A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [23]
“Bathrooms first,” Lindsay said, “I’ve really got to pee.”
“Then you’d better hope that was Maggie you saw in the window,” Cici said, “because the water isn’t turned on.”
As they mounted the steps of the house they saw a wicker basket with a bow sitting in front of the door. Bridget oohed and ahhed as she unpacked the basket—a bottle of wine, a geranium plant, a homemade loaf of banana bread wrapped in waxed paper, and a card. Cici read the card out loud.
“Welcome home, ladies! I’m sorry I couldn’t be here but my daughter went into labor this morning. I’m going to be a grandmother! I will check in with you tomorrow. If you have any problems, you can call my brother-in-law, Farley, at 7834. Good luck! Maggie.”
Lindsay raised an eyebrow “A four-digit phone number?”
“This is the country,” Bridget said. “All the exchanges are the same.”
“Do we know what the exchange is?”
They looked at each other blankly.
“Well. Okay.” Cici tucked the card back into the envelope. “How hard can it be to turn on the water? It’s a gravity water system, that much she told us, so there’s no pump to worry about. The shutoff valve has got to be at the cistern.”
Again the blank looks.
“It’s a big concrete thing set into the ground,” Cici explained impatiently. “Maggie said it was on the hill behind the barn, remember? Come on, let’s find it.”
Three-quarters of a sweaty, briar-scratched, bug-bitten hour later, Bridget tripped over an iron handle sticking out of the kudzu-covered ground. The handle was attached to a round concrete lid, and with all three of them putting their weight behind the effort they were able to shift the lid off of a dark, cold hole that smelled like a wet basement. “Ladies,” said Cici, panting as she sat back on her heels, “I give you the cistern.”
While Lindsay and Bridget scrunched up their faces and averted their eyes in horror, Cici thrust her hand into the black hole and fumbled around for the shutoff valve. “Eureka!” she cried, and in a moment they heard the whoosh and gurgle of water rushing into pipes.
“We have water!” exclaimed Lindsay.
“We did it!” cried Bridget. “I feel like a regular pioneer!”
“Well, it might not be as showy as making fire,” admitted Cici, unable to restrain her pride in the accomplishment, “but damn good for a bunch of amateurs. Come on, let’s get the lid back on.”
They wrestled the cistern cover back into place and hurried back to the house. With a flourish, Cici produced the big skeleton key and opened the door.
“Oh . . . my,” Bridget said, and they moved slowly inside.
Somehow they had forgotten how neglected the interior was. The windows were foggy with dust, the floors dull. There was a huge spiderweb cloaking the entire bay window, and the winter winds had blown a fine coat of gritty ash from the fireplace over everything. Hundreds of thousands of ladybug shells littered the floors and were piled in the corners of the windowsills.
Lindsay blew out a breath. “Well, okay,” she said. “We knew what we were getting into.”
“Right.” Bridget clapped her hands together decisively. “I’ve got buckets, mops, and three gallons of bleach in the car.”
“I’ve got brooms, dustcloths, and a vacuum cleaner,” Cici said, turning toward the door.
“I’ve still got to pee,” Lindsay said.
“Around the corner on the right.”
Cici and Bridget started for their cars, but before they even reached the front porch Lindsay called, “Hey! There’s no electricity!”
Cici tried the switch by the door. “The power company was supposed to be out yesterday.”
“They’re probably just running behind,” Bridget said. “They’ve had the work order for weeks. They’ll be out today.”
“Uh, girls . . .” Lindsay came around the corner, looking grim. “No water, either.”
“Are you sure?” Cici went to the kitchen, which was even darker and dustier than the front room, and turned on the faucet. Not so much as a gurgle. She turned it off again, looking thoughtful.
Then her face cleared. “Wait! I’ll bet there’s a whole-house shutoff valve in the cellar.