A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [87]
“Like keeping a wild deer in a pen isn’t?”
Cici shrugged uncomfortably because the pen, after all, had been her idea. “That’s just temporary.”
“So is this,” Lindsay insisted. “Besides, I can get him back in school, I know I can. All I need is a little time.”
“Sounds like a big project to me,” Cici said. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”
Lindsay said nothing, and neither did Bridget. This was one contingency—unlike pets—that was not covered in their joint venture agreement, but they all knew it must be a unanimous decision.
At last Cici sighed, shook her head, and said, “Oh, why not? We already adopted a dog, a flock of sheep, and a deer. What’s one more?”
Bridget grinned and raised her glass. “This is starting to feel like a real home.”
“Or a zoo,” muttered Cici.
Lindsay sank back in her chair, her broad smile all but lost in the shadows. “I’ll tell him in the morning.”
But in the morning, there was a light dusting of snow on the ground, and Noah was gone.
16
In Which Ghosts Come in from the Cold
They did the responsible thing. They reported the boy missing. They called everyone they knew to make inquiries. The only response they received was surprise at their concern. As it was explained to them over and over again, this was the way he lived. There was nothing for them to worry about. He’d turn up again sooner or later.
Finally even Lindsay had to admit defeat. “Damn it,” she said, pushing her hair away from her face with both hands in a gesture of utter frustration. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”
“We’ve done everything we can,” Bridget reassured her gently.
“I know that,” Lindsay replied. “Just . . . damn it.”
Cici said, “We paid him close to two thousand dollars over the summer. What did he have to spend it on except cigarettes? If he saved even part of it, he should be okay until he gets another job.”
Lindsay managed a dry smile. “He probably used it to buy a ticket to Florida. He’s hanging out on a beach somewhere right now.”
“In which case he’s better off than we are,” Bridget observed.
Cici said, “He has a father, Lindsay.”
“A father who didn’t even know he was missing.”
“There’s really nothing more we can do.”
“I know,” agreed Lindsay heavily. “It’s just . . . a shame.”
There was nothing anyone could add to that.
With Noah gone and winter breathing down their necks, there was more than enough to occupy their attention, and very little time left over for brooding. They spent two entire days filling bushel baskets with pecans and black walnuts, then couldn’t face the prospect of shelling them. Bridget came up with the idea of passing them around to all the neighbors who had shared garden produce with them, but that still left almost a bushel of nuts for them to dispose of, which Bridget decided to store in the barn.
“They’ll attract rats,” Cici warned.
“Good,” said Bridget. “Then we won’t have to shell them.”
Keeping the house heated was almost a full-time job in itself. Every morning a day’s worth of wood had to be brought inside and distributed between the fireplaces and the big furnace in the cellar. Four times a day, someone had to go downstairs and load more wood into the furnace, and they devised a rotating schedule for furnace duty so that the chore was shared equally. Although at first they had enjoyed the romance—and the warmth—of keeping a fire going in the kitchen and living room fireplaces all day, they soon found it was easier to simply put on another sweater. The charm of carrying armloads of wood upstairs to their bedroom fireplaces faded fast, and reminded them that this house was built in an era when everyone had servants.
The issue of servants was raised more than once as the shorter days forced them to spend more time inside and to notice, as they had not when most of their time was spent on the porch or in the yard, just how much work it took to clean a house that size. Dust accumulated almost as soon as it was wiped away, windows grew foggy from the invisible ash that the wood furnace circulated, and simply mopping all the floors was