Authors: Bruce Coville
Fortune also played three other roles in the playâthe minister's wife, a farmer's son, and the town drunk. She wished they had some other actors. It was difficult to change parts so often. Sometimes she had to wear one costume under another so she could make her changes fast enough.
She sighed and got to her feet. Mr. Patchett would be ready to start soon, and she didn't want to keep him waiting. He had tried so hard since her fatherâ
Fortune cut off the thought. Grabbing a shawl, she hurried down the stairs.
Mrs. Watson was waiting in front of the boardinghouse, talking withâor, more likely,
at
âa dark-haired little girl who was leaning against a post and staring up at her with wide and fascinated eyes.
“Ah, here you are,” said Mrs. Watson when she spotted Fortune.
The child took her finger out of her mouth long enough to say, “You're pretty!” then popped it back between her lips again.
“So are you,” said Fortune, kneeling in front of her. That wasn't entirely true; the child had a pinched, crabbed look that made Fortune suspect that she didn't get enough to eat. But it made the child smile.
“What's your name?” asked Fortune.
The girl shook her head.
“It's Nancy Conaway,” said Mrs. Watson.
“You told!” said the girl accusingly.
Mrs. Watson gasped. “I forgot it was a secret!” she exclaimed, overacting as usual.
Nancy Conaway giggled, then went running down the street.
Mrs. Watson does make a good Mother Hen, thought Fortune. Too bad she. doesn't have about a dozen more chicks. Then she could spread her attention around a little and leave me alone.
“I was waiting for you,” said Mrs. Watson, taking Fortune's arm. “I thought we should walk over together. It's not good for us ladies to be out alone.”
Several men stopped to stare admiringly at them as they walked across the rutted dirt road and then down to the general store. Fortune wasn't surprised. Mrs. Watson was extremely good looking for a woman in her thirties. And while the dress she was wearing, perfect for an afternoon tea in Charleston, was totally out of place in a dreary little town like Busted Heights, it was a real attention-grabber.
Aaron, looking smug and self-satisfied, was waiting for them at the general store. “It's about time you got here,” he said. “Mr. Patchett's about to have kittens.”
Mrs. Watson laughed. “Get along with you, Aaron. Here, take me up the stairs.”
She extended an arm, which Aaron took with only the slightest show of reluctance. He was used to such requests.
Fortune followed them around the side of the store, where an outside stairway led to the second floor.
She was pleased with the playing space. The oil lamps that Walter and Mr. Patchett had lit revealed the loft to be spacious, with an unexpectedly high ceiling. Better yet, there were several windows to allow them some fresh air. Sometimes it got so stifling when they were acting! She noticed a makeshift stage at the far end of the room and guessed that they probably used it for the musicians when they had dances here.
Walter, Edmund, and Mr. Patchett were standing at the front of the room waiting for them. They had already carried up the trunk that held most of the properties they would need for the play. Mr. Patchett was tapping his foot and looking impatient.
As Fortune turned to finish her survey of the room, she became aware of one more person. Jamie Halleck was sitting in a chair against the side wall.
“What are
you
doing here?” she asked disapprovingly.
He looked startled by the tone in her voice. “Iâ¦I just wanted to listen. I asked Mr. Patchett if it was all right.”
“Well, wait till tomorrow night and pay, like everyone else,” she said sharply. She turned away from him and headed for the front of the loft.
“I had intended to,” said Jamie coldly. Fortune stopped. His voice, which had seemed childish, almost afraid, was suddenly deep and masculine. She turned back toward him.
Before she could speak, he cut her off.
“You needn't put on such airs,” he said icily. “You're not the first actress I ever saw. But I love the theater, and we don't get much of it here in Busted Heights.”
Something about the way he said “the theater”âa sense of reverence tinged by longingâreminded Fortune of her father.
“Don't be so hard on the boy, dear,” said Mrs. Watson, stepping up beside her. She lowered her voice and added, “Remember, it never hurts to have a handsome young man around. It might even keep that scamp Aaron on his toes.”
