Casting Lily

by Holly Bennett

  She’s all cowed and quiet, and when Dr. Barnardo asks if she’s happy, she starts to say she’s very grateful and then bursts into tears. Barnardo realizes something bad is going on, but then his assistant comes in and tells him he’s going to be late for some big fundraising do, and so he just tells Lily to be a good girl and leaves.

  I don’t understand anything about this. I don’t understand why she doesn’t tell him the truth straight out—that’s what he’s come for, after all, to make sure she’s okay. It’s her one chance to get sent somewhere else. And I don’t understand why he tells her to “keep her honor” instead of promising to come back or do something.

  I know I’m supposed to forget about my voice, but I also don’t understand how I’m supposed to be quiet and subdued while making sure the people in the back row can hear me. And I can’t imagine how I’m going to be able to cry when I actually feel super mad at every character in the scene.

  So. There we are, with Erin and Ron, who play my foster parents and whom I’ve barely met, walking through the scene, and I can tell I’m terrible. We’re mostly going through the mechanics of entrances and exits, where the chairs are and who sits where, what door I come through and when, but even so, I’m so stiff. By the time Stephen thanks us and sends us off, I just want to lock myself away somewhere and cry.

  “Hey, how come so glum?”

  Kiefer. Just what I need right now.

  “Shut up, Kiefer.” I break into a trot, heading for the row of portable toilets at the edge of the parking lot. They’re gross, but I need privacy, with no questions asked.

  After lunch Will and I have some time off, so we grab a shady spot under a huge maple tree on the farmhouse lawn.

  “You okay, Ava?”

  He must have noticed I was still a bit upset at lunch.

  “Sure.” I hesitate. “I’m just having trouble with one scene,” I confess.

  Will nods, like it’s a normal thing. “What’s the problem?”

  So I tell him—or try to. “I just don’t get why Lily doesn’t speak up for herself.”

  Will smiles. “That’s because you’re a person who never hesitates to speak up for herself.”

  I fake-punch him in the arm. “I am not—shut up!” Funny how shut up can sound so different from one situation to the next. With Kiefer I was serious. Now, with Will, we’re just joking around, and I already feel better about that dumb scene.

  He lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, that’s a compliment!”

  “Oh.” I think about it. “You’re probably right though. She’s so different from me.”

  A voice floats down from above my head. “A good actor doesn’t need to agree with his character to portray him. That’s why it’s called acting.”

  It’s Kiefer, of course, managing to butt into our conversation, be a sexist know-it-all and insult me all in one sentence. I am starting to really dislike him.

  “Thanks, Kiefer, that’s super helpful.” I aim my best death glare at him, but he just shrugs and saunters off.

  “Let’s talk about Lily.” After a second run-through of the scene with the reverend and his wife, Stephen has asked me to bring my lunch into his office. Am I about to be cut from the team?

  “I know I suck at that scene,” I blurt out. Very professional, Ava. Why don’t you just invite him to fire you?

  “It’s a very challenging scene,” says Stephen. “You don’t have much time, or many words, to convey what’s going on with Lily. I thought it might help if we talked about what life might have been like for Lily, why she acts the way she does.”

  “Okay.” My stomach relaxes, and only then do I realize how knotted up it was. I guess I’m not getting fired, at least. I take a bite of my sandwich to give myself thinking time.

  “I guess…” I suck at my lemonade straw. “I guess I don’t understand why she’s the way she is in this scene. I mean, I know that they beat her, or at least Mrs. Talmadge has. We learn that when she writes a letter to Walter. But why does that make her so…I dunno, so timid? She was spunky before. Brave. And why doesn’t she tell Dr. Barnardo what’s happening? Isn’t that what he’s there for—to see if she’s all right?”

  Stephen nods. His wrap has a lot of red sauce oozing out of it, and he swallows and carefully dabs at his beard with a napkin before speaking. “It’s hard to imagine how completely alone these kids were, once they were sent to a family. They literally had nobody. They wrote letters to their siblings, not knowing where they were, and never got a reply because the letters were never delivered. There was no phone, no help line, no Children’s Aid. They were farther from home than they could imagine, in a completely strange country—so if they ran away, where could they go? They were completely dependent on the families who took them in.”

