But I still just wish you were home right now. Everything goes better when you are here. Especially Buddy. Like, last night he and Trixie had a fight over the last piece of pie. Trixie said she ought to have it because she was older and prettier. So Buddy gave her a shove and said he was going to get it because he was bigger and meaner. What he said word for word, was, “Prettier doesn’t count. Bigger and meaner is what gets the pie.”
That’s exactly what he said, William. Bigger and meaner is what gets the pie.
And Aunt Fiona just laughed and hugged him and said he wasn’t mean enough to scare her. That’s the way she is about Buddy. I think it must be because she had him first when he was a helpless little newborn baby, and she just can’t see that he’s not all that helpless anymore. It really worries me, William.
But anyway, you’ll see us soon. All of us, the pretty ones and the mean ones—and me.
Jancy
Aunt Fiona’s letter was much shorter. She just said how delighted she was that they would be able to see him in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. And how it wouldn’t be long now.
No, it wouldn’t be, William thought, as he got ready for bed. Not long until he was back in Gold Beach with all of them and, as Miss Scott had pointed out, no more big cheering audiences and standing ovations, and autograph signing. Instead there would just be school, and being at home with Aunt Fiona and Jancy and the kids.
And could Buddy really be turning into a typical Baggett? William sighed and pulled the covers over his head.
CHAPTER
20
The next morning William checked off another day on his calendar. Four more performances this week, two nights off on Monday and Tuesday, and then the last week of Midsummer would start, and his family would be arriving. He found himself thinking about it quite a lot, and even bringing it up in the greenroom and cafeteria, when anyone seemed interested. Both Virginia and Tom had a lot to say about how great they thought it was that his family was finally going to get to see for themselves what a smashing job he was doing in an important Shakespearean production.
It was at breakfast on Wednesday morning that Tom said, “And we’re going to get to meet them, aren’t we? Can’t wait. However, I can’t help wondering … Aren’t the two little ones a bit young to sit still for two hours of Shakespeare?”
William assured him they’d be fine. “They can practically recite the play by heart, and The Tempest, too. All last year when I was practicing I used to try to make them line up and sit still and listen while I did my speeches.” He grinned. “Sometimes they did, but Jancy and her guinea pig were the only audience I could always count on.”
“Aha.” Tom waggled his finger in the air. Looking around at the other people at the table, he said, “So that’s his secret. All you have to do is to round up some toddlers and a guinea pig to critique your rehearsals, and you’ll soon be stealing the show, like our young friend here.” Everyone laughed, and William did too, but behind the laughter, that stuff about “stealing the show” made him a little uneasy.
He was still thinking about the “stealing the show” remark when he got to the greenroom that afternoon. Thinking and wishing that there was something he could say to people like Sydney Apley, for instance, so that they’d know he wasn’t doing it on purpose. But then, as he walked into the crowded room, something happened that took his mind off the “show stealing” problem.
He was barely inside the room when he noticed that Clarice was coming toward him, smiling a big smile and batting her eyes the way she used to before she got mad at him. But then, just as he was beginning to smile back, she went right past him. So William went on until he reached the other side of the room, where he turned around and saw that the person Clarice had been smiling at had been—Bernard. Bernard?
And now the two of them were talking as they walked toward the coffee bar. Or at least Clarice was, talking and smiling, and Bernard seemed to be listening. She went on until they came to the refrigerator, where they stopped long enough for Bernard to start getting out some Cokes. At that point William decided he needed to check the call-board and went in the other direction.
Nothing new on the call-board, but he stood there for a while reading old notices while he thought over what he had just seen and what it meant. And what, if anything, he ought to do about it. Perhaps it was because he’d been worrying about what Tom had said about “stealing the show,” or for some other reason, but William had been having a vague feeling that he ought to apologize to someone. And now it occurred to him that maybe he should apologize to Clarice, for whatever he’d done that had made her so mad at him. Or else to Bernard for … for what?
