by J. F. Collen
Nellie flushed with excitement as they drove off. “I thrill just to think of the daring feats of the horseback riders!” she exclaimed.
“Know ye from whence the circus derived its name?” asked Obadiah as he turned his gaze from the road to her.
At the shake of Nellie’s head, Obadiah continued his scholarly explanation. “A famous equestrian from Brittan’s Seven Years War, a certain Englishman named Astley, performed his daring horseback riding in a circle, or a circus, so that the audience could fully see the length and breadth of the entire performance.”
“You may be assured, Mr. Wright, I well recall from my studies of Latin that ‘circus’ means ‘circle,’” said Nellie, feeling like a schoolgirl trying to please a favorite teacher.
“Very good my dear,” responded Obadiah, much like a teacher pleased with his pet pupil. “And do you further appreciate why Astley chose to perform in a ring?”
Nellie shook her head uncertainly.
“Centrifugal force!” announced Obadiah, with triumph in his voice. Nellie looked back at him with an uncomprehending expression on her face.
“The circular nature of the ring actually helps keep the rider on the horse during the daring tricks.”
“I have never seen a rider standing on the back of a galloping horse. I am all a-tingle!” Nellie clapped her hands together as if to prove her enthusiasm.
Obadiah smiled at her and flicked the reins lightly on the back of his mare to urge her to pick up the pace. “I assure you my dear, that will not be the only event of the evening that will set you a-tingle.”
With that tantalizing suggestion of romantic events to come, Nellie impulsively took his arm. She nestled next to him, allowing the wind to whistle in her ears and cool her flaming cheeks as they trotted briskly toward the circus tent.
Chapter 30 – Send in the Clowns
Sing Sing, May 1851
Nellie held her breath, watching her brother balance on a large ball, and juggle three smaller ones. Who knew Jerome was so talented? Jerome’s dog, in a clown hat, suddenly deviated from the script and lunged at his master’s unstable platform, sending Jerome headlong into the bale of hay waiting to be used as a prop in the next skit. Not such a talented finale! she thought.
Everyone near the makeshift stage laughed.
“That haystack is surely fortuitously placed,” said Nellie. She frowned. “But the show is just one month away. Not much more time to rehearse.” She pulled Jerome out of the hay. He looked so funny with straw sticking out of his hair that she giggled.
Jerome held up his arm, wincing in pain. “I fear I have snapped a bone.” His face twisted in a grimace as he moved his hand gingerly.
Nellie bent in concern and took his arm.
“Ouch,” said Jerome through clenched teeth. “It is painful in the extreme. It must be broken.”
“Extreme pain is not necessarily the indicia of broken bones,” said Nellie, gently probing the length of his arm, starting at his elbow. Jerome sat with teeth clenched through the travel of her fingers, until she got to his wrist.
Nellie’s touch elicited an involuntary jerk of his arm, and Jerome winced again.
Ah, thought Nellie, probing each bone in Jerome’s hand, and the joints in his wrist.
“Broken, right?” asked Jerome, eyes closed, turning white.
“No, to the contrary, your bones are sound,” said Nellie.
“Then why does this part....” Jerome pointed to the outside of his wrist. “...Hurt so dearly?”
“Sprained muscles are just as painful as broken bones,” said Nellie. “The good news is we will avoid the uncomfortable step of snapping your bones back into place. Furthermore, there is no requirement your wrist idle immobile for weeks in a plaster.”
“What is the bad news?” asked Jerome, just a bit of color returning to his face.
“Sprained muscles do take fully as long to heal as broken bones.” Nellie ran for her midwifery supply bag, always ready and waiting, this time under her cloak backstage. She hurried back, already digging in her bag. “Observe! I have right here an unguent of wheat bran stirred in cold vinegar and then boiled to make the concoction salve. Just the very quick cure for sprains. I will wrap it for today, to give the strained muscles some support. Mayhap you would even like a sling?”
“No sling,” said Jerome. He remained seated, center stage, enjoying all the sympathy from his fellow thespians.
