At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [43]
“This might be why the real sheep shearer don’t come till April,” Ida Mae pointed out, a trifle smugly.
Lori put her scone down on the tabletop, looking as though she might cry. Lindsay, feeling guilty for the pleasure she was taking in her own scone, placed it on her saucer and reached across the table to touch Lori’s hand.
“We’ll think of something,” she told her.
And Bridget added, “Don’t worry, we’re not going to let a whole flock of sheep freeze.”
“Couldn’t we bring them in the house?” Lori pleaded, and almost before she finished speaking all three women responded.
“No!”
“But people in Europe used to bring their sheep in the house at night,” Lori insisted. “The sheep would sleep downstairs, near the fire, and the people would sleep upstairs.”
“People in Europe lived in barns!”
“In the Middle Ages!”
“It’s not happening, Lori,” Cici said firmly.
Bridget suggested, “Electric heaters?”
Cici shook her head. “Too dangerous. Besides, that doesn’t solve the problem of getting them outside to graze.”
Lori plucked morosely at her scone, leaving a pile of crumbs on the tabletop.
Ida Mae said, “Too bad you can’t get back that wool you sold.”
Cici looked at her sternly. “Thank you, Ida Mae. I think Lori feels bad enough.”
Suddenly Lori sprang up from the table. “Mom, can I borrow the car?”
And even as Cici was saying, “Sure, but—” Lori turned to Bridget with her hand held out and her voice excited.
“I need some money,” she said.
Bridget dug into her back pocket. “But, Lori, your mother’s right. Heaters won’t help.”
“It’s not for heaters,” she said, snatching up the twenty as she dashed for the door. “It’s for coats!”
A bitter cold wind rattled tree branches and chafed their faces as twilight fell that evening, and still they lingered outside the barn, looking in, jacket hoods pulled over their heads, fringed scarves flapping in the wind, mittened hands shoved deep into their pockets. The hydrangeas and rosebushes were wrapped in cotton sheets and the vegetable garden was covered with mulch. Firewood was stacked beside each fireplace. And all of their sheep were wearing coats.
To be accurate, some were wearing fleece-lined UVA sweat-shirts, others were wearing wool turtlenecks, some were wearing trimmed-down thermal long johns. Lori had raided every thrift store, Goodwill mission, and secondhand shop in the county, and she, Noah, and Bridget had spent the afternoon wrestling the sheep into the garments and then driving them into the barn.
“I’ve never seen anything like it in my life,” Lindsay said, for perhaps the third time.
“Actually, I didn’t think of it by myself,” Lori admitted. “I saw it on a Nickelodeon cartoon one time . . . back when I used to have TV.”
“Dumbest thing I ever did see,” Noah pronounced, hunching his shoulders against a blast of arctic wind. “Them sheep’s embarrassed, if you ask me.”
“Well, they may be embarrassed,” Bridget retorted, “but at least they’re alive. Good job, Lori.”
“I just hope it works,” Lori worried.
“I don’t know why it shouldn’t,” Cici said. “It may not be as good as their own wool, but it’s the next best thing. They’ll be able to generate enough heat bunched up together like this in the barn to keep warm at night, and during the day the coats will keep them from losing heat while they walk around to graze.” She grinned at her daughter. “You’re a pretty smart kid, if I do say so myself.”
“I still say it’s the dumbest thing I ever saw,” Noah grumbled.
“Come on,” Lindsay said, giving both young people a playful shove on the shoulder, “let’s go in and get warm. We’ve got company coming tomorrow!”
9
Company
The silver blue Prius glided to a stop in front of the worn brick facade of Ladybug Farm and its driver got out cautiously, keeping one foot on the floor mat and the door only half open, as though he were still debating whether to exit. He was a tall, pale, sharp-nosed man of about forty with a thick mane of perfectly