“I’ll arrange for refreshments. Maybe Cook can provide some lemonade or tea.”
“I’ll settle for anything, so long as it’s cool.” She laughed. As she urged the horse forward, she looked over her shoulder. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Of course we’ll have to figure out what to use for paint. I suppose some kind of brush made of bristles from one of these bushes. Don can figure it out, I’m sure. Anyone who could construct fake deer…”
Muriel kept her eyes trained on the floor, not wanting to disappoint Rex with her initial reaction.
“I say, those paintings are certainly primitive, aren’t they?” Fred blinked his very blue eyes. “I’ll have to practice my brushstrokes.”
“An ancient wedding certificate.” Benny tapped his chin. “I like it. I’ll get together with Don to figure out how to re-create the setting down here, safe on flat ground.”
“That leaves you, Muriel. What do you think?”
She hesitated. “It fits with the story of the film. It makes a picturesque ending.”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.” Rex sat back in his chair. “Let me have it.”
“It’s not their story, the story that goes with the painting.” She waved her hands around.
“You knew that when you suggested I go take a look at the painting.” He sounded skeptical, and she didn’t blame him.
“I know. I don’t know what I was thinking. It just seems disrespectful. As if someone said the Mayflower sailed from Gibraltar or Cape Horn instead of England.”
Rex scratched his head. “Who cares?”
“They will care. Sarah. Charlie. Her people.”
“Charlie told me the story today. They know story and imagination. I’m sure they’ll understand.” Rex turned to Fred. “Brits don’t think Shakespeare’s Henry IV tells the true story, do they?”
“History teachers don’t use it to teach about the Tudors, if that’s what you mean.”
Rex spread his arms as if to say, See what I mean?
I’m grasping at straws. Muriel let the subject drop, uncertain why the idea bothered her, and they discussed how to fit filming the key scene into the schedule. When the others filed out, Muriel stayed behind. Rex was already bending over his phonograph, ready to broadcast his nightly serenade. “Do you mind if I stay a few extra minutes?”
Rex glanced up, the cylinder still in his hand, an unguarded expression sprang to his face. Unlike his usual impatience, this looked like…hope. “No.” He settled the recording back in its place and took his seat. “You’re not still upset about the wedding scene, are you?”
“Not exactly.” Now that the two of them were alone, as alone as anyone was in this camp where wind could whip the tent flap open at any moment, she felt a little shy. “I spent the day at Sarah’s village. I find their community very interesting.”
“I feel a story coming on.” Rex smiled. “Tell me all about it.”
Muriel went into detail about the day, describing everything from the intricate weave of their baskets and blankets to children at play.
“Charlie gave me some fruit from a cactus.” Rex smiled. “It was quite tasty.”
“Did you know they abandon their homes—they call them hogans—when someone dies for any reason except old age?” She thought about the house where her parents lived, built for her great-grandparents during the Federalist era. The home was the heart of her family’s history. “And yet, the family, the clan, is at the heart of their lives.”
Rex settled back. “Did you get the sense that there is rivalry between the clans? Is it possible for someone from the Beaver clan to marry an Eagle?”
Muriel lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. “I don’t know. And I don’t think they have a Beaver or an Eagle clan.”
“So what happens in the film is possible.”
“About as likely as my fancy costume and the rest of it.” She laughed. “It’s a good story.” Taking a breath, she plunged ahead. Lord, open his mind and heart. “I found their explanation for the different clans fascinating. I don’t know if it’s their explanation for different races or not. It reminded me of the Tower of Babel in the Bible. People wanted to reach heaven. Pride. The same sin that got Lucifer kicked out of heaven.”
“Pride.” Rex arched an eyebrow.
“Pride, yes. They wanted to be God. So God made them speak different languages. They went up the tower speaking one language and came down speaking something entirely different.”
“Too bad I didn’t have that when I went to France. Would have made learning a foreign language a lot easier.” Rex laughed. “I couldn’t film the Christian version. Hard to show different languages when there’s no sound.”
