A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7)

by Sheila Roberts

  “I quit,” Daphne said, breaking into Roberta’s thoughts like a wrecking ball.

  “You what?”

  “I quit.”

  Roberta fell onto the bed. “Oh, Daphne.”

  “I can’t stay in Seattle anymore,” Daphne said, her lips trembling. “I just... I need a change.”

  “No,” Roberta said firmly. “You need a job.” Daphne couldn’t jump off the high dive and assume there’d be water in the pool.

  She couldn’t, but she had.

  “I’ll find a job, but first I have to take some time off, get myself sorted out. Anyway, I have some money saved up.”

  “So do I, if you need it. But, oh, Daphne, what were you thinking?” Clearly she wasn’t. Had Mitchell tipped her over the edge?

  “I was thinking I need to make a new start,” Daphne said in a small voice.

  “You’re fifty-three!” Who did she suppose was going to hire a fifty-three-year-old woman? It wasn’t right, but age discrimination was a very real thing.

  “Haven’t you ever wanted to walk away from your life, start all over again?” Daphne pleaded.

  Yes, and she had. So how could she discourage Daphne from doing the same? Now tears were leaking out of her daughter’s eyes. “I thought I could stay with you for a while. Just till I get on my feet,” she added, probably because she’d seen the consternation on her mother’s face.

  It wasn’t that Roberta didn’t love her daughter. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see her. But living together? They were so different. They’d drive each other insane. Daphne herself had said so on more than one occasion.

  Roberta always kept her house neat as the proverbial pin. Daphne’s often looked as if it had been caught up in a tornado and then set down far from any store with cleaning supplies. On a good day you could find decorating magazines strewn on the couch and shoes scattered everywhere, coats hanging from the handle of the closet door rather than inside it. She had a flair for decorating, but what was the use of painting and purchasing expensive sofa pillows if you never dusted and your toilet was dirty? Roberta had never understood how her daughter could be so efficient at work and such a slob at home. Of course, to be fair, not one of the bums she’d married had ever helped her. Not that she’d ever asked them. She’d been far too easy on the men in her life.

  And too easy on herself. Why she’d never wanted to improve in the areas where she was lacking baffled Roberta. But she didn’t. She hated it when Roberta commented on her bad housekeeping habits or tried to offer advice. In fact, it seemed as if every time Roberta tried to help Daphne improve her life they wound up squabbling.

  Still, she’d never turn Daphne away. She put an arm around her daughter’s shoulders and gave her an encouraging squeeze. “Of course you can stay.” She needed a plan, though. She needed to be proactive. “But, darling, you can’t hide up here indefinitely and mope.”

  “I’m not going to mope. I told you, I’ll find a job.”

  “In Icicle Falls?”

  “There are businesses in Icicle Falls,” Daphne said stiffly.

  “Yes, of course, but you’re not going to find anything with the salary or benefits you had at your job in the city.” Not that her job in the city had paid that well.

  “I don’t need much to live on,” Daphne said, raising her chin.

  Roberta wasn’t so sure. Her daughter had always had a husband to supplement her salary (although some were more reliable than others). She had no idea how difficult it could be to live on one small income.

  “I’ll have money when I sell the house.”

  “You’re used to city life. You’ll be bored,” Roberta predicted.

  “I can find plenty to do here in Icicle Falls. I could help you.”

  “With weddings?” Not only would they be living together, they’d be working together? Now Roberta’s bunions weren’t all that hurt. She felt as though her forehead was about to crack open. She rubbed her temples in an effort to stop the crack from spreading.

  “Why not?” Daphne demanded, correctly interpreting her mother’s body language. “In case you’ve forgotten, I helped with Marnie’s wedding.”

  Roberta remembered. Daphne had forgotten to order the invitations and they’d gone out three weeks late. Giving her daughter a chance to regroup was one thing, but weddings...

