At Home on Ladybug Farm (28 page)

“I got stuff to do. Them chickens’ll smother in the boxes.”

“In the first place, you know perfectly well the correct term is
those
chickens, and you only embarrass yourself and all of us when you talk like a hick.”

He scowled at her. “I’ll talk whatever way I want to.”

“It makes it look like Aunt Lindsay doesn’t teach you anything.”

“You’re nothing but a big-mouth girl. You don’t know jack.”

Lori noticed with satisfaction that he avoided the double negative with no noticeable effort. “In the second place, the chickens are not going to smother because there are holes in the boxes and Jonesie said they’d be okay in there all day if they had to be.” She plugged the cord into the outlet. “And in the third place, I would have been to town and back already except everybody left in such a hurry this morning they forgot to leave me a car key. Why do you keep following me around?”

“How about you give me a ride to town when you go?”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Why should I?”

He thought about that for a moment. “Maybe because you’re gonna need some help loading all them cement bags in the car.”

“What cement?”

“The cement you need to patch the bottom of the pond before you try to fill it with water again. And the cement it’s gonna take to fill in the cracks and holes in the patio all around it.”

Her brows drew together, but the expression was more one of uneasiness than annoyance. “That’s not a patio. It’s a path.”

“Whatever.”

She glanced up at him as she plugged the extension cord into the outlet on the side of the house. “What do you want to go to town for, anyway?”

“There’s a fellow there, buys old glass and junk.”

“Do you mean the antique store at the edge of town? Are you still trying to sell those glass bottles?”

“I found them didn’t I?”

“Well, he’ll recognize the pictures of the house if you try to sell Aunt Lindsay’s photographic plates, and the first person he’ll call to buy them is her.”

He scowled. “I ain’t selling anything that’s not mine. She said I could borrow them to draw from and I gave them back. And if you say different I’ll call you a liar.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s the way to get a ride into town.” She started back toward the pond.

“How come you’re going to so much trouble to get this thing running again, anyway?”

For a moment it seemed she wouldn’t answer. And then she said, with a nonchalance in her tone that wasn’t entirely convincing, “Mostly because nobody thinks I can.”

“I can help.”

She gave him a disparaging look. “I don’t need your help, thank you.”

“Oh yeah? What do you know about mixing cement?”

Frowning, Lori traced the orange cord back to the pond, and to the pump that was waiting there. “I don’t have any cement.”

“Maybe you could trade the chickens for some. And another thing. You’re going to want to—”

She plugged in the pump and jumped back as a geyser of filthy water shot six feet in the air. She stood watching in dismay as Noah finished, “Hook up a garden hose to that pump before you plug it in.”

Lori ducked down and jerked the plug out of the extension cord as she watched the geyser sink, and then disappear. She sat back on her heels, eyeing Noah suspiciously. “Why do you want to help?”

He shrugged, hands in pockets. “Clear to see you can’t do it by yourself. Besides . . .” His eyes shifted away from hers. “I ain’t gonna be here that much longer. It’d be kind of nice to think there was something around here that I’d done. Something that’d be here for a while.”

Lori regarded him skeptically. “Oh yeah? So where are you going now?”

“Don’t matter. Maybe wherever the social worker sends me. Maybe somewheres else. But they ain’t gonna let me stay here.”

“They would if you asked them to.”

He gave a derisive snort. “Shows what you know. Nobody gives a damn what I have to say.”

“You’re such an idiot. Haven’t you ever heard the phrase ‘in the best interest of the child’? You hear it all the time on Court TV. That means the only thing the social workers are supposed to care about is what you have to say. If you’d just stand up straight, and be polite, and stop saying ‘ain’t,’ and tell them where you want to live, they’d have to listen to you.”

He scowled at her. “That’s crazy.”

“It’s true.”

The scowl deepened. “You want me to help you build this thing or not?”

She squinted up at him, the sun in her eyes. “You’re just a kid. You’ll screw it up.”

“You’re just a girl. You’ll screw it up worse.”

Her eyes narrowed further. “I’m the one with the Am-Ex card.”

“Yeah, well.” He rocked back on his heels. “I can make it look like the picture.”

She studied him for a time. “Can you really?”

“I drew it, didn’t I?”

She thought about it another minute, and then stood, brushing off her hands. “Okay, you can help,” she decided. “But I’m in charge. Is that clear?”

“Sure.” He grinned. “Now, how is it you mix cement again?”

She glared at him. “Just shut up and get the garden hose.”

Carrie explained earnestly, “It’s really not so hard to understand how something like this might have happened, although I’m awfully sorry it did. Noah and his father only moved here ten years or so ago, and he told everyone his wife was dead. We had no reason to suspect otherwise. And Noah never really came into the system formally—through proper channels, I mean. When his dad died last winter, you ladies were kind enough to take him in, and the Reverend Holland asked us to expedite the paperwork, so . . .” She spread her hands helplessly and leaned back in her chair. “We did. It’s not an excuse, and I suppose the fault does lie with this office to a certain extent, but this is a small town and it’s not the first time we’ve cut through a little red tape for the well-being of a child.”

Cici said, “We’re not blaming anyone. It’s just . . .” She gave a shake of her head, as though trying to clear a fog. “How can his mother be
alive
?”

“Are you sure you have the right woman?”

Lindsay just looked stunned.

Carrie smiled sympathetically. “We’re sure. The state office has been working on this, and they were finally able to contact her last week. I really don’t know the details, but it’s definitely the right woman.”

