Love Finds You in Branson, Missouri

by Gwen Ford Faulkenberry

  Next was a man who resembled the legendary Santa Claus. He stood, hooking his thumbs in his suspenders. His voice boomed out a deep bass. “I’m Eugene Johnston. I live here in Branson, and I’ve been doing this for ten years. Sometimes I play Old Matt and the doctor, but this go ’round I’m Doc Howard, the Shepherd.” He gave a nod and sat down.

  Beside him was a man just as big and burly, but rougher. Not as polished. And his beard was a scraggly gray-brown. “I’m Billy Joe Spicer. I live out at Kimberling City. Same as him, I play other parts, but for your purposes I’m Old Matt.” He smiled, winking at the little boy next to him. Ellie liked Billy Joe instantly.

  The little boy, James, had deep-set brown eyes, curly dark hair, and a turned-up nose. Ellie fancied him as Huckleberry Finn in his cut-off overalls. He was Billy Joe’s grandson, and he was there to play Pete.

  The introductions went on like this for several minutes. Some of the people Ellie recognized, or thought she did, from the tryouts. Others she’d never met. It seemed like a nice group of people to work with. They were just about finished when a blue tram pulled in and a guy jumped out before it came to a full stop. It couldn’t be, Ellie thought, fear fluttering up in her chest. She squinted through her prescription sunglasses for a better look. Brown eyes, shoulder-length black hair, olive skin, large athletic frame. It was.

  “Sorry I’m late!” he bellowed, jogging over and hurdling the rail that stood between the cast and the set. He was dressed like a rock star in ripped jeans, a black shirt, and a red leather jacket.

  “Well, last but not least, why don’t you introduce yourself?” Will forced a smile in the man’s direction.

  “Seth Young, from St. Louis. I’m here to play Wash Gibbs and—oh, my gosh, is that Ellie Heinrichs?”

  Ellie raised her hand in a weak wave.

  Will clasped his hands, rubbing them together. “Okay, guys, we’re going to start by walking through the whole thing. I know it might seem long, but in my experience that’s the best way to do it. Gives everybody an idea of the big picture before we start refining individual scenes. So we’ll need everybody who’s in scene one down here—bring your scripts—and everyone else stay in the stands and follow along till it’s your turn.”

  “Boss?” It was the guy playing Buck Thompson. “You want me to do my part at the beginning?”

  “Most certainly.”

  * * * * *

  Buck’s part, as it turned out, was to welcome the audience and tell the most awful jokes Ellie had ever heard. In holey overalls, a red shirt, and boots, he talked about the corns on his feet—there to feed his calves—and pretended to shoot a hole in his sock. Listening to him, Ellie had a flashback of herself and Beecher lying on denim beanbags, eating popcorn, and watching The Dukes of Hazzard, which was their habit after a hard day at Hermann Elementary. Buck’s laughter sounded exactly like Rosco P. Coltrane’s. Ironically, it was the perfected mimicking of Rosco’s laughter by Beecher that brought about the end of their Dukes watching. After that, Katherine found what she called a more “constructive” activity for them both—musical instrument practice.

  After Buck’s soliloquy, if it could be called that, the play got underway. The first scene took place at the mill owned by Old Matt, and introduced most of the main male characters. Ellie watched Sammy’s love interest—Young Matt—trying to gauge his voice and movements. He was surprisingly good. Earlier, when he’d introduced himself to the group as Young Matt, his demeanor was meek, which seemed almost a paradox when considered with his strong and sturdy—even beefy—appearance. Like many of the other cast members, he worked at The Shepherd of the Hills in capacities other than just the drama, so he was dressed for his part. His chest was as big as a barrel underneath blue overalls, and huge biceps bulged from the sleeves of a ripped red shirt. But his voice and eyes were gentle. On stage he was gracefully commanding. From Ellie’s limited understanding of his character, this seemed right on. He was going to be easy to work with. This greatly relieved her, especially since she now had the problem of Seth Young—one of the last people she ever wanted to see again.

