The Rising Star of Rusty Nail

by Lesley M. M. Blume

  “All right, Mozart,” said Wes just before eight, playfully yanking Franny to her feet. “It’s time to go get your trophy.”

  They took their seats in the auditorium. Nancy Orilee and her parents had moved up to the front row, like guests of honor. The television crew fiddled with their camera on top of the tripod and waited to start filming.

  At exactly eight o’clock, the three judges walked up the main aisle and onto the stage. Mr. Pilskog stood at a microphone in the center of the stage. He tapped it twice and cleared his throat until the room fell into silence.

  “Before we announce the winners, I’d like to say that whoever walks away with the award tonight, you’re all winners,” he said.

  Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard that one before, Franny thought rudely. Some of the parents clapped politely, but all of the contestants looked like they knew better.

  “And now it’s time to announce this year’s champion.”

  Franny leaned forward in her seat, hardly daring to breathe. Lorraine grabbed Franny’s right hand and Wes seized her left. The photographers moved to the front of the stage and the TV camera was rolling. Mr. Pilskog cleared his throat again and said: “We judges would like to note that while everyone was very good, one pianist showed particular promise.”

  Franny smiled, jutting her chin up in the air. She perched on the edge of her seat, ready to spring up the moment her name was called out.

  “And the winner is …,” announced Mr. Pilskog theatrically, “Nancy Orilee of Rusty Nail!”

  The audience let out a collective gasp. All of the contestants looked at each other in shock as Nancy ran up onto the stage. The medal of honor flashed under the spotlights as Mr. Pilskog placed it over her golden head. Cameras flashed as she exclaimed breathlessly, over and over again: “Oh, I knew it, I knew it!” She even blew kisses to the audience.

  Hot tears filled Franny’s eyes and she gulped for breath. How could Nancy have won? Are those judges deaf ? she thought angrily.

  Wes stood up, enraged. “That’s outrageous,” he said. “Just outrageous. All I want to know is how much Roger Orilee paid those crooked judges to vote for his spoiled brat of a daughter.”

  Tears fell down Franny’s face once she realized what must have happened. She watched a television reporter shout questions to Nancy.

  “What’s the secret, Nancy? How’d you get so good?” he asked.

  “I’m just a natural, I guess,” she said, sweet as sugar. “My daddy always told me that I was the best and there was no way I could lose.”

  The reporter turned and faced his camera. “Well, folks—that’s Nancy Orilee, Minnesota’s sweetheart and homegrown piano prodigy.”

  “Let’s go,” said Lorraine abruptly, putting her hands on Franny’s shoulders and gently steering her into the aisle. Wes collected their things and followed them. Several of the other families had already angrily stalked out.

  Olga and Svetlana were waiting in the hallway outside the auditorium.

  “Dyevushka, you should never cry in front of your audience,” Olga said.

  “Didn’t you see what just happened in there?” shouted Franny, too upset to control herself in front of the Russian. “Nancy was horrible and I was perfect—and she still won! It’s completely unfair!”

  “Da—I agree with the girl,” said Svetlana. “That Orilee girl was very average and bourgeois. It was clear that a bribe happened. I cannot believe that we are seeing such a thing here in America—it is like being home in Russia.”

  Franny stopped crying out of sheer surprise. She’d never heard the maid make such a long speech before. Usually, she would have been annoyed that Svetlana was butting in, but now she looked at the woman with appreciation.

  “Yes, it is very disturbing,” Olga said. “I am very sorry, Dyevushka. I would not have entered you in this contest if I knew it would be like this. But you should still not cry. A great pianist must always keep her dignity, even in situations like this. No—especially in situations like this.”

  Tears ran down Franny’s cheeks again.

  “I can’t help it,” she said. “I’m going to have to go back home and see the whole town celebrating Nancy’s big win. It’s always the same. Her dad buys her everything she wants: first, she gets fancy piano lessons, then a TV, and then first place in the contest! How am I supposed to compete against someone like that?”

  “I do not think that the whole town will celebrate Nancy’s win,” Olga said.

  “Why not?” Franny asked.

