Love Finds You in Camelot, Tennessee (5 page)

“So…” Amy clapped her hands together. “I can tell you’re all excited about the idea. I know I am. We’ll have several shows per weekend, as I said. And I was thinking we could serve a meal at each show. Something medieval.”

“Something evil, you say?” Woody looked perplexed. “I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say food is evil. Filled with preservatives, sure. But at my age, I need all the preservatives I can get!” He slapped himself on the knee and laughed.

“She didn’t say food is evil, Woody.” Caroline spoke with a raised voice. “She said we’re going to serve a Renaissance-themed meal to the patrons.”

“Speaking of great food, did any of you taste that delicious chicken-and-rice casserole I made for last Sunday’s potluck at the church?” Lucy batted her eyes in Amy’s father’s direction. “It was de-lish.”

“Very tasty,” Pete chimed in. “Almost as good as the pie you baked the month before. Blueberry, right?”

“We’re having a sale on our frozen banana-cream pies at Sack ’n Save,” Annabelle threw in. “You all need to come in and check it out. They’re only on special till Tuesday.” She frowned. “Not that I can eat pie. This diet is killing me.”

“So, about this medieval meal…,” Amy interrupted. “We’ll feed the audience members a great dinner while they’re watching the show. Very authentic, of course.”

“Well, I think this whole idea is just ridiculous,” Sarge spouted. “Almost as nutty as the decision to put Wi-Fi in at the Flying J gas station last month. Who in the world needs to check their e-mail at a gas station? That was the goofiest idea Amy ever came up with.”

“It’s called progress, Sarge,” Steve said. “We try new things so we can keep up with technology.”

“Well, back in my day, folks wrote letters. Why, I remember that when I was stationed in Texas back in ’65, my sweetheart sent me three letters a week, sometimes four.”

Off he went on another tangent about life in the military. This, for some reason, led to a story from Blossom about hairstyles, which led Eula Mae to a story about orthopedic shoes. At this point, a strange, high-pitched sound filled the room. Lucy Cramden’s purse began to stir, and seconds later Fiona emerged and headed straight for the cookie tray in front of Pastor Crane. As the ferret jumped on top of it, every lady in the room let out a scream and cookies flew through the air along with the tray, which landed on the floor with a clatter.

At this point, everyone went wild, chasing after the ornery ferret. Well, all but Gwen, who waggled a thinly plucked brow in Amy’s direction as if to say, “See? I told you so. You’ll never be able to pull off a show with this motley crew.”

Maybe she was right. Maybe this was just another dumb idea.

Yes, just another in a long line of dumb ideas by Amy Lyn Hart.

Steve looked on as Pete dove under the folding chair to snatch Fiona, hollering something about extermination techniques. Blossom jumped up on her chair, squealing nonstop, while Annabelle picked up cookies from the floor and stuffed them into her pockets. Eula Mae said something about grabbing a broom to clean up the mess, and Amy’s dad began a story about how King Arthur would have dealt with all of this.

And Amy…poor Amy. She sat in her chair, a defeated look settling across that beautiful face. She brushed a loose blond hair behind her ear and sighed.

Steve hated to see her unhappy. And when the tears welled up in her eyes, he could only think to do one thing. Rising to his feet, he called out above the mayhem. “I say we go ahead and take a vote. All in favor of putting on the musical, stand up. All opposed, sit down.”

Okay, so maybe not everyone had heard him. Or maybe they all just liked the idea of putting on a play. For, with the exception of Woody Donaldson, who continued to mess with his hearing aid from a seated position, everyone remained on his or her feet, chasing after—or escaping from—Fiona.

Steve glanced at Amy, who rose from her chair in response to his request. The edges of her lips curved in a tearful smile, and it melted his heart. Suddenly he realized he’d do whatever it took to keep that smile on her face, even if it meant building an outdoor theater…or wearing tights.

Well, maybe not that last one. Still, he’d do just about anything to win this fair maiden’s heart. First, however, he’d have to garner the courage to tell her how he really felt. Staring at the chaotic scene transpiring in front of him, Steve concluded the obvious: sharing his heart would have to wait till another day.

I know very little about acting.
I’m just an incredibly gifted faker.

R
OBERT
D
OWNEY
J
R
.

On the first Saturday in May, Amy met with Woody in the tiny fellowship hall of Grace Church. The townspeople would arrive in the sanctuary in a half hour, but before the auditions could begin she had to talk through some issues with the show’s director. Well, director-slash-actor. Woody had shown up in his Merlin costume, ready to get into character. Hopefully his acting skills would prove to be as good as his directing skills. Not that Amy actually had any idea about his directing skills; she only knew what she’d heard through the years from others.

She settled down at the table, flipping open her copy of the script to the page marked C
HARACTERS
. “Look at these roles we have to fill.” She pointed to the audition form. “Arthur, Lancelot, Guinevere, Merlin.”

“Don’t need to fill that one.” Woody raised a makeshift wand. “Merlin’s right here, ready to perform a little magic.”

“I wish you could. I’d have you wave that wand and make this whole idea disappear.”

“I know, I know.” He chuckled. “Another goofy idea by Amy Lyn Hart.”

“Ugh.” She groaned. “If people keep saying that, we’re going to have to embroider it on a pillow or something.” Amy continued looking at the script, fear settling over her like a dark cloud.
Oh well. Back to the matter at hand.
“We’ll also need knights, ladies-in-waiting, jugglers, milkmaids, a cobbler…”

“Cobbler?” Woody licked his lips. “I’ve always loved cobbler. Cherry is my favorite.”

