by Sarah Dreher
While Sherry was "consulting with the kitchen help," no doubt. Another piece of the puzzle fell into place.
"I'd have told you sooner, but I haven't had a chance to talk to you."
"That's okay. I've been hard to pin down."
"Look" Rebecca shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "If there's anything I can do... you and Gwen, I mean..."
"It'll be fine," Stoner said.
"I know it's really awkward and all. But I don't know how you usually do things between you..."
Stoner forced bitterness into her voice. "Not this way."
"If you'd like me to act as go-between..."
She shook her head. “We'll work it out."
"I don't know what's gotten into Sherry. This really isn't like her."
Oh, yes it is. It's exactly like her. “What I really need to do," Stoner said, "is focus on what's happening with the company. It… well, it helps me keep my mind off of things."
"Know what you mean," Rebecca said.
"So how about we eat lunch fast, and go up to your room? I'd like to use your computer."
Rebecca smiled and relaxed, clearly relieved that she wouldn't have to negotiate the Stoner-Gwen Wars. "No problema, as Sherry would say." She caught herself and looked stricken.
Stoner laughed. "As Sherry would say."
They broke for lunch. Gwen, who had been keeping herself out of sight by working on the scenery in the back of the barn, emerged covered with paint and announced to anyone who cared to listen that she was going to scrub off before she ate. Stoner would have given her right arm to be in the room when Gwen found the roses.
Rebecca was subdued through the meal, not exactly moping but not cheerful. Her energy felt gray.
"Is something troubling you?" Stoner asked over salad Nicoise and iced tea.
"Nothing much. You have enough on your mind."
"What I have on my mind," Stoner said, "would welcome an intrusion."
Rebecca sent her a grateful glance. "I'm just a little down about the show."
"You've had a lot of snags," Stoner said. She didn't add that they were about to end, and that the outcome would be either snag-free sailing, or the biggest mess anyone could possibly imagine.
"It's not the obstacles. We always have plenty of those. The company doesn't feel right. It's not… I don't know... cohesive."
"Have you worked with outsiders before?"
"You mean, do I think Roseann's the problem?" She shook her head. "Everybody likes Roseann. She fit in right from the start. Marcy might be a little jealous, but Marcy'd be jealous of her own shadow. We go through that with every production. She knows she'll get her turn for the lead in the rotation."
Stoner sipped her tea. "Do you think it's the nature of the things that have been happening? That must play a part."
"Of course. But it should bring us together. Instead, it's as if we're splintering, suspicious of one another. Nobody seems to know whom to trust. This never happened before, not even at the height of the Rita-Marcy Wars."
"And now you have the Stoner-Gwen Wars."
Rebecca smiled wryly. "You mean the Stoner-Gwen-Sherry Wars." She leaned forward. "Tell me the truth. How seriously should I take that?"
Stoner felt herself in a found-out blush. "Not very," she said. "But keep it quiet, okay? All will be revealed."
"Goddess, I hope so," Rebecca said.
It gave Stoner an idea.
The laptop whirred in the tinny-plastic way of laptops, and ran through its repertoire of question marks and smiley faces and start-up icons. The desk top appeared, and Stoner inserted the floppy disk into the drive. She double-clicked, holding her breath, half expecting a warning beep and some horrible message like "This disk can not be opened because the application that created it is missing," or "This disk is unreadable. Do you want to initialize it?" or—the most dreaded of all—"This disk is password protected. Please enter your password."
But it went through, and brought up files created by Rebecca's word processing program or an identical one. She clicked on the program itself, pressed control-I, and copied down the date and time the program had last been used.
"Okay," she said with a glance at Rebecca for luck, "show time."
There were two files showing. DN (director's notes?) and SC (script changes?). Stoner chose DN and opened it.
It was all there. Everything Rebecca had supposedly said about Roseann. And a few she hadn't read on the print-out, probably reserved for more trouble-making later. There were nasty comments about Marcy, too, and snide remarks on Rita's appearance. Complaints about Divi Divi's script, and gripes about Barb's lighting. Even a few questions in regard to Sherry's competence as a producer. All of which would be "found" by the right people and used against Rebecca. Sherry's reign of terror, it seemed, had barely gotten underway.
