Learning Her Lines

by Amelia C. Adams

  “How far out is the train?” Catherine asked. “Do you think you’ll be gone long?”

  “Sol Medina, the stationmaster, says it’ll take us the better part of a day to get out there. Round trip and by the time we’ve loaded everything up, we’re talking about two and a half days or so. We’ll camp out along the way. I know you’ll all take good care of the restaurant while I’m gone.”

  “Yes, we certainly will,” Catherine told him. “Travel safely.”

  “We will.”

  She bid her uncle goodnight, checked in with Phoebe to make sure the shifts at the restaurant would be covered, then climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She was exhausted, but it was the best kind of exhausted, the kind that meant she’d used up all her strength doing wonderful things. After she changed into her nightclothes, she took her copy of the script from her reticule and got under the covers, where she read her lines until she couldn’t hold her eyes open another minute.

  Chapter Seven

  It was difficult to pretend to be a wealthy young lady attending a ball in Verona while up to one’s elbows in bread flour, but that’s what Mrs. Van Dyke was expecting, so Catherine was doing her best.

  “Imagine, my dear, that you’ve grown up surrounded by riches and opulence, and you know that when you marry, you’re expected to make a good match so you can continue your way of life,” Mrs. Van Dyke said, wiggling her fingers in the air as if she could conjure up some of those riches there in the center of the kitchen. “You know that all eyes are on you as you enter the party, but you’re used to it. All of a sudden, you see him! A young man of dashing stature lounging against the wall . . .” She draped herself on the edge of the counter. “He sees you. Your eyes meet, and you know. You just know.”

  “Know what?” Titus asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. He hadn’t been too sure about Catherine rehearing lines in the kitchen while preparing the food for the day, and he’d hidden any number of snickers at Mrs. Van Dyke’s exuberant teaching style, but Catherine did have to say, he was being as patient as anyone could be expected to be.

  “That true love really exists.” She swooned for a moment before righting herself. “Tell me, young man. Has any young lady caught your eye?”

  “No, ma’am, and I haven’t been looking. Helping my father start his business has been my first priority.”

  “And you’re a good son to be so supportive. I truly believe, though, that someday, you’ll have a moment just like the one I’m describing. You’ll look up, there she’ll be, and you’ll just know.” Mrs. Van Dyke allowed herself to revel in the moment before turning back to Catherine. “When you first meet Romeo, you’re teasing him—you’re flirting with him. You’re used to being the object of everyone’s attentions, and you think he’s just another boy in a long string of boys. But then . . .”

  Catherine grabbed a couple of loaf pans and began buttering them. “So, for these first few pages, my tone is playful, whimsical, lighthearted.”

  “Correct. Then as we go on, you’ll become more wistful, filled with longing, and definitely sprinkled with angst. Oh, so much angst. Such is the plight of every young girl since the creation of time, it would seem.”

  “I would hope that at some point in history, we’d find a way to do without it,” Titus remarked.

  “My good sir, your wish is to be commended, but sadly, no. As long as there are young ladies on the earth, there will be angst.”

  Catherine divided up the dough into equal portions and began pounding it into the shape of loaves. The restaurant would open in just a few minutes, and she really needed to get the bread rising as quickly as possible. She also needed to memorize her lines as quickly as possible. So much to do.

  “Let’s work over this first part, shall we? They’ve just met, and they’re exchanging pleasantries.” Mrs. Van Dyke lowered her voice and began to read Romeo’s line, but she looked and sounded so ridiculous, Catherine couldn’t help but giggle.

  “You’re supposed to be playful and flirtatious. I didn’t say anything about giggling,” Mrs. Van Dyke said, her tone austere.

  “I’m sorry. You just don’t sound anything like a man when you do that,” Catherine told her.

  “I suppose I should be offended, but I’m actually not. What woman likes being told that she does sound like a man?” Mrs. Van Dyke smiled. “Never mind—I can read it in my own voice. Or perhaps . . . Young man, are you fond of the stage?”

