A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [50]
Cici admitted, “Maggie did ask where you two were.”
The three of them stood on the stairs and puzzled over this for a moment.
“I don’t see how all of us can be at both churches at the same time,” Cici said.
“A house divided against itself cannot stand,” Bridget pronounced solemnly.
“On the other hand,” ventured Lindsay, “the Methodist church does have an eight o’clock service.”
“And the Baptist church has one at nine thirty.”
“Do you mean,” Bridget queried, only slightly incredulous, “we should go to both churches?”
Cici shrugged and continued up the stairs. “I don’t see that we have much choice. We can’t afford to make anyone mad at us now. Besides, what are we going to do if we ever need a new roof?”
11
A Few Minor Adjustments
By Wednesday, there was a hole in their backyard big enough to drive a truck through, and thirteen linear feet of their ceiling had been removed. Cici had just put the final coat of glossy white paint on the porch ceiling and was standing back to admire her work when she heard the inevitable words:
“Ms. Burke? Could I show you just one thing?”
She wiped her hands on a damp rag and went through the screen door into the front room, joining Sam Renfro, the heating-and-air contractor from the Baptist church, as he stood beneath the gaping hole in the ceiling, craning his neck upward to examine it.
“Looks like you boys are making good progress,” she commented, trying to keep her tone upbeat. A box fan roared in the window, pushing warm air back and forth, and the backhoe that was scraping away at the lawn was a steady throb in the background. She had to raise her voice to be heard.
Sam said, “See there?”
Cici tilted her head back as far as it would go, but had to admit, “No. What?”
He extended his tape measure, locked it, and thrust it into the hole, tapping the floor joists with the metal end. “Six inches, max. There’s no way we can run your ductwork through here.”
She stared at him. “But you already tore out the ceiling.”
He looked grave. “Yes ma’am, and I’m real sorry about that. It was fine until we got right here. I’m guessing when they put in the bathroom they ran the plumbing in through here and closed it up.”
Cici drew a breath. “What can you do?”
He thought about that for a minute. “We could tear out the ceiling, lower the whole thing by about a foot. You’ve got the room. Of course, who knows what we’re going to find in the rest of the house.”
Cici blew out her breath. “Right. Who knows.”
He said, “I really hate to tell you what I have to say now.”
He looked so genuinely regretful that Cici felt her spirits sink another notch.
“That furnace them other fellows sold you,” he said, “it’s about half the size you need for this place. It wouldn’t even heat the downstairs come winter.”
The two of them stood for a time, looking at the ceiling and listening to the backhoe. Then Cici said, “Well.”
He agreed, “Yeah.”
“How much more money are we talking about?”
“A lot.”
“I appreciate your honesty.”
He said, “You know, a house like this, it’s stood here all these years, my guess is they must’ve had a few hot summers.”
Cici’s worried frown turned puzzled. “I guess.”
“What I mean is, take that wood-burning furnace you got down there. It’ll heat the whole house on three cords of wood a winter. I know that for a fact because it’s my cousin that delivers the wood out here every year. Less than three hundred dollars a year, you can’t beat that.”
“No,” said Cici, taken aback, “you can’t.”
“And the best heat pump, it’s not going to cool your house more than fifteen, twenty degrees below the outside temperature,” he went on. “It stays cooler than that in your cellar.”
“You’re not suggesting that we move to the cellar for the summer?”
“No ma’am. What I’m thinking is it would be a lot cheaper to move the cool air you’ve got to where you need it, than to try to make cool air out of hot and then move it, if you follow what I’m saying.”
“I’m not exactly sure I