Amy forged ahead, making a mental note to address the issue of raising funds to provide Woody with a new hearing aid at the next city council meeting. “And we’ll also need animals—horses and dogs. And then we have to think about costumes and set design. We’ll need a castle, a moat, a field for the springtime scene, and a backdrop for the jousting scene.” She dropped her head onto the table and groaned. “What was I thinking? This is nuts. We’ll never be able to pull this off.”

“Deep breath, girlie.” Woody chuckled. “You won’t make a very good codirector if you’re losing your cool before the auditions even begin.”

“True.” She lifted her head and attempted to collect her thoughts, giving herself an internal pep talk.
You can do this, Amy, with God’s help. He hasn’t nixed the idea yet, so He must be for it.

She hoped.

Woody opened his script and looked inside. “It’s not as complicated as you think. Just three major roles in this show—Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot. The rest will be easy to fill.”

“Thanks for the encouragement. I was just starting to think I must be crazy for coming up with this idea.”

“Eh?” He gave her a curious look then tapped on his hearing aid. “You calling me crazy?”

“No, Woody, of course not. I couldn’t do this without you. The only crazy person here is me. Agreed?”

“Agreed. No argument there.”

A knock on the door caught her attention. She turned and smiled as Steve peeked his head inside. “Crowd control is becoming an issue in the foyer. The pastor’s wife is feeding everyone cookies and punch, but they’re getting restless.”

Amy felt her pulse quicken. “Already? Should we open the doors to the sanctuary and let them in? They could wait for us in there.”

“Yeah, if you think that will work.” His eyes widened just before he came bolting into the room, several people pushing in behind him.

“I wondered where you two were hiding.” Lucy Cramden turned to show off her low-cut medieval gown in a shimmering shade of blue. “Don’t you love my dress? Perfect for Guinevere. Woody, what do you think?”

“Did she say I
stink?”
Woody crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh, of course not.” Lucy drew near and ran her fingers through Woody’s wisps of hair. “I would never say anything ugly about our show’s fabulous director.”

“Now she’s calling me ugly?” Woody closed the script and leaned back in his chair.

Lucy tried to explain, but he couldn’t seem to hear her over the voices of the others, which were now rising to a chaotic chorus.

Natalie Crane swept in with a tray of cookies in hand. “Have one, Amy,” she said. “You’re going to need your strength.”

Amy almost declined…until she saw those peanut butter–chocolate chip cookies she loved so much. “Mmm. Thanks.” She grabbed two. Hey, a girl needed all the strength she could get.

Blossom made her way to Amy’s side, beaming ear to ear. “I fixed my hair just like Vanessa Redgrave wore it when she played Guinevere in the movie version.” She patted her beautifully coiffed updo. “What do you think?”

“Well, I—” Amy never got a chance to respond, though she had to admit, Blossom’s auburn locks looked pretty amazing in that style. And from what she could gather, there was enough hair spray holding things together to keep it looking good for months to come.

“I think there’s more to the part of the leading lady than just her hair, for heaven’s sake.” Gwen pushed past Blossom and clutched her hands to her chest. “The real Guinevere wasn’t middle-aged, ya know. She was young and beautiful.”

Amy swallowed a bite of her cookie, preparing to take Gwen down. How dare she say such a thing?

Blossom’s happy-go-lucky expression faded. “Oh, well, I—”

Prissy Parker, the town’s homecoming queen, pressed her way through the crowd; her shimmering crown caught the light from the fluorescent bulb above. It, however, was nothing compared to the glittering ball gown she wore. “I say we go with someone
really
young for Guinevere. Beauty before age.” She giggled then clamped a hand over her mouth. Removing it, she whispered, “Did I really just say that out loud?”

Amy sighed, already troubled by the direction this conversation seemed to be heading. She shoveled the rest of the first cookie into her mouth to keep from responding. Apparently Steve had the same idea. He took a couple of cookies from the tray and swallowed them in rapid succession.

“Actually,” Amy’s dad interrupted as he forced his way through the crowd, “Vanessa Redgrave was thirty years old when she played the part of Guinevere. And Richard Harris was no spring chicken when he played Arthur. I rather think we’ll be better off casting older, more experienced folks in the roles.” He narrowed his gaze in Amy’s direction. “Don’t you agree, honey?”

“Oh, well, I…” Thank goodness for the peanut butter in the cookie. It seemed to have glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

“I think we’ll figure it all out after we’ve listened to everyone audition,” Steve said. He flashed a desperate look Amy’s way then drew near, lowering his voice as he spoke to her. “Are we ready to start? If so, I’ll usher these folks into the sanctuary. Putting them up on the stage will give us a chance to see if they can handle the heat.”

“Handle the heat. Hmph.” Prissy’s mother grunted from behind Amy. “Just wait till you hear my girl sing. Then you’ll know she can handle the heat. And you’ll rethink that age thing, too. You’ll want a young, pretty Guinevere, I guarantee you.”

Steve cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. “Let’s get this show on the road, folks.”

“Get it? Show on the road!” Grady laughed as he entered the room. “That was a good ’un, Steve! Maybe we really will take this show on the road someday. Maybe we’ll go all the way to Broadway!”

Amy glanced at the clock on the wall and shrugged. So much for having time to reflect and pray before kicking this thing off. She grabbed her script and the audition forms, which she quickly passed out to all in attendance. Then, after nibbling on the second cookie, she headed into the sanctuary, where Steve gathered the crowd into the first ten or twelve rows. Amy brushed the cookie crumbs from her hands and did a quick head count. Thirty-two people. Thirty-two! And Steve had been worried that no one would be interested. She smiled, relieved at the show of support from the community.