by Donna Ball
When the ladies had established the Ladybug Farm Winery a mere nine months earlier and taken on Dominic as a partner and operations manager, he had insisted that the company be run like an actual company. Board meetings were scheduled once a month, reports were given, proposals approved, and votes were taken on matters small, like where to order bottles, and large, like how to price those bottles. While Lori had been a part of the operation during the summer, those meetings had been filled with lively debate and a multitude of questions. These days three of the four board members were more than a little distracted by deadlines that were much more pressing than the spring launch of their first vintage.
“There’s a definite advantage to a ten-dollar bottle of wine,” Dominic explained to them at the October meeting—the last one before the wedding. “But there’s a real downside too. If we decide further down the line to ship out of state, the taxes and licensing fees will eat us alive …” He cast a puzzled glance around the table, but no one would quite meet his eyes. “Ladies, do I have your attention? Is everything all right?”
“Oh, yes,” Bridget said with a quick smile, but her foot was tapping impatiently under the table.
“Fine,” Lindsay assured him. “Green bottles.”
“Ten dollars,” added Cici, checking her watch. “Perfect.”
Dominic hesitated, then said, “I propose a retail price of $12.95 per 750 milliliter bottle.”
Cici looked at her watch again. Bridget drummed her pen absently against her steno pad. Lindsay maintained an absent smile and a gaze that seemed focused somewhere on outer space until the silence became palpable and she abruptly came back to earth. “Second,” she said, a little too loudly.
Dominic swept the others with a studious look. “In favor?”
“Aye,” the three of them chorused on cue.
Dominic lifted an eyebrow toward Bridget. “Madame Secretary?”
“Right.” She scribbled a note on her pad.
He fixed his gaze on her. “Further business?”
“Oh,” she said, looking confused. Then, “Oh! Yes, burning of the vines party. The website has presold fifty tickets already! At five dollars apiece, I know it wasn’t designed to make money, but I think we can offset costs. And that’s not even counting the people from town who will pay at the door. I’m thinking we might have as many as a hundred fifty people! And I was remembering last year when Lori found those monogrammed wine glasses at a dollar twenty-five each …” She looked cautiously hopeful. “I know it’s last minute and we might not be able to pull it off, but if I could find her source and we could get the glasses monogrammed with the name of the winery and the date, people could take them home as souvenirs and, while it wouldn’t exactly be like having ‘Dominic and Lindsay’ engraved in a heart, it would be an advertising expense and we wouldn’t have to wash the glasses.”
Dominic grinned. “I vote aye. Ladies?”
Everyone murmured an enthusiastic agreement, and even Lindsay seemed to relax. “That’s a great idea, Bridge,” she said. “Thanks.”
When Ladybug Farm Winery was first established, their board meetings had been held at the kitchen table around a pot of coffee and a plate of cinnamon rolls. Even though prosperity, in the form of a semi-anonymous investor, had enabled them to move out of the kitchen, morning meetings still included coffee and a plate of Ida Mae’s homemade cinnamon rolls. Dominic reached for one now, endeavoring with the gesture to take the meeting to a less formal level.
“Ladies,” he said, “I know your heads are filled with orange blossoms and lace, and don’t think I don’t appreciate that. After all, I’m getting married too.” A glance around the table elicited smiles that were slightly less distracted than they had been before. “But …” There was only a slight sobering of his tone. “We’re still running a business here and, for better or worse—to coin a phrase—the wedding date also happens to be our busy time. We’ll start bottling the crush next week and let it lie until spring—well, except for the bottles we’ll be sampling at the wedding party. I’m holding half in reserve to blend with the new crush that should be ready by early summer. Now, as we discussed before, we’re leaving the grapes on the vines longer than normal to concentrate the flavor, but that’s risky. Bad weather—drought, an early frost, even a bad rainstorm—could put us out of business for this harvest. We might have to put some money into hiring extra workers, and if we do that we’ll have to cut back somewhere else. If you’ll all take a look at your budget sheets, you’ll see that we’re going to be running slightly in the red for the winter as it is, so …”
A glance around assured him that no one was looking at her budget sheets. Bridget scribbled on her pad, Lindsay leaned over and whispered something in her ear, and Cici, stretching to read what Bridget was writing, pointed at one of her notes. Dominic said, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that those are minutes of this meeting.”
Bridget looked up guiltily and the other two sat back. “Oh, Dominic, I’m sorry,” she said. “I have been taking minutes, they’re right here …” She flipped a couple of pages on the pad, looked a little flustered, and said, “Well, they’re mostly in my head. It’s just that there’s an awful lot to do before the wedding, and I have to write things down as I think of them.”
Cici said quickly, “I did look at the budget, but we all knew we’d be running negative revenue longer than we expected when we decided to wait until spring to ship, right? And we all agreed not to sell an unfinished wine, right?” She looked to the other women for support, then back to Dominic. “Is that the right term? Unfinished?”
