“Not at all. For, as we said, good guys aren’t all good and bad guys aren’t all bad. Think of the very best person you know.”
Lottie thought at once of Gilbert, of course.
“Surely that person has at least one flaw, does he not?”
“Y–yes.” Gilbert’s flaw, at least the most apparent one, came rushing to mind right away. He liked pretty girls. Girls who looked nothing like Lottie.
“The goal here is to make the audience work a bit to unravel the details in their minds.” Fanny wiped her greasy hands on her skirt. “Nothing can be easy. We call it upping the ante. Things can’t be easy for the hero, either. He needs to struggle.”
“I see.” Lottie gazed in the direction Gilbert and Cornelia had walked and did her best not to sigh aloud.
“There’s got to come that inevitable point in the show where the audience is convinced that the hero will fail at his task,” Flossie said.
“Really?” Lottie found this difficult to believe. “I always thought heroes were heroes from start to finish. The whole purpose of adding a hero is so that he can rescue the damsel in distress and end up falling in love with her, right?”
“In stage plays, not necessarily in real life.” Fanny sighed. “At least that’s been my personal experience. I’ve known many a so-called hero who got it wrong in the end.” She took another bite of the chicken and grew silent.
“But for the sake of the play, our hero will get it right,” Flossie said. “Only, at some inevitable point, the audience has to be led astray. They must believe he will fail at his task to rescue the heroine and give her the happily-ever-after she deserves.”
Lottie sighed. “What else?”
“Since we’re talking about the heroine now, it’s important to add a scene where she’s in some sort of distress.”
“I thought I did. The scene at the train depot. Did you read that?”
“Yes, dear, but you didn’t go deep enough into her emotions. It has to be believable. Think back to the last time you felt like no one cared enough to come to your rescue.”
Lottie tried not to let her frustration show. How many times had Gil looked past her needs to tend to Winifred’s? And hadn’t he extended a hand to help Cornelia out of the wagon today, completely overlooking Lottie? Had he thanked her, even once, for all her hard work on his behalf?
Suddenly she felt a bit ill.
Oblivious to her ponderings, Flossie forged ahead. “When that happened, what were you thinking? The key is to take those emotions, all of that very real angst, and transfer it to the page.”
Fanny reached to take Lottie’s hand, gazing into her eyes with great intensity. “Then, when your character speaks those lines, they sound real because they are real. They’re birthed from real-life experience. And your audience members will respond to them because they’ve felt the same way.”
“I—I see.” She did. Perhaps a little too clearly.
“Since we’re talking about the female-in-distress scene,” Flossie said, “I want to challenge your thinking a bit.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve made your heroine too soft. She’s counting too much on being rescued.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s lily-livered. Comes across as weak.”
“Isn’t that the idea? Our heroine—Miss Information—needs a man to sweep in and save the day. That’s what people will expect. And Justin Credible is the man for the job. He’s handsome, strong, and knows just what she needs when she needs it. Won’t the audience be expecting as much in a melodrama?”
Fanny clucked her tongue. “Lottie, this is 1912. Do I need to remind you that women across this country are fighting for the right to vote? Suffragettes are marching with banners and placards so that we can have a fair shake in the political arena. So, while we want to show a strong hero, we have to stay in touch with the times. Understand?”
“Your audience members won’t care much for your heroine if she’s weak or if she counts too much on a man to rescue her,” Flossie said.
“I guess I see your point, but I don’t know how to balance that against the traditional melodrama format. So how do we remedy the problem?”
“We’ve remedied it for you,” Fanny said. “Now, I hope it won’t hurt your feelings, but we’ve taken the liberty of doing a complete rewrite of your play.”
Lottie swallowed hard and said nothing.
“The answer to your dilemma was in front of you all along,” Flossie added. “This place—Estes Park—is loaded with enough real-life drama to transfer to the stage.”
Over the next twenty minutes or so, the twins unfolded their plan for the show. Not only had they completely changed the script, they’d added a host of characters, both male and female. Lottie listened as they described—with great animation—just how the story would unfold. At first the sting of having her original story overlooked was almost too much to take. But as the women shared their vision, reality stared her in the face. These women were a gift from God. She could either accept that gift or reject it. To accept it meant a beautifully plotted show and a happy audience. To reject it meant she would get her way and the show would move forward as currently written—with no depth.
