure we’re gonna need, rebuilding the barn. It’s gonna take a while,” he admitted, “but I found a place that sells salvage lumber, and we should be able to get her back up again for a couple of thousand if we do all the work ourselves.”

Cici had her hand at her mouth and was blinking hard. Lindsay’s eyes were lowered; she was looking much too intently at the roll of money in her hand.

“No point in carrying on so,” Noah went on, but his brows drew together sharply to hide his distress, and it was with obvious determination that he added, “I figured it was only right I should pay for the barn since”—he squared his shoulders—“it was on the account of me that it burned down.”

All the women stared at him, but he did not flinch.

“I was smoking behind the barn,” he said. “I know I told you I wouldn’t and it was wrong, and I ain’t gonna do it again, and I’m gonna work until every last nail is paid for and that’s a promise. If you want me to, that is,” he added, and for the first time he let his anxiety show. “If you’ll let me stay.”

“Oh, Noah,” Bridget said fervently, “we want you to stay more than anything else in the world.”

“This is your home for as long as you want it,” Cici assured him. “That’s a promise.”

Lindsay, for a moment, didn’t seem to be able to say anything at all. She simply stared at the roll of bills clutched in her hand. At last she managed, “Noah, you didn’t start that fire. The fire marshal said it was overheated wiring.”