Wedding Belles

by Janice Hanna

  “I’m just happy to have good food,” Flossie said. “After last night, I was ready to pack my bags and head back to Atlantic City.”

  That certainly got Gilbert’s attention. Looked like he’d better come up with a solid plan to get Mama out of the kitchen. But how could he go about it without hurting her feelings? Just one more thing to pray about.

  Fanny took a bite of corn bread and a blissful expression crossed her face. “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” she said. The other ladies followed suit, nibbling on pieces of corn bread.

  Gilbert watched as the women relaxed and had a good time. Perhaps—with Jeb’s good home cooking in their bellies—they would consider staying.

  To his left, a sweet voice interrupted his thoughts. “Gil, this whole place is a little slice of heaven, isn’t it?”

  He turned to face Cornelia, taking note of the look of wonder in her eyes. He nodded, overwhelmed by the fact that heaven appeared to be staring him straight in the face at this very moment.

  She gestured to the mountains and sighed. “I’ve never been a terribly religious person, but I must admit, there’s something rather spiritual about these mountains.”

  “‘I will lift up mine eyes to the hills, from whence cometh my help,’ ” Gil quoted his favorite Scripture aloud. “ ‘My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth.’ ”

  Cornelia sighed. “Well, aren’t you just the poet. I’ve never heard anything so beautiful.”

  As he gazed into her eyes, Gil had to admit, he’d never seen anything so beautiful. And how wonderful of the Lord, to draw her heart to the very mountains that he had always loved.

  “I, um, well, I didn’t write that, exactly. It’s from the Bible.”

  “One of my favorite psalms,” Fanny chimed in. “The one hundred twentieth.”

  “One hundred twenty-first, sister,” Flossie corrected.

  “One hundred twenty-first,” Fanny echoed then smiled.

  With the skies overhead a brilliant blue, the mountains nearby capped in white, and the fields alive with colors of every sort, the whole excursion felt like something out of a painting, not a real-life adventure.

  Gilbert took a bite of potato salad and leaned back, drinking it all in. Out of the corners of his eyes he caught a glimpse of Lottie and gave her a smile. Without her hard work, none of this would have been possible. He would have to remember to thank her later. Right now…well, right now he’d rather keep his eyes on Cornelia.

  * * * * *

  LOTTIE TRIED TO FOCUS on the women and enjoy the picnic but found herself distracted, watching the interaction between Gil and Cornelia. No one could deny the young woman’s beauty. And her clothing! Lottie had rarely seen such exquisitely fitted dresses. Unlike Cherry and a couple of the others, Cornelia presented herself as a true lady in every sense of the word, one Lottie might be tempted to emulate, should she think it necessary.

  Was it necessary?

  Watching the smile on Gil’s face, seeing the way his eyes lit up when Cornelia leaned in to speak to him, Lottie could only conclude one thing: he’s looking for a woman like that, not a girl who dresses in overalls and keeps her hair bobbed short.

  She made up her mind right then and there to let her hair grow out and invest in some new fabrics for dresses. Even if she hated the thought of dolling herself up, she’d do most anything to win Gilbert Parker’s heart.

  Fanny tapped Lottie on the arm. “I can tell you’re lost in your daydreams. Everything all right?”

  “Oh…yes. Thank you.” Lottie took another bite of corn bread and leaned back to gaze at the beautiful blue sky overhead. It was beautiful…and almost successful in distracting her from Cornelia’s giggles.

  “I had an idea,” Fanny said from the spot next to her. “Actually, I’ve spoken to several of the ladies and we’re all in agreement, so I hope you’ll play along.”

  This got Lottie’s attention. She sat up. “What is it?”

  “Well, I told you that I’ve been a bit concerned about the food. If that venison stew was any indicator, we’ve got several terrible meals on the horizon.” Fanny put her hand up. “Now, before you go telling me about the midnight-snack idea once again, let me share a thought. You’re worried about hurting Mrs. Parker’s feelings. Is that right?”

