The Silver Star

by Gilbert, Morris

  The Silver Star

  House of Winslow [20]

  Gilbert Morris

  Baker Publishing Group (2006)

  * * *

  New York had lefts its scars.

  Would Los Angeles prove any better?

  All of her life Priscilla Winslow had yearned for what she now had--the theater, city life, fancy clothes. But despite the adoring audiences, thunderous applause, and offers of starring roles on Broadway, Priscilla is compelled to leave New York and the memories that haunt her.

  An offer to make movies in California opens a new door for Priscilla's career. It also brings her close to Jason Ballard, the man who loves her. But she soon discovers another side of Hollywood's motion picture business, one that poses difficult choices.

  Andrew Winslow has also come to Los Angeles, rising to prominence as a highly successful pastor. He has everything but if his wife's horrible secret is uncovered, he stands to lose it all.

  © 1997 by Gilbert Morris

  2006 edition

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2011

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owners. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  ISBN 978-1-4412-7045-0

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.

  Cover illustration by Dan Thornberg

  Cover design by Josh Madison

  To Bruce and Kathy Tippit

  God has blessed Johnnie and me with many fine friends.

  You two have been a blessing to us both!

  Thanks for the memory—

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  PART ONE

  Going West

  1. “I Don’t Need a Man!”

  2. Homecoming

  3. A New Sort of Minister

  4. Bummers

  5. A Bit of Courage

  6. The Three Musketeers

  PART TWO

  Faith Temple

  7. A Small Town in Kansas

  8. A Preacher Comes to Town

  9. A New Year for the Winslows

  10. A Touch of Loneliness

  11. Amelia’s Birthday Party

  12. A Kiss in the Dark

  PART THREE

  A Fork in the Road

  13. Jolie Fails the Test

  14. French Perfume

  15. A Day With Nolan Cole

  16. A Little Peace of Mind

  17. “You’re Not My Father!”

  18. A Minor Accident

  PART FOUR

  Victors

  19. The End of It

  20. Nero

  21. Bitter Fruit

  22. Ill Tidings

  23. A Change of Heart

  24. A New Time

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I Don’t Need a Man!”

  The Great White Way in New York City had enjoyed an extraordinary year. The country was enjoying a financial boom, and New Yorkers were anxious to spend their cash. The year 1904 had played itself out to the month of June, and three major plays dominated Broadway. The most successful of all was James M. Barrie’s Peter Pan, starring Maude Adams. Her youthful beauty alone would have made her successful, but she was a fine dramatic actress as well and a welcome addition to the Great White Way. The play had opened in the Knickerbocker Theater almost at the same time that George M. Cohan’s Little Johnnie Jones opened at the Liberty. In between these two theaters was the Belasko Theater—not as large as the other two but known for the fine quality of its productions. The marquee outside proclaimed in large script, ALL THE FAIR YOUNG LADIES, starring Priscilla Winslow.

  A derelict passing by the theater moved toward the door, but his way was blocked by a truculent attendant who put his hand on the man’s thin chest, saying, “Move along, buddy! No handouts here! Don’t linger now!” As the derelict stumbled off, the doorman watched him and muttered, “Too bad. Too bad.” Wheeling briskly around, he stepped inside the theater, stopping at the doors that separated the lobby from the auditorium, then shook his head. “They’re still applauding. That must be at least six or seven curtain calls for Miss Priscilla.” He opened the door cautiously and peeked in, letting the roar of the standing ovation spill into the quiet lobby. Shouts of “Bravo!” and “Well done!” echoed throughout the theater.

  Up on the stage Priscilla Winslow gracefully curtsied to the audience, cradling in one arm an enormous bouquet of crimson long-stemmed roses. Her beautiful figure was enhanced by the lavender off-the-shoulder silk dress with pearls draped over each shoulder, the low neckline adorned with a pink silk rose-and-bow trim, the narrow waistline cinched tightly with a belt. Long, flowing sleeves fell to just below the elbow, and the narrow-paneled skirt was lavishly decorated at the hem with ribbon, lace, and pearls draped between small bows. The effect was stunning and made her appear much taller than she really was. Her honey-colored hair was elegantly arranged and interwoven with metallic braids. Her large blue-green eyes sparkled in the stage lights, and there was a delicate beauty in the curve of her lips as well as in the lustrous quality of her complexion. She curtsied one last time and motioned for quiet. When the thunderous applause died down, she said in a clear voice that carried to the very last rows of the theater, even to the doorman who stood listening, “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kindness. None of you will ever know how much it means to me to have you come for my performances. I would be less than honest if I said that I did not enjoy the money and the small amount of fame that has found me, but I will tell you that my greatest pleasure comes not from these but from the response that you have so graciously given me. . . .”

  She continued to speak, and the audience remained silent, captivated by the simple honesty and vibrancy that emanated from her. It was for this reason that many of them had come again and again to see her perform in what the critics viewed as “a very average sort of play.” As she went on, the hush continued, and finally she said, “As you may know, this is my farewell performance.” She smiled at the murmur of protest that rippled through the audience. “I can do no more than say it has been the greatest joy of my life to bring you some degree of pleasure, and I would hope that you would remember me. Thank you . . . and good-bye.”