  He looks at me. “Think about what that would feel like. Let’s make it personal. Imagine your parents die in a car accident, and the officials who are supposed to look after you send you to work, say, for some complete strangers on a ranch in Australia. They speak English, but not your English. They treat you like an unpaid farmhand and beat you, or maybe don’t feed you, if they aren’t satisfied with your work. You have no cell phone, no TV, no radio, nothing. No contact with your past life. There are no buses, and anyway, you have no money for one. There’s just miles of dry land in every direction, and sheep, and a truck you don’t have the keys for. What options do you have?”

  Whoa. I’m tempted to crack a joke about it, but I don’t. I make myself really think about being completely at somebody’s mercy like that. It’s an awful thought.

  Stephen’s watching me. He nods at whatever he sees on my face. “Some kids were lucky. They were raised by warm-hearted people who cared about them and gave them a good life. Some weren’t so lucky. And some really never got over the fear and loneliness.”

  I’m starting to get it now. But…

  “I still don’t understand why she doesn’t tell Dr. Barnardo how things are when he asks her point-blank.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Stephen considers his next words while I chew. “You know, even today a lot of children who are abused never say anything about it. There are a lot of complicated reasons for that, but one pretty clear reason is they are afraid of the consequences. So let’s consider. If Lily tells her troubles to Dr. Barnardo, what might happen?”

  “Well, I guess the first thing is, Mrs. Talmadge would likely get all huffy and deny it.”

  “Right,” says Stephen. “And remember, back then it was considered completely normal, a parent’s right, to whip a wayward child. So you have the word of a very upright, respected member of the community, saying either that it didn’t happen or that Lily misbehaved badly enough to deserve it, against the word of a sly little London street urchin. Who do you think they will believe?” He holds up a hand against the protest he sees on my face. “I know, Lily’s not like that. But plenty of people in the community would look down on these kids and see them as untrustworthy.”

  I think about that. Stephen continues, “Here’s the other thing. If Dr. Barnardo doesn’t come through and take her away from there, what will happen to Lily?”

  “She’ll be punished for speaking up. Probably Mrs. Talmadge has already threatened her about it. Things will be even worse.” God, poor Lily. I’m starting to feel horribly trapped just imagining it.

  “Good. It’s making more sense to you now?”

  I nod. And then I stop. “But the reverend.”

  “Mr. Talmadge?” Stephen looks mildly surprised. “What about him?”

  “Well, he’s nice.”

  “Is he?”

  “Yeah. At least, he talks about how well Lily is doing.”

  He just nods.

  “So why doesn’t he defend her?”

  “Against his wife?” Stephen asks.

  “Why not?”

  He laughs. “First of all, because she would no doubt make him pay with a lifetime of misery.”

  I smile. “Okay, I can see that.”
/>   He grows thoughtful. “But maybe he’s not as nice as he seems. Maybe he’s just better at hiding it than his wife.” He looks out the window, onto the fields. “I think we can do a better job of suggesting that—and maybe help you in the process.” He grins, delighted with whatever is in his head, and nods a bunch of times. “Yeah! I like it.”

  Stephen pushes his chair back and starts clearing away his lunch things.

  “So…” I say cautiously. “Um, are we done?”

  He looks up, as if surprised I’m still there. “Oh, yeah.” He checks his phone. “And I’m due somewhere else. But thanks for coming—I hope it was helpful. Keep thinking about how someone in Lily’s situation, with her feelings, would carry herself and talk. Try out a few things. I think you’ll feel different about the scene at our next rehearsal.”

  I really, really hope he’s right.

  Seven

  We’re back at it, and Stephen is making us do a lot of silly warm-ups so we laugh and loosen up. I feel more comfortable with Erin and Ron now. Erin is really goofy and fun, nothing like Mrs. Talmadge. She also seems a bit young for the part, but I guess the makeup department will fix that.

