A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [69]
“And a fabulous bedroom,” added Cici. “Of course, we still have to refinish all the floors in the living room. And all the windows in the sunroom are rotted out. I think I can make a deal with one of the guys at the lumber store to buy some used ones cheap, but it’s going to take time to replace them all.”
“We should talk to someone about repairing the barn roof before winter.”
“I can do that,” Cici said. “All it will take is a piece of plywood.”
Lindsay gave her a reproachful look. “You don’t have to do everything, Cici.”
Cici shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
Bridget smiled. “Remember all the plans we had when we decided to buy this place?”
“You were going to bring back the Blackwell Farms jams and restore the vineyard,” Lindsay said. “Not to mention open a restaurant.”
“And you were going to open an art studio and bring in students from around the country.”
“And if it hadn’t been for one little rattlesnake . . .”
“Besides,” said Bridget, “it wasn’t exactly a restaurant I wanted to open. I just wanted to cook. And who knew there would be sheep to take care of?”
“I guess it’s all been a little bit more than any of us expected,” Cici said. “But still, it’s only been six months.”
“Seems like longer,” Lindsay sighed.
“Seems like only yesterday,” Bridget said.
The very faintest trace of a frown creased Bridget’s brow as she studied her wineglass. “Can I ask you both something? Seriously?”
They looked at her.
“If it hadn’t been for me,” Bridget said, “I mean, losing Jim and all, and being at loose ends the way I was . . . would you ever have done this?”
Lindsay laughed. “Are you kidding? Not in a million years. I wouldn’t even have thought about it!”
And Cici agreed. “How could we have done it without you, Bridge? It never would have crossed my mind.” Then she looked at her, a little puzzled. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing.” Bridget’s smile seemed a little strained. “It’s silly. Just some stupid thing Kevin said.”
Lindsay said thoughtfully, “You know what it’s like? The end of a vacation. Everything was so much fun when we started out. Now it’s . . . well, a lot of responsibility.”
They nodded agreement, and no one had anything to say for a while.
Then Bridget said softy, “It’s so quiet out here.”
They listened for a moment, trying to decide what was missing. And then they knew. It was the sound of birdsong.
Lindsay shivered and slipped her arms into the sleeves of a cotton sweater she had tossed about her shoulders. “It’s cool tonight.”
“Summer’s almost over,” observed Cici.
“I hear hickory makes good firewood,” Lindsay said.
Cici gave a small, disbelieving shake of her head. “Firewood. Where did the time go? I can’t even start to think about everything we have to get done before winter.”
Bridget stood. “I’m cold, too. I think I’ll go inside.”
And then she stopped. “Oh, my.” Her tone was reverent. “Would you look at that sunset?”
Lindsay stood, too, and then Cici. “Wow,” she said softly. “I never noticed before.”
“Me, either.”
“I guess,” said Bridget reluctantly, after a moment, “the tree was in the way.”
They stood together, their faces painted with the pink glow of the fading sun, and watched the rich pastel colors streak across the sky until the day was done.
Autumn
Harvest
14
In Which Preservation Is Paramount
On the morning that Lindsay discovered she was fat, Bridget found a handful of canning jar labels tucked inside Emily Blackwell’s recipe book, and Cici discovered a bushel basket of persimmons on the front steps.
At first they had been deeply touched by the gifts from the gardens of their well-meaning neighbors. Soon after the disaster with the lawn mower, Sam brought over a large brown grocery sack filled with green beans—from his wife, he said, who had more than she could put up. They thanked him profusely, but assured him it wasn’t his fault their garden