Mail Order Bride: Ramona
© 2016 by Vivi Holt
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Contents
October 28, 1886
Ramona
Ramona Selmer leaned back against a sturdy pile on Pier A,
and gazed out over the New York harbor. The water lapped soothingly against the
shore below, sending a cool breeze up through the gaps between the boards of
the pier. An enormous statue across the harbor gleamed brilliantly across the
water, and Ramona squinted against the glare of the sunlight reflecting off its
surface. The copper-tinted lady liberty stood tall and proud, waving a flame
above her graceful head, which was crowned in long spikes while one arm cradled
a book. The statue had opened officially today, dedicated to the people of New
York City, a gift from the state of France. Although Ramona had been watching
the progress on the construction of the statue every chance she got in the year
since it had arrived by boat from France, her excitement had swelled during the
past few days as the unveiling approached. The entire landscape of the New York
harbor had changed because of this one piece of art, and people lingered along
the shoreline gazing at it and pointing with soft smiles. Ramona loved its name
– the Statue of Liberty. It was a marvelous day. A day that was a long time
coming, and Ramona had relished every single celebratory moment of it.
Pushing herself to her feet, she sighed dreamily and,
taking one last glance at the statue perched on the tiny Liberty Island, began
to make her way back down Broadway Street. She had to get moving if she was to
get to her audition on time and then home to the West Village for dinner. She also
wanted to do a quick walk down the long line of theatres on Broadway, as she
always did when she was in the city. Broadway was her dream. She’d taken dance,
voice, and drama lessons every chance she got from when she was four years old.
And ever since she could remember she’d auditioned for every show on and off
Broadway that she could find.
Ramona’s mother had worked hard over the years, scraping
together the money for formal lessons whenever possible. The rest of the time
Ramona practiced at the park with friends, or in their tiny apartment. At the
age of nineteen she was starting to despair whether she would ever realize her
ambitions, but her father had encouraged her not to give up hope. He’d called
her his
little Broadway star
. And so she kept the dream alive, fanning
the flame whenever possible by tramping down Broadway Street and staring at the
colorful posters, and through the doorways imagining what lay within. Picturing
herself the star of a hit show, her fans lined up at the door waiting to catch
a glimpse of a graceful pirouette or plié
Ramona skipped past the theatres, a small satchel bouncing
on one shoulder. She stopped at an intersection and sighed deeply, taking one
last look down the street at the sparkling foyers and colorful posters, and
turned down a side alley. She pushed her way through a thick, red timber door
and into a darkened room. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimness,
but once they did she could see the outline of the small, musty theater. Black
shadows of the backs of empty chairs lined the space, row upon row, and in the
front sat three figures who were perched forward watching a young girl tap
dance across the stage followed closely by a yellow spotlight. As Ramona made
her way to the front of the room, the song ended and the girl’s dance was over.
She tick-tacked off the stage, and the three men seated in the front row
shuffled papers and murmured together quietly. One of the men lifted his head and
spun it back and forth, shouting “Ramona Selmer?”
Ramona ran quickly to stand in front of the stage.
“Yes, sir. I’m here.”
“Great. When you’re ready, Ramona.”
He smiled at her, then returned to writing in his notebook.
His round spectacles were perched on the end of a long, pointy, nose, and his
waistcoat was partially unbuttoned. Ramona walked to the side of the stage, and
up the stairs, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. Sitting down, she
quickly removed her shoes. Reaching into her shoulder satchel she pulled out a
pair of pink, scuffed ballet flats. She smoothed her long skirts, and removed
her sandals, then pulled the slippers on over the pale pink stockings that
covered her legs and feet. Ramona stood quickly and delivered the sheet music
she had been carrying in her satchel to the pianist. Laying her satchel down on
the side of the stage, she walked confidently to center stage with a smile on
her face.
