At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [30]
Lindsay had to smile. “Hate to disappoint you, sweetie, but without a signature it’s not worth much. Besides, even if it were valuable, how would we get it off the wall?”
Lori’s sigh was wistful. “It just makes you wonder, though, doesn’t it? About who painted it, and when, and why?”
“And why anyone would cover up something so beautiful,” added Bridget.
“There’s something odd about it,” Cici said, scrutinizing the painting from the opposite doorway. “It looks out of place, somehow.” She shrugged. “Maybe that’s why they covered it up. Ida Mae, are you certain you don’t remember this alcove ever being here?”
Ida Mae, whose curiosity over all the racket had finally gotten the best of her, had come to watch the final stages of the unveiling and remained to polish away the soap and water with a collection of old towels. She straightened stiffly from gathering the last of the towels and pointed out irritably, “I can’t be expected to know everything, can I? Used to be paintings and whatnot all over these walls. Years pass, things change.” And that appeared to be all she was going to say on the matter.
“That must mean it was walled over before . . .” Here Cici paused delicately. No one had ever been able to persuade Ida Mae to reveal her age, or even to pin her down on when she had first come to work in the house. And when Ida Mae made no sign of clarifying the point now, Cici merely concluded, “Well, not long after it was painted.”
“Peoples’ tastes change,” Bridget pointed out. “Maybe someone brought in a new bride, and she didn’t like murals on the walls.”
“Or alcoves,” Lindsay agreed.
“I still say it looks odd,” Cici said. “Off center or something. Maybe it’s because it’s opposite the windows. It’s like an optical illusion.”
“I see what you mean,” Lindsay agreed hesitantly. “It’s a little disorienting.”
“Which is probably why they covered it up,” Bridget said.
“But we’re not going to, are we Mom?” Lori insisted. “I mean, this is just the coolest thing ever!”
“It is kind of cool,” agreed Cici, grinning. The other women chimed in, “Of course we’re keeping it!” and “We’ll never cover it up!”
Lori darted forward and hugged her mother impulsively. “I really understand why you love this place now! Every day is like a treasure hunt. Why wouldn’t everybody want to do this?”
Cici hugged her back, but her smile faded into a shrug of helpless resignation as she looked over Lori’s shoulder at her two best friends.
As dusk fell, all three women peeled back the dust covers on their living room furniture, sitting out on the porch, and settled themselves in to watch the sun set. Cici inched between two wing chairs and an armoire to find a place on the sofa, swinging her feet up to rest on an end table. Lindsay sprawled on a cushy hassock with her feet resting on the arm of the sofa, and Bridget curled up in one of the armchairs.
“Ida Mae is going to have a fit if we leave this furniture out here another night,” Bridget commented.
“I thought she was going to start moving it back in, stick by stick, all by herself.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Cici said, stretching back. “I kind of like the furniture out here. It’s so . . .”
“Trashy?”
“I was going to say ‘rustic.’ Anyway, she’ll have to get used to it. I can finish the sanding in the morning, and we should be able to get the stain on tomorrow if everyone pitches in. But it’s going to take three days for the finish to dry hard enough to put furniture back.”
“Just as long as everything is in place in time for company,” Bridget said.
“Not a problem,” Cici assured her. “Once we get started, it’s just a matter of waiting for it to dry.”
Somewhere in the distance, a bird began a funny little song. A pink glow outlined a cloud behind the mountaintops, giving it the illusion of being surreally white, lit from within. They turned as one to appreciate the sight, and Lindsay murmured, “This may be my favorite time of year. Right before the leaves come out to clutter up the view with all that green, the light