Outside the tent something rattled, as if something had been knocked over. Rex’s broad form filled the tent opening. “I thought so.” Rage darkened his face. “All members of the cast and crew are expected to check the posted schedule. You are all in violation of the terms of your employment.”
The crew members scattered at Rex’s arrival. Only Abe Brent hesitated long enough to mouth later on his way out of the tent.
“Well?” Rex demanded. “Do you think you’re too important to follow the schedule?”
“I thought perhaps it was an oversight. You did give us permission.” Muriel turned to Benny for support. “When I saw you talking with Rex earlier, I assumed you were reminding him of the chapel.”
Benny managed to look sheepish. “He told me he didn’t need me while he ran through the scenes with the cast.” He looked at his shoes. “I didn’t expect you to come today.”
Rex glared first at one then the other. “You didn’t think you should discuss it with me before you flaunted my clear instructions?”
Rex knew he teetered on the edge of losing control. He had tolerated Muriel’s religious practices. He had hired that Indian woman and her brother at her insistence. He had held his temper when she sent everyone scurrying at the first raindrops. He had allowed for a daily reprieve during the hottest part of the day.
He had given the film’s leading lady everything she’d asked for, because he needed her for the film. She was the best for the part. Audiences would flock to see her. He even admired her on certain levels, although he had learned long ago to separate romantic entanglements from the workplace.
But no more. “Miss Galloway. The situation has changed since I agreed to your chapel observance. Due to circumstances beyond my control, or yours, we are losing film time every day. I have a responsibility to my investors to finish Ruined Hopes on schedule. We. Don’t. Have. Time. For. It.” He ground out the last sentence.
Muriel drew herself to her full height like the iconic actress she was. “You will make time, or you will make this film without me.”
Chapter 5
I’ve had enough. When did you become such a prima donna? Effective immediately, Helen Tucker will take your place in the movie. If you choose to stay, you will be the understudy.” Rex glared at Muriel, daring her to protest.
She froze, closing her eyes and moving her lips without making a sound. When she looked up, serious brown eyes regarded him. “I’m sorry. This film has been difficult for both of us.”
Rex jutted his chin out but clamped his jaw shut without speaking. He didn’t want to say something he could not take back.
“I have an idea.” Benny came between them, his voice jollying them along. “Muriel, we need to take advantage of all available daylight hours. You know that as well as I do.”
“But Benny.” The look Muriel sent him could melt an igloo.
He raised a hand to forestall her objection. “So why don’t we hold chapel in the evenings, after the day’s filming?”
“Wait a minute. There is more to making this movie than time in front of the camera.” Rex scowled. Control of the situation threatened to slip away from him.
Benny straightened his shoulders. “I personally will guarantee to work whatever hours are needed to cover my responsibilities. Muriel?”
Slowly she nodded. “That sounds reasonable to me.” She turned those liquid brown eyes in Rex’s direction, and something inside him wilted.
“A trial basis. For the remainder of the week.”
The brilliant smile Muriel turned on Rex almost made his decision worthwhile.
The following Monday night eight people gathered for chapel.
“Welcome.” Muriel greeted the newest member of their small group, this time a young woman on her first job with the movies. “I’m so glad you decided to join us.”
“I couldn’t get away during the day. Now that you’re meeting in the evenings, I can come.” She took a chair next to the door. “I’m not sure I should be here tonight. I never knew we would be so busy.”
Muriel and Benny exchanged looks. Tension had ratcheted up a hundred degrees over the past week, with tempers climbing even faster than the daytime temperatures. “That’s why this daily chapel is so important to me. It helps keep my focus on the Lord, and off the frustrations of the day.” Around her the others murmured their agreement. “Feel free to come and go as you need to.”
“I appreciate that.”
Benny turned to Abe. “You got a letter at mail call. How are things on the home front?”
The young man blushed. “My wife sent a picture of our baby.” Shyly he handed Muriel a photo of a toothless baby with a bow in her hair.
“Isn’t she sweet?” Muriel’s heart constricted. Would she ever have a family to call her own? Actors had an easier time combining the happiness of home life and a satisfying career than actresses did. She was where God wanted her; she had to take comfort from that. God could bring the man of her dreams into her life tomorrow, even here in the middle of the Colorado wilderness.
The meeting fell into its usual pattern. A time of prayer, followed by any verses God had brought to mind. Either Benny or Muriel shared a devotional thought. Often one of them read a passage from Practicing the Presence of God or one of Charles Spurgeon’s sermons.
The group came from a variety of backgrounds. Abe had come to know the Lord through one of Billy Sunday’s revival meetings. Benny heard the Gospel at a mission in the Hell’s Kitchen of his childhood. Muriel had grown up in the church, thrilling to accounts of missionaries who stayed at her parents’ home. With her heart prone to faraway places and peoples, her decision to become an actress surprised everyone, herself most of all.
The meeting drew to a close. “Are you ready to call it a night?” Muriel asked Benny. He looked exhausted.
“No.” Benny ran a tired hand over his forehead. “Rex handed me another encyclopedia of complaints at the end of filming today. I keep offering to meet with him—it would be easier than going through pages and pages of his scrawl—but he says he doesn’t have time.”
