Fortune's Journey (6 page)

Whatever the reason, she felt more comfortable as she looked the town over.

We've nearly reached the end of the beginning, she thought, looking around the town. One more town and the real journey begins. Oh, I wish you were still with us, Papa!

They gathered the next afternoon in a space not unlike the site of their catastrophic performance in Busted Heights. The fact that they had had no problem finding a place suitable to put on a show confirmed that word of their last performance had not yet traveled this far west.

As Fortune listened with growing anxiety to the argument developing between Mr. Patchett and Mrs. Watson, she began to think that finding a place to work had been the easy part.

“You can't possibly expect me to do that, Henry!” cried Mrs. Watson. “It is an insult to my talent!”

Mr. Patchett sighed. “My dear Mrs. Watson, all I am suggesting is that you play the scene exactly the way you did the last ninety-six times we performed this show!”

“It's
not
the same, and I won't do it! The whole production is wrong anyway. We have no sense of style, no sense of elegance. Now, here's what I think—”

“Woman, I do not
care
what you think! Will you please take your position before I lose my temper completely?”

Fortune sighed. At least things were back to some semblance of normality. With Jamie's arrival the troupe had decided to attempt a different play, since they were all thoroughly tired of
The Widow's Daughter.
Though his work would be limited to walk-ons and lines like, “Yes, Your Majesty,” his very presence freed up one of the other actors to take on some larger parts.

She glanced over to where Jamie stood at the edge of the makeshift stage, waiting to make his entrance. Aaron gave him his cue. Fortune winced as she watched Jamie bolt awkwardly up the steps, stumble, and blurt out his line so fast that it seemed like one long word.

“No, no, no,” said Mrs. Watson. “Here, try it like this.”

“Madam,” said Mr. Patchett, “are you directing this play or am I?” Though he spoke softly, there was murder in his voice.

“Oh, what difference does it make, Henry?” she asked airily. “We're just trying to get it to come out right, aren't we, ducky?” Her second comment, addressed to Jamie, was accompanied by a squeeze of his cheek.

“I guess so,” he said, looking very uncomfortable.

Fortune could sympathize. She had been caught in the Patchett-Watson crossfire herself, and she knew it was no fun. Worse, it had been going on all afternoon. She could see Mr. Patchett's usually good temper wearing thin.

“Looks like your boyfriend is going to make a mess of things,” said Edmund, sidling up beside her.

“He's not my boyfriend!” Fortune snapped. “And I think he's doing perfectly well, all things considered.”

Edmund gave her an evil grin and walked toward the stage.

Wondering what he was up to, Fortune found herself wishing again that they had never let him join the group. Suddenly she realized her entrance was coming up. She lifted her skirts to head for the stage. Halfway there she stopped, surprised by an unfamiliar line. After a moment she realized that Edmund was delivering a fake cue. Aaron picked up on it, and sent the dialogue spinning off into nowhere.

Jamie looked from one to the other, his eyes wide with panic.

Mr. Patchett, who had turned aside to make a note of something, looked up. A puzzled frown wrinkled his face. “Jamie?…”

“Uh…uh…”

He looked frantically out at Fortune.

Aaron erupted in gleeful laughter.

“It's not funny!” said Jamie sharply.

“I should say not!” snapped Mrs. Watson. “Henry, you should see to—oh, never mind, I'll do it. Now, look here, Edmund. If you and Aaron think—”

“Mrs. Watson,” said Mr. Patchett, “would you please—”

“Be quiet, Henry. This is important!”

Fortune caught her breath.

Mr. Patchett's face turned an odd shade of red. Without a word he stalked onto the stage. Silence filled the room, the kind of quiet that prevails before a tornado. Mrs. Watson's air of grand control was replaced by a nervous expression.

Mr. Patchett stood before her without speaking for a moment.

He's going to hit her!
thought Fortune, simultaneously horrified and fascinated. To her disgust she found herself, as she often did, wondering how she could use this moment onstage. She shook the idea away.

As it turned out, Mr. Patchett had no intention of hitting anyone. Instead he bent and began to undo his shoelaces.

