A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [60]
Cici stared at her. “Jeez, Lindsay, when did you start listening to talk radio?”
“It’s the only station we can get before nine in the morning,” Bridget pointed out.
“Name me one thing,” Lindsay insisted, “one single thing that men did right.”
“Okay,” Cici said, “I’m game. They tamed the Wild West. Without men—big, ugly, lice-infested, gun-totin’, rotten-toothed, foulmouthed, bigoted, brawling men complete with all their greed, gold mining, railroad technology, and STDs, Hollywood would not be the multibillion-dollar industry it is today and the world would be deprived of such cultural masterpieces as Dumb and Dumber.”
“I was going to say something about disenfranchising an entire native population and destroying an ancient culture,” replied Lindsay, “but I think I rest my case.”
“And I think you need to cut back on the Benadryl,” Cici said. “This is serious.”
“I refuse to think like a man.”
“Then think like a smart woman.” Cici drew in a breath. “Look,” she said. “None of us can afford to put out this kind of cash. But we all could afford another forty or fifty dollars a month. I say we go into town Monday and talk to the bank about a loan.”
“Oh.” Bridget was visibly relieved. “That’s a great idea.”
“I’ll say,” agreed Lindsay. “But I don’t think it’s something a man would have thought of.”
“It will have to be three personal loans,” cautioned Cici. “According to the terms of our joint venture agreement, none of us can borrow against our equity in the house. But I think we could get a pretty good rate, especially if we went for a short-term loan.”
“Well,” sighed Lindsay, “I’m glad that’s settled.”
They sat and rocked and listened to the rain for a time longer, then Bridget said, “They do it for us.”
When Cici and Lindsay returned only questioning looks, she continued, “The pioneer men blazed trails west so they could farm more land and raise healthy children. They carried guns to keep women safe, and they cut down forests to build shelters so that their families could stay warm. And before they go into battle, they drink a toast to the women they left behind. They do it for us.”
Lindsay looked at her solemnly for a moment. “Well,” she decided, “I guess that’s okay then.”
“Besides,” Cici added, “they stopped the lawn mower.”
“But not before it destroyed the garden,” Bridget pointed out.
Lindsay pushed herself to her feet. “I’m going to take a cool bath.”
“Don’t forget the baking soda.”
“I hate being a farmer,” Lindsay said.
Bridget smiled and sat back to watch the birds. “Actually, I think I’m starting to like it.”
Cici, sipping her wine, said nothing at all.
13
In Which All Their Problems Are Solved
They wore their church suits to the bank on Monday morning. The loan officer wore jeans and a gray T-shirt with the bank logo on one pocket and Blue Valley Community Bank stenciled in green on the back. She was a frizzy-haired young woman of about thirty-five whose desk plate introduced her as Sonya Maxwell. She actually remembered them all from church—they were easy to recognize in their suits—and greeted them warmly. The ladies returned the greeting and the small talk and tried to remember whether she was a Baptist or a Methodist.
“So,” said Sonya. Settling back with her hands folded across her stomach and smiling benignly, she seemed ready for a long chat. “How’re ya’ll liking it out there in that big old house all by yourselves?”
They agreed that they loved it, couldn’t imagine a setting more beautiful, were getting used to country life, and then Cici added, “But it is quite a handful. Which is why—”
“What you need,” decided Sonya, looking them up