“Is it just my imagination, or is he avoiding us?” Muriel walked by Benny’s side as they came down the canyon. “He hardly says two words to me, except to bark at me during filming.”
“Perhaps we should count our blessings.” Benny bared his teeth in a garish smile.
“The week trial period has passed, and he hasn’t said anything about closing the chapel time.”
“That’s true.” They reached the entrance to Muriel’s tent. “Try to get some sleep.”
“Don’t worry. I will.” This time Benny’s grin was genuine.
In her tent, Muriel eased her feet out of her shoes and sponged off the day’s grime. As usual, Sarah had laid out a clean nightgown for her and provided fresh water and a towel before going home. The woman worked silently, efficiently, anticipating everything Muriel might want or need. She had made these days in the desert heat bearable.
Lighting the lantern, Muriel picked up the script for tomorrow’s shoot. Working with film presented unique opportunities and challenges. On the plus side, they could redo a scene until it reached perfection. And film could be manipulated in ways a live performance could never be.
But she missed the presence of an audience. Most actors did. She fed off their energy. Her timing allowed for their laughter or applause. Not to mention her voice, an actress’s most important asset, which was useless on film.
She also found the sequence of filming disconcerting. Scenes were filmed by location, with no consideration of their placement in the story. Every night she spent time going over the following day’s shoot, absorbing not only the scene but also its connection to the rest of the story.
Satisfied that she had prepared as well as she could, she called it a night.
Standing in front of the slate with tomorrow’s schedule, Rex studied the calendar in his hand. They were still behind by two scenes. Tapping the piece of chalk against the calen
dar, he calculated the day’s work. With grim determination, he wrote down act 2, scenes 3, 4, 5. The cast wouldn’t be pleased.
Fred joined him in front of the slate board. “Pretty ambitious.”
Rex grunted. “No costume changes necessary. If everyone is on their marks, we can do it.” That was a big if. “Let’s go.”
Fred followed Rex into his tent and sank into the waiting director’s chair. He shifted the pages of script to make a place for Rex to sit on the cot. Thumbing through the pages, he found the annotated pages for tomorrow’s scenes.
“I don’t expect to have much trouble with scenes 3 and 5. Scene 4 is the pivotal scene.”
“I know,” Fred drawled. “Killdeer wants to convince Standing Corn to wait for him while he goes on the big hunt. That he can prove himself to her father.” Laughter lined his face. “Better than my personal life. Killdeer has a better chance with Standing Corn than I have with the lovely Miss Galloway.”
Rex arched his eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were interested.” He glanced at the newspaper in Fred’s hand. RUINED HOPES IN RUINS? “I didn’t know you read these rags.”
Color crept into his cheeks. “I like to keep up with the gossip. I’m always the last to know.” He folded up the paper and tucked it beside him on the chair. “If you must know, I thought a budding romance would deflect interest from our other problems.”
Rex laughed. “I like the way your mind works.”
“But it won’t work. She just brushes me off. Too much of a good Christian to engage in any dalliances.” Fred drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Beautiful, talented, principled—I could do worse.”
Jealousy surged through Rex. He should have expected this development. Every man in America who had seen Muriel Galloway act felt in love with her. He had to guard against falling victim to her magic himself.
“Tap into that emotion in scene 4.” Rex bared his teeth. “Be ruthless. Convince Standing Corn that you love her, that you can’t live without her.” He took the man step-by-step through the scene, suggesting gestures and expressions for each moment.
“A lot of this will depend on how Muriel responds. This would be more effective if we included her in the discussion.”
Rex shifted on the cot. “How can we? She uses this hour for her precious chapel service.”
“You haven’t said more than two words to her except to yell directions at her since that brouhaha last week.” Fred lounged back in the chair, but Rex didn’t mistake his posture for a casual attitude.
“You think I’m being too harsh?”
“You could say that.” Fred stood, slapping the pages of script against his thigh. “I’ve thought about checking out that chapel service myself. Why don’t you come with me?”
Rex shook his head, but Fred’s words stayed with him throughout the night as he reviewed the scenes for tomorrow, visualizing them frame by frame. His skill as a director lay in communicating what he saw so clearly in his mind to the camerist, wardrobe mistress, actors, and everyone else involved in the production. After one final review, he turned on his Edison cylinder phonograph. Bach’s precise piano preludes and fugues helped order his mind and lull him to sleep.
In the morning, Rex headed for the chow tent to grab a breakfast tray. Muriel was there, her hair already hanging in braids down her back, with Fred at her side as well as several members of the crew—mostly men. The center of attention, she smiled and talked in low, musical tones that tickled his ears in spite of his efforts to block it.
“Rex.” Her voice rang out, forcing him to respond. He paused by their table. “Take a seat and join us.” Her eyes implied more than the simple invitation—an apology for their disagreement last week? Concern over the difficulty of the filming? He took a step in her direction.
“Good morning, all.” Benny breezed past Rex and took the only remaining chair at the table, the spot next to Muriel. “Pull up a chair, Rex. We can make room.”
