“Vianna, we already went over this,” I said. “There will be no alterations to the church for the wedding.”
“But—”
I held up my hand to stop her. “No alterations means no alterations. There’s no electricity going to the building, so stringing lights would involve alterations, and that’s against the Farm’s building use policy. Krissie and Eddie agreed to this. It was plainly written into the contract that they signed. I can provide you with yet another copy of it if you’ve lost the five I’ve already given you.”
A college-aged girl stood behind Vianna, making notes on a clipboard that had a thick sheath of paper attached to it. I suspected the papers were just a small sample of Krissie’s demands for the wedding. Piper Clark was Vianna’s intern, and she wore a tea-length, swirl-covered dress with wide gauzy sleeves that looked as if it came straight from my mother’s 1970s summer wardrobe. Her blond hair, streaked with blue highlights, was pulled back from her face in a silver clip, and razor-thin eyebrows hovered over her dark eyes.
Like Piper, Vianna wore a dress, but hers was cut like a suit and had a matching jacket topped by a pale pink scarf around her neck. In the three months that I’d known her, I’d never seen her without the scarf. She fidgeted with it constantly, and she was tucking at it now.
“But Krissie and Eddie didn’t read the contract when they signed it,” she said. The loose waves of her dark blond hair bounced on her shoulders as she spoke.
Piper made another note. I wondered if she was recording this conversation so that Vianna could look back at it later and tally up what I promised to do. I’d already promised much more for the wedding than I’d ever wanted to; I certainly wouldn’t promise her this. Hanging lights on the church steeple not only could damage the two-hundred-year-old structure but was also a safety issue. The floor at the top of the bell tower was unstable and brittle, half rotted away from the elements that had made their way into the tower through its slatted windows over the last two centuries. No, I couldn’t have another accident on Barton Farm. In the last year, I’d faced enough safety issues to last me two lifetimes.
Vianna dropped her hand from her scarf. “Eddie and Krissie trust you, as a member of the family, to give them the wedding of their dreams.”
I scrunched my eyebrows together. A member of the family? Really? I supposed that as Eddie’s ex-wife and the mother of his child, I was family, but certainly even Vianna could see that I wasn’t the kind of family who would want to give them a wedding of any kind.
“My decision is final,” I said.
Vianna pressed her pink lips together so hard that they turned white. Maybe I’d pushed her too far.
I closed my eyes for a moment and reminded myself that most of the irritation I felt about the wedding wasn’t Vianna’s fault, no matter how annoying she was. My frustration came from the custody battle that Eddie and Krissie continued to threaten me with if I didn’t do their bidding. The problem was that if I gave into the lights-in-the-steeple request, which I had no intention of doing, it would then be one threat after another from them about Hayden. I had to put my foot down. My line in the sand was here, and I wasn’t moving it a little farther down the beach.
I took a breath. “I’m sorry, Vianna. I know you’re under a lot of pressure from Krissie over the wedding. I know from firsthand experience that she’s not always easy to work for.”
Vianna’s face brightened, as if she had the tiniest spark of hope that I would change my mind. I was almost sorry to crush it. Almost.
“But that’s not going to change anything,” I continued. “We do not allow alterations to our historic buildings for anyone. The governor of Ohio was here two years ago as part of his reelection campaign and wanted to move the brickyard. We wouldn’t do that for him, and we won’t do this for Krissie. I’m sorry.”
“But Krissie wants this.” Her tone was plaintive, almost panicked.
And Krissie gets what Krissie wants, I thought, although I didn’t say it aloud. I wouldn’t want to be Vianna when it was time for her to deliver my decree to Krissie. I didn’t envy her job one bit.
“There has to be something we can do. Can’t you run an extension cord up to the steeple? Or there must be battery-operated lights we can use.” She grabbed at her scarf again. “I’m sure there must be something.”
I shook my head. “It’s too risky. As I told you, it’s a safety issue, as well as violates the contract they signed. No one has been up in the bell tower for years. I don’t know if it’s stable enough to hold someone’s weight. The last thing we want is for someone to get hurt.” As I said this, I thought of the murders that had occurred on the Farm grounds in the past year. I didn’t want to be in a situation like that again. Ever. I’d almost lost the Farm and my son over them.
Tears welled in Vianna’s eyes. Was she seriously about to cry? I gripped the edge of my notebook a little bit tighter. “Vianna, I know that Krissie can be difficult to work with, but she can’t have every single thing she wants. No one can.”
Vianna stepped back and wrinkled her tiny nose. “No, Miss Pumpernickle is fine. She’s a wonderful client.”
Even to her own ears that statement had to have sounded false. I raised one eyebrow.
Behind Vianna, Piper rolled her eyes. I guessed she wouldn’t say the same about Krissie.
“She is,” Vianna insisted. “She’s a client who knows what she wants. Trust me, that’s a much easier person to work with than an indecisive bride. I had a bride last month who changed her cake selection four times before the wedding, including on the day of the wedding.” She stood a little straighter, looking me squarely in the eye. There was new resolve in her expression. “But I was able to give her what she wanted even at the very last moment because I’m the best and I always deliver. Everything I touch turns out perfectly.” She said her last statement with such ferocity that again I wondered if her sweet and helpful wedding planner persona was just an act.
