The Silver Star

by Gilbert, Morris

  As the rope slowly unwound, Priscilla let it get her even with the camera and then opened her eyes wide and formed the words, “Help! Please help me!” with her lips. She did not even say them aloud, but had learned to overdo the words so that the viewers could read her lips.

  She held on tightly as Lem called out more directions to the cameramen and lighting crew. Turning back to Priscilla, he said, “All right. Give us a nice scream and then let go of the rope!”

  Priscilla tried to maintain the look of absolute terror, opened her lips and screamed, although she made no actual noise, and then let go of the rope. She dropped to a mattress that the tall stagehand had placed beneath her and let herself sprawl out to get out of range of the camera.

  “Okay! That’s it!” Lem said. “We’ll call it a day here.” He came over and stood beside her and helped her up. “That was fine, Priscilla. You looked scared out of your wits. We’ll take it up tomorrow where you fall down into a pit of snakes.”

  Priscilla stared at him. “Real snakes?”

  “They’re real, but they’re not poisonous,” Lem assured her.

  “I hate snakes!” Priscilla muttered.

  “Well, we’ll take a few shots of some big rattlers beforehand. The ones near you will just be bull snakes. At least that’s what the fellow from the zoo promised me.” He stared at her more closely. “I hate snakes myself. I wouldn’t want to touch ’em. Are you sure you can do it?”

  “I can do it as long as they’re not poisonous.” She shuddered and said, “I just don’t care much for them.”

  Lem laughed and suddenly put his arm around her. “You’ve done a great job, Priscilla. I didn’t believe there was an actress on earth without temperament, but I believe I’ve found one.”

  “Well, I’ll probably dream about snakes tonight.” Priscilla smiled, then turned and moved to her dressing room. She removed her boots and the riding jodhpurs and white silk blouse that were her standard costume for the serial. It was growing cold outside, so she put on a heavy cotton combination corset cover and knickers over black hose, then slipped into a green wool suit-dress. Grabbing up a hat that matched the dress, she left the dressing room. As she moved outside and headed for the door, she was surprised to see Dorothy Winslow waiting for her. The two had become fairly close. Dorothy had stopped by the studio several times during the summer to take her out to lunch. It had seemed to Priscilla that Dorothy was lonely, and now she moved forward with a smile, saying, “Why, Dorothy, how nice! I hope you’ve come to take me out to lunch.”

  “If you have time,” Dorothy said. She was wearing a woolen suit-dress with a high neck and a pleated coat skirt over the narrow dress skirt. She had on high spats that matched the dress over black patent shoes and a tricorn hat of brushed beaver.

  “I wish we knew someplace to get chili. I miss that from Wyoming.”

  Stan Lem was nearby and instantly replied, “Have you ever been to The Diner?”

  “No, but I’ve seen it,” Dorothy said. “It’s that little restaurant they put into a railroad car, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, one of the Union Pacific’s old dining cars. I’ve been there several times, and I had a bowl of chili there not long ago. I was surprised to find it was pretty good. Watch out if you go there, though. They’ll put so many chili peppers in it, it’ll take all the fur off your tongue.” He grinned and left them, and the two women headed out of the studio.

  “I wish one of us could drive,” Dorothy said, “but we’ll just have to go in a hansom, I guess.”

  “Someday they’ll make a car that’ll start just by pushing a button. I’m afraid those cranks are too hard to work, and besides, a lot of people have gotten their arms broken when it pops back.” Priscilla got into the hansom cab, and Dorothy gave the instructions to the driver. They chatted on the way to the restaurant, mostly Dorothy listening as Priscilla gave her humorous version of the latest ending of the episode. “ . . . So I dropped off the rope. To the audience it looked like I’m dropping twenty feet down into a pit. Tomorrow morning I’ll get on a box, which will be out of the range of the camera, jump down, and they’ll see me hit the bottom.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Dorothy smiled. “I always enjoy watching you make these things. They’re more fun than seeing the serials themselves.”

