Love's Compass

by Gade, Carla; Franklin, Darlene;

  Sarah slung a bag over her back. She turned her dark black eyes on Rex one final time. “You will not have much time once the rain starts.” Adjusting the pack, she put her right hand on the ladder and climbed behind Muriel.

  “Miss Galloway, come back down here.”

  “Later.” The word floated through the air while she continued climbing.

  During the exchange, the sky had turned black. “We can’t film any more outdoor shots right now, Rex. Might as well call it a wrap.” Benny covered his delicate cameras and toted them away.

  “Et tu, Brute?”

  The clouds let loose at that moment, speckling the dry ground. Disgruntled, Rex lifted the bullhorn to his lips. “It’s a wrap.” The crew that hadn’t heeded Muriel’s warning scattered in a dozen directions, moving equipment and props into various apartments along the ground floor.

  Rex ran after Benny. “Give me that camera. I want to capture this on film.” He passed Fred as he headed for his tent. “After the rain stops, get Muriel and come up to my quarters. I’m hoping we can film your close-ups from after the hunt.”

  “Yes, sir.” The handsome leading man headed for the same ladder that Muriel had already climbed.

  The sound of yelling and men racing around the set, rolling dollies and dragging set pieces, joined crackling thunder that sounded like it had landed less than a mile away. Rain pounded the ground as hard as horse’s hoofbeats. He wished he could capture the sounds as well as the look. But he shut out the activity behind him. Fin-de-siècle dress and invention had no place in his prehistoric drama.

  Instead he focused the camera on the horizon. Over there, he could see sunshine. The rain fell like a sheet from the clouds. He smiled at the image. Water painted the canyon walls, turning rose rocks brick red and sweeping away the dust that carpeted the set. He frowned. With the rain changing the landscape, tomorrow’s shoot wouldn’t match today’s. Next time, stick to a studio.

  The water took on the sound of a rushing stream. He swung his camera, seeking out the source. Someone shouted behind him, but he ignored him. Lightning split the sky, sending a rumble through the ground. There. He swung his camera around.

  “Rex. Come on.” Benny grabbed the camera from his hands and ran to the ladder.

  Rex stared at the expanding pool of water, spreading across the once dry plain.

  “Move!” Benny yanked Rex’s arm in the direction of the nearest ladder.

  The water roared, heading straight down the canyon.

  Rex found his feet. Water rushed behind him, urging him up, up, up. He raced higher and higher, past the second level apartment. Only a couple of rungs above him, Benny shoved the camera into the opening and threw himself behind it.

  Muriel’s head appeared above him, rain plastering her loosened braids to her face. “Hurry. You’re almost here.”

  Did he hear panic in her voice?

  Water surged below him, rising faster than he could climb. He reached up two rungs and hurled himself into the opening.

  “Muriel, this might be a good time to pray to that God of yours.”

  The roar in his ears drowned his voice.

  Chapter 2

  “…Pray to that God of yours.”

  Muriel added a word of thanksgiving for this break in Rex’s rejection of all things spiritual. Then she returned to her entreaties for God’s mercy to protect them. Surely the third story was high enough but when she had looked over the side, she had seen the water rise a rung every few seconds.

  The prospect didn’t appear to worry Rex. He grabbed the camera and approached the doorway. Unable to stand, he stayed on his knees and leaned precariously over the edge, half in, half out.

  “Do something,” Muriel pleaded with Benny.

  Benny tugged at Rex. “Are you crazy?”

  “Hold my feet.” Rex refused to budge. “This is great stuff.”

  “It’s like trying to film Noah’s flood. Won’t make any difference if you don’t survive.”

  “If I remember the story right, Noah survived the flood.”

  The sound of the water subsided a fraction, making it a little easier to hear him. His voice bounced off the walls; no one else was talking.

  Benny shrugged. “Guess I better do what the boss says.” He planted himself against the wall and locked his arms and legs around Rex’s right leg. Fred took the other one.