When they finished speaking, Lottie rose and tugged at her overalls. “Ladies, you have misjudged me.”
“We—we have?” Confusion registered on Fanny’s face.
“Yes.” She looked down at them and grinned. “You were worried about hurting my feelings, and I need you to know that my feelings have been spared. This story idea you’ve come up with is brilliant. Better than brilliant, really. I love every single thing about it and can’t wait to see it come alive on the stage.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” Fanny extended her hand and Lottie reached down to help the robust woman rise. Turned out to be more of a task than she’d imagined. Before all was said and done, Flossie sprang up to help.
“Well, I’m glad we’re all in agreement.” Flossie looked relieved. “Thought we might end up having words.”
“No, the idea is wonderful. And I’m assuming you’ve got cast members in mind?”
“Do we ever!” Fanny grinned. “Wait till you see.”
She pulled out the cast list and the ladies talked through it as they walked along the edge of the creek. Lottie fought the temptation to kick off her boots and wade in the water.
“The show will be a rousing success.” Excitement washed over Lottie as she spoke. “And I do hope it’s enough to save the lodge.”
“Save the lodge?” Flossie stopped walking.
Lottie clamped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I can’t believe I said that out loud. You ladies weren’t supposed to know.”
“Know what?” Flossie’s gaze narrowed.
Lottie paused and tried to decide how much to share. Oh well. She’d already put her foot in her mouth. Might as well give them the full story. They were bound to find out anyway.
“The Parkers are in trouble.” Lottie tried to quiet the tremor in her voice as she spoke. “They’ve had trouble drawing folks to their lodge since Gil’s father died. He always kept the place up so nice, but Mrs. Parker and Gil are struggling.”
“Oh my.” Fanny appeared stunned by this news.
“With other, grander places to stay in town, visitors are fickle,” Lottie explained. “They want newer and nicer places like the Stanley Hotel. And who can blame them? That’s why we came up with the idea for the melodrama, to raise funds to keep the lodge open. We’ve tried so many things in the past—talent shows, Saturday night dances, game night…all sorts of things. But nothing has really brought in customers, at least not as many as we’d like to see.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Fanny slapped her thigh. “I’m loaded with ideas for raising money. Do you know how many benefits we’ve done over the years? Dozens! There was last month’s operetta to raise funds for the families of those who lost loved ones on the Titanic. That was quite spectacular and brought in a lot of money for those poor, devastated folks.” Her eyes misted over.
“Don’t forget the one-act play we did years and years ago for the victims of that awful Galveston storm,” Flossie added, “and the outdoor musical extravaganza for the families affected by those wildfires a couple of years ago.”
“And the benefit for Bellevue Hospital last summer,” Fanny added. “We can’t forget that one. We raised enough money to help them open the new children’s wing.”
Lottie felt hope as never before. Her eyes flooded with tears. “Ladies, I don’t know if you believe in the power of prayer, but I must say, you are the answer to mine.”
“Believe in prayer?” Fanny laughed. “I never make a move without praying first. How do you think we ended up in Estes Park, Colorado?”
“I knew it.” Lottie reached to squeeze Fanny’s hand. “I just knew you had to be prayer warriors. It shows.”
“I believe in prayer,” Flossie said. “But I believe in hard work too. So let’s get busy talking about ideas to raise money.” She gave Lottie a pensive look. “Let’s go back to what you said earlier about the things you’ve already tried. You mentioned talent shows. How did those turn out?”
“Oh, we had a handful of folks sign up.”
“Did you sell food?”
“A bit. Not much, though. You’ve tasted Mrs. Parker’s cooking. As you’re already aware, she’s not the best cook in town.”
“Right, but with Jeb onboard, I do believe we stand a real shot at bringing in money from the food. A dinner theater is the way to go.”
“Perfect!” Lottie clasped her hands together, thrilled with the idea. “And just so you know, he’s got the best garden in the county and has cooked up all sorts of tasty things. You should taste his white bean chili. He makes it for poker night sometimes. The fellas all swear it’s the best they’ve ever eaten.”
