were just delicious. Where did you get the pecans?”
When Bridget confessed she bought them, Maggie gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You won’t be doing that anymore! See all those trees up and down your driveway? Pecan trees! And all behind the house here are hickory and black walnut. Some people make a hickory nut cake, but give me black walnut any day—as long as you can keep the squirrels away from them! Be careful not to get the juice on your hands, though. You’ll never get the stain out. That was what the Indians used to dye their clothes.”
She cocked her head and said, “Well, that sounds like Farley coming down off the ladder. He’ll be wanting to get back.” She pushed back her chair and stood while Cici hurried to get a ten dollar bill for Farley.
Bridget and Lindsay walked with her around the porch to the front of the house. “You ladies certainly do have your work cut out for you,” Maggie said, stopping to gaze back appreciatively as she descended the steps. “But my, this is a marvelous old place, isn’t it?”
They agreed that it was. Then Lindsay said, “We sure could use some help with the yard work. I don’t suppose you know a high school boy looking to pick up a little extra cash.”
“No, I can’t say that I do. But I’ll ask around for you.”
Farley was already in the car, and Cici was squinting up at the roof, admiring the job he’d done.
“Oh by the way, I love your sign,” Maggie called as she reached the car. “It’s a little crooked, though. I’ll have Farley fix it for you when we go by.” She opened the driver’s door. “Ladybug Farm. Is that the cutest thing? Welcome home!”
They waved as she drove away, and then turned back to gaze up at the big old mansion. “Home,” repeated Lindsay. “Wow.”
And Bridget added, with a note of wonder, “Imagine that.”
Cici was silent for a moment, nodding thoughtfully, and then she grinned. “I think I can get used to it,” she decided.
Linking arms, they mounted the steps and went inside.
While Bridget spent the morning scouring and rearranging the pantry, Cici drove into town for her first visit to the lumber store, and Lindsay decided to tackle the wallpaper in her bedroom. She had spent the winter flipping through decorating magazines and browsing the home improvement stores, and had arrived at Ladybug Farm armed with wallpaper stripper, glazing medium, two gallons of primer and two of base coat, and two painstakingly chosen shades of paint: Misty Arbor and Apple Blossom. To the untrained eye, the two colors looked very much the same, but Lindsay knew better. When she was finished the room would have the feel of a woodland bower, dappled with misty morning sun.
She moved the furniture to the center of the room and covered it with tarps, then taped down first a layer of plastic, followed by brown paper over the hardwood floors. With the help of a PaperTiger and a spray bottle of adhesive remover, the cabbage rose wallpaper came off strip by strip, and with surprisingly little resistance.
She was thrilled until she realized that underneath the wallpaper was another layer of paper. Newsprint had been used to even out the walls before applying the wallpaper, and it appeared to have been applied with permanent glue. In some places they had apparently run out of newsprint and had used sheets of newspaper—even writing paper—instead.
For a while she was intrigued by the scraps of printing she could make out: July 1921 Chicken House Destroyed by Fire ; December 1928, New Fire Engine Arrives , and advertisements for Carter’s Pills and Borax, 20 cents. She even tried to save a few pieces intact, thinking they would make a nice collage or framed artwork for one of the downstairs rooms. But by lunchtime she was sticky with glue and her clothes were splotched with the water she was using to soften the papers, the room was littered with trash, and only half a wall was finished. It was clear to see
When Bridget confessed she bought them, Maggie gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You won’t be doing that anymore! See all those trees up and down your driveway? Pecan trees! And all behind the house here are hickory and black walnut. Some people make a hickory nut cake, but give me black walnut any day—as long as you can keep the squirrels away from them! Be careful not to get the juice on your hands, though. You’ll never get the stain out. That was what the Indians used to dye their clothes.”
She cocked her head and said, “Well, that sounds like Farley coming down off the ladder. He’ll be wanting to get back.” She pushed back her chair and stood while Cici hurried to get a ten dollar bill for Farley.
Bridget and Lindsay walked with her around the porch to the front of the house. “You ladies certainly do have your work cut out for you,” Maggie said, stopping to gaze back appreciatively as she descended the steps. “But my, this is a marvelous old place, isn’t it?”
They agreed that it was. Then Lindsay said, “We sure could use some help with the yard work. I don’t suppose you know a high school boy looking to pick up a little extra cash.”
“No, I can’t say that I do. But I’ll ask around for you.”
Farley was already in the car, and Cici was squinting up at the roof, admiring the job he’d done.
“Oh by the way, I love your sign,” Maggie called as she reached the car. “It’s a little crooked, though. I’ll have Farley fix it for you when we go by.” She opened the driver’s door. “Ladybug Farm. Is that the cutest thing? Welcome home!”
They waved as she drove away, and then turned back to gaze up at the big old mansion. “Home,” repeated Lindsay. “Wow.”
And Bridget added, with a note of wonder, “Imagine that.”
Cici was silent for a moment, nodding thoughtfully, and then she grinned. “I think I can get used to it,” she decided.
Linking arms, they mounted the steps and went inside.
While Bridget spent the morning scouring and rearranging the pantry, Cici drove into town for her first visit to the lumber store, and Lindsay decided to tackle the wallpaper in her bedroom. She had spent the winter flipping through decorating magazines and browsing the home improvement stores, and had arrived at Ladybug Farm armed with wallpaper stripper, glazing medium, two gallons of primer and two of base coat, and two painstakingly chosen shades of paint: Misty Arbor and Apple Blossom. To the untrained eye, the two colors looked very much the same, but Lindsay knew better. When she was finished the room would have the feel of a woodland bower, dappled with misty morning sun.
She moved the furniture to the center of the room and covered it with tarps, then taped down first a layer of plastic, followed by brown paper over the hardwood floors. With the help of a PaperTiger and a spray bottle of adhesive remover, the cabbage rose wallpaper came off strip by strip, and with surprisingly little resistance.
She was thrilled until she realized that underneath the wallpaper was another layer of paper. Newsprint had been used to even out the walls before applying the wallpaper, and it appeared to have been applied with permanent glue. In some places they had apparently run out of newsprint and had used sheets of newspaper—even writing paper—instead.
For a while she was intrigued by the scraps of printing she could make out: July 1921 Chicken House Destroyed by Fire ; December 1928, New Fire Engine Arrives , and advertisements for Carter’s Pills and Borax, 20 cents. She even tried to save a few pieces intact, thinking they would make a nice collage or framed artwork for one of the downstairs rooms. But by lunchtime she was sticky with glue and her clothes were splotched with the water she was using to soften the papers, the room was littered with trash, and only half a wall was finished. It was clear to see
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