At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [112]
Lindsay’s eyes went wide, and she looked at Cici. “Miriam Wilson spent eight thousand dollars to rent a hotel ballroom for her daughter’s reception, and God knows what she spent on the wedding itself.”
“And the rehearsal dinner.” Bridget looked up from her folder. “Do you remember the rehearsal dinner I did for Katie?”
“And you did that for free!” Cici said.
“All we’d have to do is get the word out to Paul and Derrick,” Lindsay said, “and we’d have more business than we could handle—for jams and weddings!”
Lori smiled. “All it took was a little research. And oh, by the way, don’t worry about hiring a marketing director. I’m enrolled for the fall in the business school at UVA, and after that I’ll transfer to Cornell for my degree in enology and viticulture. I should be ready to take over the business by the time you’re ready with your first vintage.”
“Enology?” repeated Bridget blankly.
“Viticulture?” said Lindsay, sharing Bridget’s puzzled look.
Cici rose slowly and crossed the floor to Lori, where she wrapped her arms around her daughter and hugged her hard. “Thank you,” she whispered, “for my Mother’s Day present.”
Lori returned her embrace, only a little embarrassed. “You ask for a business plan, you get a business plan.”
“I don’t mean that.” Cici’s eyes glistened, and her nose was red, and she tucked a strand of Lori’s hair behind her ear fussily as she smiled. “I mean you.”
Lori hugged her again, grinning, and replied, “You’re welcome.”
As they broke apart, laughing, Lori added, “And another thing. I’d try to hold on to that boy, if I were you. He may not look like much now, but he’s a quick study, and I think he’s got potential. He can be a lot of help to you in the vineyard while I’m away at college.”
They assured her gravely that they would do their best to hold on to Noah.
“So, I guess I’ll leave you alone to look over your folders,” Lori said. “If you have any questions, I’ll be sitting on the hill behind the house, trying to get a signal on my phone so I can search the web for bargains on shipping materials. By the way . . .” She paused at the steps and held up a finger. “The Internet? Wave of the future.”
And so they wandered off their separate ways: Lindsay to the fountain, Bridget to the kitchen, Cici to a nap in her room. But one by one they were drawn to open the folders and to glance through them, first in a desultory fashion, and then with more interest, and then with great intensity. Cici came down the stairs with her calculator. “Girls, you won’t believe this, but I just went over the cost analysis page and we might really be able to afford this.” They sat at the table. They turned pages. Lindsay said at last, with great hesitancy and no small amount of wonder, “This could actually work.”
“Of course there are a lot of variables.”
“Just like with any other business.”
Bridget said, “I never wanted to be a businesswoman.”
“I never wanted to be a farmer,” Cici put in.
And Lindsay added, “I never wanted to be a mother.”
They looked at each other for a moment, thinking about it. Then Cici closed her folder, leaned back in her chair, and announced in a voice that indicated she could not quite believe it herself, “Ladies, it looks like we are opening a winery.”
22
Stories
After supper, they drifted onto the porch again, sipping chardonnay and marveling over the possibility that, in a few short years, the wine in their glasses might come from their own vineyard.
“I’ve never actually tasted a Virginia wine, have you?” Bridget said.
“I think I did, once, at a restaurant in Georgetown,” Cici replied.
“They probably don’t sell it in grocery stores,” added Lindsay.
Bridget held up her glass, turning it so that it caught the spark of a brilliant