  “Right.”

  “What if I told you that we’ve come up with a way for someone else to do the cooking—say, someone like Jeb.” She pointed at him and smiled. “And what if I told you that Mrs. Parker was going to be so busy that she would look upon this idea as a blessing?”

  “I would say you were a miracle worker.” Lottie grinned. “So, what’s this idea?”

  “I’ve been hearing from some of the fellas that the lodges nearby have a lot more to offer than Parker Lodge. For instance, the Stanley has great design and character. And the Elkhorn has a candy kitchen.”

  “Right.”

  “What you need is something to compete, something to bring in families.”

  “That’s why we’re doing this melodrama, to draw in families.”

  “Yes, but you need revenue between now and then. So, here’s my idea. I think Mrs. Parker should start a pie parlor.”

  “A pie parlor?”

  “Yes,” Fanny said. “You know, a bakery where a chef—in this case, Mrs. Parker—bakes up delicious pies all day long. You could sell it by the slice, even become known for your pies. For all the woman lacks in the cooking department, she more than makes up for it in baking. If all her pies are half as good as the one she served last night, this pie-parlor idea will take off in no time.”

  “What a terrific idea.” Lottie thought it through and then snapped her fingers. “Parker’s Pie Parlor! What do you think of that for a name?”

  “Sounds yummy. I can hardly wait for a big, thick slice of chocolate pie.”

  “And coconut cream,” Margaret chimed in. “That’s my favorite.”

  “And lemon meringue.” Sharla licked her lips.

  Cherry’s eyes sparkled as she exclaimed, “And cherry! Don’t leave me out!”

  “Apple!” Prudy’s animated voice rang out.

  “Persimmon!”

  “Persimmon?” The women turned to Hannah.

  “It’s my absolute favorite.” For the first time since arriving in Estes Park, the young woman giggled. “Oh, I do love persimmon pie loaded with cream and cinnamon. In fact, I love baking just about any kind of pie. And cake. And cookies.”

  “You…love baking?” Lottie could hardly imagine such a thing possible, what with baking being such a messy affair and all.

  “I throw away all my inhibitions when I get into the kitchen.” Hannah’s face radiated joy. “There’s something so freeing about baking. Eases my troubles.”

  “Well, that’s the answer then!” Fanny clapped her hands. “You’ll help Mrs. Parker by day and perform on the stage by night. Do you think you can handle the work?”

  Hannah’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I’m a hard worker. I love having something to do. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop, you know.”

  “Then I must work for the devil.” Sharla fidgeted with the bow at her waist. “My idea of the perfect day is lying in bed till noon then taking a leisurely nap after that.”

  “I love this pie-parlor idea.” Lottie felt herself more energized than ever. “And I think the folks around here will like it too. In fact, I know they will.”

  “Well, if you really want to keep the locals coming in, offer to use their recipes,” Fanny said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Gilbert told us about your contest to name the play. Why not do something similar with the pies? Involve the people. Win them over again by running a contest to see whose pie recipes are good enough to show up on the menu at Parker’s Pie Parlor. Why, folks’ll be standing in line to get their family recipes to you. Just watch and see.”

  Lottie smiled. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re brilliant?”

  “Rarely.” Fanny lau
ghed until her midsection took to jiggling. “But I’ll hang onto those kind words for years to come, Lottie. Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome. I meant it. The fact that you and Flossie have been so kind and so willing to help…well, it means a lot to me.”

  “Oh, trust me, honey, this pie-parlor idea was completely self-serving. For one thing, I happen to love pie. For another, I happen to know that Jeb Otis is a skilled cook. If we can just talk him into showing up at the lodge to do the cooking—both now and during the shows—I’ll probably put on ten pounds.” Fanny turned to give Jeb a little wave. He gestured for her to join him in a game of horseshoes.

  “Looks like someone wants you.” Lottie giggled.

