Ciji Ware Read Online Free PDF Page A

their left, “I’d love to tour every one of these places. They’re gorgeous.”
    “Wait till you see where your reception’s being held,” Daphne replied smugly.
    “As a matter of fact, we’d better head over to Monmouth Plantation right now. I need to check out a few things.”
    “King told me, driving up today, that you booked it at the last minute. Do you know what a miracle that is? Around here, Monmouth’s reserved for weddings when a girl child is born .”
    “Some poor guy just died—ten days before he could celebrate his ninety-fifth birthday. We took over his spot.”
    “This wedding is meant to be.” Daphne laughed happily, her spirits rising each mile they got closer to Monmouth.
    A few minutes later, they steered the Explorer into a sweeping drive that led to a magnificent white mansion with imposing square pillars. The plantation house, now a hotel, perched on a lawn-cloaked hill dotted with magnolia trees and giant, moss-hung oaks. A gargantuan tour bus was just pulling away from the front door. Their timing was perfect, Daphne thought.
    “Oh… my stars…” Corlis said softly. “What a wonderful place for a wedding reception.”
    “Out back is a huge courtyard and a gorgeous garden beyond, plus a pond and vine-covered trellises, azalea and camellia bushes, not to mention a gazebo—which are very big items around here, by the way,” she confided with a grin. “And statues all over the place. The acres of old orchards and cotton fields have been sold off over the years and turned into Greater Natchez.”
    Corlis drove the car to an area marked by a discreet sign indicating visitors’ parking. Stepping onto the gravel, she pronounced happily, “It’s perfect! Trust King to get the architecture right.”
    Within minutes, they were greeted by the lady of the manor, Lani Riches, a warm, welcoming woman dressed in trim lime linen slacks and a silk blouse. Ushering them into the front hall, she explained that she and her husband Ron, a California developer, had fallen in love with the derelict mansion twenty years earlier on their first trip to Natchez.
    “Ron’s the history buff, and I love the decorative arts. We became obsessed with the idea of restoring this pre-Civil War white elephant to its original splendor.” She led them beyond the magnificent delft-blue foyer into a high-ceilinged double parlor festooned with pale blue silk draperies and matching upholstery. “We’ve been so grateful to King for all the good advice he’s given us over the years,” she said. Daphne’s gaze was immediately drawn to the rear of the large room, which boasted two fireplaces separated by an arch with a fanlight window overhead. Among a scattering of magnificent period mahogany furniture, a small harp of the sort that well-brought-up young ladies played for gentlemen callers stood beside a grand piano.
    “This entire place just bowls me over,” Corlis breathed.
    “Let me show you the plans we’ve made for your wedding reception,” Lani replied, all business now. “And don’t worry. People on the Pilgrimage tour will be long gone from here tomorrow evening.” Then she addressed Daphne. “Your brother told me you’ll be playing your harp at the church, but you might want to see if you’d like to play ours at the reception. That way, you won’t have to transport yours from First Presbyterian. This one is an antique, but we keep it tuned.”
    Corlis said quickly, “You’re a guest, Daphne. Only play at the reception if you feel like it.”
    Daphne smiled gratefully at Corlis, then said to their hostess, “Do you mind if I have a closer look?”
    “No, of course not. Please do.”
    “My cousin Madeline Whitaker, at Bluff House, also has a very old one—which is probably why I never considered taking up the tuba,” Daphne volunteered with a wry smile.
    “As I’m sure you know,” Lani said, laughing, “Natchez is a town where there’s a harp in practically every parlor. Feel free to