  However, if she had any question as to why Will would choose Seth Young for the part of Wash Gibbs, it was answered in that first scene when he swaggered onto the set. Brown eyes blazing and black hair shining, even in modern clothes he was the original outlaw. He doesn’t even have to act, thought Ellie. Her first real and true identification with the play came when Young Matt beat Wash Gibbs in a match of brute strength. She felt the pride and triumph of Sammy well up inside her heart for Young Matt—and her hatred burn for Gibbs. Will was a casting genius.

  The practice was long as they read through the whole script. The exercise gave Ellie a better sense of the overall story. She thought she could do a lot with the development of her character under the wise old Shepherd’s guidance. He was almost like a father to Sammy. And the scene in which the Shepherd reunited with his estranged son—just before the son’s death—had great emotional impact. It was the perfect picture of redemption. Ellie was beginning to realize the play had much deeper spiritual substance than she previously thought, and Will’s passion for it started to seem less ridiculous.

  They only stopped once for a bathroom and water break. Will didn’t do much interfering; he was focused on the big picture and giving the players a sense of it.

  “That’s a wrap,” he said when the last word of the play was spoken. “Thank you, guys, for sticking through this. You did a great reader’s theater, and I hope everyone has an idea now, if not before, of the overall play. Tomorrow we’ll meet back at the same time and break into smaller groups to start getting more specific. Any questions?”

  To Ellie’s surprise, there were none. She guessed everyone was as tired and ready to be done as she was. An empty blue tram pulled into view.

  “Any of you who’d like to see the play tonight are welcome. Pick up free tickets from Donna at the main desk. Cheryl’s company has gotten us off to a great start.” Will scanned his clipboard. “All right then, see you tomorrow.”

  Most of the cast loaded onto the tram, and Ellie was relieved to see that Seth was one of them. Her less-than-friendly acknowledgment of him during break had hopefully discouraged further advances. Suzy hugged her good-bye, chuckling as she declined the hike together up the hill that Ellie offered. A few stragglers stopped to chat with Will and Cheryl. As Ellie rose from where she’d been sitting, planning to walk back up to her car, Will made eye contact with her. She thought she saw his lips form the word wait. So wait she did. He was the director after all.

  * * * * *

  “I’m sorry you had to wait so long.”

  Warmth, like sunshine, washed over Ellie at the sound of his voice. Even though she’d been with him all day, it was different now that he was coming toward her, speaking to her directly—and not as director. “Want to walk with me?”

  “Sure.”

  They hiked the steep hillside, feet hitting the pavement. They passed the abandoned playground, where they could have stopped to sit, and then the Livery Stable again with the same sad pony. Will didn’t say much. Ellie, uncomfortable with his silence, began to wonder if something was wrong.

  At the top of the hill, on the backside of the main office, was a pool with a weeping willow tree for shade, and a miniature waterfall that provided a lovely, refreshing sound. The rocks that formed the pool were fake, but it still looked like an inviting place to rest and chat. Instead Will said, “Would you mind coming up to my office?” His voice seemed hoarse.

  Donna eyed Ellie up and down over the reading glasses perched on her nose as Will ushered her past the main desk and up the stairs. When he shut the office door behind them, Ellie began to feel frightened. It was like being in the principal’s office. What had she done wrong?

  Her fear dissipated into desire when Will’s hand brushed gently up and down her arm from behind. He laced his fingers through her left hand, turning her toward him. They were less than an inch apart. Her he
ad fit just below his chin, and she could feel his breath on her hair. She inhaled the aromas of rain and cedar and waited.

  Without moving, Will whispered, “May I kiss you?”

  Turning her face upward, she answered by placing her free hand on the back of his neck and curving his lips down to hers. They kissed slowly and sweetly at first, both of them tentative, and then with growing intensity. Her fingers curled themselves into his hair, caressing its rugged smoothness. His hands found her waist, enveloping her smallness in his strength, pulling her closer to him, and then moving up to her shoulders, the sides of her neck, till they cradled her face. It was several moments before they opened their eyes, and their lips parted.

  “Whoa!” Will’s green eyes sparkled with the wonder of discovery, as though seeing her for the first time.

