by Donna Ball
“Ya’ll just don’t get too comfortable in your T-shirts,” Ida Mae advised as she stacked the dishes. “We got ourselves a few cool evenings yet. I wouldn’t’ve started cleaning out them fireplaces just now, if it was me.”
“I couldn’t stand it anymore,” Cici said. “Everything smells like ashes.”
“You’re just going to have to dirty ’em up again.”
“Then I’ll clean them again.”
Ida Mae sniffed as she marched into the kitchen with the dishes.
Noah bit into a cookie. “Yep,” he offered, with every appearance of casualness, “it’s the time of year makes a fella think about sleeping under the stars.”
“Noah wants to move back to the folly,” Lindsay explained to Cici and Bridget.
“Folly?” Lori said with interest. “What’s a folly?”
“It’s a building that serves no practical purpose,” Cici explained. “They used to build them a lot in Europe.”
Lori’s eyes brightened with excitement. “And we have one? Where?”
“Well, it’s not exactly a building anymore,” Lindsay said. “It’s more like a porch with a fireplace in the middle of the woods.”
“No kidding!” She looked at Noah with new respect. “And you got to live there?”
Noah ignored her. “It could be a building again,” he insisted. “All it needs is the walls shored up and some glass for the windows. I could run a 120 line right off the back of the house—”
Cici’s eyes flew wide. “You’ll do no such thing!”
“And it sits right on a spring for water. I’d bury the electric line,” he assured Cici.
Lindsay said, “That’s a great plan, but you’re basically talking about building a whole new house. We can’t afford any of it.”
“Besides,” added Bridget, “if that social worker comes out to find you living in a folly in the woods, she’ll have us all put in jail. You don’t want that, do you?”
Noah scowled and stood up. “I’ve got a report to write.”
Lori got up, too. “Will you show me the folly?”
“Hold on a minute, both of you.” Cici raised a hand to stay them. “Sit down. We’re having a family meeting.”
Noah looked suspicious. “What about?”
And Lori said hopefully, sliding back into her seat, “Is a satellite dish on the agenda?”
Cici beckoned to Ida Mae as she returned to the porch. “This concerns you too, Ida Mae. Have a seat.”
“Ya’ll go ahead and meet all you want,” Ida Mae grumbled. “Don’t make no difference to me what you decide anyhow.” Nonetheless, she settled herself into a wicker rocker a few feet away, her jeaned legs crossed, hands thrust into the pockets of her flowered apron. They had all done this before.
Cici, Bridget, and Lindsay had known each other so long and so well that they could finish each other’s sentences, but even they had understood from the beginning that the only way the joint living arrangement could work was if they had a plan and stuck to it. When Ida Mae, with her strong opinions and specific routines, had joined the mix, it was clear that they needed to establish some boundaries. But with the addition of the two young people, Lori and Noah, the regular family meeting was born. Because, as sincerely as they used the term family, they were, in fact, six unrelated people who shared a household and were doing the best they could to make it work. And sometimes even the best families needed to be run like a business.
Cici said, “Okay, here we all are. It’s the beginning of a new season, and we have a lot we need to accomplish this year. Everyone is going to have to double up on chores if we’re going to get it done. Lindsay, do you have the list?”
Lindsay obligingly pulled a small notebook out of the back pocket of her capris. Lori slid down in her chair and muttered, “Some family meeting. Why do I get the feeling the Executive Board has already met?”
Cici smiled at her sweetly. “That’s life on a farm, dear. Isn’t that what you told me you wanted? To get back to nature?”
Noah scowled. “Do I have to be here?”
“You most certainly do,” responded Lindsay, “since the first item on the agenda is you.”
He looked suspicious, and then uncomfortable as Lindsay went on, “Sometime this month—I’ll let you know the exact date as soon as I do—a county social worker is coming by to do an assessment of Noah’s living conditions. She’ll probably want to interview each of us to find out whether or not this is a suitable environment for a teenage boy.”
