by J. F. Collen
Shrugging her shoulders, Nell took the easy way out. “Your graduation celebration takes place on the very same days as our grand theatrical fundraiser. I immediately advised this in my letter responding to your invitation, thus tendering my answer. As the show is performed on both Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, I am afraid it would be impossible for me to attend your graduation festivities.”
Baker stepped back, dropping her elbow. “I see.” He thought a moment.
“Perhaps I have a compromise. The actual graduation ceremony is on Monday at noon, followed by a celebratory tea. While I would prefer my sweetheart attend all the festivities, I will content myself with your presence on Monday.
“Therefore,” said Baker, and he paused for dramatic effect as he went over to one of their horsehair chairs and retrieved his hat. “I will retire for my much-deserved furlough and return to my native South. But I do intend to receive a reply from you before my graduation.
“Good evening my little flower.” Lawrence bent over one of her hands and kissed it. “My little primrose,” he said, kissing the other hand. He put on his hat and with a dancer’s grace, waltzed out the door.
Slowly, in deep thought, Nellie climbed the front stairs to her room.
Anastasia raised her head from her pillow on the other side of the room. “Which beau was in the drawing room?”
“Lawrence,” said Nellie with a heavy sigh.
Anastasia sprang from her bed and ran over to Nellie’s. She lifted the eiderdown and jumped underneath it. She said in a dreamy voice, “What a splendid twist of events. A midnight tête-a-tête with your true love! How truly romantic.”
“Romantic, yes, but my true love? Mercy, I am so uncertain!” Cornelia sat down on her bed, patting the duvet at a lump she assumed was Anastasia’s toes. “How will I ever ascertain for which gentleman my heart truly pines?”
“Perhaps we can make a tally,” suggested Anastasia.
“Oh, Stasia, what a foolish idea. Love cannot be quantified,” Nellie said, shaking her head.
“Not love, exactly, but we can score the attributes of the suitors. So far, I have heard you describe Obadiah as charming, and Lawrence as enchanting,” Anastasia said. She jumped back out of the bed and rummaged for some paper in the writing table.
“Mercy, you are no help,” said Nellie with a sigh.
“Come, come you are not applying yourself,” said Anastasia. Leaping back into the bed, it only took seconds before she poised her pen over her scrap of paper on her writing tablet. She looked up at Nell expectantly, pen leaking a blob of ink, making a splat on the page.
“Lawrence is a charismatic dancer and Obadiah is bewitching with his pen,” said Nellie.
Anastasia started laughing, and then could not stop.
“Whatever possesses you?” asked Nellie, in vexation.
“I had nearly forgotten, ‘Lawrence is a Casanova,’” she said, almost unintelligibly though a fit of giggling. “‘Obadiah has beautiful penmanship’! And I quote you directly.”
Nellie twisted her face and shrugged her shoulders at the ridiculousness of those statements. Then she dissolved into fits of laughter too.
“Is it truly a difficult decision?” asked Anastasia, laughing so hard she came dangerously close to upturning the inkbottle.
Nellie and her sister sat on the bed, clinging to each other, laughing until tears ran down their faces.
Chapter 31 – The Show Must Go On
Sing Sing, June 1851
Cornelia had chosen a small, but imperative, she thought to herself, role in the production. She was to perform Ophelia’s first soliloquy from Hamlet.
Finally, it was the night before the show, and dress rehearsal was in full swing.
Midway through their musical revue, Nellie stepped out of her role as director and onto center stage.
Looking up to the heavens, arms flung wide, Cornelia took a deep breath and began:
“Oh, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
The courtier’s, soldier’s....”
Bang!
Cornelia’s eyes jumped to the temporary cat crawl; the place for the spotlight was empty. The stagehands were busy one deck below, repairing a problem with the limelight burner, in order to reinstate the spotlight. Another loud noise distracted her and caused her to pull her hand from its dramatic pose and dash it over her eyebrows, shading her eyes from the stage lights so she could scrutinize the activity of the stagehands.
Bam!