  When we get to work, Stephen shifts around the blocking a bit. “I want to suggest a hint of threat from the reverend,” he tells us. “So Ron, when Ava comes onstage I want you positioned right by the door to meet her, and then stand quite close behind her as she comes to meet Dr. Barnardo. So you could be acting fatherly or protective, maybe: Here’s my girl! But it could also read as threatening, right? Looming over her.”

  Ron nods. “Cool.”

  We try it. I come through the door to meet Dr. Barnardo, and the reverend is right there. I can’t help but glance up at him, and he gives me a cold little nod, as if to shoo me ahead.

  “Come let me have a close look at you, girl,” says Gary, who plays Barnardo.

  I take a step forward, and Ron unexpectedly lays his arm across my back and grips my shoulder. I flinch involuntarily and try to stifle it.

  “YES!” says Stephen. “That’s great, yes!”

  Ron says his next line. “Like I said, Doctor, the girl is very obedient and willing to do whatever is asked of her.” He tightens his grip on me as he says obedient, and, I swear I’m not making this up, I get an absolute chill from the feel of it. He’s so scary, telling me right through his hand that I’d better be obedient now if I know what’s good for me. I wonder suddenly if he’s been “asking” me to do more than chores.

  It’s the creepiest feeling ever, and now it feels completely natural not to meet Dr. Barnardo’s eyes, because I’m scared and confused and unsure of the ground I’m on. When he asks me how I’m doing, it’s so obvious now that I’m afraid to tell him—but in my heart I’m pleading with him to understand and help me. And when he turns away, it’s like someone threw me a life ring but then pulled it back before I could grab it.

  Everyone seems pretty excited as we come to the end of the scene. Erin gives a whoop and high-fives me. “Wow, what a leap forward! You made me want to cry!”

  Stephen’s nodding and grinning. “Really nice, people. Ron, that arm gesture—it’s perfect. Nice touch. And Ava.” I brace myself. I know it was a lot better, but was it good?

  “You’ve found her. That was Lily. We’ll have more fine-tuning with this scene, but this is a big breakthrough. Well done.” I’m grinning ear to ear—I can’t help it. But Stephen’s still talking.

  “That tiny flinch you gave when Ron touched you—it was just right.”

  “That’s because I wasn’t acting,” I confessed. “He took me by surprise, and I tried not to jump but failed.” They had a good laugh over that, but Stephen persisted. “So now you have to learn to repeat that involuntary movement. We’ll get there.”

  I can’t wait to find Will. Being Lily in that scene feels horrible, yet getting her right makes me crazy happy.

  Will is supposed to be in the farmyard, working on the ship scene. I’m heading over there when he comes up behind me.

  “Hey.”

  “Will, what’re you doing here? I thought you weren’t finished for another half hour.”

  He grins. “On a volunteer mission. Come with me.”

  He explains as we go. “We’re all sitting on these little stools, pretending we’re on the deck of the ship, but one has a cracked leg. I volunteered to go get another one because I need the break.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He points. “Storage shed behind the house.”

  I nod, not that he can see me. Will is a fast walker, and I’m just barely keeping up. “So why did you need a break?” Will doesn’t seem the type to run out of energy.

  “Swaying and lurching together to suggest we were on a ship came pretty easily to three of us,” Will explains. “But there are two kids who are having real trouble doing it in sync. So now we’re doing it over and over and over, with clapping and chanting, and, well, since I’m such a good guy, I sacrificed the chance to perfect my sea roll to get little Liam a solid seat.”

  Before I have a chance to tell him about my breakthrough, we’re there.

  “I’ll just be a second,” Will says and heads inside. I hear muffled rummaging and thumping noises. Then Will gives a yelp, and I hear yelling, banging and cursing. He bursts out the door, shouting, “RUN! ”

  I freeze—but then I see the yellow-and-black insects swirling all around him, and I take off. Will is howling and swearing and swiping at his neck and head. I’m terrified they’re going to get me too. We dash into the farmhouse and slam the door.

