O Little Town (4 page)

CHAPTER 6

There is nothing worse than waiting in a hospital bed for a meal not worth waiting for. It was getting colder outside by the minute and the wind was racing across the parking lot as fast as the gloom was racing into Walter Selman’s room. His daughters and son-in-law were long gone and he was alone with his memories and his dread. He was hoping all he had was a bad case of the flu, and yet he was surprised at how calm he was when he wondered if it might be something much worse. Life comes in stages and when each stage leaves, it takes a hunk of the soul with it. Large hunks of Walter’s soul had left in the past quarter of a century. When his daughters left home for college. When they married. And, of course, when Ella died.

What was left of his soul cared mostly for memories. Thank God, they were mostly good. Tomorrow would be Christmas Eve and most memories of past Christmas Eves only got sweeter with each passing year. The Christmas trees and open-house parties. Sneaking in toys after midnight. Eating Santa’s cookies and getting up before anyone else in the house to turn on the tree lights on Christmas morning. The snow flurries. The arrival of last-minute packages. All these things brought a smile to his lips as he looked out the window into the dark and listened to the sounds of nurses in the hallway.

Then there were the flowers. The flowers were foremost in his mind tonight. They always were on Christmas Eve. And then he drifted, not off to sleep, but back fifty-four years to the Christmas of 1904. The wind on the parking lot became the wind around the marquee of the Crown Theater, and the sounds of the nurses became backstage chatter of stagehands and actors. It was just hours to show time.

The winter of 1904 had not been easy. The few automobiles that traveled the streets in Mt. Jefferson had given way to the horses and carriages that were better prepared for a thirty-day accumulation of snow. Hard rubber tires were no match for Dobbin’s hooves. The streets were just as full of day shoppers as ever, and the nights, illuminated by gaslights on each corner, were becoming more popular in spite of the weather. Wilson’s Haberdashery was doing record business without putting anything on sale. Train sets were on back order at the Merchant Mart Department Store, and parents stood in line to order more. Lucky’s Barber Shop was open till 10 p.m., and any restaurant or cafe that closed before ten missed out on hungry, paying customers. Downtown was a flurry of commerce and color, bursting with red and green from every store window. And the holiday season was good for the Crown Theater, too.

The Crown, barely four years old, sat majestically on the northeast corner of its block and lit up every store within three doors. The café and the furniture store directly across the street had taken to turning off their front lights at night because the glow and spillover from the marquee was sufficient for their evening business. The music hall, as many referred to it early on, was an instant landmark. Although Mt. Jeffersonians swarmed to the performances from the beginning, many had yet to enjoy the Crown experience. That’s why the proprietor was happy to light up his corner of the street. The more light the Crown gave to shoppers, the more they would be tempted to peek through the large glass doors at the red and gold carpet in the lobby and the brass railings along the dark paneled walls. The right show would eventually get everyone through the in-swinging doors and turn curiosity into a theater-going habit.

Madge Turner and Her Merrymakers played two shows a day for the first three days of the week. Thursday the theater went dark in anticipation of the biggest play of the season on Friday and Saturday:
The Nativity
performed by a troupe from Baltimore called The Royal Players Group and starring the up-and-coming husband-and-wife team of Nicholas and Adrienne Knoles. Tickets went on sale the day after Thanksgiving and sold out in seventy-two hours due to the large church-going population of Mt. Jefferson and the showmanship and marketing techniques of E. G. Selman, owner of the flourishing Crown. The stage was set, and dress rehearsal was about to begin Friday afternoon for the 8 p.m. performance, which would be repeated again at a 4 p.m. Saturday matinee, a week before Christmas Eve.

The supporting cast waited on stage for their stars. Adrienne and Nicholas Knoles stood in their basement dressing room in full costume. Simon Croft, second lead, playing Herod and all the angel parts, paced in his damp cubicle, listening through an air vent to the conversation on the other side of the cement wall.

“Nick, you know we’re late. Let’s just do this and then we’ll talk all you want and about anything you want.”

“I want to talk now. I don’t give a rat’s hair about the play.”

“Don’t be a fool. We have a rehearsal and two shows to do. After Christmas we only have half a week in Frederick and then we can talk about what’s in our future.”

“Our future? My future. That’s what I want to talk about. What’s in my future?”

“I’m not going to talk about it now and that is that. So shut up about it and let’s go to work.”

“Give ’em the Virgin Mary, Adrienne. So exemplary to your public. So perfidious to me. You’re good, my dear. You’re real good. And I’m the biggest fool who ever lived.”

“If you want to stay here and pout you can do it by yourself.”

