One Wish (Thunder Point #7)(39)

“These pictures are gorgeous. They should be published,” Grace said. The trellises were adorned with blossoms, and the women wore flowers in their hair. The tables sitting outside for the reception had arrangements on each one. The women carried beautiful bouquets and the buffet table that held enough food for an army also displayed roses, gardenias, cherry and pear blossoms, hydrangea, roses, baby’s breath and rich, dark fern. It was a fortune in flowers, and a great deal of work. More than Grace could possibly manage alone. “You’re right, I’ve never seen anything like it. Who did the flowers?”

“My family,” she said. “I’d like to do a few things differently.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Grace said, flipping through picture after picture.

“Well, I certainly can’t find any fault with it, except for two things—my mother works too hard and every wedding in our family looks the same. Everyone contributes so much. I know they love it, but it becomes almost a competition.” She shook her head. “Not almost. It is a competition—in the kitchen, in the garden, everywhere you look. We’re going to change a few things. For starters, we’re going to get married in a very old church in Mount Angel in an ecumenical service, not outside with the orchard as backdrop. The Catholic Basque relatives will be a little put out, but they won’t boycott. There are too many of them anyway. There are so many of them, we’re thinking of renting actors to play the parts of Scott’s family—his family is so small by comparison. But our friends from Thunder Point will make up the difference. I want to supply some flowers, the bouquets, altar arrangements, boutonnieres and corsages. My mother and aunts can decorate the tent...”

“Tent?”

“My father likes the men to dance under the stars. I want to rent a tent, a dance floor and a bandstand. I’m hiring a Basque band from San Francisco. I’m sure they’ll step aside long enough for my father, my brothers and uncles and others to have a turn, but I want my parents to celebrate with me. If it rains, and rain in spring is not at all unusual in north Oregon, we’ll be covered. And I want Scott’s mothers to have a good time. If possible.”

“Mothers?” Grace asked.

“His mother and his late wife’s mother. The grandmothers. If you pay attention, you’ll hear him complain about them, but I have a mother, grandmother, a million aunts and cousins all over the place, all the way to Spain and France. The Basque people are the only ethnic group to come from two countries, Spain and France, and the tradition and ritual in the old country, even though there is no old country anymore, is rigid and colorful and often troublesome as they argue over control. His mothers can’t hold a candle to that!”

“So there will still be pear and cherry blossoms?” Grace asked almost weakly.

“Thousands,” Peyton said. “I grew up on that farm. I’m committed to a zillion flowers and fruit blossoms and bees!” she said, laughing. “The sheep are not invited!”

“Oh, God, it sounds amazing! I hate bees,” Grace added.

“I’m sure Scott will be packing an EpiPen if you have a reaction. Because, of course, the reason I’m asking you for flowers is because I’d like you to attend if you can. I’m kind of hoping you’ll bring some of the flowers. I realize it’s a very long trip for a delivery.”

“Invited? Me?”

“Of course! I love the flowers my mother and aunts bring, but I’d like a few different blooms this time. Day lilies, calla lilies, hybrid roses, maybe some more tropical blossoms, an orchid or two. If you don’t count my younger brother who is divorced, I’m officially the last Lacoumette to marry. I’ve already talked to my mother about the flowers and the food...”

“The food?” Grace asked.

“She’ll be cooking and freezing for weeks, but I’m holding her back. I wouldn’t celebrate without her more famous dishes but my brother-in-law, the chef, owns a five-star restaurant! I want him to participate. He’s gifted and he’s honored to be asked. If you want to really compliment a Basque, praise their cooking, dancing, music making or children raising. My mother is being very stoic about this, that Lucas would provide some of the food. At least he’s family.” She laughed and shook her head. “They won’t share recipes with each other, it’s hilarious.”

“Peyton, this sounds huge. Maybe bigger than I am. I don’t want to buck tradition.”

“We have to buck tradition,” she said. “I’m Basque but my fiancé isn’t. He’s getting married, too! Although...he can’t get enough of them, of that farm. He’s so happy when he’s there. I can’t take him there too often or he’ll grow big as a bull! No one loves to eat like Scott.”

That made Grace smile. “Troy could probably give him a run for his money.”

Peyton’s dark eyes twinkled. She was silent for a moment. “How’s that going? You and Troy?”

“Nice,” Grace said. “Tell me about your family. About how you met Scott. About the farm and the culture and the traditional Basque wedding.”

Peyton explained that she was the oldest of eight and, no, she hadn’t been dreaming of a big family! She had been determined to be single for a long while but now that she’d found Scott and his two kids, she was very anxious to have one, maybe two, to add to the pack. She described her parents, her siblings, nieces and nephews, talked about Scott and how he was the last thing she ever expected. She explained the Basque people as best she could, how she worked in a Basque clinic in the south of France for a while after graduating from college, getting to know the old country. Grace couldn’t wait to do a little online research about the culture. Almost two hours had passed before they got around to blooms and stalks, number of guests and colors.