With a start, I realized the scenario I imagined of this divine creature rescuing me from the depths of sorrow had been quite one-sided. She’d been struggling equally with her own troubles, from the years of abuse by her ex-husband, to the loss of Shelby, to the assault by Armand in the prop room. I realized there was a distinct possibility that she had needed a bit of saving, too.
A sense of contentment washed over me as I played through the book of Joplin rags. Camille stayed by my side. I smiled sideways at her and received a blinding smile in response.
A strong urge ran through me. I wanted to pick her up and carry her up to the bedroom. The sensation ripped through me, tantalizing me with images of eager passion. Before it got out of hand, I pushed the impulse down, ready to be resurrected on our honeymoon night in May.
I talked myself out of it. I knew I needed to respect her wishes, and understand her fears. As much as I wanted her—oh so badly—I had to help her get past her demons. As hard as it was to wait, I realized it would make me stronger. At least that’s what I told myself every time I had to pull back.
Siegfried wandered into the kitchen and bantered with Mrs. Pierce. After the loss of his parents, his sister Elsbeth had taken over the role of mothering her twin brother. Since Elsbeth’s death, Mrs. Pierce had happily assumed the task, establishing a warm camaraderie with the gentle man. Siegfried offered to set the table and Mrs. Pierce accepted. The clinking of dishes and silverware soon followed as the two prepared for the voracious appetites of our family.
By the time I’d finished Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag,” Johnny had woken enough to start his usual twirling around the coffee table. The boy had an innate love of music and often danced about the room in rhythm to the melody, singing with made-up, little-boy lyrics. When I turned to the last page of the piece, the tantalizing aromas from the kitchen completely filled the room. My stomach growled and I hurried through the last few measures.
The buffet groaned with steaming dishes Siegfried had placed on protective hotplates. Special occasion china and a white linen tablecloth adorned the long trestle table. Siegfried had filled the water glasses and garnished them with slices of orange. I poured a bottle of Heron Hill semi-dry Riesling into five wine glasses and set them at our assigned seats.
Mrs. Pierce had arranged haddock smothered in orange salsa on a turkey platter. Beside it, in a shallow green dish, were bundles of steamed young asparagus. Fluffy, yellow couscous formed a succulent mound in a blue ceramic bowl. A casserole of scalloped tomatoes made with a crunchy, crumb crust rounded out the fare. Finally, a batch of fresh buttermilk biscuits filled a basket covered by a red-and-white checked cloth.
She clapped her hands and summoned the family. “Well, come on, everybody. It’ll get cold.”
When the noisy gathering was seated in front of their heaping plates of food, I said grace and we dug in.
“Mrs. Pierce, what did you put in this salsa?” I spoke through a steaming mouthful of flaky haddock. “It’s fantastic.”
She smiled a prim little smile. “Well, first of all, no cilantro.” She winked at me. “Chopped mango, diced ginger, marmalade, and mint leaves.”
“Let’s put this one in the book.” I smiled across the table at her. “It’s a keeper.”
She beamed, her cheeks turning pink. Competing for unusual and scrumptious recipes was a long-standing pastime and today she’d clearly succeeded. The tangy combination of ingredients smothering the fish was both exotic and piquant.
After the main course was devoured, Mrs. Pierce pulled a dish of piping hot lemon grape-nut pudding from the oven. We enjoyed a cup of fresh coffee and talked quietly for a half hour. After a few games of Scrabble by the fireside, the family slowly wandered off to bed.
I walked Camille to her car and embraced her after our lingering goodbye kiss.
She mumbled over my shoulder, and I stepped back. “Gus? Tomorrow, we’re back on track for the show. It’ll be longer nights and we’ll be pushing up against the schedule. Are you sure you don’t regret offering to play for us?”
I searched her eyes. Of course it had been a substantial commitment of time. Almost every evening had been devoted to the show, and I felt guilty about spending less time than usual with my grandson and hurrying through some reviews of my students’ term papers. “I do feel a little guilty about taking time away from the family. But Camille, I love it, and I love watching you work. When the orchestra comes on board, I’ll have more free time, and then maybe I can bring Johnny to some of the weekend rehearsals. That is, if he can behave.”
She smiled up at me. “That would be fun.”
After one final kiss, I reined in my torrid thoughts and took a step backward. She jumped into her car and drove slowly down the driveway. In spite of her fears in the romantic department, in spite of my own ridiculous feelings of guilt when I longed for her, I seriously wondered how I would wait until spring. It was killing me.
Chapter Forty-fiv e
R ehearsals started up again the next night. Camille winced, hopping up the stairs and limping to the front of the stage. She carefully eased into a sitting position and dangled her legs over the edge. Clearly, the previous day’s ride had taken its toll on the infrequently used muscles she had needed for posting and staying glued to Maggie’s back. I commiserated with her silently, stretching my legs to a more comfortable position under the piano.
“Okay, everyone. Seats, please. We have a lot to do tonight.”