  “We’ll see,” she said, making Daphne frown. “For now, let’s get some rest. Everything will look better in the morning.” That was total baloney and they both knew it, but at least with a good night’s sleep they’d be more able to cope.

  Meanwhile, Roberta was going to bed with her romance novel. When she kissed her daughter good-night and wished her pleasant dreams, Daphne teared up and nodded bravely.

  Roberta skedaddled across the hall to her own bedroom, where she fell on the bed. She should have been more supportive, listened more and said less. Daphne was in no mood for advice right now.

  Her poor daughter wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight. Roberta suspected she wouldn’t, either. Not that she ever slept all that well anyway. Getting up two or three times during the night to go to the bathroom always interfered. Oh, how Mother Nature turned on her sisters after a certain age.

  Well, there was nothing she could do now. And there likely wasn’t anything she could do tomorrow. It was hard having grown children. A woman had so little control over her daughter’s choices once that daughter was grown.

  She got into her pajamas, picked up her romance novel and cuddled under the covers, ready—finally—to let the story carry her away. But she got carried only as far as the first kiss in the seduction scene before her mind wandered.

  Kisses, seduction, Mitchell the ogler... Roberta frowned. If only Daphne had met a decent man, someone who’d treat her with respect and kindness. She was a good woman, tenderhearted and giving. She didn’t deserve to have her heart broken. This was what came of being a poor judge of character.

  Worrying about her daughter was exhausting. She set aside her book and went in search of sleep, but she didn’t find it. Finally, she gave up, turned her bedside lamp back on and opened her romance novel again. At least there she could be assured that life would work out perfectly.

  * * *

  On Monday afternoon Muriel Sterling, Icicle Falls’s resident writing celebrity, was knocking on the front door of Primrose Haus promptly at two. Just in time for tea.

  “It’s really kind of you to see me,” she said to Roberta as she stepped inside, a gust of brisk mountain air following her in. “I hope it’s not too much trouble after the wedding you had this weekend.”

  Muriel Sterling knew how to be gracious. “No trouble at all,” Roberta told her. “I’m happy to see you. It’s been ages since we’ve had a chance to chat.”

  “My life has gotten a little busy.”

  That wasn’t a bad thing. Muriel had pulled away from her friends after the loss of her second husband. When she finally came out of mourning, she did so with a vengeance, helping her daughters run Sweet Dreams Chocolates and enjoying a blossoming writing career.

  “Your mother would’ve been proud of all your success,” Roberta said.

  “You’ve been pretty successful, too.”

  She’d done all right. “I’m still not sure why you wanted to interview me, though.”

  “The editor at the Gazette approached me with the idea that it would be nice to feature some of our time-honored businesses run by local women, so of course we immediately thought of your wedding house.”

  “Come on into the parlor,” Roberta said. “I have some lavender sugar cookies from your daughter’s tea shop, along with a pot of Lady Grey.”

  “Those sugar cookies are impossible to resist,” Muriel said and followed Roberta to the formal parlor at the front of the house. The room offered a fireplace and pretty
antique chairs, some of which were even comfortable. Granted, the fireplace didn’t put out a lot of heat, but on a cold February afternoon having a fire in it warmed the heart. Today the crackling logs enhanced the cozy feeling of the room.

  She settled Muriel in front of the coffee table where Daphne had left a half-full coffee cup and a copy of Better Homes and Gardens. Roberta scooped them up and fetched tea and cookies. There were considerably fewer in the box than there’d been when Roberta brought it home that morning, which meant her daughter had gone on a cookie raid. Shades of her divorce from husband number two.

  She returned to find that Muriel had taken a steno pad from her purse and flipped it open. “I was trying to remember. How many years have you been in business?”

  “Thirty years.” Had it really been thirty? Where had the time gone? “You may remember our first wedding in the house was my daughter’s,” Roberta added. “Daphne was the one who actually gave me the idea of opening it up to other people.” Cleverness, one of her daughter’s underused gifts.

