Elizabeth and Lucas had a beautiful wedding, with no hitches except for the exchanging of vows, and they went away on their honeymoon. India attended, noting Henry moving fairly well on his crutches, and Lee keeping his distance from Henry, even though they were both groomsmen. Of course, no one really thought Henry would start belaboring Lee with a crutch while inside a church building, but through the service, several people kept an eye on Henry, bracing themselves for chaos.
To their disappointment, Henry behaved impeccably and even lingered for a little longer than usual at the reception.
A few days later, Rosemary, finally having her fill of Henry's growling at her husband whenever he got within ten feet, decided that enough was enough, and she waylaid India in Yost's Mercantile.
"India, do you think you could persuade Henry to come to the hotel restaurant this afternoon?"
"Um… " India paused and looked around, wishing the store sold grits, but Canada was Canada and that was all there was to it. She was going to have to just order some from more civilized climes. "I suppose I could try."
"Just don't tell him Lee will be there." Rosemary smiled brightly and left, and India rolled her eyes.
"What do I look like, an idiot?" She shook her head and walked on to the hotel, where she was greeted by Mr. Gillum, another American expatriate, who was hoping to discuss his play. She smiled warmly and sat down with him, looking at the script. She was happy, on any day, to speak with someone whose lingo she savvied, and Mr. Gillum spoke Southern with a charming Texas twang.
"I think I finally got it scaled down to just eight minutes," he said, handing her the script he had reworked, pared down and wept and bled over for the past three years. "We could put it on the night before the Christmas Eve Ball."
She continued reading, increasingly amused. There was indeed almost no dialog between the performers, with only the narrator doing the large majority of the talking, and only a few props were needed – namely, a chair, a cardboard crown painted gold, two épée swords, two collapsible daggers, a few scrolled papers sealed with wax, a tankard, and a pillow.
"Frankly, Amos, this is brilliant," she said, turning the last page and handing it back to him. "Everyone will relish a good laugh during this cold winter. How are you enduring it, by the way, as compared to the balmy breezes of Galveston?"
"I love it, actually. My wife, meanwhile, is enduring chilblains, and only barely."
"Oh, dear. She should try witch-hazel, and I've also heard that aloe vera oil can be helpful, too." India suggested. "I had chilblains in England. No fun whatsoever, and I hope she gets well soon. In fact, if you don't mind, I could come visit tonight and bring along the witch-hazel."
Amos readily agreed, knowing his wife would enjoy some company. They chatted for a while, discussing Galveston and South Texas in general. He was a sweet-natured, cheerful man with a happy outlook on life, chilblains and challenging playwriting notwithstanding. He had to go check on his wife, so she sat at the table for a while, and she ordered a glass of sweet iced tea, which had the waiter momentarily stumped, but after she had explained it, he went away to put in the order.
She glanced over and saw Smoke trotting in, stopping in the doorway of the dining room and sitting down to just study the diners inside before turning and heading upstairs.
Bill came in then, and she invited him to sit with her for a bit.
"Did Henry find homes for all the kittens?" he asked, wondering at the tall glass of tea (with ice chips) that the waiter delivered. She took a sip and sighed happily.
"Yes," India said. "Thank goodness. I think they were starting to make him a bit crazy."
"It's been pretty funny, seeing Henry crutching around with six cats following him like little ducks."
She laughed. "It has indeed. He really doesn't look like a cat person, does he? Or even a dog person. Frankly, I think he likes horses most."
India and Bill talked for a while, discussing the possibility of her applying for Canadian citizenship, but she had no interest in doing so. Once an American, always an American, she told him, however much she loved Hope Valley. When he left, she ordered her supper and relaxed, doing a bit of people watching.
It was pretty amusing to see Henry sitting on the boardwalk, in front of his old office, ankle propped up, with Smoke either in his lap or under his chair and five kittens stalking and pouncing on anybody passing by. Jack had worn Elizabeth down until she took one of the black and white kittens, who had been dubbed Moo. The other black and white had gone to Allie and had been named Tinkle. Clara called dibs on the calico and named her Mouser (even though she never brought home dead mice but had become notorious for stealing people's socks) and Joseph's children had selected the silver-grey (who looked so much like his mother it was scary), and after much debate decided to name him Guess, which caused all sorts of interesting conversations.
Henry had given the tortoiseshell to Fiona as a personal gift, and she had done something almost no one in Hope Valley had ever done or felt brave enough to do: she had hugged him, and then named the cat Henrietta. Like her mother, the little cat followed her owner everywhere, but would occasionally come by to wrestle with Smoke for a little while and sit in Henry's lap, dozing. Henrietta otherwise lived full-time at the barbershop, Fiona having successfully housebroken her to use a pan of light gravel.
