Master Armorer Daisy Reynolds was my maid of honor. She argued with Beth about wearing her breastplate over her gown. Beth was insistent that the breastplate wouldn’t fit. Daisy, a large woman with badly dyed blond hair, appealed to me.
“I don’t care if you wear it if it fits over the gown,” I told her. “I’m not sure if I’d know you without it anyway.”
Her bright blue eyes twinkled. “Hear that, dressmaker? The breastplate better fit over the gown. I’m wearing my sword, sheathed, of course. I’m making a gold girdle for you, Jessie, so you can wear your sword too.”
The girdle sounded nice. It would be worn on the outside of my gown, around my hips. I wasn’t sure about the sword. I knew Daisy felt naked without a weapon. I was a little less militant.
My other bridesmaid was Adora. She owned Cupid’s Arrow, a shop that stocked love potions, lingerie, and incense. The two women were my best friends in the Village, but couldn’t have been more different if they’d tried.
Chase’s groomsmen were Bart, and Phil Ferguson from the Sword Spotte.
Bart wasn’t there since he was performing his duties as the Queen’s Guard at the castle. Beth grumbled about his absence because he was hard to fit.
Phil had taught Chase, and me, to use a sword. Beth said his fittings were over days before. He was very punctual about getting things done.
“I have to go.” I glanced at the sundial-shaped clock on Beth’s wall. “The Main Gate opens soon, and I haven’t met my weaver yet. This is my first exhibit at the museum. Everything is screwed up about it. Wish me luck.”
“I wish you a lack of dead bodies. That would be nice for a day,” Portia, Beth’s assistant, said in her usual droll way. “I don’t think that would make for a good tapestry exhibit.”
“Good luck,” Daisy said, and then yelled at one of the women working with her gown. “Oww! Don’t stick pins in me if you know what’s good for you!”
I was very excited about the grand opening of my museum. A few select visitors had been in the Arts and Crafts Museum earlier, before it had been closed by the police. It was like a soft opening until my weaver could get there. They seemed to enjoy it. I hoped that a thousand or so other visitors would feel the same way about it today.
That was my number. Everything else was gravy. But for an exhibit to stay open in the Village, a thousand people a day had to pass through its doors. I had my fingers crossed.
Despite the rain that morning, Village workers had put up the large canvas banner over the front door of the red brick building. It proclaimed the museum to be open, and advertised the tapestry exhibit. We were lucky the crime scene people had finished their work on the front entrance before the museum was scheduled to open.
I realized as I ran up the steps that I didn’t have a key. I’d given it to Shakespeare the night before. I had a brief moment of panic until Shakespeare opened the back door, and we went inside.
He was dressed in his usual costume, stiffened and stuffed, as all Elizabethan garb was. His doublet was laced in front, the sleeves laced to the armholes, and the bright gold doublet laced to the hose. His pointed beard was carefully trimmed.
He put the key into my hand. “I hope that you don’t mind that I made a duplicate key from yours. Best night’s sleep ever. Not a whiff of Wanda. Maybe she’s gone for good.”
“I hope so. It was the same with me.”
I invited him to stay for the opening festivities. He declined, saying that he’d neglected his podium in recent days and needed to get back, even if it was raining. “I’m hopeful that the magic stone Madame Lucinda gave me will prove useful in keeping Wanda away.”
I wished him luck with that, eager to get upstairs.
“It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for you.” He bowed deeply. “Thank you, Lady Jessie. I am going to write an ode for your wedding. I shall read it myself at the event.”
I curtsied and thanked him. I hoped there was time for everything everyone in the Village wanted to do for the wedding. In my new spirit of thought, I realized what a great event it was going to be. And if that benefited Adventureland, I was glad.
I missed Manny as I walked through the museum one last time before our big moment. We’d both worked so hard for this day. I hated that he wasn’t going to be here. He deserved some praise, and to see the project through to the end.
The old tapestry loom was set in the center of the main room upstairs. It had been difficult—and expensive—to find a loom which was very similar to what would have been used during the Renaissance.
But it was much harder to find a weaver who could use it. I’d finally located a man in Pennsylvania who was knowledgeable about weaving, and was comfortable talking on the subject in front of a crowd. He also had three days he could dedicate to my opening. The price was right, and the deal was set.