by Jen Turano
Rising to her feet, Lucetta walked Millie and Harriet to the door, kissing Harriet’s cheek before she smiled. “Shall we plan on traveling to Delmonico’s after the show to enjoy a late dinner?”
“You do remember that I almost burned that place down, don’t you?” Harriet asked.
“Which is why I suggested going there, so you can redeem yourself.”
Opening the door even as Harriet muttered something about not knowing if they’d let her back in Delmonico’s, Lucetta watched her friends walk away as Mr. Skukman stepped forward and followed her back into the dressing room.
“Glad to be back, Miss Plum?” he asked, taking up his usual stance by the door so that he could walk with her to the stage, making sure her admirers didn’t have an opportunity to get too close to her.
“I’m not certain about that, Mr. Skukman. I love taking to the stage, but . . . have you ever felt as if you might have moved . . . on from something?”
He smiled an honest-to-goodness smile. “I have, and”—he leaned forward and lowered his voice—“do know that I’ll be more than happy to assist you if you decide to move on into work for the poor souls in the tenements. You can help them with investments, I can make sure order is maintained, and Miss Ruby, well, I bet her financial knowledge could be put to good use too, if we’d ask her to join us.”
“Ah, so that’s going well, is it?”
“She’s delightful, and . . . appreciates poems written by Lord Byron.”
Lucetta grinned. “She’s a keeper—that’s for certain.”
Slipping on the high heels she always saved for last, Lucetta drew in a deep breath and nodded, the nod having Mr. Skukman opening the door for her and then walking with her to the back of the stage. Taking up his position stage right, he sent her a nod as she strode onto the stage just as the curtain began to rise.
Drawing in another breath, she blew it out, straightened her shoulders, and became, much to the delight of the audience now cheering as they caught sight of her, Serena Seamore, the lady in the tower.
Summoning up the lines she hadn’t seen or spoken for several weeks, she threw herself into the character she’d been entrusted to play, a character she now knew Bram had created specifically for her. Even though he’d done so to make certain she’d have a steady income, when she’d actually needed nothing of the sort, the knowledge that Bram had sat at his desk, in his slightly disturbing dungeon, and typed out the words she was now saying, humbled her.
Just a few weeks earlier she’d been annoyed by his assumption that she’d needed anyone to take care of her. Why her attitude about that had changed, she couldn’t really say, although she was fairly certain it was one of those life-altering epiphanies—an epiphany orchestrated by God, no doubt, and one she knew she’d been blessed to receive. However, since she was currently on stage, and with a full house watching her, she tucked all thoughts of epiphanies aside, to be brought out again at a more leisurely time, and concentrated on her performance.
By the time she reached the third act, she was her character, but as she turned to speak lines to one of her fellow actors, she stopped dead in her tracks because that actor was nowhere in sight, replaced with, of all things, a . . . strange-looking contraption being wheeled out on the stage, a contraption that had . . . She blinked and then blinked again.
A man was hanging from what was apparently a ceiling—by his feet, no less—and that man just happened to be . . . Bram.
The theater went completely silent, at least for a second, and then Lucetta heard the distinct sound of ladies sighing, and she couldn’t say she blamed them.
Bram Haverstein, even hanging upside down and turning quite red in the face because of the whole hanging business, was a very handsome gentleman.
Blinking out of those ridiculous thoughts because she finally remembered she was standing on a stage with hundreds of people watching her, she summoned up a smile even as she wondered what she was supposed to do.
“You seem to be in a bit of a pickle” was all she could think to say, her words causing Bram to release an honest-to-goodness snort.
“Script,” he called.
Before Lucetta could voice a protest, because she’d never, as in ever, had to have someone bring her a script or feed her lines during a performance—the debacle with Miss Dunlap certainly didn’t count—Mr. Skukman came strolling across the stage. He thrust a script into her hands a second later, not even bothering to hide a grin as he turned and strolled away.
Glancing at the first page, she brought it closer to her face, the words settled in her mind, and she nodded, just once.
“If you’ll just hold tight, sir, I’ll get you down,” she said even as the thought struck that she had no idea how she’d go about pretending to cut him down when she couldn’t reach his feet since they were tied up rather high, and . . . she had nothing at hand to use to cut him down with.
She’d barely finished that thought when Ruby, with Mr. Skukman, trotted across the stage with a ladder and set it up for her. Before they walked away, Mr. Skukman handed her a knife, although she didn’t miss the fact that he sent upside-down Bram a wary look, as if to question the saneness of that particular part of the plot.
“You’re supposed to climb up here,” Bram said, sounding a little winded.