  “They’re calling them cliffhangers now,” Priscilla said. “Other studios are starting to produce them, too. I imagine, as is always the case, the market will soon be flooded with serials like The Dangers of Darlene.”

  When they arrived at the restaurant and went inside, they were delighted to find it unchanged and as charming as Lem had described it. It was broken up into tables with white tablecloths and glass vases with flowers. A waiter dressed in black with a white shirt came to take their order. He lifted his eyebrows when they both ordered chili. “With hot peppers or without?” he asked.

  “With for me,” Priscilla said. “You’d better not, Dorothy, if you’re not used to western chili.”

  The two women sat there sipping iced tea, and finally when the chili came, Priscilla tasted it tentatively. “Oh, this is good!” she said. “Nice and hot. Just the way I like it.”

  Dorothy tried her bowl cautiously and said, “It is good, but I don’t think I could take it with the chili peppers like you do. You must have a mouth like leather.”

  Priscilla took another spoonful and nodded. “We had chili all the time on the ranch. It was just like beans and bread, especially in the wintertime.”

  The two women enjoyed their meal and afterward tried some of the home-baked pies. Dorothy tried the lemon, while Priscilla had the chocolate. It was Priscilla who brought up the subject of the church, and for a time they talked about the new building.

  “I suppose Andrew’s as busy as he has ever been since the construction started,” Priscilla said and was surprised to see the sudden disturbed look that came over her friend’s face. “What’s wrong, Dorothy?” she asked.

  Dorothy had put the subject off as long as she could. She began to speak in a low voice, relating all that had happened since the death of her father. “I don’t know what to do, Priscilla,” she concluded miserably.

  Priscilla listened intently, and after a moment’s hesitation, said, “I know you’re lonely, Dorothy, and you miss Andrew terribly. But I want to tell you something, and you mustn’t take offense.”

  “What is it?” Dorothy sat up straighter, and a look of apprehension etched her features.

  “It’s about Reverend Cole,” Priscilla said carefully. “There’s been some talk that you’re seeing too much of him.”

  Instantly Dorothy became defensive. “We work together with the youth program. It requires that we spend a great deal of time together.”

  Priscilla reached over and put her hand over Dorothy’s and squeezed it. She smiled gently, saying, “I know there’s nothing wrong, but you know better than I how careful a minister’s wife has to be. People put you and the pastor up on a pedestal.”

  The words struck Dorothy Winslow hard, and her lips grew tight. She did not answer for a moment, but there was a rebellious cast to her lips as she said, “I don’t want to be on a pedestal!”

  “You can’t help it. As Andrew’s wife, it’s only natural that people in the church are going to look up to you, Dorothy!”

  “Well, they shouldn’t!” Dorothy said abruptly, and then she realized how sharply she had spoken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but it’s so unfair.”

  Priscilla hesitated, then said, “Dorothy, you know about what happened to me when I was younger, and how I made a bad mistake about a man back in New York. I think women have to be very careful.”

  “Why? Are they more responsible than men?”

  “I think we’re more emotional. We get lonely easily, and we get discouraged quickly. I think it’s worse for us than for most men. A man can go out and bat a golf ball around or shout at a baseball game. Women can’t take their frustrations and problems out that easi
ly—at least I can’t.”

  The truth of Priscilla’s words struck Dorothy, and she sat there for a time quietly thinking about it. “What are they saying? What have you heard about me and Nolan?”

  “Oh, nothing really bad! Just that he’s come to your house when Andrew wasn’t there.”

  “He took the children and me out for a meal after I got the news of my father’s death. Andrew wasn’t here then. He had just gone to a conference in Sacramento.”

  “That was kind of Nolan, I’m sure, but . . .” Priscilla hesitated, then said, “Nolan Cole is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen. More than any movie star, really, that I’ve met, or any actor. You’re lonely, and—well, that’s a bad combination, Dorothy.”

  “Are you telling me I shouldn’t see him anymore?”

  “Oh, I can’t make your decision for you, Dorothy, but I do want to ask you to be careful.”

