A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7) (3 page)

Well, there was nothing she could do now. And there likely wasn’t anything she could do tomorrow. It was hard having grown children. A woman had so little control over her daughter’s choices once that daughter was grown.

She got into her pajamas, picked up her romance novel and cuddled under the covers, ready—
finally
—to let the story carry her away. But she got carried only as far as the first kiss in the seduction scene before her mind wandered.

Kisses, seduction, Mitchell the ogler... Roberta frowned. If only Daphne had met a decent man, someone who’d treat her with respect and kindness. She was a good woman, tenderhearted and giving. She didn’t deserve to have her heart broken. This was what came of being a poor judge of character.

Worrying about her daughter was exhausting. She set aside her book and went in search of sleep, but she didn’t find it. Finally, she gave up, turned her bedside lamp back on and opened her romance novel again. At least there she could be assured that life would work out perfectly.

* * *

On Monday afternoon Muriel Sterling, Icicle Falls’s resident writing celebrity, was knocking on the front door of Primrose Haus promptly at two. Just in time for tea.

“It’s really kind of you to see me,” she said to Roberta as she stepped inside, a gust of brisk mountain air following her in. “I hope it’s not too much trouble after the wedding you had this weekend.”

Muriel Sterling knew how to be gracious. “No trouble at all,” Roberta told her. “I’m happy to see you. It’s been ages since we’ve had a chance to chat.”

“My life has gotten a little busy.”

That wasn’t a bad thing. Muriel had pulled away from her friends after the loss of her second husband. When she finally came out of mourning, she did so with a vengeance, helping her daughters run Sweet Dreams Chocolates and enjoying a blossoming writing career.

“Your mother would’ve been proud of all your success,” Roberta said.

“You’ve been pretty successful, too.”

She’d done all right. “I’m still not sure why you wanted to interview me, though.”

“The editor at the
Gazette
approached me with the idea that it would be nice to feature some of our time-honored businesses run by local women, so of course we immediately thought of your wedding house.”

“Come on into the parlor,” Roberta said. “I have some lavender sugar cookies from your daughter’s tea shop, along with a pot of Lady Grey.”

“Those sugar cookies are impossible to resist,” Muriel said and followed Roberta to the formal parlor at the front of the house. The room offered a fireplace and pretty antique chairs, some of which were even comfortable. Granted, the fireplace didn’t put out a lot of heat, but on a cold February afternoon having a fire in it warmed the heart. Today the crackling logs enhanced the cozy feeling of the room.

She settled Muriel in front of the coffee table where Daphne had left a half-full coffee cup and a copy of
Better Homes and Gardens
. Roberta scooped them up and fetched tea and cookies. There were considerably fewer in the box than there’d been when Roberta brought it home that morning, which meant her daughter had gone on a cookie raid. Shades of her divorce from husband number two.

She returned to find that Muriel had taken a steno pad from her purse and flipped it open. “I was trying to remember. How many years have you been in business?”

“Thirty years.” Had it really been thirty? Where had the time gone? “You may remember our first wedding in the house was my daughter’s,” Roberta added. “Daphne was the one who actually gave me the idea of opening it up to other people.” Cleverness, one of her daughter’s underused gifts.

And speaking of Daphne, here she came, wearing jeans, a sweater and a woebegone expression—a shining testimonial to the joys of wedded bliss. Roberta noticed the little watering can in her daughter’s hand. Much as Daphne loved to decorate, she wasn’t all that good with houseplants. Roberta guessed her sudden interest sprang more from a desire to search out some company than to water the plants. She couldn’t blame Daphne. The pain of rejection was one that cut soul-deep and it was hard to be alone with that kind of hurt.

Although God knew Roberta had done it.

“Daphne, how wonderful to see you,” Muriel said politely.

“Oh, hi,” Daphne said, feigning surprise.

“Are you in town for a visit?” Muriel asked.

Daphne shook her head and got busy watering Roberta’s ficus plant. “I’m up here to make a new start. I’m getting divorced.” She studied the ficus, then moved it to the other side of the room, setting it next to the philodendron.

Muriel looked properly sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Daphne shrugged. “It’s for the best.”

Which was more than Roberta could say for the new location of her houseplant. “Daphne, dear, what are you doing?”

“Hmm? Oh, I just thought this plant would look better over here beside the other one, in a group.”

“That’s a charming idea, but the ficus needs full sunlight,” Roberta said.

Daphne’s cheeks grew pink. “Oh.” She picked it up and returned it to its original spot.

“Do you know what you want to do?” Muriel asked her.