  Ellie smiled back at him, then snickered, and then broke into a full-fledged laugh. Will started laughing too and hugged her to him. She rested her head against his chest.

  “What was that?”

  “I don’t know, but I liked it.” Will stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Let’s do it again.”

  Chapter Ten

  The next morning Ellie’s alarm woke her from a funny yet lovely dream. She was sitting on the front porch of Old Matt’s cabin in a rocking chair, but she was not exactly herself. She was an older version of herself, dressed in calico and lace. Beside her, in his own rocking chair, was Will, the hair at his temples graying. He was dressed in a plaid work shirt and blue jeans. They were holding hands and rocking in synchronized time.

  She hated for the dream to end, but she needed to run. Her plans to run in the evening the day before had been happily trumped by dinner with Will and their covert attendance at The Shepherd of the Hills, under Cheryl Jech’s direction. It was fun sitting with Will and analyzing the elements of the drama, seeing it through his professional director’s eyes. She had to admit that the story was touching, whether or not it was Pulitzer Prize material. It was wholesome. Life-affirming. Her favorite part had not been the actual show, however, but the pre-show.

  Before the drama opened, certain cast members directed a bullfrog jumping contest, inviting children from the audience to participate. There were several kids who entered, and it was a hilarious thing to watch. Each child had to reach into a burlap sack and pull out a frog of his or her own. The frogs were enormous, like the ones Ellie was used to seeing around the pond at home. They were the size of small cats, and dark green, with back legs that hung down about twelve inches. Two bulging gold eyes sat like knots on the tops of their heads, and their mouths were set in wide, tight-lipped smiles.

  When the children had their frogs, they were instructed to wait in the center of what appeared to be a giant target, painted in white powder—the kind used for Little League baseball fields—on the hard dirt ground. This, in itself, was a scream, as some of the frogs wriggled and squirmed wildly to get free. Standing in that bull’s-eye, the children were to release their frogs on the word go. The first frog to cross the outer finish line was the winner.

  From the beginning Ellie had her eye on two girls who were seated with their parents toward the front. They were obviously sisters, with blond hair and blue eyes. The older one was tall, and her hair a little darker. She appeared to be about ten. The younger one was tiny—perhaps three—and her hair was the color of cotton. They wore matching red sundresses and held hands as they entered the set.

  What struck Ellie as unusual—and a bit of a paradox given their adorable appearance—was the apparent comfort the girls felt with the big frogs. Neither girl flinched when picking one out of the sack, and they each cradled their frogs as they held them, like baby dolls. When the little one’s frog wiggled, she simply changed positions, never panicking like many of the other kids. She kept a firm grip. They both listened to the announcer intently. It was clear: these girls were here to win.

  When the announcer said “go,” all of the kids released their frogs. The tiny girl’s frog hopped fast and furiously away. However, when the older sister set hers down, it just sat there, still as a stone. She gently prodded it, clapping her hands and cheering. Was it asleep? Just as the tiny girl’s frog crossed the finish line, she began to cheer for her sister’s. Arising out of its slumber, the frog suddenly got motivated and leapt—in two gigantic hops—across the finish line, finishing second.

  The cutest thing of all to Ellie was watching the girls accept their awards. The cast member asked their names, and the older one said “Gracie.” Then the younger one answered, in a bold voice that belied her size, “Adelaide.”

  “Where are you ladies from?”

  Gracie answered, “Ozark, Arkansas,” and Adelaide, adding her two cents, explained, “We have fwogs like that in our pond.”

  The crowd erupted in applause. For a fleeting moment Ellie had the sense she was seeing everything that was right with the world, but she swished away the thought like a pesky fly. Just the sort of silly sentimental thing that can happen to you in Branson.

  The fifteen-hundred-seat theater was nearly full. Vendors walked up and down hawking programs and popcorn. Not many people recognized Ellie, which was good, she thought. She and Will still hadn’t figured out the best way to navigate working together while beginning this new and exciting dating relationship.