The group promptly filled in the first few rows of auditorium seats. Molly Frost and Lisa Bigelow sat side by side. Some of the younger children perched on the aisle steps beside the high school girls and boys, chatting amiably. The intermingling Camille had predicted had finally happened. A sense of teamwork had evolved and had broken through the boundaries of the cliques.
Several students wolfed down fast food dinners, filling the room with the aroma of pizza and burgers. Two of the boys had wet hair, having rushed over from a swim meet. Agnes Bigelow sat in the back of the auditorium, pretending to work on a crossword puzzle, but absorbing every detail with her darting eyes.
Lou Marshall strode up and down the aisles, shaking hands with the students and chatting briefly with each. He moved to the front of the stage and said a few words to Camille, placing his hand on her shoulder. His eyes danced.
I did a double take. Was he flirting with her?
She joked with him, her musical laugh ringing across the auditorium.
His gaze slowly changed to an expression of puppy love.
A stinging pang of jealously raced through me .
What the hell? Marshall does have a crush on her.
He ambled back through the auditorium, smiling broadly, and exited through the double doors.
I closed my mouth and tried to quiet the green monster.
Candy Price sat behind Lisa Bigelow. She combed Lisa’s hair into a French braid. They giggled softly while Camille tried to command attention from the energetic group.
A door flung open at the back of the auditorium. Maurice Potter burst into the hall, churning down the aisle. “Sorry I’m late, Miss C. My mom’s car wouldn’t start again.”
The students good-naturedly kidded the boy who had become Porter to us all, as he scurried into place and plopped into the front row.
“Yeah, right, Porter. That’s what you said last time!” The kids guffawed for a few minutes, punching Maurice good-naturedly.
Jonesy and Cindi pushed carpet cleaners along the back of the hall, their attention riveted on the activities up front.
Loud footsteps thundered backstage. Randy Sherman burst through the curtain and clambered up the platform ladder in his heavy combat boots. He struck a Damian Firebrand pose on top of the platform, gyrated his hips Elvis-style. “I’m here!”
He leapt like a long-legged bullfrog from the edge of the platform, landing eight feet below amidst catcalls from his friends.
I held my breath until he landed safely and stood, bowing to his aud
ience.
Camille turned to catch him in the act. “Randy, that was dangerous! You could have broken your ankle. We have just six weeks to put this show together, with no time to spare. We can’t have Damian hobbling around stage as he tries to dazzle the girls, now, can we? Can you imagine him swiveling his hips with a cast on his foot?”
Randy slumped into a seat and affected a sheepish grin. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It won’t happen again.”
Chapter Forty-Si x
“O kay! Let’s get started. Tonight, we’re going to do several things. We’re going to continue to block Act 2 and run some of the musical numbers. We’re also very lucky to have Wanda Petrewski with us tonight. She’s from the college and will help choreograph Lana’s big dance number.”
A petite Asian woman bobbed quickly from her seat on the side of the hall and issued a dainty half-wave toward the group. Takeema Billings scampered to Wanda’s side and linked arms with her.
We had to tame down the dance from the original. This was high school, after all. In this scene, Lana Canberra, the exotic nightclub dancer who is in love with Porter Shaw, takes over the diner for one shining moment, performing a sensuous number in a last ditch attempt to win his affection away from Celeste Freespirit. When it fails, Lana feels sullied and unworthy, and slinks away to her nightclub.
I roused myself from my thoughts and listened to Camille directing the cast. She nodded toward Takeema and Wanda. “Wanda and Takeema will be working in the outside hallway. When we’re ready, we’ll roll the dance into the act.”
While Camille worked with the students blocking Act 2, I pulled Molly Frost, Lisa Bigelow, and Candy Price into the chorus room to practice their trio. One of the most challenging pieces in the score, it was entitled “Goodbye to Society” and involved three-part harmony between Celeste, Rikki, and Minnie Shaw, Porter’s little sister who was played by Candy. The piece followed the Free Love Festival scene, when the girls dream of the envisioned sanctuary of Woodstock. Much more than a musical festival, they imagine Woodstock to be nirvana, a safe haven, and in Celeste’s case, the end of the road where she hopes to learn about the elusive lost love of her life. Candy stood to my right, Molly behind me, and Lisa to my left. I started the music and Lisa began the stanza.
No war, no tears
No need to pray
For deliverance
From our fears
I corrected one of her notes that was a half-step off, fixed some timing issues, and then allowed the girls to move into the three-part harmony refrain.
Freedom from the man
Dancing hand in hand
Spirits in the hills
Laughter, love, and thrill s
The harmonies were tricky in this section. I worked with them for a bit, and then allowed Candy to sing her solo. She seemed nervous, and twirled her short, red curls with one finger while singing. In spite of her young age of sixteen, she hit each note perfectly. She’s been practicing , I thought. She’d need to increase her volume, but that would come with experience as she built her confidence night after night at rehearsal.
No cash, no trash
No need to pay
For a place to crash
I nodded and the girls repeated the difficult refrain.
Freedom from the man
Dancing hand in hand
Spirits in the Hills
Laughter, love, and thrills
Last of all, Molly opened up with her smooth, pure voice and sang her stanza so magnificently that my hands almost stopped, suspended above the keyboard.