“I figured I could help my mother with weddings.”

“What a good plan,” Muriel said, beaming with approval.

Yes, wasn’t it? The very thought had Roberta reaching for a cookie.

“I’m sure your mother’s delighted to have you home,” Muriel said and helped herself to some cookies, as well.

“Oh, yes,” Roberta lied.

“So, your daughter’s was the first wedding held here, wasn’t it?” Muriel asked, bringing them back to the interview.

Daphne gave a snort of disgust.

Roberta ignored her. “Yes, and then, a generation later, my granddaughter was married here.”

“That was a beautiful wedding,” Daphne said, her voice wistful.

“And you’ve had many in between,” Muriel said to Roberta. “I still remember the lovely reception we had here when I married Waldo,” she added.

“It was lovely. And who knows? Maybe someday you’ll get married again,” Roberta suggested. Muriel’s longtime admirer, Arnie Amundsen, would marry her in a minute if she ever gave him any encouragement. So far, though, she hadn’t.

“I suspect not. After Waldo...” Muriel’s smile faded.

“He was a sweet man,” Roberta said.

“He was,” Muriel agreed. “And you know how rare a good man is.”

“You can say that again.” Daphne tipped her watering can over Roberta’s spider plant. The water spattered onto the antique music cabinet beneath it and Roberta tried not to grind her teeth.

Daphne frowned and mopped up the spill with the sleeve of her sweater.

“You never remarried,” Muriel said to Roberta. “In fact, I remember when you first moved to Icicle Falls. You were a widow.”

“I lost my husband in a car crash.” Oh, how easily the lie slipped out after all these years.

Muriel looked at her with compassion. “I remember that. You never found another man to measure up.”

Roberta was suddenly aware of her daughter’s gaze burning into her. How many times growing up had Daphne wanted to know about her father, wondered why they didn’t have any pictures of Daddy?

“Daddy’s dead,” Roberta had replied. Learning the truth when she was older hadn’t sat well with Daphne, not until she heard the whole story. But even after that, she’d longed for more, tried to find a way to make what she had into more. Of course, it hadn’t worked.

There were so many times Roberta had wished she could give her daughter a happy Ward and June Cleaver experience. Instead, Daphne’d had to settle for just June. But they’d done all right, the two of them. Anyway, family wasn’t always what you were born into; it was the people in your life who cared about you, and in Icicle Falls they’d found plenty of people to care.

As for a man... “There wasn’t exactly an abundance of single men in Icicle Falls back in those days,” she said. “All the good ones were taken. Anyway, I’ve been happy on my own.”

“Well, you’ve been an inspiration to a lot of women,” Muriel said. “And your beautiful house is always in demand. What’s the most memorable wedding you’ve ever had here?”

“Not mine,” Daphne said bitterly.

Her daughter was not helping with the Primrose Haus image of happy brides and perfect occasions.

“It was a lovely wedding, though,” Muriel said, clearly trying to be diplomatic. She’d attended that wedding. And Daphne’s second one, as well. Fortunately, by the third try Daphne had narrowed her guest list considerably, so all their Icicle Falls friends were off the hook for wedding presents. “Is there any one that stands out?” Muriel asked Roberta.

“Oh, we’ve had so many it’s hard to narrow down.” Roberta waved a hand airily.

Now Daphne jumped in. “How about the one where when the minister said, ‘If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together, let him speak now or forever hold his peace,’ and the best man spoke up? It turned out he and the bride had been sleeping together,” she explained to Muriel.

That would make an inspiring story for the paper, Roberta thought, and frowned at her daughter, who became very engrossed in watering plants.

Muriel blinked in shock.

“They weren’t from around here,” Roberta assured her.

Muriel nodded and scribbled away in her steno pad. “What did you do after that happened?”

Roberta shrugged. “They’d paid for a party, so we served the food.” Muriel’s expression was disapproving, whether of Roberta’s callous the-show-must-go-on attitude or the behavior of the unfaithful bride, Roberta couldn’t tell. Maybe it was a little of both. “The only thing you can be sure of about people,” she continued, “is that they’ll surprise you.”

“And not in a good way,” Daphne muttered.

“I’m sure you had some weddings that
did
surprise you in a good way,” Muriel prompted.

“Yes, of course,” Roberta said. “Only last fall we hosted an impromptu reception for a couple who’d been sweethearts when they were young and found each other again on Facebook. They’d both lost their spouses and were so lonely. They started talking on the phone every night, and when he learned she was coming to Icicle Falls to celebrate Oktoberfest with friends, he came, too. They hadn’t seen each other in almost forty years but they picked up right where they’d left off. They were married the very next weekend.”