  Dorothy struggled between intemperance and affection for this beautiful woman who could have any friend she wanted but had taken the time to be with her. “There’s nothing between Nolan and me,” she said finally. “We’re just friends. But I’ll be more careful.”

  “I think that’s wise.”

  They changed the subject then, and after leaving the restaurant, Dorothy had the cab take Priscilla to her apartment. They embraced and Dorothy kissed Priscilla on the cheek, saying, “Thanks for having lunch with me. It helps to have a good friend like you to talk to.”

  Afterward, in the carriage going home, Dorothy thought long and hard, and with some trepidation, about what Priscilla had said about her relationship with Nolan Cole. She knew she hadn’t been completely honest with Priscilla about Nolan being simply a friend. She remembered his kiss on the porch, and the way he held her hands, and the intensity of his gaze. She knew in her heart that Priscilla was right. She could deny no longer that her feelings for Nolan were indeed improper. “I’ll have to break it off and leave the youth program,” she told herself with resolve.

  In the days that followed, Dorothy thought about Priscilla’s words. Yet each time Nolan asked her to get involved or go on an outing with the youth, his charming smile and enjoyable companionship was more than she could resist. She finally decided to continue with her work with Nolan, but admonished herself to be very careful. As the days passed, Priscilla’s warning slipped away from Dorothy, and she found herself looking more and more forward to her youth work. And she would no longer admit to herself that it was not the young people she thought of so much as Nolan Cole himself.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A Minor Accident

  At the end of the first week of December, Priscilla was restless. There had been no shooting for over a week that involved the cowboys, and she had not seen Jason for several days. Going to the stable, she saddled up a small iron gray mare and rode out to the open pastures where the herd was kept.

  Jason heard the sound of a horse approaching at a fast gallop and looked up. When he saw it was Priscilla, a subtle change took place in his expression. By the time she rode up, he was able to simply smile and take his hat off. “Hello,” he said as she pulled her horse up beside him. “No shooting today?”

  “No, and I’m glad. I’m getting tired of it.” Priscilla was wearing riding jodhpurs that she often wore in the serial, but the weather was cool, so she had donned a green and white wool mackinaw coat. A toboggan cap held her honey-colored hair in place except for a stray ringlet that had escaped and was exposed at her neck. The ride had brightened her cheeks and her eyes, and she slapped the mare on the neck and looked around at the milling herd. “They’re getting fat, aren’t they?”

  “Be going to market soon, I expect,” Jason said, looking at the grazing herd.

  Surprised at Jason’s reply, Priscilla quickly turned around. “The herd’s going to be sold?”

  “I reckon so. Most of it anyway. Porter talked to me about it a couple of days ago. The western thing is kind of running its course. He said he wanted to keep a fourth of the herd, and maybe just me and one more puncher to take care of ’em.”

  “What will he do when he needs a bunch of outlaws for a shot?”

  “Don’t guess there’ll be much more of that,” Jason drawled. He replaced his hat, shoved it back on his head, and examined her thoughtfully. “Not much for me to do around here when that happens.”

  Jason had mentioned leaving several times. He was unhappy, and Priscilla knew that she was the cause of it. Still, she could not help saying, “I wish you wouldn’t leave, Jason. It would be lonely around here without you.”

  Jason smiled briefly, but there was no real warmth in it. “I don’t reckon you’d miss me too much, Priscilla,” he said finally. “Your time is pretty well taken up.”

  “I’ve tried to explain, Jason. I’m not really involved with Todd.”

  “I thought seeing someone on a regular basis was ‘involved’!”

  “I told him that our relationship will never go anywhere.”

  “Then why do you keep seeing him?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I guess because he asks.” It sounded foolish even to Priscilla’s ears, and she laughed with a certain degree of embarrassment and her cheeks grew rosy. “I know that sounds silly.”

