Patrick pulled a copy of the play out of his back pocket. "I've already been studying it, Miss Hall. I wanted to be ready in case you said it was all right." Then he grimaced. "But can't we do something about the name of the fella I'm going to play? Ferdinand is so dumb! Can't we change it?"
Augusta put a hand on his shoulder and shook her head. "The lady who wrote the play used that name for a reason, Patrick," she told him firmly. "We can't presume to change things in the script just because we don't like them. Why don't you wait over there for a few minutes, and then you can do some more of your lines for me?" Augusta nodded toward the front pew.
"Aw, I reckon you're right," Patrick grumbled. He walked away muttering, "Seems to me we could change it. The lady probably just made up the whole thing as she went along anyway!"
Joshua strode to the front of the church. He patted Patrick on the shoulder as he passed the boy and then smiled at Augusta. "It all seems to be going well," he said.
"We're making progress," Augusta told him. "This production certainly won't be as polished as some of the ones I've seen back East, but we'll do our best."
"I'm sure it will go over just fine in Abilene. Now, I'd better get out of your way, so that you can get on with your rehearsing."
"Joshua..." She spoke his name so sweetly that he stopped and turned toward her again. "Could I speak to you in your study in a short while?"
"Of course," he replied. "I'll go there now and wait for you. That's where I was headed. I've got some reading to do."
He nodded and left, but as he walked through the passage that connected the church to the parsonage, his mind was whirling. He wondered what Augusta wanted to speak with him about. Whatever it was, she could count on him for his support. She should know that by now, he thought.
Once again he couldn’t concentrate on the task he had set for himself. He gave up, closed the book on his desk, and sat back to wait for Augusta. When she arrived some twenty minutes later, her eyes were sparkling with excitement.
"I take it the rest of the rehearsal went well?" Joshua asked as she sat in the straight-backed wooden chair next to his desk.
"Very well. Of course, we've really just gotten started. There's so much left to do. You know, despite Mrs. Grantham's best efforts, some parts in the play still haven't been cast yet."
"I'm sure you'll find people to play them."
Augusta was holding one of the scripts. She leaned forward and handed it across the desk to him. "Believe it or not, we still don't have anyone to play the role of Charles Abernathy."
Joshua took the script and flipped idly through the pages. "I'm not sure I remember which character he is."
"Why, his is the leading role! Charles Abernathy succumbs to the evil lure of alcohol and plunges his whole family to the brink of ruin by his weakness. It's the most important part in the play."
"And the most difficult, I'd think," Joshua observed.
"Indeed. That's why we need someone special to perform the role. Joshua, I want you to play Charles Abernathy."
Joshua's head snapped up, and he stared across the desk at her, stunned. Augusta merely smiled at him. Finally, after a long moment, he stammered, "But...I can't...I simply couldn't...I'm no actor!"
"You're the only man in town who has the necessary experience," she insisted, her lovely eyes imploring him.
Blanching, Joshua caught his breath. Someone must have told her about his shameful past. But surely, she wouldn’t be so thoughtless as to be referring to that. "What do you mean by that?" he asked cautiously.
"You've spent years speaking in front of crowds when you deliver your sermons. You know how to make your voice fill a room. More importantly, you know how to communicate with people, to reach out and touch them with your message. You can do that with this play, if only you'll take the role of Charles Abernathy."
"I...I don't know what to say."
Augusta reached out, placed her hand over his, and squeezed. "Say yes!" she urged. "It would mean so much to me, Joshua. I want this play to be successful, to really show Abilene the evils of drink!"
Joshua looked into her eyes, felt the warmth of her fingers as she clutched his hand, and in that moment, he knew he was lost. He would do anything she wanted him to do, and there was no point in fighting it. But he silently vowed she would never know the similarities between the fictional character she was asking him to portray and the reality of his life.
"All right," he said, a dubious smile on his face. "I suppose you've got yourself another actor."