Simon Croft wanted to intervene. Should he get involved now or wait and see where this fight was going? He decided to wait until after dress rehearsal before doing anything. Walking into a husband-and-wife spat could be dangerous. Especially this husband-and-wife team. He had seen them unleash their wrath at directors and stage managers and each other more than once. A knock on his door told him he was due on stage in five minutes. He put out his cigar, pushed the blond hair from his eyes, and looked one more time at his image in the cracked mirror. The costume was a little soiled around the collar and the wings and the hem of the white robe was beginning to show dirt from being dragged across the boards, but all in all he looked like an angel. What he felt inside was a different story, and that was the story that concerned him most.

Something crashed suddenly in the room next door. It sounded like a water pitcher breaking against the wall and was followed by a scream that had to be Adrienne. Simon grabbed the doorknob, jerked it open, and ran to the Knoles’ dressing room and was nearly knocked down as Nick brushed past, heading for the stage. Simon glanced through the open door and saw Adrienne cowering in the corner, glass around her feet and water drenching her costume. He stepped toward her, but she stopped him.

“I’m all right.”

“You have glass in your hair. Here, let me comb it out.”

“No. I can do it.”

“One of these days he’s going to really hurt you. You’ve got to do something … or let me do something.”

“I’ll handle it.” She began to brush, and as the glass fell from her hair, tears fell from her eyes. Simon turned toward the hallway and said something under his breath she couldn’t hear. A voice from upstairs yelled, “One minute.”

“Let’s take it from the scene where Gabriel has just appeared to Mary and she’s frightened and the angel speaks to her. Simon, start with your line.”

Gabriel: Hail thou that art highly favored. The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among all women.

Mary: Who art thou who comes to me? Is this a dream and am I fast asleep, seeing heavenly visions?

Gabriel: You see no visions, Mary. I am here.

Mary: Then what are these words you speak to me? That I am blessed among women?

Gabriel: Fear not, Mary, for thou has found favor with God.

“I think that’s enough rehearsal for you two,” Nicholas’ voiced boomed as he walked onto the stage. “You know your lines. You know your marks. And, besides that, you’re making me sick. Let’s go to scene three where I come in.”

Adrienne turned and looked at Stoddard, the director, but she knew her silent plea was in vain. He was as scared of Nicholas as everyone else. He hung his head and said, “You might be right, Nick. Let’s move on to three.”

Adrienne walked off the stage. Simon followed her and grabbed her by the arm, but she pulled away.

“No, Simon. Leave it alone.”

“I’ll have it out with him right now. I’m not afraid of him.”

“I know. But I am.”

“Mrs. Knoles, watch your step. It’s dark on these stairs. Here let me hold your robe.”

“Thank you, son.”

The stage boy helped Adrienne Knoles down the stairs to her dressing room, holding the hem of her costume in his right hand and her elbow in his left. He was close enough to smell the perfume on her skin and see the fear in her eyes. He wasn’t sure what it all meant. He only knew he wanted to comfort her. As they walked steadily down the steps, her arm felt soft in his hand, yet cold. She was so much smaller the closer he got and so much prettier. He could tell she was upset but he didn’t have the words to make her feel better, so he just walked her quietly to her door. As he opened it, she thanked him and went inside and closed it gently.

He stood in the hall for a few minutes listening to her sobs, knowing they had everything to do with her husband, who had been so brash and hateful in front of the cast and crew. He was certain there was more to her sadness but it was not his place to ask. There was no comfort a sixteen-year-old boy could offer, so instead of following his instincts and knocking on the door, he followed his good sense. Walter walked away.

CHAPTER 7

Millie wasn’t lying on her bed facedown or sitting on the edge staring into space or looking pensively out the window as one might expect from an over-dramatic fifteen-year-old. She was standing in the middle of the room with hands on hips, waiting for her mother to knock on and open the bedroom door. Dove Franklin did just as she was expected. First came the knock then the door eased open, revealing her soft voice, “Millie? It’s mother.”

Millie didn’t shout any of the expected responses like “What do you want?” “Come in,” or even “I don’t feel like talking to you.” She just stood there as the door came toward her and her mother eased through the smallest possible opening as if to keep a world full of germs from entering behind her.

“Millie, what is going on? What happened at Macalbee’s?”

“They said I stole stuff.”

“Did you? Did you shoplift something?”

“I was going to pay for it. I was just picking things up and I was going to pay for it all and then a song came on the loudspeaker and I got to listening to it and I guess I just forgot and sorta walked out the back door without thinking. The next thing I knew they were all over me and telling me I was going to jail and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Did you tell them that you just forgot? Did you tell them exactly what you’re telling me?”

“Exactly what I’m telling you. But they didn’t care. That woman with that tight little perm, Mrs. What’s-her-face and a little colored man grabbed me and held me and drug me back inside. They took me to some dirty warehouse room and made me wait there on the police.”

“Lois Pence. Is that the woman?”

Millie nodded her head.

“Did Mr. Sandridge show up? Was he one of the people who talked to you?”

Millie stared out the window and twisted the chain she wore around her neck and brushed at flecks that weren’t on her sweater.