“Madam,” he said gravely, “as it is obvious you will never be happy until you have filled my shoes, I will give them to you.”

As he spoke he slipped off his brogues and kicked them toward Mrs. Watson's feet. The actress said nothing, but her lower lip began to tremble. Walter jumped to his feet. Mr. Patchett waved him aside and continued his speech.

“Furthermore, it is clear that you will never rest until you are the one who wears the pants in this organization. Therefore, let me give you these, also.” Unbuckling his trousers, he dropped them to the floor. After stepping deftly out, he picked them up and tossed them in her direction. “I hope they fit,” he said sweetly. He turned to the others. “As there is obviously no further need for me today, I shall be in my room. Please call me when it is time for dinner.”

His shirttail flapping around his skinny bare legs, he turned and stalked out of the hall with all the dignity of one of the crowned heads of Europe.

The members of the troupe looked at one another. After a moment of stunned silence Mrs. Watson—who had caught Mr. Patchett's pants—dropped them as if they had suddenly threatened to bite her.

Suddenly Fortune realized just how funny the expression on Mrs. Watson's face was. She began to laugh, a rollicking release of mirth that was soon joined by the others…all save Mrs. Watson. She gazed at them in growing horror, her cheeks turning crimson. “Philistines!” she cried. Then she turned and fled the room.

After a moment Jamie ran after her.

Suddenly Fortune realized what kind of problem she had on her hands. The rehearsal was ruined. And if she couldn't pull the group back together, the performance would be, too. Turning to Aaron, she snapped, “Now look what you've done!”

“Me?” he said, the essence of wounded innocence. “What did I do?”

“Oh, forget it!” she snapped.

The last thing she saw before she left the room was the puzzled expression on his face.

Mrs. Watson sat beneath an oak tree, sobbing convulsively. Jamie knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder, talking quietly.

Stepping softly, Fortune moved closer.

“It was kind of you to stick up for me,” said Jamie to Mrs. Watson.

“They…they were laughing at you.”

“I know,” said Jamie. “I'm used to it.”

“How can you stand it?” wailed Mrs. Watson. “That's why I ran out.
They were laughing at me, too! AT
ME!”

Throwing her arms around Jamie's neck, she buried her face in his shoulder.

He disentangled himself, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—a large red bandanna, utterly different from the tiny lace ones Mrs. Watson was so fond of. He began to dab at her eyes.

Look at how gentle he is, thought Fortune.

A terrible thought struck her. She remembered just the other night thinking that Mrs. Watson was very attractive for her age. Could it be that he was interested in her?

Fortune stamped her foot, impatient with her own foolishness. Mrs. Watson was old enough to be his mother for heaven's sake. Anyway, it made no difference to her. Jamie could like Mrs. Watson, or that girl who was with him the night of the fire, or his horse, for all she cared.

She bit her lip. Even so, she wished Aaron would show her some of the kind of tenderness that Jamie was now demonstrating. No one ever held her when she wanted to cry. Not that she would ever let anyone see her in that condition. She was leader of the troupe, and if she was going to get them to California she had to be strong, to lock away—

“Fortune!”

She gasped. Mrs. Watson had spotted her. Embarrassed at what might appear to be eavesdropping, Fortune stammered, “I…I just came out to see if you were all right. I feel badly that—that your feelings were hurt.”

“It's perfectly all right,” said Mrs. Watson, mustering her dignity. “I was simply taken aback by the rudeness of some people. Fortunately, not everyone is like that.” She looked fondly at Jamie.

“I know what it's like,” said Jamie quietly. “That's all.”

She patted his cheek. “Well, I want to give you some private coaching. We'll show those yahoos who can act and who can't. By the time I'm through with you, Aaron and Edmund will look like such amateurs they'll be ashamed to be on the same stage with you.”

Fortune stifled a groan. As if she didn't have troubles enough already!

Deciding she needed some advice, she headed for the only place she could be sure of finding a sympathetic ear.