Rebecca was silent as she read the notes. Deadly, dangerously silent. The chill in the air was nearly solid.
"I know what you're thinking," Stoner said.
"Do you know who did this?"
"I have a pretty good idea." She hesitated. "Don't you?"
Rebecca nodded very slowly. "The only person with access to our rooms."
"I'm afraid so."
"It's so... so... "
"Disillusioning?" Stoner suggested.
"Right. I don't understand why she'd do it."
"It's complicated."
Rebecca's hands curled into fists. "I'm going to wring her neck"
"My sentiments exactly. But I think we should make this a group activity."
"It won't work Half the women in the company think she's the greatest thing since Susan B. Anthony."
"And the other half?"
Rebecca shrugged helplessly.
"Surely this is proof, isn't it?"
"Stoner, the only computers on the grounds are Div's and mine. It'd be my word against Sherry's."
"Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn't. I'll see you later."
Her next stop was Divi Divi's room. Luckily, Divi Divi was in, lying on her bed and reading a copy of Essence. She welcomed Stoner to use the printer any time, as long as she didn't make her create what she printed.
She ran off copies of DN and SC, and showed SC to Divi Divi. SC and the bastardized script were a perfect match.
"Where'd you get that floppy?" Divi Divi asked.
Stoner grabbed up the hard copies and the disk "I'll explain later. In a hurry."
She ran to her room. Gwen had been and gone. The flowers had been moved to the back of the toilet, the card placed aesthetically on Stoner's pillow. She was glad Gwen hadn't destroyed the roses. They were pretty, and it wasn't their fault. She hated it when people destroyed inanimate or barely-animate things simply because the humans involved had screwed up. It was such a male thing to do.
She stuffed the disk and papers into her knapsack and was about to go in search of Boneset, when suddenly it didn't feel safe leaving them behind. From now on, she had a hunch, she'd better keep all the evidence with her.
Boneset's door was closed. The odor of incense drifted around and through the cracks. From inside came the tinkling sound of New Age music. She was probably meditating. Stoner sat down in the hall and waited, playing with the straps of her knapsack, trying not to think about what lay ahead. Stay focused. Don't let your mind drift to "what ifs" and "did she really's" and other things that can make you doubt yourself. It's time to be like a silver arrow, to fly straight to the target. Time to take the big leap off the rim of the Grand Canyon and hope the trail you think you saw below is really there. Time to Believe In Yourself.
The music stopped. Rustlings and throat-clearings came from behind the door.
She stood and knocked.
"Blessed be," came a voice from inside.
It reminded her of Aunt Hermione, and made her feel warm and safe. "It's me," she said as she opened the door.
"Hi." Boneset gave her a bright smile. "I was just leaving for rehearsal. Want to walk along?"
; "In a minute." She paused, wondering how to phrase what she wanted.
Boneset watched her calmly and expectantly.
"My aunt," Stoner said. "The aunt I live with. She's Wiccan, and she mentioned a kind of ceremony... well, you know the trouble that's coming down with Sherry and Gwen and me. And other stuff that has people up tight and kind of scrappy..."
Boneset nodded.
"I remember my aunt, Aunt Hermione, the witch, the one I live with... she said there was an ancient Goddess ritual of some kind that women did when there was tension building up in the community..."
"Stenia," Boneset said. "The Bitching Ceremony. It's very ancient. It was held during the Festival of Thesmophoria, or the Festival of Demeter, as some people know it."
"That's the one. I think maybe it would help us out, if the whole company took part. Kind of a clearing of the air."
"It might at that," Boneset said thoughtfully.
"Can you conduct it?"
"Of course. But we'd need Crones. Crones are absolutely essential to the Stenia. They keep things from getting out of hand."