“Millie, I asked you if Mr. Sandridge was there.”

“He was there all right. He was the one that called the cops.”

“Honey, why don’t you take a bath and lie down for a little bit and let’s just let this thing calm down. I’m sure in a few hours it will all look a whole lot different.”

Dove said this with her arm around her only daughter and a tear in her voice. But there were no tears in her eyes. Crying was not one of Dove’s weaknesses and certainly not one of her defenses. She never even used her striking good looks the way other women who looked even half as good often did. But one glance in her dark brown eyes would have told you her mind was working overtime. She was planning her actions and Millie’s excuse and the other side to Paul’s inevitable argument. She slipped out of the room as carefully as she slipped in and saw Buddy Briggs walking out the front door to his car as she was coming down the stairs.

“Do you want to bring her down or do we need to talk first?”

“I see no need for either. She’s going to bed for a while and I think the best thing to do would be to leave her alone.”

“It’s not just about the shoplifting, Dove. Do you know what kind of problems she’s facing?”

“Problems? In her life or yours? Are you concerned because your daughter has been accused of something she may not have done or are you upset because the ‘preacher’s kid’ is in trouble, and God forbid anything besmirch the preacher’s name?”

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Fair is doing all you can for your family. That’s what fair is. Not selling out. Not settling down and giving up. Fair to your daughter is giving her every opportunity in life that you can. You think fair is praying for the bull not to trample you, and I think fair is shooting him between the eyes so that he won’t ever trample you or anyone else. But what’s the point of talking about it? Are we ever going to agree on anything again?”

There was a long silence as she put on her coat and scarf and gloves and he rubbed the backs of his hands and took a deep breath.

“Dove, I’m ready to make that move. You win. You and Millie. I’m ready to go. Let’s just get through Christmas and New Year’s and come the first of January, I’ll make the calls. And maybe then there will be some semblance of peace in this family again.”

“Yeah, you do that,” were the last words he heard before the front door slammed shut.

Paul and Dove Franklin had lived in Mt. Jefferson for nearly ten years. For half of that time she had ridden him almost daily to move. She quickly tired of the congregation and their “petty concerns,” as she was wont to call them. She never felt a part of his life and the things he felt were important. The people he felt a dedication to, she only felt resentment for. More often than not she viewed his caring nature as a personality flaw. She longed for him to be more concerned about her and Millie than with the one hundred or so pew-fillers he considered his family. What kept her awake nights was that she once felt the way he did. She was long past praying for understanding about why she’d changed. Life changes, and there was nothing she, or anyone else, could do about it.

Dove first saw Paul standing behind a podium from the second row at a campus rally their junior year in college. She fell in love with his authority and command before she even considered if he was cute. Those very traits that drew her to him now drained her daily of any emotion she ever felt for him. Authority and command be damned. She wanted a warm body to talk to and touch and feel close to. She was tired of sharing him with every old maid, divorcee, and new widow in the church who called at suppertime in tears wanting him to come by and listen to their problems. She was tired of interrupted vacations to come home for funerals or sudden hospitalizations. She was tired of being married to the entire church and always, always coming in last where need and desire and a little consideration were concerned.

Paul knew this. He had known for the past seven years. They left his first church about the time Millie started school. That move was for all the right reasons. Bigger church. Bigger community. More money. Better schools. Closer to her parents. But it all got too pat too quickly. The more the men and women of the congregation loved Paul, the more they resented her. Or maybe it just seemed so. She was dissatisfied and had to blame someone for her discomforts. Either way, it was time to move on, but Paul could be just as stubborn as she. And yet maybe he meant what he said. Maybe he was ready to make a move. Did he really want to or was the pressure finally getting to him? Her pressure. Her authority and command. It didn’t matter. Being gone was all that would matter. Being gone was the only thing that could solve the problem before it got any worse. The problem no one else knew about. The problem she certainly hoped to God no one else knew about.

Paul stood at the foot of the stairs in the foyer deciding whether to go up and talk to Millie or return to his study and finish the Christmas Eve sermon he had started. If he went upstairs, Millie surely wouldn’t talk to him. But if he went back to his desk, his mind would be too cluttered to write anything sensible. For the second time today he wished he still smoked.

Paul gave up all his bad habits the year after he met Dove—the year he decided he was going to seminary. She was his biggest supporter then. She encouraged him and told him often he was making the right decision. When did that stop? When Millie was born? When they moved to Mt. Jefferson? When he quit discussing his decision to stay or look for a new church? It was about that time she stopped teaching Sunday school and singing in the choir. About that time she started telling him how restless she was for a new town and new faces.

Having to make a choice between Dove and his church was something he’d never considered. Not until just a few minutes ago. There was something in her voice this time he had never heard before. He knew right now, two days before Christmas, that he had to make a choice. And he also knew there really were no options. Just one thing to do. The right thing. For the first time in years he felt a certain peace just knowing what was most important to him.