Caroline bristled. She hated criticism. She knew she'd have to learn to take it from a director, but she didn't want to take it from her parents.
“Well, I have the lead role of all the girhl” she said confidently.
“Excuse me?” said Beth.
“Besides you, I mean,” Caroline said hastily.
Mr. Malloy finished his bacon and glanced at his watch. “Why don't you accept the fact that you were lucky to get a part in a community play and that everyone's part is important, and stop looking for special favors?” he said.
Caroline pressed her lips together and didn't reply. She didn't want her family so disgusted with her that they wouldn't even come to the performance. Down in her heart of hearts, however, she knew that she was perhaps the most precocious child in Buckman and that some day, when she was a famous actress, people would be standing in line for her autograph.
She dressed for school and tried not to say anything else that would upset Beth. Eddie seemed restless, however. Plays did not interest her very much. She longed to be doing something more active, and baseball season still seemed a long way off.
But all that restraint on Caroline's part was a little too much, and when she slid into her seat behind Wally, she could not resist poking him a little with her ruler and saying, “Good morning, Clyde! Are you going to send me flowers?”
“Huh?” said Wally, turning around.
“Flowers! For being in the play.”
“Why would I send you flowers?” said Wally, and faced forward again.
Poke, poke. This time she poked him with her pencil.
“What?” Wally snapped, turning again.
“Do you suppose we'll still be in plays together when we're in high school?”
“You mean you'll still be around when we're in high school?” Wally asked in despair.
“I don't know. I just mean if we are.”
“No,” said Wally. “I don't ever plan to be in a play again the rest of my entire life. And I will never, ever send you flowers.”
“Oh,” said Caroline.
▪
It was cold at recess and Caroline's throat felt a little scratchy, so she stayed in the shelter of the door and didn't venture out into the yard. Actresses had to be careful of so many things. It was amazing all the things you had to think about when you became an actress.
“Class,” said Miss Applebaum. “I hope you are all planning to go to the grand birthday celebration of our town tomorrow. Sometimes we think about history only in terms of our country—the leaders who made it great—and we forget that even little towns like ours have a history—somebody, sometime, had to start the ball rolling and think about what our community might become. Everyone who attends one of the festivities this weekend will get an extra ten points for the unit. And that includes the play, The Birth of Buckman, in which two members of our class will star—Wally Hatford and Caroline Malloy.”
What does she mean, mentioning Wally! Why, he doesn't even have any lines! Caroline thought. She started to stand up and take a bow, and then remembered what her mother had said about humility and decided she'd better stay seated.
▪
Everyone was excited at rehearsal that night, because it was the final rehearsal before the performance and the players came in costume. Caroline wore a silver brooch at the collar of her high-necked blouse, and Mrs. Malloy piled Caroline's dark hair on top of her head and fastened it with a tortoiseshell comb.
Beth, however, looked even more beautiful in a long, soft blue dress with lace on the sleeves. A little spray of blue artificial flowers was tucked into her blond hair.
It was almost enough, Eddie declared, to make her want to be in the play so that she could look beautiful, but not enough to make her go onstage and act stupid.
Caroline was very quiet as Mr. Malloy drove them to the old theater that evening. What she was feeling was tired. All the excitement and stress of the past two weeks, all the evening rehearsals, were beginning to show, and she didn't have her usual spunk. But when she got up on the stage and saw Tracy Lee watching from the seats below, just waiting to spring onstage and take over if anything happened to Caroline, she performed with every ounce of energy she had, and the director told her it was one of her finest performances.
“Just do that well tomorrow night,” she told her, “and you will never have done better.”
The set was finished, the paint was dry, the old-time furniture collected and placed onstage, and as all the players left the theater that night, the men and women laughingly called to each other, “Break a leg! Break a leg!”
Caroline could not believe her ears! What a terrible thing to say, she thought.