At this point Ida Mae grunted loudly and derisively. It was anyone’s guess as to whether this was an expression of her contempt for any social worker who had the audacity to question the suitability of her home, or a gesture of relief that soon there would be one less mouth to feed.
“Personally,” Lindsay went on, with a mild expression on her face, “I think Noah has done exceptionally well here and I’d hate to see anything change that. Next month he should be ready to take his tenth-grade equivalency exam, which will not only mean he’s caught up with his peers, but will be almost a full quarter ahead of them.”
Cici and Bridget broke into spontaneous applause, and Noah’s cheeks turned bright red. “Anyone who’s seen his work will agree he shows real promise as an artist and I think he deserves a lot of credit for keeping up with his schoolwork, his art lessons, and his chores around here.”
“Hear, hear,” said Bridget, smiling.
Noah shrunk deeper into his chair, looking miserable.
“So,” said Cici, “I guess the only question is whether Noah wants to stay here as much as we want him to.”
Noah looked around the table, scowling. “Bunch of women,” he muttered, “ganging up on me.”
Lori leaned toward him. “It’s called manipulation,” she said, with an air of confidentiality. “Don’t fight it. They’re masters.”
“Noah,” prompted Lindsay gently. “You know how it is in this family. If you’re in, you’re in. No breaking the rules, no bending the rules, no trying to get around the rules. We have to work together, all of us. And if we don’t, the social worker is going to find another place for you to live.”
“If that’s what you want,” added Bridget, though with a sorrowful look on her face, “we understand.”
“But we hope it’s not,” said Cici, “because we’ve really gotten used to you, and we’d like you to stay.”
“So what’s it going to be?” asked Lindsay. “Are you in or are you out?”
Noah’s eyes went from one to the other of them in a stormy circuit that was part challenge, part embarrassment, and finally simple resignation. “I didn’t know this whole damn meeting was going to be about me,” he said finally. And then, with an elaborate shrug, “I don’t want you to get in trouble with the county. So I’m in. But after that social worker leaves, I still want my own place.”
All three women smiled, and even Ida Mae, rocking a little faster, seemed to have a smug expression on her face. Lori just rolled her eyes.
“Excellent,” said Lindsay, spreading her hands on the table as she leaned back in her chair. “Now let’s talk about the division of labor.”
Noah folded his arms across his chest. “I knew there was a catch.”
“As long as you brought it up,” Lindsay went on cheerfully, “Noah, you’re in charge of mowing the lawn, pruning the shrubs, and cleaning out the orchard. Also, cultivating the ground for the vegetable garden and building a fence to keep Bambi out.”
He considered that. “How much does it pay?”
Lori gave him a scathing look, and Lindsay replied evenly, “Room and board.”
His brows knit sharply. “I thought Lincoln freed the slaves.”
Lindsay smiled. “Extra credit on your final exam for knowing that.”
Lori exclaimed, “Oh, come on!”
Bridget said, “Did you know forty percent of Americans think Jimmy Carter freed the slaves?”
Cici lifted an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
/> “I read it somewhere.”
Noah said, still scowling, “Who’s Jimmy Carter?”
And because no one could be sure whether he was joking, Lori just rolled her eyes again.
Lindsay said, “If you want to earn a little extra money, you can start cleaning out the loft in the dairy barn. I need the space to store my canvases. And you still owe me $175.”
She checked her list again. “Lori, I’ve got you down to help Noah dig the garden and build the fence.”
“Wait a minute,” objected Noah.
Lori said at the same time, “I think we should talk about that.”
Noah went on, “I don’t need help from no girl.”
“I’m really not much of an outdoor garden-digging kind of person,” added Lori. “I think I’d be of more help in the kitchen.”
“No one who actually works in the kitchen agrees,” Cici said mildly. “Besides, you need the exercise and the vitamin D.”
“I’ll get sunburned. Too much sun is very hard on fair-skinned redheads, right, Aunt Lindsay?”