  Jason leaned forward, placing his hands on the horn of his saddle, and stood up on his stirrups and stretched. He had thought of little else but Priscilla lately, and many times had given her up for lost, as far as he was concerned. He felt a heavy grief at the thought of losing her, which he never expressed to anyone, not even his best friends on the crew. To himself he had been more honest, and as he looked at Priscilla, he thought, I don’t know why I stay around here tormenting myself with something I can’t have, like a kid with his nose pressed against a candy store and no money in his pocket. I’d be better off back in Wyoming, or anywhere else for that matter. Now he rocked back in the saddle and said, “Priscilla, I hate to say anything more about you and Blakely. But I think you’re making a sad mistake. Oh, I know he’s rich, and a famous star, and all that.” He hesitated, then shook his head.

  “What is it?” Priscilla asked, seeing a shadowed look in his eyes that troubled her. “What’s the matter, Jason?”

  “I think you’re headed for a fall, Priscilla. You had one bad one, and I’ll never rebuke you for it. It’s all over as far as I’m concerned about Eddie Rich, but you were partly innocent in that. You didn’t know about that man, but Todd Blakely is what he is.”

  “You think he’s deceitful?”

  “I think he’s spoiled, used to his own way as far as women are concerned . . . and you’re a challenge to his talents in that direction. Once he gets you, you won’t be any more to him than any of the other women he’s had.”

  Priscilla flushed at the implication, but she could not refute it. Lately, the same thought had occurred to her. Finally, unable to reply, she lifted her head and met his eyes. “I’m all mixed up, Jason. I had a long talk with Dad when I went for a visit. Some of the things he said—well . . . I’ve been thinking them over.”

  “Smart man your dad,” Jason nodded. “Whatever he told you, you pay attention to it. Well, I’ll be staying for a while. How about a race?” he said and grinned as she instantly lifted her head, and her eyes flashed. “You always did crave to beat me. Well, here’s your chance. That’s a pretty fast mare you got. What about that grove of cottonwoods over there by the road?”

  “All right,” she said. “There and back.” She poised in the saddle as Jason wheeled his mount around, then said, “Go!” The two horses shot off, and Priscilla lost her cap before she had gone twenty yards. Her honey-colored hair flew out behind her as the mare galloped. She leaned forward in the saddle, and at least for the moment she managed to put all of her problems out of her mind.

  Though Jason beat her only by a few yards, she still enjoyed her ride with him. Afterward the two of them went out and had lunch together. She took him to The Diner for good chili. For two hours they laughed and talked
—very much like old times. When he took her back to her apartment, she turned to him and said, “Thanks for putting up with me, Jason. You’re good medicine for me.” She looked at him fondly and said, “Good old solid Jason. You never change.”

  “Cowboys never change. They just die,” he grinned. He reached out, pulled her forward, and kissed her cheek. When she did not object, he kissed her on the lips. She responded for a moment, then when she pulled away, he shook his head. “You’re very special to me,” he whispered. “Good night, Priscilla.”

  Priscilla thought about those kisses for a long time. They were light, and yet she knew that behind them lay a deep love and passion that Jason Ballard kept tightly within proper bounds. She dreamed of him that night, but the next morning she could not remember what the dream was about. After eating breakfast, she picked up her Bible and read for a long time in the book of Proverbs, a book that had always fascinated her. The short, pithy sayings somehow caught in her mind, and she could not forget them. One of them that she read was, “A fair woman without discretion is like a jewel of gold in a swine’s snout.” At first the phrasing of the proverb amused her, and she murmured aloud, “I’d like to see Sue, our big old sow back home, with a diamond ring in her snout!”

  The incongruity of it amused her, but later on that morning, after she was cleaning the apartment and sorting out her clothes, the proverb came back. Without discretion. She wasn’t at all certain of the meaning of that word and looked it up in the dictionary. She read the definition aloud. “The freedom or authority to make decisions and choices. Power to judge or act.” Another definition said, “Careful of what one does and says.” She closed the dictionary and leaned back thoughtfully. “The power to choose or act,” she mused. “I guess I’ve been without discretion, all right. But I don’t want to be anymore.” She closed her lips firmly and put the dictionary down. She knelt for a time of prayer with her heavenly Father, asking Him to help her become the woman He wanted her to be.