by Diane Buccheri
Trees were crashing everywhere. Isabel had arrived in full force, venting her fury with a vengeance. Dodging the falling trees on the curving, slick roads, I drove with a sinking feeling. I really didn’t feel right about this but the wedding was not postponed and I could not let anyone down.
New Canaan, Connecticut has long, winding roads with huge trees and woods enclosing the roadsides. It was October and the falling leaves were pouring down, wet with the torrential rains and flying with the nearly hurricane force winds. A friend from high school was getting married that day at the old Waveny estate, a mansion which sits regally on top of a high hill surrounded by acre after acre of lawn and woods.
The house is a familiar one. I know every nook and cranny of it, having worked in the building for years. The grounds are just as familiar to me. During the slightest of storms, the magnificent trees, exposed at the top of the hill, blow and knock out the power lines. Often, the house is in the dark and it’s cold. It is a darkly decorated building with grand mahogany wood, intricately sculptured, covering the walls, ceilings, and floors. The house should be a museum for nineteenth century architecture but instead is used as the town’s Parks and Recreation headquarters during the day and is rented for sophisticated affairs such as fortune five hundred company meetings and weddings by night.