Authors: Cameron Judd
“Good night, Custer,” King said firmly before Darwin could answer.
Custer Crosswaite gave a “harumph!”, turned on his heel and stalked on his long, skinny legs toward the door. He passed through a faint shadow cast by cookie-nibbling Curtis Stokes, yelped and mimicked the spasm for which Curtis was famous, then was gone, letting the door slam a little too loudly behind him.
Moments later the door reopened and Custer thrust his head back inside. “Betcha that play won’t have nothing in it about that spider lodge business in the ’70s, will it, Caine?” Then he was gone again, this time not returning.
Chapter Eighteen
“WELL, AS USUAL, OUR friend Mr. Crosswaite has added his own unique seasoning to our evening,” King said. “Now that he has moved out into the good night, I will use the question he posed to you as a transition to ask you for a bit of further information, Caine. Unlike Custer, I’m not much concerned as to whether this historical drama will include dancers, but I am concerned about where the play would be put on, what sort of facilities would be required to accommodate it, and how the funding for such can be obtained for the long term.”
“Excellent questions, Mr. Chairman,” Caine Darwin said. “And I think I have some excellent answers for you.”
“Please go on.”
“All of us here are familiar with the old Merkle Dairy farm and the building on the east end of that property where the Merkle Milk Bottling Plant operated for so many decades.” Heads nodded all around, except for Eli’s. He’d heard mention of the Merkle Dairy operations and seen some old photographs in the back issues of the
Clarion
, but knew nothing about it beyond that.
Darwin continued: “The landscape there has one important feature that lends itself to usefulness for the proposed project … and my personal conversations with Constance Merkle, the sole owner now of that old family property, gives me near total assurance that the relevant portion of that tract would be made available to the city and county through a joint purchase at a very reasonable cost.
Very
reasonable, I must emphasize. The terrain forms a natural amphitheater that, I am advised by a consulting engineer I hired to preliminarily look the site over, would be easily converted into a fine outdoor theater. With such a location and a well-built outdoor facility, we could enhance and mold the public identity of our town in the same way such dramas have bolstered awareness and attractiveness of towns including Cherokee and Boone over in North Carolina, and Bardstown in Kentucky, and Big Stone Gap in Virginia.”
Mrs. Wilks raised her hand and was recognized. “Why is Constance interested in selling her farm? She’s treasured the family history associated with that property for all her life. Remember it was the old Forsythe property before Constance married into the Merkle family about the same time she inherited the old family lands.”
Darwin looked turned his eyes to Eli and Melinda, both of whom were scribbling away on their notepads. As journalists, they were present not only as members of the committee, but also to cover the meeting as a news event should newsworthy items come up.
“My journalist friends, I must ask you to exercise discretion regarding what I say next. It involves some private and sensitive information about a person who is not present with us tonight, and though I have permission from her to tell this information to the committee, I don’t know if she wishes it to be conveyed to the public at large. Recognizing that this is a public meeting and that you are free to report its content, I still wish to ask you to leave unreported for now the matters I share related to the health of the absent individual. Merely as a politeness and privacy protection for her. And I will consider it a personal favor from both of you. Might I get such an agreement? It is, after all, something that could be presented publicly at a later time.”
“I think we both can go along with that,” Melinda said unhesitatingly. Eli raised no objection, simply nodding, though he was unsure what David Brecht would think about leaving part of an open meeting unreported. But then, David wasn’t present.
What Darwin was concerned about was announcing in a public setting the sad fact that the woman under discussion, landowner Constance Merkle, was suffering from a fast-degrading medical condition that seemed likely to shorten her life. It was her desire, as a widow without children, to use her land in a way that would benefit her community even before she was gone and also honor her late husband’s memory. Though Darwin left unstated the nature of her illness, Melinda would later tell Eli that the widow Merkle was reputed to drink heavily, and there had been whispers about liver disease for at least two years. And only recently she had heard her militantly anti-alcohol father make a comment about encountering Mrs. Merkle on the street and seeing physical evidence, in her eyes and complexion, of creeping cirrhosis. Not that Ben Buckingham was a doctor.
Darwin said, “My suggestion would be that the theater be named to honor Claude and Constance Merkle, Claude posthumously, of course, and Constance … well, that will depend upon the state of affairs when the project was finished.”
“Is Connie really that sick?” Mrs. Wilks asked.
“I fear she is,” replied Darwin, with King and a couple of other committee members nodding confirmation. “Her situation is quite sad.”
“Are there public funds available to help us defray the costs?” asked Mae Rankin, another committee member.
“It is my intention to fully fund the construction of the theater out of my own pocket,” Darwin said. “I also have spoken to Benton Sadler, probably the most politically connected man in our region, and Benton is certain that the ongoing operational cost can be covered in part through governmental grants, both state and federal. He’s prepared to twist the governor’s arm to gain his support for this project, perhaps as a flagship Homecoming ’86 project, and that will go a long way in helping us find supporting funding. But even if such never materializes, I am perfectly capable and ready to bring my checkbook into play for the entire cost.”
There were extended oooos and aaahhhs from Wilks, King, and Rankin, and Eli pondered the power of money to impress and goad.
“Given that, Caine, I might suggest that the facility be named the Merkle-Darwin Theater. Or Darwin-Merkle, whichever seems best,” King said.
“A kind thought, Hadley … but such discussions are best left until later. And I must mention that the city fathers are likely to be the ones who name the theater, but I am certain any recommendation we give them would receive serious consideration.”
“Who would write the play?” asked Mrs. Rankin. “Is Kermit Hunter a possibility? He is, after all, the American dean of historical dramas.”
