Rhyme or Reason

by Amelia C. Adams

  But that would be too much to hope for. No—he’d get it, he’d read it, and then he’d likely erupt like some sort of middle-aged volcano with lava spewing out of his ears.

  He couldn’t really do anything to her, though. That was a comfort.

  It was time to get to rehearsal. She changed her blouse and made sure she was tidy. She’d put the situation with the letter from her mind because there was nothing she could do about it anyway, and she headed off to the theater. Mr. Yancy was part of her past, and the theater was part of her future. She knew full well what she wanted to be concentrating on that afternoon.

  ***

  Tobias checked the time. It was seven o’clock on Thursday evening, the time he’d chosen for the poetry class, and not one soul had arrived. The advertisement had gone out in the newspaper and looked quite nice, and he’d also invited several men personally. He’d thought that at least one person would have arrived by now, but no. Maybe this was all a mistake.

  At last, the door opened, and Reverend Bing stepped through. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “There was a minor emergency with a parishioner. Everything’s fine now.” He looked around. “Am I the first one?”

  “You’re likely the only one.” Reverend Bing was already married, but his presence would add a certain credibility. Tobias was glad to see that he was interested in coming.

  “Well, there’s no reason why the two of us couldn’t have a nice conversation.” The reverend hung up his coat, then took a seat.

  Just then, the door opened again, and Jaron Creel entered. He worked for the railroad, and Tobias knew he was another one of the men who’d been conned by the fake matchmaker. Behind him were Cooper White and his friend, Baxter Hicks.

  “Still don’t know why you want me here,” Cooper was grumbling. “Told you, books make me break out in hives.”

  “Come on, Cooper. You need some educating, and this might actually be fun,” Baxter said.

  “I have my doubts. I’d rather go fling myself off a thousand-foot cliff, if that tells you what I’m feeling right now.”

  Jaron seemed amused, and Tobias shook his head. He was glad Cooper had come, but it did make him feel a little awkward that the man hated the idea so much. Cooper and Baxter took seats on the second row, as close to the door as they could get. Tobias imagined Cooper was the one to choose those seats. He couldn’t remember for sure, but it seemed like they’d also been jilted by the matchmaker. She’d certainly done a lot of damage to the town when she’d carried out that con.

  Paulie arrived next, and Tobias greeted him with a hearty handshake. Then Mark Carroll walked in, a notebook at the ready. “I might decide to run a feature in the paper,” he said. “Do you mind being quoted?”

  “If it brings more interest to the class, I don’t mind at all,” Tobias said. He just hoped he didn’t say anything embarrassing that might end up in print.

  He opened his mouth to give the little welcome speech he’d been planning, but first, two more men entered. He hadn’t met them yet, so he walked over and shook their hands.

  “I’m Wes Field,” the first man said. He looked around with curiosity. “This is a nice place you have here.”

  “Thank you. It’s fairly new, and I almost have everything put away where I want it,” Tobias replied.

  The other man was Levi Carter. He didn’t say much, but Tobias suspected that he would once they got to know each other better.

  He waited another minute, then decided he’d go ahead and start. If there were any more stragglers planning to head their way, they’d just have to miss the first few minutes. He was thrilled with the turnout so far.

  “Welcome, gentlemen, and thank you for coming,” he began. “I should warn you that I’m by no means a teacher. I’m simply a lover of books and all forms of the written word, especially poetry. I believe that poetry has a special transformative power, meaning, it makes us all better people when we read it.”

  He glanced around the room. Some of the men already looked half asleep—this wasn’t a great way to start off a new endeavor.

  Just then, he heard some rapid tapping on the door. Levi, who was sitting closest, stood up and opened in, and in strutted a rooster.

  A rooster?

  “Hello, Bob,” Reverend Bing said with a chuckle. “What are you doing here?”

  The rooster looked around, then hopped up onto an empty chair. He then turned his gaze on Tobias as if listening.

  The men in the room laughed.