Daphne let out an unladylike snort. “I bet they’re not together now.”

Muriel smiled. “Oh, I bet they are. That’s a beautiful story, Roberta.”

“Sounds more like fairy tale to me,” Daphne said.

Roberta sent her daughter another reprimanding look and Muriel feigned deafness.

She asked a few more questions, then wrapped up the interview.

Having known Muriel since she was a girl, Roberta asked about her daughters and was quick to tell her what an impressive job her youngest one, Bailey, had done with the food for the recent wedding reception. “We’ll definitely use her again,” she promised, and Muriel beamed like the proud mother she was.

She had a right to be proud. All three of her girls were lovely and accomplished young women who were doing interesting things with their lives.

Meanwhile, in another corner of the room, Daphne had managed to knock over a houseplant. It landed on the hardwood floor with a crunch as the pot broke and potting soil scattered in all directions.

“Sorry,” she said and disappeared, hopefully to get a broom and dustpan.

“I hope everything works out for Daphne,” Muriel said.

“I do, too,” Roberta said with a sigh.

Her daughter had come home in Humpty Dumpty condition. What was it going to take to put her back together again? And would they be able to keep from killing each other in the process?

Chapter Three

Anne, Mother of a Bride in Need of Guidance

W
hen the kids came over for dinner on Sunday it was plain to Anne that they didn’t know what they wanted. Ideas had flown around the table faster than bats out of a cave.

And some of the ideas had been just as scary to Anne. They could get married at the coffee shop. Cute, but how many people could you fit in a coffee shop? Or on a ferryboat. If any guests were a few minutes late they’d miss the boat
and
the ceremony. Ferries ran on time. Wedding guests, not necessarily. Of course, they could always charter an Argosy cruise ship.

Before Anne could even bring it up, they were on to a new idea—a pirate ship. Apparently, you could do that at the Treasure Island Hotel in Vegas. (Back to Vegas again—nooo!) Or they could have a zombie theme. This was another suggestion from Drake. He was just full of ideas. (Who asked him, anyway?)

By the time they left, Anne was on her third glass of white wine and on the phone to her mother. “This is insane,” she’d finished after delivering the bad news of her daughter’s sudden poor taste in weddings.

“Frustrating, isn’t it?”

She’d received the message in her mother’s tone of voice loud and clear.
Yeah. How does it feel?

Okay, so she hadn’t let Mom throw her the super wedding she’d wanted. “That was different,” she’d reminded her. And at least her mother’d had Kendra, who’d come through with the traditional wedding. Anne had only Laney.

“All you can do is make suggestions,” Julia had said. “And if you think she’s going to take any of them, you’ve been eating too much wedding cake.”

“Ha-ha. I’m sure glad I called you.”

“I am, too,” Julia had said, ignoring the sarcasm. “This is happy news, and I know whatever kind of wedding Laney wants, you’ll give it to her.”

Of course she would. There was nothing she wouldn’t do, no length to which she wouldn’t go, to give her daughter the wonderful wedding she deserved.

“In the end, you want her to have the day she wants.”

“Well, yes,” Anne had agreed.

And she knew what Laney wanted. It was the same thing she’d wanted since she was a little girl. Anne could still remember, when Laney was seven, watching the wedding scene in
The Sound of Music
with her—the first movie wedding they ever watched together. Laney sat transfixed at the sight of Maria coming down the aisle to the nuns’ chorus. “I want a wedding like that someday, Mommy,” she’d breathed, and Anne had vowed then and there to make sure she got it. She was no less determined now.

Laney needed guidance. “I don’t want her to wind up having any regrets.” Wasn’t it a mother’s job to save her daughter from that? So far there’d been very little saving and a whole lot of running just to keep up.

* * *

Come Monday it was time to focus on other brides. In the morning Anne met with a bride-to-be, pinning down the details of her upcoming wedding.

“I love the idea of the treasure box,” the bride gushed. “It would be great to fill that as part of the ceremony. What should we put in it?”

“Well, it can be anything you want. A copy of your wedding vows, for one thing. And didn’t you say your bridesmaids were going to make tissue flowers to decorate the lodge? You could put in one of those, as well as your engagement picture. Also, a lot of couples put in something like a bottle of whiskey so they can toast each other on their one-year anniversary. You open the box again in another five years and another five and so on. Each time you can reread your vows. You’ll have the flower as a keepsake and the picture to remind you how happy you are in this moment.”