  No one moved or spoke. Water gurgled close by, too close. Lord, I should have done more. She had hoped this film, in the remote corner of the country inhabited almost entirely by Indians who hadn’t embraced the Gospel, would give her opportunities to share her faith. So far she hadn’t done much except pray with Benny.

  The familiar sound of the end of film running through the camera was followed by a curse from Rex, something he did with alarming frequency.

  If she died tonight, she would also miss out on love, marriage, motherhood. Her eyes strayed to Rex.

  The Indians weren’t the only ones who needed the Gospel.

  Lord, give me more time. And courage.

  Rex wiggled back from the edge. “I got most of it.” A wide grin spread across his face—Rex Pride, “King of Film”, at his arrogant best.

  “The water?”

  “Oh, it’s started going down.”

  “It will be gone by morning,” Sarah said.

  That meant they would spend the night on the cliff. How accustomed she was to her creature comforts. Muriel spared a moment to wish she could remove her makeup and brush her hair. Until she did that, she couldn’t release her screen persona and return to herself, simple Muriel Galloway of Gardiner, Maine. With a deep, cleansing breath, she resolved to meet the resourceless hours ahead with cheer and faith.

  As if following her train of thought, Sarah pointed to the back of the apartment. In a corner lay a stack of kindling, as if waiting for their use. “Fire.”

  “That doesn’t do us any good, unless you know how to rub two sticks together.”

  With the closest thing to a smile Muriel had ever seen on Sarah’s face, she opened the bag she had carried up the ladder. “Flint.” Within moments a small flame illuminated the reaches of the cave.

  “Now that beats all.” Benny huddled by the fire. “Come on, Rex, come down to our level.”

  Rex spread out his hands over the flames. Long, slender fingers, that would have done a pianist proud, but he used them to point and shake and generally intimidate his crew. Seen in this setting, his dark hair flopping over his thick eyebrows and obscuring his startling blue eyes, grime coating every spot on his face, he looked like only a man. A handsome man. A man willing to do anything, to go to any lengths, to accomplish what he wanted.

  She had to admit, she resembled him that way. All actors shared hubris. To perform night after night, they had to. Film was even worse, capturing her every movement and expression for all time.

  Across from her, Fred’s face reflected the same emotions she was feeling: fear, relief, discomfort. An overall trembling when he realized how narrow their escape was. The actress in her registered every expression, cataloging them for future use.

  “I say, I don’t suppose you have any food in that bag of yours?” Fred said.

  Sarah had already opened a pouch of cornmeal and was mixing it with water from her canteen. “I will add pepper. It will warm you for the night.” She took an innocent-looking green vegetable and chopped it into small bits.

  Benny lifted weary eyes. “Do you have any jerky with you? We might have a feast on our hands.”

  A shadow of a smile graced Sarah’s face as she unfolded a thin strip of something dark and stringy. “From sheep.”

  “You came prepared.” Rex spoke with grudging admiration.

  “My people have experience with this land.”

  “And we appreciate your help.” Muriel spoke with her brightest stage voice. “Don’t we, Rex?”

  Rex stared at the clearing sky, wishing he could continue filming. What a waste of an evening. He couldn’t vie
w the day’s rushes, couldn’t go over the planned close-ups with Fred and Muriel….

  “I said, don’t we, Rex?”

  “What?”

  “Sarah has been invaluable to us today.” Muriel’s dark eyes dared him to disagree.

  He looked at the Indian woman, who was slapping thin pancake-looking circles on a rock set into the circle of fire.

  Muriel’s face threatened mutiny if he dared to disagree. “Look around you, Rex. Look below. Sarah cared enough to warn us and has provided us with fire and food. Everyone else has gone.” She leaned forward. “Aren’t you concerned at all about your crew?”

  Fred scooted to the entrance and leaned out. Projecting with the stage voice that could reach the back row, he said, “Hello? Is anybody there?”

  “Fred, is that you?” A familiar New England drawl answered. Abe Brent, the actor who portrayed Killdeer’s best friend in the film, answered.

  Voices called from up and down the cliff. Rex relaxed. His crew had survived, and that meant they could continue working with minimal interruption.