  Titus had been frying ham and preparing the steaks for the day, only commenting once in a while. Now he turned from the stove and held up both hands. “Ma’am, I have no desire to be an actor whatsoever.”

  “I was just thinking that your sweet cousin here might be able to use your help as she practices her lines.”

  Titus looked aghast. “I can’t think of anything that would terrify me more, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Van Dyke laughed merrily. “All right, I’ll keep that in mind. I believe it’s nearly time for you to open, my dears, so why don’t I make myself comfortable with a pot of tea, and when you’re done with the breakfast rush, we can pick up where we left off?”

  “That sounds good,” Catherine told her. She was grateful for the help, but even more grateful for the break. She’d never tried to remember so much in her entire life before.

  She carried plates upon plates of fried eggs and ham out to the miners on their way to work, keeping their coffee mugs filled and hot. Uncle Samson had already been gone for two hours—he’d met up with the other volunteers before the sun was even thinking of coming up. She hoped they’d be back soon with the supplies, but even more than that, she hoped they’d be safe. She knew she was letting her imagination get carried away with her, but she kept imagining them having some sort of accident, and she hoped she wasn’t having a premonition. She’d never had one before, but that wasn’t to say such things were impossible.

  After the breakfast rush, Catherine set to work on the dishes while Ivy cleaned up the dining room. Mrs. Van Dyke grabbed a towel and dried the dishes after Catherine rinsed them.

  “You shouldn’t be doing that, you know,” she told the older woman. “It’s my responsibility, not yours.”

  “My dear, I can hardly sit here twiddling my thumbs while you’re working yours to the bone,” Mrs. Van Dyke replied. “Besides, if you can memorize Shakespeare while washing dishes, I can certainly coach you while drying them. Try that last line again, but put a bit more emphasis in the center. I should also tell you that Mr. Westcott is more interested in the emotion and the intent behind the words than he is the actual words themselves, so if you stumble on a phrase, don’t let that dishearten you.”

  “I’m glad to know that. I think it will ease my nerves a bit.”

  They continued on that way all afternoon, with Mrs. Van Dyke taking every opportunity to work with Catherine, and Catherine trying to keep up with both sets of tasks. She wondered how Mrs. Van Dyke could stay so focused and so energetic. She was more than twice Catherine’s age, but seemed to have twice Catherine’s stamina.

  Once Catherine had finished her afternoon tasks, Mrs. Van Dyke gave her a wide smile and said, “Take a moment to eat, my dear, and I’ll see you at the theater in a little while.”

  “Would you like something too?”

  “I’m all right, but thank you.” She smiled again. “You’re doing splendidly, just so you’re aware. I don’t think I’ve ever had a more conscientious, dedicated student.”

  “But not talented?” Catherine replied with a smile.

  “Don’t give those thoughts any space in your mind, my dear. They have no place there. I’ll see you in a bit.” She left the kitchen, and a moment later, Catherine heard the front door of the restaurant close behind her. It occurred to her that she had no idea where Mrs. Van Dyke lived, and if she was just passing through Creede or if she’d moved to town permanently. They’d been so focused on the play that she hadn’t taken the time to get to know the woman at all. That would have to change.

  ***
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  “Oh, Melvin, you have such wonderful things in store for you.”

  Melvin had become used to Mrs. Van Dyke appearing at the most awkward times, so he wasn’t startled when she began speaking now. He had just finished marking up his copy of the script to get ready for that night’s rehearsal, and now he was beginning to understand what Catherine meant when she talked about her nerves—his weren’t feeling too well either.

  “What wonderful things are those, Mrs. Van Dyke?”

  “The play, your young lady, spring . . .”

  He looked up. “My young lady?”

  “And spring—don’t forget about spring. The snow has melted and there are daffodils in bloom . . .”

  “I’d rather go back to discussing my young lady. Do you mean Miss Ross?”

