by Anna Schmidt
The steamer was filled with guests from the mainland—businessmen, politicians and their wives—eager to reach the island, get settled in their hotels and get dressed for an evening that promised to be as grand as anything they had ever attended on Broadway. After landing Lillian Russell for the finale, Harry was quite certain they would not be disappointed.
But he was focused on one thing and one thing only—seeing Nola again. Although he had been away for only a fewdays, it felt more like weeks. She had haunted his dreams and more than once he had found himself prowling the streets of Manhattan after midnight as he tried to understand exactly where his relationship with Miss Burns was headed.
She’s tied to the island, he reminded God nightly in his prayers. That place is the only home she’s ever known. The life I lead is so unsettled. How could she ever want that? Other than money—which she doesn’t seem to care about—what can I offer her?
He lost himself in the beat of his footsteps on the deserted streets.
Love. Love. Love.
Harry knew the difference between a casual romance and abiding love. He’d known plenty of the former, but never the latter—until now. As much as he had tried to deny it, the truth of it was that he was in love with Nola. He simply could not imagine his life without her. These last few days had been testament to that and the very thought of being separated from her through the fall and winter while he produced his musical—their musical—had become increasingly unbearable.
Okay, I love her. Enough to go live with her on Nantucket? Shrink my dreams to managing local productions for the cabaret while I write plays for others to stage on the mainland?
“She would never ask that of me,” he muttered.
And what would I ask of her?
“Ah, my sweet Nola, we could have it all—you and I—everything we could ever want.”
But getting what a person wanted was not at all the same as getting what was needed. Starbuck had learned that when he had left the island to make his fortune. He had wanted success. He had wanted power. He had wanted money enough to live the life he chose. But even once he had achieved all of that, it had not been enough. He had needed to write plays, to tell stories that might touch hearts and change minds.
“And now what do you need?” he wondered aloud.
Nola.
Alistair Gillenwater joined Harry on deck as the steamer made its approach to Nantucket.
“I understand you bought the Sagan property,” he said as he took some time to light his pipe in the wind.
“It’ll be a good location for the inn.”
“Better than the Burns place?”
“That property is no longer an option.”
“Really?” Alistair puffed on his cigar as he digested this news. “And Miss Nola? Where does she fit on your agenda, Harrison?”
Harry leaned against the railing of the steamer as it sailed toward the dock in Nantucket Town. “Nola isn’t on any business agenda,” Harry replied, recalling the decision and purchase he’d made just before meeting Alistair at the docks. “Once we get through this opening, I hope to persuade her to be my wife.”
Nola was planning the final details for the reception she had offered to host following the opening performance, when she heard a familiar voice shouting her name.
“Nola?”
Heads turned in the tearoom as Starbuck bounded up the front steps and burst into the foyer. “Good afternoon, folks,” he said as he swept off his hat and bowed. “Miss Nola?”
“What on earth?” Nola came rushing out from her office as Starbuck started down the hall toward the kitchen. When he turned and grinned at her, she had to restrain herself from the urge to rush into his arms and welcome him home. Instead she forced a frown. “Harrison Starbuck,” she scolded under her breath as she settled for taking him by the arm and leading him into her office. “You seem to have forgotten that this is a place of business.”
“I need your help,” he said, then he grinned broadly and added, “and I missed you. Did you miss me, Miss Nola?”
Of course, she had.
“It seems as if you just left and now here you are back again. I’ve been so busy…” But then unable to keep up the ruse, she broke into a wide smile and nodded. “Have you been to the cabaret yet?”
“I came straight here.”
Nola’s heart skipped a beat.
“I need you to help me keep my surprise a surprise until tonight.”
Oh. Her smile tightened against her disappointment that business had brought him to her.
Oblivious to the crests and valleys of her emotions, he led her over to the window and pointed to a woman seated in a carriage. “That’s the actress, Lillian Russell,” he whispered as if he might be overheard.
Nola looked at the woman in the wrinkled brown suit with frizzy wisps of hair escaping a haphazard bun at the nape of her neck. The woman glanced back and leaned a bit forward to peer up at the tearoom.
“No.”
“Yes,” Harry assured her. “And I need you to hide her here until tonight.”
“Wouldn’t she prefer the hotel?”
Harry chuckled. “She’d prefer the Ritz in Paris, but she owes me a favor and she’ll go along with the plan. Actually I think she’s rather enjoying all the subterfuge. Alistair completely ignored her on the way over—had no clue who she was.”
“And what is the plan?”
“She is posing as my secretary. Since every other accommodation in town is booked, we’ll say that you have agreed to rent her a room. She’ll stay here until tonight at which time I will arrange for Jonah to collect the two of you and bring you to the cabaret.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
Harry grinned. “It’s fun and furthermore, everyone is going to be so surprised. Think of the pleasure they’ll all have once they realize that the grand lady of the international stage herself has come to ’Sconset. Even those who have turned up their noses at you and Ellie and the others will come around when they see Miss Russell up on that stage.”
