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in a while.”
    Cici lowered her voice a fraction so as not to be overheard from the rooms inside. “You know Noah’s scholarship is only for one year. And tuition at John Adams is not exactly cheap.”
    “Not to mention college,” Lindsay added unhappily. She sipped her wine. “Believe me, I haven’t overlooked that. Whoever thought I’d be worrying about college tuition at my age?”
    Bridget said, “We promised his mother we’d take care of him.”
    Lindsay said firmly, “I’d make sure Noah went to college with or without that promise. He has too much potential to waste.”
    Cici said, “And if you didn’t, Bridget and I would.”
    Bridget added simply, “He’s one of the family now.” And Lindsay smiled gratefully at both of them.
    Cici asked Lindsay, “Have you heard from her since Christmas?”
    There was no need to specify to whom she was referring. Noah’s mother, Mandy Cormier, had come into their lives only last year, but hardly a day passed that they did not think of her. She had given up her son when he was only a toddler, believing him to be safe in the care of his grandmother. But the grandmother died unexpectedly, and Noah had never known his mother was alive. By the time Mandy found her son again, he was well on his way to becoming a full-time member of the Ladybug Farm household, and Mandy herself was suffering from a terminal illness. She had granted Lindsay legal guardianship of Noah on the condition that she, Mandy, be allowed to tell Noah about her illness herself. Unfortunately, she had also insisted that Noah be allowed to choose when—or whether—he wanted to be in contact with her, and so far Noah’s choice had been silence.
    Lindsay shook her head. “I sent her some photographs of Noah, and his first semester report card from John Adams.” She hesitated. “I thought Noah might want to send her a card, after I gave him her mailing address. But I guess not.”
    “It’s easier for him this way, I think,” Bridget said softly. “He’s had so much to adjust to the last couple of years. He’ll deal with it when he’s ready.”
    The two women glanced at her briefly, but no one had to state the obvious. By the time Noah was ready, it could very likely be too late.
    The cowbell clanged softly. Squirrels chittered. Rebel, a black and white shadow in the deepening twilight, slithered across the lawn toward his bed in the barn.
    Lindsay said, “We can apply for another scholarship. He’ll probably get it.”
    “Probably” agreed Cici. “But a traditional scholarship only pays for tuition. There are still books and lab fees and uniforms and, well, what am I telling you for? He was lucky to win the money this year that covers everything.”
    “And there’s still college.”
    “Right,” said Cici.
    “So, I guess we have to give the smarmy Washington society types a chance.”
    “Right.”
    “They might not even want us to do their wedding,” Lindsay suggested.
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Bridget, rocking contentedly. “Why wouldn’t they? This place is perfect. We’re perfect. And I’m going to blow them away with my food.”
    Cici said, “Well, then, I guess we’ve got the job.”
    Lindsay sighed. “Are we ever going to be able to retire?”
    Cici rolled a glance her way. “Um, no.”
    Bridget said, very quietly, “We should talk about Ida Mae.”
    No one answered for a while. When Lindsay spoke, it was with her gaze fixed with solemn absorption on the deep purple pits of shadow that crept across the lawn. “She’s really old, Bridget.”
    Cici said, “Maybe she’s just going through a downswing. You know, like people do. It could be nothing.”
    “It could be something,” Bridget countered, reluctantly.
    “Old people have it tough,” Lindsay said. “Their knees start to go, their hearing, they get arthritis and atherosclerosis, and with all that bothering them, it’s no wonder they get confused now and then. It doesn’t necessarily mean