“Mr. Hunter, I regret to say, is busy with prior commitments and is not available. But I don’t regret it overly much, because I believe we may have an excellent and original opportunity right at hand.”
“How so?” asked King.
Darwin paused to gather his thoughts. “I possibly am coming at this backwards in bringing up this idea in public without first broaching it to the relevant party in private. But now that the ball is in play, I will go for a touchdown.” He paused and cleared his throat. “It was my pleasure in recent months to read an excellent novel that included a significant amount of history of frontier East Tennessee and Kincheloe County. A novel written by our very own Eli Scudder, a newcomer to our community and our newspaper, yet somehow possessed of the ability to capture Kincheloe County’s historical essence in a most engaging way. I believe that Mr. Scudder’s unquestionable abilities might be just what is needed to provide the book of our proposed drama. And to make myself clear, Mr. Scudder, I’m of course not seeking a volunteer effort from you. This would be a paying job, well worth your time and skill.”
Eli was suddenly aware that all the committee members were staring at him. He was also abruptly grasped just what Darwin was saying, and that he was being invited to step onto a path opening before him without any prior alert. He’d never met Darwin before this night, and certainly had no awareness that the richest man in Kincheloe County even had been among those who’d read his humble mass-market paperback, must less been so impressed by it.
Darwin grinned at Eli, who fought off an impulse to jump up and bolt from the room. There had been no mental preparation for this moment, nothing at all to hint something like this was coming. He was on the verge either of hyperventilating or of losing his ability to breathe at all.
“Eli!” Melinda whispered at his side. “Are you all right? Do you hear what he’s saying? Do you hear?”
“Well, Eli, I know I’ve caught you by surprise,” Darwin said. “My apologies. Please let me make it up to you by hiring you, paying you generously, and possibly providing you a new career path as a playwright, along with such as Paul Green, Kermit Hunter … “
“Have you ever written a play, Eli?” asked King, who seemed so excited by what was going on that he was almost dancing in his chair.
Eli wasn’t sure his voice was working. Even if he could find it, he had no idea how to respond to this strange offer. He might have merely sat there, rendered stupid by surprise, had not Melinda slipped her hand into his, under the table, and given it a squeeze. That broke through his paralysis and let him draw a welcome normal breath.
He cleared his throat. “No, Mr. King. I have not written any plays. The closest I’ve come to anything theatrical was appearing in a school play in junior high. I don’t think I have the experience you would be looking for.”
Darwin didn’t seem surprised to see his selected writer seeming to back away from a silver-platter opportunity. He looked unwaveringly into Eli’s face and said, “Before you wrote
Farlow’s Trail
, what was your prior novel-writing experience?”
“Uh … none, sir.”
“So what led you to undertake the rather unexpected task of writing an entire novel without experience or training?”
“It was really just having the intuition, just knowing, that I could do it.”
“Well, young man, this old codger talking to you here has a similar intuition. Based upon reading your novel, I ‘just know’ that you could adapt the history of our community and region into a very engaging and successful stage drama. I even have a somewhat episodic approach in mind that I think would make the project easier to achieve as well as to stage.”
“I … I’m … sir, I hardly know what to say. I’m flattered, but I need some time to consider this. I’m already obligated to my job, and my publisher is making my novel as the first of a trilogy and looking for a fairly fast delivery of the second book, so I’ve already got a full plate. And with the bicentennial coming next year, that’s very little time to write, cast, and rehearse a drama in a venue that isn’t even built yet. I’m intrigued by this, and glad you have such faith in me, but the whole business gives me a sense of wariness … not any doubt of the good will behind the idea, but just a fear of agreeing to something that might not be right for me, or me right for it.”
Darwin was unfazed, and nodded firmly. “Such caution reflects good sense, and I would not expect you to give an answer tonight, beyond agreeing to give this a week’s worth of thought. May I ask you to call my secretary and make an appointment with me for a week hence? Early afternoon preferred. My office is downtown in the Briley Building, second floor.” He strode over suddenly and laid a business card on the table before Eli. “If by that time you have decided this is not for you, we can start seeking an alternative. By that point I will know as well the status of the associated property purchase and at least the broad range of development and construction time we’re looking at.”
Melinda tapped Eli’s ankle with her foot and gave him a very quick and subtle nod. “Say yes,” she mouthed in silence.
He went along. “I’ll give you that week, Mr. Darwin, and let you know. Of course in the meantime I will need to know the details of compensation, rights, and so on.”
“There will be a proposal package in your hands within two days, Mr. Scudder.”
“I’ll give it very serious consideration, sir,” Eli said. “Thank you for your confidence in my work.”
“I read your novel, Mr. Scudder. That is all it took.”
THE MEETING RAN LONGER than anticipated, and by the time King called it to a close, no one was in the mood to linger. Eli and Melinda made their departure run past the refreshments table and grabbed coffee and cookies, and were on the verge of heading out the door into the night when Curtis Stokes, who had slipped out of the room a few minutes before the meeting closed, crept up and tapped Eli on the shoulder from behind, startling him.
Eli wheeled so fast that Curtis was startled in turn.
“Mr. Stokes, right?” Eli asked.
“Curtis Stokes, sir. That’s right.”
“I’m Eli. I had supper with you and Jake Lundy at Harley’s.”
“I remember you.”
“Do you know Melinda Buckingham here, Curtis?”
“Everybody in Tylerville knows Miss Melinda. She grew up here, and now she’s famous on television.”
“I’m not even close to famous,” Melinda protested with a light laugh. “I think you’re better-known around here than I am, Curtis.”
“Only because I’m crazy, and because I sell pencils to everybody.”