“I don’t know…”
“Trust me, Nola. Once the good people of ’Sconset have the opportunity to attend the opening of their cabaret and once they can tell visitors for years to come that they were in attendance the night Lillian Russell graced that very stage, all of the insults and snubs and warnings will be a thing of the past.”
Nola glanced toward her desk where she could see the corner of the unopened blue envelope sticking out from beneath her ledger. “It might work at that,” she admitted.
“Fantastic,” Harry said and punctuated his joy by giving her a quick hug. “Wait right there. I’ll go get Lillian.”
Lillian played her part to perfection, even slouching a bit as she entered the foyer. Guests in the tearoom glanced up at the opening and closing of the tearoom door, but quickly dismissed the woman in the wrinkled brown suit and went back to their tea and conversation. Even Judy showed little curiosity as Nola led the woman up the stairs.
“I have a room just at the top of the stairs,” Nola said. “I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable.”
“Yes, miss,” Lillian murmured as she followed Nola up the stairs. “Thank you, miss.”
But the minute they were clear of an audience she straightened to her full height, pulled off the ridiculous oversize glasses and surveyed Nola from head to toe. “So you are the inimitable Miss Burns,” she said. “I must say, my dear, that on the journey over I thought if I had to hear Harrison even mention your name, much less sing your praises, for one more moment, I would surely jump overboard.”
“Mr. Starbuck has a tendency toward the overstatement,” Nola said as she led the way into the largest bedroom and quickly bent to straighten a wrinkle in the bedspread.
“On the contrary. Harry has a keen eye for raw talent. If he says that you are a gifted composer, then you are. Oh, I suspect that his little operetta will improve under the hands of a more experienced lyricist and composer, but from wh
at he showed me of your work, the basics are certainly there for him to once again be the toast of New York this season. I only wish I were available to play the lead.”
“I’m sure if you told Harry—Mr. Starbuck—of your interest, he would…”
Lillian sat down at the dressing table and removed her gloves and hat. “I’ll be performing in Europe this autumn. Perhaps sometime in the future, you and Harry can write something else for me.”
The idea was preposterous, so much so that Nola smothered a smile. “I suspect this will be my first and only venture into composing for the stage, Miss Russell.”
Lillian spun around. “Why on earth should that be? You’re young and it seems to me that you have found the perfect place for composing.” She gestured toward the open window. “The music of the sea accompanied by the breeze, and I assume there must be a foghorn somewhere close by. I know experienced composers who would be thrilled to find such perfect solitude in which to work.”
Nola could see that once she had made up her mind to something, Lillian Russell simply could not fathom there might be any stumbling blocks. Like the need to earn a living and sustain the tearoom and…
“Now, if you will excuse me, my dear, I really must lie down. It’s been an exhausting day and one must be at one’s very best for the public.”
“Of course. Just let me know if there’s anything you need,” Nola said and backed her way out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Nola dressed for the evening with more care than she had lavished on herself in years. On her way through her parlor to await Jonah’s arrival, she pulled out the unopened blue envelope. She had told no one about it and as she fingered the stiff blue paper, she wondered if perhaps she should read it or give it over to Officer Daniels or…
“No,” she said firmly. “No more.”
She took the thing by one corner, holding it as if it were some foul garbage, and walked to the kitchen. The fire in Judy’s cookstove was no more than a pile of glowing embers until Nola dropped the envelope on top. She watched it catch fire, watched the corners of the envelope curl and blacken, saw the coward’s words clipped from magazines turn to ash and firmly slid the cast-iron cover plate back into place. Then without a backward look, she walked back to the foyer to wait with Lillian for Jonah to bring the surrey around.
Chapter Seventeen
Backstage, Harry had finally given in to Alistair’s pleading and revealed his surprise. And when the actress arrived, still dressed in disguise, Alistair had practically been on his knees begging her forgiveness and insisting that she must allow him and his dear wife to host her during her visit.
“Why, Mr. Gillenwater, how very kind of you to ask. I had thought to hurry back to New York, but the truth is that I am quite charmed by your little village. A short respite would do me good, and I would be delighted to spend that time with you and Mrs. Gillenwater, but Harry tells me your daughter is betrothed to Charles Carrington. Surely Mrs. Gillenwater has her hands full planning the wedding?”
“Oh, but you must allow us the honor,” Alistair insisted. “My wife would never forgive me if I allowed you to spend your holiday elsewhere. Besides, the Carringtons are staying with us, as well.”
“Really? The elder Charles and his delightful wife are dear friends of mine. It will be lovely to see them again. I accept your most kind invitation with pleasure.”
Once Lillian had agreed to spend at least one night in the Gillenwater mansion, Harry knew the evening was going to be even more successful than even he could have imagined. Rose Gillenwater might not care for theater people in general, but to play host to one of America’s international stars as well as the renowned shipping magnate was something the matriarch would not be able to resist.
When Nola saw Harry step into the hall from backstage, she felt as if she could not breathe properly. He was dressed in black evening wear, set off by a brilliant white starched shirtfront and perfectly tied white silk tie. He had smoothed back his usually unruly hair so that his sharp cheekbones and strong jaw were even more prominent than usual. She saw him scan the room and when his eyes settled on her, it was as if all the other guests had simply disappeared.