“That direction isn’t written in the script,” she returned.
“I know, but if you don’t climb up here, you won’t be able to rescue me.”
Taking hold of the ladder, she began to climb, stopping when she got to eye level with him. That, however, turned out to be a mistake, because the moment her eyes met his, she forgot everything—even the lines she’d just committed to memory—because nothing else mattered to her except . . . him.
“You wrote a scene with a strong heroine in it, and one where the hero gets dangled by his feet.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t figure out a better way to let you know I love you, the real you, without dangling from my feet and letting you cut me down.”
Lucetta’s eyes immediately took to turning a little misty. “You . . . love me?”
“I do, but before we continue this, I have to admit that hanging upside down is far less pleasant than I imagined, so if you’d be so kind, I really do need you to get me down from here.”
Realizing he was completely serious, but also realizing if she cut him down he’d go plummeting to the hard floor and most likely suffer a horrible injury—which certainly wouldn’t have the night turning out well at all—Lucetta looked to the side of the stage and caught Mr. Skukman’s eye.
As he, along with a good number of backstage hands, walked across the boards, whispers began circulating around the theater, growing louder after Bram got released and rose to his feet. Smiling ever so charmingly at the audience, he presented them with a small bow right before he took center stage.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I must beg your indulgence for just a few more minutes because you see . . . I am . . . Mr. Grimstone.”
The whispers ceased immediately.
Bram smiled. “I’m Mr. Grimstone, alias Mr. Bram Haverstein, and I’ve come here tonight, with all of you as my witnesses, to proclaim my love for Miss Lucetta Plum, and . . .” He dropped to one knee. “Ask her to do me the very great honor of becoming my wife.” He reached out and took hold of Lucetta’s hand.
“Miss Lucetta Plum, I am completely and irrevocably in love with you, and just so we’re clear, I’m in love with the real you, not the person you turn into when you take to the stage. I love the idea that you’re completely oblivious to your unusual beauty, can outrun a goat, and . . . you fascinate me as no one ever has. I’m asking you, in front of all of these people who will probably never buy another one of my books again if you turn me down . . .” He stopped talking and turned his head to the audience. “And just to remind everyone, I will have another novel releasing soon, although I haven’t decided on a title just yet, something about a s
trong-willed lady, no doubt, or . . .”
“You’re getting distracted,” Lucetta interrupted.
Bram immediately returned his gaze to hers. “Quite right, but . . . I’ve lost my train of thought.”
“You were just about to the part where you were going to ask her to marry you,” a voice called out, a voice that sounded remarkably like Abigail’s.
“Thank you, Grandmother,” he called back.
“You’re welcome, darling. And just to remind you, I’m not getting any younger, so you might want to hurry this proposal business along.”
Grinning, Bram shook his head, brought Lucetta’s fingers to his lips, and then sobered as he held her gaze.
“I love you, Lucetta, more than I ever imagined I could, and I would be so incredibly honored if you’d agree to be my wife.”
For a second, Lucetta was unable to answer him because her heart had taken to rising in her throat, but after drawing in a deep breath, she managed to nod, ignoring the tears that had filled her eyes and were blurring her vision.
“I would be honored to become your wife, especially since—I’m not sure when this happened, but—I’m in love with you as well.”
Bram’s hold on her hand tightened for just a second, and then he was sliding a ring on her finger she hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Before she could take even a second to admire what felt like an enormous rock on her hand, he was standing instead of kneeling, looking intently into her eyes, before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
The entire theater faded away, as did the whispers, titters, and if she wasn’t much mistaken, applause, as Bram continued kissing her before he drew back, cupped her face with his hands, and smiled. It was a wonderful smile, filled with love, hope, and maybe even, a dash of naughtiness and danger.
“That’ll keep everyone talking for a while,” he said with a wink.
“I’m sure it will, and . . . now that we’ve gotten ourselves engaged, I, my soon-to-be husband, have a scene to finish.”
Bram turned his head and whistled, the whistle resulting in Sweet Pea being led onto the stage, pulling her pony cart.
“That’s why I brought a horse.”
“Sweet Pea is a mule, but even if she was a horse, there’s not a horse in The Lady of the Tower—which you know since you penned the play.”
“True, but I brought Sweet Pea along because of the scene in my new novel, the scene where you cut me down, then hoist me over your horse’s back, and then we go galloping off into the night.”
“I’m not sure if a heroine will actually have the strength needed to hoist the hero onto a horse, and . . . again, you brought Sweet Pea and a pony cart, so . . . I’m not exactly certain how I should proceed.”