“Wear a hat,” advised the fair-skinned, auburn-haired Lindsay. “Also, I really have my heart set on getting the reflecting pool and the fishponds restored this summer. That means they’ll have to be drained and cleaned of debris, then bleached and sealed and maybe even resurfaced. Lori, I thought that would be a good project for you.”
Lori’s eyes went wide, and Noah tried not to grin. “What, are you kidding? All that black gunky water and weeds and bugs? Those pools are gross! Who knows what could be living at the bottom of them? There could be, like, snakes and stuff!”
The three women glanced at each other, and shared the very slightest of shrugs. “Probably not this time of year,” Cici offered. “So I’d get started right away if I were you.”
“But I don’t know anything about building ponds! I wouldn’t know where to begin!”
“None of us knew anything about restoring a hundred-year-old house when we started,” Cici pointed out.
“Or raising sheep or preserving food,” Bridget added.
“Or building garden walls or bringing back an antique rose garden or managing an orchard,” Lindsay added. “The point is to learn by doing. This is your project.” And she beamed at the younger woman. “We know you’ll do a great job.”
“But—”
“We’ll also need you to help with the berry harvest this spring,” Lindsay went on, “which means spreading nets over the bushes to keep the birds out as soon as the blossoms fall off. And we’re all going to have to pitch in to get all of these windows washed, inside and out, not to mention scrubbing the soot stains off the walls.”
“And I know you don’t mind continuing to help me with the sheep,” Bridget said, smiling, “especially with the baby lambs.”
Lori looked slightly mollified. “Well, that’s okay I guess. I like the babies. As long as I don’t have to go tromping across that muddy meadow through the sheep manure in my Doc Martens.”
“Of course not, sweetie,” Bridget assured her. “We’ve got work boots just your size for that.”
Lori looked suspiciously from Bridget to Lindsay to her mother to Ida Mae. “And what about you guys? What are you going to be doing?”
Bridget widened her eyes innocently. “Why, I was planning to go to Acapulco.”
“And I was going to write a novel,” offered Cici, leaning back in her chair as she sipped her iced tea.
“Damn,” said Lindsay, “that’s what I was going to do. No, wait, maybe I’ll just read one.”
“In fact,” Cici said, with an air of determination that made even Lindsay and Bridget uneasy, “I thought this spate of warm weather might be the perfect time to start refinishing the floors.”
Lindsay groaned out loud, and Bridget said, “I don’t know what would make you think that.” Noah suddenly became very interested in a cloud formation in the distant sky and Lori, for once, had the very good judgment to keep silent.
“Come on,” Cici insisted, “we’ve been putting it off for a year. We don’t want to wait until it gets too hot, and it’s warm enough now to leave the windows open to air the place out. Jonesie said we could rent a sander from him, and the whole project could be finished in three days. Well, five,” she modified, “before we can move the furniture back in.”
One of the first things they had loved about the old house was the beautiful heart pine floors that covered the downstairs living areas. Unfortunately, years of neglect had left them in less than optimal shape. After painstakingly restoring the stair treads of the grand staircase to all their gleaming glory, however, their enthusiasm for further work on the floors had waned. They had spent an entire spring and summer thinking of reasons not to tackle the floor refinishing project. But they all knew Cici was right. They couldn’t put it off forever.
“Well,” Lindsay agreed reluctantly, “this is the perfect weather for a project like that.”
“I saw some really pretty rugs in the JCPenney catalog,” Bridget volunteered. “Couldn’t we just . . .” But a look at Cici’s expression persuaded her not to finish the sentence. “No, I guess not.”
“Well, if ya’ll are going to start tearing the house apart,” grumbled Ida Mae, heaving herself up from the rocker, “I’ve got things that need to get done. Varnish ain’t never going to dry if it rains, you know.”
“Wait,” Cici said. “There’s news.” She took a breath, set her glass down, and glanced around the table at them with a smile that barely concealed her excitement. “Derek and Paul called before lunch. They’re driving down next weekend.”