  “Mm-hmm. And this is one woman who wants to be wanted.” Fanny rose—with a little help from a couple of the other ladies— and headed off to talk to Jeb.

  Lottie thought about how funny it was, the two of them getting along so well, what with him being so tall and thin and Fanny being just the opposite. Still, opposites did attract. Wasn’t that what Winifred always said? Perhaps that’s why Winnie always took such a liking to Gilbert, him being so down-to-earth and her being so highfalutin and all.

  Gil. In her lengthy conversation about pies she’d forgotten all about him. She looked around and saw that he’d taken off across the meadow with Cornelia at his side.

  Off the ladies went on an excursion to pick flowers. Well, most of the ladies, anyway. Just about the time Lottie decided to join them, Flossie appeared with a script in hand. “Ready to get to work?”

  “Out here?”

  “Sure. No better time or place to look at the revisions my sister and I have made to your script. If I can pull her away from that horseshoe game, anyway. What do you say?”

  Lottie stared longingly after Gilbert, who tagged along on Cornelia’s heels across the meadow. Turning back to Flossie, she shrugged. “I say let’s get to it. No time like the present.”

  EIGHT

  TWISTS AND TURNS ON TRAIL RIDGE ROAD

  Like the beautiful mountains and valleys found in the Estes Park region, the upcoming theatrical at Parker Lodge is filled with high highs and low lows. We promise, your emotions will soar to new heights as you watch our hero and heroine fight their way to the top. During the low moments, you can boo and hiss at our evil villain and even toss a rotten tomato or two his way. Best of all, you can enjoy that special moment when true love wins out—when love’s true kiss is shared and hearts are forever melded together. Yes, the theatrical at Parker Lodge is sure to give mountain-lovers plenty of peaks to climb and valleys to wade through. So grab your sturdiest mountain shoes and let’s get going! —Your friends at Parker Lodge

  LOTTIE GAZED WITH GREAT LONGING at Gil as he took Cornelia by the hand and led her across the flower-covered field. When she turned back to face the twins, Fanny gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “I know it’s a sacrifice to stay here and work on this, but it will be worth it if we come up with a script worthy of a paying audience. And trust me, if you’re looking to catch a certain fella’s attention, nothing will stand a better chance than giving him what he wants.”

  “O–oh?” Lottie could hardly imagine what she meant. “And what would that be?”

  “Why, a show that will bring in money for his family’s lodge, of course.” Fanny giggled. “What did you think I meant?”

  “With you, it’s hard to tell.”

  Flossie opened her script, and right away Lottie could see that she’d covered it in scribbles and scratches.

  “Oh my.” She was determined to get this over with as quickly— and as painlessly—as possible.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Flossie said as she took a seat on the quilt next to Lottie. “Though, we did stay up late into the night coming up with ideas and new characters to fit all of the folks who auditioned last night. I hope you’re pleased and not overwhelmed or wounded in some way.”

  The strangest twisting took place in Lottie’s chest. For, while she was pleased that the ladies would take the time to fancy-up her script, she couldn’t help but feel a little let down that so much work needed to be done. Was it really that bad to begin with?

  “Help me down, sister.” Fanny extended her hands and Lottie and Flossie worked to ease her down onto the quilt beside them. “There now. All set. Of course, getting back up again might be a challenge, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  “Looks like we have a lot of work to do.” Lottie gestured to the script. “What are your thoughts?”

  “They are many.” Flossie thumbed through the pages.

  “Ah.” Lottie’s heart sank.

  “Now, let’s start with the characters.” Flossie’s businesslike voice kicked in. “One thing you simply must know right off the bat is this: when you create a villainous character—male or female—that character can’t be all bad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Think about it, Lottie. Think of the most villainous person you know.”

  Visions of Althea Baker came to mind. Lottie didn’t speak her name aloud, of course. Not that Fanny and Flossie would recognize the name, anyway.

  “Your villain has to have some redeeming qualities.” Fanny reached for the plate of chicken and grabbed a drumstick.