“I tried to bring Storm, but Ernie pointed out that if Storm doesn’t like graveyards he probably wouldn’t like the theater, and that’s when Ernie offered to loan me Sweet Pea, and . . . maybe I should just climb in the cart and you can join me.” With that, Bram took hold of her hand, stepped into the pony cart, pulled her in after him, and pulled her onto his lap as he settled against the seat. Picking up the reins, he gave them a flick, and Sweet Pea was off, prancing as she was wont to do across the stage, down the ramp, and straight out the back door that Mr. Skukman was already holding open for them.
As they rode away into the night, with Bram’s arms wrapped tightly around her, Lucetta realized that Abigail had been right all along.
Bram was perfect for her in every way, and it was clear to her now that God, in His infinite wisdom and even with her being less than attentive to Him, had steered her exactly where she needed to be steered, allowing her to reconcile with her past and set aside the hurts from that past, in order to finally accept the love of a fine gentleman, a gentleman who only expected her to play the part she’d been born to play—the part of her true self.
Epilogue
DECEMBER 1882
Reverend Gilmore looked out over his congregation, all of them dressed in their Sunday best, or rather, all of them dressed in a manner befitting a wedding.
The flowers of choice weren’t flowers at all, but poinsettias, chosen because the bride adored red but hadn’t wanted roses.
Glancing to his right, Reverend Gilmore smiled at Oliver Addleshaw, Everett Mulberry, and Archibald Addleshaw, pulling his attention away from the men a moment later when music rang out and everyone turned their attention to the back of the church.
Rose and Thaddeus Burkhart, followed by their sister Elizabeth, Everett and Millie’s children of their hearts, were first to enter, walking down the aisle as they smiled and waved, Everett beaming with pride as they took their places in front of the pulpit.
Harriet was next, looking beautiful in a gown of red with her dark hair pulled on top of her head, and a smile on her face, her smile widening when she caught Oliver’s eye and he sent her a wink.
Reverend Gilmore had sorely missed Harriet while she’d been in England. But now she was back, and he was looking forward to enjoying having her around again since she and Oliver had agreed that New York was their home, even though Harriet’s family lived in England.
Millie followed, looking quite like a fairy princess in her gown of red, grinning from ear to ear as she practically skipped down the aisle, never one to miss an opportunity to skip. She didn’t immediately take her place, but hurried over to her husband, Everett, kissing him smartly on the cheek before she hurried back to join Harriet, grinning broadly as she took hold of Harriet’s hand.
Then Lucetta was gliding down the aisle, more beautiful than ever, but with a few wisps of hair slipping out of the knot that had been arranged on her head. The slightly disheveled state of her hair was a direct result of her having to help the bride find something borrowed, the only thing that everyone seemed to have forgotten.
Joining her friends, Lucetta dashed a hand over eyes that had already taken to watering as the music paused for just a second. And then Abigail was standing at the end of the aisle, wearing a gown of ivory that Harriet had designed specifically for her. With one hand she held tightly to the arm of Bram, the grandson she’d finally gotten to know, and the other hand held onto Iris, the daughter finally returned to her. Ruby stood beside Iris—holding a leash, and on the end of that leash was . . . Buford, Harriet and Oliver’s motley dog.
“Why does Ruby have Buford?” Oliver asked no one in particular.
“Abigail needed something borrowed, and Buford was what she chose, but I’m not certain that exactly counts since she’s not holding the leash,” Harriet said in a hushed voice before she put her finger to her lips and nodded back to Abigail.
As Abigail walked down the aisle with Bram, her gaze settling on a smiling Archibald, Reverend Gilmore shot a glance to the stained-glass window that had a simple cross laid into it and bowed his head. His heart was so full from the blessings God had bestowed on the young ladies standing before him—and his dear friend, Abigail, who’d found another chance at love when less than a year before she’d almost given up on living—that he could only summon up two words for the Father who’d been so very, very generous of late.
“Thank you,” Reverend Gilmore whispered before he lifted his head, smiled at Abigail and Archibald, who were now holding hands and beaming his way, and then invited his congregation to join him in prayer.
Jen Turano, the author of seven novels, is a graduate of the University of Akron with a degree in clothing and textiles. She is a member of ACFW and lives in a suburb of Denver, Colorado. Visit her website at www.jenturano.com.
Books by Jen Turano
A Change of Fortune
A Most Peculiar Circumstance
A Talent for Trouble
A Match of Wits
After a Fashion
In Good Company
Playing the Part
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook
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Jen Turano, Playing the Part