“I will have Jerome up and running in two shakes of a lamb’s tail,” she announced. “Will the next act please take your positions?” She wrapped the wrist in a clean strip of linen.
“I must do my act again, now....” Nellie looked up with sharp disapproval on her face. “...Without the dramatic finish,” Jerome concluded. The crowd laughed and gave a ‘huzzah.’
“Not today,” said Nellie, tying off the linen. “In fact, you may wish to explore another talent and save this daring feat for the next charity extravaganza.”
“Never!” exclaimed Jerome. “My public clamors for my act.” He swept his good arm around the stage in a grand gesture. Everyone laughed. Enjoying the attention, Jerome continued, “Why, all of my acquaintances have inquired about purchasing tickets. I cannot deprive my public of this long-anticipated performance. Mayhap I can even make my dramatic fall from grace part of my act.” Jerome jumped up and everyone laughed and clapped.
Nellie giggled as she reassembled the emergency supplies in her basket.
Tap. Tap! Cornelia whirled around, mid-giggle. Obadiah, smiling and reaching for her hand, stood before her.
“So, this is where you have been hiding? Brandreth’s warehouse.” He smiled in mock-reproof. “This is my competition? An area surrounded by boxes and filled with minstrel acts?”
“Obadiah! So wonderful to see you, in person.” Nellie squeezed his hand. “So marvelous that you have returned to our community.”
Obadiah raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips, sending a lovely tingle up her arm, like a spark traveling a jute rope fuse, igniting a blush from ear to ear. “At your service, M’lady.”
Nellie beamed at him. “I wonder if I can enlist your aide in publicizing this fundraiser?”
“I am a mere serf at your disposal, M’lady.” He grinned. “Although I had hoped your delight at my presence would stem from more than the joy of having an additional plebian to do your bidding.”
Nellie laughed. “You know my current responsibilities demand I assess talent and enlist it as I see fit. Unfortunately, at this juncture, you are a mere pawn in the game of fundraising.”
Obadiah bowed with a great flourish, and repeated, “At your service, M’lady.” He kissed her hand.
She blushed, playing with a stray strand of hair. She stood erect, laid a hand on his shoulder, and said in her most regal voice, “Obadiah Weber Wright, I command you to lead the charge of publicity for this charitable event. I further command that you battle to sell as many tickets as possible, waging the entire monetary campaign of our war.”
She paused, feeling a little silly, but decided to fully play her role. “To that end, I dub thee Sir Wright!” she said, giggled again. She grabbed a broom lying on the floor and tapped him on each shoulder, lightly. “Arise and assume your duties.”
“What say you to that?” Nellie smiled again.
“Twenty-five cents a seat,” Obadiah said with a decisive shake of his head. Nellie raised her eyebrows in a question. “My first decision in executing my duties—twenty-five cents a seat, and not a penny less! This is a fundraiser, we must not set our sights too low.”
“Sir Wright, extraordinarily well put!
“Oh Obadiah, do you truly believe people will pay twenty-five cents to see this show?” Nellie tucked that stray strand of hair behind her ear with a hesitant, doubtful gesture.
“If people will pay twenty-five cents to see Old Bet, the elephant, you can bet they can part with that coin for a premiere theatrical performance,” Obadiah said and winked at her.
“But we are amateurs,” Nellie protested. “Performing in a warehouse.”
“That act of your brother’s we just witnessed is bang up to the elephant!”
They both laughed.
Obadiah continued, “Cornelia, fret not! If your dramatic nature can transfer to the other actors, I am sure the audience will be privy to a superb show.” He pulled her closer. “Most assuredly, my sweet Lady Cornelia Rose,” he whispered into her hair. “Your talents ensure you will give them their money’s worth.”
From that point on, Obadiah assumed responsibility for more than just the publicity. He handled the duties of business manager and stagehand too. Faithfully becoming her right-hand man, Obadiah never missed a rehearsal, set design, or strategy session.