India was keeping Moo while Elizabeth and Lucas were gone, and found the cat reminded her a good bit of Henry – quiet, shy and with a growl that was far worse than his scratch, and he had Confederate gray eyes. For the first two days, he had hidden under her bed, but one night she had awakened to the cat jumping up into the bed with her and curling up at the end, staring into the fireplace. He stayed in her bedroom all the time, except for when he needed to head out for a few minutes, and he had excellent manners.
But she certainly couldn't do anything about her dreams. Even now, with him using crutches to get around, he was dashing, and despite being impaired a bit, he was looking more and more fit every day. But he seemed to be avoiding her, and that irked her a good deal. What had made him suddenly turn so cold on her was a mystery, but Lucas had told her that Henry was a man few people could fully pin down.
Oh, I'd love to pin him down, India thought, looking at the stairway leading upstairs. On a couch made out of Corinthian leather, with the lights down low. The devil on her left shoulder giggled and she shook her head sharply.
Grumbling to herself a little, she crossed her knees and began working on her set of songs for tonight, but got to daydreaming again, wishing yet again that Henry would come down to hear her, but so far, aside from hearing her sing My Heart Skips a Beat that one time, he never darkened the hotel restaurant doors in the evenings. Sure, Faith had recommended he rest, but his self-imposed exile from the world had her both annoyed and worried.
At least she hadn't seen Lord Tartanitis and his A-Hunting-We-Will-Go Fancypants Teddyboys Band since before the Bouchard wedding, but she knew Kellynch was still around, though thankfully not locally. They had all gone to Seattle for some reason, and she had been delighted to see the stagecoach pull away last month, Lord Cadwalladar and Kellynch looking disappointed about their lack of success at hunting. She figured that the deer had taken one look at Cadwalladar's tartan getup and had hied off deeper into the woods to throw up.
Somehow, whether through luck or just coincidence, she had managed to avoid seeing Cadwalladar at all, save that brief encounter on the street. She didn't like him, as he was noted for his despicable behavior towards anyone who wasn't English and whose ancestors weren't found in Debrett's Peerage. She had met him in England, and had been unimpressed, despite his Garter badge and friendship with the King.
He had not, however, known that his son was courting her while already married, and when he had found out, he had actually taken her side against Kellynch, which she couldn't deny told of a person with at least a sliver of decency. He had even written an open letter to the London Times, refuting the gossip that she had been guilty of anything other than being deceived and that she was, in fact, 'a very well-bred young woman with a spotless reputation, and she did in fact end her relationship with my son, as would be fitting of a person of impeccable character, upon learning of his deceit. The Countess and I both think very highly of Miss Ward and apologize to her for the ordeal our son has put her through'.
India looked up and smiled when she saw Fiona come in, and the younger woman sat down with her, eyes bright with excitement.
"You should see Henrietta! She was lying curled up in her little basket and she looked just like a cinnamon roll!"
That made India snicker. Fiona regularly boasted about Henrietta's dazzling intelligence and quirky personality. Like how she could open unlocked doors, frequently presented Fiona with odd objects, like leaves, a baby's shoe, and chalk from the schoolhouse, and kept the barber shop totally free of bugs, mice and (bizarrely) anyone wearing a fedora.
"I'm glad you're enjoying her," India said, laughing.
"I do. And I keep Henry updated, and Smoke, too, of course. I know, I know… I'm becoming Crazy Cat Lady, but I don't care. She's so fun. So… um… " Fiona looked around the restaurant for a moment. "Have you seen Henry lately?"
"Not today."
Fiona frowned. She, Faith, Molly and Clara had all been pondering how to maneuver Henry towards India, but so far, one half of the potential pair was usually absent and thus unavailable for being positioned correctly. Fiona cleared her throat, and wondered if India was on to their whispers and elaborate plans. The woman was pretty canny, after all, and frankly, so was Henry.
"But I am fixing to go upstairs and try to get him to come down here. Oh! Maybe you could go get Smoke."
"India, she won't let me touch her."
"That's true. Blast… hmm… oh!" She brightened when she saw Smoke heading towards the door, and a guest was heading over to let her out, but India could move fast for a Southern belle. "Wait, don't let her out!"
