Vintage Ladybug Farm

by Donna Ball

  “Well, we couldn’t turn all those people away,” Paul explained. “There would’ve been a riot.”

  “And it really wasn’t that difficult,” Derrick added. “In fact …” he shared a look of modest triumph with his partner, “it was rather exhilarating, facing down a crisis and rising to the occasion like that. I made bellinis …”

  “While I whipped together a frittata.”

  “There were all those breakfast steaks in the freezer …”

  “Which I served with a champagne sauce I learned to make from the food editor at the Post,” Paul said. “One-two-three, never fails.”

  “Then we mixed canned cherries with brandy to make cherries jubilee and served it over store-bought vanilla ice cream from the freezer,” Derrick said. “Our friend Bridget taught us that. We served family style and everyone seemed to love it.”

  “Of course,” Paul felt compelled to point out, “they had a quite a few bellinis by that time.”

  “I worked the front of the house and Paul worked the back,” said Derrick with a self-satisfied nod. “We were a well-oiled machine.”

  “We were magnificent,” agreed Paul, grinning at him.

  Amelia Wriggly burst into tears.

  Paul rushed to her while Derrick hurried to snatch a box of tissues from the storage closet. “Dear lady, we are cads, utter cads,” exclaimed Paul. He put a solicitous arm around her shoulders and led her to the velvet sofa in the sitting room. “You must be exhausted, and here we are going on and on …”

  “We did all the washing up,” Derrick assured her, pressing a tissue into her hand as she sank down on the sofa. “The kitchen is spotless and all the receipts are safely locked away, so you don’t have to worry about a thing. You just relax and rest. I can’t imagine how stressful this has all been for you.”

  “It’s not that,” she sobbed into the tissue. “I mean it is, of course, the stress … It’s just that you’re so sweet …”

  They sat, one on either side of her, and patted her hands. “It was our pleasure. You’ve made us feel so at home here, anything we can do for you only brings us joy.”

  She sobbed harder. Paul and Derrick looked at each other over her bowed head, puzzled and at a loss.

  “And now …” She sniffed, blotted her eyes, and tried to compose herself. “You’re just the sweetest things, and now that just makes what I have to tell you that much harder.”

  She straightened up, blew her nose, and seemed to strengthen her resolve. They waited in a mixture of dread and expectation.

  “Boys,” she said, “I’m so sorry, but I’m closing the B&B. My daughter and her husband have been begging me to move in with them for years,” she went on hurriedly, as though speaking quickly would take away some of the sting of her announcement. “They even have an in-law suite all ready for me. I only opened this place to keep myself busy after my darling Andy passed, but now, with the triplets … Well, it’s clear she can’t manage by herself, and all this running back and forth is killing me. And forgetting about the brunch on Sunday—I declare, it never once crossed my mind!—well, that only goes to prove I can’t keep up with both jobs. So.” She took a deep breath. “I have to let it go. I’m putting the place on the market and closing down after this week’s reservations check out.”

  Derrick sank back against the sofa cushions, heavy with disbelief. “We really are homeless.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said helplessly.

  “It’s all right.” Paul sounded stunned. “As our young friend Noah would say, the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”

  Derrick smiled wanly. “We’ve really grown fond of this place. I’ll miss it.”

  Amelia gave an impatient wave of her hand. “I’ve been a terrible hostess. I’m surprised you stayed this long. You’ve done most of the work yourselves, cooking your own meals, doing your own laundry, even taking reservations when I wasn’t here.”

  “That was half the fun,” Paul assured her.

  “We enjoyed helping out,” Derrick agreed. “Who knew running a B&B could be so satisfying?”

  “We definitely made a good team yesterday,” Paul said, and then he looked at Derrick, the slow kernel of an idea forming in his eyes. “Didn’t we?”

  Derrick’s expression grew cautious. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Why not? It’s not like we have anywhere else to go.”

  “And we can definitely use the extra income.” The excitement in Derrick’s eyes was growing.

  “And I really was starting to like the country.” Paul grinned.

