Love Letters from Ladybug Farm (31 page)

A smile started in his eyes, and traveled to his lips, where it lit up his whole face. “I thought you’d never ask.” He opened the truck door. “What time?”

“Two o’clock.”

“I’ll be here at one,” he assured her, as he started the engine.

Lindsay clapped her hands together like a girl, laughing, and did a little twirl in the driveway as he drove away.

Bridget smiled as she typed:

The event was organized with the precision of the Invasion of Normandy.

Countdown began at 5:45 a.m. Friday, when Rodrigo the rooster sounded the first call to action. By six, the troops were assembled in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and clutching coffee cups, to receive their orders. Noah and Cici: Construction and Assembly. Ida Mae and Bridget: Kitchen and Amenities. Lindsay: Design and Decoration. Lori: Hospitality and Incidentals. Everyone: Housekeeping and Aesthetics.

By ten, the windows were washed, the baseboards scrubbed, the furniture oiled, the carpets vacuumed, the floors washed, waxed, and buffed; the curtains washed and rehung, the draperies steamed, the linens freshened; the porch pressure-washed; and every bathroom polished until it gleamed.

At ten fifteen, florists’ trucks began to arrive. The bridal bouquet, the bridesmaids’ bouquets, the groomsmens’ boutonnieres, the mothers’ corsages, and the loose flowers that Bridget intended to use to decorate the cake were all stored in the supplemental refrigerator in the cellar. Giant potted ferns were placed strategically around the porch and on either side of the garden arbor. Silk dogwoods defined the reception area and screened the barnyard. Lindsay set up a workstation in the cellar, where it was cooler, to start trimming, arranging, and storing the dozens upon dozens of Apricot Delight roses that piled up in columns of boxes around her.

The tents were erected on the back lawn, the scrim was secured, and the folding tables rented from the party supply company were set up beneath them. One hundred folding chairs were snapped into place along a precise fan-shaped path that Paul had outlined in the rose garden—and not a single rose, flower bed, or tree branch was disturbed. Noah assembled the twenty-five decorative table rounds that Cici had purchased at the dollar store, and arranged them around the dance floor. Tomorrow they would be covered with ivory satin and decorated with tulle-wrapped candles and apricot roses. The wedding arbor—a lacy affair built of bender board and balsa wood that Lindsay had spotted in the florist’s shop and purchased on the spot for a hundred dollars—was decorated with silk ivy, white roses, and satin ribbon. Anchored in place in the center of the rose garden, it framed the mountains and the vineyard in the background, and the fountain and the reflecting pool in the foreground. The three supplemental arbors that Catherine had insisted upon were suitably decorated with tulle, ribbons, and silk ivy. Roses were deadheaded, petals were swept off the rock paths and the grass. Satin ribbons were wrapped around one hundred funeral chairs. An altar table—which was actually a butcher block repurposed from Cici’s workshop—was set up for the unity candles. Cici had to admit—as she stepped back with her arm around Noah’s shoulders to admire their work—that it was magnificent.

The six cake layers that had been deemed perfect enough to make the final cut were removed from the freezer, filled with lemon custard, carefully wrapped in the fondant that Bridget had been working on all week, and—with breath suspended—arranged with cake separators on a wheeled cart, and then stored carefully in a corner of the butler’s pantry with dire warnings from Bridget regarding what would happen to anyone who dared even breathe in its direction. The bride was bringing the cake topper to the rehearsal dinner, and it would be decorated just before serving with fresh flowers and fruit, in keeping with the “simply organic” theme.

The turkey was removed from its brine, garlic and herbs were inserted under its skin, and it was wrapped in apple-wood bacon and put in the oven to roast. Bridget left Ida Mae with the recipe for the cheese biscuits and the dressing for the three-berry appetizer while she prepared the strawberry crumble and mixed the ice cream for the rehearsal dinner, and put two hams in the second oven for the wedding reception. They were working together like a well-oiled machine, and Bridget reminded herself to apologize to Ida Mae, when all this was over, for whatever unflattering things she had thought about her over the past several weeks.