The guest looked startled but stepped out of the way. India observed Smoke warily, not sure if this would work, but finally she reached down and grabbed the cat, cradling her gently in her arms. The cat didn't seem terribly disturbed by this turn of events and settled her paws on her shoulder and looked around with interest from what was probably an unaccustomed vantage point. India wasn't quite fast enough at warning the guest to not try to touch her, and the man barely avoided getting scratched.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "Smoke is sort of… um… not social." She looked down at the door, seeing the sign Lucas had nailed there, a twin of the one outside.
"Then why are you holding her?"
"Well… uh… "
Fiona cast about, looking a little desperate. "Because she's the owner's… um… girlfriend! And so Smoke… likes… her."
The guest shook his head and headed outside. India glared at Fiona.
"I'm sorry! I had to think of something! So what's next?"
"I'm going to put Smoke in the vegetable drawer in the kitchen. You keep Gustave busy and I'll get Henry down here."
"Okay! Sounds like a pl—wait, what's going on? What am I getting involved with? Why is he needed down here? Henry hates surprises and it's not nice to manipulate him!"
"Rosemary's had enough. Lee is coming! Here! To face the wrath of Henry, which I imagine might be only slightly less terrifying than the wrath of God!" India gave the statement as much dramatic heft as she could, and at that Fiona rushed into the kitchen, opened the vegetable drawer and waited. India walked in, gave Gustave a steady, 'I dare you to do anything about this' stare and settled Smoke in. She only partially closed the drawer, apologizing to the cat for the inconvenience. The chef frowned slightly, but she knew he adored Smoke and frequently snuck her little bits of fish and other leftovers. He had even given her caviar a few times.
Smoke, meanwhile, just looked bored and settled down in the drawer, and India could have sworn the cat had rolled her eyes.
Henry was stretched out in his chair, ankle propped up, reading Edgar Allan Poe's Murders On the Rue Morgue, which he had picked up at the library. What with being immobile most of the time, he had little to do besides read, and so far he had read the entire mystery section of the library (which meant Sherlock Holmes, mostly) and was thinking about picking up some Sir Walter Scott next, followed by Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. For a man who didn't read much, he was certainly reading a lot. Frequently out loud to Smoke, who hadn't really liked Poe's poetry (if hiding under the bed as he read The Raven was any indication) but had curled up on the end of the bed, eyes wide, as Henry read Ethan Frome, The Scarlet Letter and a collection of James Joyce's short stories aloud.
He grumbled when someone started knocking on the door, and he put the book aside, face down on the page where he'd stopped. After grabbing his crutches and yelping when he bumped his head on the floor lamp, he staggered over and opened the door, ready to ream out whoever was there, no matter what they wanted. And he'd get a shotgun if it was a raven.
His anger vanished immediately when he saw India.
"Uh… hello." He was embarrassed about having avoided her for so long, but he felt foolish with a cast on his foot. At least the bump on his head and the scar were healed up and the mosquito bites had stopped itching, so maybe in a few more days he could…
All right, let's not get ahead of yourself. As if you really could. You've never really been able. But then again, you nearly died on that river and you decided to pursue her, didn't you?
"Henry, you're needed downstairs. Something's happened with Smoke!"
In most circumstances, Henry could smell a rat from a mile away, but when it came to Smoke he wasn't going to take any chances.
"What happened?"
"You'll have to come see!" India said. She looked distressed, and he followed her, making it down the stairs well enough on his own, and he followed India into the dining room. When he saw Lee, however, he scowled and it dawned on him that he was being ridiculous. Lee hadn't meant for him to get hit in the head by a log. Or get bitten by a lizard. Or break his ankle. Then again, he had talked Henry into going on the camping trip, but… potato, potahto.
Besides, Lee was one of his best and most reliable friends.
He stood there for a moment, making sure his expression was harder but feeling a little bit lighter. He knew how to play this little confidence game, and at least this time it wasn't illegal.
"Coulter. House still standing?"
"Yes. Of course," Lee said, from his position at a table near the bar. Bill and Nathan were seated on either side of him, ready to whisk him off to safety if necessary and to arrest Henry for assault if required. But Bill noticed that little spark of mischief in Henry's eyes and relaxed, glancing at Nathan, who frowned, unsure of what signal he was getting.
"All right." Henry crutched over, sitting down opposite Lee. He pondered a fork but decided on a less terrifying tack, so he palmed a spoon instead. "Listen. I know you didn't mean for any of what happened to happen. It was all an accident, and those things happen in the wilderness, and there's still stuff we won't talk about with regards to that trip into the bowels of Hades, right? Particularly the beaver. We don't talk about the beaver."
