Love's Compass

by Gade, Carla; Franklin, Darlene;

  “I’m not. Usually.” When Muriel tried to sit up, dizziness swept through her again. She fell back against the pillow. “I’m sorry.” She nodded at her aide. “Sarah has some ideas for dealing with the heat.”

  Sarah’s dark eyes regarded Muriel. Without asking permission, she took a washcloth and began removing the makeup.

  “Wait. We’re not done filming.”

  “This powder does not allow her skin to breathe. Her pale skin does not like the sun.”

  With each gentle dabbing at her skin, Muriel felt herself ease.

  “It is not wise to work in the heat of the day.” Sarah finished removing the makeup. “You should eat and rest. I will come back later when it is cooler.” With that announcement, Sarah walked away.

  Trousered legs appeared by Muriel’s side, and she looked up into Benny’s smiling face. He dropped to a crouch. “Feeling better?”

  “A bit.” This time when Muriel sat, she was able to remain upright.

  In a chair at the opposite end of the tent, Fred had removed his wig, and the makeup artist was removing the makeup. “That woman has a point. We all need a break.”

  Thank you. Muriel sent a silent expression of gratitude in Fred’s direction.

  “A siesta. It makes sense in this heat.” Benny winked at Muriel.

  “Very well.” Rex squatted by Muriel. “You are better?”

  Muriel thought she saw a glimmer of concern in his eyes. “I will be. I’ve never had this problem before.” Heat rose in her cheeks, and Rex handed her a cup of water. Her face flamed even warmer. “I am sorry for causing such a fuss.” Using the drink as a distraction from her blush, she looked down the canyon. “Perhaps the light will stay with us longer today.”

  “Can you guarantee no more storms?” He quirked an eyebrow.

  “I prayed for sunshine today.” She thought of it and almost choked on the water in her throat. “God gave me a little more than I expected.”

  Rex laughed outright. “If your prayers have that much power, I’ll give you a shopping list for your chapel meetings.”

  “It doesn’t work like that.” But Muriel felt herself returning his smile.

  “Let’s go to lunch, shall we?” He held out a hand and helped her to her feet.

  Muriel had expected the gruff director who barked out orders. She didn’t know how to handle this kinder, gentler version of the same man.

  Chapter 4

  Rex didn’t know if he believed Muriel’s claims that she felt well enough to work again. Her strong work ethic had drawn his attention when he cast her, but continuing to film when she might faint again was counterproductive. Devoid of makeup, her skin still looked flushed. Sunburned, overheated, both?

  His mind scrambled with possibilities. After two days of mishaps, the film schedule had fallen behind. Since Muriel appeared in almost every scene, any illness severe enough to keep her from working would set them back more than they were.

  He was helpless against the draw of her warmth, the quality that made her so powerful on film. He could have hired another actress for less money, but he had wanted the best. Muriel’s understudy, Helen Tucker, could take over for a few scenes, but why settle for second best?

  He helped Muriel to a seat. “You stay here. I’ll get your lunch.” As he piled a plate with the side dishes Muriel loved, plenty of vegetables and fruit with the smallest sliver of a sandwich, he noticed the stares of the crew. When had he memorized her preferences in food? He set the plate in front of her and returned to a seat at the opposite end of the table, where the seats around him remained empty.

  Helen Tucker, who played Standing Corn’s sister in addition to replacing Muriel if she should have to leave the film, surveyed the table before approaching Rex. “Is this seat taken?”

  Bother. “No, please join me.” He held the chair for her, proving he did have manners when the mood struck him.

  A natural blond, Helen’s physical beauty equaled Muriel’s. Once in makeup and costume, she could pass for Muriel at a distance. She was a competent actress, and made a point to agree with Rex even when he was at his most quarrelsome.

  “If Muriel doesn’t feel well tomorrow, I could stand in for her.” She batted her eyelashes, long and curling, with the full effect of a makeup brush.

  Her agreeable nature didn’t quite hide her ambition.

  “Muriel assures me she is prepared to return to work after our luncheon.” He removed his notebook from his pocket. “Now if you don’t mind…I want to go over the film schedule.”