Giving Fortune a wink, she patted her shoulder, then turned away.
Fortune looked back toward the door. Jamie was on his way out. “Oh, all rightâyou can stay. But don't interrupt! And I expect you to buy that ticket tomorrow night!”
He turned back, and Fortune caught her breath at the radiant smile that wreathed his face.
“Can we get started, please?” she shouted, partly to cover her own confusion.
Walter, who acted as her stage manager, scratched his beard. “Sure thing, Miss Fortune.” Raising his voice he bellowed, “Take your places, everyone!”
There was a muted grumbling and a moment of confusion as the troupe shuffled into place for Act One, Scene One of
The Widow's Daughter.
Fortune took her position stage right and waited for her first entrance, which was some fifteen minutes into the play. Walter barked out a direction, and they began.
Fortune found herself yawning as Mr. Patchett launched into his big opening speech. She had always thought it was twice as long as it should be. She looked around and spotted Jamie watching the play with rapt attention. She studied his face more closely than she had been able to this afternoon in the store.
He certainly is handsome,
she found herself thinking, almost against her will.
I wonder why he's so interested in theater? It seems funny for such a â¦
“Fortuneâ¦Fortune!”
She came to with a start. She had missed her entrance! Feeling extremely foolish, she leaped to her feet and raced to her position. A snort of amusement from Jamie made her skin begin to color.
Determined to recover from the blunder and show Jamie what she could do, she threw herself into the scene, crying out in despair over her mother's distress and reacting with terror to the advances of the wicked landlord. She ended by flinging herself over Mrs. Watson's knees and breaking into hysterical sobs.
Her performance earned a burst of wild applause from Jamie. “Wonderful!” he cried. “That was
wonderful!”
Aaron broke into laughter. “You're an easy target.”
Fortune started to flare at the insult to her performance.
Jamie beat her to it. “What do you mean?” he asked sharply.
“That was a lot of things, but it was hardly wonderful. You ought to see a real show someday.”
“I'd love to.”
Again Fortune caught that sense of breathless appreciation in his voice. Then she realized what Aaron was saying. “Wait a minute,” she said angrily. “We're not that bad.”
“Well, we're not that good,” said Aaron. “If we were, we wouldn't be playing a hick town like this.”
“This isn't a hick town!” bristled Jamie. “Just because people here don't have everything you city people might, it doesn't mean we're stupid!”
“Can we begin Act Two?” asked Walter. “If we finish this rehearsal early, we can all get a good night's sleep. You're welcome to stay,” he added, turning to Jamie. “But please don't interrupt anymore.”
Jamie opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. “Thank you, sir,” he said mildly.
They began the second act. Again Jamie watched with shining eyes. Fortune caught herself playing directly to him, then felt foolish about it.
Well, why not?
she asked herself.
An audience is an audience, after all. It's good practice.
But she also knew she was enjoying his wide-eyed reaction.
They got through the rest of the play without incident, Jamie applauding enthusiastically after each scene.
“I think that will do it for now,” said Mr. Patchett when they finished the run-through. “We're all set for tomorrow night. Edmund and Aaron, I'll need you to help me prepare the stage in the afternoon.”
“Ah, the stage,” said Walter, plopping his derby onto his head. “Our home away from home.” He looked around the loft with an expression of distaste. “Of course, home is getting a little shabby these days. Oh, well. The immortal bard tells us that all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.”
“Actors,” said Aaron.
“What?”
“Actors, Walter. The line is from
As You Like It,
and it says âactors,' not âplayers.'”
“It does not,” said Walter indignantly. He turned to Mr. Patchett for verification. “It's âplayers'âright, Henry?”
“I think so,” said Mr. Patchett, obviously not certain himself.
“Actors,” said Aaron.
“It's âplayers,'” said Jamie. He came striding forward, his face glowing with excitement.