Bill scowled at Henry. He had only just stopped having nightmares about overly toothy rodents.
Lee breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing at last.
"So I see no reason to remain hostile towards you, Lee. What's done is done. The head injury is gone, the lizard bite is already healed up, and the mosquito bites don't itch anymore, and I'm not having nightmares about beavers… "
"That's me, Henry," Bill said.
"…and my ankle is almost already entirely healed, according to Faith and..." He jabbed the business end of the spoon into Lee's hand, between the forefinger and thumb, making him yowl in pain while everyone else shrieked or jumped back. Rosemary almost fell down and India was sure she was going to die. "… it's only fair that you finally experience at least some idea of the pain I was in from the moment that log hit my head, but now we're even and it's over. I'll be back at the mill as soon as I'm done with these crutches."
Lee, holding his hand and whimpering in both pain and relief, nodded. "I look forward to it, Henry." The older man extended his left hand, so that Lee could use his own left, and they shook, Henry grinning, and he got up, hissing at Fiona that he could do it on his own. "Where's Smoke?"
The cat came running out of the kitchen then, and moved in between Henry's feet. She glared up at Lee, ears back, growling, and his relief made him forego any sense of logic.
"He's forgiven me, Smoke. Why can't you?"
The cat seemed unmoved and turned to go upstairs, but she stopped at the bottom landing and waited for her owner. She moved up the stairs slowly, turning back sometimes to look at him as he made his way up, and they finally disappeared back into his room.
Lee slumped in his chair. Rosemary looked more than a little miffed, but her husband assured her that it was his due penance. "I nearly killed the poor man, sweetheart. And it's good to get him back, you know? Isn't that weird?" he said, looking up at Bill and Nathan, almost giddy, and they exchanged concerned glances. "After all that's happened between us, I consider him to be one of my best friends." He grinned, delighted to finally get a weight off his shoulders and to mark the wait for Henry to strike as finally over, and it hadn't been as bad as he had expected. "Let's go home, Rosemary, and we'll wrap my hand! Won't that be fun? I think it'll be fun! Let's go have fun! But first let's stop at the infirmary, because I really need some king of sedative and something for spoon-inflicted pain. That'll be fun, too. So much fun! We'll have such fun! Do you like fun, Rosemary? I like fun! Fun is good! Does everybody here like fun?"
Everyone in the saloon gave their assent, in unison. "Yes."
"Great! We'll go home and have fun! Rosemary and me, I mean. You all can't come. It'd be a fire hazard."
Winter settled across Hope Valley, bringing with it a thick blanket of snow on the third day of December. Lucas and Elizabeth came home in triumph, so happy they started to annoy India a little, but she liked them too much to tell them to stop making eyes at each other.
Fortunately, the cold wasn't nasty and spiteful, the way an out-of-character winter in Georgia could be. India relished walking to the hotel that morning, catching snowflakes on her tongue and watching Christmas decorations being put up all over town.
A giant Christmas tree was being put up in the center of town, and as she walked up onto the boardwalk, she was greeted cheerfully by Molly and Florence.
"Ladies. How're y'all?"
People had gotten used to India's Southern accent, though there were occasional misunderstandings or utter bewilderment. Terms like 'fixin' to' and 'purt-near' and 'bless your heart' had initially stumped most of them, and the third phrase was still confusing, as almost no one knew what it could actually mean depending on context. Just the same, she had settled into daily life in Hope Valley and was regarded as a member of the community, which she relished more and more every day.
"We're doing very well," Molly said, glancing at Florence. "You look so nice in that outfit." The young woman was a frequent subject of discussion, regarding her taste in clothes. Few of the women in town failed to recognize high-end designs in her wardrobe, much less her clean, elegant style. She frequently wore trousers and tailored vests, as well as lovely blouses and skirts, and for when she was entertaining hotel guests, she wore beautiful dresses.
India smiled – she was wearing a blue velvet dress, but her warm velvet, wool-lined black coat covered most of it. "Thank you. I see preparations for Christmas are in full swing."
"Yes. The whole town will start decorating the Wishing Tree and stringing lights all around it," Molly said.
"Oh, lovely… Wishing Tree?"
"Yes, everyone buys a little decoration, writes a wish on it, and hangs it on the tree," Florence said. "Isn't that a sweet tradition?"
"Yes, it is," India nodded.
"Did you have traditions, back in Georgia?" Florence asked.