“I can respect your determination to do a good job,” I said, softening. Vianna was a perfectionist. It was something I could relate to, or at least I could up until the point Hayden was born. After having a child, I’d became a lot more flexible for survival’s sake.
She wiped at her eyes. “And I understand. I really do. It’s your job to worry about the safety of everyone at Barton Farm, but there must be a way we can make this work. What if I climb up there to install the lights myself? Could I do that? I’m happy to sign a waiver or something. I promise not to sue the Farm or the Cherry Foundation if I get hurt.”
“No.” My tone left no room for argument.
She bit her lower lip as if it was the only way for her to keep herself from crying. I felt a twinge of compassion for her. I’d been on the receiving end of Krissie’s orders more than once and they were admittedly hard to take, and I was made of much sterner stuff than Vianna Pine.
She straightened her shoulders as if she’d come to some kind of decision. “Fine. We won’t put any lights in the steeple.”
Piper looked up from her clipboard as if the pronouncement surprised her.
“Really? You’re okay with my decision?” I knew I shouldn’t be questioning her, but her change in attitude was so abrupt that I found it a wee bit suspicious. My mom-radar was activated. When Hayden changed his mind about something he wanted that quickly, I knew that could only mean trouble.
She nodded curtly. “Really. I’ll tell Krissie about your decision.”
“Oh-kay.” I was still dubious.
“But there’s another matter I want to speak with you about.”
I sighed, suddenly feeling impossibly tired. The sooner this wedding was over the better. “What is it?”
“When I was on my way over here I received the most disturbing text message from Krissie. She said there won’t be a Civil War reenactment on Farm grounds on the day of the wedding. That simply is unaccep
table.”
“Krissie was just here complaining about that. Didn’t you pass her on your way in?”
“No, but even if I had, there isn’t time to chat. Poor thing. She’s stressed out to the max over this wedding, which is why we, as her planners, have to make this as effortless as possible for her, even if we ourselves are working like dogs behind the scene.”
“We?” I asked.
She wrinkled her tiny nose a second time. “You’re one of the planners, as the wedding host.”
Wedding host? I didn’t like the sound of that.
“The client must always, always come first,” Vianna went on. “Now tell me what the problem is with the reenactors and we’ll get it fixed, lickety-spilt.”
Lickety-split? Was this woman for real? Or did she make it her personal mission to be annoying?
Secretly, I was relieved the reenactment in Southern Ohio conflicted with the wedding. The last thing I needed was a second full-scale Civil War reenactment when we already had one on the Farm every summer. The event was the biggest the Farm hosted every year and it took a year’s worth of planning. This summer’s event was less than a month away as it was; there was no way I could have handled two full-scale reenactments in that short a period of time, even if the other details of Krissie and Eddie’s wedding hadn’t been a factor.
“Vianna, there’s nothing that can be done, as I told Krissie. There’s a huge reenactment happening three hours south of here that day. It’s even bigger than the annual reenactment we hold here on the Farm. Almost all our reenactors will be there. I can’t ask them to miss it for the wedding. It’s their biggest event of the season.”
She looked miffed. “If you knew that event was happening on this particular weekend, why on earth did you put the wedding on that day?”
“This was the only Friday in June that worked both for the Farm and for Krissie. As you’ll remember, Krissie very much wanted to be a June bride.” Now I was becoming irritated. “And besides, she came up with this reenactment idea long after the wedding date was set. She only asked about it three weeks ago. I told her then that it wasn’t going to happen and that’s still true.”
Vianna’s eyes, so expertly lined with eyeliner, widened. “But this is what Krissie wants for her wedding. She wants a Civil War battle. Krissie will get what she wants.”
I had every reason to believe that she meant what she said.
three
“She’ll get Abraham Lincoln and a small band of soldiers,” I explained. “That will have to be enough.” I hoped I was telling the truth about Honest Abe, and that Benji would come through in that regard. It was too late to take the promise back now.
Vianna wrinkled her small nose as if she smelled something sour.
I remained amazed by the number of people who were so determined to give Krissie exactly what she wanted. Her parents, Vianna, Eddie. I wondered what kind of hold she had over them all. Despite our custody issues, she didn’t have that kind of hold over me and never would. I may have been unable to give her what she wanted, but sometimes I wished I could give her what she deserved.
“Abe and a few soldiers is the best I can do,” I repeated, holding up my hand when I saw she was about to protest yet again. “There will be no battle. But perhaps the reenactors can do some drills or something to entertain the wedding guests.”
I winced a little as I said this. I wasn’t sure what my boyfriend, Chase Wyatt, who was one of those reenactors—a reluctant one at that, who was drafted into the pastime by his overzealous uncle—would say when he heard I signed him up for a drill. Then again, I knew exactly what he’d say, and it was going to cost me.
“This is not what Krissie wanted.” Vianna was like a broken record.
“Like I said, it’s the best I can do.” I shrugged.
