Stage Fright / Goodbye, Sweet Prince / Brotherly Love

by Catherine Marshall

  “You came all this way, Christy,” the doctor said, joining her at the window, “Don’t give up now.”

  Christy turned to him. “All right, then,” she said at last, “but I want you to promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “If you get to see me perform as Juliet, then I get to see your very first painting.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Christy Huddleston,” the doctor said with a smile. He placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “It’s a deal.”

  Eleven

  All right,” Aunt Cora announced the next morning at the theater, “first things first. As most of you have heard by now, Christy has agreed to take on the demanding role of Juliet. For that, we are all very grateful.”

  “Hmmph,” someone muttered.

  Aunt Cora shot a warning look in Arabella’s direction.

  “Don’t look at me!” Arabella cried. “I wish her nothing but the best.”

  “I want you all to be on your best behavior for the next few days,” Aunt Cora continued. “Help show Christy the ropes. Make her feel at home. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and not much time. Christy, here’s a copy of the play for you to look over. Use it the first couple of days of rehearsal to refresh your memory.”

  “Thank you,” Christy said softly. “And I just want to tell everybody I’m grateful for this chance, and I’ll do the very best I can. But please don’t expect too much.”

  “You’ll do just great.” Gilroy patted her on the back. “If you got any questions, I’m the guy to ask. After all—” he winked, “I am Romeo.”

  “Later, we’ll do a wardrobe fitting,” Arabella said, eyeing Christy up and down. “I’ll probably have to let out the costumes a bit,” she said with the hint of a sneer.

  “Whenever you say, Arabella,” Christy said meekly.

  “All right, people!” Aunt Cora clapped her hands. “I want to start this morning with act two, scene one. Romeo, Benvolio, Mercutio, let’s get started.” She turned to Christy. “Why don’t you find yourself a nice, quiet spot to look over your lines? And don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything.”

  What I really need is a dose of courage, Christy thought as she headed backstage. She almost wished the doctor were there for moral support. But today he was starting his art lessons, just as he’d promised.

  In any case, it would probably have just made her more nervous to have Doctor MacNeill there, watching her stumble over her lines. He’d get to see her fail soon enough, on opening night. Assuming, that is, she lasted that long.

  Christy found a wooden bench behind some props in an out-of-the-way corner of the stage. She got out her copy of the play and began to read through her lines.

  “Hi, there.”

  Christy turned to see Marylou approaching. She was dressed in her dirty, paint-spattered overalls. A sprinkle of sawdust covered her hair.

  “Hi, Marylou. What have you been up to?”

  “A little of everything.” Marylou shrugged shyly. “Sometimes I help with sets. Sometimes I do things for Oliver, when he starts to go crazy. Mostly, I help Ara-bellow.” She grinned. “Oops. That’s what we call her behind her back sometimes. It isn’t very nice, I know.”

  “I imagine she can be rather difficult to work with.”

  “You’re right about that.” Marylou sat down on another bench. “So. You’re going to be Juliet. Are you excited?”

  “Scared, more than anything. But after talking it over with Doctor MacNeill last night, I decided I owed it to myself to give it a shot.”

  “You and Neil, you’re pretty close?” Marylou asked carefully. “I saw you dancing at the party.”

  “He’s a good friend, yes.”

  “You aim to marry him?”

  Christy blushed at Marylou’s rather blunt question. “I don’t know about that . . .”

  “No need to say anything. I can tell by the way you’re gettin’ all red that you’re a little sweet on him.”

  Christy hesitated. She could feel her face burning.

  “I figured as much,” Marylou said. “Neil . . . well, he’s quite a catch.” She leapt off the bench. “Well, I have to get going. Ara-bellow wants me to help her mend some costumes.”

  “See you later,” Christy called as Marylou dashed off. He’s quite a catch, Marylou’s words echoed in Christy’s mind. Just how well did Marylou know Doctor MacNeill, anyway?

  Christy looked down at her lines and sighed. It was going to be hard to concentrate, with all the chaos here. She’d have to do most of her practicing at Aunt Cora’s, even if it meant staying up late into the night.