Stoner thought of Esther and Clara. They'd probably think it was insane, but they'd do it. "I can get two Crones."
"Lesbian Crones?"
She nodded.
"Good. As the petitioner, you'll have to go through a purification rite beforehand. Actually, we all should, but getting that bunch to do anything all at once... Well, you know how that is."
"I do. Is it something we can do indoors?" She didn't want anyone wandering off into the shadows at a critical moment.
Boneset considered it. "I think so. There's one moment when all the complaints are burned in a bonfire, but I think we can substitute a cauldron and do it in the barn."
"Great. Is there anything you need, anything I can help with?"
"I have the herbs and candles and crystals. What you have to bring is a clear intention and an honest heart. Can you do that?"
Stoner felt a twinge of guilt. Her intention was clear, but she couldn't really say she was doing this honestly. Her motives were slightly devious, having less to do with healing than with entrapment.
"Well," she said sheepishly, "almost."
Boneset looked hard at her for a moment. Then she smiled. "I guess that's good enough," she said.
Everything was set. At the end of the afternoon rehearsal, Boneset had announced that there would be a "healing ritual" for the company that evening in the barn at sunset. The women agreed that healing was in order, and Sherry even declared that they should all "be there or be square."
Stoner wondered if Sherry had any idea what was up. It was hard to tell. If she'd known Stoner was behind it, she might have tried to stop it. On the other hand, given Sherry's by-now-legendary level of self-confidence, she might be welcoming the opportunity to turn things to her advantage. At the very least, it would provide the kind of excitement that made Sherry's eyes glitter.
Esther and Clara were delighted to play the part of Crones. It meant they wouldn't be left out of the excitement. They promised to bring all the incriminating items in their possession, and to play it cool.
As the petitioner, Boneset explained, Stoner would have particular tasks to do in preparation.
First, instead of eating in the dining room, she would accompany Boneset to the barn, where they'd construct the Crones' bower. It suited her fine. She needed to keep busy. If she didn't, she'd be overwhelmed with apprehension and lose what little self-confidence she had. For this to work, she had to be able to convince the others of the rightness of what she believed. And to do that she had to believe she was able to convince them. And that meant she had to believe she believed she was able...
''You're preoccupied," Boneset suggested.
Stoner looked up.
The woman stood with her arms piled high with pine boughs and trailing vines. She smiled. "I've been waiting for you to take these for the last five minutes."
"Sorry," Stoner said, blushing with embarrassment as she reached for the load of branches. "I'm a little nervous about tonight."
"However it comes out, it'll be the will of the Great Mother."
''Yeah. I just hope Her will and mine are running along the same track"
Boneset reached for a branch that had fallen recently from a silver birch. "Sometimes the Goddess works in ways we don't understand. But we have to trust in Her wisdom."
"I trust Her wisdom," Stoner said. "I just don't trust my own powers of persuasion."
"Ask Artemis to help you. Place your trust in Her hands."
"Is she articulate?" Stoner asked as she bent her knees so Boneset could add the birch branch to her pile. She was familiar with the Artemis manifestation of the Goddess, the Huntress, Mistress of the Hounds, Lesbian. But not with Artemis the Orator.
"No, but she's direct. Her arrow's swift and true." Boneset glanced at her. "I think what you're looking for is truth, not lies hiding behind pretty words." She turned her attention back to the forest floor. "Speak from your heart. Where other hearts are open, your words will take root. Seeds aren't praised for their beauty, flowers are. But without the common seeds, there'd be no flowers."
Boneset was changing as she went about the ritual gathering. She seemed older, more serious, more focused.
"All right," Stoner said.
"If you need to feel Her near you, carry a bit of birch bark in your pocket."
"Is that her sacred tree?"
"It is if you say it is," Boneset said. "That's the beauty of the Goddess. She's flexible." She filled her arms with fallen branches and partridge berry vines and leaves of wintergreen. "I guess we have enough. Thank the Goddess for her gifts and blessings."
She did.