One of the men knocked over a can of paint and it came crashing down right next to her. She jumped back in alarm. It narrowly missed her, splashing green on the hem of her dress. She looked back up into the gloomy recesses of the ceiling. “What else can befall me?” she joked. The stagehands laughed.
“Apologies!” someone called down. Mercy and Tarnation! Is that Lawrence Simmons Baker up there in the shadows?
It simply cannot be.
“Nellie,” the man shouted and waved. Lawrence! There is no mistaking that voice, she thought. She waved back out of mere politeness, her heart skipping a beat. There is nothing I can do without causing a scene other than to let the show go on.
Cornelia returned her arm to its dramatic position:
“The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword....”
She glanced nervously around, looking for Obadiah. I must contain my hysterics! Obadiah has gone to fetch more material for the ballad farce’s backdrop.
She continued:
“Th’ expectancy and rose of the fair state,”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nellie saw movement, Mercy, no! It cannot be. Obadiah has returned from his errand. If I can but keep Lawrence on his perch, perhaps the two men’s paths will not cross. I must exit the stage and entice the departure of one without the other knowing the first was here.
Cornelia rushed through the next lines:
“The glass of fashion and the mold of form,
Th’ observed of all observers—quite, quite down!
And I—of ladies most deject and wretched”
Cornelia gulped for breath. She only paused from necessity—she ran out of air. Oh, why do I have to breathe? She tracked Obadiah’s movements around the back stage with bile of fear rising in her throat.
She tried again:
“That sucked the honey of his music vows—”
Obadiah walked to the ladder of the cat crawl and began climbing. Help me Lord, I must stop him! she thought. But she had a few more lines to deliver:
“Now see that noble and most sovereign reason
Like sweet bells jangled out of tune and harsh....”
Augusta walked over to the ladder and said something to Obadiah. Thank you, Augusta! And Praise to You, most merciful Lord, she thought. Obadiah scrambled back down the ladder and walked over to the large backdrop, inspecting the spot where Augusta pointed. He disappeared behind it. It rose up, Obadiah’s feet visible underneath, and moved toward her.
“That unmatched form and feature of blown youth”
Obadiah emerged from behind the set directly at her side. Nellie glanced at him, mouth open to form her next lines. He winked at her. He sauntered off with the backdrop, moving away from Augusta who gestured more instructions for moving some boxes of costumes.
“Blasted with ecstasy.”
Her eyes darted furiously from the cat crawl to the side stage, now watching Obadiah lift boxes for Augusta and Lawrence tinker with the ceiling lanterns. She drew a shaky breath, and with more heartfelt wretchedness than she had ever been able to deliver the line before, said:
“Oh, woe is me
T’ have seen what I have seen, see what I see!”
One of the other actors in the audience gave a slow clap. A whistle came from the cat crawl. Lawrence! Nellie thought, and refused to look up. She turned to exit. Before she could reach Obadiah, Augusta swung her to a different part of the stage and said, “Such a lovely dramatic rendition. Now, concerning this backdrop for the
love scene from Romeo and Juliet, do you think we have drawn enough ivy on the tower?”
“Augusta, you have to help me!” Nellie whispered, grabbing her arm.
Augusta turned around, raised her voice, and called, “Obadiah, be a dear and fetch me some wood from the tinder pile outside.” Obadiah put down the box and looked at her with annoyance.
“Sorry to be a pest, but I need it immediately,” Augusta shouted. Obadiah threw up his hands and stalked off.
Augusta leaned in close. “Did I spy Lawrence Simmons Baker atop the cat crawl? Is the cadet joining our merry cast of characters? Do you have two competing suitors gallantly assisting you in your herculean charitable thespian endeavor?”
Nellie opened and closed her mouth and then finally nodded her head ‘yes.’
But before Nellie could conspire with Augusta, a stagehand pulled her over to inspect a ripped curtain. One question lead to another, leading Nellie deeper and deeper back stage, all the time her thoughts spun, trying to devise a plan for keeping her two beaus from bumping into each other.
Suddenly, in her ear, someone whispered, “Get thee to a nunnery!”