  She turned to another scene and scanned the page. Nearby, Marylou’s brother, Vernon, began hammering on a set.

  Christy sighed again. It wasn’t going to be hard to concentrate, she realized. It was going to be impossible.

  “Nice job, Christy!” Aunt Cora said that afternoon. “Very nice job!”

  They’d practiced the same scene twice now, and both times, Christy had made a mess of her lines. Still, she’d gotten through the scene without thoroughly embarrassing herself, and that was something, at least.

  “You’re doing great,” Gilroy whispered. “You’re going to be the finest Juliet this theater’s ever seen!”

  “Thanks, Gilroy,” Christy said. “Even if it’s not true, it’s nice to hear.”

  “You’ve got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen,” Gilroy said. “Except maybe for Marylou Marsh. I suppose you’ve got yourself lots of gentleman callers back home, huh?”

  “Dozens and dozens,” Christy said, but she realized from his expression that Gilroy thought she was serious. Before she could explain, Aunt Cora interrupted.

  “Let’s move on,” she called from her front-row seat. “I want to get the staging squared away for act four, scene three, in Juliet’s chamber. Christy, I want you to enter stage right. Don’t worry about your lines right now. We just want to get the basic movements down. Move slowly across the stage until you reach the white bench, where you’ll take your seat. Eventually, we’ll have a bed there, too, but that’s still being built. Got it?”

  “That’s simple enough that even I can handle it,” Christy joked.

  Christy made her way across the stage to the bench. She took her seat, trying her best to be graceful. In her head, she was reciting her lines, one by one. To her surprise, she remembered most of them.

  “Fine,” Aunt Cora said. “Now, after Lady Capulet enters and delivers her lines, I want you to stand and come three or four paces downstage.”

  Christy stood. Again, she silently recited her lines as she walked toward the edge of the stage.

  Several people snickered. Christy hesitated. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Gilroy pointed to her skirt. “It’s your skirt, Christy. I guess the paint on that bench was still wet!”

  Christy glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, her favorite blue skirt was covered with paint.

  “That bench was painted two weeks ago!” Aunt Cora cried. “How could it still be wet?”

  “Someone must have put a second coat on,” Arabella suggested. She strode over to Christy’s side. “We professionals know to check for such things,” she said. “Come on. I’ll see if I can find something you can change into.”

  “Sorry about that, dear. Welcome to the theater,” Aunt Cora said with a laugh. “I told you it’s full of surprises!”

  Twelve

  How was your first day of rehearsal?” Doctor MacNeill asked that evening at dinner.

  “Humbling,” Christy replied.

  “She was magnificent. A natural,” Aunt Cora said as she passed Christy a loaf of warm bread. “I was very proud of her.”

  “Aunt Cora’s just being nice. I couldn’t remember half my lines. I stumbled over the other half. And to top it all off, I sat on a bench covered with wet paint and ruined my skirt.”

  “I feel so terrible about that,” Aunt Cora said. “It’s the strangest thing. That paint should have been d
ry as a bone. But as I told you, these things happen. Before you leave Knoxville, I’ll take you shopping and we’ll buy you a new skirt.”

  “Don’t be silly, Aunt Cora. It doesn’t matter.

  I’m just sorry I’m not doing a better job for you.”

  “You’re not quitting already, are you?” Doctor MacNeill shook his fork at Christy. “Because if you quit, then I’m definitely quitting my art lessons.”

  “Didn’t you enjoy yourself today, Neil?” Aunt Cora asked.

  “Let’s just say if I were as bad a doctor as I am a painter, I wouldn’t have a patient left alive.”

  Christy laughed. “Neil, it’s only your first day. Give it time.”

  “I was going to say the same thing to you.”

  “All right, then,” Christy agreed. “Another day or two. Now, if you two will excuse me, I’ve got some lines to go memorize.”

  “I’m always available to fill in as Romeo,” the doctor offered.