  “As if I could possibly mean anyone else. You’re progressing beautifully—just keep on as you’ve begun.”

  “Begun with what?”

  “With courting her, of course! Gracious, young man. You’re an intelligent soul—I didn’t think I’d have to spell everything out for you.”

  “It’s just . . . I wasn’t thinking about courting her. I was thinking about training her to be an actress.”

  Mrs. Van Dyke put a hand on her hip. “You certainly were thinking about courting her, and it’s not nice to lie to an angel. You’ll only get caught, you know.”

  “Courting isn’t even on my agenda,” Melvin spluttered. “Don’t you see the piles of work here to be done? A new poster must be painted for the outside of the building, I need to place an advertisement in the newspaper, I have letters to answer . . .” He poked at the papers littering the surface of his desk. “Where in all this do you think I have time to court?”

  “You don’t find time to court. You create it. And you create it when it becomes imperative that you do so, and you’ll know when that moment has arrived.”

  He leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll know when it’s imperative that I court her?”

  “You certainly will. Nothing will be as clear, and nothing will make so much sense.”

  “You’re not making any sense whatsoever, so let’s change the subject. How did your rehearsal go today?”

  “Beautifully. Miss Ross is a very intelligent young woman, and she’s retaining the lines much better than I anticipated. She’s going to be my star pupil, I guarantee you that.”

  The cast began to trickle into the theater for rehearsal, and Melvin rose from his desk. “It’s time for me to make my debut as the director,” he said. “You’ll still give me pointers?”

  “Young man, I’m here for no other purpose than to see to your success.”

  He still didn’t know why she felt that way, but he nodded, and they walked toward the stage together.

  When he saw Catherine, his intent was to congratulate her on a successful day of memorization, but instead, Mrs. Van Dyke’s comments about courting flooded his mind, and he couldn’t think of anything else. He greeted Catherine with little more than a grunt, then asked everyone to be seated on the first two rows. He stood in front of them, searching for the words that would get this rehearsal off to a good start. It was up to him to set the tone.

  “Good evening,” he said. “Tonight marks a number of firsts—this is our first rehearsal with Miss Ross as Juliet, our first with me as the director, and also the first with the new changes to the script. I trust you all had a chance to look over your copies last night and see what’s been done with your lines. I apologize that so many changes have been made in such a short amount of time, but we’ll make the best of all of them.”

  The cast nodded, and that gave Melvin some additional courage. “To start this evening, we’re going to divide into a few different subgroups. Juliet and Nurse, would you please take the left of the stage? Romeo and Mercutio, please take the right of the stage.” He continued to indicate their groups, then gave them the page numbers for the scenes he wanted them to study. Once that was done and the quiet hum of voices filled the room, he stepped back and took a deep breath. No one had complained so far—that had to be a good sign.

  “They all seem to be doing well,” Mrs. Van Dyke commented, coming to stand next to him.

  “Yes, they do. They’d each learned the bulk of their lines before the previous director quit, so now we’re just acquainting them with the changes.”

  “Miss Ross in particular seems to be doing well,” Mrs. Van Dyke went on. “Did you notice how nice she looks today?”

  “I haven’t noticed her until just this moment, but yes, she looks nice.”

  “You didn’t notice her before? My goodness. I wonder if we have an optician in Creede.”

  “Her cousin served me my lunch, and she only now just arrived at the theater. How was I supposed to have noticed her?” For some reason, these questions made Melvin feel irate. Why was it his responsibility to be aware of Miss Ross’s whereabouts morning, noon, and night? And what business was it of his what she looked like?

  “I just thought you would have seen her when she first came in. There’s no need to become so ruffled,” the woman said benignly. “I’ll wander around and listen to the different groups to see who might need extra work.” She strolled away, and Melvin took advantage of being alone to calm himself down. He thought angels were supposed to bring comfort and peace. This one brought nothing but frustration.

  Chapter Eight

  “Are you trying to sneak off without me again?”