Startled, Nellie whipped around. Lawrence put his arms around her, grinning from ear to ear.
“Why, Lawrence, what a horrible thing to say to a lady,” Nellie said, making a big show of upset at his words, rather than revealing how upsetting she found his presence.
Lawrence looked startled. “Do you not twig my reasoning for my greeting, Nellie? It’s from Hamlet, just like your pretty little speech.”
Nellie only shook her head. Merciful heavens! “Lawrence, do you know what that phrase means?”
“I was forced to memorize parts of Hamlet at West Point, but I was not forced to understand them. Never did I contemplate that memorization would actually be a useful endeavor. I am so pleased I was able to retrieve that little tidbit of poetry from my noggin.”
Nellie continued to shake her head. “But why are you here, Lawrence?”
“Your letters, all winter, spoke of nothing other than your excitement and hard work to produce this theatrical burlesque extravaganza,” drawled Lawrence. He scratched his head. “I said to myself, ‘Lawrence, if you want that girl, you’re going to have to win her over!’ I figured I would place my humble talents at your service to assist you in this noble venture.”
“Well, thank you, that is most considerate,” said Nellie, remembering her manners. “But when we last met, you were off to South Carolina.”
“My furlough is almost spent. I have returned from my treasured Mississippi homeland in order to see you! I wish to use these precious few days to persuade you,” Lawrence said, picking up her hand and bringing it to his lips. “I will coax you into a serious courtship and make you my wife.”
Nellie drew in her breath and gazed into his eyes. She sighed.
Remembering her predicament, she looked over her shoulder to determine Obadiah’s whereabouts. He had disappeared.
Nellie jumped at a loud whinny coming from the stage. Behind them, on stage Dr. Hart, Cornelia’s employer, was literally performing a dog and pony show. The horse relieved himself on the stage.
“If I had had to perform, I might have had similarly expressed stage fright,” Lawrence stated, and vanished into the backstage to distance himself from the odious smell. Nellie chuckled, in spite of herself.
Augusta called for Nathaniel. “Be a love, my dear husband and clean up the stage.”
Nathaniel laughed and shook his head in the negative, starting to head in the opposite direction saying, “‘Tis unexpected.”
Augusta charged toward him, pointer finger raised.
Nathaniel laughed again and picked up a shovel propped against a drying backdrop. “‘Tis unexpected to ever recall any of Elmer Otis’s words as words of wisdom.” Augusta looked at him with a quizzical expression on her face. “Otis warned me, ‘once we engage in this menial labor set out as a test of mettle at West Point, we will never escape its yoke.’”
Augusta laughed and gave him a saucy smile. “You haven’t had a task like this since your plebe year.”
“None too long ago for such an odious assignment,” said Nathaniel, cheerfully shouldering the shovel, and heading towards the malodorous undertaking. “Horsey duty....” he mumbled, still laughing.
Nellie felt her waist encircled from behind. That Lawrence and his bold moves, she thought.
“‘I loved Ophelia,’” was whispered in her ear, but it was Obadiah’s voice. Nellie whirled around in his arms.
“Mercy, you startled me,” Nellie cried, trying to calm her runaway heartbeat.
Obadiah smiled down on her. “‘Forty thousand brothers, if you added all their love together, couldn’t match mine,’” he quoted. Pleased with himself, his smiling eyes flickered from her mouth to her eyes. When their eyes met, she saw his brimming with love. “That is the sole declaration of love Hamlet utters about Ophelia in the whole play. I was struck by their tortured relationship when we studied Hamlet at Saint John’s. I’ll wager every man, at some point in his life, cannot fathom the complex nature of his sweetheart. Something about your spectacular performance elicited this gem from deep within the recesses of my memory.”
Augusta came toward them, same pointer finger raised, “Do you not have additional boxes to move, Mr. Wright?” she asked, with a look of mock reprimand. “Must I constantly goad you into performing your duties, like a recalcitrant schoolboy on a picture-perfect July afternoon?” She gave a merry laugh and made a shooing motion with her hands. Obadiah pretended to skulk away.