My love, my past
I’ll see your loving face
Finally, at long last
We moved back into the refrain. This time they worked harder on the vexing harmonies until they mastered them.
Freedom from the man
Dancing hand in hand
Spirits in the Hills
Laughter, love, and thrills
I played the final arpeggio that raced up the scale with a sensuous, wild-abandoned flourish.
“Yes.” I said enthusiastically. “That’s it!”
Candy laughed and mimicked me. “By George, we’ve got it?”
The girls giggled happily when I nodded with approval. “You’ve got it all right. Nice work, ladies. But we’d better get back in there.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
M olly, Lisa, Candy and I rejoined the cast in the auditorium.
“Professor LeGarde?” Camille called from the stage.
“Yes, Miss Coté?”
“We’re ready to run ‘Spirit Me Away.’”
I waved to her from the back of the auditorium. “Be right there, Miss Coté.”
I jogged to the piano and flipped to the accompaniment for the song. Molly, Takeema, Maurice, Randy and most of the hippie chorus scampered onto the stage. Randy, playing the heartbroken rock star, Damian, hopped up on the stage left platform, high above the others. The lights, although not ready until tech week, would be white and ethereal, providing a dream-like quality. The hippie chorus would wave their arms in silent adoration beneath him when he sang. Molly, in her role as Celeste, sat sideways beside a mock campfire on the stage right platform, gazing up at the stars in Damian’s direction. She could see his face only in her imagination. Maurice, playing the love-sick Marine, Porter, watched her from behind a stand of trees on center stage. Finally, Takeema completed the circular quartet of unrequited love as Lana, perching on the back bumper of the fake VW van the stage crew had nearly finished constructing. It sat to the right of the theater, extending into the hallway that led to the prop room.
I started to play and Molly sang, her voice pure and sweet. She stood and looked longingly toward the stars.
I walk this Earth like a ghost
With no memory of my life
I can’t recall if I was
a mother, sister or wif e
But then you came to me
like an angel from afar
Wanting nothing but
To kiss away my scars
The hippie chorus sang the refrain, in a haunting, sing-song manner.
Spirit me away
Take me in your arms
Keep me safe from harm
Spirit me away
Show me how to love you
Maurice emerged from behind his “tree” and gazed up at her, starting his song. His expression was one of near zombie-like rapture.
I spent my time in ‘Nam
Killing for Uncle Sam
Now I haunt this ground
Not feeling lost or found
But then you appeared
As from Heaven above
Bringing life to me
My celestial, tortured love
Camille stopped them for a moment and rearranged where Maurice stood. She added a few angry gestures to the first part of his verse, and then let him try it again, softening the words toward the end.
The hippies repeated the first chorus. I stopped them, and reminded them how the words differed from the first refrain. They nodded, and quickly made the correction .
Spirit me away
I'll take you in my arms
I'll keep you safe from harm
Spirit me away
Show me how to love you
Jonesy walked by in the back of the stage, pushing a broom. It was a strange sight, in the middle of such a dramatic song, to see his profile moving across the floor.
Takeema stood on the bumper of the van, took a deep breath, and astonished us when she belted out her piece.
You look through me
As if I weren't here
Invisible always
No one sees my tears
I've just wanted you
To look behind the mask
To see the love that shines
You only have to ask
To see the love that shines
You only have to ask
She stood beside the van and sang with a heartbroken, chip-on-her-shoulder attitude, her
eyes remained trained mournfully on Maurice. The last verse trailed off into a soft, muted cry. I exchanged glances with Camille. Takeema was miraculous. I hadn’t envisioned it being sung like that, but afterwards, I’d never be able to imagine it any other way.
The hippie chorus swayed and sang the chorus again.
Spirit me away
Take me in your arms
Keep me safe from harm
Spirit me awa y
Can't you see I love you?
Finally, Damian, who had been singing silently to the crowd at his feet, began his verse.
I see you and
Touch your skin of cream
But then I wake and
Find it was a dream
Oh, my love,
Where are you now?
I’ll find a way
Somewhere, somehow
The entire stage erupted now, singing at the top of their voices. I heard a few of the other cast members singing along in the audience. It was a catchy tune.
Spirit you away
I'll take you in my arms
I'll keep you safe from harm
Spirit you away
Show me where you are
The chorus quieted, and Damian took over, preparing for the final rousing verse of their duet stanza. Celeste and Damian looked across the stage, invisible to each other, but staring directly at each other as he sang to her.
Oh, were it true
That you were here with me
I would break the bonds
That would set me free
Molly leaned over the stage platform railing and began to sing Celeste’s response. She tossed her blond hair, spun carefully atop the platform, and sang to the imaginary audience.
Spirit me away
Take me in your arms
Spirit me away
Take me in your arms —
Suddenly, her voice cracked. She stopped dead, surprised at the unholy sound that erupted from her golden vocal chords. She tried to start again, but seemed to have forgotten the rest of the lyrics.
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