Dominic looked grave. “Cici,” he said, “I don’t mean to push into family matters, and I know I was the one who encouraged Lori to stick with this apprenticeship in Italy, but you need to know we can only go so far as a one-man operation. If there’s any way you can convince Lori to come back here and work—even for a stipend—you need to do it. I know she’ll probably be getting offers from all over the country once she finishes her year in Italy, but you’ve got pull, right? After all, this is her wine. And it’s really very, very important that someone other than myself understands the business if we’re going to survive. So would you ask her?”
Reading the temperature of the room, he found it a bit less warm than he would have liked, so he added, “Once the wedding is over, of course.”
Cici seemed relieved that his request was no more complicated than that, and she smiled. “Sure. I’ll ask her.”
There was a beat of awkward silence, and then Bridget said cheerfully, “I got a cute e-mail from Kevin. He had dinner with Lori. I’ll send you the picture.”
Dominic said, “Thanks.”
Lindsay said abruptly, “Okay, that’s it, then. I move we adjourn.”
Before Dominic could reply, Cici said, “Second,” and pushed back her chair.
“Aye,” said Bridget, and quickly gathered her pen and notebook.
Dominic said, “Ladies, I know you’ve got a lot on your plates, but before you go we really need to talk about—”
“Whatever you decide, Dominic,” Cici said, moving toward the door. “We trust your judgment.”
“After all, you’re the manager,” Bridget added brightly, following Cici. “Great meeting, though. Thanks.”
The door opened on a bright square of morning light and closed again quickly, leaving only Lindsay behind. “Honey, I don’t mean to complain,” Dominic said with a small frown, “especially when I know the reason everyone is so distracted is because you’re all working so hard on the wedding. But this first year is crucial for the winery, and I need you all to know what’s going on. Someone has to be able to take over for me when I’m not here, and if I’m traveling around the country selling the wine I’m not going to be able to be here every day running the winery, now am I?”
“I know, I know, I really do,” Lindsay said, placing her hands on his chest in a quick, reassuring gesture. “You probably think you’ve gone into business with a bu
nch of pinheads, but we’re really not. Not usually, I mean. It’s just that—well of course, we all want the winery to succeed, but you’re the expert and, well, if we’re not giving you the kind of support you need it’s all my fault, so don’t blame Bridget and Cici. I just …” She cast her gaze around the small room helplessly, as though looking for words. “This is such a big step for us, Dominic. For all of us. I just want this wedding to be magical. And maybe … I don’t know. Maybe I’m trying too hard. I know I’m driving the girls crazy, and you too, and I’m really nothing but a walking disaster area, but it’s all because I want this so much. I want us all to be a family. I want your family to be happy. I want you to be happy with us, with living here. I want it all to be perfect. I want…” Her eyes were suddenly hot and wet as she looked up at him, and she could feel her nose go red. “Everything for you.”
The shadow of frustration that had been building in Dominic’s eyes slowly faded into a gentle, thoughtful regard, and then he extended his hand. “Walk with me, cherie.”
Lindsay dashed a hand across her eyes impatiently and sniffed. “Oh, Dominic I know you’re busy and so am I. Just ignore me. I cry about everything these days. Really, you don’t have to…”
“Walk,” he repeated sternly, and wrapped his fingers firmly around hers as he pushed open the door and stepped into the sunlight.
The morning sun had crested the mountains, and the dew evaporating off the vines gave off a fine golden mist. The goat bleated a greeting from behind its sturdy wire fence a few dozen yards away and Rodrigo the rooster flapped his colorful wings atop the hen house and crowed importantly as they passed.
A well mulched path led around the cultivated vines and behind the barn, wandering into the woods. A hundred years ago those woods had been formal gardens lined with hedges and accented by topiaries, complete with reflecting pools and statues and artificial waterfalls that tumbled into artificial meandering streams, all of it fashioned after the overdesigned gardens of European aristocrats. It hadn’t been called The Gilded Age for nothing, and no excess was too grand for those with the means to afford it. And no European garden—or imitation of one—would have been complete without a folly in the center of it.
The follies of the grand European estates of the time were often open-sided pavilions shaped like pyramids or the Grecian Coliseum or even cathedrals. They served absolutely no purpose except as an architectural indulgence, but were usually elaborately designed and constructed. The folly that the Blackwells had built to accent their garden had been a bit more practical, with a door and windows, marble floors, a wraparound porch and a fireplace with carved cherubs. It looked like a little fairy house with its pointed tin ceiling, octagonal shape, and excessive gingerbread trim. Garden parties once had been held there, along with ladies’ afternoon teas and even a wedding or two. It had fallen into disrepair over the years, and the woods had grown up to hide it so completely that the ladies might never have known it was there had not Lindsay happened to stumble on it during an afternoon walk. It had quickly become Lindsay’s favorite place on the entire property, and earlier that year Dominic and Noah had restored it back to its former glory, replacing the broken windows, shoring up the sagging porch, painting it the same deep green it once had been, with white trim and a bright yellow door. Lindsay used it as her art studio now, and sometimes she and Dominic would have lunch here, or a picnic supper with wine and candles. It had become their place.
Dominic slipped his arm around her waist as they walked down the path toward the folly. He said, “In the first place, we already are a family—you, me, Noah, and Bridget and Cici and Lori, too. A piece of paper and some vows won’t make that any more true, and you of all people should know that.”
