Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [33]
“Lori, please, please, please say you’re coming home this weekend.” Cici propped the cordless phone between her shoulder and ear and lifted the gallon bucket of water with one hand while she unlatched the gate to the chicken yard with the other. Chickens squawked and scattered as she entered, and she did an effective little dance to shoo them away from the gate with one foot while trying not to step in chicken waste with the other. “Remember that great idea you had to turn this place into a wedding venue? And how hard you worked to make sure the people at Virginian at Home knew about ‘catering and special events’?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” replied Lori chirpily.
“We’re killing ourselves here! A little help?”
“I’m in Research and Development,” Lori informed her. “You guys are in Manufacturing.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Cici splashed water into the trough and scuffed her shoe over a patch of grass to clean it. She picked up a rake.
“Mom, where are you? This connection is terrible!”
“I’m cleaning the chicken yard,” Cici answered. “Do you see what I’ve been reduced to? Carrying a cordless telephone around the farm because someone has to be on office duty while Lindsay is sewing and Bridget is making wild peach blossom chutney or whatever it is she’s experimenting with now.” She raked the pile of chicken manure into a corner of the yard, to be collected later, and hung the rake back on its hook. “Your chickens, I might add, which you were so determined to have.”
“Aunt Bridget liked them, too,” Lori defended. “Besides, think how much you’re saving on eggs.”
“Not enough to pay for their feed. And we’re all getting high cholesterol.”
“That’s a myth. Eggs do not give you high cholesterol.”
“So, now you’re premed?” Cici exited the chicken yard and latched the gate.
“Mom,” Lori said, “I’m excited about the wedding and I can’t wait to get back there and help, but I just don’t see how I can do it this weekend. After all, this is just surveying the site and tasting the menu, right? The hard stuff hasn’t even started yet.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you had to cut out three plywood table rounds, repaint the trellis, and pressure wash the porch by Friday.” As she moved closer to the house, the reception became clearer and she asked, casually, “So, who is he?”
Lori’s laugh was too light to be genuine. “Who is who?”
“You know who. The new fella.”
“Really Mom, I have this killer exam coming up and I have to stay on campus this weekend to study. Besides, I have some great news. That’s what I called to tell you.”
“Oh?” Cici had learned from experience to be wary of what Lori considered great news.
“It’s a terrific opportunity so perfect I really didn’t even think I had a chance, which is why I didn’t want to mention it to you before now.” Lori’s voice was practically breathless with excitement—or perhaps she was jogging to class, as she often was when she remembered to call her mother. “There’s this internship program that I found out about online, where agriculture students can actually get hands-on experience at a real winery, with some of the top winemakers in the world!”
Already Cici had a bad feeling about this. “But you’re not an agriculture student.”
“That’s why I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But it turns out I can apply through the business department, with the approval of the agriculture head, and because I’m coordinating all my credits to transfer to the enology program at Cornell, he actually approved me!”
“Well,” said Cici, having absolutely no difficulty restraining her enthusiasm. “That’s really something.”
“And you haven’t even heard the best part! It’s in Italy! Italy! And it starts in July, but don’t worry, I’ll be back for regular classes in September, and—the absolutely best part—five quarter hours credit, can you believe that? Of course, part of the credits are in language, so I guess I’d better learn Italian, but could you just die?”
Cici sat down slowly on the porch steps. “Internship?” she repeated. “In Italy?”