  “Of course, Mr. Pride.”

  The woman’s sweetness could be cloying. Rex glanced at Muriel from his lowered eyes. Muriel was a fighter, and Rex admired that in a woman. Her standards for perfection approached his own.

  He flipped through the calendar he held in his hand. Storms, illness, extras, costumes…what further problems would this production encounter? Even with built-in days for unexpected delays, they were already running close to going over budget.

  He drummed the calendar with his fork, a rat-a-tat sound. His planned film schedule allowed for eight to ten hours a day spent filming. Now they would lose an hour to two hours a day to a siesta. If Muriel could faint, so could anyone else. If more afternoon thunderstorms came, they’d have to shut down early again. With luck, they might average six hours a day.

  He knew his math. Six days a week, ten hours a day, for eight weeks…480 hours. Adjust that figure to six hours a day, and he would need thirteen weeks—three months instead of two. Out of the question. Not only was it cost prohibitive, several key members of the cast and crew had back-to-back commitments and couldn’t remain beyond two months. He’d have to reduce the number of takes of each scene and find extra pockets of time to film. If they cut out the religious observances, he’d gain an extra day each week. Without chapel, he’d have an extra hour a day to work with. That would come close to making up the difference.

  He sneaked another glance at Muriel, who had bent over her now-empty plate with folded hands. Saying grace, he assumed. She would never agree to work on Sundays, but the morning chapel service was a different matter.

  He was the director. He had the right to set the schedule at his discretion. Muriel would just have to live with it.

  “Cut! And that’s a wrap.” Rex made a circular motion with his hand.

  Muriel relaxed. The long, exhausting day had ended, and she had survived the afternoon hours without incident. Sarah plied her with water on their breaks more frequently than the morning. About the time Muriel reached the limit of her endurance, Sarah called a break. God had answered her prayer for more understanding from Rex.

  “Do you still wish to come to my village?” Sarah followed Muriel to her tent. Without a word, she helped Muriel out of the clothes she had worn that day. The fabric scratched at her face as she pulled it over her head.

  Muriel studied her reflection in a mirror. With the makeup removed, sunburn was evident in her red face. “You mentioned a bath?” Muriel slipped on her normal clothes, a light chiffon that provided some relief from the continuing heat of the day. “I almost wish it would rain. That cools the air somewhat.”

  “I have asked my mother to prepare a bath for you.” Sarah helped with the buttons on her dress. “We will return in time for your church in the morning.”

  “Thank you. And I hope you will join us in our chapel service some time. It is open to all.”

  Sarah smiled in a way that Muriel had come to recognize as disapproval parading as agreement. Lord, give me openings tonight. You know I wish to share Your love with these people.

  The shadow of a man’s figure appeared outside the tent. “That is my brother.”

  “Oh, yes, you mentioned him last night. I’m looking forward to meeting your family.”

  A more sincere smile graced Sarah’s face. “We do not often get to entertain a motion picture star in our hogan.”

  Her statement answered one of Muriel’s questions…whether the Navajos had ever seen
a movie.

  Muriel tucked a small Bible into her purse, together with a night dress and a few other essentials. “I’m ready. Is it a far walk?”

  “It will take about one hour. We are not in Colorado but in New Mexico, in the Dinetah. You will need shoes for walking.” Her brief glance at Muriel’s feet expressed everything she left unsaid about the Louis heels on Muriel’s favorite pair of shoes.

  “I have just the right footwear.” Reaching for a pair of brand-new boots, purchased when she learned she’d be traveling to the remote Four Corners region, Muriel wiggled out of her shoes. Unfortunately, she hadn’t broken them in yet. She changed to a heavier pair of stockings and dusted the insoles of the boots with baby powder before slipping them on. Sarah smiled in approval.

  Sarah filled two canteens and handed one to Muriel, probably a habit ingrained in her since she was still too young to talk in full sentences. “Never travel anywhere without water.” Next she handed Muriel a flat-brimmed hat with a red tassel tied in front. “Wear this while we walk. Your face is red like a pepper plant.”