  Tobias cleared his throat. “Not only am I an inexperienced teacher, but I definitely have never taught a rooster before,” and the men laughed again.

  “Bob seems to be a special sort of rooster,” Reverend Bing explained. “He’s always showing up at unusual times.”

  Tobias eyed the creature, who eyed him right back. All right, then. As long as the bird didn’t fowl up his shop in any way … He coughed, glad no one could read his thoughts. “As I was saying, poetry makes every reader a better person than they were before.”

  Cooper shook his head. “Well then, I’m a hopeless case. I’m not much of a reader. I’m not a reader at all, actually.”

  “Poetry also needs listeners, and that’s what you’ll all be tonight.” Tobias picked up his book of Shakespeare’s sonnets. “I will read, and then we’ll discuss. I’m very interested to hear from all of you—what mental images come to mind as you hear these words?”

  He read them the twenty-fifth sonnet, one of his favorites, then asked, “What does that mean to you?”

  No one answered. Some shifted uncomfortably on their chairs, but there was no reply. Then Cooper raised his hand. “I think it means that all those rich and powerful men have got it wrong—their money and their strength don’t count for anything, but having love lasts forever.”

  Tobias grinned. “That’s exactly what I take from it too. See there, Cooper? Poetry is for everyone, readers and listeners alike. Anyone else?”

  Jaron spoke up. “I liked the part about buried pride. It makes me wonder, what good does it do to be prideful if in the end, it just gets buried with us?”

  “And this is why I’ve been preaching against it for years,” Reverend Bing said, and the men laughed.

  Thank goodness—the class was starting to participate and look a little livelier. “These are great comments. Now, here’s a poem for you, Bob.” Tobias flipped through his book until he reached sonnet one hundred and forty-three. He read it aloud, glancing at Bob as he did.

  “Shakespeare wrote a sonnet about a chicken?” Levi said with a chuckle.

  “He did—a naughty runaway chicken,” Tobias replied. “The chicken is being used as a metaphor, though. What is the poem really about?”

  Paulie raised his hand. “I think the woman in the poem was getting distracted by things that only mattered a little bit, and Shakespeare felt like his woman was doing the same thing. He wanted to be the most important thing to her.”

  “That’s exactly right. He compared himself to the crying child begging for attention.” Tobias looked around the room. “I think many of us have had experiences similar to this, times when we felt underappreciated or undervalued. The human need for recognition is just as prevalent today as it was in Shakespeare’s time.”

  “It goes back farther than that,” Reverend Bing said. “Look at the Bible story of Cain and Abel. Cain killed Abel because he wanted more recognition. He certainly got it—he became known as one of the most famous murderers of all time.”

  “And that was after Satan told him no one would ever find out about it,” Tobias pointed out. “That wasn’t a very well-kept promise.”

  Paulie shook his head. “Is this a poetry reading or a religion class? I don’t go to church on Sunday, and I didn’t plan to come to church today, either.”

  “Think of it as a literature class,” Tobias said. “The Bible is one of the greatest works of literature we have and is thus considered so even by those who don’t believe in it as scripture.”

&
nbsp; Paulie crossed his arms, but he didn’t have any further objections, so Tobias turned the focus back to the poem. “It’s possible that Shakespeare didn’t feel comfortable saying, ‘I need more attention,’ and so he used this metaphor to convey his feelings instead. Or perhaps because she was so distracted, he needed to get her attention in a creative way.”

  The men seemed to like that idea, as did Bob the rooster, and Tobias moved on to the next poem.

  At the close of the hour, he felt as though they’d had some interesting discussions, but he also felt drained. It was difficult to convey his passion for poetry to men who had never read it, and for some of the men in the room, this was their first exposure. He hoped they’d come again and continue to learn from it—and he hoped he’d improve as an instructor. He’d never felt so unqualified for a task.

