The Saddle Creek Series 5-Book Bundle. Shelley Peterson

also good weather, which would make for a more pleasant event.

      Hilary and Joy, the blushing brides, were allowed minimal intervention, and every detail was planned by Christine James, Fiona Malone, and Laura Pierson. Helena Casey had added her touches, too, and it was she who had suggested that the theatre would be the perfect place for the big event. The decorations were lavish and whimsical, the menu mouthwateringly tempting. It was designed to feel like a midsummer night’s dream, and hundreds of friends and family and families of friends were invited to fill the seats.

      Abby was a bridesmaid. Her silky, fair hair was smoothed back from her face in a low braid entwined with wide ribbons of rose, lavender, and soft ivy green. The colours were chosen to compliment the purples of the theatre decor and the opulent theme.

      Her long, simple gown swept the ground, covering her ivy- green flat satin pumps. The sleeves were elbow length, and the neck was slightly scooped and sat open to her collarbones. The blended linen dress was rose, with a ruffle of lavender, a ruffle of rose, and a ruffle of green below the knees, creating a wave-like action when she walked. Abby loved the way she looked.

      There were six bridesmaids and six ushers, three of each chosen by both couples. Two bridesmaids wore rose dresses, two wore lavender, and two wore the soft green.

      Christine had pinned an elaborate corsage of lavender, pink roses, and baby ivy on the right shoulder of each of the bridesmaids’ dresses. Not only did they look gorgeous, observed Abby, they smelled divine.

      Being part of the wedding was a welcome diversion for Abby. Since the night of Samuel Owens’ demise, she had been plagued with the image of his body hurtling through the air in the blast. She’d woken in the night several times, shocked and sweaty, imagining the horror if Owens’ plan had been successful, if she and all the people she loved had been killed. If Dancer’s body had been scattered to the four winds.

      That night, Mack Jones had been on the spot almost immediately. He’d personally handled an anonymous call minutes before, and was already driving to the theatre, sirens blaring, when he’d heard the enormous explosion. He’d radioed for ambulances, firetrucks, and police backup. Mack had had no idea what he’d find, but the caller had mentioned Samuel Owens, The Stonewick Playhouse, and gasoline. That was more than enough. He knew it was a potential disaster, and he wasted no time.

      The caller who warned the police turned out to be Owens’ personal valet, Walter Poppins. The man had been cowering in his bedroom when he’d made the brave decision to get involved, consequences be damned. Walter also turned Owens’ cane into police headquarters in Orangeville, which confirmed Abby’s suspicions.

      The weapon had been cleverly designed. It was crafted from silver, with ornate silver sculptings covering the handle. The trigger and target-finders were obscured by these scrollings, allowing it to pose as an elaborate but harmless cane. Walter Poppins had retrieved it the day of the Invitational, on Owens’ instructions, from the metal tubing that supported the call-board at the show grounds. Owens had simply slipped it down a hollow pole when security came running to hold him for questioning.

      Helena Casey had grown fond of the meek, industrious Walter during her ill-fated courtship with Samuel Owens, and had hired him the morning after the explosion. He was happier than he’d ever been. Working for the temperamental and difficult Helena was challenging, but much preferable to the dark, dangerous environment of Owens’ estate.

      The bridesmaids and ushers were asked to assemble, three of each on stage right, three of each on stage left. The men wore grey morning jackets and striped pants. Their shirts were rose coloured, and their cravats were striped with rose, green, and lavender. Their boutonnieres were a single pink rose. Everyone said that the men looked extremely handsome, and the men were only too happy to agree.

      Carrying luscious bouquets of roses, lavender, and trailing baby ivy, the women looked like they’d walked out of a painting by Degas. The stage was dark, the house lights dimming. The four-piece musical ensemble awaited instructions.

      Abby’s entire body tingled with expectation. It felt like opening night all over again. Abby smiled as she recalled the success of the show. Pinocchio had run for ten days with four matinees, and every house had been standing-room-only. Her Blue-Winged Fairy costume had been washed, mended, and pressed to perfection after the beating it took on opening night. The reviews had raved about the production, bringing eager and curious people from miles around.

      Miss Iman, the supply teacher, had written a review for the local paper that singled out Abby Malone as a budding actress of singular presence and watchability. Abby never pretended that the comments didn’t please her. She’d grown to love the theatre more with each performance. She’d delighted in finding new reactions, new thoughts, new moments in each show. Her portrayal had subtly grown with each performance, not so much that any other actor was thrown, but enough to fill Abby’s need to complete her character.

      After the positive reaction to Pinocchio, Joy and Robert were rapidly putting together a season of three plays for the coming winter, and, if all went well, a summer season of two more. Abby had already chosen her audition pieces and was working on a song with the help of her mother. Fiona had a beautiful voice and was quite proficient on the piano.

      The theatre was dark. The oboe began a husky, haunting introduction to the first piece. It was “Never Tear Us Apart,” INXS’s proclamation of unwavering commitment. The oboe player put down his instrument and picked up a saxophone. The sax was joined by the violin, then the guitar, with the percussionist brushing on the snares. Six dozen tiny lights suddenly lit the floor of the stage, creating a dazzling runway.

      The saxophone wailed its heartbreaking tones as the garden-painted backdrop lifted, revealing the two rows of bridesmaids and ushers as they entered from both sides of the stage.

      Hilary had asked her best friend from McGill University to be her maid of honour. Maria Brinks was statuesque, with thick dark hair and an engagingly sweet smile. Sandy’s best friend, Nick Mays, was enthusiastically paired with her.

      Sandy’s beautiful fourteen-year-old sister, Rosalyn, walked on with her proud father, Rory.

      Abby held the arm of Luke Best, a very humourous person and Sandy’s long-time friend. He told everyone that he was the “best” man.

      Norma Dinniwell, Joy’s great friend and soulmate since childhood, looked healthy and radiant. Beside her walked Charlie Watson, Robert Wick’s chum since the day they’d met in kindergarten.

      Christine James was very pleased to be escorted by Pete Pierson, and Laura Pierson was cheerfully attended by Robert’s brother, Daniel Wick.

      Helena Casey was proudly escorted by George Farrow, who appeared amazed to have the blond beauty on his arm.

      Maria and Nick led the way on stage left, followed by Rosalyn and Rory, and Abby and Luke.

      Norma and Charlie headed the lineup on stage right, with Christine and Pete next, then Laura and Daniel. Helena and George followed, completing the party.

      They were all sizes, ages, and postures, but the common feature was the happy smile worn by each person. There was a short pause in the music when the wedding party arrived in place on the stage.

      The music ensemble dramatically began playing the wedding march.

      Breaking with tradition, the two couples had choreographed a unique solution to the lack of fathers to give away the brides. Hilary and Sandy started their walk together from the back of the stage, heading downstage, slightly stage left. At the same time, step for step, Joy and Robert strolled forward to settle beside them, slightly stage right.

      The grooms were in black tuxedos with snowy white shirts and bow ties. They stood on the outside with the brides in the centre.

      Hilary’s gown was creamy white satin, streamlined down to the ground, showing off her elegant, feminine shape. The back was cut low to her waist, and the neckline sat at her collarbones. In her upswept hair perched a glittering rhinestone tiara. A sheer lacy veil trailed from the tiara, billowing back and attaching to her tapered sleeves. The slit that ran up the back of her gown revealed