  “Because of the way she won the contest,” Olga answered. “There are more people like you in Rusty Nail than people like Nancy and her family. They will side with you, Dyevushka—trust me.”

  “She’s right, sweetheart,” Wes said. Franny had almost forgotten that her parents were standing there right behind her. Her father bent down and wiped her tears away with his handkerchief. “No one likes to reward a cheater.”

  “Everyone’s just going to think it’s sour grapes if we say that they cheated!” Franny cried.

  “No, honey—they won’t,” said Wes. “Roger Orilee has thrown his money around for years, ruling the roost and rigging the system in his favor all the time. The folks at home all know his ways, and they’re getting pretty sick of it. No one’s going to celebrate the fact that he did it again, especially at the expense of a ten-year-old girl.”

  This made Franny feel only slightly better. “I just really wanted to win,” she said, wiping her face with her sleeve.

  “And you should have won,” Olga said. “But we cannot change the outcome and must find the—how do you say it? The silver line in the cloud.”

  “Silver lining,” Franny said under her breath.

  “The important thing is that you have started to compete,” Olga went on. “And you have proved that you are an excellent performer.”

  “Da,” piped up Svetlana. “Extraordinary.”

  What’s the point of my being a good performer, thought Franny sullenly, if you can only win contests with money and not playing well? I’m going to be stuck in Rusty Nail forever.

  Olga was watching her. “I can guess what you are thinking, Dyevushka, ” she said. “And believe me: bigger things than this contest will come along sooner than you think.”

  “Like what?” asked Franny.

  “Well …,” began Olga, gesturing for Svetlana to come stand next to her. But then, at that moment, Nancy and her family walked out of the auditorium. Mrs. Orilee spotted Olga and trilled out: “Yoo-hoo! Oh, yoo-hoo! Mrs. Koenig! Isn’t it just wonderful? Our little Nancy—a champion!”

  Olga fixed her with a stony stare.

  “My name is Madame Malenkov,” she said icily.

  At this, several newspaper photographers who’d been trailing Nancy looked over and saw the famous Russian. “It is Olga Malenkov, fellas!” yelled one of them. “The Commie on the run! Didn’t even notice her before now! Get her picture!” They began snapping photos.

  Olga ignored them. Instead, she said to Nancy’s mother: “Do not bother to send Nancy to my house on Monday.”

  Then she and Svetlana turned and walked out of the building, with the photographers running along after her.

  “Well, I never!” gasped Mrs. Orilee. “After all we did for that woman, letting her teach our Nancy! And giving a Commie a chance to be a part of our community.” Her eyes narrowed. “It’ll be curtains for her now in Rusty Nail.”

  Lorraine stepped forward. “We’ll see about that, Leona,” she said. “See you in church tomorrow.”

  She took Franny’s hand, and the Hansens followed Olga out of the building.

  Franny woke up the next morning, back in Rusty Nail and feeling as heavy as an old potato. Still in her pajamas, she trudged into the kitchen.

  “Mom, can I stay home from church today?” she asked.

  Lorraine didn’t even bother to turn around from the counter, where she was slicing bread.

  “Not a chance” was her answer. “Be ready to go in an h
our.”

  Dejected, Franny curled up on the living-room couch with a bowl of Wheaties, the so-called Breakfast of Champions, and listened to radio reruns of Dragnet.

  Suddenly Franny heard footsteps pounding up the stairs to the front door. Without even knocking, Sandy burst into the living room. She wore her Sunday dress and black Mary Jane shoes, an outfit that always looked as amusingly wrong on her as a mink coat sported by a goat.

  “I rode my bike into town early to find out what happened at the contest,” Sandy said breathlessly.

  Tears of humiliation welled in Franny’s eyes. “I lost.”

  “What?” shrieked Sandy. “How? Who won?”

  “Nancy did,” Franny said. She remembered what Olga had said about not crying and forced her tears back.

  “But what happened?”

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” Lorraine said, coming in from the kitchen and putting on her church hat. “Nancy’s father rigged the contest. It was plain as day. I’m going over to the church early, to have a talk with the mayor and some of the ladies.” She looked at Franny. “You can stay and finish your cereal, but you’d better be at church on time for the sermon. And don’t forget to drag your father and brothers along with you.”