  The men filed out one by one, but Reverend Bing stayed back. “It’s a good thing, what you’re doing here,” he said, nodding toward the room at large. “These men need something to look forward to that isn’t drinking or gambling, and poetry will give them things to think about while they’re toiling on long shifts.”

  “That’s my hope,” Tobias said. “Everyone needs some beauty in their lives, and the written word is just one of many sources of it.”

  Reverend Bing shook his hand. “I’ll be back next week, and the one following—as long as class is in session.”

  “Thank you, Reverend. Your support means a great deal to me.”

  The very last participant to leave was Bob. He was still sitting on his chair after the reverend closed the door and walked away.

  “Just what am I supposed to do with you?” Tobias asked, looking at the bird. “Are you going to leave on your own, or do I need to shoo you out? I’d hate to shoo you—you were my most attentive student today.”

  “Bob always has enjoyed Shakespeare,” Miss Chapel said, taking the seat next to the rooster. “It’s one of his many interests.”

  Tobias blinked. “You know Bob?”

  “Well, of course I do.” She looked at Tobias with surprise. “Oh, you didn’t know? Bob’s a celestial animal.”

  “I don’t have any idea what that means.”

  “It means that he works with us. The angels. We’re all quite fond of him.”

  Tobias exhaled deeply. “Miss Chapel, sometimes I get the strangest feeling that you’re pulling a prank on me and that you’re really some actress who wandered into town and found herself with nothing better to do. Celestial animals? I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life.”

  “That’s because they don’t talk. If they talked, you’d know all about them.” She paused. “Wait . . . Balaam’s donkey talked. So that proves my point—and yet another famous Bible story.”

  “You’re saying that Balaam’s donkey was a celestial animal? Miss Chapel, you’re giving me a headache.”

  “I’m not giving you a headache. Your head is choosing to ache at the precise moment I’m speaking—that’s entirely different. And I’m only hinting that perhaps Balaam’s donkey was celestial. It’s not for me to be more specific.” She gathered Bob up into her arms. “You’re going a great job, Tobias. I’m very proud of you. And don’t worry—I’ll see Bob home safely for the night.” Then she was gone.

  The bookstore was now empty and still. Tobias locked the door, put the chairs back in their rightful places, and took a deep breath. It had gone much better than he’d expected, but he still wasn’t convinced that it had gone well. If the men came back the following week, perhaps then he’d feel more sure of himself.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hold still or I’ll stick you with a pin.” Alice was trying to shorten the hem on Louisa’s gown, and they only had ten minutes to spare before curtain. She had taken Louisa’s measurements, but somehow she still got the length wrong, and if they didn’t do something about it, Louisa would trip as she walked out onto the stage. Not that it would be unusual—Louisa was quite sure that she’d trip no matter what. Or faint, or forget all the words, or come down with a sudden coughing fit. Any, or all, of those things were very likely to happen.

  Alice looked up from her crouched position at Louisa’s feet. “Are you trembling, or are we having an earthquake?”

  “I’m trembling,” Louisa replied. “And maybe I’m trembling hard enough to cause an earthquake.”

  “You’ve never performed on stage before?”

  “No, never. I’ve done quiet gatherings and ladies’ teas and whatnot, but a theater like this? I’m terrified. Simply terrified.”

  Alice stood up and put the pins she hadn’t used back in the box. “If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about working here, it’s this. The stage is a great equalizer. You can be as brave as you want to be back here, but once you’re out front, everyone is terrified. They all just deal with it differently.”

  “Are you sure? I’ve seen some performers who seem very confident in themselves out in front.”

  “They take their nerves and turn them into energy. Antonio Balza told me that.”

  Louisa blinked. “The actor?”

  “Yes. He was here our first week open—I don’t know how Mr. Westcott managed to bring him in.”

  Louisa considered that. Could she take her nerves and turn them into energy instead of terror? It sounded like some sort of science experiment, actually.

  Alice finished adjusting the dress, then stood back. “I’ll do the hem up properly tomorrow. In the meantime, the pins aren’t visible from the outside.”

