“You mentioned our business slacking off. That’s true of the tourist trade to a certain extent. But I arrange special events at the tea garden to pick up the slack. We’re having a gingerbread house–making contest with children. An author is coming to share her latest release along with tea and discussion. And, of course, we’ll have special Christmas celebration teas. So your tea, here in the farmhouse, won’t dent my revenue too much if you cancel it.”
“Then why did you take your time to come here?” Margaret asked, sincerely curious.
“I know you have doubts about the tea because of disputes with your cast.”
“Vanna talks too much,” Margaret grumbled. “She’s always been jealous of me and my acting career, places I’ve been, the sights I’ve seen.”
Daisy had never gotten that impression from Vanna. Vanna had once told her that as a little girl her dream had been of meeting a man who would love her forever. She’d dreamed of having children and creating a good home. That’s what she’d done. Although her husband was gone now, Daisy knew Vanna reveled in her children and grandchildren, and loved having them around her. But she wasn’t going to go into that with Margaret.
“I just believe—” Daisy began.
Margaret’s cell phone, which was sitting on the edge of her desk, played the theme from Phantom of the Opera. Margaret didn’t even glance at the screen. She picked up the phone. “I have to take this. It’s my husband.”
“Would you like me to step out?” Daisy asked.
Margaret shook her head and waved to Daisy to stay seated. She answered, “Rowan? Will you be home tonight?”
As she listened, Daisy could see that whatever Rowan Vaughn had said to Margaret affected her. She frowned and looked older than she had a few minutes before. Although Daisy was sitting there, ready to leave if Margaret said the word, Margaret simply wheeled her office chair around until her back faced Daisy and lowered her voice.
However, Daisy could still hear her as she said, “If you don’t clean up the mess quickly it could affect everything, including the play and ticket sales. Your endowment won’t last long if the theater can’t bring in money on its own.”
Daisy heard a catch in Margaret’s voice.
“Life in Willow Creek is difficult enough,” she murmured.
After listening again for a minute or two, Margaret said, “I’ll see you when you get home.”
Daisy wasn’t about to comment on the call. She simply sat there until Margaret wheeled her chair around, looked down at her desk, then back up at Daisy. The stiff guard she’d had in place seemed to disintegrate before Daisy’s eyes. She placed her hands on her desk and intertwined her fingers. “Rowan has lived in Lancaster all his life.”
Since Margaret seemed to want to talk, Daisy went along with it. “Has he?”
“Yes. His father had made a name in commercial development in the area. Actually, in the state. I think Rowan always wanted to outshine his father. Men and competition.” Margaret shook her head. “Of course, I suppose women can be the same way, or maybe competitive in a different way.” Margaret appeared to be lost in her thoughts for a few seconds, then she returned her attention to Daisy. “I was from Willow Creek, as you know. Did Vanna tell you about our upbringing?”
“I know you were brought up in the Mennonite religion.”
“We were, and I hated it. I hated the restrictions. I hated the rules. I hated dressing like someone from the eighteenth century. Vanna didn’t mind it as much, maybe never minded at all. I left to escape. She left, reaching for a dream. She found hers until her husband, Howard, died.”
“Did you find yours?”
Margaret stared down at the leather insert on her desk. “It took me a lot longer. I was a struggling actress for years. But then I fell in love with Rowan and coming back to Willow Creek had seemed right. Now, however, I don’t know. Maybe I simply don’t like to do the same thing for any length of time. I spent my childhood wanting to escape my life and now I find I want to escape again, at least away from Willow Creek. Don’t you find small-town values and gossip restrictive?”
“Maybe I like to live within some restrictions,” Daisy offered with a smile. “Willow Creek has always felt like home. I was away for years. I always thought of Willow Creek fondly. When I met my husband, we moved away and he was my home. After he died, I decided moving back here with my daughters was our best decision, and it was. I believe we’re happy here.”
“Your daughters might want to flee small-town living.”
“They might, and I won’t dissuade them if that’s what they want to do. I’m still hoping that Willow Creek will always feel like home to them.”
Both women seemed to consider what they had said, then Daisy asked, “Do you really want to cancel the tea? An afternoon that the cast spends together, not in dispute over the production but simply getting to know each other deeper during a relaxing time, could help them form better bonds.”
Margaret peered out the window over the grounds of the property, seeming to study the trees that had lost most of their leaves. Finally, she said to Daisy, “You might be right. Maybe one of the reasons the cast is having problems is because everyone’s busy. When they’re not working, they’re rehearsing. They aren’t socializing. We’re on a schedule at the theater too. It could be that we all merely need time to take a breath, and maybe breathe the same air. But I don’t think I’ll invite Keisha and Ward, my production team from New York. Their presence can lead to discord.” She stopped. “All right, I’ll go ahead with the tea.”
Heaving a sigh of relief, Daisy couldn’t help but be thankful that the work that had already been put
