Vintage Ladybug Farm (10 page)

“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

C
ici 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.”

“We haven’t had a chance to do much cleaning down there,” Bridget cautioned.

And Cici added, “Be careful in those heels.”

“Oh dear,” worried Bridget, “I didn’t know the winery was going to be on the tour. We should have at least knocked down the spider webs.”

Jonathon chuckled. “I suspect the two young people just wanted to be alone. A few spider webs won’t even be noticed.” He turned to survey the view from the porch, dropping his arm lightly around his wife’s shoulders. “Look at that view. It’s like something out of a pastoral painting, complete with sheep.”

“They’re usually much cleaner,” Bridget volunteered, gazing uneasily at the huddled knot of ragged, muddy sheep, and the Clerys laughed.

“And is that the vineyard?” Jonathon asked.

“What’s left of it,” Cici said. “We’ll be replanting in the spring.”

Diane drew a soft breath of delight. “What a perfect backdrop for wedding photos! And that gazebo—it looks big enough for dancing.”

Jonathon turned to them with a broad and contented smile. “Ladies, I must confess my envy. You are living our dream.”

“Imagine that,” murmured Bridget, sotto voce, as Cici held open the front door and gestured the guests inside. “And they have a house in Maui.”

Cici grinned at her and gave her a covert thumbs-up; then the two of them hurried inside.

Diane stopped in front of the tall curving staircase, her gaze moving slowly from the antique drop-crystal chandelier to the stained-glass window on the landing. Jonathon moved around the foyer and gazed into the parlor with leisured appreciation, stopping to caress the hand carved molding around the double doors or to admire the Charleston windows along the front. Cici started to lead the way upstairs, but Diane gripped Cici’s hand tightly. Cici felt the cut of a two-carat diamond against her knuckles.

“Thank you,” murmured Diane fervently, “for talking Lori out of the beach wedding. This is how I’ve always pictured my son’s wedding. Exactly.”

Cici decided then and there that she could definitely grow to like Mark’s mother.

And then Diane added, “Now, I know you have everything all planned, so don’t let me interfere. My goodness, didn’t Lori tell me that you all do weddings professionally?”

“Oh no,” exclaimed Bridget and Cici together, and Cici added, “It was just one time, last year. We really don’t …”

“Oh, wonderful! Then you won’t mind my saying that I think a garden wedding in September—with your view of the vineyard—would be to die for! Of course, the weather is always a factor, but I couldn’t help notice as we drove up what a beautiful view of the mountains you have from the west, and there’s a little hill that would be perfect for the chuppah.”

“Actually,” Cici said, “that’s exactly where …” She stopped. “The chuppah?”

“I don’t know what you have in mind regarding size, but I want you to rest assured that we will
not
be crowding up the guest list with a lot of stuffy dignitaries. There is absolutely no one in the State House who owes us a favor or to whom we owe one—”

“Couldn’t be happier to have all that behind us,” added Jonathon.

“So we can easily keep the list down to family and friends. In fact, I just love what Chelsea and Marc did, which seems to me an almost perfect model of an interfaith marriage ceremony, don’t you think?”

“Chelsea,” repeated Cici, a little blankly. “Clinton? Chelsea Clinton?”

“In fact,” Diane went on happily, “I see absolutely no reason why Lori’s and our Mark’s wedding couldn’t be even lovelier. Our rabbi is wonderful about coordinating with other clergy, and we’ve already spoken with him, of course.”