At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [13]
Cici drew a breath, released it; looked to Lindsay for help, who shrugged; looked to Bridget for help, who suddenly discovered her shoelaces were untied; started to speak, and took a sip of her tea instead.
“This is what I want to do,” Lori said passionately. “I want to restore old houses. And I don’t want to spend twenty-five years working in the wrong job before I do it! I know I don’t have your talent with a hammer and T square, Mom,” she rushed on, “or yours in the kitchen, Aunt Bridget, or yours with paint and decor, Aunt Lindsay. But I do have something to offer. All I’m asking is a chance to prove it to you.”
This time, when Cici looked at her friends, it was not for help, it was for confirmation—and, along with sympathetic resignation, she saw it in their eyes. There was only one reply she could legitimately make, and so she did.
“You’ve seen how much hard work is involved in this place,” Cici pointed out, “and it’s about to get harder.”
“I know that,” Lori insisted.
“You’ve got to keep up with your chores, and that includes restoring the pools.”
Lori squared her shoulders. “I promise.”
Once again, Cici passed a silent consultation to Lindsay and Bridget, and received barely perceptible nods in reply.
“Three months,” she said. “You’ve got three months to come up with a viable business plan to make this place self-supporting, and it has got to be accepted by all three of us. If you can do that, that will be enough evidence to convince me you’re mature enough to make your own decisions about your career. But if not . . .” Her tone darkened in warning. “You are going back to college, no questions asked, end of discussion. Fair deal?”
“Fair deal,” agreed Lori, her eyes glowing. She sprang from her chair and threw her arms around Cici’s neck. “I love you, Mom! You’re going to be so proud of me.”
“I’m already proud of you,” Cici assured her, and she couldn’t help smiling. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to go easy on you.”
“Any of us,” added Bridget.
“Remember, all your chores,” added Lindsay.
“And we’re the final judges,” said Cici. “No arguing.”
“I’m going to surprise you,” Lori assured them gaily as she hurried off. “You just wait and see!”
Cici blew out a breath when she was gone. “Well,” she said.
“Well,” agreed Bridget.
Lindsay looked at Cici. “What if she actually does it?”
“That,” replied Cici, and took a long gulp of tea, “is what worries me.”
Evening. Even with two young people in the house, it was a sacrosanct time of day. The supper dishes were done. Ida Mae always went to bed in her downstairs suite immediately afterward. The sheep had been rounded up for the night by the ever vigilant sheepdog, who had been fed and was snoozing on a pile of hay in the barn. Bambi the deer was in his pen, safe from predators and hunters. Noah was in his room, working on his report. Lori was, presumably, watching DVDs or listening to her iPod—with headphones either way, which was the rule at Ladybug Farm. Lindsay, Cici, and Bridget gathered on the front porch to watch the sunset for the first time in four long, cold months. The expression on their faces as the setting sun cast hues of gold and pink across their skin was reminiscent of those of prisoners who had just walked outside the big gate and who stood dumbstruck, barely able to comprehend the glory of the freedom that was offered them.
“Six o’clock,” murmured Lindsay contentedly, “and it’s sixty-two degrees. I love this place.”
“Days like this make you believe Nature has a master plan,” agreed Bridget.
“Speaking of plans . . .” Cici slanted her a sly look. “Good job assigning Miss Lower-Your-Carbon-Footprint to garden duty. I suspect we’ll hear a lot less out of her now that she’s got a chance to practice what she preaches.”
“And how about my contribution to the work schedule?” Lindsay demanded archly. “Was that a stroke of genius or what?”
Cici almost choked on her wine. “I didn’t think I could keep a straight face! Good heavens, Lindsay,