  Christy grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The next morning at rehearsal, Christy waited in the large dressing room backstage while Aunt Cora rehearsed with some of the other actors. Christy was so busy working on her lines that she barely noticed the small figure reflected in the mirror.

  “Oliver?” she asked, spinning around.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” he muttered. “I left my hat in here the other day, when I departed in such a huff.”

  “I thought you were wearing one at the party.”

  “A different hat,” he snapped. He poked around in a pile of costumes. “No matter. It’s not as if anyone cares whether my head is warm. I’m sure they’d all be thrilled if I caught cold and expired.”

  “Oliver, don’t say that. I can tell the cast is very fond of you. I think the pressure was just getting to everyone.”

  “Fond! Phooey! They hate me, all of them. And of course they love Cora. Sure, Cora is the perfect director. All I heard while she was away was, ‘Why can’t you be more like Cora, Oliver?’ Well, I’m not Cora! I’m Oliver! Oliver Flump!”

  “Of course you are.”

  He sighed. The anger seemed to vanish. “But you like her, too, no doubt. Sweet, patient Cora.”

  “I do. I think she’s a wonderful director. But I’m sure you would be, too—in your own way.”

  “She’ll get her comeuppance, soon enough.”

  “What do you mean?” Christy asked, frowning.

  “I mean this play will fall apart at the seams, and then we’ll see who the true director is!”

  “Because of me, you mean? You mean the play will fall apart because I’m taking the role of Juliet?”

  Oliver patted her gently on the shoulder. “It’s not your fault, my dear. It’s Cora’s. If she had left me in charge, things would be different. I could have gotten the actors under control. Discipline, that’s what they need—a firm hand.”

  “I hope I don’t ruin everything,” Christy said forlornly.

  “You won’t ruin the play, Christy. Fate will. And when that happens, everyone will recognize my true genius.” Oliver buttoned his topcoat. “Well, I must be off. I’m not wanted here.”

  Christy watched him go. She couldn’t help feeling a little resentful. She was having a hard enough time keeping her confidence up. Oliver wasn’t helping matters with his gloomy predictions.

  “Christy!” Arabella poked her head in the door. Her strong perfume filled the room. “Cora’s calling for you.”

  “Here I come,” Christy said, but as she stood up, a horrible ripping sound met her ears.

  Arabella clucked her tongue. “I knew that skirt was a little tight on you.”

  “But . . .” Christy took another step, and her skirt ripped some more. A large patch of fabric was stuck to the chair.

  “It’s glued!” Christy cried. “Somebody glued my chair!”

  “Don’t be absurd,” Arabella sniffed. “Why would anybody . . .” She examined the chair. “Sure enough.” She tapped a finger on her chin. “Goodness, this is unfortunate. I’m not sure I’ve got another spare skirt.”

  “Well, I can’t go out on stage with my petticoat showing,” Christy said frantically.

  “Let me see what I can rustle up. You stay put.”

  A few minutes later, Arabella returned. She was carrying something shiny and stiff. It looked like a pair of men’s trousers, made of metal.

  “What on earth is that?” Christy asked.

  “Armor. From our last play, Joan of Arc. I think it’ll fit you nicely.”

  “I can’t wear that, Arabella!”

  “Well, it’s not the whole suit of armor, just the bottom. Think of it as a very well-starched pair of pants.”

  Christy crossed her arms over her chest. “This is ridiculous. There must be something else I can—”

  “Christy!” Marylou appeared at the door. “You’d better hurry! Everybody’s waitin’!”

  “When there’s a crisis in the theater, we all do our part,” Arabella told Christy. “You must try to be cooperative.”

  “Oh, all right. I’ll wear it. But I’m going to look completely ridiculous.”

  “I’m sure you’ll look rather . . . charming,” Arabella said.

  Moments later, Christy clunked her way onto the stage. Her armor-covered legs were so stiff she could barely move. She was greeted with gales of laughter.

  “Interesting fashion choice,” said Aunt Cora, grinning. “But I don’t think it’s quite Juliet’s style.”