  Charlotte looks up, her expression comic-book shock. “What are you—”

  “Wasps!” I yell.

  Charlotte grabs a newspaper, rolls it up and coolly tracks the one Will has brought in with him. It lands on the window and meets instant death.

  “Any more on you?” she asks. Man, she is all business! Will is gingerly feeling his hair, shaking out his shirt. He hasn’t stopped swearing and making various kinds of ow noises this whole time, although they’ve come down in volume.

  “I don’t think so. Do you see any?” he manages between curses. He holds out his arms and turns a slow circle while Charlotte inspects.

  The back of Will’s neck is swelling up in angry lumps—three at least. There’s another on his cheek.

  Beth comes in with a bolt of cloth in her arms and quickly abandons it. She’s on Will in an instant.

  “Will—are you allergic to beestings?”

  He shakes his head, cursing again as he feels the swelling on his cheek. “I don’t think so. I just hate them! They frigging hurt!”

  “But you can breathe all right? Your lips aren’t tingly or numb?” She’s so serious, I wonder if she’s allergic herself.

  “Yes. No. Whatever. It just hurts!”

  Meanwhile, Charlotte has disappeared into the washroom. She comes back with a wet towel that she drapes around Will’s neck.

  “Stingers,” I blurt out. “Aren’t you supposed to get the stingers out?”

  Char shakes her head. “That’s only for bees. These are yellow jackets. Wasps.”

  “How do you know?” Will’s holding the end of the wet towel against his cheek.

  “I killed one, remember?”

  Beth has gone to the office and returned with a first aid kit. “Not much in here that will help,” she mutters, rummaging through it. “What about calamine lotion?”

  “Better than nothing, but not great,” says Charlotte. “Is there vinegar in the kitchen?”

  “Vinegar!” Beth looks skeptical. “I’ve heard of baking soda, but—”

  “That’s bees,” says Charlotte, very calm, very definite. “Baking soda for bees. Vinegar for wasps. It’s a different kind of venom.”

  I’m staring at Charlotte. It’s like she’s turned into some supermedic. “How do you know all this stuff?”

  She smirks. “I did a project on biting bugs in sixth grade. Everyone else did raccoons and wolves and bunnies. They
thought I was weird—but mine was useful!”

  She’s busy at the sink, dumping in ice cubes and vinegar and soaking towels in it. One ice-cold, reeking towel goes back around Will’s neck. She dabs at his cheek with the vinegar, then gives him a vinegary washcloth wrapped around some ice cubes. “You’ll have to just hold this on your cheek.” Then her wardrobe persona kicks in. “Beth, do we have something to clip this towel with, to hold it in place?”

  A few minutes later, we’re heading back. Will dabs at his swollen face with the icy washcloth. He looks like a chipmunk with just one cheek stuffed with peanuts.

  When we arrive back at the ship rehearsal—without a stool—Kiefer takes one look and bursts out laughing. Of course he does.

  Eight

  It rains for two days straight. Volunteers come early to mop and sweep the balconies and stairs on the barn and try to keep the “stage” from turning into a mudhole. The July show, which runs in the evening while we rehearse in the day, is rained out both nights.

  For rehearsals, we mash ourselves inside, trying to improvise with the backstage lounge and the farmhouse porch. The first day, it feels like a bit of an adventure. The second day is just damp and tiresome, and by the time we’re heading home I can’t wait to see the sun again.

  And we get it, big-time. The next week, it’s so muggy and hot that Terry, the stage manager, is bringing buckets of water and towels onto the set so we can wash the sweat off our faces and necks. “Welcome to environmental theater,” he says grimly. People come backstage after their sessions, strip off their shirts and douse them in the sink, then put them back on wet. There are fans in the barn, but no air conditioning, of course. We skulk in whatever shade we can find, down bottle after bottle of water, soak our heads—and I still feel completely exhausted at the end of the day.