“And the whiskey to help us forget if we aren’t,” joked the bride-to-be.

“Or to congratulate each other on doing such a good job of building a life together.”

Her client nodded vigorously, typing notes in her iPad. “We are so doing this.”

Anne smiled. Happy brides were what made her world spin.

After lunch she spent two hours in the studio attached to her office with another bride-to-be, showing her table-setting options. Now it was time to book that venue Marla Polanski had requested.

Anne brought up the website for Primrose Haus in Icicle Falls and it was love at first sight. “Oh, this is beautiful,” she said, and Kendra came to look over her shoulder.

The place was like something out of a fairy tale, with turrets and dormer windows and a front porch dripping with gingerbread trim. It was pale pink, the color of clouds at the end of a sunset, and the trim was white. The landscaping was just as charming, with lush lawns, a profusion of flowers, brick walkways and stone benches. And, of course, a fountain in the back. There was also a charming rose arbor where a bride and groom could exchange vows during a summer wedding.

“Wow,” Anne breathed. She could so easily envision Laney and Drake standing under that arbor.

“Wow is right,” Kendra said.

The inside of the house was as beautiful as the outside, all graceful furniture and chandeliers, and in the front hall a staircase with an elegantly carved banister that was perfect for a bride to come down. Gilded mirrors, vases filled with flowers—the owners knew what they were doing.

Anne clicked on the About Us button.

Roberta Gilbert has been hosting weddings at Primrose Haus for thirty years, but she never gets tired of opening her home to couples embarking on life’s greatest adventure. Let her and her talented staff make your special day one to remember.

“I can see why my client wanted to use this place,” Anne said.

“It makes me want to get married all over again,” Kendra said with a sigh.

“Me, too. Want to go to Icicle Falls with me and check it out?”

“You bet. But only if we can stop at Sweet Dreams Chocolates while we’re up there. I mean, you can’t visit Icicle Falls and not go to the chocolate factory.”

“Gee, twist my arm,” Anne said as she punched the number for Primrose Haus into her phone. A town with its own source of chocolate... What was not to like about that?

The little town had more going for it than chocolate. She and Cam had gone there years ago for the Christmas tree-lighting ceremony and been swept away by the Bavarian charm of the place. Everything from the European facades on the buildings to the overflowing flower boxes hanging from their windows said quaint Alpine village. They’d gone a couple of times when Laney was small, had even talked about taking up cross-country skiing, but then life got busy and weekends got full. Anne’s business took off and Cam started coaching basketball and football. So the Bavarian-style town remained a pleasant memory rather than a destination. As for this wedding venue, somehow she’d missed it completely. Probably because her clients hovered around the greater Seattle area.

She could hardly wait to tour the house. If it was even half as spectacular as it looked in the pictures on the website, it could be a wonderful place for her daughter to get married.

A cheerful voice answered, “Good morning. Primrose Haus. This is Roberta.”

Anne introduced herself and explained why she was calling.

“We often have people come over from Seattle,” Roberta said. “And yes, I’d love to meet you if you’d care to visit on a weekday. I’m afraid our weekends are pretty busy around here.”

Anne could imagine. The place was almost completely booked, except that she’d seen an opening for the last Saturday in June.

She and Roberta chatted a little longer, then set a date for the following Tuesday.

“Let’s spend the night,” Kendra suggested. “I just found a website for the Icicle Creek Lodge and it looks gorgeous.”

“Great idea,” Anne said. Girl-time with her sister, chocolate, a pretty place to stay... After the week she had ahead of her, a getaway sounded good.

* * *

It turned out to be the week from hell. One bride was unhappy with the job the photographer had done on her wedding and wanted a refund. Another decided she couldn’t afford Anne and fired her. A mother of the bride called to scold Anne for not checking out all possible options for a florist. Momzilla Dearest had found one that was half the price of the florist Anne was recommending. Anne knew the florist in question and had rejected her because she wouldn’t be a fit for the bride’s vision. Still, Anne apologized and promised to get an estimate. The next day she learned that the vendor she rented linens from had gone out of business, leaving her scrambling for table linens for Saturday’s wedding.

Saturday was the final stressor. Two dozen extra guests showed up, which meant she and the caterer needed to reportion the food. She was busy helping with this when Cressa, one of the caterer’s assistants, came running up to her. “There’s a table on fire!”

Sure enough. On the lower level of the tour boat where the wedding was being held, amid a sea of tables covered with white linen and set with candles and peach-colored floral arrangements, one table was a floating flambé. A very large flambé, shooting up flames three feet high. With visions of the entire boat catching fire, Anne grabbed the fire extinguisher she always brought along and dashed from the galley to the burning table, Cressa following behind.