Tarnation! Rehearsals bi-weekly for months and we have some ‘actors’ barely remembering their lines, Nellie thought, as she watched Hannah Agate stand like a statue and butcher Juliet’s lines. Romero is little better. Mercy! There have been many fits and starts to this endeavor, beginning with the difficulty in casting only talented members of our parish in the show.... What a chore it is to remain in everyone’s good graces. Nellie used her diplomacy to persuade certain hopeful actor/parishioners to accept alternative jobs. I spared them the embarrassment of revealing to Sing Sing at large their own lack of talent, she told herself again. Forsooth, perhaps I should have spared a few more! She shook her head at Agnes’ former beau Barney Forshay bumbling across the stage.
Some modicum of talent graces most of the chosen actors and actresses, she reassured herself. Moreover, the great enthusiasm of the entire ensemble compensates for many an amateur mistake.
Most parishioners auditioned with pantomime, burletta, and light opera arias they had honed themselves. Nellie took these as suggestions for incorporation into the show. She and her father spent many enjoyable hours together, picking musical numbers and deciding which acts, actors, and singers should play the parts. There were piano players, singing quartets, and brass bands. Nellie’s favorite had to be the Hi Henry Minstrels who wore silk top hats and gaudy uniforms. Their costumes are quite theatrical and buff, Nellie thought. Furthermore, Hi has three diamonds in the valves of his coronet—surely a good talisman, thrice over!
No Song, No Supper, will unquestionably evolve into a masterful production, she vowed.
One evening, while Nellie endeavored to re-stage George Brandreth’s particularly dicey performance of My Old Kentucky Home, Obadiah snuck up behind her. He whispered into her ear, “Lady Cornelia, I have quite the surprise for you!” It sent delightful tingles down her spine, for more reasons than mere curiosity.
“Let Anastasia and Hannah take over the direction of this....” Obadiah pointed to the small area, sandwiched in between stacks of boxes, they called a stage, unable to contain his laughter at the off-key singing of George. “You must come with me.”
Cornelia opened her mouth to protest, but Obadiah pulled her by the arm. “I most solemnly swear, while our mission may seem tangential, it is not only a worthy occupation of your time, but you will, in fact, be delighted.”
“I will follow thee wither thou goest!” Nellie struck a dramatic pose and laughed. Obadiah smiled and gave a flourish of his hand to indicate the direction. “But soft. First, I must see that the enigmatic Doctor Long Some Faker is again told he may not sell his ineffective tonics after his vaudeville act,” she said.
Obadiah raised his eyebrows and laughed. “Surely Doctor Faker is not his chosen moniker!”
“Quite truly it is,” replied Cornelia, with a merry toss of her head. “The Indian Medicine Man quite proudly wears this mantle, of his own accord.”
“Advertising his quackery? Boldly warning of his chicanery?” asked Obadiah, shaking his head again, so amused by the stage name he waited patiently while Nellie cornered the man.
Finally, Nellie left her post, smiling, albeit a bit chagrined at the interruption. Every minute of rehearsal is precious. Mercy, the day of the performance looms, mere weeks away, she thought.
She balked again when Obadiah dragged her outside to his carriage.
“Jump in!” he commanded, with a familiarity she found annoying yet exhilarating. “Do not assume a dour countenance,” he warned, picking up the reins. Nellie was about to dig in her heels and refuse to go.
Obadiah sensed her mood and said, “Cornelia, my dearest, I will keep you in suspense no longer. I sense I must let the cat out of the bag in order to coerce your cooperation. I have persuaded my old headmaster to allow us to use the stage at Saint John’s for our performance!”
“But I already made inquiries there and was told a most emphatic, ‘no.’ The stage is for the Academy’s use only,” Nellie replied. She looked at him with a quizzical expression.
“Apparently, you did not send the right knight on that quest,” rejoined Obadiah.
Nellie smiled, delight stealing over her face. But then she frowned. “We have not the means, the finances, to support any rental fees...How much will it cost?”
“The lack of expenditure is the icing on the cake!” proclaimed Obadiah. “Not a single, red cent. In honor of the credit I bring to the Academy, Mr. Marlborough Churchill himself is letting it to me! As a personal favor, he said, to one of his prize pupils.”
Obadiah turned to her, his eyes sparkling.