  Muriel resisted the urge to rub at the irritated skin. Ducking back into her tent, she grabbed a vial of body lotion, although the alcohol might irritate her skin further. Back home in Maine, when Muriel’s skin burned, Mother used to prepare a cool bath with baking soda and oatmeal. Maybe Sarah had some local remedy at her home.

  They walked at a steady pace, Muriel’s boots surprisingly comfortable. What point marked the boundary between the state of Colorado and the territory of New Mexico, Muriel didn’t know. Unlike the Piscataqua River which separated Maine from New Hampshire, it was a manmade boundary determined by imaginary lines of latitude and longitude. Without her companions, she would have been lost within ten minutes in the monotonous desert landscape.

  After an hour’s walk, Muriel spotted conical images taller than the shrubs. “Is that your village?”

  Sarah nodded. “My mother waits supper on us.”

  The prospect of a bath and supper hurried Muriel’s steps. As they neared, she noticed more of the construction of the buildings. Made of brush and logs, each house opened in the same direction, to the east. Six to eight sides created an almost circular form. Smoke curled from the top of the roof, and she sniffed in appreciation of the meal to come.

  What a supper it was. Blue-colored dumplings made from cornmeal, mutton flavored with celery and onions, squash, melons, goat cheese. Some foods she had never seen, but others were cooked and combined in ways she had never experienced. She might get a stomachache from so many new sensations, but she figured it was worth it. The flavors were a world away from the sea-inspired menus of her childhood, but seemed so much a part of this place.

  Compared to her family, Sarah was a positive chatterbox. Her brother, who introduced himself as Charlie, hadn’t said more than three sentences during their walk. A small girl of seven or eight dominated the conversation. Seeing the family together, Muriel could identify family traits: The same single swirl of hair on their right temple. The same straight nose with a slight hook to the left. Eyes incredibly dark that either sparkled with fire or joy and turned as opaque as obsidian.

  When Sarah’s mother accepted her offer of help in cleaning up, Muriel felt as though she had been accepted as part of the tribe. The woman showed Muriel everything that she needed to know without saying a word. When the last dish had been put away, she led Muriel to a low-lying table where she placed one of Muriel’s publicity photos. “You sign?”

  “What is your name?”

  “Dibe.”

  Muriel stopped herself just in time from asking how to spell it. Not knowing the educational level of Sarah’s family, she didn’t want to embarrass her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. Could you say it again?”

  “Dibe. D-i-b-e.”

  Muriel must not have succeeded in hiding her surprise, for the older woman smiled broadly. “I spent eight years in a government school.”

  Muriel shook her head. “I didn’t know. In fact, I know very little about the Navajo. Only what I have read in books.”

  “Books only tell part of the story.” She flashed a smile that reminded Muriel of Sarah.

  “Your bath is ready.” Sarah held a towel over her arm.

  Muriel luxuriated in water warmed by the midday sun. She rinsed her hair once, then twice, until the water ran clear. By then the grime on her skin had loosened, and she was able to clean it off. After she finished, she stayed submerged in the water and drifted into sleep.

  “Your bed is ready.” Sarah’s voice awakened Muriel. “And here is your gown.” She laid out a few items on the ledge. “Call me when you are dressed.” She disappeared into the darkness. She returned with a comb and a plant.

  “This plant is good for burns. For your face.” Sarah waited for Muriel to nod in acceptance. When she squeezed the leaf, a clear liquid poured onto her palm. When rubbed on Muriel’s face, it brought instant relief.

  Muriel lifted her fingers to her face. The liquid felt thicker than a body lotion, basically odorless. “I know women in New York who would pay a fortune for this.”

  “The desert holds many secrets.”

  Is this my opportunity? This woman understood the world God had created better than Muriel did. Close to creation, but not to the Creator.

  Rex rejected both creation and Creator. In so many ways, he was more lost than Sarah and her family.

  Sarah laid the comb to one side. “Shall I braid your hair?”

  Muriel fingered her hair, treasuring its silky feel on her fingers. “It will save time in the morning. Yes. Thank you.”