Cheers from the upper deck where the ceremony was taking place told her the bride and groom were about to come down the aisle. All the bride needed was to see her reception area looking like a giant hot-dog roast.

At the table Anne fumbled with the extinguisher, misaimed and got a window, making Cressa squeal as if she’d just caught fire. “You missed,” she informed Anne.

“I noticed.” Anne tried again and this time hit her target, spraying goo all over the table.

“Yuck,” Cressa said, frowning at the mess.

“What happened here?” Anne asked, setting down the extinguisher.

Cressa shrugged. “I dunno.”

Anne surveyed the scene, getting in touch with her inner fire marshal. Her best guess was that a rose petal had fallen into the flame and then ignited one of the place cards.

She could hear people visiting up above. Any minute the guests would be wandering down in search of food.
(Please let there be enough.)

She began pulling off plates, stacking them in her arms, covering her blouse with goo. Thank God she always brought along a change of clothes.

“Let’s get this table cleared,” she said to Cressa, who was still standing there, staring at the mess.

“What about the flowers?” Cressa asked, gathering up silverware.

The flowers were now decorated with fire-extinguisher glop. “I’ll find something,” Anne said and hoped she was right.

Five minutes later the table had a new cloth, and a few roses, stolen from the vases on other tables, were artfully laid around a fresh candle. Anne was sweating like a pig and her heart rate was through the roof. Oh, that was fun.

The guests never knew. With the bar open, everyone was happy. Meanwhile, Anne continued to run around behind the scenes, making sure the evening went smoothly, that the DJ didn’t start the music until the plates had been cleared and that the photographer (who, it turned out, had a problem with motion sickness) was on hand to catch the bride and groom eating their cake.

This was worth all the headaches, all the stress, she thought as she watched the happy couple feed each other cupcakes. A wedding was more than a party. It was an event, a lifetime memory in the making, an important marker for the beginning of a new adventure.

Did her daughter understand that? Sometimes Anne wasn’t so sure.

She said as much to her sister as they made their way up the mountains to Icicle Falls on Tuesday.

“It’ll work out,” Kendra assured her, “whatever Laney decides to do. And hey, I’ve seen the pictures on the Treasure Island website. Those wedding chapels are really elegant, and I think the ship sounds like fun.”

“Oh, yeah,” Anne said in disgust. “Maybe we can get Captain Jack Sparrow to officiate.” She realized she had the SUV’s steering wheel in a stranglehold and forced herself to loosen her grip.

“It beats being a zombie.”

“Barely.”

“What would you do if someone came to us and wanted a zombie wedding?”

Anne shot an appalled glance in her sister’s direction before returning her attention to the snow-trimmed mountain road. “You have to ask? I’d tell them I’m not the wedding planner for them.”

“I don’t know. Planning a zombie wedding could be interesting.”

“Good. Then when Coral and Amy are old enough you guys can have one.”

“The zombie apocalypse will be over by then,” Kendra said. “Anyway, you’ve done a lot of unusual weddings.”

“Unusual, yes. Gross and tacky, no.”

“One woman’s gross and tacky is another one’s fun and clever. Remember the wedding at Wild Waves?”

“That was a picnic, and the wedding itself was cute.” Well, until the bride got sick on the roller coaster.

“Zombies can be cute,” Kendra teased.

Anne groaned. “If Laney does that I’m going to disown her.”

“I doubt it’ll come to that, but you’d better resign yourself. Your daughter is an artiste and she’s going to want to do something different.”

“I can live with different,” Anne insisted. “I just want her to think this through, that’s all.”

“She will. Everything’s going to be fine.”

Anne sighed. “I hope so.”

The road leveled out and twenty minutes later the sisters were pulling into the town of Icicle Falls. There was a fresh dusting of snow on the main street and all the shops were thickly frosted. The mountains rose up behind, studded with evergreens. There was something restful and calming about this view, Anne thought. Now that they were empty nesters, she and Cam needed to invest in some cross-country ski equipment and come up here.

“It looks like the inside of a snow globe,” Kendra said. “Oh, there’s a place that sells lace. And one that sells antiques. We have to get in some serious shopping this afternoon.”

“Agreed,” said Anne. “When can we check into the lodge?”

“Not until three.”

“Well, we’ll just have to kill time buying chocolate.”

“Gee, what a shame.”

But first they had an appointment with Roberta Gilbert at Primrose Haus.