A Respectable Actress (13 page)

“Uh-oh,” Philip said to the girl, “Binah, your secret is out.”

“That's all you know!” With a saucy grin, Binah turned and followed the housekeeper
out to the kitchen house.

Philip regarded India with a raised brow. “What has put that child in such an agreeable
mood?”

“She's excited about the boat races and the picnic.” India polished off a bite of
biscuit slathered with butter and blackberry jam. “And I've been working with her
and a few of the island girls on a special event for today. It's to be a surprise.”

“Ah. I see.”

Amelia nibbled on a slice of bacon. “I thought you were up to something, India. I've
hardly seen you at all these past couple of weeks. I was beginning to think you had
tired of Indigo Point and of my scintillating company.”

“Not at all. The whole thing was spontaneous, but I won't deny it has given me a
sense of purpose, and it has taken my mind off the trial.”

Philip regarded her from across the table, his expression thoughtful. “I've had letters
from your friends in Philadelphia and New York. They vouch for your character absolutely
and are distressed by your troubles. The photographer in particular is outraged
that such an accusation should be lodged against you.”

“Mr. Sarony was very kind to both my father and me. He always told me I was a pleasure
to photograph. And I enjoyed
posing for him. Somehow, he was able to help me relax
before the camera. The pictures are better for it, I think.”

“But not as beautiful as India in person,” Amelia said.

“I couldn't agree more.” Philip smiled at India as he lifted his cup.

His words sent a frisson of pleasure through her. She smiled and refilled her own
cup.

Philip finished his eggs and got to his feet. “Please excuse me. I should see if
Mrs. Catchpole is ready for me to pack the rig.”

As if on cue, the mantel clock in the parlor chimed. Amelia reached across the table
and patted India's hand. “We ought to get going too. We don't want to be late for
your surprise.”

Half an hour later, they set off along the road, Amelia at the reins of the smart
little rig, India and Mrs. Catchpole wedged in beside her. At their feet were blankets,
dinner baskets, and India's drawstring bag. The morning wind was sharp off the ocean.
India burrowed into her cloak, her eyes on the thick forest lining the road. Now
and then through the trees she glimpsed patches of blue sky and brown river, abandoned
slave cabins, stands of amber-colored marsh grasses, and fallow fields.

As they neared Butler's Island, others joined them on the road. Philip, riding ahead
on a chestnut mount, called out greetings to the lumber mill workers, sharecroppers
both Negro and white. It seemed to India that he knew everyone on the island, and
they knew him.

They reached a large clearing, and Amelia pulled up next to a line of wagons, rigs,
and carts. Women in cloaks and warm hats gathered near the place where logs had been
placed for the bonfire. Children raced among the trees, their voices rising on
the
wind. Men in heavy coats and gloves tended to half a dozen boats bobbing in the wide
Altahama River. Good-natured teasing filled the air. Philip dismounted and went
to join the men.

A couple of young men brought out a fiddle and a banjo, and the music began. A group
of young boys found a stick, drew a circle in the dirt, and began a game of marbles.

Claire and Elizabeth raced over to India. “Miss Hartley?” Claire's blue eyes fairly
danced with excitement. “When can we have our play? Can we be first, before the races?
Because I don't think I can keep our secret for another minute!”

“Where are Susan and Margaret?” India asked. “And has anyone seen Myrtilda? We can't
start without her.” India glanced around the clearing. She recognized Mrs. Garrison,
Mrs. Taylor, and several of the others who had attended the Christmas reception
at Indigo Point. The women seemed as disapproving and distant as ever. But there
was nothing India could do about it. “I don't think Binah is here yet either.”

“Don't worry. We'll find them,” Elizabeth said. “Come on, Claire.”

The girls moved off as Amelia arrived to spread a heavy blanket on the cold ground
near the newly ignited bonfire. Logs sizzled and popped as the flame caught and rose
into the chilly air.

Amelia let out a long sigh. “Mr. Lockwood isn't here.”