  “I would expand the gallery,” Derrick said.

  “And I’d knock out that back wall and put in a spa—”

  “With a massage room!”

  Amelia looked from one to the other of them in growing confusion. Over her head, Paul and Derrick beamed at each other.

  “How much do you want for it?” they said as one.

  ~*~

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Summer Wine

  Noah came down the stairs with his duffel over his shoulder and paused on the landing, just for a minute, to look around the old place one last time. He didn’t like the way that made him feel, so he quickly moved on.

  The house was quiet, but it often was this time of day, and no one seemed to be around but Cici, who was absently leafing through a magazine on the front porch. He set down his duffel just inside the door and went out.

  “Well,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I guess I’m ready. My room’s all cleaned out. I boxed up my stuff in the attic, in case you need the room for something.”

  She glanced up with a brief smile, turning a page. “That’s nice, Noah. Thank you.”

  “I thought, you know, maybe the guys might be moving in here. You know, now that I’m going.”

  “Umm. I think they made other plans.”

  She seemed to be very absorbed in an article about composting toilets. Funnily enough, he couldn’t remember ever seeing her just sitting around reading a magazine in the middle of the day before.

  “Well,” he said, clearing his throat a little. “I don’t have to be in Charlottesville until four. I guess I’ll give the grass one last mowing.”

  “That’d be nice.” She didn’t look up.

  “It’s growing pretty fast now. You all are going to have to find somebody to take over for me pretty quick.”

  “I’m sure we won’t have any trouble.”

  He waited for her to say something else, but she just kept reading. So he shrugged unhappily and started down the steps. “I’ll get to it, then.”

  “Oh, Noah, I almost forgot.” She closed the magazine then and stood up. “Lindsay wanted you to bring down some boxes from the loft in the dairy before you leave. Some old frames and things that she wants to get rid of. Do you mind doing that before you start the lawn? I’ll show you which ones.”

  “Sure.” He tried not to sound as low as he felt. “Might as well.”

  She walked with him across the yard to the dairy barn, now known as The Tasting Table, and he couldn’t help but notice all the cars parked around it. “What are all those people doing here?”

  “Oh, I think Dominic is doing something with the wine today,” Cici replied vaguely. “I’m not sure what.”

  “He didn’t forget he’s supposed to drive me to Charlottesville, did he? I can’t miss that bus.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be finished in time.”

  He stopped just outside the door and turned to looked around: the freshly-painted barn that he had helped build himself, the new gravel road that encircled it, the rows of green vines stretching out beyond it—how many holes had he dug for those?—the chicken yard filled with clucking, fluffed-up, different-colored chickens, and the goat house he’d spent a good part of last spring building by hand. The vegetable garden he’d helped dig, now green with tomato vines and corn and beans climbing between the stalks. The dairy barn, where he used to sit and have his lessons, and
afterwards, Lindsay would pull out the canvases and they would paint together. He had always loved the smell of it—oil paint and chalk dust. Now it was a restaurant, and the barn was a winery, and people were just driving up here and parking any time of the day. He gave a small shake of his head.

  “Man, things sure have changed around here in four years,” he said.

  Cici smiled and touched his arm lightly. “Yes,” she agreed, “they have.”

  Then she opened the door and stepped back to let him enter first. He crossed the threshold and an entire roomful of people burst into applause. He just stood there in astonishment.

  There was a big red, white, and blue banner across the width of the room that read “Good Luck, Noah” and there were American flags all down the length of the long table, and red, white, and blue bunting on every vertical surface. Everyone was cheering and clapping and from a set of hidden speakers somewhere, The Marine Corps Hymn started playing. Amy was there, and Reverend and Mrs. Holland, and Farley, and lots of people from the church, and Jonesie and his wife from the hardware store where Noah worked for the past four years, and Paul and Derrick, and Dominic, of course, and Lori was bouncing up and down in the crowd, pumping her fist and giving him the Marine Corps BooYah! As he stood there in speechless amazement, Lindsay pushed forward from the back of the crowd, her eyes bright and her face stretched into a smile, and hugged him hard. “You didn’t really think we’d let you get out of here without a going-away party, did you?”

