Vintage Ladybug Farm

~*~

~ONE~

Dreams

and

Schemes

~*~

CHAPTER ONE

Resolutions

O
n the last night of the old year
,
the house stood as it had for a hundred twenty years, nestled in the shadow of the mountains of the Shenandoah Valley, smoke drifting from its chimney tops, golden light spilling from its windows.
A steady rain washed the faded brick clean, glistening on the clay tiles of its mansard roof and gurgling in the copper gutters.
The stately wraparound porch with its white columns and wide front steps was as welcoming on this wet December
night as it had been in the full bloom of a blowsy summer day when fern baskets swayed from the eaves and a pitcher of lemonade sweated on the white wicker table that sat between the rocking chairs.

Only yesterday the windows had been decorated with lighted Christmas wreaths and the columns draped with garland, but as every
one
knew—at least, according to Ida Mae Simpson, who had kept the old house and all of its occupants in order for close to fifty years—it was bad luck to have the Christmas tree up on the first day of the New Year.
So, in a frenzy of activity that had been repeated every New Year’s Eve since they lived there and yet still never failed to take the current occupants by surprise, every member of the household spent the afternoon skimming ornaments off the tree, whipping down red bows and gold angels, lugging boxes back up to the attic
,
and dragging crisp greenery through the rain out to the compost pile.

Of course, that was before they realized they were giving a New Year’s Eve party.

This had come as very little surprise to Ida Mae, who just gave a contemptuous sniff and shuffled back to the kitchen, where she proceeded to put together a batch of her prize-winning homemade cheese straws, as though she didn’t have enough to do.
It seemed to her that those city women (as she still called them in her mind
,
even though she
’
d grown quite tolerable of them over the past few years) never were much for planning ahead.
If they had thought about it for even a minute, for example, they
never
would have walked away from their fancy Baltimore houses and sunk their life savings into this old place—which had surely been a beauty in her time, but it was clear to anybody with half a brain they
’
d bitten off more than they could chew when they decided to give up their city ways and turn the place into what they now called “Ladybug Farm
.
”
What did they know about sheep?
Or grapes, for that matter?
Or tending sixteen acres of fruit trees, vegetable gardens, flower gardens, outbuildings, berry bushes, and even chicken
s
and goats?

On the other hand, Ida Mae had to admit they
’
d earned her respect over time.
Cici—that was the smart one—could handle a hammer and saw as well as any man, and the redhead, Lindsay, sure had a green thumb, and that was no lie.
Bridget, who Ida Mae like
d
to call “Miss Priss” because she could be a tad on the bossy side, was a pretty fair cook if you liked fancy food, and though they
’d
had a tiff or two in the course of things, they
’
d finally come to an uneasy agreement as to who was in charge of the house (it was Ida Mae, of course).

If the truth were told—and Ida Mae, being a good Christian woman, liked to tell the truth whenever possible—those women hadn’t done a half-bad job, all things considered, when they moved in and started to put the shine back on the place. The old house had really started to feel young again when Cici’s college-aged daughter,
Lori,
had moved back home from California.
And when Lindsay, the redhead, had gone crazy and decided to adopt the county vagrant Noah
,
even though he was fifteen years old and practically a grown man, Ida Mae locked herself in the pantry and cried for twenty minutes
,
and that was the God’s honest truth.
Because she still knew some things those women didn’t.
And she still prayed for Noah, morning and night, every day of her life.

The thing she didn’t understand and could ne
ver quite reconcile in her mind
was what had ever taken hold of them in the first place and persuaded them to move way out here in God’s country to live together in the first place.
They weren’t even related, for heaven’s sake.
Three women, and not a husband among them, taking on a big old house and trying to turn it into a working farm.
What were they thinking?

Of course, trying to figure that out was one of the things that kept Ida Mae around.

~*~

The call had come at three
thirty in the afternoon, just as the
final
box
was
shoved into the attic—tangled lights to be sorted out next year—and the last Christmas candle had been wrapped in newspaper and put away in the cellar.
Cici came into the parlor, where Bridget was running a dust cloth over the mantle and Lindsay was sweeping up the last of the pine needles into the dustpan that Noah held.
Ida Mae polished the staircase just outside the room.

“That was Paul,” Cici said, looking puzzled. “He and Derrick are on their way down.
They’re
bringing champagne.”

