Vintage Ladybug Farm by Donna Ball Read Free Book Online Page A

lessons for his attention in math, science, and English. After a year of home schooling, he’d not only caught up with his classmates, but surpassed them and was even awarded a prestigious scholarship to a private school in his junior year. If Lindsay was ambitious for him, it was with justification.
    “But,” she said, “the basketball scholarship is practically worthless—it’s only partial tuition for one year and you know what happens to those kids the first time they tear an ACL—and, well, as much as I’d like to see him at SCAD, Savannah is so far away, and besides, their program is limited. We could get a full financial aid package to UVA, or maybe even William and Mary, if he’d just try. Now that’s an education.”
    “I definitely vote for UVA,” Bridget said. “He could be home weekends.”
    Cici’s smile was wistful. “Just like Lori.”
    Bridget tasted her chocolate, then paused. “Do you know what would be great in this? Some of that Kahlua Kevin sent us from Mexico.”
    Bridget’s son, Kevin, was a DC attorney who had chosen to spend his Christmas holidays on the sunny beaches of Mexico. The elaborate gifts he sent had more than made up for his absence at the Christmas table, and in fact, had inspired the ladies to suggest that he vacation in Paris next year.
    Everyone agreed that a touch of Kahlua would be just the thing, although Cici felt compelled to point out, “This is how people gain fifteen pounds over the holidays.”
    Bridget brought the Kahlua from the corner cabinet that sat beneath a stained-glass window, which depicted a field of lilies against a blue sky. “Actually,” she said, pouring a generous dollop into each upheld cup, “a new study says that the average person only gains two pounds over Christmas.”
    “Ha,” said Lindsay, swirling the liquor into the chocolate with the tip of her index finger. “Whoever did that study has never spent Christmas at Ladybug Farm.”
    “Well, this is the last of it,” declared Cici, raising her cup in a toast. “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we diet.”
    “Famous last words,” muttered Lindsay, but she clinked her mug against the others and then made a muffled sound of pleasure as she tasted the hot chocolate.
    They settled back for a moment of chocolate-Kahlua bliss, listening to the crackle of the fire and the occasional overhead squeak of a floorboard that told them Noah was still up and about. Bridget’s feet, clad in snug slipper socks with fuzzy sheep woven into the knit design, stretched toward the radiant heat of the fireplace, and she murmured, “Do you know what I like best about this house in the winter? The smell. It’s like opening up an old trunk and the whole past comes flooding out.”
    “Hmm.” Cici sipped her chocolate. “I can’t believe it’s been four years since we first saw this place.”
    Lindsay smiled at her. “I can’t believe we’re going to have a wedding.”
    “Me either,” Cici admitted.
    “Will she wear your wedding gown?”
    Cici gave a snort of amusement. “Hardly. I burned that baby the minute the divorce was final.”
    Bridget said, “Well, look at this.” Her eyes were on the book again, although now with renewed interest. “It says here that during the sixties, people came from as far away as Europe—Europe!—to attend the dinner pairings at the Blackwell Farms tasting room. Can you imagine? They built entire meals around their wines.”
    “How about that?” Lindsay said. “Ida Mae must have done the cooking for them. We should ask her about it.”
    “The sixties,” said Cici, smiling reminiscently. “Do you remember the sixties?”
    “Of course not,” replied Lindsay archly, sipping her cocoa. “I was an infant.”
    Cici kicked her ankle.
    “It says here they entertained politicians, movie stars, and heads of state. Right here on Ladybug Farm.”
    “Do you realize,” said Cici, “that if I still had any of that cheap-o furniture I bought when I first