Save the Date

Chapter 23

23

The South Carolina low country was a sea of green and gold, contrasted against a pure blue sky. Wildflowers bloomed in muddy ditches, and carpets of red clover paved the higher ground along the roadway.

As always, in her mind, Cara was composing arrangements. She could see a small jelly glass filled with those lowly ditch daisies, wild violets, and red clovers, with slender stalks of sweet grass spiking and spilling over the sides of the glass.

Brooke Trapnell had professed no real interest in flowers, but she did have definite color biases. With her dark hair and fair skin, tones of silvers, blues, pinks, and lavender might be nice. She’d nixed purple, but lavender wasn’t really purple. When she got back to the shop, Cara decided, she’d put some flowers together, snap a picture, and text it to Brooke. Texts, she’d already discovered, were the best way to communicate with this busy bride.

So much to get done for this wedding, in such a short time span. Thankfully, she’d already gotten commitments from Layne at Fete Accompli to cater, and found two of her favorite photography studios that had openings for July 6. She’d emailed links to both photographers’ websites to all parties, and as soon as Brooke, or more likely, Marie, got back to her, she’d get that nailed down.

Patricia Trapnell had already sent audio clips from the orchestra she was determined to hire, and since there was no obvious reason to veto them, Brooke had reluctantly agreed, so Cara had called the orchestra’s booking agent that morning, and their contract was sitting on her desk back at the shop.

It was a forty-five-minute drive from Savannah to Cabin Creek, and for the rest of the journey, Cara puzzled not over flowers or canapés, but the more interesting and confusing topic of Jack Finnerty and his behavior the night before.

She really didn’t know what to make of this man.

He could have left his sister’s old friend in that alley the previous night. Could have walked away with Cara, maybe sweet-talked his way into her apartment, and who knows, eventually her bed. Yes, she’d fantasized about that. He could have allowed the underage drunk to get picked up by the police. It would have saved a lot of time and trouble if he’d just walked away. But he hadn’t.

Leaving his own truck where it was, Jack had cleaned the kid up as best he could, loaded him into his beat-up Camry, and driven him all the way home. And then—he’d texted Cara to make sure she’d gotten home all right.

What kind of guy did something as kind and caring as that? Her brow furrowed. Was he really that sweet, or was he just trying to impress her?

***

Libba Strayhorn was standing in front of the magnificent plantation house, an incongruous figure in her faded ball cap, brown riding pants, blue work shirt, and scuffed leather riding boots. She had a black and white dog at her heels as she walked back and forth among the boxwood borders, leaning down to pull up weeds.

She waved as Cara drove around to the car park, and walked around to meet her.

“Hey there!” Libba greeted her. “I hear you’re the one who’s going to make this whole wedding happen. Congratulations!”

She leaned in and stage-whispered. “Just between you and me and Rowdy here, I’m glad it’s you. That other fella was just a little too fancy for my tastes.”

“I’m glad you’re glad,” Cara said. “And thanks again for agreeing to let me come out today and walk through the house again. Are you sure you have time to do this with me?”

“Plenty of time,” Libba assured her. “The horses are exercised, and I’ve got the whole day free for this. Mitch is out of town on business, but as he likes to say, his only role in this wedding is to smile and nod and stay sober.”

They walked through the front door, into the high-ceilinged entry foyer, with its hand-painted Chinese-motif wallpaper and black-and-white-checkerboard marble floor. A spectacular antique gold-leafed Chippendale mirror took up most of one wall of the foyer, and Cara eyed it apprehensively.

“You know, Libba, the plan is to have cocktails and passed appetizers in here as the guests arrive. I think we’re expecting about two hundred and fifty people. It could be quite a crush. I know this mirror must be an old family piece, and I’m a little worried somebody could accidentally jostle and damage it. Do you think that’s something you might want to move to storage during the reception?”