Joshua had been committing his sermons to memory for a long time, but he found that memorizing lines for a play was totally different. In a way it was easier, because there were all the cues from the dialogue with the other characters. But the emotions involved made acting more difficult. He found himself saying and doing things that he would never have said or done in real life. In the course of the play, Charles Abernathy went from a fine, upstanding citizen to a drunken lout who was quick to strike his wife and children. It was hard for Joshua to even pretend to do that. The most trying scenes of all, however, were the ones in which Charles Abernathy became a hopeless drunkard.
Joshua remembered all too well the dizzy euphoria that accompanied a drinking spree. He knew that the stimulation was followed by an inevitable crash. He recalled the splitting headache, the heaving stomach, the sharp pain with which the harsh daylight of countless mornings had struck his eyes. Memories of all the binges came back to him, filling his mouth with a bitter taste even as he spoke the words of the script.
"Marvelous!" Augusta had exclaimed after he played a long scene with the other cast members for the first time in rehearsal. "A superb performance, Reverend Markham."
"Thank you, Miss Hall," Joshua replied. The formality between them was for the benefit of the other performers and the people who were working behind the scenes. Any time they were alone now, they were always Joshua and Augusta.
"I knew you were the perfect person to play the role," she went on. "And the rest of you were wonderful, too. I just know the play will be a smashing success."
Joshua raised his handkerchief and mopped the perspiration from his forehead. I shouldn’t be sweating, he thought. It was cold outside; autumn was tightening its grip on Kansas, and while the church was warmer inside, it wasn’t hot enough to justify such a reaction.
He knew what was causing him to sweat. He was remembering when crude, vulgar displays such as the ones put on by his character in the play had been a part of his everyday life.
He had to excuse himself then and walk quickly to his study. As he left, he could feel Augusta's eyes following him curiously. He knew she was wondering what was wrong, and she was probably worrying that he would somehow ruin the production.
He uttered a silent prayer for strength. He had to get through this. After all, he had given her his word. He had to do his absolute best to carry out his promise.
As the rehearsals went on, Joshua became more accustomed to his role. By the time a week had passed, he had memorized his lines and only occasionally had trouble remembering a speech. Augusta was always close by to prompt him and make helpful suggestions.
Patrick Hammond had proved to be a natural actor. In the role of Ferdinand Abernathy, Charles's son, the youngster performed well in rehearsal. The part of Heloise Abernathy, Charles's wife, was being played by a young woman named Helen Dockery. Augusta had approached Dr. Rose Keller about the role, but Rose had politely declined, citing her work as being too time-consuming.
Joshua knew little about drama, but he could tell that all the actors were doing their very best to make this play succeed. Mrs. Grantham came to watch the rehearsals several times, and she was as lavish in her praise as Augusta had been.
"This play will turn Abilene on its ear," she predicted boldly. "Mark my words. This town will never forget the message it will receive."
Early one morning Augusta, Joshua, and Mrs. Grantham met at the church to decide upon the date of the play.
After conferring for an hour, they agreed to present it on the coming Saturday night. On Saturdays, the farmers, ranchers, and cowboys who lived in the outlying areas normally came into town to shop or enjoy themselves. A large crowd would be on hand to see the performance.
That gave them five days to promote the production, and Mrs. Grantham promised to have posters printed and ready by that afternoon. Joshua assured the ladies that as soon as the children from the orphanage returned from school for the day, they could begin posting the handbills.
Augusta bustled out to tend to another errand. As she left, Joshua thought he had never seen her look prettier. Of course, he thought that every time he saw her. He was staring after her when Mrs. Grantham said in a low voice, "Reverend, could I speak to you in private, please?"
A little surprised at the request, Joshua nodded. "Certainly. Come with me."
They went to his study. As soon as Joshua closed the door behind them, Mrs. Grantham began, "I hope you won't think I'm being an awful busybody, Reverend, but someone has to say something. Have you heard what Miss Hall has been doing in the evenings?"
"I know she visited a few of the saloons and caused a scene or two," Joshua said as he sat down behind the desk and motioned Mrs. Grantham into a chair. "But I thought she had stopped all that to concentrate on the play."