They made their way back to the barn, to where they'd built a wooden lean-to frame on the stage. Laying down the branches, alternating north-to-south and east-to-west, they wove a roof of pine, then decorated it with the berries and fragrant leaves. Boneset pulled up a folding chair and covered it with a deep purple robe. "That's for Esther," she said. "I imagine Clara will come in her wheel chair." She got another robe and folded it and placed it on the folding chair. "This is for Clara. You only have to drape it around her."
Stoner nodded.
Boneset stood back and admired their work "Not bad. Demeter will be pleased. She likes the younger ones to exert a lot of energy."
"Well, we certainly did that," Stoner said. "I'm so dirty and sweaty I couldn't face anyone, much less a Goddess."
"Then you're ready for the ritual bath. Do you want to use my room, or your own?"
It probably wouldn't do to risk running into Gwen. It would be too distracting, to say the least. She'd want to tell Gwen everything she'd been doing, and what it all meant. Time enough for that later, when they could be as mundane as they wanted. For now, she wanted to stay safe inside the mystical spell Boneset was weaving. ''Yours,'' she said. "I'll go get clean clothes."
''You won't need them."
That brought her up short and caused a flood of panic. "I don't have to do this in the nude, do !?"
"Only your feet," Boneset said, an amused smile brushing one corner of her mouth. "As petitioner, you'll wear a white robe."
"I don't have a white robe. Only a plaid one."
"We'll use a sheet. And a belt made from rope. That should look humble enough."
Carrying a handful of left-over vines, she started for the door. Stoner ran to open it for her. She already felt as if Boneset were a Priestess.
"Do I have to prostrate myself?"
"Like a nun?" Boneset laughed. "Hardly. The Great Mother isn't interested in humiliation."
"Well," Stoner said as she walked along beside her through the dew-damp grass, "all I can say is, this is a far cry from Christianity."
"It certainly is. Didn't your aunt ever invite you to a celebration?"
''Yes, but we never quite got around to it."
"Then you'll have something to tell her, won't you?"
"Uh-huh. Life wi
th her is going to be one big 'I told you so' for about three days. She always insists I'd take to the Old Religion like a fish to water."
"And are you taking to it?"
Stoner ran her hand through her hair self-consciously. "Like a fish to water."
The bath was hot and fragrant with the herbs Boneset had provided. Steam rose around her like a sauna, scented with rosemary and mint and lemon. She let herself drift and float outside of time, feeling protected, as if invisible hands were holding her. Visions of women played themselves out on the screen within her head. Mysterious women, darkly dressed, moving through a twilight forest. They carried small objects—one a sprig of yew, another a colored stone, a third a wheat stalk, a fourth a ripe apple. They seemed to float above the ground like fog, hundreds of them converging toward a lavender-lighted clearing. A feeling of joy went through her. These were the Old Ones, the ones long-gone but never gone, gathering to lend their succor and wisdom to the coming ceremony. As they were present but unseen wherever women joined to do the Mother's work.
A tinkling bell, bright as a spirit, brought her back to herself. "It's almost time," Boneset said.
"Coming." She dipped beneath the water, inviting the herbs to perfume her hair.
As she rose from the bath, Boneset came into the room. She carried a towel, and was dressed in a flowing black gown decorated with silver moons and stars. Around her neck she wore a pentacle whose center was a large aquamarine crystal. A rope of bright red braided and knotted wool hung around her waist. She took a towel and began wiping the water from Stoner's body.
"I can do that," Stoner said, feeling a little awkward.
Boneset shook her head. "We've begun."
Slowly and gently she dried her, then ran a comb of bone through Stoner's hair.
She took out a flask of oil. "High Joan the Conqueror," she explained, and touched her oil-soaked fingers to Stoner's forehead. "I purify you from anxiety. May your thoughts be clear."
She touched her eyelids. "May your vision be cloudless."
She touched her mouth. "May you speak that all may hear."
Freshening the oil, she anointed Stoner's breasts. "May the beauty of you bring beauty to your work"
She touched her hands. "May you find strength and courage."