But when she told her mother, who had come to pick her up in the car, Mrs. Malloy said, “Actually, that's a good-luck wish among theater folk, Caroline. They don't actually mean they wish it to happen. It's sort of a superstition that if you wish for something to happen, or say that you do, then it won't. It's like a good-luck charm to ward off misfortune.”
“Oh!” said Caroline, and felt very important that she was actually being around theater people now, hearing their talk, and being a part of it all.
▪
But the next morning, Saturday, Caroline awoke with a sore throat and a headache. She drank a little orange juice and insisted she was only tired. When she fell asleep on the couch after lunch, Mrs. Malloy made her go up to bed for a nap so that she would feel better before the long show that evening.
There were to be speeches that afternoon and a high-school band concert, and Caroline wanted to go—wanted to tell everyone she met to be sure to come back downtown that evening to see her perform in The Birth of Buckman. But Mrs. Malloy said she had to rest for the play, so Caroline gratefully crawled under the covers and went to sleep.
When Mrs. Malloy went to wake her at five to get dressed for the performance, she found Caroline's cheeks burning red and a light rash on her face and arms. Caroline could hardly open her eyes, and when she tried to talk, her voice was husky.
Mrs. Malloy quickly got the thermometer.
“One hundred and four!” she said. “Caroline, I'm sorry, but you can't be in the play this evening. You are much too sick.”
“Mother!” Caroline wailed, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I'm going right to the phone and call the director. Tracy Lee will have to take over, and I'll have your father run your costume over to her house. I'm so sorry, honey. I'll see if I can't reach Dr. Raskin, too.”
She went downstairs to call.
“Mother!” Caroline wailed again. Her voice sounded like the bleating of a sick calf. There was a thump on the floor. Then another.
Beth and Eddie and Mr. and Mrs. Malloy went to the foot of the stairs.
Caroline was standing at the top, trying to get one of her pajama-clad legs into her long black skirt.
“I—I've got to be in the play!” Caroline croaked, her face pinker still. “Don't call the director! Don't! I don't want Tracy Lee to wear my clothes! I don't want her to be Beulah!”
She tried to put the other leg in the skirt, hobbling about on one foot, but at that moment she lost her balance and came tumbling halfway down the stairs, determined, it seemed, to almost, but not quite, “break a leg.”
Fourteen
The Birth of Budmdn
The Hatfords were preparing to go to the theater. Josh and Wally were dressed up like boys of long ago. Josh was in a three-piece suit and a shirt with a high collar that felt like a rope around his neck. Wally wore a flannel shirt and baggy pants with suspenders. Josh wore a straw hat, Wally a leather cap, and they were each so clean and scrubbed that Wally complained his ears squeaked.
“Wait till you see the set, Mom!” Josh kept saying. “The stage manager just turned the backdrop over and let me paint a whole new scene. It really looks like a field now, with the animals in the back smaller and the ones in the front bigger/’
“And they don't have women's legs on the
m, either,” Wally said. “Everything looks real.”
“This is an exciting day for you, Josh—almost like having your paintings in a gallery,” Mrs. Hatford said. “I've invited all my friends to come.”
What Josh wished, of course, was that all his friends would come to see the set, and then leave before he had to hold hands with Beth Malloy and say those sappy lines.
On the other hand, if he had to say them at all, he'd rather say them to Beth than any other girl he could think of.
Wally, however, was only thankful that he didn't have to hold hands with anybody onstage, especially with a girl. Thankful he didn't have to say anything, either. The only reason he was in this stupid play at all was because Josh wanted company and Wally wanted to be his buddy.
Jake hadn't even wanted to go watch. He said he saw his brothers acting dumb every day, why would he want to go to a theater and see them act dumb onstage?
But Mrs. Hatford said this was a family affair, and if he didn't care enough for his brothers to come and watch their performance, then he could wash all the supper dishes she'd left in the sink. Jake put on his coat and cap. Everyone piled into Mr. Hatford's Jeep, the one he used when he delivered rural mail, and drove the few blocks downtown, Peter chattering happily in the backseat.
