Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [98]
Ida Mae gave her a quelling look, and Lindsay rushed over with a glass of water.
“Cayenne!” gasped Bridget. “It was supposed to be roasted red pepper puree, but it’s cayenne!” She turned an accusing gaze on Ida Mae, who was oblivious. “Could she be trying to sabotage me?” she whispered to Lindsay.
Lori took a small taste of the biscuit. “I kind of like it,” she said. Then she took a quick sip of water. “Maybe one per plate, though.”
Bridget ran to the pantry and was back in an instant with a jar of strawberry champagne jam. “Quick,” she commanded, tugging Lindsay into the chair beside Lori. “Spread jam on each of the biscuits, it will cut the heat. Lori, back to staging. Gorgonzola, walnuts, move, move!”
The ten-minute delay in serving the first course was far more excruciating to those in the kitchen than it was to those in the dining room—with the possible exception of Cici, who returned after serving the fruit cup to report in a dull, stunned tone, “Richard is telling the story about Harrison Ford and the chimpanzee. Is there anyway under heaven we could serve dessert and coffee now?”
“I like that story,” Lori protested.
To judge from the burst of laughter that came from the dining room, so did everyone else.
The good humor lasted through the soup course, when Lindsay reported that the best man—the groom’s brother-had just presented the groom with two tickets to a baseball game in Richmond tomorrow night as a wedding present. The bride objected that she did not intend to spend her wedding night at a baseball game, to which the groom replied that was just fine because he was taking his brother. High fives and laughter all around, and Lindsay was extremely concerned about the fate of the glassware within the bride’s reach.
Bridget discovered that the cherry conserve was, in fact, cherry sauce, but managed to rescue it with mustard, horseradish, chopped spring onions, and a prayer. Similarly, the green beans lacked thyme and the almonds hadn’t been roasted, but—Lori declared—they tasted fine.
“Believe me,” Cici assured her as she left with her tray loaded down with entrées, “the last thing anyone in there is interested in is food.”
Lindsay noticed Bridget’s heartbroken look as she picked up her own tray. “But they loved the cheese biscuits,” she assured her. “And thought the fruit cup was wild!”
Noah, leaning against the counter as he helped himself to a plate of sliced turkey and potatoes, added, “What they don’t eat, I will.”
Bridget rallied herself for a smile and gave Noah a quick kiss on the head in passing as she went to place the strawberry crumble in the oven.
Cici returned with her empty tray and sank down at the table beside Lori. “They’re discussing politics,” she said. “The groom thinks we should invade China.”
“What for?” Lori wanted to know.
“Spite.”
Lindsay came in and deposited her empty tray on the counter with a loud clatter. “The father of the bride,” she reported furiously, “just pinched my butt.”
“Ya’ll need to try this,” Noah said, going for more turkey. “It’s great.”
Bridget sat down at the table beside Lori and Cici. “This marriage,” she declared unhappily, “doesn’t exactly sound as though it was made in heaven.”
“He’s a Neanderthal,” Lindsay said, kicking off her shoes as she dropped into the chair opposite Bridget, “and she’s an idiot. You tell me.”
“We worked so hard for this.” Bridget’s gaze, as she turned it toward the closed door to the dining room, was more than a little resentful. “I can’t believe it’s all going to waste.”
“Don’t think of it like that,” Cici said, trying to comfort her. “Think of it as ... a dress rehearsal for the next time.”
Bridget looked glum. “Like I would ever do this again.”
“Come on, Aunt Bridget,” Lori said, “I might get married one day, you know. And I wouldn’t let anyone cater the wedding but you.”
“You,” Cici informed her, pointing sternly, “are going to elope. Promise me.