“I don’t see why,” Libba said, giving the mirror a fond pat. “This thing’s been in this hall for at least a hundred and fifty years. It withstood Union forces, who camped out here during the war, and even worse, all those generations of rambunctious Strayhorn boys, including Mitch and Harris. Anyway, we couldn’t move it if we wanted to. It’s bolted to that wall.”

“Great,” Cara said. “It’s so stunning, I’d hate to lose it. I was thinking we could leave a big silver bowl on that console table for guests to drop cards and gifts.”

“Okay,” Libba said. “You’re the boss. What else do you want in here?”

“Nothing, really. We’ll bring in rented high-top tables and scatter them against the walls, so people will have a place to rest their drink glasses.”

She and Libba passed from the hallway into the double parlors, and discussed the placement of tables and chairs, and the bride and groom’s table.

They went into the kitchen, which was huge, but surprisingly modest for a house of Cabin Creek’s grandeur. The cabinets were vintage forties, metal, with tiny patches of rust beginning to show through at the edges, the countertops yellow formica, and the floors were worn yellow linoleum tile.

“Mitch is all het up about ripping this old stuff out and putting in a completely new kitchen with all the modern bells and whistles. He’s the cook in the family,” Libba confided. “He’s got his eye on an eight-burner restaurant range and one of those double-door glass-front fridges, marble countertops, the works.”

“Sounds like a dream,” said Cara enviously. “The kitchen in my tiny apartment downtown would fit inside your pantry.”

Libba shrugged. “Personally, I don’t see the point. Holly has her own apartment in Savannah, and Harris and Brooke have their own place there too. It’s just Mitch and me here most nights, and this old stuff has worked fine for the forty years we’ve lived here, but then again, someday, we hope, Harris and Brooke will be living here, with a passel of kids, and they’ll appreciate a kitchen like that.”

“You wouldn’t try to do the kitchen before the wedding, right?” Cara asked.

“Oh no,” Libba assured her. “Maybe in the fall, when things quiet down.”

“Good. You’ve got a lot of counter space, which is great, because our caterer is going to need every inch of it. Layne is going to want to run over here to take a look at the space too, but she’s already said she may want to bring in an extra fridge, and maybe even an extra cooktop, but I think there’d be room for that if we move out the table and chairs in your eating nook. Would that be okay?”

“Sure,” Libba said. “As long as we have a place to get a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal in the morning, Mitch and I are fine.”

As they moved through the house, Cara marveled to herself at the good nature and calm radiated by this mother of the groom. In less than five weeks, her home would be invaded by a huge, lavish wedding complete with 250 guests, but she seemed totally unfazed by any and all requests Cara made.

“Can we take another look at the ballroom?” Cara asked, as they neared the back of the house.

Libba nodded. “Hasn’t been used since Harris’s twenty-first-birthday party. I guess you’ve noticed Mitch and I aren’t really big on entertaining. We enjoy it when we do it, but mostly, we’re out here in the country, keeping to ourselves with the horses and dogs. Or, I am. Mitch is happy as long as he’s got his big-screen TV, twenty-four-hour cable sports, and an easy ride to the airport when he needs to travel, which he does a lot for his business.”

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.

It looked like the barn had become home to anything and everything the Strayhorns owned that was too broken to use but too valued to discard. Cardboard boxes were stacked in corners, there was a profusion of tools, tires, old saddles, unidentified agricultural machinery, discarded appliances, broken furniture, and even a faded red Mustang, sans tires, perched on jacks. Everything was coated with a thick film of dust, and the overhead corners were festooned with cobwebs.

“That’s Mitch’s first car,” Libba said, pointing at the Mustang. “He swears he’s going to restore it someday. Maybe when he retires. We’ll see. The man doesn’t know the first thing about cars or engines.” She turned slowly and pointed out other family mementos. “Harris’s crib. The first dryer I ever owned. My mother-in-law’s favorite riding lawn mower.” She turned to Cara with a sheepish grin. “See? Random crap. Living this far out in the country, it’s easier to just stick stuff in the barn than it is to have it hauled off to the dump.