Lori reported that the entire bridal party and several of the guests had already checked into the Holiday Inn, the gift baskets had been delivered to the appropriate rooms, and Catherine was on her way with the wedding dress. Lindsay snapped a freshly ironed white tablecloth over the giant dining room table, lined the center with magnolia leaves, and set the table. She used the plain white china Paul had brought, a mixture of their own three silver patterns, and sparkling glassware from the butler’s pantry. Lori inserted a tiny apricot rosebud into each napkin ring and Lindsay arranged the floating candle champagne glasses in front of each place setting.

At four thirty Paul did a final walk-through, adjusted a table setting here, a languid rose petal there, and declared, “All right, troops, hit the showers.” He checked his watch and smiled approvingly. “And right on schedule.”

Things remained on schedule for another twenty-two minutes, at which point Ida Mae called up the stairs, “Somebody’s here!”

Cici dashed out of her bedroom in a terry robe, her hair half-dry and clipped up in sections on her head, barefoot and un-made-up. “That’s impossible!” she cried in dismay. “It takes an hour to get here from the Holiday Inn! Catherine couldn’t have made it already.”

Noah called, “Hey, no fair! I was supposed to park the cars!”

“It ain’t her,” Ida Mae called back. “It’s some man!”

“My hair is wet!” Lindsay checked in.

“I’ll be dressed in five minutes,” Bridget called, panic in her voice. “Paul is in the shower.”

“Crap!” Cici muttered. She raced back to her room, flung off the robe, and began to tug on the silk slacks and floaty white shirt that were tonight’s hostess uniform. “Is there anything worse than an early guest?”

The next thing she heard, almost as though in answer to that question, was Lori’s astonished exclamation from the front hall: “Daddy! What are you doing here?”

Cici, holding the blow-dryer like a weapon and staring at her own grimly horrified reflection in the mirror, said simply, “I’ll kill him.”

“Richard, you have to leave,” she declared, buttoning her cuff and tugging the clips from her hair as she hurried down the stairs. “I don’t care what your excuse is, you can’t be here.”

“Nice to see you, too, sweetie.” He was standing at the bottom of the stairs with Lori, grinning up at her, and he kissed Cici’s cheek as she skidded to a breathless stop in front of him. “Gorgeous old place,” he added, gazing around appreciatively. “Lori’s description didn’t do it justice.”

“Lori, finish getting dressed,” Cici demanded.

Lori, who was wearing a clean pair of khaki shorts and a T-shirt that left three inches of her waist exposed, explained, “I’m on kitchen duty, Mom. I don’t have to dress up.”

Cici stared at her. “Whose idea was
that
?” Then, focusing, she whipped her head back to Richard. “Richard, I told you we’re having an event here this weekend. I don’t have time—”

“I told him about the rehearsal dinner,” Lori said. “Did you know half your hair is wet?”

“What are you
doing
here?”

He rested a gentling hand on her arm, smiling his easy confident smile. “I told you I was flying out this weekend to look at property. I thought I’d surprise my girls.”

Lori’s face lit up. “Are you buying a place here, Dad?”

Cici gave him a look that could have shattered glass. And he was completely oblivious. “Ooops,” he said, “guess the cat’s out of the bag.” He grinned and gave Lori’s shoulders a one-armed hug. “And the word is
bought
, sweetie. I
bought
a place about ten miles away.”

Before Cici could recover her breath, Lindsay said from the landing in a carefully controlled tone, “Cici? Am I hallucinating?”

The next few minutes were a melee of voices, questions, explanations, and introductions as one by one the residents of Ladybug Farm came to discover that the guest who had arrived was not among those who were expected. “As I was trying to explain,” Cici said at last, raising her voice to be heard, “we’re having a party tonight, so Richard, you have to go.
Now
.”

“Mom, he’s come all this way!”

“I could help,” Richard volunteered. “I don’t mind.”

“So he could,” Paul declared, adjusting the knot in his apricot silk tie as he came down the stairs, jacket over his arm. “The only person I know who’s more charming than I am is your ex, sweetie, and we need a bartender.” He extended his hand to Richard as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “Nice to see you, Richard.” He glanced over Richard’s polo shirt and khakis and decided, “You’ll need a jacket. Noah, take him upstairs and pick out one of mine, then give him a quick tour of the house. Bar supplies are set up on the side porch.”

Richard winked at Cici as Noah led the way upstairs. “Looks like I’m hired.”

Cici stared after him in helpless dismay, and Paul looked her over critically. “You might consider a little lipstick and blush,” he suggested. “And the hair is a bit trendy for this crowd, I think.”