Ramona brushed her hair behind her shoulder. She wanted the
director to see her face. Maybe he’d remember her then. As she waited for the
music to begin, she lifted her arms in a graceful pose and tilted her head to
stare at the seats in the back of the room. For a single moment, she felt like
a glamorous Broadway star, dancing in a theater filled to capacity with elegant
folks, out for a night on the town, their shining dresses, sparkling jewels and
bright faces lighting up the night. All of them had bought tickets to be here.
All of them were here to see her, Ramona. They had come to hear her sing, to
watch her dance, to cry with her over some tragedy and to celebrate with her
when she found love.
Glamour was what Ramona craved. There was little of it to
be found in her life off stage, in the one bedroom West Village apartment she
shared with her mother, Maria. But on stage things were different. When she was
on the stage, she could be anything or anyone she wanted to be. The music
began, and Ramona’s lithe frame floated across the stage, leaping and spinning
as she performed the routine she’d rehearsed a hundred times. Her movements
slowed as she opened her mouth to sing a lilting song, full of longing and
sorrow.
She danced and sang as though everything she had done for the
past fifteen years was in preparation for this moment. Her chance to audition
for this show. Under her feet the boards shook and creaked but her voice held
steady. Her soaring soprano filled the room, the sweet notes hitting the back
of the auditorium as Ramona closed her eyes and let her voice shine. She raised
her arms and threw her head back dramatically for the final note, letting it
hang in the air about her.
The casting directors turned to each other and whispered,
casting furtive glances at the girl waiting so earnestly on stage. Finally the
man with the spectacles leaned forward and gave his appraisal. “You have a
beautiful voice Ramona. And it’s almost there.”
Ramona cupped one hand above her eyes, to shield them from
the glare of the spotlight.
“Yes?” Her large brown eyes opened wide. “I know I can manage
the part, if you just give me a shot. I’ll work so hard, really I will.”
“Maybe next year, dear. You can come back then and try
again,” he said, while his colleagues stared at the notebooks on their laps and
studiously avoided Ramona’s gaze.
Ramona nodded and left the stage, thanking the directors
for their time.
Next year.
Ramona took a deep breath and held her head high. Those
words were something to cling to, at least. She pushed her way through the
heavy door and stumbled out into the fresh fall evening.
Next year.
That
would give her a year to practice, perfect, and hone her craft.
Of course
I’ll be twenty by then, and practically an old maid in Broadway terms!
She trudged
along the pavement as she headed through downtown New York, her long dark curls
and dancer’s silhouette illuminated by the street lamps that were coming on all
over town as the dusk of evening crept in from the bay. She shivered as the
night air brought a chill with it, a reminder that winter was just around the
corner.
It doesn’t matter how long it takes. I’m not going to
give up,
Ramona told herself.
I know mother wants me to get married and
start a family, but I don’t care if I die an old spinster, as long as I can
sing and dance, and people love me and applaud me, that’s all I really want
from life.
She heaved in a deep breath of the fresh New York evening air
.
She told herself that next time it wouldn’t just be an
audition. Next time the director would really see her. He wouldn’t be able to
take his eyes off her. She’d show him how good she could be. Then he’d chose
her. Then she’d be a Broadway star, just like her Father had said. She picked
up her pace as she made her way home to Washington Street in the West Village,
eager to tell her mother all about the statue’s unveiling and her audition.
When she reached their building, she saw her best friend Elizabeth arriving
from the other direction. Elizabeth was heading inside with a bag of groceries
tucked under one arm. Ramona guessed she was on her way home from the hotel
where she worked with Ramona’s mother. They usually walked home together.
“Elizabeth!” called Ramona, waving wildly at her and
running up to greet her.
The two girls hugged, and Elizabeth begged, “Tell me all
about it. How did it go? Did you get the part?”
Ramona glanced at her feet, twirling one foot around in
place on her tip-toe.
“No, I didn’t get it.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth’s face dropped.
“It’s OK though, because he said I should come back next
year. So, that’s positive, I think.”
Elizabeth smiled again, “Yes, of course. That’s great news.
And, it gives you another whole year to get ready.”
“Exactly!” said Ramona.