  Catherine turned to see Melvin catching up to her. “I’m not sneaking off—I’m walking home.”

  “Yes, but you’re doing it without me. I thought it was understood that I was escorting you home.”

  “I thought that only applied to yesterday.”

  “It applies to every evening that you’re in my employ.” He fell into step beside her. “Your safety is my priority.”

  “What about the other young ladies?”

  “They either walk together or they have brothers or fathers who come to collect them.”

  “I’m sure Uncle Samson could fetch me.” Once he was back in town. She’d have to see if that was a possibility.

  “Or you could let me continue to have the honor.”

  She glanced his direction. “You enjoy this?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Well, when I arrived earlier, you didn’t seem entirely pleased to see me.” She’d been trying to think of a way to ask him about it discreetly, but sometimes being direct was a better choice.

  “I was abrupt with you, and I apologize for that.” He paused. “Could we possibly take a side road and extend our walk?”

  “We could. I need to be back before full dark, though.”

  “Of course.”

  They made a right at the next corner, but Melvin didn’t say anything right away, and Catherine wondered why he’d asked for this extra time. Finally, he said, “Mrs. Van Dyke is quite a lady, isn’t she?”

  Catherine laughed. “She certainly is. She should be on the stage herself.”

  “That’s what I told her, but she refused.”

  “That’s a shame. I’d buy a ticket to see her.”

  “As would I, and I own the theater.” Melvin took a few more steps, then paused again. With all this starting and stopping, it wasn’t much of a walk they were taking. “She asked me if I had any intention of courting you.”

  Catherine blinked. “She did?”

  “Yes. And I didn’t know how to respond.”

  “Just as I don’t know how to respond now.” Catherine’s heart was beating fast, and she wished she had a table or a tree to lean against. Sudden questions did have a way of knocking the wind out of her.

  “The truth is, Catherine, I do find you a very lovely young lady. I’ve just been so busy getting the theater built and running that the idea of courtship has been pushed to the back recesses of my mind. Perhaps someday when the theater is more established and I feel as though I have a solid foundation under my fe
et, I’ll pull the idea out and dust it off, but right now, it’s unrealistic. I thought I’d share that with you in case Mrs. Van Dyke has been saying similar things to you.”

  Catherine blinked again. What a horrible contradiction of emotions. First she was hopeful and elated, and now she was crushed and defeated. So much could change over the course of a ten-second conversation.

  In the next moment, though, she was perturbed. Why should she let him control how she felt? Why should he get to dictate her feelings of despair or victory? That was ridiculous. She hadn’t even known the man a few months prior—why was he now in charge of her internal thoughts? He wasn’t. That was that.

  “I understand completely. No one has time for courting when one has a business to launch—I don’t know how many times I’ve had to explain that since starting up the Iron Skillet, but some young men won’t take no for an answer.”

  “You’ve had several young men show interest, then?”

  This might be a good time to gauge his interest. “It’s hard to say how many. I’m sure I’ve lost track.” And that was true enough. When something rarely, if ever, happened, it was difficult to remember how many times it had or had not taken place.

  “Well, good for you. You deserve all the praise and attention you receive, I’m sure.”

  That was it? He wasn’t jealous or unhappy? He was a few years older, so he was likely to be more mature than a suitor her age, but that wouldn’t account for all of it. Maybe he was calm because he really didn’t care.

  And that would be dreadful because she wanted him to care. She wanted it very much.

  “Thank you. So you see, it’s all right if you’re not interested in courting me—you’re not my only prospect, so I’m sure I won’t be lonely for long.”

  “I . . .” He was visibly surprised, and she was glad. She’d been hoping for some sort of reaction, anything to shake up his complacency. “I didn’t mean to imply that I’m not interested in you at all, Catherine. Just that right now isn’t the best time for me.”

  “Which I understand, I assure you. We’re just not meant to be, Melvin, and there’s no shame in that.”