“Wait a minute.” He must have caught her expression. “You believe that’s what happened. Of course you do.” He planted his hands on his knees and leaned forward, his eyes alight with sincerity. “I don’t have anything against the Christian faith. In fact, I admire it. It’s the most superior moral code the earth has seen. Hard to argue with the Ten Commandments.”
“Oh, Rex. I don’t believe in a moral code but in a person.” Muriel sighed, despair lacing her heart. “Without God, all our good works are not any better than dirty linen.”
“Can’t you accept the areas where we agree and let the rest go?”
“How can I? When the rest is the most important part?”
The light in Rex’s eyes died. “So you say.”
Muriel blinked back the tears forming in her eyes. Why, oh why, was she so attracted to a man so blinded to the eternal truth of the Gospel?
After Muriel left his tent, Rex turned the phonograph as loud as it would go, substituting the sound waves vibrating the air for the howls that wanted to escape from his throat.
Why did Muriel have to be so obstinately narrow-minded? He had admitted his admiration for the Christian faith. Its influence permeated western art, government, music, history, the foundations of the United States. He figured God gave them the directions, but He left it up to people to act on them.
If Muriel wanted more than that, she was free to choose, but why did she insist the rest of the world feel the same way? As much as Rex liked her, as much as he suspected she liked him, the question of her faith would always stand in their way. Unless he could change her mind.
If they could spend time away from the atmosphere of the film set, as man and woman—more than director and actress—maybe she would relax enough to see he wasn’t such a bad fellow.
At mail call later that week, Rex received a local newspaper. Fire danger remained high. Good thing they took care of fires around camp. It didn’t take a native to see that things would burn quickly in this dry country. He surveyed the canyon, envisioning how they could escape if fire balled down the narrow valley. He shook his head. The fact was, they probably wouldn’t.
Other articles, about local politics and plans for a celebration of the new century in a few months’ time, didn’t offer much interest. By January, he would be back in civilization in Denver. The new year seemed so far away, and he had so much to do between now and then, he couldn’t generate much enthusiasm, even for the once-in-a-lifetime event.
At the bottom right-hand corner on the first page, he spotted a short paragraph. A new sandstone marker had been placed at a remote location described as the “quadripoint,” or “four corners” in simpler language. Rex reviewed what he remembered about the map in this part of the country. Colorado joined the Union in 1876, during the centennial of the United States. Utah became a state shortly after the Civil War. They formed the southern boundary of the United States, adjacent to the only territories left in the United States, New Mexico and Arizona. On a map, they all looked like big, square dabs with little to differentiate between them. Of course their citizens would probably disagree.
Four right angles met at a geographical pinpoint, and someone had commemorated the location with a marker. “Four Corners.” It had a certain poetic ring to it. He checked
the map—not all that far from the film site. It would make a good addition to the film, tying the past and the future.
That’s it. At the beginning of filming, Rex had built a week’s break from filming to coincide with the Fourth of July holiday. Perhaps he could convince Muriel to spend part of that break at the Four Corners. He could film it himself. Muriel would insist on a chaperone. Perhaps Sarah would agree to come.
He folded the paper to showcase the article. Striding into the chow tent, he scanned the room. As usual, half a dozen people surrounded Muriel. He could have his pick of a seat at any other table, but he wanted to invite her right away.
“Hey, Rex. I’m done here. Take my seat.” Benny waved him over.
Rex couldn’t help but notice the strained looks passed between the other people at the table, his reward for being a harsh taskmaster. It wouldn’t change overnight, but he wouldn’t let that rob him of the pleasure of Muriel’s company.
In her hand, Muriel held a piece of plain white stationery with a faint scent of lilacs clinging to the paper. Her eyes scanned the page, and she folded the letter and tucked it back in its envelope.
“News from home?”