“Maybe he'll be along later.” India indicated the group of men standing at the river's
edge near the tethered boats. “He's probably seeing to the last-minute details.”

“Maybe.” Amelia patted her hair. “I'd hate to think I went to the trouble of doing
up my hair just to impress old Mr. Horn
buckle.” She indicated a wizened man in tattered
denim pants and a flannel work shirt who stood warming his backside before the fire.
“He had the temerity to wink at me when I walked by just now.”

India smiled. “You have an ardent admirer then.”

“Oh, you can laugh,” Amelia said. “You have thousands of admirers. For us mere mortals,
attracting the attention of a suitable gentleman is much more difficult.”

India stared into the fire. “Admirers, yes, but in the same way one might admire
a painting or a piece of sculpture. No one wants to claim me for his own.”

Amelia patted India's gloved hand. “Don't worry. When we are as old as Almarene,
we'll live together in a falling-down house with a passel of cats. Children will
tell fanciful tales of our haunted house. On Halloween we'll be the most popular
ladies in town.”

“I can hardly wait.”

Amelia grinned. “That's the spirit.”

India looked up to see her young actresses coming across the clearing, Claire and
Susan in the lead, Binah and Myrtilda bringing up the rear.

“Miss Hartley,” Susan said, “we're all here now. And we can't keep the secret one
minute longer.” The girl punched her sister's shoulder. “Elizabeth nearly spilled
the beans to Mr. Sinclair just now. And that would have spoiled everything!”

“All right. Let me get my things, and we'll meet behind that row of wagons over there.”

“So nobody can see us putting on the greasepaint,” Margaret said.

India followed the girls across the clearing, which had grown crowded as more of
the island residents gathered for the boat races. She retrieved her drawstring bag
from the Sinclairs' rig and began helping the girls with their makeup.

Claire, who was already blond and fair, needed only a bit of rose-colored greasepaint
on her cheeks to transform her into pretty and ladylike Amy March. Tall, thin, and
brown Myrtilda became the tomboy Jo. Elizabeth and Binah, who had decided greasepaint
was not so bad after all, were to take turns as Meg, while Susan and Margaret shared
the role of Beth. India completed their transformations and let them take turns looking
at the results in her hand mirror.

“I look just like myself, only prettier,” Claire said. “I wonder where I can get
some greasepaint of my own.”

Myrtilda frowned at her image. “I don't look like myself at all.”

“That's the point, when one is in a play,” India said. “I think you make a spectacular
Jo. Do you remember your first line?”

“‘Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents,'” Myrtilda quoted.

India studied her little group and felt her heart expanding. They were so full of
excitement and high hopes. So innocent of the many ways life could cut them down.
She looked away before they could see her sudden tears, then said a silent prayer
for their protection.

“Very good. Now you all wait here while I introduce our play. I'll wave to you when
it's time to make your grand entrance.”

India returned to the clearing and spoke to the two young musicians, who nodded and
launched into a version of a fanfare
that ended with a piercing squeak of the fiddle.
She looked around for Philip, wanting him to share in the surprise. But he and most
of the other men were still downriver, discussing the boat race.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” India said. “Introducing the Indigo Point Theater Company
in their debut performance of readings from Miss Alcott's popular children's novel,
Little Women
.”

She motioned to the girls, who raced across the clearing and took their places.

“Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents.” Myrtilda heaved a long, Jo-like
sigh.

“It's so dreadful to be poor.” Binah recited Meg March's line, and with a dramatic
sweep of her arm indicated her worn dress.

Claire stepped forward. “I don't think it's fair that—”

“Stop! Stop this instant!” A woman in a worn woolen cloak and an old bonnet pushed
her way through the crowd and grabbed Claire by the arm. India froze. It was Mrs.
Garrison. “What in the name of heaven are you doing?”

Claire looked stunned. “We're giving a play, Mama. Just like Miss Hartley.”