  Then Cici pushed her aside to hug his neck, laughing, and then Bridget, and then there was Amy, and he could hardly catch his breath for the people pounding him on the back and shaking his hand and making him feel like somebody special. It wasn’t until he had a minute to look up from all the hugging and handshaking and people wishing him well that he saw Cici and Bridget and Lindsay, standing with their arms linked and smiling at him and looking so proud and excited and sad that he realized it was true: he was somebody special. And it wasn’t hard to figure out why.

  Lindsay said, pushing at her damp eyes with her fingertips, “I wish someone would turn off that damn music. It always makes me cry.”

  “I love the Marine Corps Hymn,” Bridget objected, although her voice sounded a little wet. “Especially the last part, about getting to heaven and finding the streets are guarded by … United States … Marines.” Her voice broke on the last and she turned away, blowing her nose hard.

  Cici bravely dashed away tears with the back of her hand. “Kids grow up,” she said. “If they don’t, we haven’t done our jobs.” She gave a fierce, determined nod of her head, sniffing. “We did our job.”

  Dominic came up behind them and dropped one hand on Cici’s shoulder, the other on Bridget’s, leaving Lindsay in the center of the embrace. “Now then, my ladies,” he said softly, “chins up. There’s nothing a soldier hates worse than to see his mother cry. Happy thoughts, eh?”

  At that moment, the stirring anthem came to an end and was replaced by an up-tempo and completely inappropriate selection from Katy Perry, and all three women managed to laugh. Lori was playing DJ.

  There were speeches—mostly from the preacher—and sentimental well-wishes and funny stories from people who had known Noah since he was a ragged kid darting in and out of trouble all over the county. There was food and lots of it: Bridget’s tomato tarts and Ida Mae’s meatballs, ribs soaked in red sauce, fluffy rolls stuffed with ham salad, deviled eggs and coleslaw, and a huge sheet cake decorated with a pretty fair replica of the eagle, globe, and anchor emblem of the United States Marine Corps.

  “I looked it up online,” Lori informed Noah, cutting herself a generous slice. “And did you know there’s a company that will print any picture you want onto a slab of sugar? So that’s what we did. Of course, I wouldn’t actually eat it if I were you. It shipped all the way from Ohio, and who knows what they did to get those colors.”

  “Pretty cool,” Noah said, digging into his own slice of cake. “Tastes like Ida Mae’s cake.”

  “It is. She just put the sugar thing on top.” She looked at him in assessment. “So. No offense or anything, but you know you’re crazy, right? College is the best deal anybody ever came up with for kids. Four years of hanging out and living on your own while somebody else pays the bills, and really, all you have to do to stay ahead of the crowd is do what the professors tell you to do, because nobody else does. And for somebody like you, going to art school—on a scholarship no less—it’s just crazy. Do you know how hot the art majors are? I couldn’t even hang out with them; that’s how hot.” She gave a small sad shake of her head. “You turned down the chance of a lifetime, if you ask me. What got into you, anyway?”

  He didn’t even get mad, as he most certainly would have a year ago. “You just got to know where you fit, is all,” he replied. “I’m not saying I won’t ever go to college. The fact is, I’d like to, when I get out. But if I went right now, I’d spend the whole time wondering what else I was missing out on, and what good is that? If you’re not where you’re supposed to be, you’re nowhere, right? Good cake,” he added, setting down his plate as he spotted someone waving to him across the room. “Thanks for the sugar thing.”

  “Yeah,” mumbled Lori as he left. “Sure.” But she felt uneasy and confused, as though the eighteen-year-old kid she’d taken such pleasure in tormenting for the past four years had somehow outsmarted her. She was glad when Dominic caught her eye from behind the makeshift bar and waved her over. She left her cake behind.

  “Do you know,” she said when she arrived, “Aunt Bridget really needs to put a real bar in this corner, instead of a table covered with fabric. After all, it’s a wine tasting restaurant, right? People should be able to sit at the bar and have a glass of wine.”