  She hurried out the front door.

  “I should’ve known,” Sandy said, glowering, helping herself to a bowl of cereal and pouring a huge pyramid of sugar on top. “There’s no way that Miss Prissy-priss could’ve beaten you in a straight contest, and her Daddy Warbucks must’ve known that all along. Heck—everyone under the sun knows that. Well, Prancy’s not going to get away with it.”

  “But she already did get away with it,” Franny said. “Even if she cheated and we all know it, she still gets all the fame and glory—and I get nothing. Again.”

  Sandy opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. “Yeah,” she said, finally. “It’s a real tough break.” She was quiet for a minute. “And boy, oh boy, is everyone at school who put money in the bettin’ pool gonna be mad. Except for one person, who put all of her money on Nancy. And guess who that was?”

  “Who?” Franny asked.

  “Gretchen Beasley!” Sandy shouted. “It’ll be winner-take-all. She’s gonna be rich! Who would’ve guessed it?”

  This information only made Franny more miserable. “Just what I need,” she said. “To have everyone hate me for losing their allowances to Gretchen Beasley of all people.”

  “No—Nancy’s the one they’ll be mad at,” said Sandy, her mouth full. “Her dad’s the one who rigged the contest, not you.”

  The girls ate their cereal in dismayed silence. Suddenly, something occurred to Franny.

  “Hey, Sandy,” she said.

  “What?”

  “How were you planning to pay everyone if I’d won?” she asked.

  “Whaddya mean?” asked Sandy.

  “You said that the odds were three to one,” Franny said. “If I’d won, where would you have gotten the money to pay everyone three times as much as they’d put in?”

  Sandy chewed and thought for a minute. “Hmm,” she said finally. “Good point. I never thought about that. I just wanted to get your morale up. Maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t win after all.”

  She trotted into the kitchen and dumped her bowl into the sink. “Hurry up and get dressed,” she called over her shoulder. “For the first time in my life, I wanna get to church on time. I got a feelin’ that somethin’ big’s gonna happen there today.”

  Franny arrived at church with Sandy, her brothers, and Wes just before the sermon was due to begin. Lorraine sat in the front row, whispering with Mayor Reverend Jerry. Just as the mayor reverend got up to go to his pulpit, the back doors of the church opened and the Orilees arrived with great fanfare. Nancy and Mrs. Orilee wore matching frilly pink dresses and Mr. Orilee grinned at the congregation.

  “Sorry we’re late,” he boomed. “You can start the sermon now that we’re here, ha ha.”

  Mayor Reverend Jerry glared at him. “I’m the mayor, not you, Roger,” he said. “God don’t look too kindly on folks who exalt themselves and hold up church services for others.”

  The smile peeled off Mr. Orilee’s face as he and his family sat down in an empty pew.

  “Now then,” Mayor Reverend Jerry said crankily. “Today’s sermon’s gonna be short, sweet, and to the point.”

  “That’s good news,” whispered Wes, who’d woken up too late to have his morning coffee. His hair stuck up in every direction.

  “The good book tells us many things,” the mayor reverend exclaimed, and opened his Bible. He read out loud: “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: not of works, lest any man should boast.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” called out old Hans Zimmerman. “I don’t understand a word you jest said.”

  “This is what it means, Hans,” thundered Mayor Reverend Jerry, looking right at the Orilees. “It means that the only way to get to heaven is through good deeds. You can’t bribe God, the holy judge of us all. And those of us who think they can are in fer a real rude surprise. Bribin’s one of the worst sins there is. And folks who don’t know that b’ now should be spendin’ more time with their Bible and less time in the bank. Amen, and dismissed.” He slapped his Bible shut and walked off the pulpit.

  “Wow,” said Wes, looking a little dazed. “I wish that all of his sermons were that short and sweet. Ha—we told you that people would root for you, Mozart. Everyone hates a cheater. Now, why don’t you go find your mother.”