She ducked her head a little, embarrassed. “I do know that. Of course I do.”
“And in the second place,” said Dominic, holding aside a low-hanging branch that had encroached partway across the path, “I’m really not sure how much more magic you think this wedding of ours needs, because it seems to me like we’ve already gotten more than our share. At least I know I have.”
She smiled. “That’s sweet of you to say.”
“I’m serious.” His fingers caressed her back in silence for a few steps, and when he spoke again his tone was somber. “When Carol died, it was a dark time for me. We’d been married almost thirty years, and with the kids gone … it wasn’t easy to get used to, not any of it. Eventually, of course, I left South Carolina, moved back here, settled in, started over, because that’s what you do. You go on. I’d had a good life, better than most men, better than I deserved. I’d loved a good woman, raised great kids, done interesting work. But it was over, or at least that’s the way it seemed, and all that was left for me now was just to go through the motions and wait for time to spin out. And then that young Lori came bouncing into my office one day talking about opening up a winery, and then I met you ladies, and next thing I know I’m back home again, working the same vines I grew up with, watching a dream come true that I’d given up on forty years earlier. And if that wasn’t enough, there was you, and you snatched my heart right out of my chest the first time I laid eyes on you. It would have been more than I could ask for just to be here, and get to look at you every day, just to feel the way you made me feel. But you loved me back. You actually wanted to marry me. I thought my life was over … and then it started up again, better than ever. Honey …” He stopped as they reached the folly, and turned her in his arms, looked down at her quietly. “If that’s not magic, I don’t know what it is.”
Lindsay circled her arms around his neck and tilted her head back to look up at him. What she saw filled her eyes with gentle wonder, as it so often did. “You,” she said softly, “are the most incredible man. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m so glad I did it.”
“Then, my darling girl …” he stroked her cheek with his knuckles, his eyes quiet with gentle question as he studied hers. “What are you so afraid of?”
She searched his eyes. “Dominic … what if your children don’t like me?”
He looked puzzled by the question. “Of course they’ll like you, cherie. Everyone likes you.”
“But,” she insisted, “what if they don’t? Or … or what if I don’t like them? It’s different with you,” she rushed on. “You’ve already met everyone I love, and they love you back. But … these are your children, and they will always be your children, and … what if they don’t like me?”
He nodded thoughtfully, understanding. “Well then,” he decided after a moment, “I’ll simply have to disown them, won’t I? Take them out of the will, turn their pictures against the wall, strike their names from the family Bible.”
She gave a nervous, self-deprecating laugh, and started to turn away. He clasped her hands and brought her back to him, his expression serious. “Lindsay, love, I’m proud of my children and I’ll always love them. But do you remember that life I told you about, the one before you? That’s where I raised them to be strong and independent, and now they’re off living their own lives, being exactly what I taught them to be, and they’ve been doing that for a good many years now. They have no part in the life you and I are building together, and they know that. Although,” he added, coaxing a smile, “they’re always welcome to visit, I hope.”
“Of course!” she said swiftly, and she looked both embarrassed and relieved. Her shoulders even sagged a little, as though having suddenly released an invisible burden. “I know that. I know everything you said is true, but …” She pressed her face against his shoulder, hiding it. “Do you remember the first time you brought me here?”
“I do.”
“You told me you loved me, and I … wouldn’t say it back.”
“I noticed.”
“I wanted to,” she assured him with another quick, apologetic glance. “But I couldn’t. Because you said something else that day, do you remember?”
“No.” He cupped his hand against the back of her h
ead, twining his fingers lightly through her hair. “But if it made you hold your tongue, I’m sure it was very foolish.”
“Actually, it was pretty smart. You said we’d both seen too many summers to make mistakes.” She stepped back a little so that she could look up at him, trailing her hands down his arms until she entwined her fingers with his. “Everything is so perfect, Dominic. You are so perfect, and I waited so long to find you, and I only get one chance to do this right. I don’t want to make a mistake. Not with the wedding, not with the reception, not with you, not with anything or anyone that’s important to you. But it seems that the harder I try to make everything perfect, the more mistakes I make. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
His eyes crinkled with a smile. “Well, let me ease your mind on that score. You will disappoint me someday, just like I’ll disappoint you. That’s the half the fun of growing old together, learning about the parts that fit together and the parts that don’t and deciding that both those things are okay. As for the wedding—I hope it’s not perfect. I hope it rains, or the dog runs away with the ham, or someone drops the ring in the mud, because that’s what memories are made of, now aren’t they?”
Her eyes went wide and dark with anxiety. “The dog! I didn’t even think about the dog!”
He threw back his head and laughed. “You see, cherie, why I love you so?” He dropped a kiss on her nose, and then on her lips, tenderly. “Thank you for not being perfect.”
He stepped away and tugged at her hand. “But I didn’t bring you here to fritter away the day with kisses, as sweet as they are. I have a wedding gift for you.”
“A wedding gift? Oh Dominic, I didn’t think we were going to …”
He covered her eyes with his hand and encircled her waist with his other arm, guiding her around the small building. “Step lightly, now,” he cautioned. “Lean on me.”