“You going in?” asked Elizabeth, propping the door to the
building open with one foot as she rearranged the grocery bag onto her hip.
“Yes. I have to help mother with a load of ironing tonight
for the hotel. They make her bring it home with her on Sundays because there’s
just so much of it she can’t possibly finish it during her shift. Do you know where
she is?”
“No. Actually, I didn’t see her at all today. It doesn’t
seem fair that she has to bring all of that laundry home,” frowned Elizabeth as
she slipped through the doorway.
Ramona closed the door behind them, and followed Elizabeth
up the stone stairwell.
“It’s not. But we need the money. Mother can’t afford to
lose this job, so she just does whatever they ask her to. I wish I could whisk
her away from it all, like in a fairy tale or something, you know?”
“Hmm yes, if only we could all live in fairy tales.”
“Although, I’m not sure I’d like to end up sleeping for a
thousand years, or having someone feed me a poisoned apple,” Ramona shivered.
“Very true,” said Elizabeth, and the two girls laughed
together.
“Speaking of fairy tales and romance, how’s Arthur?” asked
Ramona, raising her eyebrows.
Elizabeth blushed, and smiled shyly, “He’s well. You know
he graduated from college last month, and he found a job over at Lowell and
Sparks. He’s going to be an Associate Attorney. He says we can get married next
year, once he’s saved enough for a place of our own.”
“That’s great news,” said Ramona, hugging her friend. They
soon reached the third floor, where both of the girls lived directly across the
hall from each other. Ramona unlocked the front door to her apartment.
“Mother!” she called, flying through the doorway. Elizabeth
followed sedately behind.
The apartment was dark and cold. No fire was lit and there
wasn’t any food warming on the stove. The curtains lay still beside open
windows, through which the frosty night air was gently blowing. The apartment
looked empty, and everything was in its place. Everything except a note, a
square of white on the dark timber table. Ramona hurried over to it, dropping
her satchel on the floor with a bang.
Dear Ramona,
The last few years have been awful hard for me
here. All alone, without your father or anyone to help me. I’ve done the best I
could to be a mother to you, but you’re grown now and don’t need me any longer.
You have your own life to live, and so I’ve decided to live mine.
I met a man. I know this will be difficult for you
to understand. It was difficult for me to tell you. I couldn’t face you,
knowing how you’d react, but there it is. I’ve met someone. He has a steady
job, and is a kind man, and we’re getting married. He doesn’t want children,
and so I told him I didn’t have any. It doesn’t matter that you’re grown, he doesn’t
want extra mouths to feed. So, you’ll have to learn to take care of yourself
now.
You’re a good girl, and I love you. I hope we will
see each other again someday. I’m sorry I couldn’t leave you any money to live
by. I don’t have any to speak of, but maybe Mr. Flannery will let you stay on
in the apartment for a while, at least until you find a job. You can ask at the
hotel, seeing as how I’ve left my job there – maybe they’ll give it to you.
I hope all your dreams come true. Who knows, perhaps
one day I’ll hear about you performing on Broadway.
I’ll be in living in Austin, Texas. It’s a growing
town according to Art. That’s his name – Art Franklin. I’m going to be Mrs. Art
Franklin. Doesn’t that sound strange? He works at the new University of Texas there,
as a history professor. We’re going to live in a nice little cottage with a
white picket fence. It’s the kind of life I’ve always dreamed of so I know
you’ll be happy for me.
All my love,
Mother
“Who’s the letter from?” asked Elizabeth.
Ramona let the letter fall to the ground. It drifted
slowly, in a lilting waltz to the aged floor boards.
She’s getting married? What
would Papa think?
It had been five years since her father had taken his own
life. Ramona shook her head. She still remembered that day - there was a clear
blue summer sky and a cool breeze bringing temporary relief from the stifling
humidity. Ramona had come home to find her mother, Maria, wailing and screaming
as she tore at her own clothes.
“Your papa has left us!” Maria had cried before dropping to
her knees and burying her head in her hands.