She winced, and I felt a twinge of sympathy. It was hard enough being the wedding host for Krissie’s wedding. I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be her wedding planner. Sounded like torture to me.
An elderly couple toddled out of the church. The man held the handrail on the side of the steps, his other hand firmly tucked under his wife’s elbow. Seeing the couple, who were a decade older than my parents, made my heart constrict. My mother died when I was a teenager; she and my father never had an opportunity to grow old together. They’d been cheated. I’d been cheated.
Vianna’s shrill voice broke into my thoughts. “Why are people still able to go in there? Shouldn’t it be roped off in preparation for the wedding? We don’t want anything ruined by these people.”
Piper’s gaze dropped back down to her clipboard, as if she thought that if she didn’t make eye contact we would forget she was there.
I stared at Vianna for a long minute, hoping my staring would deliver the message that she was being ridiculous.
“Well?” she demanded. Her hazel eyes were wide as she waited for my response.
Clearly, my pointed stare hadn’t worked. “Vianna, first of all, it’s Tuesday. The wedding isn’t for three more days, which gives Farm staff time to clean the church in the very unlikely event that something is disturbed by the tourists. Second of all, the Farm is a museum. Its primary purpose is to be open to the public so that the community can learn about Ohio history. The buildings, especially the church, have to stay open so visitors can see them. That’s why they’re here. All the buildings will be open all week. And,” I said in my best director-of-a-museum voice, “the church will be open on the day of the wedding too.”
She opened her mouth as if to argue.
“The wedding isn’t until seven in the evening. We’ll close the church to prepare at two in the afternoon. That should give you and your team plenty of time to set up.”
“But the reception tent,” Vianna gasped. “That takes hours to set up.”
“You can start setting up the tent in the morning, but be aware that there will be tourists milling about the green while your people are working.”
“That’s unacceptable.” Vianna’s cheeks turned pink. “I have to have time to build the wedding of Krissie’s dreams.”
“And I have to run my museum.” I narrowed my eyes.
“The museum is not as important as this wedding. Not this week. You have to know that.” Her eyes pleaded with me.
I snorted. “Obviously, you don’t know me at all to think I would believe that.”
She threw up her hands. “You leave me no choice but to talk to the Cherry Foundation about how uncooperative you’re being.” She spun around. “Let’s go, Piper.”
The young woman pressed the clipboard to her chest and hurried after her boss without giving me a second glance.
I hesitated for half a second, then I jogged after her. “Vianna, wait!”
She turned around to face me and folded her arms. Piper stopped too, clipboard out, pen in hand.
I skidded to a stop on the grass. “Let’s compromise. We’ll close the church at noon on the day of the wedding, and you can start setting up on the green the evening before. That’s my best and final offer.”
She considered this for a moment. “I’ll take it. But this doesn’t change the fact that I might have to talk to the trustees about how uncooperative you’ve been. If I ran this Farm, things would go much differently, I can tell you that.” With that, she spun on her heel and stomped toward the church. She almost knocked into the elderly couple I’d seen a moment ago. “Hey!” the man cried. “Watch where you’re going!”
Vianna glared at them down her button nose before continuing on her way. Piper scurried after her. Her flowy dress fluttered behind her.
The older man shook his head at me. “I feel sorry for you, sweetie. She looks like she’s a real pill.”
She was that.
four
I brushed my hand across my forehead and checked the time on my cell phone. It was almost noon and luncht
ime. Hayden, who’d spent the morning in the visitor center while I met with Krissie, would want to eat soon. I’d promised my son we’d have lunch together. It was no easy feat to spend time with Hayden in the middle of the day during the season, but I was determined to keep my promise to him.
I was about to head over to the visitor center on the other side of the Farm when someone else called my name. My shoulders sagged. As usual, it was nearly impossible for me make my way across the grounds without being stopped half a dozen times. Always being in demand was the price I paid to be the director of Barton Farm.
“Kelsey!” the gruff voice called again. Even though the speaker was behind me, I knew who it was before I turned.
Shepley was my gifted but disgruntled gardener. He wore his long gray hair pulled back from his face in a ponytail tied with a piece of garden twine. He had dirt perpetually encrusted under his fingernails from digging in the Barton Farm gardens, which were his personal sanctuary. The only happiness in Shepley’s life were the gardens, and he cared for them with affection that leaned toward obsession. If Shepley had his way, the gardens would always be pristine and no one, not even me, would ever see them. And woe to anyone who disturbed his beloved plants. I’d witnessed Shepley make grown men cry after they accidently tromped on one of his precious flowers.
I would have fired him years ago if it weren’t for the fact that the Farm’s gardens were some of the most beautiful in the county, if not in the state. They were a showpiece that had won countless beautification and heirloom plant awards. They attracted visitors from all over the country, even people who had no interest in the history aspect of Barton Farm. A superstitious part of me thought that Shepley was right—that all of his flowers would shrivel up and die if he ever left the Farm. It was a tiny part, but apparently strong enough to force me to let him keep his job even though he was a difficult employee at best.
The Final Vow Page 2