  With a winsome smile and a sadness in her eyes, Priscilla waved to her audience and left the stage, the curtain closing on this chapter of her life. She was immediately surrounded by her fellow actors and actresses, all pressing close to wish her well. She smiled and murmured a reply to each as she steadily made her way toward her dressing room, lingering a moment to speak with Claude Parker, her leading man, before disappearing behind her dressing room door.

  Claude watched her intently until the silken skirts slipped completely out of sight. “I hate to see this play end,” he said to Alice Payton, an actress who had played a minor role in the production. “You don’t find a star like Priscilla very often. Most of them have heads as big as elephants and are impossible to work with.”

  Alice had to agree. “Priscilla is sweet,” she said, turning her large, expressive brown eyes on the tall man. “You tried your
best to work up a romance, didn’t you, Claude?”

  “She turned me down flat,” the actor admitted frankly, shrugging his broad shoulders. “I liked her the better for it. She’s had a rough time with that braggart Eddie Rich. I thought I could just bring her a little comfort.”

  Alice grinned broadly and took his arm. “You can comfort me!” she nodded. “Come along. Let’s go out on the town and celebrate being out of a job.”

  Inside her dressing room Priscilla placed the roses carefully on the dressing table, then straightened up and for one moment stared at herself in the mirror outlined by bright lights. Now that she was offstage her face relaxed, but there was still a tension that expressed itself in the erect quality of her stance and the stiffness of her shoulders.

  “Well, that’s over!” she spoke quietly to her reflection. Her voice seemed to fill the room, and for a while she stood motionless; then she began to undress slowly and thoughtfully. Laying aside the stage costume, she opened her small chifferobe and slipped a satin robe off its hanger. After wrapping the silky garment about her, she sat down before the mirror to remove her stage makeup. She had barely begun when a knock sounded at the door. “Come in!” she said, not turning around.

  The door swung open, and Phil Donner, the playwright of All the Fair Young Ladies, stepped inside. At thirty-five, he was a rather short man with black hair stiffly parted in the middle. His mustache was clipped short and was almost as black as his eyes. Dressed in a stunning evening suit, he came over and put his hands on the actress’s shoulders with a gesture of affection. “That was a magnificent farewell performance, Priscilla.”

  “Thank you, Phil.” Priscilla looked at him in the mirror and offered him her smile. She reached up and put her hand over one of his and squeezed it. “It’s been wonderful working with you, Phil.”

  “The same here.” Donner removed his hands, pulled up a chair to Priscilla’s right, and spoke enthusiastically of the performance. He was a successful playwright in a commercial sense. Although having written nothing truly great, his plays were popular and had done well at the box office. It had been at his insistence that Priscilla be chosen to star in the play, and now Donner turned his head to one side and rubbed his mustache with a habitual gesture. “I’ve come to talk you out of leaving New York,” he said. An enthusiasm came to his face, animating his narrow features. “I’m almost through with the new play. I’ve written it with you in mind, Priscilla. It’s better than anything I’ve ever done. You have to stay and help me with it.”

  Priscilla listened to him carefully, but now that she had removed the last of her makeup, she wiped her hands on a towel slowly, then turned to face him. “I can’t do it, Phil,” she said quietly. “We’ve been over all this before.”

  “But . . . but, Priscilla! It doesn’t make any sense!” Donner got up and began to pace the floor nervously. “You’ve worked hard to get where you are, and it’s just the beginning for you. Why, you can be even better than Maude Adams!”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Well, just as good anyhow.” Coming back to her, he reached out and took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “I know you’ve had a difficult time,” he said quietly. “You’ve pulled through it magnificently, but you can’t run away and hide now. You’ve got to go on with your career. Never mind about the past.”

  Dropping her eyes, Priscilla Winslow had a sudden recall—one of those unexpected moments that summons to attention a part of life one would rather keep locked away. Eddie Rich now invaded her thoughts—Eddie, whom she had met outside a theater and had been so charming she had not been able to resist him. She thought of how he had managed to get her a small role in a play, and how a measure of success had come quickly. Those were not bad memories. Then she thought of how Eddie, who was only a small-time actor and would never be anything more, had proposed marriage to her. When she had accepted, he became her manager. Then the bad memories flooded her mind. She saw the very room where she had stood when a woman came to tell her that Eddie Rich was already married, and that he was deceiving Priscilla as he had deceived her. Pain pierced her heart like a dagger as the memories did their work. Priscilla turned away quickly from Donner and sat down, clasping her hands together to conceal the trembling. Her lips were stiff, and she said slowly, “I can’t do it, Phil. I’ve got to get away from New York for a while.”

  Donner opened his mouth to argue, and then seeing the stiffness of her back and hearing the tremor in her voice, he knew that it was hopeless to try to get her to change her mind. He put his hands on her shoulders again, gently, and said quietly, “You’ll find somebody else.”

