At Home on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [69]
“I got a ham in the oven,” Ida Mae warned.
Lindsay, watching Noah’s face, said, “Come on, let’s find our seats.”
The sun tipped the mountaintop with gold and streaked the sky with cerulean and pink while the choir sang hallelujahs. The good Reverend Mitchell delivered a sermon of warmth and hope while the good Reverend Holland sat on his right, beaming beneficently. Ghost tendrils of mist drifted across the lawn, interlaced with the aroma of coffee as the Ladies Aid Society got busy under the tents. And as the final benediction was declared and the swells of the final hymn faded in echoes across the valley, the gentle rose light of morning burst over the ruins of the old church and the gaily dressed crowd spread across the baby green grass, bonnets nodding like daffodils in the breeze.
Bridget sighed happily as the service ended. “Easter is my favorite holiday of the year.”
Cici grinned and slipped her arm through Bridget’s. “Every holiday is your favorite.”
They made their way toward the canopies and the coffee, high heels catching a little in the soft grass. They waved to Mag gie, who was Farley’s sister-in-law and the real estate agent who had sold them their house. They called a greeting to their banker and to their plumber, and to Jonesie and his wife. One of the obvious advantages of attending both the Methodist and the Baptist churches was that they knew almost everyone in town.
“Remember when we used to get all dressed up in our little white gloves and patent leather shoes and hats with ribbons and have our pictures taken downtown in our Easter outfits?”
Cici nodded at the memory. “Remember that horrid plastic Easter basket grass that used to get all over the house? I’d still be vacuuming it up at Christmas.”
“Remember those little yellow marshmallow chickens?”
Lindsay broke in. “Remember when we didn’t used to say ‘remember’ all the time?”
Noah said, jerking at his tie, “I’m gonna wait in the car.”
Lindsay watched him go, her expression sobering, but she didn’t try to stop him. “Did you ever stop to wonder,” she said after a moment, “how different your lives might have been—or your children’s lives—without Easter baskets and birthday cakes and crazy old Aunt Ruth at Thanksgiving dinner and all the things that come with growing up in a family?”
Bridget slipped her arm from Cici’s and draped it around Lindsay’s shoulders, giving her a brief understanding hug. “Like a new outfit for the first day of school.”
“And someone to make you write thank-you notes,” added Cici. “My mother used to make me crazy, insisting I do that, but now I realize it wasn’t so much the note that was important as the feeling of connection that came with writing it. It made me remember the people who loved me.”
“Exactly,” agreed Lindsay quietly. “And who would we be today, any of us, if we had never known the people who loved us?”
Cici glanced over her shoulder to catch sight of Noah, head down and hands in pockets, headed toward the car. Then she caught the flash of color and light that was Lori, dancing in and out of the crowd, laughing and chatting with people she barely knew, her skirt billowing as she sank down to help a child with his Easter basket. She looked back to Lindsay.
“Maybe,” she said quietly, “we’d have problems trusting people because we’d never known anything but betrayal.”
“And maybe we’d prefer to live in a shack in the woods than in a room with a private bath, because we’d be too afraid to get attached to anything permanent,” added Bridget with understanding softening the sorrow in her voice. “Oh, bless his heart.”
“And we’d be very, very careful not to make ourselves vulnerable to anyone or anything,” said Lindsay, “because we would know how much it hurts to lose something once you start caring about it.”
“We can’t do anything about his past, honey,” Cici reminded her. “All we can do is try to make up for it as best we can now.”
Lindsay said simply, “I only hope it’s enough.”
Priscilla (“but call me Prissy, everyone does”) Holland was a diminutive,