by Anna Schmidt
And yet she had risked the considerable ire of Rose Gillenwater and others by taking in Ellie and the rest of the troupe.
She spoke to Violet who hurried on as she offered the same excuse of needing to meet her mother. Then Nola looked across the street at him. For one instant her step faltered. Harry smiled and tipped his hat, but Nola did not acknowledge his greeting. Instead she made an abrupt detour into the notions store.
It’s a small village, Nola. Hard to avoid me if I set my sights on seeing you. And he set off down the street to wait for her return to the tearoom.
In spite of her deliberate stop at the notions store where she had purchased a length of ribbon she certainly did not need, Nola saw that she had failed in her attempt to avoid Starbuck. He was perched on the porch rail talking to Billy Andrews.
“If you think you can handle the role, then it’s yours,” he said as Nola unlatched the gate and started up the walk.
“Yes, sir,” Billy replied and he seemed ready to burst with glee. “You can count on me, sir. Mind if I tell the others?”
“Might as well. They’ll figure it out when we start rehearsals in earnest tonight.”
Billy took off and Harry stepped to the edge of the porch and relieved Nola of her parcels. “You know, you can send one of the actors to the market, Nola.”
“I like to make my own selections and besides, they won’t be here that long. Now, how can I help you?”
“Came to ask another favor.” He grinned as he headed down the side porch and into the kitchen.
Nola had little choice but to follow him.
“Lovely day, Mrs. Lang,” he said as he set the packages on the table.
“Judy, Mr. Starbuck and I will be in my office if you need anything,” Nola said without breaking stride as she continued through the pantry and into the front hallway. She waited for Harry to follow, then busied herself removing her hat and gloves and hanging up her cape. “Well?”
He glanced toward the parlor, but Nola remained where she was.
“I want to rehearse here until we get this thing converted to music,” he said, all evidence of lightheartedness gone.
“And why would you think I might agree to that?” She realized from his expression that he hadn’t expected her to agree at all, which made his asking all the more intriguing.
“Because,” he began, then rejected whatever he’d been about to say and started again. “Because I think when you read my play you saw something in it—some real potential.”
“I have already said that it is quite good.”
“And would be even more powerful in musical form?”
“Perhaps.”
He ran his hand through his hair and it fell right back over his forehead. “Look, I know it’s asking a lot and I assure you this has nothing to do with the business of buying you out. I need some time to get the music in place and the lines changed to lyrics. If we work at the hotel, people are bound to get the idea that it’s not going well and that could affect ticket sales for the opening which could affect the pocketbooks of my investors which affects their willingness to invest in this play down the road. Are you following me?”
“Not entirely, but go on.”
“If we could rehearse here for the duration of the time my lead performers are in residence and working for you, then…”
“And if I refuse?”
Harry scowled. “You know, Nola, I can find another place for them to stay. It might not be as convenient, but…”
“Don’t threaten me, Harry.”
“I’m not. I’m just pointing out that a smart businesswoman like you must understand that the bargain we’ve struck works both ways. I mean you can back out of it any time and so can I.”
“You signed an agreement.”
Harry sighed. “To satisfy you. Just help me out here, Nola.”
“There will be no more threats to remove the actors until I have found replacements. Are we quite clear on that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And…”
Harry rolled his eyes.
“And rehearsals may run from five until eight.”
“Nine,” he bargained.
“Eight-thirty,” she countered.
“Done.”
After just a couple of days, Nola realized that any concerns she might have had about the actors causing her trouble or embarrassment were unfounded. They were courteous to her patrons and any visitors who might stop by, and seemed to have a sixth sense about whether or not their company might be welcomed. By the end of the week, they had settled into a daily routine of helping Judy prepare for the day’s business in the mornings, serving tearoom guests in the afternoon and rehearsing in the evenings. After Harry left, they would sometimes gather on the porch or in the kitchen to unwind before going up to their rooms.
Although they always invited Nola to join them, she felt it was important that she not become overly involved in their lives. Instead she would plead the need to finish some paperwork or tell them that she usually reserved this time for reading. That was true, but, of course, that had been before these lively people had come under her roof. On the evenings they chose to sit on the porch, she could not help listening in as they shared stories. What interesting experiences they had all had, and not just in the theater. Their personal lives were as diverse as they were. Every one of them had been through difficult times—disapproving families, money woes, times when they couldn’t find work—and yet they told their stories without an ounce of pity. Indeed it seemed to Nola that they saw their experiences as fodder for their ability to understand a character they might be called upon to play.
Nola was thinking about that as she made her morning walk to the post office, picked up her mail and then started back down the street toward the market.
What if one morning I failed to pick up the mail at this hour? What if I decided to do the marketing first and then pick up the mail?
Of course, then she would need to stop at the house to drop off her parcels from the market before coming on to the post office, but was that a problem?