She sorted through some papers on her desk until she came up with the right one, then slipped on a pair of black-framed glasses. “According to our records, Noah Clete was born in Charlottesville to Amanda and Robert Clete. Shortly after his birth, the mother, Amanda, left her husband. The child lived with his maternal grandmother until her death four years later. That was when Robert Clete moved with Noah to this county. He worked as a handyman off and on and . . . well, you know the rest.”

Lindsay nodded slowly. “His father was an alcoholic whose only contact with Noah was to beat him. He couldn’t be bothered to make sure he went to school or had warm clothes or regular meals. He—”

Bridget laid a quieting hand atop Lindsay’s. “I don’t understand,” she said firmly, “why no one tried to find his mother—or even knew about her—until now.”

Cici, who had opened her mouth to speak, closed it again and gave Bridget an approving nod.

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it?” Carrie replied apologetically. “No one knew about her. No abandonment charges were ever filed, there was no child support to pursue, no reason for the state to get involved . . . and when the grandmother died, the child went back to live with his father, which was, for all intents and purposes, as it should have been.” She removed the glasses. “Noah was so young when they moved here I doubt he would have even known where he was from if we had interviewed him. And I’m sure he believes his mother died when he was a baby, just like everyone else did.”

“And the mother?” demanded Cici. “What’s her excuse? She’s been living in Richmond all this time and she never once thought to inquire about her son?”

“Apparently,” Carrie said, “when the grandmother died and Robert took over custody, he moved around a good bit before he settled here. She simply lost track. She looked for Noah, but she couldn’t find him.” She glanced again at her notes. “She’s only been in Richmond a few years. She’s a resident counselor at a privately owned halfway house for recovering substance abusers.”

Lindsay blew out a long slow breath. “Wow,” she said. And again, “Wow.” The expression on her face was reminiscent of someone who had just run into a plate glass window. “What do you know about that?” she said. “Noah ends up with a mother after all—even if it’s not me. Things sure have a way of working themselves out.” Then she looked back at Carrie. “I guess someone should tell him.”

Carrie held up a staying hand. “I wish you’d hold off on that for a day or two. Amanda, his mother, will be here Wednesday, and I thought the best thing to do would be for all of us to meet, and try to figure out the best way to explain things to Noah. This will be a shock, and he’s bound to have questions. It might be best if his mother was actually here to answer them.”

Lindsay released another breath, which seemed almost to deflate her. She sagged a little in her chair, and there were lines around her mouth and her eyes that had not been there when she walked into the office. “Do you, um, do you think she’ll want to take him back with her on Wednesday? That’s not a lot of time to, well, prepare.”

“I think we can come up with a better plan than that,” Carrie said gently. “I haven’t actually spoken to the woman, you know, but I’m sure she’ll understand it will take Noah a little time to adjust to the news. There’s no need to have his things packed until after we’ve all talked.”

And that was it. They agreed to come back to the office on Wednesday morning at nine. They agreed that nothing would be said to Noah about his change in circumstances. They gathered up their things, they murmured thanks, they left the office. And no one said much of anything on the way home.

16

Making Adjustments

Although lunch was usually an informal affair, with everyone grabbing whatever they could whenever they had time to eat it, Ida Mae was a little stricter with the young people’s diets. Promptly at noon she called Noah and Lori in to feast on ham sandwiches made from thick homemade bread, with deviled eggs and bread-and-butter pickles on the side.

“I love the week after Easter,” Lori declared, letting the screen door bang behind her. “Ham sandwiches every day!”

“Take off those muddy boots before you come tramping through my kitchen,” Ida Mae told her, casting a critical eye over the rest of her outfit. “Those overalls don’t look fit to bring to the table, either.” She raised her voice as Noah appeared at the door. “If you bang that door again, young man, I’ll take a strip out of your hide.”

Lori kicked off her boots and left them by the door as Noah closed the screen door with exaggerated care. “I’ll change after lunch,” she told Ida Mae. “I have to go into town as soon as Mom gets back with the car keys.”

Ida Mae grumbled about people running hither and yon, wasting time and gasoline, as Lori slid into her place and took a bite out of her sandwich. “Isn’t there anything to drink besides milk?” Noah complained. “I hate milk.”

“You’ll drink it and be grateful for it,” Ida Mae returned. “Did you wash your hands?”

“Outside,” he assured her around a mouthful of sandwich.

Ignoring them, Lori reached for the book that had been lying on the table and flipped it open. “Say, there’s some stuff in here about Blackwell Farms. That’s what this place used to be called!”

Ida Mae set her own plate on the table, and lowered herself into a chair. “Does your mama allow you to read at the table?”

“Only at lunch,” murmured Lori absently, turning pages. “Look!” She held up the book, open to a photograph, and turned it to each of them. “A picture of this house, way back in the sixties. We’re famous!”

Neither one of them seemed very interested, and Lori returned to her reading. “It says here they used to make cheese in that very dairy where Aunt Lindsay has her art studio, and they aged it in caves. Imagine that! I didn’t know there were any caves around here.”

Noah gave a derisive snort. “Everybody knows about the tourist caves down the road. Where’re you from, anyhow?”

Lori looked at him, uncomprehending, for a moment, and then made a dismissive face. “Oh, you must mean the Luray Caverns. I don’t think the Blackwells aged cheese there. Where did they age the cheese, Ida Mae? It would have to be on this property somewhere, wouldn’t it?”

Ida Mae, chewing, didn’t reply.

“Well, I guess it makes sense though,” Lori commented, mostly to herself, as she turned back to the book. “Where there are caverns, there’d have to be caves.”

“Soldiers stored ammunition there during the Civil War,” Ida Mae said.