He’d gotten about that far when Mr. Turner, his dresser, came by and said, “Hey, there you are, Mr. Goodfellow.” He pointed to his watch. “Time to suit up.”
So then came another performance with another full house and, as usual, lots of clapping and cheering for William during his curtain calls. It wasn’t until later, when he was back in his room in the dormitory, that he had time to think some more about seeing Clarice and Bernard in the greenroom. It was kind of confusing. So much so that he decided he should try to write about it, to see if that might help him to figure it out. So he got out his journal and began.
So—I saw something this afternoon that’s kind of hard to make heads or tails of. Clarice and Bernard talking together. Or at least Bernard listening while Clarice talked to him—in a very friendly way. The thing is, back when she was still speaking to me, she was insisting that we should tell everybody that Bernard stole my promptbook and greased my entry rope. She kept insisting that we should tell on him because he ought to be punished for what he did. And the very last time she talked to me, she said she’d already told him that we knew what he did. So he knows, and that might explain why he’s trying to be friendlier, so I might forgive him and not tell on him. But that doesn’t explain why Clarice stopped speaking to me. Stopped absolutely. I mean not even hi. All I can think is, maybe she’s trying to make him think she’s his friend and not mine so he’ll confess. Or else he’s sorry for what he did, and she’s forgiven him. Or else I just don’t understand females.
That night William put his journal away, thinking he would come up with some more ideas on the subject of Clarice and Bernard in the next day or two. But there was so much else to do, and so many people to talk to, that he hadn’t gotten around to it when he woke up one morning and it was Friday, and his family was due to arrive in Mannsville that very afternoon.
The day dragged by, and as it got closer and closer to the time that they might be arriving, William went down to sit in the lounge of Edwin Hall near the receptionist’s desk, so he could get to the phone in a hurry. It was a good thing he’d brought a book with him, because it wasn’t until almost five o’clock that the phone rang, and when Mrs. Rogers, the receptionist, picked it up, she motioned for William to come. “It’s for you,” she said with a big smile. “They’re here.”
It was Aunt Fiona on the phone, and after they’d said hello she told him that they had checked into their motel to freshen up, and they were ready to drive to the college campus. “And where shall we meet you?” Aunt Fiona wanted to know. In the background a familiar voice was saying, “Here, let me. I want to talk to Willum.”
William looked at his watch. “Well,” he told Aunt Fiona, “I have to be at the theater by seven, so I don’t know if I’ll have time to go downtown for dinner.”
“I know,” Aunt Fiona said. “You won’t need to. Miss Scott sent me a map of Mannsville and a complimentary pass to the cafeteria for the whole family, as well as tickets to tonight’s performance. If you can just tell me how to get to Edwin Hall, we’ll come pick you up, and we can all go to the cafeteria together.” And then not exactly into the phone, but loud enough for William to hear, “All right. All right, Buddy. But not for long. Just say hello.”
There was a pause and then a whack and a clackety-clack noise, as if the phone had been dropped and pi
cked up again, and then Buddy’s growly little voice was saying, “Hi, Willum. We’re in a motel. Where are you?”
“Hi, Buddy. I’m at Edwin Hall. It’s a big dormitory. You’re going to come meet me here.”
“What’s a doritory?” Buddy said. “Is it a long way? We already came a long way. We’re hungry. There’s nothing in a motel but beds and a baffroom. Nothing to eat. Willum, what I want is—”
But then Aunt Fiona was saying, “Here, Buddy. Give me the phone, please. No, no. Give it to me. Right now, Buddy.”
After that there were some more scuffling noises, and then Aunt Fiona came on again and William was able to tell her how to get to Edwin Hall. Outside the dormitory’s double doors, William sat down on the top step to wait.