"I only wish that were true," Mrs. Grantham said solemnly. "There haven't been any more, er...brawls like the one at Mr. MacQuarrie's tavern, but Miss Hall is still managing to stir up quite a tempest."
Joshua laced his fingers together, placed his hands on the desktop, and leaned forward. "And what's wrong with that?" he wanted to know. "I thought the whole purpose of the temperance society was to let people know about the evils of drinking."
"That's true, that's true. But I'm afraid that if she continues to make trouble, the marshal may have no choice but to arrest her for disturbing the peace."
Joshua sat back, shocked. "No!"
"Marshal Flint came to see me," Mrs. Grantham advised him. "He wanted to know if I was encouraging Miss Hall to disrupt the saloon trade. I told him that I certainly supported her efforts but that I was hardly ordering her to carry out any of her activities. The marshal told me that he has received numerous complaints."
"Complaints from saloonkeepers," he remarked, waving it off. "That's to be expected. They have no legal right to keep Augusta out of their places, nor can they tell her what she can say once she's there."
"But I understand that there have been several threats on her life."
That shocked Joshua even more. Speechless, he stared across the desk at his visitor.
"You know I have never been one to sit back and let a wrong go unaddressed, Reverend," Mrs. Grantham went on. "I've always believed in speaking my mind and letting the chips fall where they may, as my late husband used to say. But I would hate to see anything happen to such a wonderful young woman as Miss Hall. I thought perhaps you could talk to her..."
"And tell her what?" Joshua asked. "Give up her crusade? I can't do that, Mrs. Grantham. It would break Augusta's heart."
He saw immediately that Mrs. Grantham had noticed his use of Augusta's first name, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she said, "It will do more good in the long run to show people the error of their ways by means of this play. That's what Miss Hall should be doing. I just thought she might take it more kindly from you instead of me."
Slowly Joshua nodded. "I'll have to think about this, Mrs. Grantham. I'd rather Miss Hall didn't expose herself to those sordid places, either, but she has a mind of her own, as you well know."
"Indeed." Mrs. Grantham stood up. "Well, Reverend, I just wanted you to know."
"And I appreciate it." He pushed his chair back. "Here, let me show you out."
"Never mind, I know the way. Good day, Reverend."
Joshua said his farewells and sank down in his chair as Mrs. Grantham shut the door behind her. Closing his eyes, he lifted a hand and massaged his temples. More than once he, too, had thought that Augusta was doing the wrong thing in visiting the saloons, but it was difficult to change her mind once she started something. But if there were as many hard feelings around town as Mrs. Grantham had hinted, it became even more important that Augusta use some common sense. Joshua decided he would talk with her, but he wasn’t convinced it would alter her plans.
He was still sitting there, mulling the matter over, when there was a knock at the door. Absently he called, "Come in," then straightened abruptly when he realized it might be Augusta.
Instead, the broad-shouldered form of Angus MacQuarrie stepped into the minister's study. With a grin, Angus said, "Good day t' ye, Rev'rend." The brawny tavern keeper was carrying a large crate, its contents clinking faintly as he entered the room.
"Why, hello, Angus," Joshua replied, surprised to see the Scotsman. "What are you doing here? I don't believe I've ever seen you at the church before."
"I ain't much of a church-going man, Rev'rend, ye know. But I like t' think the Good Lord and me are on pretty good terms." Angus hefted the box in his arms. "I brought ye something t' help out wi' tha' play ye be doing." He put the box on the desk and lifted the lid.
Joshua peered in and saw that it contained two dozen empty whiskey bottles adorned with many different labels. From the way they glistened in the light from the window, they had apparently been washed and dried, and each bottle had a cork in its neck.
"I...I don't understand," Joshua began.
"Ye kinna have a play 'bout drinking wi' no whiskey bottles," Angus said. "So, I want t' give ye these empties."
In the rehearsals they had been using other kinds of empty bottles as props during the drinking scenes, but the real thing would give the performance an air of authenticity. Joshua nodded. "Thank you, Angus. These will come in handy."