“Mother says the blueberry harvest is excellent this year.” Muriel stared at the peaches that came from a can on her plate. “The food here is excellent. But I would love just one dinner of lobster, roasted corn, and blueberry cobbler.”
“Point me in the direction of the nearest ocean, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”
Her laughter tickled his ear. “Which way is west?” She leaned over and glanced at the paper in Rex’s hand. “‘FOUR CORNERS MARKER REPLACED.’ What’s that about?” She read the brief paragraphs.
Rex could see that her interest was piqued. “How would you like to see it? It’s some distance away. I thought a small group of us could travel to see it over our break from filming. Get some footage of the marker. I might use it in the film or sell it as a news story. I’ll find a use for it.”
She cocked her head. “I was going to spend the week at Durango.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “Enjoy some comforts of civilization for a few days. But I’ll admit, I’m intrigued.” Her hand twirled the braid on her right shoulder. “Who else is coming?”
This was the tricky part. “I’m still inviting people. I thought perhaps Sarah could come with you. She knows that part of the country better than any of us do.”
“If she’s willing to give up her days off. I’ll ask.”
“Is there anyone else you would like to come?”
“I’ll ask around.” She smiled. “I’ll let you know by Friday night. Does that work?”
She didn’t say no. Rex’s heart skipped ahead as he dreamed of the week ahead.
Chapter 10
Sunday morning the film crew relaxed in the miniature city they had created in the Colorado wilderness. Cast and crew alike took advantage of the day off to take care of personal errands, catch a little rest, or take in some of the countryside.
Rex and Charlie had returned to the mountains, chasing after bighorn sheep. Muriel prayed they found them, so he would stop hounding Benny about giving up his Sundays for “just one more thing.” This time, her friend had resisted the invitation. At the urging of the chapel group, they had decided to hold a Sunday service. Benny dubbed their gathering The Church of Renewed Hope.
“I wonder how many people will come today.” Muriel set the planks in rows as Benny brought them out. “Some people might want to sleep in on their only day off.”
“You might be surprised. People who don’t see the need to meet every night of the week might welcome a Sunday service. Well, look who’s here.”
Muriel shaded her eyes against the midday sun. “Fred?” Fred wasn’t as vocal about Rex in his disdain of the Christian faith, but neither had he ever expressed more than minimal interest. But the actor, looking very colonial in his white linen suit and hat, approached with Helen on his arm.
“Good morning, Helen. Fred. How wonderful that you could join us.”
Fred flashed the trademark grin that made women the country over swoon. “I try to attend Sunday services when I’m home. If you’re going to the trouble to hold church right here at the camp, I figured why not give it a shot.” He patted Helen’s arm. “Helen invited me.”
Whether Fred was motivated by spiritual hunger or the obvious admiration in Helen’s eyes, Muriel welcomed his attendance. With both major actors and the principal camerist in attendance, others might check it out.
Benny’s prediction came true. More people joined them, women dressed in their best, men scrubbed a little more closely than usual. They crowded the planks to the point where a few latecomers had to sit on the rocks close by. She could count on one hand the people missing from the service, including Rex. She refused to let thoughts of that man distract her from worship.
Muriel led in singing hymns, mixing old standbys that everyone knew with newer music that she hoped would appeal to those unused to a church service. Their voices echoed across the canyon floor, as if the mountains themselves joined in praising God. Benny made a clear presentation of the Gospel. Muriel’s gaze wandered, willing Rex to reappear and hear at least a part of the message. He didn’t, of course, and the service drew to a close. Although no one responded, she prayed that the Word would land in good soil.
“Good service, Muriel. I’ll plan on making a habit of attending as long as we’re filming.” Fred tipped his hat to her and escorted Helen to the chow tent, where cold cuts awaited them in a serve-yourself buffet.
Good soil, indeed.
After the morning, Muriel held high hopes for the afternoon service. Through Sarah, she had sent an invitation for the people of her village to join them for Bible stories and discussion.