CHAPTER
21
When Aunt Fiona’s old blue Dodge pulled up in front of Edwin Hall, all three of the kids jumped out and ran up the steps. Watching them come, William noticed that Jancy’s thick, curly hair looked like a real hairdo now, instead of a mop, and that Trixie still looked a lot like Shirley Temple. And as for Buddy … He was still kind of big for his age. Nothing new about that, except that now his big grin exposed one thing that was new and different. A gap where one of his front teeth used to be.
William had just started down the stairs when they were all over him. Grabbing his hands and hugging him and talking a mile a minute, except for Buddy, who just stood there and grinned until William poked him in the chest and asked, “You losing your teeth already, kid?”
“I didn’t lose it,” Buddy said proudly. “It’s right here in my pocket. It got knocked out.” His grin widened. “I knocked out two of his.”
But then Trixie interrupted by hanging on to William’s arm as she bounced up onto her tiptoes and down again. “Here we are. Look at me, William. I have a new dress. See my new dress, William?”
“Hey,” Jancy was saying, “you said you hadn’t grown any, but I think you have. You look bigger, William. Taller and everything.” She looked up at Edwin Hall. “Wow. Is this where you live? It’s huge. Look, kids. This is where William lives. Right here in this great big building.”
“Is it a palace?” Trixie said. “Can we see it? I want to see.” She ran up and opened one of the double doors and peeked in. “Oh look, Jancy,” she said. “It’s so big.”
So they all had to peek in with Trixie saying, “Where’s your bed, William? Where do you sleep?”
And Buddy asking, “Where’s the kitchen?”
By then Aunt Fiona was there too, hugging William and asking him how much time he had before he had to report to the theater.
“Oh, there’s time,” he told her. “I don’t have to be there till seven, and it isn’t far to the cafeteria. If we go in the car, it will only take a couple of minutes. Come on. I’ll show you my room.”
So he led the way up to room 217 and showed them where he slept, and the great view from his window, before they took off for the cafeteria. William was right about how quickly they could get there, but what he hadn’t foreseen was that it was going to take longer than usual to get through the line. All the cooks came out of the kitchen to say hello and shake hands, and laugh when Buddy insisted that William lift him up over the counter so he could be sure he’d gotten some of everything—except the string beans. And even after they all had their food and were seated at a table, they were still the center of attention. Other members of the cast and crew kept coming over to be introduced, and to say things about what a great job William was doing, and that he was the big hit of the show, and other friendly, if slightly embarrassing, things.
But when the crowd was thinning out and the members of the cast were all leaving for the theater, Buddy was still eating. William took out his map of the campus and showed Aunt Fiona how to get to the theater. “And you don’t have to be there right away,” he told her. “But the doors open at seven thirty. Just be sure you get there pretty soon after that. If you see a big, tall man in a blue uniform, that’s Sergeant Blanding. He’s a friend of mine, and he said he’d show you a good place to park.”
Taking the map, Aunt Fiona said, “It looks like quite a ways. Don’t you want me to drive you?”
“Oh no,” William said. “I’m used to it. I’ll probably catch a ride, and even if I don’t, I can run there in ten minutes.”
So he was off at a trot, and only a few minutes later he was in his dressing room, telling his dresser about his family and how they would be in the audience tonight, while he was helped into his tights and tunic, and got his pointed elf ears taped on.
It wasn’t until Mr. Turner had finished with him and—elf-eared, face painted, and dressed in his leafy tunic—he was on his way through the dimly lit wings, that he realized that the special excitement he’d been feeling had faded away, leaving behind an uneasy premonition that something was about to happen. Something strange and threatening. Bernard again? Up to some other nasty trick? He stopped and looked around. Nothing. No sign of Bernard or anything out of the ordinary that he might have done. Just a lot of hanging curtains and cardboard sets, and in between only the usual dimly lit spaces.
Moving on, William told himself that what he was feeling wasn’t at all the same as the stage fright he’d had when he was waiting for his audition, or for his cue on opening night. This was different.