  Turning quickly, Priscilla shook her head. “I don’t need a man, Phil.”

  “Every woman needs a man.”

  “No. That’s not true.”

  Phil Donner knew when he was defeated, but he tried one more time. “Every woman needs a man,” he repeated, “and every man needs a woman. The trick is in finding the right one.” He grimaced slightly and said, “I’ve made the wrong choice twice. It hurt pretty bad both times, but you can’t live in a hole and be alone forever. You’ve got to have someone to share your life with.”

  “I’m going to Wyoming to see my family,” Priscilla said. “Maybe someday, Phil, we can work together. But now I’ve got to get away from New York.”

  “Are you still thinking of going to Los Angeles to do that motion picture thing?”

  “I’m thinking of it. It might be interesting.”

  Donner shook his head. “That motion picture stuff is just a fad, kid. Stay with the stage. That’s the real thing.”

  She put out her hands, and when he took them and kissed them, she smiled warmly, true affection showing in her eyes. “You’ve been wonderful, Phil. I’ll never forget you.”

  “I’m not giving up,” Donner insisted. “You’ll be back to the Great White Way, and one day you’ll be in the biggest theater on Broadway starring in a Phil Donner play. You just wait!”

  ****

  “I don’t know who thought up things like formal weddings—but I know whoever it was, she wasn’t a man!”

  Dr. David Burns stood stiffly in the middle of the small waiting room at Calvary Temple. He was not a tall man, no more than five nine, though his trim carriage made him seem taller. He was not handsome, either, but his bright blue eyes and his thin, almost delicate face, with the Highlanders’ look, gave him a pleasant air. He ran his hand nervously through his sandy, reddish hair and stared gloomily at Jan Kruger, who was lounging against the wall, watching him with a slight smile on his face.

  “You’re enjoying all this, aren’t you, Jan?”

  Kruger smiled and nodded. When he spoke, it was with a slight German accent. “Why, as a doctor I hate to see suffering, but this isn’t like having a leg cut off, David. You’ll get over it.” He was a tall man, lean and strong, with tawny hair, hazel eyes, and a squarish face. He had a real affection for David Burns and now came over and slapped the smaller man on the shoulder. “You’ll be all right. I talked to the minister. He said even if the church roof falls in, he’ll plow right along. Whatever happens, no matter how bad, you’ll be married when you leave here.”

  “Confound it, Jan! I wish you’d be a little bit more understanding! You don’t know what it’s like! Have you got the ring?” he asked tensely.

  Kruger’s face suddenly went blank. He slapped his pocket and muttered, “The ring—!”

  “You didn’t forget the ring, did you?” There was almost a note of hysteria in Burns’ voice. He was ordinarily the calmest of men, but he had lost this assurance the moment he had stepped inside the small room with Kruger, waiting for his summons to meet his bride at the altar. “You can’t have forgotten it! I told you—” He stopped suddenly, seeing the bright humor flickering in the other man’s eyes, and watched as Jan reached in and pulled a ring out of his vest pocket. “Oh, you!” he said. “Don’t torment a man at a time like this!”

  “I’m sorry, David,” Jan sai
d contritely.

  “Your turn’s coming, and I hope you’re just as miserable as I am!”

  “Not for a year,” Jan said. “I’ll have time to work my nerve up by then.” He hesitated, then said, “You’re all right, aren’t you? I mean, you’re not going to faint or anything on the way to the altar.” The door opened even as he spoke, and both men turned quickly to face the minister who stood there.

  Reverend Charles Turner was a tall, thin man with gray eyes and an abundant thatch of brown hair. “We’re ready now,” he said quietly, then turned and walked out to the front of the church.

  Kruger gave Burns a shove and whispered, “Come along, David.”

  David Burns walked mechanically through the door, trying to blot everything from his mind except the need to stay upright and to make the proper responses to the minister’s words. His eyes swept the large auditorium, and he almost panicked when he saw that every seat was filled and people were even standing at the back of the church. His legs felt rubbery, and his stomach seemed to turn over, but somehow he managed to get to the front, where the minister turned and smiled at him confidently. He felt Kruger standing beside him, pressing against his arm, and he swallowed hard.

  At that moment the organ music swelled, and at the opposite end of the auditorium, a young woman stepped out of the foyer and moved down the center aisle with a stately cadence. Burns studied the face of Priscilla Winslow, Ruth’s maid of honor. Even with the turmoil in his own soul, he thought, She’s not happy. Outwardly, there was little to tell the young physician this, but he and his soon-to-be-bride, Ruth, had become close to her cousin Priscilla, and he knew the tragic events that had scarred the young woman. She took her place at the front to one side, and then the second bridesmaid moved down the aisle, wearing a companion dress to Priscilla’s—a sapphire blue gown made of tucked linen and sheer white lace with a velvet ribbon belt. All eyes were now upon her, especially those of Jan Kruger. David knew that his friend’s interest was not in the beautiful dress but in the woman who wore it—Esther Winslow, who would be his bride when he qualified as a physician in America.