Bridget said, “As in, party?”

Cici shrugged.
“Paul said we should see the
N
ew
Y
ear in together.”

Lindsay stopped sweeping.
“But they just left.
I mean, we had the big Christmas party.
I thought we’d have a quiet New Year’s Eve.”

“I’ve got that church thing tonight,” Noah spoke up quickly.
He knew from experience how out of hand the ladies’ parties could get.

Cici looked skeptical.
“What church thing?”

“You know,” Bridget volunteered, “that lock-down thing.”

“Lock out,” Lindsay corrected.

“Lock
in
,” Noah said patiently.
“And I promised Amy I’d help with the little kids.”

A look passed between the three women that said without saying,
Amy?

Lindsay said, “I’ll give Paul and Derrick your regrets.”

Noah looked cautiously hopeful.
“Does that mean I can
borrow your car?
”

“As soon as you sweep the porch.”

“
‘The laborer is worthy of his reward,’” he declared cheerfully as h
e grabbed the broom from Lindsay
. “First Timothy 5:18.” He
made a quick job of sweeping the last of the pine needles into the dustpan and rushed to the porch.

Bridget stared after him. “Since when does Noah quote scripture?”

Lindsay shrugged. “Since some church contest about memorizing a verse a day. I think there’s a pony at the end.”

“Rodeo tickets,” Cici corrected. “Two tickets to the Sherriff’s rodeo in May to the boy or girl who can quote the most verses at the end of thirty days.”

“Wow. Noah must really like the rodeo.”

“He really likes Amy,” Lindsay said.

Cici raised an eyebrow.
“So it’s Amy now?”

Lindsay shrugged.
“Apparently they got to know each other painting scenery for the Christmas pageant.”

“At least she’s the pastor’s daughter,” Bridget offered.

Cici said, “The pastor’s going to be there, right?”

“Right
.
”
Lindsay hesitated.
“I think.”
She frowned a little.
“Guess I’d better make a call.”

While Lindsay moved toward the kitchen and the nearest phone, Bridget said, “I suppose we could make crepes.”

Cici
lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
“Oh, that sounds easy.”

“Well, it is New Year’s Eve, and we have all that shrimp and lobster left from the Christmas party and
… oh!” Bridget’s eyes lit up.
“Ida Mae can make cheese straws
.
I just need to make sure we have enough cheddar.”

She thrust the dust
cloth
into Cici’s hand
and moved quickly toward the kitchen, passing Lindsay
,
who was on her way out.

“Totally supervised, plenty of chaperones,” Lindsay said, looking relieved
.
“
J
ust like I thought.
They’re having a midnight bonfire with s’mores,” she added a little wistfully.
“Do you remember doing things like that when you were a girl?”

“No
,
” Cici said
. “How are they going to have a bonfire with all this rain?”

Lindsay drew a breath to reply, realized she didn’t know the answer, and started back toward the telephone. Cici stopped her with a wave of her hand. “They’ll figure it out.”

She
cast a critical eye around the suddenly barren
-
looking parlor.
The elegant mantle, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the carved plaster moldings all looked suddenly bleak without their Christmas finery.
“What do you suppose Derrick and Paul want to come all the
way
back out here for on New Year’s Eve?
It’s not like they don’t have plenty of options in DC.” And now it was
Cici’s
turn to look wistful.
“Remember when we used to get all dressed up and go into Washington for New Year’s Eve?
We’d get a room at the Washington Plaza and party all night.”

“Candles,” Lindsay said abruptly, staring at the mantle.
“What did we do with all the white candles?”
She rushed to the front door and opened it.
“Noah!
Run out back and cut me some cedar boughs, will you?”

Cici heard him protest,
“It’s raining!”

“No
,
it’s not.
That’s just the sound of your New Year’s Eve date with Amy slow
ly
dripping away.”

“But we just spent all day throwing out green stuff!”

“And don’t track mud on the porch.”

“Yes
,
ma’am.”

Lindsay closed the door just as Bridget was coming back from the kitchen.
“Ida Mae already started the cheese straws,” Bridget reported happily.
“We’ve got plenty of ham for
breakfast and the
re’s
enough smoked salmon and roasted red peppers left over from Christmas to make hors d
’
oeuvres.”