Chapter Six

Romeo and Juliet were quietly munching their oats when Fortune slipped into the dimly lit stable. Motes of dust danced in the shafts of light that came through the cracks in the walls. The air was heavy with barn smells—horse sweat, manure, musty hay—all blending into an unlikely perfume that she found oddly pleasant.

Guess I'm just a country girl at heart, Fortune thought.

She snorted at her own foolishness. She wasn't a country girl, and she knew it.

But what was she? John and Laura Plunkett's orphan daughter. A child of the stage. Heir to an acting tradition that stretched back, her father claimed, over a hundred years. And now, by accident and tragedy, the leader of a band of traveling players following a possibly hopeless dream of building their own theater in the golden land of California.

What else was she?

Lonely.

The word popped into her head unbidden, surprising her. How could she be lonely, when she had the troupe?

But she was. Well, that was why she had come here—to talk to Romeo and Juliet, her sole confidantes. Romeo was the better listener, but Juliet gave better advice…at least in the dialogues that Fortune constructed for them.

She climbed onto the side of the stall, well aware of how horrified Mrs. Watson would be if she could see her sitting here in such an “unladylike” fashion.

Romeo lifted his head and poked his muzzle against her, looking for a treat.

“Sorry, friend, nothing today but a bit of affection.” She rubbed his nose, which was velvety soft except for an occasional bristle.

Juliet, instantly jealous, poked her head against Fortune, also.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked, addressing both horses.

Juliet whickered softly.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” said Fortune. “I haven't told you the latest developments, have I?”

Romeo shook his head.

“Your timing is improving,” said Fortune. She grimaced. “Now there's a perfect example of one part of the problem. I think about
everything
from a theatrical viewpoint. I don't want to do that. I'd rather be normal sometimes!”

Juliet shook her head and blew air through her lips.

“What do you mean, it's hopeless?” asked Fortune, her voice filled with mock indignation. “I can be normal if I try!”

She looked at the horse for a moment, then sighed. “I guess the idea is pretty far-fetched, isn't it?”

Romeo neighed loudly.

“Well, you don't have to be that way about it,” said Fortune. “I know it's in my blood. I'm not denying my heritage. But it's not
all
that I want out of life.” She sighed again. “The others all
chose
to be in the theater. Heck, Walter couldn't live without it. But I never made that choice. No one asked me. It was just my luck that I was born into an acting family. Not that I don't like it. I just wish it wasn't the
only
thing I knew.”

She scratched Romeo behind his ears. “Anyway, that's not what's bothering me right now.” She glanced at the stable door, then relaxed. She had managed to train the others to leave her alone when she went off to be with the horses.

“It's that Jamie Halleck,” she said. “Even though he's just a big pain in the neck, I can't get him out of my mind. I know Aaron is the man for me. But when I saw Jamie with Mrs. Watson out there—and just between us, you should have seen how gooey she was acting!—I felt something twist inside me. I know he's only a bumpkin, but there's something about him…something—”

“Dreadfully charming?” asked a husky voice behind her.

Fortune spun around so fast she nearly fell off the edge of the stall. Romeo, startled, reared back, pawing the air with his hooves.

“Whoa!” cried Jamie. “Easy, boy.”

At the same time his hands shot out to steady Fortune. With one hand behind her back and the other on her arm, he held her until she was secure again.

“You'd better watch it!” he said, leaving his hand against her back just an instant longer than was necessary. “This would be a terrible place to fall while you're wearing such a pretty dress.”

Fortune smiled in spite of herself. Then she remembered his interruption. “What are
you
doing here?” she demanded. She followed the question immediately with another, more urgent one: “And how long have you been listening?” She tried to fight down the blush she felt creeping up her cheeks as she recalled the things she had said. The blush grew deeper when she realized that Jamie must have known she was talking to the horses.

Jamie gave her a crooked smile, and Fortune could see what her mother had often called “the look of the devil” in his eyes. Laura Plunkett had used the phrase to describe sophisticated young men of great charm and humor when they were feeling impish. Again, Fortune found herself confused. That look, which she found wildly attractive, was something she had never expected to find in a country boy.