He started across the room working his way through tangles of chattering guests, pausing briefly for acknowledgements or introductions, but all the while fixing his gaze back on Nola the moment he was free. And when he was still several feet away and Nola was inclined to step forward and meet him, Oliver and Minnie Franks appeared at her side.
“Ah, so the prodigal returns,” Oliver joked. “Quite a crowd, wouldn’t you say, Harry? You and your partners must be quite pleased.”
“Indeed, it looks as if it’s going to be quite an evening, Oliver, thanks to you and Minnie. I’m not sure you fully appreciate what you’ve both contributed to this production.”
“Happy to help,” Oliver assured him. “We appreciate the mention in the program.”
At last he turned his attention to Nola. “Miss Nola, may I say that you are looking quite lovely this evening?”
“Thank you.”
“I have to go backstage right away, but may I see you afterward?”
“Mrs. Lang and I must leave as soon as the final curtain comes down. I’ve offered to host a reception following the performance. Will you come?”
To her surprise, Harry frowned. “Of course. I’ll look forward to it, but if you have a moment later, Nola, I have something to ask you.”
Nola glanced up at him. His expression was so serious—his “business” face, Ellie had once called it. So, here it was, she realized. We are business associates and nothing more. Oh, dear God, please give me the strength to put my fantasies aside and accept him for who he is and appreciate whatever he is willing to offer.
She searched his eyes for something, anything, that might suggest more, but all she saw was that he was waiting for her answer so she forced a smile and nodded. And in that moment Nola knew that she had chosen. Once Harry and the others left—before the loneliness set in, she would close up the house and tearoom and then what? Perhaps go to visit her siblings? Yes, spend the holidays in England with her sister and the nieces and the nephew she had never seen.
She had earned his respect and that had given her the confidence she needed to move forward to whatever the next stage of her life might bring. Harry and the others had opened her eyes and her heart to a whole new world of possibilities beyond running the tearoom. When he had taken her talent for composing seriously, he had given her the confidence to explore that. Surely, that was God’s gift in bringing them together. You have changed me, she thought, but said, “I’ll be waiting.”
The grin he bathed her in was radiant and warm as he dashed to a side exit that would take him backstage.
Nola took her seat on the aisle and opened her program. Her name was there beneath Harry’s—Original compositions by Miss Nola Burns. Her hand trembled as she closed the program and held it on her lap as if it were some precious jewel, and when she heard her music played by the small orchestra Harry had hired to accompany the actors, her heart skipped a beat. She immediately sent up a silent prayer begging forgiveness for the pride she couldn’t seem to help but feel. But it was one thing to plunk out the notes of an original melody and scribble them onto a music grid, and quite another to hear the true intricacies of her compositions as played by multiple instruments. The moment Billy began singing Harry’s lyrics to her melody, Nola knew that whatever else might happen that evening, this was a moment she would treasure for the rest of her life.
It wasn’t long before she realized that the story unfolding on stage was not only touching her, it had captured the rapt attention of everyone in the theater. No one moved and it was that stillness that made Nola realize that a story about simple faith was everything Harry had ever imagined it might be. No one rustled a program. No woman fumbled with gloves or jewelry or gown. No man cleared his throat or shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was as if people had been pulled into the
drama playing out before them, and the effect was thrilling to behold.
As the curtain fell on the first act the audience took a split second to react but then they applauded loudly and a few people even cheered. Nola wished that she could be backstage with the others. How excited they must all be. Ellie had talked so much about how the actors onstage could always gauge an audience’s reaction. “Sometimes we can feel them breathing,” she’d said. “And when a performance is truly touching them, it’s almost as if audience and performers have joined hands across the footlights. We are reaching their hearts and they are inspiring us to bring our best to the role.”
How Nola wished she could share this moment with Harry. She could just imagine how excited he must be. And if only he could hear the praise being heaped upon him from those in the audience.
“I always knew that Harrison Starbuck was a gifted playwright, but choosing to present this latest work as an operetta is truly inspired,” she heard one patron say as he escorted his wife back to their seats for the start of the second act. “It will be interesting to see how the production changes once he takes it to the New York stage.”
“We should plan to attend the opening night performance,” the woman replied.
Nola had to restrain herself from running backstage to tell Harry that people were already planning to see the production in New York. And then as the conductor tapped his baton on his podium and the musicians played the introduction to the second act opening, Nola realized that in just a few months, her music would be playing nightly on a New York stage. It might not be the concert halls she had dreamed of as a child, but it was a long way from a battered upright piano in the corner of a ’Sconset, Massachusetts tearoom.
By the second intermission, the audience was buzzing with excitement. It was as if they knew they were seeing something in its infancy that would one day be considered a classic of the American stage. And the atmosphere was positively electric when Harry stepped to the center of the stage before the final act. The applause that greeted him was thunderous. Nola watched him acknowledge the ovation with a slight bow and that boyish smile that would forever become her remembrance of this very special season.