At the theater, Wally and Josh used the stage entrance while the rest of the family went in the door at the front.
The other cast members were nervously putting on makeup, combing their hair, and straightening the sleeves of their costumes.
Mrs. Malloy was brushing Beth's hair, tucking little flowers into the headband across the top. Wally heard her say, “I won't be able to stay long, dear. Caroline's sleeping, so as soon as you say your lines, I'm going to zip back home. The doctor thought he could get there about nine.”
“That's okay, Mom,” Beth said. “I understand.”
“Is Caroline sick?” Wally asked, walking over.
“Yes, poor thing. She is just beside herself that she can't be in the play. She looked forward to it so much,” Mrs. Malloy told him. “But we took her costume over to Tracy Lee, and I know she'll do a fine job.”
Man, oh, man! thought Wally, would Caroline ever be unbearable when she came back to school.
When the lights dimmed, a banjo player came onstage and played a lively tune, and then a spotlight shone on the narrator, who was sitting on a high stool over on the left side of the stage. He was telling the story of Buckman, about the farmer who had only daughters and the grocer who had only sons, and how one day they had talked about incorporating their little community and making it a town.
As he mentioned various events and conversations, the spotlight would jump to the players who had crept onstage. They would say their few lines, and then the spotlight would go off again and the narrator would continue. The person who was operating the spotlight, however, was obviously new at the job, for sometimes the spot of light would shine on absolutely nothing while a voice came from somewhere else onstage. Once, the spotlight fell on an actor's shoe and never did make it up to his face, and everyone laughed.
When Caroline was to come on as Beulah, Tracy Lee grandly made her entrance, wearing Caroline's clothes. When she said, “In fact, why not name it Beulah, after mei” the audience laughed loudly, and Tracy Lee looked pleased.
A few scenes later, Josh and Beth stood onstage holding hands. Wally was sitting on an overturned bucket, chewing a piece of clover—or what was supposed to be clover. He heard Jake give a soft groan of disgust down in the first row when Josh said, “Anna-belle, I never thought I'd amount to much, but when I met you, everything changed.”
And Wally heard Mrs. Malloy sigh when Beth looked up into his eyes and said, “With you by my side, Elmer, we can do anything.”
It was at that moment the spotlight turned to the right, where Beulah would tiptoe onstage and whisper to the audience, “If they think they can have a wedding without inviting me to be in the bridal party, they're in for a surprise!” Tracy Lee started to step out in Caroline's long black skirt and blouse, when suddenly an arm reached out and yanked her back, and there came Caroline in her coat and pajamas, her face flushed, her hair disheveled. Her voice was as raspy as a rusty saw, and she bleated, “If they think they can have a wedding without … with … uh …,” and she stumbled about awkwardly onstage.
The audience gasped.
“Caroline!” came a stage whisper from behind the curtain, and another arm reached out and tried to grab her.
“Caroline!” cried Mrs. Malloy from the second row, and immediately got up and exited through the little door beside the stage.
“Let go!” Caroline was crying, flailing at the hands—three of them now—that were trying to grab her. “I'm Beulah! Please! I'll be the sickly daughter, then! I am sick! Oh, please let me be in the play!”
But at that point Mrs. Malloy herself stepped onstage, encircled her feverish daughter in her arms, and whisked her away.
Wally could not believe his eyes. The fake clover fell out of his mouth.
Beth and Josh continued to hold hands, staring after Caroline, and the narrator shakily began reading again. Offstage, Wally could hear Caroline's muffled protests as she was led outside, and Tracy Lee's sobs, but the show went on, as it always must, and when it was all over, the audience broke into loud applause.
Josh, Wally, and Beth stood in the wings talking after the final curtain.
“I was so embarrassed!” Beth kept saying.
“It's not your fault,” Josh told her. “Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone knows it was my sister, though! She was acting half crazy. She must be even sicker than we thought!”
Tracy Lee marched by with fire in her eyes and said to Beth, “I never want to be in a play with your sister again. She just has to have all the attention, doesn't she? Well, she got it, and I hope she's satisfied.”