Rex took a step back. “Not this morning. I want to review music scores for the film.”
Disappointment flickered in Muriel’s face. “Another time, then.”
Rex hesitated long enough for a half-hitch in his step. “I’m too far behind schedule.”
Behind schedule. Those two words summarized everything Rex had said to Muriel over the past week.
“Do it again. Let’s get it right this time. We only have time for one more take before we start the next scene.”
Muriel bit her lip. Rex had gone from one extreme to the other.
When they first arrived, they had taken two days to finish filming one scene. From problems with lighting to glitches in costumes to minute changes in facial expressions…every aspect, every detail, had to be precisely perfect.
Now he wanted the same perfection—after three takes, maximum.
“Bricks without straw.” Benny mumbled under his breath as he rolled the camera into position.
Muriel laughed. “That’s not quite the right analogy. At least Pharaoh gave the Jews the same amount of time to make the bricks, he just shorted them the straw.”
When she laughed, Rex scowled at her. “What do you find humorous about your mistakes in the scene we’re shooting?”
She took her place on the set. “I find a little humor lightens the load.” She accepted a cup of water from Sarah, recognizing the value of drinking plenty of fluids. “I’m doing my best. We all are.”
“Then do it right.” Rex waited while they all took position. “Action.”
Killdeer—it was impossible to think of the actor as the very English Fred when he was kitted out in full Indian garb, from the black wig on his head to the moccasins on his feet—crossed the field where Muriel waited among the waving grasses. His loping stride and open arms, expressed his eagerness to join with his beloved Standing Corn.
Muriel’s eyes darted between Killdeer, entering from the left, to the stand of trees where her father sat with the village elders. His crossed arms and the glare on his face expressed his disdain for the hunter who wanted to capture the heart of the Indian princess.
Muriel slipped into Standing Corn’s persona. She felt torn. On the one hand, her harsh but loving father demanded she act in accordance with his wishes. On the other hand, the handsome and brave Killdeer provided food for her people and fought their battles when necessary. She looked first one way then the other. She glanced at the sky, seeking direction. A single cloud appeared in the sky, blown by the wind in Killdeer’s direction. Joy sprouted on her face, and she raced to embrace her warrior. She seized his arms, but he slipped to his knees before her, offering a seven-point buck with an arrow protruding from its neck. Overcome with joy, she clasped her hands together and swirled in a circle, inviting her father to inspect the proof of her lover’s prowess.
“And cut.”
With Rex’s words, Muriel returned to the nineteenth century, to the camera honing in on her, and the paper-mache deer taking the place of Killdeer’s trophy.
“Well done.” Fred whispered. “That cloud in the sky was heaven sent.”
The frown on Rex’s face suggested he was less pleased than Fred with the outcome of the scene. He stalked in the direction of the village elders, the focus of the next scene, and her shoulder muscles relaxed.
Water in hand, Sarah hurried to her side. “I have your place ready in the chow tent, if you wish to rest during the next scene.”
Within a week, Sarah had understood the rhythms of the film schedule better than some people who had worked in theater for years.
“I will in a moment, thank you.” Muriel sought out Rex. He had struck one of his typical poses—one hand at his waist, the other gesticulating in the faces of the actors under the trees. Veteran actors all, they radiated tension as Rex took them to school for their performance.
It wasn’t only those actors. Whenever Rex’s shadow so much as passed over anyone, he or she darted a nervous glance at his face, fearful he would scold for some miniscule error. She had w
orked with tyrannical directors before—what actress hadn’t—but Rex’s drive threatened to cross the line from demanding to impossible.
With a short prayer for peace in the next scene—if Rex wasn’t pleased with the result, they would all feel it—she followed Sarah to the chow tent and took a seat in the shade.
Sipping on the cool water, Muriel closed her eyes and tried to put herself in Rex’s place. The success or failure of the film rested on his shoulders. With the motion-picture industry still in its infancy, he embraced the potential of the medium and threw himself into making it available to the public. He was brilliant, she’d give him that. If he demanded the impossible of his cast, he demanded more of himself. Like trying to find the right music for the score.
The Bach music he played at night, music she imagined running under her fingers at a piano, comforted her and reminded her of simpler times. But she didn’t think it added anything to an ancient Indian culture.
Her mind cataloged the classical piano music she had known, trying to identify an appropriate style for the story. Not the precision of baroque, point and counterpoint. Not the frills of the classical period, Mozart and trills. He might find something in Beethoven’s climactic chords or Schumann’s sweet lieder. Did she dare mention her ideas, or would he resent her interference? She rubbed her temples and prayed about it. She must make the overture, whether or not he rejected her.
After dipping a towel in a basin of water, Sarah wrung it out and placed it over Muriel’s head. Muriel moaned. “That feels wonderful.”
“Your pale skin is not suited to the sun.” Sarah held the towel in place. “My mother used to tell me about why people have different color skin.”
Muriel’s eyes opened. This might be the opening she was seeking to share the Gospel with the poor lost souls who were the descendants of people like Standing Corn and Killdeer. “I’d like to hear it.”
“When Changing Woman created the first people, she fashioned the first man out of clay…”
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