“Sure. We can sit down here,” Holly indicated the pews, “or we can use one of the meeting rooms.”
Mitzi opted for a meeting room, so Holly brought them to the nearest one. A table dominated the plain space. Holly sat on one side with her pen and notebook in front of her, and the other ladies took chairs opposite her. Amanda lowered an accordion file as large as a carry-on onto the table. Mitzi propped up an iPad attached to a small keyboard and began typing furiously. Amanda’s mom, Christine, met Holly’s eye.
Christine resembled her daughter, except thirty years older with a chin-length bob. She presided over the Ladies Golf Association at the country club in Lilly Pulitzer clothing and small-heeled sandals with gems on them. The bulk of her communication consisted of “Mm” and a well-bred smile that could as easily mean I’m thoroughly charmed by you as I hope you rot in your grave. Holly could never tell. She was a little bit afraid of Christine.
“We’re concerned about how many people the sanctuary can accommodate,” Mitzi stated, glancing at Holly without fully lifting the angle of her face.
“Mm,” Christine concurred.
“The sanctuary seats three hundred,” Holly said.
“We’re expecting at least that many.”
“You’re welcome to use the choir loft.” It functioned much like a small balcony in a theater.
Mitzi and the others theorized over how many bodies they could squeeze into the choir loft.
“Do you have any other suggestions?” Mitzi asked.
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” Holly understood their concern. Amanda and Christine were going to have a tricky time fitting Martinsburg’s ten thousand residents into Trinity Church. Apart from asking guests to sit on each other’s laps or straddle each other’s shoulders, Holly had no solutions.
“Do you think the pews could accommodate three hundred and fifty?” Mitzi squinted one eye.
“Only three hundred,” Holly answered.
“I’d like to give the ushers some specialized training the night of the rehearsal,” Mitzi informed Christine and Amanda.
“Sounds good,” Amanda answered, still wrestling with the accordion file.
“What does the church have in the way of tables?” Mitzi asked Holly, her earrings clunking the sides of her neck.
“What kind of tables?”
“We’ll need a table in the foyer for the guest book and another for the wedding programs and a flower arrangement. We’re going to want tables that are suitably special.”
“Mm,” from Christine, paired with what might have been an I’m-thoroughly-charmed-by-you smile.
“I’d be happy to show you what we have,” Holly said.
“If we can’t find what we’re after here,” Mitzi said, “we’ll import our own.”
“You’re welcome to.”
“And I do believe we’ve decided to bring in our own musicians and organist as well.”
Holly’s loyalty pricked. “Our organist, Doreen, is great.” Doreen would hate to miss the opportunity to brag to her friends about playing the organ at Amanda’s wedding.
“I think Doreen’s great too,” Amanda said. “But my dad’s second cousin’s wife plays the organ professionally in Vienna, so she’s going to play for the wedding, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.” Doreen, Holly wrote in her notebook, to remind herself to bring Doreen a bucket of caramel corn (Doreen’s favorite) when she broke the bad news.
“We’re going to want,” Mitzi declared, “to take down all the tacky papers and posters and announcements and such that are currently featured in the public areas of the church.”
Holly chewed the inside of her lip and wondered if she was too young to start drinking Alka-Seltzer. Thank goodness she had a rehearsal dinner scouting session scheduled for this afternoon with Josh. Otherwise, today might’ve turned into a real pothole.
Josh. A mental image of him, standing beside her and turning his face to watch her, took shape. That dark hair. The sleekly muscled body. His height and strength. Those unwavering eyes, focused solely on her . . . You can’t let yourself care about him!
“Holly?” Mitzi asked.
“Ah . . .” What was the question? Oh, yes. “You can take down the announcements in the public areas at ten on the day of the wedding. We’d just ask that you put them back up after the ceremony.”
Mitzi’s fingers paused on the mini-keyboard. “We have a large staff coming. A floral designer and her team, a lighting designer, a group of ribbon specialists, a garland expert, a videographer, the photographer, not to mention the musicians.”
What about a flock of cherubs? No cherubs?
“It would be extraordinarily helpful,” Mitzi continued, “to have access to the premises at least twenty-four hours prior.”