“My, this is a magnanimous gesture,” she said. She smiled, squeezing his arm. “I am quite overwhelmed by your kindness.”
Obadiah looked disappointed.
“Have I not adequately expressed my undying gratitude?” Nellie asked, with mock concern.
“No, no. ‘T was a gesture meant to win your heart, to secure your affection for me, above all others,” he said with a meaningful look, which somehow the gaslight shining from the lamps lining Main Street magnified, as their horse trotted along.
“You have my heart, you can be assured of that,” said Nellie with a light voice, but she looked away.
“But do others?”
The question hung in the air as Nellie used the relative darkness in between the streetlights to hide her face. I am at a loss for words. I certainly am enamored of this man beside me, but Lawrence still commandeers some of my affection.
At that moment, they arrived at Saint John’s. Obadiah turned to her, still waiting for a reply. But the headmaster himself popped out from a shadow on the front path and jumped into their carriage.
“May I steer you to the stage entrance?” Mr. Churchill asked, without preamble. “I do believe you will be enchanted with the venue I am able to offer you!”
Nellie smiled and voiced her gratitude as their horse trotted along the path. Churchill guided them on a tour of the facilities.
The headmaster was so effusive in his eagerness to do Obadiah a good turn he would not let the evening end. Churchill directed their attention to every nook and cranny of the stage, praised the dressing rooms, and extoled the virtues of the orchestra pit. When they happened upon some old sets backstage, Churchill claimed the sets were just begging to be reused.
After well over an hour of his guided tour, he turned to Nellie and said, “What say you to a quick carriage ride home to allow your knight in shining armor the pleasure of a shot of whiskey with his old schoolmaster?”
Beholden to the headmaster and owner of the Academy as she was, Nellie could do nothing but acquiesce to his wishes.
In minutes, she found herself standing in her own carriage doorway, waving her handkerchief at Obadiah’s retreating carriage.
She sighed at the empty, bright moonlit street.
Nellie shook her head. No matter, I will see Obadiah again tomorrow at rehearsal.... Mercy! We can rehearse on a real stage! Mercy! This new stage adds quite the mystique of Broadway, quite the aura of real theatre to my production.
She rushed into her front door and pulled off her stole, shouting, “You will never guess.”
Nellie was arrested in midsentence at the sight of none other than Lawrence Simmons Baker
standing in the middle of her drawing room.
“You have the most disconcerting habit of popping up in my front parlor!” said Nellie, her surprise making her almost discourteous. Thank you most gracious Lord on High that Mr. Churchill prevented me from asking Obadiah into the parlor for a visit tonight!
Lawrence, taking that statement as a compliment, rushed forward smiling, and bowed low over her hand.
“My heart has been overwrought with sorrow at your lack of faithful correspondence. I decided I must visit, to personally assess the situation. My calling here is a bit of first hand recognizance, if you will, to determine the reason for your lack of diligence.”
Nellie bristled, but Baker drawled on.
“My ardor for you and my desire for your constant company has not abated in the least. While I am fully cognizant of the fact that logistical difficulties have thwarted our ability to properly court in person, I suffer from the disconcerting feeling that distance alone cannot explain the aloofness of your pen. In fact, I rather suspect a waning affection on your part.” Lawrence took her elbow and looked deep into her eyes.
Nellie remained motionless and silent.
“This is where I had quite expected an immediate and heartfelt denial of any diminishment of passion.” Lawrence shook his head. “While your silence leaves me bereft, I do hope it does not portend dire occurrences. I hope to persuade your attendance at my graduation from the Academy in two weeks’ time. Heretofore my many invitations to partake in the festivities have remained unanswered.”
Nellie still hesitated. I do still adore Baker, but do I not also know there is a time when I must choose one suitor....
“I can see that I have surprised you into uncharacteristic silence,” Baker said. But he stood there, holding her elbow, waiting for a reply.
Two suitors in one night petitioning for exclusivity in my attention and affection!
“I confess I find myself in quite the quagmire,” Nellie said. She snapped her mouth shut, unsure what to say next.