  And speaking of Daphne, here she came, wearing jeans, a sweater and a woebegone expression—a shining testimonial to the joys of wedded bliss. Roberta noticed the little watering can in her daughter’s hand. Much as Daphne loved to decorate, she wasn’t all that good with houseplants. Roberta guessed her sudden interest sprang more from a desire to search out some company than to water the plants. She couldn’t blame Daphne. The pain of rejection was one that cut soul-deep and it was hard to be alone with that kind of hurt.

  Although God knew Roberta had done it.

  “Daphne, how wonderful to see you,” Muriel said politely.

  “Oh, hi,” Daphne said, feigning surprise.

  “Are you in town for a visit?” Muriel asked.

  Daphne shook her head and got busy watering Roberta’s ficus plant. “I’m up here to make a new start. I’m getting divorced.” She studied the ficus, then moved it to the other side of the room, setting it next to the philodendron.

  Muriel looked properly sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Daphne shrugged. “It’s for the best.”

  Which was more than Roberta could say for the new location of her houseplant. “Daphne, dear, what are you doing?”

  “Hmm? Oh, I just thought this plant would look better over here beside the other one, in a group.”

  “That’s a charming idea, but the ficus needs full sunlight,” Roberta said.

  Daphne’s cheeks grew pink. “Oh.” She picked it up and returned it to its original spot.

  “Do you know what you want to do?” Muriel asked her.

  “I figured I could help my mother with weddings.”

  “What a good plan,” Muriel said, beaming with approval.

  Yes, wasn’t it? The very thought had Roberta reaching for a cookie.

  “I’m sure your mother’s delighted to have you home,” Muriel said and helped herself to some cookies, as well.

  “Oh, yes,” Roberta lied.

  “So, your daughter’s was the first wedding held here, wasn’t it?” Muriel asked, bringing them back to the interview.

  Daphne gave a snort of disgust.

  Roberta ignored her. “Yes, and then, a generation later, my granddaughter was married here.”

  “That was a beautiful wedding,” Daphne said, her voice wistful.

  “And you’ve had many in between,” Muriel said to Roberta. “I still remember the lovely reception we had here when I married Waldo,” she added.

  “It was lovely. And who knows? Maybe someday you’ll get married again,” Roberta suggested. Muriel’s longtime admirer, Arnie Amundsen, would marry her in a minute if she ever gave him any encouragement. So far, though, she hadn’t.

  “I suspect not. After Waldo...” Muriel’s smile faded.

  “He was a sweet man,” Roberta said.

  “He was,” Muriel agreed. “And you know how rare a good man is.”

  “You can say that again.” Daphne tipped her watering can over Roberta’s spider plant. The water spattered onto the antique music cabinet beneath it and Roberta tried not to grind her teeth.

  Daphne frowned and mopped up the spill with the sleeve of her sweater.

  “You never remarried,” Muriel said to Roberta. “In fact, I remember when you first moved to Icicle Falls. You were a widow.”

  “I lost my husband in a car crash.” Oh, how easily the lie slipped out after all these years.

  Muriel looked at her with compassion. “I remember that. You never found another man to measure up.”

  Roberta was suddenly aware of her daughter’s gaze burning into her. How many times growing up had Daphne wanted to know about her father, wondered why they didn’t have any pictures of Daddy?

  “Daddy’s dead,” Roberta had replied. Learning the truth when she was older hadn’t sat well with Daphne, not until she heard the whole story. But even after that, she’d longed for more, tried to find a way to make what she had into more. Of course, it hadn’t worked.

  There were so many times Roberta had wished she could give her daughter a happy Ward and June Cleaver experience. Instead, Daphne’d had to settle for just June. But they’d done all right, the two of them. Anyway, family wasn’t always what you were born into; it was the people in your life who cared about you, and in Icicle Falls they’d found plenty of people to care.

  As for a man... “There wasn’t exactly an abundance of single men in Icicle Falls back in those days,” she said. “All the good ones were taken. Anyway, I’ve been happy on my own.”