  Her Boden halter dress, with its smart, funky print, seemed to smile at her from its place on the armchair in the corner of her room, where she had tossed it on her way to bed. Will had said he liked it, and he’d noticed the tiny detail on her Børn sandals that made them the perfect match. He had also admired her earrings and the way she wore her hair, naturally straight as a board. It had fallen like a chocolate silk curtain around their faces when they kissed good night on her doorstep.

  Ellie rolled out of bed, rubbing sleep from the corners of her eyes. She slipped into a pair of gym shorts, a sports bra and T-shirt, padded running socks and her Asics, and pulled her hair into a ponytail. Without eating or drinking anything—as was her custom before a run—she stepped out the door and walked down to the boardwalk, where she stretched before taking off running.

  The morning sunlight spilled out over the greenish water of Lake Taneycomo like golden honey. The air was fresh and pure and drenched in birdsong from the surrounding trees. How good it was to be alive in this place, Ellie thought, then laughed about how much her perspective had changed. A few days ago, moving to Branson had seemed like a death sentence. Yet today her heart throbbed with new life and possibilities she’d never imagined. Her adrenaline surged, making her body tingle all over. She was ready to run.

  This morning she was planning to make a wide loop rather than winding through the tree-dotted maze of downtown Branson, just for variation. She turned out of Branson Landing and briefly onto East Main, but then headed south, away from the shopping district. Her route took her down South Sycamore and up South Commercial till she reached Business 65. Crossing West Main onto Veterans Boulevard, she completed the loop by turning right off of 65 onto Oklahoma, which took her past the cemetery. Along the way she saw a few people, a couple cars, but for the most part, the town was just waking up. This was one thing Ellie loved about running early—watching the world come to life.

  As she jogged along the sidewalk that bordered the cemetery, a dog squeezed through the wrought-iron bars of the fence and began to follow her. It was a little bulldog-looking creature, scrawny, with short black and white fur, and markings that gave it the appearance of wearing a tattered tuxedo. Afraid it was somebody’s pet that could follow her and get lost, Ellie tried to shoo it away. “Go home!” she said in a loud voice. But when she turned on North Commercial toward Branson Landing Boulevard, she could hear the click, click, click of the dog’s toenails as they hit the sidewalk, and she knew it was still following her. Drat.

  Experience told her to go on back to her condo. In her running escapades in college, through certain neighborhoods especially, she’d been followed by dogs before who eventually
dropped out and went back home. She didn’t like the irresponsibility of the owners—after all, their pets could have been lost, stolen, or run over—but most of the time she figured they found their way back to where they came from.

  Surely this dog would be no different. Yet this was dissimilar from running in a neighborhood. Ellie had no idea where this dog came from, other than the vicinity of the cemetery. “Go home!” she told it again…and still again, more firmly than ever, when she arrived at her condo. But the dog was sitting on her doorstep, considering her with big brown eyes and a scruffy face, when Ellie closed the door behind her and headed up the stairs.

  An hour later she had showered, rolled her hair in Velcro rollers the size of orange juice cans to produce a soft, loose-curly effect, and dried it. She decided to wear something new she’d ordered from Neiman Marcus—a paisley-printed rayon georgette and yellow silk blouse with banded blue edges and embroidered floral detail. It was soft, feminine, and a bit exotic. She paired it with white Capri pants and birch-colored Cole Haan sandals that double-buckled on the side. The only piece of jewelry she wore was a wide wooden bracelet Beecher had bought her on a trip he’d taken last year to Kenya.

  When she pulled out of her garage, the dog was still on her doorstep. This bothered Ellie, as she feared it was hungry. But she didn’t dare feed and water it, which would encourage it to stay. She hoped it would be gone by the time she got home.

  * * * * *

  That day’s practice was different—a lot more intense. Will broke the company up into groups, overseen by himself, Cheryl, and the two veteran actors—Old Matt, or Billy Joe, and Eugene Johnston, who played the Shepherd. Some groups were large, like the sheriff’s posse, and the group of Baldknobbers led by Seth, but others consisted of only two or three people. The characters would practice a scene, then switch to practice a new scene with a new group of actors.