At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [110]
Bridget looked at her solemnly. “It was her decision, Lindsay.”
“I hope so,” Lindsay said. “I hope it was the right one.”
“Are you disappointed about the adoption?”
The women spoke softly, so as not to be overheard, and occasionally they cast cautious glances over their shoulders toward the house. Lindsay shook her head. “All I wanted was to protect him, and give him a fair start in life. The directed guardianship does that just as well.”
“This is a huge responsibility,” Bridget said, unnecessarily.
“Tell me about it,” Lindsay sighed. And then she added, frowning a little, “I think that Melanie Jones is a little fast. We’ll have to keep an eye on her.”
They all laughed.
Lori came clattering down the stairs and through the screen door. She had three dark blue presentation folders in her hand, and she stood before them, clearing her throat purposefully, until she had their full attention.
“This,” she informed them importantly, and passed a folder to each of them, “is for you.”
Exclamations of “Oh my goodness!” and “Look at that!” and “What is it?” greeted the receipt of each folder. On the cover was a full color drawing of what appeared to be a heraldic crest, consisting of a shield that was red on the left and black on the right, overset by a winged horse with its hooves raised as though for combat. Across the top was a banner that read, “Ladybug Farm.” And, below the crest, in bold flowing script: “Winery and Gourmet Foods.” And below that, in a slightly smaller font: “Special Events and Catering upon Request.”
“Wait a minute,” Lindsay said, studying the drawing. “This is like that sketch I found in the woodbin.” She looked up at Lori in amazement. “That’s exactly what it is! How in the world—”
Lori’s smile was pleased. “It’s also the original label for the Blackwell Farms Shiraz during the sixties,” she announced. “I found it in that book you asked me to take back to the library, Aunt Bridget, and Noah drew a copy for me. Only”—she pointed to the banner on Lindsay’s folder—“it originally said ‘Blackwell Farms,’ of course.”
“How clever! So that’s what you’ve been spending all your time at the library on! What is this?” Cici fanned through the pages of the folder. “A history of the farm?”
“Actually,” replied Lori, leaning back against the porch rail and folding her arms, “it’s your business plan.”
The pleasure on their faces faded slowly into uncertainty as their eyes dropped again to their folders.
“Winery?” said Cici.
“Gourmet foods and special events?” The doubt in Lindsay’s voice was clear.
“Catering.” Bridget’s tone was thoughtful. “Now there’s something I never considered.”
“Look,” Lori said, when she had their attention again, “you’re not the first ones to try to figure out how to make this place pay for itself, you know. I’ve been reading everything I could find on Blackwell Farms, and what I found out is that they were famous for using everything they had, and for being the best at whatever they tried. They didn’t just have a dairy, they had a gourmet Stilton that rivaled the best in England. They didn’t just make preserves to sell on the side of the road, they shipped them to all the best hotels in Washington. And as for their wines—well you already know about those. The important thing is that they did more than one thing, and they made every thing they did special. You can do the same thing.”
Cici spoke carefully, not wanting to hurt her daughter’s feelings. “Honey, I admit I don’t know much about the subject, but I do know that establishing a profitable winery isn’t something you can do overnight. It takes years, sometimes generations, to bottle a decent wine.”
“Right,” declared Lori, and her eyes took on a glint of excitement, “if you start from scratch. If you don’t have the vinifera, or the right soil, or even the equipment.”
Cici mouthed the word vinifera? to Lindsay in amazement, but Lindsay merely shook her head, and kept her fascinated attention on Lori.
“Uncle Paul explained all that to me when he was here,” Lori explained casually, “but I wanted to make sure I