“Mitch would love to have everything in here cleared out. Except the Mustang. That’s the holy of holies. But everything else?” She shrugged. “Time to let go of all of it.”

“Except Harris’s crib,” Cara guessed.

“Precisely.”

Libba was walking around the barn, examining the walls. “Don’t know how long this thing has been standing. Mitch’s mom said it was here when she moved to Cabin Creek. And we did keep the horses here for years.” She glanced up at the glints of daylight.

“Have to get a new roof. Otherwise, I think this thing could probably stand another seventy-five years.”

It was a big barn, and roofs, Cara knew, were expensive.

“Is that something you’d want to undertake? With all the other expenses with the wedding?”

“We’d have to do it sooner or later, if we want the barn to keep standing,” Libba said. “Which we do. Only problem is, getting somebody reliable over here to do the work. With the economy like it’s been, you’d think people would be eager for a job, but that’s not how it is out here. The last work we had done here? I wanted to rip out the old tub in our master bath and put in a nice big glass-walled shower. Like you see in all the magazines.” She snorted in disgust. “The jacklegs we hired took six months, screwed it up so bad, Mitch kicked ’em out before the tile was even grouted. We still can’t use that shower.”

“I might have an idea,” Cara said slowly. “I know a contractor in Savannah… all they do is historic-restoration work. I suppose that would include roofs.…”

“I’d love to talk to them. Maybe they could take care of the other stuff we want to do before the wedding too. See about those leaky windows in the ballroom, get the barn fixed up.”

“It’s the Finnerty brothers,” Cara said. “I just did a wedding for Ryan Finnerty, the younger of the two brothers. He married Torie Fanning.”

“Finnerty? From Savannah? We know the Finnertys. Been knowing ’em for years. I didn’t realize they were contractors.”

“I can get you their number. They haven’t done any work for me personally, but I’m sure it would be easy enough to check their references.”

“I wouldn’t worry about references with those boys,” Libba said. She nodded emphatically. “I’ll call their mom tonight.” She looked pleased with herself. “Yes sir. Fix this place up nice.”

“Would you keep horses here again?” Cara asked.

“No. We’ve got the new stables for them.” Libba’s face took on a wistful quality. “This old barn has a lot of good memories for our family. Holly and her friends played house up in the loft. Harris and his buddies would play out here, on rainy days. It was their secret clubhouse, their army fort. He was in a kind of garage band in high school. They were awful! I wouldn’t let ’em play in the house, so they practiced out here. Mitch said he and his brothers did the same thing when they were kids.” She turned to Cara.

“Someday, I hope, we’ll move Harris’s crib back into the big house. And this barn will be full of my grandbabies, playing hide-and-go-seek, and pirate and bad garage rock.

“That is,” she said, pulling a face, “if Harris and Brooke can slow down enough eventually to give me those grandbabies while I’m still young enough to enjoy them.”

Cara reached out and squeezed Libba’s hand. “I hope they will.”

Libba sighed, and the two women picked their way through debris toward the door.

By now, both their faces were coated with a sheen of perspiration.

Libba mopped her forehead with a blue bandanna. “You can see how hot it is in here right now, and it’s only May. How are we gonna get this place cooled down enough come July?”

“It’s actually not that difficult,” Cara said. “We do tons of weddings in tents and all kinds of outbuildings these days. We’ll rent generators and big air-conditioning units.”

“Really?” Libba looked impressed. “You can air-condition a barn?”

“I did the flowers for a wedding in an airplane hangar last August,” Cara assured her. “With enough money, you can do just about anything.”

“One thing we know,” Libba said with a laugh. “Gordon Trapnell has more than enough money. And he’s bound and determined to spend it on this wedding. But you know what? I don’t want to rent air conditioners. Let’s just buy us a new system. That way we don’t have to give it back. And I don’t have to feel beholden to Gordon or Patricia.”