  “Thank you, Alice.” Louisa turned to the mirror and smoothed down her hair. “Do I look all right?”

  “You look beautiful. And I believe it’s time for you to get ready.”

  Louisa stepped out of her dressing room and walked down the short hall to the stage. If Mr. Westcott had been able to bring in Antonio Balza, what did he want with her? She was no one. She had never even performed in a theater. Her audition here was the first time she’d ever sung on a full-sized stage. She felt like an imposter, as though any minute, someone would point at her and have her thrown out.

  She stood in the wings, waiting for her introduction.

  “Are you ready?” Mr. Westcott asked as he approached.

  “I’m not, but I suppose that’s not the answer you’d like to hear.”

  “You’re correct.” He gave her a comforting smile. “Our audience tonight is very friendly, and none of them will jeer at you for being nervous. Think of it as singing for friends.”

  “Oh, that’s much worse. I’d rather sing for strangers.”

  “All right, then—you’re singing for strangers. Whatever it takes to help you through. You can do this, Miss Brown. Have confidence in your abilities.”

  He stepped back, and the opening notes of her first song began to swell. There was no more time for motivating speeches or deep breaths or to run out of the building screaming. Instead, she put on a smile and glided onto the stage, keeping her fingers crossed that none of the pins would fly out of her voluminous skirt and stab some poor person in the eye.

  She kept her eyes turned down to her folded hands in front of her, and then as she began to sing, she lifted her chin and cast her voice up into the rafters. It wasn’t as smooth at first as she would have liked, but as she continued, the roughness disappeared and she was much happier with the sound. She wanted to glance down and see if Mr. Redfern had kept his promise to come, but she knew she likely wouldn’t be able to see him past the lights at the edge of the stage.

  After a moment, she forgot about Mr. Redfern and lights and all of the rest of it and concentrated solely on the music. This piece was the one she had been learning when her aunt passed away, and it represented not only regrets for lost relationships, but freedom to have new opportunities. The emotions associated with it weren’t those the composer had intended, but came from the experiences Louisa had been having at the time.

  As she ended the song, she realized she had tears on her cheeks, and she tried to be discreet as she d
abbed at them. She wished she didn’t feel so vulnerable, that she could actually be as strong as she pretended to be. But she was flawed and she was apprehensive, and sometimes she felt so very young while at other times, she felt so old. She wondered what it would take for her to bring all the pieces of herself into one unified whole to create a complete person, not a confused jumble of bits tied together with thin strings that could snap at any time.

  The sound of applause pulled her back into the present, and the volume of it startled her. For a moment, she’d forgotten that she wasn’t alone. She took a step back, almost stumbling, trying to protect herself from the attention, but then she curtsied, recognizing in the lonely place in her soul that they were accepting her, appreciating her.

  It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  She curtsied again, then stepped off the stage, almost sagging when she reached the wings. All the strength left her, and it took everything she had to make it back to her dressing room.

  “That was beautiful, Miss Brown,” Alice said as she helped Louisa change into a new dress for her next song. The orchestra was playing a piece by Mozart, and then a short comedic skit would be performed, and then it was her turn again. She’d have about fifteen minutes to collect her thoughts, and every one of those minutes was badly needed.

  “Could you possibly get me some water, please?”

  Alice wasn’t finished doing up her buttons, but she paused and fetched the water mid-task. “I should have thought of that first thing. I’m sorry—I’ll remember next time.”

  “It’s perfectly all right. I don’t expect you to be my maid or anything like that. This time, I just needed a little help.” Louisa reached out and caught the back of a chair as another wave of weakness came over her. “I think I’ll sit for a moment.”

  Alice looked at her curiously as she sat. “Are you all right? Should I be sending for a doctor?”

  Louisa shook her head. “I don’t need a doctor. I’m just overwhelmed. It’s so hot out there, and I’m expecting quite a lot of myself. Tonight . . . well, tonight is the first night of the rest of my life.”