  “Cecil Zimmer.” Muriel pointed dramatically. “We haven’t heard from Cecil.”

  “Zimmer.” Rex repeated the name under his breath, trying to place the man.

  “Cecil Zimmer, you say?” Fred said. He leaned out again. “Has anyone seen Cecil Zimmer?”

  A chorus of “noes” came back. “I saw him.” One lone voice answered, but they couldn’t hear more

  Details rushed through Rex’s head. Zimmer. That was right. Short, redheaded, cheeky lad who refused to take Rex too seriously. Although he drove Rex crazy at times, his work was invaluable. And the equipment…He ran his hand through his hair and then looked at it. Grimy. He needed a bath, but he didn’t think he would have a proper bath again until he left Mesa Verde behind.

  “He’s a good bloke. Always good for a laugh.” Fred ran a hand across his forehead.

  “Good at his job.” Benny said.

  “The food is ready.” Sarah handed Rex a round golden cake and a strip of some kind of dried meat. He sniffed the cake. “What’s in this? It practically singed the hairs off my nose.”

  “That would be an improvement on your appearance.” Benny grinned. “Those green bits add flavor. Try it. You’ll like it.”

  Rex sniffed it again. Benny rolled it like a cigarette paper, so he followed suit and took a bite. Fire exploded in his mouth and seared his throat. “What is that?”

  “Jalapeño.” Benny stuffed the rest of the cake into his mouth. “As good as the tortillas I had in Albuquerque.”

  “Wrap it with the meat.” Muriel smiled.

  “You’re laughing at me.”

  “Not at all.” But her smile widened. “Drink some water.” She handed him a canteen that must have also come from Sarah’s bag.

  Rex turned to the woman. “I don’t know whether to thank you for the food and water or curse you for burning my mouth. But I do appreciate all you have done today.” He looked at Muriel, his gaze asking, There, does that satisfy you?

  “Do you have another tortilla?” Benny had devoured his in seconds.

  A smiling Sarah handed him one. Silently she held up a final…what did Benny call it? Tore-tea-ya?

  “I’ll pass.”

  Benny’s second tortilla went the way of the first. They passed the canteen around the circle. “Does anyone want to join me in prayer?” Muriel asked.

  Here she goes.

  “Of course.” Benny leaned over, his hands steepled in theatrical fashion.

  Rex stifled a groan. He wouldn’t work with these two fanatics if they weren’t the best at what they did.

  Fred joined Benny, willing to go along. Sarah sat back as if prepared to let them take the lead now that she had provided supper.

  “Do whatever you want.” Rex curled up against the wall, feigning sleep.

  He couldn’t shut out Benny’s gravelly voice. The man thanked the Almighty for everything from the sunshine to the day’s filming to the ridiculous rain “that refreshed the earth.” Did Noah thank God for the supposed flood? These Christians could be crazy.

  Next Benny thanked God for each person in the chamber—for Sarah’s warnings, for Fred’s cheerfulness, for Muriel bringing Sarah’s warning to their attention, and then…

  “And I thank you, God, for Rex. For his vision of the film. For the creative gift You placed in him. Help him as he leads us.”

  So now this man was crediting God with Rex’s skill? He could hardly keep his mouth shut.

  Benny’s rambling prayer ended with “Amen.” Muriel prayed next. If only he could capture her voice on film. Listening to her ordinary speech gave him pleasure. When speaking in her natural accent, her broad vowels and dropped r’s sounded musical. Even if she read a parish record, he might enjoy it. She pleaded for the lives of the people, the Indians who had fled the scene before there was reason. She even prayed for the equipment and the day’s films.

  God didn’t care about Rex’s work. Did He?

  After their prayer time, Muriel decided to investigate the apartment where they found themselves. She should be able to stand. At her full height, her head brushed the ceiling. The men wouldn’t be able to straighten. Shadows from the flames danced on the walls of the chamber where they sat. Too bad they didn’t have any torches handy so she could explore the other rooms hinted at by dark openings.