  “We’re way ahead of you, sweetie,” Lindsay said. “Your mom is going to start building it next week.”

  “Fortunately, this is a fairly temperate crowd,” Dominic said, “because we’re running low on the ‘good stuff,’ as you call it. Here, chérie, I want you to taste this.” As he spoke, he poured a measure of red wine from a decanter into a tasting glass and handed it to her.

  “What about me?” Lindsay objected.

  He held up a finger, smiling. “Patience, love. First sip goes to the wine maker.”

  Lori’s eyes went wide. “You did a thieving?” she accused. “Without me?”

  “Thieving?” Lindsay repeated, looking alarmed.

  “It’s where we draw off a little wine from the barrels to taste,” Dominic explained. “You can tell a lot about a wine in the laboratory, but the only way to really know what you have is to taste it. And so?” He nodded to Lori. “What do you taste?”

  Lori inhaled the bouquet, considered it, and took a slow and thoughtful sip. “Vanilla,” she said, surprised. “And bite of pepper.”

  Lindsay reached for the decanter. “Let me taste.”

  “Wait.” Lori tasted again. “Is that apples?”

  Dominic smiled at her, his eyes sparking with pride. “Excellent. I knew you’d spot it.”

  “A little sugary,” she commented.

  “That will fade with maturity.”

  “Kind of raw.”

  “It’s summer wine. Unfinished.”

  Lindsay took a sip and looked at them both in surprise. “This is our wine? It’s good.” She tasted again. “I would pay money for this.”

  Dominic said, “Not yet, you won’t. But give it some time and you could be paying a great deal of money for it.”

  Lori held the glass up to the light, examining it. “It’s so much more complex than I expected. And it’s still young.” And she looked at him, puzzled. “It doesn’t taste anything like Blackwell Farms wine.”

  “Of course not,” Dominic said. “In my estimation, it has the potential to be even better.”

  Lindsay looked at him, surprised and delighted, and Lori frowned. “But I don’t understand. The wine we sampled didn’t have any of these flavors. We did everything
just the way we were supposed to, and we should’ve gotten wine that tasted like I expected it to. How did this happen?”

  Dominic said, “Wine is a living thing, chérie, and full of surprises. The oxygenation, the oak chips, the stirring and the pump-overs—all of these things change the chemistry, of course. But in the end it all comes down to alchemy. Which is, like so many of life’s greatest gifts, a lovely mystery.” As he spoke, his hand came to rest easily and naturally on Lindsay’s waist, caressing it lightly, and she smiled into his eyes.

  Lori, preoccupied with analyzing another sip of the wine, didn’t notice.

  “And so, my young vigneron,” Dominic said to her, “what shall we do with your first vintage? Bottle it, or hold it in reserve?”

  Lori’s eyes flew wide with surprise. “My vintage? But you’re the one who … All I did was …”

  “You chose the crush,” Dominic reminded her. “You chose the barrels. You tested for bacteria. You monitored the alcohol levels. You watched the temperature. You stirred down the CO2 … You made the wine.”

  “But …” She caught her breath on a note of wonder, and the protest faded from her eyes as she looked back at the glass of wine in her hand. She held it up to the light again and regarded it as though it held the elixir of magic. “I made this,” she said. Her voice was soft with amazement and then bubbling with pride and excitement as she repeated, “I made this.”

  She turned back to Dominic, eyes bright and clear, and gave a decisive nod. “Bottle half of it,” she said. “In three months it’ll be completely drinkable, and we need the sales. Hold the rest in reserve until we get the first crush of Ladybug Farm grapes. I really want to see how this wine grows up.” And she moved off, sipping her wine, looking extremely pleased with herself.

  Dominic watched her go, chuckling softly. “So do I,” he confessed and gave Lindsay’s waist an affectionate squeeze.

  Lindsay smiled into her glass. “This wine is good,” she said. “But you’re the one who’s responsible for it, not Lori. That was nice of you.”