Chapter Three
Aaron looked at Jamie angrily. “Why don't you stay out of this? Besides, how would you know?”
“Because I know the speech. It goes:
“All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.”
Jamie went on. His voice was soaring, powerful in its range of tone and expression. Fortune and the others stared at him in astonishment. He seemed not to notice, caught up as he was in the beauty of Shakespeare's words. At the same time that Fortune wondered how he knew the speech, she found herself resisting another thought: The boy was good!
His voice dwindled with sorrow as he reached the mournful concluding words:
“â¦second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”
“Bravo!” cried Walter, obviously delighted both at being correct and at Jamie's masterful rendition of the lines.
Mr. Patchett looked at Jamie with new respect. “Where did you learn that?”
“My father taught me. He loved Shakespeare.”
“I'm sure we're all impressed,” said Aaron, causing a snicker from Edmund.
Jamie's jaw tightened, the muscles around his mouth clenching as though he were biting back an angry retort.
Leave him alone, Aaron!
thought Fortune, to her own surprise.
Jamie looked around the room. “I'm sorry,” he said with great dignity. “I'm intruding.”
Without another word he walked away from the group and disappeared down the stairway.
“Oh, Minerva!” said Mrs. Watson to Aaron. “Now see what you've done?”
“Me?” cried Aaron, his voice full of wounded innocence.
Fortune ignored them. She was trying to tell herself she was relieved that the intruder was gone. Yet she couldn't stop staring at the doorway.
The next night Fortune stood behind one of the curtains that Walter and Aaron had draped at the right and left sides of the stage to mask the actors when they were not performing. Mr. Patchett had arranged the action to ensure that she and Mrs. Watson could always exit to the right to make their costume changes, while the men would always exit to the left.
She glanced over at Mrs. Watson, who was “preparing her face” for her grand entrance. Her red hair tumbled over her shoulders in thick, glossy curls.
Almost against her will, Fortune felt a wave of affection for this woman who had tried so hard to look out for her over these last months. At least she meant well.
Turning back to the curtain, she gently pulled back an edge so that she could check the audience. She felt a flash of guilt for this breach of professional ethics, but not enough to stop her from doing it.
The oil lamps at the front of the stage had been lit. Walter, already in costume, stood at the front, selling tickets. The house was filling nicely; they would probably have close to a hundred people.
To Fortune's surprise, she saw little Nancy Conaway sitting toward the back, all scrubbed and polished.
As she continued to look around, she found herself wondering if Jamie had arrived yet. She told herself the curiosity was only because she felt sorry for him. After she had heard his mother screaming at him this afternoon, Fortune had decided the young man deserved whatever fun he could manage. Especially since part of what Mrs. Halleck had been screaming about had had to do with how she would tan his hide if he even considered going to “that wicked play” this evening.
Fortune scowled at the memory. Mrs. Halleck's abusive screeching had been a horrible thing to listen to. And even though it had been so loud that neither she nor anyone else within a hundred yards could help but hear it, she had felt as if she was eavesdropping.
“Nervous, dear?” asked Mrs. Watson.
Fortune dropped the curtain. “Of course not. Why should I be?”
Mrs. Watson gave her a sly grin. “I always find it gives me butterflies when I have an admirer in the audience.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Fortune, a little too casually.
“Jamie, of course.”
“Oh,
him.”
She waved a hand carelessly. “I hardly think you could call him an admirer.”
Mrs. Watson paused in the application of her makeup. “You know, I think you're right.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fortune. This is ridiculous, she said to herself. I'm not in the least bit interested in him. So why should it bother me if he's not interested in me? Vanity. That's what it is. You're getting vain, Fortune Plunkett. You'd better watch out, or you'll end up like Mrs. Watson.
“I'll tell you what it is with that boy,” said Mrs. Watson. She gave her face one last dab of powder and turned to Fortune. “He's stage-struck! Don't ask me how it happened out here in West Nowhere, but that's what it is. He's got it bad.”