  “Well, you’ve been an inspiration to a lot of women,” Muriel said. “And your beautiful house is always in demand. What’s the most memorable wedding you’ve ever had here?”

  “Not mine,” Daphne said bitterly.

  Her daughter was not helping with the Primrose Haus image of happy brides and perfect occasions.

  “It was a lovely wedding, though,” Muriel said, clearly trying to be diplomatic. She’d attended that wedding. And Daphne’s second one, as well. Fortunately, by the third try Daphne had narrowed her guest list considerably, so all their Icicle Falls friends were off the hook for wedding presents. “Is there any one that stands out?” Muriel asked Roberta.

  “Oh, we’ve had so many it’s hard to narrow down.” Roberta waved a hand airily.

  Now Daphne jumped in. “How about the one where when the minister said, ‘If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together, let him speak now or forever hold his peace,’ and the best man spoke up? It turned out he and the bride had been sleeping together,” she explained to Muriel.

  That would make an inspiring story for the paper, Roberta thought, and frowned at her daughter, who became very engrossed in watering plants.

  Muriel blinked in shock.

  “They weren’t from around here,” Roberta assured her.

  Muriel nodded and scribbled away in her steno pad. “What did you do after that happened?”

  Roberta shrugged. “They’d paid for a party, so we served the food.” Muriel’s expression was disapproving, whether of Roberta’s callous the-show-must-go-on attitude or the behavior of the unfaithful bride, Roberta couldn’t tell. Maybe it was a little of both. “The only thing you can be sure of about people,” she continued, “is that they’ll surprise you.”

  “And not in a good way,” Daphne muttered.

  “I’m sure you had some weddings that did surprise you in a good way,” Muriel prompted.

  “Yes, of course,” Roberta said. “Only last fall we hosted an impromptu reception for a couple who’d been sweethearts when they were young and found each other again on Facebook. They’d both lost their spouses and were so lonely. They started talking on the phone every night, and when he learned she was coming to Icicle Falls to celebrate Ok
toberfest with friends, he came, too. They hadn’t seen each other in almost forty years but they picked up right where they’d left off. They were married the very next weekend.”

  Daphne let out an unladylike snort. “I bet they’re not together now.”

  Muriel smiled. “Oh, I bet they are. That’s a beautiful story, Roberta.”

  “Sounds more like fairy tale to me,” Daphne said.

  Roberta sent her daughter another reprimanding look and Muriel feigned deafness.

  She asked a few more questions, then wrapped up the interview.

  Having known Muriel since she was a girl, Roberta asked about her daughters and was quick to tell her what an impressive job her youngest one, Bailey, had done with the food for the recent wedding reception. “We’ll definitely use her again,” she promised, and Muriel beamed like the proud mother she was.

  She had a right to be proud. All three of her girls were lovely and accomplished young women who were doing interesting things with their lives.

  Meanwhile, in another corner of the room, Daphne had managed to knock over a houseplant. It landed on the hardwood floor with a crunch as the pot broke and potting soil scattered in all directions.

  “Sorry,” she said and disappeared, hopefully to get a broom and dustpan.

  “I hope everything works out for Daphne,” Muriel said.

  “I do, too,” Roberta said with a sigh.

  Her daughter had come home in Humpty Dumpty condition. What was it going to take to put her back together again? And would they be able to keep from killing each other in the process?

  Chapter Three

  Anne, Mother of a Bride in Need of Guidance

  When the kids came over for dinner on Sunday it was plain to Anne that they didn’t know what they wanted. Ideas had flown around the table faster than bats out of a cave.

  And some of the ideas had been just as scary to Anne. They could get married at the coffee shop. Cute, but how many people could you fit in a coffee shop? Or on a ferryboat. If any guests were a few minutes late they’d miss the boat and the ceremony. Ferries ran on time. Wedding guests, not necessarily. Of course, they could always charter an Argosy cruise ship.