A Year on Ladybug Farm #1 (40 page)

“You missed the best party ever,” Lindsay assured him.

“Go ahead, break my heart.”

“Bridget, you little minx, what we really called to talk about was the fruitcake.” Derrick’s voice now. “It was without a doubt the best thing—”

“Confection!” chimed in Paul.

“I’ve ever put in my mouth!”

“Ambrosia!” echoed Paul.

Bridget exchanged a lift of the eyebrows with the other ladies. “It has a reputation around here for being pretty good.”

“And don’t think for one moment we don’t know why. Didn’t you say it was marinated in a Blackwell Farms Shiraz?”

“That’s right.”

“My dears, Blackwell Farms was one of the chichi-est boutique wineries of the 1960s,” said Derrick, who was a self-confessed—and occasionally quite annoying—wine snob. “In fact some people said their Shiraz rivaled that of some of the oldest wineries in France. Did you know a bottle of 1967 Blackwell Farms Shiraz sold at auction last year for over eight thousand dollars?”

The breath went out of Lindsay’s lungs in a whoop. Bridget’s hand flew to her throat. Cici stared at the phone as though it were a living thing that might, at any moment, spring at her.

“Did you say,” Cici managed at last, “nineteen
sixty-seven
?”

And Lindsay choked, “Eight thousand
dollars
?”

“That’s right. We looked it up on the Internet last night before we lost power. Thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

Bridget whispered, “Oh my God!”

And Lindsay gasped, “Eight thousand dollars! A bottle!”

Cici stumbled out of the room, raced across the landing, and caught herself on the newel post before she tumbled headlong down the stairs. “Lori!” she screamed.
“Don’t open the wine!”

 

 

The house was silent; the guests—save two—were gone. Noah had accepted, albeit reluctantly, the hospitality of one of their guest rooms, and Lori had fallen asleep almost as soon as she had sat down on the newly dressed bed to take off her shoes. The faint glow of kerosene lanterns was all that illuminated the windows of Ladybug Farm, but overhead a brilliant half-moon bathed the furrowed snowbanks and flat white seas that surrounded it. The snow had stopped, and above the sky was awash with stars.

They stepped out onto the porch, bundled up in coats and scarves, to breathe the crisp night air and admire the moon. They each carried a glass of wine—not the Shiraz, which, thanks to Lori’s inability to find a corkscrew, was safely locked away on the top shelf of Cici’s wardrobe—but a nice California cabernet. From somewhere deep within the bowels of the house came the faint strains of the gramophone version of “Silent Night” as Ida Mae enjoyed her Christmas gift in the privacy of her own room.

Bridget said softly, “Some Christmas, huh?”

Lindsay repeated, wonderingly, “Eight thousand dollars.”

“Remember what Derrick said,” Cici cautioned. “Collectibles can be tricky. We shouldn’t start spending the money yet.”

“But still . . .”

“Yeah,” Cici sighed, sipping her wine and smiling into the night. “Still.”

“That Lori,” Bridget said, smiling across at Cici. “She’s really something, isn’t she?”

“And how about Ida Mae, going in my address book and calling her?”

“We’re going to have to keep our eyes on her,” Lindsay said. “She’s a little bit of a busybody.”

Bridget made a face at her. “You
think
?”

Cici chuckled, and the other two joined in. And then Lindsay said, “Good news about Noah. Reverend Holland says he thinks he can arrange a temporary guardianship as long as he lives here, and if it works out, I can set up homeschooling. I think the reason he never wanted to go back to school was because he was so far behind, and embarrassed to be in class with the little kids.”

Cici shook her head, grinning. “Imagine, raising a teenager at your age.”

“Not exactly raising him,” Lindsay said defensively. “Just—helping him out. Besides, he knows he’s here on the we’ll-see plan. It might not work out at all.”

“It’ll work out,” Bridget said contentedly. “He’s a good kid. And you have your classroom back.”

Lindsay smiled and sipped her wine. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“All those people, coming in the snow,” Cici said after a time. “Can you believe it?”

“I still don’t know half their names.”

“You will,” Bridget said contentedly, “before long. After all, they’re our people now.”

“What a day,” said Lindsay.

“What a year,” agreed Bridget.

Cici raised her glass to them. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

They touched glasses. “And a very happy New Year.”

And so it was.