“Well, then, we can coordinate the names of his food to correspond with the theme of the show.”
“Same with the pies,” Fanny said. “We can have Justin Credible Apple Pie, Hugh Dunnit Pecan Pie, and so forth. What do you think? We can sell it by the slice for our dessert theater productions. Folks can choose their option—dinner theater or dessert theater.” She began to talk about the role good food played in a theatergoer’s experience. By the time she wrapped up her little speech, she’d won Lottie over. In fact, with a new script, a new chef, and the temptation of delicious pies looming, the whole experience suddenly seemed quite…tasty.
* * * * *
G
IL REACHED OUT TO HELP
Cornelia walk across the rough-hewn bridge over the creek. She accepted his hand with a smile. The feel of her soft fingers against his palm sent a shiver through him. Still, he’d better stay focused. Though he’d love to spend the day with her, there was still plenty of work to be done back at the lodge. He also needed to talk with Lottie about the cast list, which they planned to post tomorrow.
Minutes later he and Cornelia joined the others. He took a few steps in Lottie’s direction, his curiosity piqued by the excitement in her expression.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“More than all right. Oh, Gil, these women are such an answer to prayer.”
“Yes, they are.” His gaze drifted back to Cornelia, who gave him a shy smile.
“You just won’t believe what a blessing Flossie and Fanny have been. They want to help us, Gil—really, truly help us.”
He was struck by the expression of pure joy on her face. How long had it been since he’d seen her this carefree?
She shared the plan the twins had come up with. He especially loved the idea of the pie parlor. And the dinner-theater idea was perfect.
“Do you think Jeb will be our chef?” she asked.
“Oh, I think so.” He chuckled. “I think he’ll take any excuse he can get to be around the women. So spending more hours at the lodge won’t be a problem, I’m sure.”
Gilbert had just opened his mouth to say something else when a shrill voice rang out: “S–s–snake!” He turned to see Prudy standing behind him, her face ashen.
All the women began to squeal at once. Well, all but Lottie, who took a couple of steps in the direction of the snake for a closer look.
“That’s no snake.” She chuckled as she reached to pick it up. “It’s just a stick.”
“O–oh.” Prudy still looked as if she might faint.
Gilbert chuckled. Thank goodness for Lottie. She might not dress like the other ladies, but she certainly knew how to get the job done. And right now? Well, right now he needed a gal who knew how to get the job done.
* * * * *
L
OTTIE COULD HARDLY
wipe the smile off her face as the wagon headed back down the mountain toward the lodge. Even watching Cornelia squeeze into the spot between her and Gil didn’t upset the apple cart. No, with so many new ideas buzzing in her head, who had time to be upset?
“Can I ask you a question?” Cornelia leaned over to whisper in Lottie’s ear.
“Sure.”
“I overheard Flossie talking about the new script a few minutes ago. Does it hurt your feelings a little that she and her sister have changed it so much?”
Lottie brushed some hay off her pants. “Oh, I’ll admit it stung at first. But I don’t know anything about putting together stories like they do. Not really.”
“Gil and I had a long talk about you just this morning,” Cornelia said.
“O–oh?” This certainly got Lottie’s attention. “You did?”
“Yes.” Cornelia giggled. “He’s just the sweetest fella, isn’t he? And so kindhearted. But anyway, he thinks you hung the moon. And he went on and on about the stories you used to tell when you were a kid. He says you were quite the storyteller.”
Joy flooded over Lottie when she heard that Gilbert had been bragging on her. Still, his compliments were exaggerated. “I guess some would say that. I never really thought about those stories as anything special, though. They were just a way to pass the time. They gave me something to do, and a way to escape the…” She paused to think of the word. “The everydayness of my life.” A sigh followed.
“Why the sigh?” Cornelia seemed genuinely concerned.
“If I could pretend to be something—or someone—I wasn’t, then the pressures of the real world went away. In my mind, the pretend stories were more fun. More real, even.” She gestured to the mountains. “And look at the backdrop God gave me. Isn’t it perfect for a made-up story?”
“It’s pretty perfect for a real-life one too.” Cornelia kept her face turned toward the mountains. “Where I come from, we don’t see mountains. Or scenery, for that matter.”