Exclamations of delight rippled around the table until Noah said, “What? Them queer guys from the city?”
Lindsay shot him a look. “That’s not a polite term, Noah.”
“Jeez, where were you raised, in a barn?” Lori added. “They’re gay, okay?”
He shrugged. “Queer is queer.”
Lori opened her mouth again and Cici cut her off with a warning. “Lori . . .”
Bridget said quickly, “Do they know something about the wine?”
In the 1960s and ’70s, the farm—known then as Blackwell Farms—had operated a winery. Ida Mae had given the women the last bottle of Blackwell Farms wine from that era as a Christmas present, and it turned out to be quite valuable. Derek, an amateur wine connoisseur, had offered to help them place the wine for auction with a friend of his who specialized in such things. They had been waiting weeks to hear how much it would bring.
“I think so,” Cici said, her eyes taking on a spark of excitement. “Derek said he wanted to talk to us about it in person.”
“That could be really good,” Lindsay said hopefully.
“Or really bad,” Bridget ventured.
“I better start airing out the guest room,” Ida Mae said with an air of martyrdom as she trudged back inside. “Like we didn’t have nothing better to do.”
“What I’d really like to do,” Cici said, “is get the floors finished before they get here.”
“They’ll be our first real overnight company,” Bridget said happily. “We’ll have cheese blintzes with wild blueberry sauce for breakfast.”
“You’ll have to make scones,” Lindsay added. “You know Paul will consider the trip wasted if you don’t. And I think we need to spruce up the guest room a little if people are actually going to stay there. There’s still some furniture left in the loft. “
“Maybe we could use the money from the wine to hire somebody to clean out the pools,” Lori suggested hopefully. “You know, a professional.”
“Wouldn’t cost but a couple of hundred dollars to fix up that little ole place in the woods,” added Noah.
“Sorry, guys, the money is already spent,” Cici said. “On taxes.”
Lori sighed. “Well, it’ll be nice to see them again. To have a conversation with someone who, you know, remembers the Internet.”
Noah said, “Is this meeting over? I’ve got to tune up the lawn mower.”
“French Revolution,” Lindsay reminded him. “Fifteen pages.”
“It’s in my head.”
“It had better be on paper by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
He returned a wave that might have been acknowledgment, agreement, or dismissal as he took the stairs with a leap and trotted across the lawn.
Bridget said fondly, “Recent difficulties aside, he really is a good boy.”
“He’s come a long way,” agreed Lindsay.
“Thanks to you,” Cici pointed out, and Lindsay shrugged modestly.
Lori said, “You know, there’s a lot to be said for doing what you’re good at.”
“Oh-oh,” murmured Cici, “I recognize that tone.” Nonetheless, all three women turned their attention to Lori with a look of polite interest.
“Like Noah, for instance,” Lori went on earnestly. “He’s really good at lawn mowers and hoes and chain saws. You should go with your strengths. Do what you’re good at.”
Bridget inquired helpfully, “And what are you good at, Lori?”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Lori answered with enthusiasm. “And you know how much I love this place and want to contribute.”
“Oh, yes,” agreed Bridget.
“No doubt about it,” added Lindsay.
“Absolutely,” from Cici.
“But I’m a business major,” Lori pointed out. She took a breath, her eyes brightening with expectation as she came at last to the pièce de résistance. “That’s what I’m good at. So what I’d like to contribute is—a business plan!”
The three women were silent for a moment, appearing to consider this. Then Cici said, “True enough. You were a business major. But did you actually take any business courses?”
Lori looked momentarily at a loss. “Well, that doesn’t mean I couldn’t come up with a good business plan.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Bridget assured her. “I’m sure you’d be just great at it.”
“But what would we do with it?” Lindsay inquired.
“Make money!” explained Lori happily. “Listen, I know how expensive this place is. I think I can find a way to make it pay for itself, and I think I can do it without going back to college.”