Mrs. Garrison strode over to where India had stationed herself, close enough to prompt
the girls if they forgot a line but not so close as to impinge upon their space.
“What is the meaning of this? Painting up these children to look like hussies. Encouraging
immoral behavior. Have you no sense of propriety?”

India opened her mouth to reply, but old Mr. Hornbuckle spoke up. “Oh, pipe down,
why dontcha? Ain't no harm in what they're doing. Let them girls go on with their
play actin'.” He
spat a stream of tobacco juice into the fire. “I'm kind of enjoyin'
it myself.”

Mrs. Garrison glared at him. “I'm not in the least surprised, Jonas Hornbuckle. You
are just the sort of man who would frequent theaters if we had them here. Which
thankfully we do not.” She fished a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to
Claire, who was near tears. “Wipe off your face and wait in the wagon. I will deal
with you later.”

“Please don't punish Claire,” India said. “The play was my idea.”

“Yes, I'm sure it was.” Mrs. Garrison drew herself up and looked at India with utter
contempt. “It's bad enough that our children are mixing with the Negroes, picking
up their superstitions and fanciful stories about death and people who sprout wings
and fly to Africa. Just the other day I had to punish Claire for walking around
with a basket on her head. Because she had seen the Negroes doing it.” She waved
a hand. “But this theater nonsense is even worse. We may have lost our fortunes,
but we have not lost our sense of decency, or our hopes that our children may somehow
make respectable lives for themselves. The last thing we need is the corrupting influence of a . . . murderer.”

“Now wait a minute, Lizzie.” Mrs. Taylor stood up. “When your husband was arrested
for fighting with Mr. Soules last year, you were incensed anytime anybody even hinted
that he might be guilty of provoking the whole thing. Don't you think you owe Miss
Hartley the same benefit of the doubt?”

India wanted to weep, but she squared her shoulders. “I have offended the very community
I only wanted to help, and for that I apologize. But I'm not sorry for showing these
young ladies
their own potential to grow and learn. For encouraging them to dream.”

India walked out of the clearing and down to the riverbank. Amelia found her there
and threw both arms around India's neck. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry! And yet so
proud of you. Myrtilda's mother just told me she has never seen the girl so happy
and excited.”

“Well, Myrtilda will probably get her legs switched until they bleed, and it's my
fault.”

“I don't think so. But poor Claire is probably in for a good switching. Mrs. Garrison
is the meanest woman on this entire island. I swan to gracious! I have never met
anyone as bitter and fearful as she is. The way she acts, you'd think hers was the
only family that has suffered.”

A gunshot echoed through the trees. India jumped.

“That's the signal for the races to begin,” Amelia said.

“You go ahead.”

“Absolutely not. If you hide out down here by yourself, Mrs. Garrison wins. Mrs.
Taylor and Mr. Hornbuckle came to your defense, and I am sure others felt the same
way, even if they were too timid to say so.”

“I hate to face the girls. It's humiliating.”

“I'll be with you every second, and even Mrs. Garrison won't risk offending us Sinclairs.
Her husband still owes Philip a boatload of money for defending him against that
assault charge.” Amelia narrowed her eyes. “If that woman dares to say one more word,
I will remind her of it in the most public way.” She held out her hand to India.
“Come on, now. We don't want to miss the races.”

India released a heavy sigh and forced herself to think of more pleasant topics than
the contretemps that threatened to spoil the entire day. But Amelia was still stewing.
“Honestly, India, I don't know why Mrs. Garrison has been so mean to you just because
of your profession. She was certainly not so disapproving of Mr. Sterling.”

India stopped walking. “I don't understand. Arthur Sterling was here? On St. Simons?”

“It was years ago. He visited us at Indigo Point a few times. Usually with a party
of other people from Savannah.” They continued along the overgrown path that paralleled
the river. “I thought surely Philip would have told you.”

“He never mentioned it.” India jammed her fists into her pockets. “I'm surprised
he is willing to defend me in the death of his friend.”

“Oh, they weren't friends. At least I don't think so. Of course I could be wrong.
My brother keeps his own counsel when it comes to his personal feelings.”