“Nola, wait a minute.” Essie Crusenberry, ’Sconset’s postmistress, had left the post office and followed Nola up the street, waving an envelope. “There’s this one other piece of mail,” she shouted as she rushed up the street and handed Nola a blue sealed envelope. “It was just there on the counter. Someone must have dropped it off while I was sorting. You’d have thought that whoever it was would have said something to get my attention, but not a sound. I turned around and there it was.” Essie made no pretense of her curiosity about all the secrecy. “Aren’t you going to open it?” she asked outright when Nola placed the envelope on the bottom of the stack she carried.
“It will keep,” Nola assured her, although her own curiosity was piqued by the unfamiliar printing of her name. “Thank you, Essie.” She tucked the envelope in with the rest of the mail and continued on her way. She was well aware of Essie’s disappointment and equally aware that within the hour half the village would know she had received a mysterious envelope.
And yet by the time she’d completed the rest of her errands and chatted with Judy in the kitchen, Nola had put the blue envelope completely out of her mind. It was only later that morning as she was going through the day’s mail and the blue envelope floated to the floor that Nola remembered the odd circumstances surrounding its delivery.
“What’s this?” Judy asked, bending to retrieve the envelope and turning it over to examine the address. “Looks like an invitation.” She handed it to Nola and moved a little behind Nola so she would be able to see. “Wonder who’s having a party this time of year when everyone’s so busy.”
“Let’s see.” Nola set the rest of the mail down as she slid her letter opener under the thick flap of the vellum envelope.
An odd assortment of words in a variety of print fonts and sizes had been cut from newspapers and magazines and glued to the expensive paper.
God-fearing residents o
f ’Sconset do not bind
With actors, musicians and their kind;
Remove them from your circle now
Or suffer consequences you will find most foul!
A friend
“What kind of invitation is that?” Judy asked, squinting down at the page. “Makes no sense at all.”
“It’s not an invitation,” Nola said as she scanned the words once more and then crumpled the paper into a ball and flung it onto the table. She picked up the envelope and examined it closely as Judy sat down opposite her and smoothed out the crumpled letter.
“Why, Nola, this is like a warning. Somebody is trying to warn you to stay away from the actors.”
But Nola ignored Judy’s rising concern. “Found it just lying there on the counter indeed,” Nola grumbled under her breath as she stormed out the back door, muttering all the way back toward the post office. “As if Essie Crusenberry doesn’t hear that squeaky door every time someone comes in or out. As if she doesn’t stop whatever she’s doing to see who it is.”
Calm down. You’ll only make matters worse.
She slowed her step and even smiled and nodded at the few people she passed. But her thoughts were on the note. Judy was right. Someone meant to warn her—to scare her. It wasn’t a question of why someone had sent the note. That was clear enough. But who would stoop to such tactics?
Starbuck?
Certainly he had the most to gain. After all, if his actors did not staff her tearoom she would be once again without the help she needed to remain open now that the tourists were beginning to arrive in earnest. And certainly the blue stationery was close at hand. The bookstore just across the street from his office kept a ready stock of it in a selection of cream and blue.
So, you are still playing pranks, Harry, she said silently, recalling all the times he and her brothers had pulled some trick or hoax in their youth. And what if I simply ignore your little stunt?
“Yes, that’s the best course,” she decided, reversing her direction and walking slowly back to the tearoom as if she’d only been out for a bit of fresh air. “I will simply ignore your childish prank. In fact, I will ignore you, Harrison Starbuck.” For the rest of the day she was in unusually high spirits.
Promptly at five that evening Harry arrived for rehearsal and so, promptly at quarter to the hour, Nola shut herself away in the parlor. This continued every day after the note arrived. Whenever she could she would leave the premises altogether on the excuse of visiting a friend or attending a church meeting. But on those evenings when she had nowhere to go, she couldn’t help pulling her chair closer to the closed doors and eavesdropping as Harry and the company slowly worked their way through his script.
The process of building the show fascinated her. The changes the cast suggested for the lyrics or tempo or sometimes even the music itself opened her eyes to the fact that putting together a theatrical performance was a collaborative effort. She had imagined that once Harry began directing the rehearsals, he would simply state what he wanted and the others would do their best to comply. To her surprise, he would ask for their ideas and listen to their suggestions. Sometimes Nola would hear all of them talking over the top of one another as they called out new ideas for how a particular lyric or song should go.
And sometimes Nola would long to add her own ideas to the mix. A chord that was half a key off for Olga’s rich contralto. A little known madrigal melody that would perfectly fit the lyrics for the number at the close of the first act. Once or twice she had scribbled some notes and even made one or two offhand suggestions to Ellie as they sat with their tea late in the evening. And a couple of nights later she heard Ellie offer those same suggestions to Harry and when he took them, Nola had felt a sense of pride and accomplishment that she hadn’t known in some time.
But every time she caught herself concentrating more on the operetta than on the business of running her tearoom, Nola would remind herself of the note. Then she would drag her chair back to its proper place at her desk and force herself to get back to work. The tearoom was struggling, but Harry Starbuck would not defeat her.