  Franny and Sandy scrambled back to the Colosseum, where they managed to score a few chocolate-glazed doughnuts. All of the women greeted each other and prattled as coffee was handed out.

  Then Mrs. Orilee and Nancy swished in, beaming and holding big cardboard boxes.

  “Hi, ladies!” sang out Mrs. Orilee. “I got up real early this morning and made cupcakes for everyone! In case you haven’t heard yet, our Nancy won the contest yesterday in Minneapolis, and it’s time to celebrate! She’s in all the papers, and she even got on the TV! Just think: a celebrity right here in Rusty Nail!” Nancy stood next to her mother, a demure look on her face.

  Franny expected all of the women to drop everything and rush over to Nancy, cooing their congratulations. But to her surprise, everyone just looked at Nancy and her mother coldly. Lorraine peered into her coffee and smiled faintly.

  Mrs. Orilee blinked nervously as she put the cupcake boxes down on the table. “C’mon, girls—don’t be shy! One cupcake won’t go to your waistline! And I’ve got something else to say too: I want W.O.R.N.A.T.C.T. to pass a resolution.”

  Miss Norma Smitty cleared her throat. “All right, Leona,” she said. “What is it?”

  Mrs. Orilee straightened up. “Well, yesterday, despite all of our good news, we had a very nasty experience with that Commie. In fact, all of our worst fears about her came true. After the contest, out of the blue, she insulted and threatened to harm our Nancy! Can you imagine— threatening a mere child? Now, I’m not only worried about my own little Nancy, but the welfare of every child in Rusty Nail! Is any one of them safe with that vicious Russian spy in town? So, I propose that we go to the mayor reverend and demand that he ban both her and Charlie from the town!”

  Franny couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You can’t do that!” she yelled, her heart pounding a thousand miles a minute.

  “See?” shrieked Mrs. Orilee, pointing at Franny. “She’s already tainted one of our youths—what’s keeping her from getting her hands on the rest of them?”

  Lorraine slammed her cup down on a table. “Now you just shut your mouth right now, Leona,” she said. “How dare you talk about my daughter that way! And how dare you lie to each and every one of these women about what happened! I was right there yesterday, and Madame Malenkov never, ever threatened your child and you know it. And if you think you’re fooling a single person here about why Nancy won that contest, you’re dea
d wrong.”

  Mrs. Orilee narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “Ha,” she said. “Just try and prove it about the contest.”

  A shocked silence filled the room. This was the single most dramatic thing that had ever happened in the Colosseum, and nearly every woman had her mouth hanging open, especially now that Mrs. Orilee had tacitly admitted to rigging the contest.

  “In fact, I’d like to pass a little resolution of my own,” Lorraine went on. Franny noticed that her mother’s hands were trembling, but Lorraine’s voice was as strong and forceful as a flood. “And this is it: I’m starting up another club, and you can’t be a part of it unless you renounce membership in the W.O.R.N.A.T.C.T.”

  Mrs. Charity Engebraten found her voice again. “What new club is that?”

  “It’s called the W.O.R.N.F.C.S.,” Lorraine answered. “And in case you’re wondering, it stands for Women of Rusty Nail for Common Sense. And its members stand for tolerance and fairness. We’ll make pies instead of spreading rumors. Now, who’s in? Let’s raise hands.”

  Norma Smitty stood up. “I think that’s a real good idea, of course, Lorraine,” she said uneasily. “But I don’t think we need to go and get rid of the W.O.R.N.A.T.C.T., do—”

  “Yes, Norma, I think that we do need to get rid of it,” retorted Lorraine. “If there’s no Commie threat in Rusty Nail, there’s no need for a club like that.”

  She marched over to her purse and, to Franny’s surprise, pulled out the old Life magazine Franny had found in Hans’s store.

  “Just in case any of you need proof, it says right there on page fifty-four that Olga Malenkov is not only not a Commie but is anti-Communist,” Lorraine announced, tossing the magazine onto a table in the middle of the room. “In fact, if she went back to Russia, they’d probably kill her. So, girls—you’ve all been barking up the wrong tree. Next time, Norma, you should do a little homework first.”