"I figgered ye could fill them wi' tea or some such, t' make it look real." Angus held up a blunt finger. "There is one condition t' this gift, Rev'rend."
"Oh? And that is?"
"Tha' ye dinna tell anyone where ye got these bottles. I got a reputation in this town t' consider, dinna ye know?"
Joshua laughed. "All right, Angus. Agreed. No one will know where they came from." He extended his hand to the big tavernkeeper. "Thank you."
"Ye be most welcome," Angus said as he returned the handshake. "Now I best be going, a'fore somebody sees me here."
When Angus had gone, Joshua sat down at the desk and plucked one of the bottles from the box. He pulled the cork from its neck and lifted it to his nose. There was no scent of whiskey clinging to it, and the bottle smelled clean as well. It was just a plain glass vessel with a hint of amber in its color.
But as Joshua's fingers slid over its cool smoothness and then traced the lettering on the label, he felt something clutching at his insides. His breathing quickened, and his pulse pounded in his head.
He had guzzled whiskey out of dozens, maybe hundreds, of bottles just like this one. And as he all but caressed the bottle, the realization burst clearly in his mind—the craving was still there. God, he wanted a drink!
He thrust the bottle back in the box and closed his eyes, feeling sweat pop out on his forehead. And once more he offered up a prayer for strength.
He was going to need all the help he could get.
6
Joshua Markham had heard the expression butterflies in his stomach before, but he had never really understood it until tonight. The performance of Adrift and Astray, by the immortal Florence Singleton Weems, was only an hour away, and he was so nervous he was pacing restlessly back and forth in his study.
He had delivered countless sermons, before audiences both large and small, but he had never felt this apprehensive about any of them. As he had learned over the last couple of weeks, acting was very different from preaching.
During the last few days, rehearsals had been held at the courthouse, where tonight's performance would take place. The sets were finished, all the props in place—including the mock barroo
m with its shelf full of whiskey bottles Angus MacQuarrie had anonymously provided.
Augusta had wanted to know where Joshua had gotten the bottles, but he honored his promise to Angus and kept secret the donor's name. Joshua thought bringing the bottles to the church had been a noble gesture on Angus's part, considering the fracas that Augusta had started at his tavern—not to mention the bloody nose he had suffered in the fight.
Joshua thought last night's dress rehearsal had gone well. The cast seemed to know their lines, and the backstage crew did a good job of switching the scenery between acts. For a group of amateurs, they were going to put on a good show. Augusta had obviously studied stagecraft. Even if she hadn’t admitted that doing this morality play wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment idea, he would have suspected it anyway. He had a feeling that Miss Augusta Hall usually knew exactly what she was doing.
Joshua felt so confident of the other members of the troupe that he knew he had no reason to be so nervous. He should be looking forward to the performance, to making Augusta proud of him as he helped to bring her message to the people of Abilene.
Instead, his hand trembled as he lifted it to wipe the sweat from his brow. He knew what was wrong; he just didn’t want to admit it, even to himself.
Throughout the rehearsals, each time he raised a whiskey bottle to his lips to swallow some of the weak tea, he wished it were the real thing. Nor had the problem gotten better with time, as he hoped it would. In fact, with each passing day the cravings got stronger.
He had been so distracted by these unsettling impulses that he forgot his promise to Mrs. Grantham and neglected to speak to Augusta about her saloon visits. But he knew that she had stopped them of her own accord, so that she could devote more time to getting ready for the play. She was usually at the church or the courthouse in the evenings, and Joshua had escorted her back to the hotel every night when the rehearsals were over.
Once or twice when they parted company, he sensed that she wouldn’t mind if he kissed her or at least took her hand for a moment. But so far, he had done neither. They were friendly, could laugh and talk about almost any subject, but Joshua still held back, even though he later regretted the missed opportunities. Perhaps tonight, after the play was over and had been a rousing success... Yes, that would be the time to kiss her, especially if he had given a good performance.
Rattler's Law, Volume One Page 144