A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [110]
Cici replied, surprised, “Where else would we go?”
He shrugged. “Winters can get kinda rough around here. Bound to get lonesome out there all by yourselves.”
To which she had just grinned and returned, “Thanks, but we’re not pilgrims landing at Plymouth Rock. We’ll be fine. Put that on my account, will you?”
But now, climbing the shuddering ladder in a wind so bitter it made her gasp, she thought about that. Hadn’t there been a lost colony of settlers in Roanoke? Hadn’t one theory been that they had all frozen to death over the winter? Hadn’t another been that they had eaten each other to keep from starving? How deep did the snow get around here, anyway?
Maybe it was a little crazy for the three of them to plan to spend the winter in a hundred-year-old house in the middle of nowhere with no central heat and water that came from a spring. Not to mention no television or Internet or anything at all to keep themselves entertained. Already the short days and cold nights were making them irritable. What would happen when their driveway was under two feet of snow and Lindsay couldn’t just jump in her car and drive to Charlottesville and Bridget couldn’t get to the library to check out books and she, Cici, couldn’t even get to Family Hardware? And how much colder could it possibly get, anyway?
A sudden gust of wind actually shook the ladder as she reached the top of it, and blew her hair across her eyes, blinding her. Her heart thudded in her chest and she grasped the roof eave to steady herself. She could hear the limbs of the trees creaking, and the wind sounded like the screech of a jet engine as it sang across the mountaintops. She wondered if this might be a job better left for another day. If she hadn’t been so upset with Lori, she might have come to that conclusion sooner.
But the wind died down and she pulled herself up onto the roof. She had gotten the last piece of plywood decking on the roof by pulling it up into the loft with a rope, then pushing it through the hole and up onto the roof. All that remained for her to do was to position the plywood over the hole and nail it down. That would suffice as an emergency measure until she could get back up there with the underlayment and shingles.
Keeping to a careful crouch, steadying herself with her hands, she eased across the roofline. The hammer and nails were positioned beside the plywood, and she moved them out of the way. She got her fingers beneath the heavy sheet of decking, rocked it to its side for better maneuverability, and stood up.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, there was a huge, thundering, crashing sound. Cici whirled, the wind caught the sheet of plywood and whipped it against her chest, and that was the last thing she remembered.
The house shook. Bridget screamed and automatically covered her ears with her hands. Ida Mae dropped the empty bowl she was carrying to the sink, and it shattered on the kitchen floor. In the subsequent silence there was nothing but the sound of the wind roaring across the roof and the frantic barking of the dog outside.
“What was it?” Bridget cried.
“You check the front, I’ll check the back,” Ida Mae returned tersely.
They went their separate ways, opening doors, peering out windows. In a moment Ida Mae called, “Come look here! It’s a tree down! Took out half the conservatory!”
But when Bridget came racing across the house her face was pale and her eyes were wild and she barely noticed the tree limbs protruding three-quarters of the way into the sunroom. “Oh my God, it’s Cici!” she cried, snatching a blanket from the linen shelf. “Call 911!”
Shep said, “Obviously, I expect you to take your time thinking about it. It’s a huge move. And a huge investment for the school, too, so everyone has to be sure. It’s a five-year contract; I’d need to present the Board with a preliminary proposal for your department by the first of the year.”
“Wow.” Again Lindsay