  What were the people who lived here like? Why did they choose to live in rooms high above the ground? Today they had seen the wisdom of settling above the canyon floor, but they could have found other options. Thousands crowded together in prehistoric cities, faced with the same problems as all urban environments: food, sanitation, crime.

  Bending her head slightly, she circled the room, glad for the opportunity to stretch her legs. It didn’t take long. Sitting back down, she undid her braids. She ran her fingers through her hair in lieu of brushing out the tangles.

  She caught Rex staring at her, and she blushed. He looked at her as if he had never seen a woman’s hair before. She turned her back to him to preserve an illusion of privacy.

  Sarah dug into her bag again. “Let me fix your hair.” She gestured with a comb beaded along the edge.

  “Thank you. You are a miracle worker.” I shouldn’t have said that. A comb is not a miracle.

  The same fleeting smile appeared on her face, and Sarah sat down behind Muriel. Starting with the ends of Muriel’s hair that dangled to her waist, Sarah tugged the comb through the strands. “Is the hair of all white women this soft?”

  “Soft?” Muriel laughed. “At the moment it feels heavy with oil and dirt.”

  “If you come to my village tomorrow, I will arrange for you a bath.” She paused. “In privacy.”

  Muriel grimaced as the comb broke through the tangles. God had opened the door for her to spend time among the Navajo. “That would be lovely.”

  Sarah lifted down a second layer of hair and gently worked the comb. “Your dress is not like what white women wear.”

  Muriel looked at the buckskin dress, lengthened to allow her modesty, although still uncomfortably short. Colored beads and fancy stitching covered the front. “The costume director wants to make me look like one of the Ind—one of the Old Ones who lived here years ago.”

  “It is a good thing you are showing this movie to others.” Sarah’s hand quivered as she tugged through a tangle, suggesting laughter rippling down her arms. “No Diné will recognize this as clothing we might wear.”

  Muriel looked at her dress—beautiful, intricate, designed to flatter her figure and draw attention. She hadn’t noticed the difference from the practical clothing Sarah and the other Navajo had worn. “What would you suggest?”

  “We wear clothing made from the wool of sheep. The Old Ones might have worn clothes from hunting and not from the field. But this dress is fancy. For a special ceremony. Not for every day.” She glanced over Muriel’s shoulder at her bare ankles. “I think they would wear shorter dresses, sinc
e they climbed up and down so often. Long dresses are not practical.”

  Muriel fingered the fringe that lengthened the design. Even this length was uncomfortable for her. Any shorter and movie theaters might refuse to run Ruined Hopes.

  “I will ask the wardrobe mistress to speak with you. In fact, you would be a tremendous asset to the film. Would you be willing to come back? Advise us so we do things right?”

  Muriel felt the shrug. Sarah worked on the crown of her head now, running the comb from crown to end with only little resistance.

  “Muriel.” Rex’s voice boomed across the room. “Come over here. I want to discuss tomorrow’s filming with you and Fred.”

  Sarah ran the comb through the rest of Muriel’s hair then pulled it back with a tie. “I will braid your hair in the morning.”

  “Thank you.” Muriel stood, bending over to make sure she didn’t run into the ceiling.

  “Anytime, Miss Galloway.” Rex lifted a hand as if to forestall the objection she might make.

  The three men sat in a circle. Rex grinned at her. They looked worse than she did, if that was possible. Stubble covered Rex’s chin. Rain streaked the makeup coloring Fred’s pale English skin. He had removed his heavy wig and light brown hair incongruously framed his darkened face. Benny had a grin that never changed. None of them looked their best, and her own bedraggled appearance no longer seemed so important. She sat down, pulling on her dress to cover as much as possible of her legs.

  Rex ran his hand through his hair, so that it stood in spikes in places. “As soon as we can get out of this hole, we will view the rushes from today’s shoot. I hope we have enough of the crowd scenes. Extras.” He said the word with disdain.

  “Different than the stage, I’ll give you that.” Fred crossed his legs with all apparent ease. He flashed a smile at Muriel. “That’s what makes you so special, m’dear. Even in a crowd, even without that siren’s voice of yours, you draw every eye.” He saluted, and Muriel blushed.