Page 58 of Save the Date
The ballroom was another grand, high-ceilinged room in a wing that had been added on to Cabin Creek, Libba told her, in the 1950s. “Mitch’s grandparents had it built for his parents’ wedding. Back then, there was nothing around here where you could have a big party, no country clubs or hotel ballrooms, nothing like that.”
“It’s lovely,” Cara said. Floor-to-ceiling windows ran down both sides of the long room, and there was a low platform at the far end. “Perfect for the orchestra,” Cara said.
Libba rolled her eyes. “They sure are getting grand with this wedding. I wouldn’t even know where to start to look for something like that.”
“It’s a lot,” Cara agreed. “But Patricia has tracked down a ten-piece orchestra out of Charleston. I’ve heard some clips of their work, and seen some YouTube videos. They play all the standards, great dance music, all the way up to the nineties.”
“What’s Brooke think about all this fuss?”
Cara studied the other woman. “I can tell she’s not crazy about it. And to tell you the truth, I don’t understand why she bowed to Gordon and Patricia in all this.”
“I can tell you. Because her daddy bribed her,” Libba said with a snort. “Offered to pay off her law-school loans if she’d agree to a big to-do.”
“Ahhh. That explains a lot. Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to have the work, Libba, but the last time I was out here meeting with the Trapnells, I got the distinct impression that Patricia was planning on hiring Cullen Kane.”
“She was. But then Brooke dug in her heels and insisted they hire you instead. I think it was all about tweaking her stepmother—although you didn’t hear me say that.”
“What’s Harris think about all the wedding plans?” Cara asked. “Do you know, I haven’t even met him yet?”
“Those kids stay so darned busy, I don’t know how they even had time to get engaged,” Libba said. “Harris is pretty easygoing. He does love a party, though. I think whatever Brooke decides will be fine with him.”
Cara looked around the ballroom. Although the architectural details were good, it was apparent that the room hadn’t been used in years. The white paint on the walls was yellowing, and the wood trim on all the window casings was peeling. The highly polished oak floor was scuffed, and the fussy crystal chandeliers were coated with dust and grime.
Libba noticed Cara’s appraisal. “Needs some spiffing up in here, that’s for sure. I’m gonna have the painters in, and we’ll have the floors stripped and buffed. Guess I’m gonna have to bribe my housekeeper to see about those old chandeliers.”
“Some freshening up, and it’ll be glorious,” Cara assured her.
***
“What were you thinking about parking all the cars?” Cara asked, as they walked back toward the front door. “We’ll have valet-parking people, of course, but we’ll need to figure out where to put the cars without trampling all your landscaping.”
In answer, Libba flung the front door open and pointed to a pasture on the west side of the house. “Plenty of room over there. It’s higher ground than the east side of the property, so even if it does rain that night, it should drain quickly.”
As they crossed to the pasture, Cara was glad she’d dressed casually for the trip, in jeans and tennis shoes. Already, she’d sidestepped one horse plop.
The two women leaned over the barbed-wire pasture fence. Two horses, one black, one brown, grazed nearby in the tall grass.
Libba whistled softly, and both horses raised their heads, then ambled over, to accept their owner’s head pats and soft praises.
“We’ll move these guys over to the other pasture the week before the wedding,” Libba said. “And don’t worry, I’ll get one of the men to make sure the pasture is thoroughly shoveled out and the grass mown. Don’t want Patricia ruining her Jimmy Choos on the big day.”
Cara pointed at a weathered silver barn at the far end of the pasture. “Is that your stable?”
“Not anymore,” Libba said. “That building down the pathway from where you parked the car, that’s the new stable. Mitch had it built as a fiftieth-birthday present for me. Those horses live better than we do now,” she said proudly.
Cara had a glimmer of an idea. “What do you keep in the old barn, then?”
“Random crap,” Libba said, grinning. “Why do you ask?”
“Well… sometimes, especially with a big, formal wedding, brides and grooms like to have an after-party, for the guests of their own generation. Sort of a place everybody can cut loose. We bring in a DJ, and the bride and groom usually change into casual clothes. Sometimes, we do a midnight buffet. Just something fun. We’ve done wienie roasts, barbecues, in cold weather I’ve seen couples have bonfires with spiked hot chocolate and s’mores…”
“We could probably do something like that in the barn,” Libba said slowly. “Want to take a look?”
***
It took both women tugging on the old barn doors to yank them open, their rusted hinges squealing in protest.
Cara’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness. The barn was redolent of mildew, leather, old hay, older manure, but somehow it was a rich, pleasant, promising scent. She craned her head and stared up at the high, peaked ceiling, where pinpricks of daylight shone through the rusted tin roof.