But family members were crowding backstage now. The art teacher from school was there.
“Josh, is this true? The program said you painted the set. It's wonderful!”
“Yeah. It was lots of fun,” Josh told her.
“Wonderful job, Josh,” said another teacher.
“Just great,” said Mr. Hatford.
Wally was glad that the play was over and that neither he nor Josh had goofed up. He was glad that everyone had liked the set. But there was another feeling he had never, ever felt before, and he could hardly believe he felt it. He was really, truly a little bit sorry for Caroline Malloy.
Fifteen
The Awakening
Caroline had only the dimmest recollection of what had happened. She vaguely remembered getting out of bed when she heard her family leaving for the theater, but she had no memory at all of pulling on her coat and boots.
She did remember that it had been cold outside, and that it had seemed a very long three blocks to the theater. But when she went in the stage entrance, she stood by the radiator a minute, which warmed her, and then she heard Beth and Josh saying their lines, and after that … she only remembered how bright the lights had seemed and how dark the audience, and all the hands reaching … reaching … to pull her back.
Mrs. Malloy was sitting by her bed when she opened her eyes again, and so was Dr. Raskin.
“It sure looks like strep,” the doctor was saying. “We'll take a throat culture to be sure, but I'd bet my last dollar.” Caroline gagged when he swabbed her throat. It was so very sore.
“I know you're feeling rotten, Caroline,” the doctor went on, “but I've given you a shot of penicillin and we're working on that fever.” He looked at Mrs. Malloy. “She should be better in a day or two. Call me if you need to.”
And with a pat on Caroline's knee, he picked up his bag and left the room.
Mrs. Malloy sat down again beside the bed.
“I feel awful,” Caroline whispered huskily.
“I know,” said her mother.
“My head hurts and my throat's on fire.”
??
?I know,” her mother said.
“And I had the most awful dream! I dreamed that I went onstage in my pajamas.”
“I know,” Mrs. Malloy said again.
Caroline closed her eyes and slept once more, and the next time she opened them, Beth and Eddie were sitting beside the bed.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, how are you feeling?” asked Eddie.
“Awful,” said Caroline. “I keep having this dream that I'm going onstage in my pajamas.”
“That was a nightmare, all right,” said Beth. “But it could have been worse. You could have walked on naked as a lightbulb.”
Caroline tried to sit up and braced herself on one elbow.
“It didn't really happen, did it?” she croaked.
Beth and Eddie looked at each other.
“She's going to find out eventually,” Eddie whispered. “Might as well tell her.”
Beth looked at Caroline. “Yes, it really happened. You came onstage in your pajamas and boots and coat and said you were Beulah.”
“Or the sickly daughter, either one,” added Eddie.
Caroline's eyes widened in horror. “Then … Then there were lights in my eyes, and there were hands reaching out, trying to pull me back.”
“You bet,” said Eddie. “The most excitement Buckman has had all year. But don't worry. Everyone realized you were simply out of your head.”
Caroline fell back on her pillow. “I'll never go out of the house again! I'll never be able to face anyone, Eddie!” And she started to cry.
“We shouldn't have told her,” Beth whispered.
“And have her find it out from the Hatfords? Are you nuts?” asked Eddie.
“I want to be home-schooled!” Caroline wailed. “I want to go to a convent! I want to go back to Ohio— now!”
Mrs. Malloy came into the room and, with a stern look at Beth and Eddie, sent them scurrying. Then she sat down beside Caroline and took her hand.
“Caroline,” she said, “the first thing actresses have to learn is to use the things that happen to them, even the awful things. Don't try to throw it away. I know you're embarrassed, but whenever you need to act embarrassed in a play in the future, you will know how that feels. You'll remember this moment, and remembering will help your cheeks grow pink, your pulse to race. Keep every sad or angry or fearful or embarrassing thing that ever happens to you in your memory bank so that you can draw on it when you need to.”