Muriel’s heart was burdened for the Navajo. Most of the film crew would return to cities where the Gospel was preached from a local pulpit on a regular basis, but she had seen no evidence of a Christian presence among Sarah’s people. She hoped, prayed, they would respond. Sarah was the first fruits; surely more would follow.
More excited and nervous than she was before the first night of a new play, Muriel barely touched her lunch. She kept sneaking glances at her watch, her gaze wandering to the front of the chow tent, wondering if she would catch a glimpse of Indians arriving. The gap remained frustratingly empty.
After the lunch crowd dispersed, Muriel walked slowly to her tent for a brief prayer and a moment’s respite from the heat. Not only had no one appeared in the chapel area, but she also saw no one approaching on the horizon. She tamped down the worry rising in her throat. Indians didn’t keep time the same way they did. They would come. Eventually.
She tied a wide-brimmed hat on her head—remembering Sarah’s advice to protect herself from the sun—and joined Benny on the planks. Unlike the morning, they were devoid of occupants.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” Benny’s voice didn’t convey the comfort he tried to offer.
“There’s someone now.” Muriel leaped to her feet then subsided back onto the bench. “It’s Rex. And Charlie. And they’re not here for Bible study.” She started to cry.
“Aw, Muriel, God is still in control.” Benny tucked her head against his shoulder.
“I so hoped—”
“I know.”
A traitorous part of Muriel’s heart wished Rex was the one holding her and comforting her. She must root out the ridiculous and foolish wish, since Rex didn’t share her faith, let alone understand her passion for sharing it with others. Benny was a rock, and she appreciated having a big brother to fight her battles.
“Don’t you two look cozy.” Rex’s sardonic voice jarred Muriel out of misery. She lifted her head in time to see the disappointment on his face.
This day was going from bad to worse.
“Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show come to life.” Rex surveyed the streets of Cortez. On one corner he saw an Indian who only lacked the feather hea
ddress to take Sitting Bull’s place in the show. Over there, he spotted men with ground in dirt in their clothes and a gleam in their eyes that announced them as prospectors. Several saloons dotted the main thoroughfare. Cowboys abounded, faces shaded by the rolled-brim hats they favored.
Did Muriel know what she was getting into when she booked a room here? This looked as much a set piece as a lobster-trap-covered dock from a Maine fishing village.
“A setup shot of a street like this would set the tone for an entire movie.” Benny held his hands before his eyes, probably envisioning the street through a camera lens. “It looks crowded. Lucky we got a room.”
“I just hope the Last Chance Hotel is better than the name implies.” Rex glanced down at his clothes, his usual working attire of black twill trousers and beige shirt unbuttoned at the collar. If he had worn a suit, he would be branded as a dandy.
“Buck up. It’s bound to be better than a camp cot. Come, lad, let’s go.” Benny gestured to the porter who was hauling their luggage and camera equipment to the hotel.
Rex couldn’t come up with a reason to leave Benny out of the expedition, not after Muriel invited him. He couldn’t decide if they were anything more than good friends, if a hint of romance sparked between them. Last Sunday, when he had returned from filming the bighorn sheep with Charlie, he found them nestled together. Muriel looked so comfortable, her head resting on Benny’s shoulder.
No, Rex couldn’t take back the invitation. The Rex Pride people knew relished in pushing his crew to give up their free time and pour everything into the current production. Charlie joined the expedition, making a total of five.
Charlie jogged alongside the porter, making sure the equipment received gentle treatment. Rex followed at a slower pace. The sight of a theater down a side street sent a thrill up Rex’s spine, like the first time he had set foot in Times Square. What would the people of Cortez think if they knew the great Rex Pride, the one who had brought them Sherman’s War and the popular Love’s Idyll, strode their streets? Would they hound him, demanding his autograph? Beg him to give them a part in his next picture? Or ignore the whole pursuit as a child’s game?
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