They reached the church to find it in a state of decorative warfare. Mrs. Martin stood at the altar, gesturing dramatically with a garland that seemed to be approximately the length of a small river, while the vicar wrung his hands and Marianne stood between them with the expression of someone utterly helpless.
"It would be magnificent!" Mrs. Martin was insisting.
"It would be a fire hazard," Marianne countered with admirable patience considering this was clearly not the first iteration of this argument.
The vicar looked deeply uncomfortable. "Well, I suppose one could argue that excessive decoration might distract from the spiritual nature of the service..."
"Nonsense!" Mrs. Martin declared. "Beauty enhances spirituality!
"Spirituality does not require garland waterfalls."
"But there's no rule against it!"
"There's also no rule against bringing livestock into the church, but we don't do that either," Marianne pointed out.
"We did that one year," Thomas piped up. "Remember? For the living nativity?”
"That was different," Marianne said.
"How?"
"This would be intentional garland catastrophe."
"Catastrophe!" Mrs. Martin looked offended. "My artistic vision is not catastrophic!"
It was at this point that Marianne noticed Alaric standing in the doorway. Something flickered across her face—relief, uncertainty, and something else that made his chest tighten uncomfortably.
"Mr. Fletcher," she said with careful formality that felt wrong after their evening of brandy and truth. "How good ofyou to finally join us. We need someone tall enough to reach the ceiling brackets and rational enough to explain why Mrs. Martin's vision, while creative, might not be entirely practical."
"I heard there were threats involving red aprons," Alaric said, aiming for lightness.
"The red apron is always an option," Marianne replied, and there was almost a smile there, almost the easy banter they'd developed over the past days. "But for now, we just need your height and your ability to use words like 'architecturally inadvisable' with enough authority that people believe you."
"I do have experience with architectural inadvisability."
"From all that observation you're so fond of?"
"Precisely."
"Well then, observe this situation and advise us, architecturally or otherwise."
What followed was an hour of negotiation that would have done credit to an international peace treaty. Mrs. Martin had opinions about everything; the placement of wreaths, the density of garland, the appropriate ratio of red ribbons to green. The vicar wanted to ensure nothing obscured the religious elements of the service. Marianne wanted to ensure nothing collapsed, caught fire, or caused injury. And Alaric found himself in the unexpected position of mediator, using his "architectural authority" to support Marianne's safety concerns while finding ways to allow Mrs. Martin some creative expression.
"What if," he suggested finally, "we created a ground-level display that drew the eye upward without actually suspending anything? Use the natural lines of the architecture to create the illusion of height without the risk?"
"Explain," Mrs. Martin demanded.
"Place graduated arrangements at the base of each pillar, taller at the back, shorter at the front. The eye will naturally follow the line upward, creating the waterfall effect you want without actually hanging anything from questionable beams."
Mrs. Martin considered this. "That could work. But we'd need someone tall enough to place the higher arrangements."
"How fortunate that we have Mr. Fletcher," Marianne said dryly. "He does so enjoy being useful."
"I live to serve," Alaric replied, matching her tone.
"Since when?"
"Since approximately four days ago, apparently."