Still, Nola had to face facts. Business had not improved much even with the arrival of the first seasonal visitors and it wasn’t only Rose Gillenwater and her crowd who had shunned the tearoom since Nola put the actors to work. She was no closer to finding more permanent—and more suitable—help, and she resented the prejudice against the actors. They were doing a fine job and their behavior was above reproach. If only she could come up with some way to attract new customers, the loss of local business would not be so critical.
She kept coming back to the suggestion Billy had made that first night. Why not expand background piano music to include the occasional solo or reading? The more she thought about it, the more the idea grew into something grander—perhaps a recital or poetry series. She studied the figures on the ledger. If she extended the hours of the tearoom to include just two evenings a week, she could potentially increase her gross income by at least ten percent. “And over the course of the entire season,” she muttered aloud as she did the math, “that could possibly amount to an extra…” She stared at the number and released a long breath. But the actors needed their rehearsal time. Extending hours would have to wait until she could find permanent staff.
Still, she decided to discuss the idea with Ellie.
“And what would you do with all that extra, anyway?” Ellie wanted to know when Nola broached the idea to her later that night as they sat together in the parlor for what had become their regular late night talk. “No, don’t tell me. You’d put it all right back into this place—fixing up the grounds or buying a new stove for Judy. Not that she wouldn’t love that. It’s just that for once in your life wouldn’t it be nice to think about getting something for yourself?”
Nola laughed uncertainly. “I don’t know what you mean. It’s all for me. This is my livelihood…my home…my…”
“Life,” Ellie replied firmly. “I may not know you all that well, Nola. But from what you have told me about your family and growing up on the island here, I have to believe that your blessed mother would want more for you than working from dawn to dusk and finding adventure in those books you read after I go off to bed.”
“Oh, Ellie, my mother certainly understood hard work.”
“No doubt. Judy told me that when your father died, your mother said that if it was the last thing she did she was going to make sure that none of you ever had to worry. Well, she didn’t get the chance to see it through, but you made sure that her dream was realized, at least for the others. And speaking of the others, where are your siblings? Why aren’t they helping out?”
Nola frowned and folded her arms tightly across her chest. Ellie’s innate bluntness could be unsettling when her questions raised doubts in Nola’s head about decisions she had made.
“Oh, Nola, I apologize. It’s none of my business, but it’s hard for me to understand and I feel as if you deserve so much more.”
Ellie had touched a nerve without realizing it or meaning to. “After Mama died,” Nola admitted quietly, “everyone assured us that we would be better off if we each went to live with a family elsewhere on the island.”
“Split up?” Ellie was clearly horrified at the very idea. “After all you’d already lost, they would have you lose each other?”
“They meant well. The minister at the time and others—including Rose Gillenwater—tried reasoning with us. ‘It’s not as if you’ll never see each other again, Nola,’ she said. She told us we could visit one another at these foster homes.”
“And what did you say?”
“I asked where our home would be. No one had an answer for that.”
“So what happened?”
Nola shrugged. “I struck a bargain with the elders. If we could all stay in the house we had inherited, then we would run the tearoom in the summer and I, as the responsible one, would make sure the others completed their schooling.”
“Th
is is like a drama,” Ellie said. “What happened?”
“The minister and a woman from the office of social services agreed to check on us regularly and the Langs agreed to move in with us until we were old enough to be on our own.”
“How old were you then?”
“Sixteen.” Nola smiled at the memory. “The minister told me that he was certain that I was acting purely out of grief and shock. He said that it was understandable that having lost both parents, I wouldn’t wish to sustain further loss. Still, in time he came around and agreed that I’d made the right choice.”
“And your siblings? What happened to them?”
“At the time my brothers were already eighteen and seventeen, so they were off and on their own within a year. Jerrod headed west to follow our father’s dream of living in California. Harold married the daughter of a United States senator and they live in Washington.”
“And your little sister?”
“Beth was just fourteen but with all the work involved in keeping this place going she grew up fast. When she was eighteen, she fell in love with a British photographer who had come to the island that summer. She ran off to London with him, sending word they had been married by the ship’s captain on their voyage across the Atlantic.”
“How romantic. Is she happy?”
Nola laughed. “Well, she’s certainly busy. Her husband is the court photographer and they live in the country where Beth is busy raising sheep and three children.”
“So why did you stay?”
Because this is home—for all of us—and someone has to be the keeper of that haven of solace and comfort.
“They have their lives and homes. This is mine.”
“And when was the last time you visited any of them? When was the last time you left this island, Nola, for anything but business?”
“Now, Ellie,” she began, but the actress held up her palms.
“Don’t you ‘Now, Ellie’ me, Nola Burns. You’ve talked of the past and the dreams you had as a girl—dreams that never included running this tearoom for the rest of your life. Let’s see, your excuses probably run along the lines of ‘It’s the busy season,’” she mocked in a falsetto tone. “Or ‘Maybe next year.’ Well, take it from me, my friend, those next years go by fast and before you know it they’ve passed you by and you’re left with only memories.”