  “Redeeming qualities?” Lottie echoed.

  “Yes.” Fanny took a bite of the chicken then spoke around it. “Don’t you see? Your good guys can’t be all good and your bad guys can’t be all bad. Even the worst person in the world has some redeeming qualities.” She swallowed and gave Lottie a smile.

  “Hmm.”

  Flossie turned the page and pointed to a section of text. “And another thing—you don’t want to give your villain away right off the bat. Make the audience suspicious. Plant clues. Lead them astray, even.”

  “True,” Fanny said. “And as for your hero, the more flawed you can make him, the better.”

  “Flawed? But doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

  “Not at all. For, as we said, good guys aren’t all good and bad guys aren’t all bad. Think of the very best person you know.”

  Lottie thought at once of Gilbert, of course.

  “Surely that person has at least one flaw, does he not?”

  “Y–yes.” Gilbert’s flaw, at least the most apparent one, came rushing to mind right away. He liked pretty girls. Girls who looked nothing like Lottie.

  “The goal here is to make the audience work a bit to unravel the details in their minds.” Fanny wiped her greasy hands on her skirt. “Nothing can be easy. We call it upping the ante. Things can’t be easy for the hero, either. He needs to struggle.”

  “I see.” Lottie gazed in the direction Gilbert and Cornelia had walked and did her best not to sigh aloud.

  “There’s got to come that inevitable point in the show where the audience is convinced that the hero will fail at his task,” Flossie said.

  “Really?” Lottie found this difficult to believe. “I always thought heroes were heroes from start to finish. The whole purpose of adding a hero is so that he can rescue the damsel in distress and end up falling in love with her, right?”

  “In stage plays, not necessarily in real life.” Fanny sighed. “At least that’s been my personal experience. I’ve known many a so-called hero who got it wrong in the end.” She took another bite of the chicken and grew silent.

  “But for the sake of the play, our hero will get it right,” Flossie said. “Only, at some inevitable point, the audience has to be led astray. They must believe he will fail at his task to rescue the heroine and give her the happily-ever-after she deserves.”

  Lottie sighed. “What else?”

  “Since we’re talking about the heroine now, it’s important to add a scene where she’s in some sort of distress.”

  “I thought I did. The scene at the train depot. Did you read that?”

  “Yes, dear, but you didn’t go deep enough into her emotions. It has to be believ
able. Think back to the last time you felt like no one cared enough to come to your rescue.”

  Lottie tried not to let her frustration show. How many times had Gil looked past her needs to tend to Winifred’s? And hadn’t he extended a hand to help Cornelia out of the wagon today, completely overlooking Lottie? Had he thanked her, even once, for all her hard work on his behalf?

  Suddenly she felt a bit ill.

  Oblivious to her ponderings, Flossie forged ahead. “When that happened, what were you thinking? The key is to take those emotions, all of that very real angst, and transfer it to the page.”

  Fanny reached to take Lottie’s hand, gazing into her eyes with great intensity. “Then, when your character speaks those lines, they sound real because they are real. They’re birthed from real-life experience. And your audience members will respond to them because they’ve felt the same way.”

  “I—I see.” She did. Perhaps a little too clearly.

  “Since we’re talking about the female-in-distress scene,” Flossie said, “I want to challenge your thinking a bit.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ve made your heroine too soft. She’s counting too much on being rescued.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s lily-livered. Comes across as weak.”

  “Isn’t that the idea? Our heroine—Miss Information—needs a man to sweep in and save the day. That’s what people will expect. And Justin Credible is the man for the job. He’s handsome, strong, and knows just what she needs when she needs it. Won’t the audience be expecting as much in a melodrama?”

  Fanny clucked her tongue. “Lottie, this is 1912. Do I need to remind you that women across this country are fighting for the right to vote? Suffragettes are marching with banners and placards so that we can have a fair shake in the political arena. So, while we want to show a strong hero, we have to stay in touch with the times. Understand?”