  “And that will please Mr. Rex Pride. Work, work, work.”

  Muriel laughed. “That’s Rex. We’ve had so many delays, he’s getting worried.” Why was she defending him?

  “He is never satisfied. He is like a bird who drops the worm in her beak to reach for the beetle in the sand.”

  “If he thinks the beetle will make a better movie, you’re right.” Muriel smiled along with Sarah.

  “You like him.” Sarah finished the first braid and started on the second.

  “I respect him. And I think he respects me.”

  She found that belief challenged when she arrived at the canyon in the morning. Rex had posted the day’s schedule. Setup for the first scene was scheduled to begin at 8:00a.m.—the hour she and Benny had set aside for the daily chapel.

  Across the set, she saw Benny engaged in a lively discussion with Rex. Good. She could count on Benny’s support for the chapel time. Perhaps he was already arguing the point with their stubborn director. A glance at her watch indicated she had a quarter of an hour before eight o’clock. Deciding not to intrude on Rex, she stopped by the wardrobe tent. “Has Rex made a decision about the costumes?”

  Daisy, the wardrobe mistress, liked to show off her talents in her personal dress. Today a necklace that could have been borrowed from a movie set in ancient Egypt adorned her neck. “Here is your costume.” With the repairs, the dress shimmered with beads and glass. “Please be more careful with it.”

  Muriel dreaded putting the dress, heavy and hot with all the ornamentation, back on. “But Sarah said…”

  Daisy sniffed. “You are not dressing like one of these Indians who live hand to mouth. You are a princess from an ancient culture, and your costume reflects that. Mr. Pride agreed with me.”

  Muriel fingered the dress, a rich sable-brown hide lit with flashing bits of yellow and red and blue. “It is beautiful.” Even though the camera couldn’t capture the richness of the color, the lights would bounce off the lens, creating an illusion of precious gems. She reminded herself this wasn’t a lesson in history but a story. A story that sprang from Rex Pride’s mind, about a time and place before recorded history.

  “I will come back later to change.” Muriel hung the dress back on a hanger. “I hope you can join us at chapel this morning.” She had no idea whether Daisy would be interested or not.

  “Chapel? I didn’t
see that on the schedule.” She spoke around straight pins she had in her mouth, working on a hem for a pair of men’s trousers.

  “Rex forgot to add it to the schedule.” Muriel didn’t blame Daisy for her raised eyebrows. Rex Pride didn’t forget anything.

  “Sorry, honey, but all that religious mumbo jumbo doesn’t mean a hill of beans to me. Good luck with it.” Daisy hung the costume on the clothing rack, right with Helen’s less ostentatious dress of similar doeskin and the leggings and loose shirts the men wore. Just seeing them pulled Muriel into the story world. Maybe Daisy was right, image was more important than accuracy.

  Muriel sped down the canyon to the spot behind the equipment tent they had designated for the daily chapel. They had looked into using one of the apartments. In candlelight, Muriel could almost imagine early Christians gathering in the catacombs. Now, there was an idea for a film. But they agreed they would rather meet in the tent.

  Lord, let people come. She would hate it if only she and Benny attended. “‘For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.’” Jesus’ promise gave Muriel comfort. God wanted to do amazing things on the set of Ruined Hopes, to give “beauty for ashes” and “the oil of joy for mourning” like the Bible said.

  In spite of that reassurance, Muriel was secretly relieved to pull the flap aside and find half a dozen people gathered. Benny had made it before her, and she also recognized several crew members and Abe Brent, one of the supporting actors. “Good morning.”

  “So you made it back from the village.” Benny grinned. “I wasn’t sure if you could make it today.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Muriel beamed at the gathered people. “Thank you all for coming. Why don’t we introduce ourselves and explain why you’re here today? Benny, we’ll start with you.”

  The curly haired photographer stood. “My name is Benny Gruber. I’m working here as principal camerist. While that’s my job, I am first and foremost a soldier of the Lord Jesus Christ. When Miss Galloway suggested this daily meeting, I thought it was a wonderful idea.”