  “My dress ripped,” Christy said sullenly. She didn’t think there was any point in explaining how it had ripped. If a practical joker had deliberately put glue on her chair, she didn’t want to give that person the satisfaction of seeing her upset.

  “Well, let’s proceed. We’ve got a lot to cover today. Let’s start with the scene in Capulet’s orchard.”

  Aunt Cora pointed to a group of wooden trees in the center of the stage. They were five tall pieces of wood, cut and painted to resemble apple trees. A wooden stand at the base kept each tree erect.

  “Juliet—I mean, Christy—you’ll enter first from stage left, followed by the nurse.”

  Christy did as she was told. Clank. Clank. Clank. Every step made a horrible noise, but Christy was determined to struggle on. Behind her, she could hear the whispers and giggles of her fellow cast members.

  “Fine. Stop there,” Aunt Cora directed. “Now, let’s hear your lines. Try to direct your voice even farther than yesterday. This is an awfully big theater, so you need to project.”

  Christy cleared her throat. “Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds—” she began.

  “Even louder, dear,” Aunt Cora called.

  “Gallop apace, you fiery-footed—”

  “Look out!” someone yelled.

  Suddenly, as if in slow motion, the apple tree behind Christy began to fall. Christy lurched sideways, out of its path. The movement was too sudden for her metal-clad legs.

  There was no way to regain her balance. With a horrible thud, Christy landed on her backside, as the apple tree toppled to the floor, only inches away.

  “Christy! Are you all right?” Gilroy ran to her side.

  “I’m fine. Although this is my worst nightmare come true,” Christy admitted with a shaky laugh.

  “It’d be worse with a full house,” Gilroy pointed out.

  “I want somebody to explain to me what just happened,” Aunt Cora said sternly.

  One of the stagehands examined the tree. “There’s a rope attached to the bottom of this prop tree. Somebody must have yanked on it. I’m awful sorry, Christy.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Christy said. “I’m fine. However, it may take the entire cast to help me stand up in this armor.”

  “I feel terrible about this,” Aunt Cora said. “Here you are, doing your best to help us out, and somebody’s pulling these silly pranks.”

  “I’ll say one thing. I’m starting to get the feeling somebody doesn’t want me to star in
this play,” Christy said with a grim smile.

  Thirteen

  I wish I could get to the bottom of this, Christy,” Aunt Cora apologized, “but I still haven’t got a clue about who’s sabotaging this play.”

  Four days had passed. Christy had endured several more pranks, each one more embarrassing than the last.

  “What we need is a motive,” said Doctor MacNeill.

  He had set up an easel in Aunt Cora’s parlor and was painting his first picture. Aunt Cora and Christy were seated on the far side of the room. Nobody was allowed to see the doctor’s work—at least, not yet.

  “Well, since most of the pranks have been directed at me, my first choice would be Arabella,” Christy said. “You have to admit, she seems awfully jealous about my getting the part of Juliet.”

  “In all honesty, Christy,” Aunt Cora said, “I wouldn’t be surprised if several of the other cast members are a little jealous of you. Not that they’re being fair, but acting can be very competitive.”

  “Still, Arabella always seems to be around when something goes wrong.”

  “Of course, you could say that about any of the cast,” Aunt Cora observed. “They’ve all been present.”

  “Even Oliver,” Christy said. “I’ve seen him lurking about every single day—although he keeps a low profile.”

  “I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep away. He lives and breathes the theater.”

  The doctor stepped back to examine his work, his paintbrush in midair. “Perhaps you should consider Oliver a suspect. He has a motive, too.”

  “He does seem very upset about not getting to direct,” Christy said. “He was even predicting all kinds of bad things were going to happen.”

  Aunt Cora just laughed. “Oh, that’s just Oliver. He predicts dire things every day of his life. It’s just his way. He’s a born pessimist.”

  “Well, all I know is, I’ve suffered through wet paint, a falling tree, glue-ruined clothes, chairs collapsing when I went to sit in them, and a large beetle magically appearing in my ham sandwich.”

  “In all fairness, that may have been the beetle’s idea,” Doctor MacNeill said.