With a whirl of petticoats, Anastasia joined them. “Did I just see Cadet Baker talking to one of the technical crew, discussing the limelight? Cornelia, have you taken leave of your senses? You cannot engage one beau’s assistance for months on a production and then suddenly also enlist the expertise of his competitor.”
“I did not seek Baker—I am equally surprised at his sudden appearance here!” exclaimed Cornelia. “Nay, I am flabbergasted. Utterly distraught!”
She grabbed a hand of each friend. “I beg you to assist me. Can you please help me prevent them from encountering each other?” Her two dearest friends exchanged glances.
“I must be on center stage overseeing the dress rehearsal,” Cornelia said. “I am powerless to control....”
“We will each take a beau,” interrupted Anastasia, quickly catching her drift. “And keep him away from you.”
“I am already directing Mr. Wright to ‘lift that barge and tote that bale’, so I will continue in my efforts to ready the sets whilst keeping Obadiah busy and at a distance,” Augusta said with a firm clap of her hands, jumping right on board.
“Right. Then Anastasia, ensure Cadet Baker remains on the cat crawl, fixing the limelight. I’ll stay in the footlights, in front of the actors, so neither man has an opportunity to talk with me,” said Nellie. The ladies all nodded and scurried away.
Nellie stood in the footlights, anxious at first. But as act after act rehearsed, their plan worked. Nellie saw neither hide nor hair of either beau. Soon, absorbed in the details of scrutinizing the actors and their skits, and writing staging notes, she felt the tension of her behind-the-scenes drama fade to the back of her mind.
Suddenly it was front and center.
Scribbling copious notes about the pantomime and its chosen backdrop, she was startled out of her working calm by Obadiah appearing out of the shadows at her left elbow, whispering, “Golly, you appear both intimidating and endearing standing there absorbed in your work.”
Nellie smiled and shooed at him, glaring at Augusta who was three steps behind him. Augusta beckoned for Obadiah and scurried him away.
Less than a minute later, Lawrence, with Anastasia fluttering at his side, slid next to her right elbow and whispered, “I am simply enamored of a strong woman, leading the troops,” before Anastasia could pull him back into the shadows.
For the next half hour, while Nellie was correcting and directi
ng the train wreck of a farcical act, every few minutes like clockwork, Obadiah appeared, stage left, whispered a bon mot, and disappeared, and seconds later, Lawrence appeared, stage right, kissed her hand, and vanished into the shadows.
Nellie was completely distracted, but somehow, she kept the skit running, until at last they had a flawless run through.
In the middle of the next act, Mrs. Wheeler’s off-key and off tempo aria, just as Nellie was about to stop the orchestra and start again, Obadiah appeared, stage left and picked up her hand. He gave it a sympathetic squeeze as Mrs. Wheeler screeched a high note, completely flat. Seconds later, Lawrence appeared, stage right, simultaneously smiling and wincing at the music.
The love triangle stared at each other, aghast.
Mrs. Wheeler’s high-pitched note stuck in her throat. She shaded her eyes with her hand and peered into the footlights, soundless.
The orchestra music petered out, one instrument at a time, like the winding down of a music box. The hum of activity backstage stopped and every person froze in place, mouths agape, Nellie thought to herself, before the horror of her situation took root and her brain immobilized too.
“Baker!” said Obadiah.
Baker dropped the screwdriver he was carrying. He bent to retrieve it, pulled himself back up to attention stance and barked, “That would be Lieutenant Baker to you, Mister.”
“Wright. Mr. Wright,” replied Obadiah. The men glared at each other and then simultaneously each turned on his heel and marched off in the direction from whence they came.
Nellie was so flummoxed all she could think to say was, “Exeunt, stage right, stage left.”
A quick, nervous giggle ran through the ensemble, all eyes on Cornelia.
Nellie signaled to the orchestra, who struck up the introduction to the aria. Mrs. Wheeler began to sing, from the beginning. The incident seems to have jolted Mrs. Wheeler back on key, Nellie thought, ears burning in shame as she tried to fade back into the footlights and resume the dress rehearsal as if nothing happened.