He had stopped two or three times before he suddenly figured it out. It was just the memory of that stupid dream. The one about the shapeless shadow that had oozed out of the backstage darkness and turned into something that looked almost like a Baggett.
He shrugged and grinned ruefully, telling himself to forget it. “It was just a stupid dream,” he whispered. “Only a dream.”
At that moment his entry cue pushed everything else out of his mind. Tiptoeing out onto the stage, hiding behind trees and bushes, he spied on Quince and Bottom and, as easily as ever, turned into the acrobatic, mischievous Robin Goodfellow, servant of King Oberon.
The show went as usual, with the audience laughing along with Puck while he overheard the villagers planning their play, and gasping and then clapping as he made his acrobatic entry, on a vine that didn’t feel or smell like bacon grease.
Entirely forgetting, at least for the time being, his strange attack of nervousness, he threw himself into the role as completely as ever, or even more so. Once or twice during his longer speeches—remembering how, when he was practicing back home, he sometimes had to poke Trixie or Buddy to wake them up—he threw in a bit of extra action like a backward flip or a handstand, just to liven things up a bit.
And then, at last, it was time for the final curtain and, as usual, Puck got the loudest applause and the most curtain calls. And afterward his family came into his dressing room, bouncing and bubbling with excitement.
Aunt Fiona wanted to know who had decided to pad Puck’s part so much. She was smiling as she said, “An amazing performance, William. But tell me something. I’ve seen this play before, more than once, and I don’t recall seeing all that much of our friend Robin Goodfellow.”
“I know.” William grinned. “It happened kind of gradually. The director just kept thinking of other business for me to do. So I’d try it out, and if he liked it he’d put it in for good. Oh, once in a while he’d say just forget it, but a lot of the time he told me to keep doing it.”
Jancy just kept saying “wonderful,” in a voice that absolutely quivered with enthusiasm. “It was so wonderful. You were wonderful, William. Everything was wonderful. Wonderful.”
Trixie said she thought William was wonderful too, but if she was ever in A Midsummer Night’s Dream she would rather be a fairy, because their costumes were prettier.
And Buddy grinned his gap-toothed grin and said, “I mostly liked it too. Most of the time I didn’t sleep very much.”
As soon as William got out of his costume, he took the whole family around backstage. They visited the greenroom and the costume room and met all the backstage crew. Jerry and some of the younger fairi
es had already gone home, but two of the older ones were still there. The one named Alicia let Trixie try on her wings, which caused a long delay when Trixie refused to take them off until she had admired herself in every mirror in the costume room.
It was very late when they left the auditorium, and the parking lot had pretty much emptied except for Sergeant Blanding and an old woman who was having trouble starting her enormous Cadillac. The whole family walked out into the parking lot just in time to see the big policeman single-handedly push the Cadillac halfway across the lot until the motor caught and it finally started.
They were all very impressed. Especially Buddy. When they finally got into the Dodge and headed for Edwin Hall, and the rest of them went back to talking about William and Shakespeare, Buddy went on talking about how that policeman pushed that great big car all by himself.
CHAPTER
22
That night, when he was finally back in Edwin Hall, William fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, so it wasn’t until much later that he woke up remembering the strange feeling that he’d had just before he went onstage. Coming suddenly back to consciousness out of a deep sleep, he was once more aware of the premonition that something unpleasant was close, and getting closer. He tossed and turned for what seemed like a long time, reminding himself over and over again that it had just been a silly dream, before he finally was able to go back to sleep.
The next morning at breakfast everything seemed pretty normal. The two littlest Hardisons were full of eager excitement and, just as before, lots of the cast came over to their table to visit. Even Sydney Apley, who wasn’t a particular friend of William’s, came over to test the rumor that Trixie and Buddy knew the names of all the characters in the play and could pick out who played each part. When Sydney asked them if they knew who he was, Trixie and Buddy both said, “Lysander” or, in Buddy’s case, something pretty close to it.
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