Page 52 of Winning Winnie’s Hand
“The magic of it all. It’s what makes the festival worth it.”
Winnie couldn’t help but notice the irony in his statement. He loved the authenticity of the faire because of the magic of the past? How was magic in any way factual?
Still, the entire group nodded in agreement with their leader, the tension in the room finally lessening.
“It may come as a surprise to you all, but I agree with Matthew,” Winnie said.
A few people smiled at her joke. Matthew’s eyes merely narrowed with suspicion.
“I loved the jousting,” she continued, “but it was the magic of the jousting, of the past, that really got me excited. That magic is what makes people want to come back.”
She faced the projector, holding up her clicker to shift to her first slide. Dozens of photos from other renaissance faires she’d found on the internet appeared on the screen, everyone smiling, participating, and cheering.
She paused, avoiding Matthew’s gaze and drawing a deep breath as she sent a prayer heavenward. This was where things usually got dicey.
“Unfortunately, that magic is what is missing from our event. So that is our goal—to bring the magic back. Because—”
“And you know this how?” Matthew’s words cut through her own, daggers from his blue-eyed gaze threatening to crumble her defenses.
She’d expected his response, so she fortunately had one of her own.
“Evidence,” she stated. “As pure and simple as that.”
She clicked to her next slide, her “evidence” stacked up in conversation bubbles that appeared one at a time.
“Each and every one of these are direct quotes from guests who attended the faire on Saturday.” She turned and read them aloud to the others. “Not worth the money. There was nothing to do. Even my kids were bored. Absolute pants.” She paused. “That one, I assume, means terrible?”
A few nods moved about the room, then she continued.
The quotes went on and on, the staff reading along as Winnie continued. Mrs. Birdwhistle was nodding. A few of them were scowling. Mrs. Jones wasn’t even bothering to read the board at all.
And Matthew? His jaw was twitching beneath his whiskers more ferociously than she’d ever seen before. More than anything, she’d put these quotes up for him. He needed to see that his obsession with historical accuracy and authenticity was killing his faire.
Luckily, she knew how to resuscitate it.
“As I’m sure you can all agree,” she continued, “we want this at our faire.” She shifted back to the photos of joy and laughter. “But in order to get this, a lot of change is going to be required of each of us.”
One by one, she picked up the packets she’d compiled for each staff member, delivering them as she explained further. “We’ll go over each person’s individual tasks more in depth later, but right now, we’ll just have a brief overview so it’s not super overwhelming, all right?”
A few heads bobbed up and down.
Matthew whispered something again to the knight beside him, whose shoulders shook with silent laughter. Matthew met Winnie’s gaze, then, a clear challenge in his eye, which she met without hesitation, handing him his own packet. He took it with a smirk at the knight, then flipped through it with a disinterested gaze.
But Winnie wasn’t worried. She’d receive the last word. Matthew just needed to wait and see.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Over the next thirty minutes, Winnie moved swiftly over the changes of responsibilities for each staff member. The teen boys would be esquires, Mrs. Birdwhistle would help ready the horses and knights to get them out earlier, and Mrs. Fogg needed to find better non-WWII tents.
“We want a lot of them,” Winnie explained, “in bright, happy colors, like a circus.”
A few looks were exchanged, but Winnie pushed forward.
Albert Fogg was next. “We’re going to be giving you a mic that actually works,” she said, and his face brightened. “But of course, that means your level of enthusiasm has to increase, too.”
He gave a short nod, then peered down at his paper.
Winnie blew out a quiet breath. Those had been the easiest changes. Now for Mrs. Porter and the food.