India smiled, trying to keep her teeth from grinding. "Oh, Florence, bless your heart! Yes, we have a few. On Christmas Eve, we kill a wild pig, dance naked around its corpse, and then we shove it out onto a frozen lake and take bets on when it will break through the ice and sink. Good afternoon, ladies," she said, smiling, and continued on. The two women looked at each other, pleased, but their smiles slowly faded as it dawned on them that she had been shying them on.
"No wonder she likes Henry," Molly said. "They have the same sarcastic sense of humor."
"Hmph," Florence said, shaking her head. "But still… I do like her. She's so pretty, and sings so well and is as sharp as a tack... "
"Indeed."
They continued on, and suddenly Florence pulled up, nearly making Molly fall down.
"Molly! She called me an idiot!"
At first she didn't even recognize him.
India was going through the hotel lobby and saw him sitting at the bar, sipping a Dr Pepper, and did a delayed double-take, then approached him cautiously, dazed.
"Henry?"
He had shaved the beard off and cut his hair much shorter. The effect was startling, to say the least, but he looked…
"Delicious!" a woman coming out the hotel restaurant said. "I've never had better coq au vin!" She and her husband paid and walked outside, still singing the praises of Gustave's chicken stew.
"India," Henry said, with just a slight smile. "How are you?"
She swallowed, trying to get her heart to stop skipping around like a colt on a spring morning.
"I'm quite well, thank you." She peered down and was not at all surprised to see Smoke under his barstool, chin propped on a rung and watching people with her usual keen interest. "And you?"
He nodded his head down at his ankle. "Got the cast off this morning. Faith says I'm as right as rain." He took another swig of his Dr Pepper and glanced out the window. "Well, freezing rain."
She laughed softly. "I'm glad to hear that," she said softly. "Not about the freezing rain. That's not something I'm accustomed to, I must admit."
He finally stepped down from the stool and made a quick, sharp whistle at Smoke, who scampered up the stairs.
"I've been training her," he said.
"Oh."
They stood for several moments, staring at each other in mutual bemusement, then he finally put his Stetson on, pushing it back a little, so that his eyes weren't shadowed. He didn't look tired any more. In fact, he looked calm. Relaxed, even. "I'll see you later," he said, then paused, looking a bit rattled for a moment. "I mean, I'll… probably see you… around."
"Yes. Good afternoon, Henry."
He turned and left, barely limping at all and heading outside, and she sat down on his barstool.
She watched as he paused, looking up at the tree in the street, then shook his head and continued on, towards the livery. There was no pine scent, but then again he hadn't been to the mill in a long time. But something of him lingered there with her, and she sat for a while to let it soak in. The start of maybe a little confidence, maybe? A kind of steadiness? Whatever it was, it was positive, and it was a start.
The days that followed, leading up to Christmas, were hectic. More and more tourists came piling into the hotel, and India performed every night, singing and often accompanying other singers and performers on the stage. She volunteered to be the assistant to one of the magicians when his own helper became ill, and was relieved to see no gum on the bottom of her shoe. She caught the Polish juggler's batons and just tossed them back from off stage, behind a curtain, which utterly dazzled the audience, most of whom were still a bit confused when he told them the act was much better with his brother.
As a means of earning a little extra money on the side, and with Lucas's permission, India also began giving piano, singing and dancing lessons to hotel guests. Some of them did traumatize her a little, and one hefty gentlemen from upstate New York almost broke her toe, but all in all it was rewarding and profitable work.
With those extra funds, she finally bought a four-wheeled Kinross dogcart and two nice Morgan horses that she named Catfish and Cornbread, but she didn't like making horses plod through ice and snow when she could walk. So she had hired workmen to expand her little barn into two large loose boxes, along with a little tack room, another room for the carriage, and a room to store hay and grain, and she looked forward to driving in warmer weather, and taking rides into the country. During summer, the horses could join those of locals in fields outside town, where they'd have plenty of room to run around and enjoy just being horses.
Things finally got a little quiet one evening, just six days before Christmas, and she sat alone in the dining room, playing Dixie on the piano, when she looked up and saw Henry standing in the doorway.
"Henry."
"India."
She cast about, then suddenly had (what she hoped was) a great idea. "Come sit!" she called, just as he started up the stairs.
"Uh… I was… "
"Sit, Henry," she finally said sternly, and he hesitantly stepped into the room and sat down beside her, still avoiding contact.
"How might I do thy bidding, madame?" he asked, and India saw more that just a little spark of mischief in his eyes, and it was wonderful, and thrilling, to see.
Oh, there's all kinds of wonderful, naughty things he could do, were he willing to do your bidding, the devil on her left shoulder told her, cackling. Tell him about that one dream where you both got caught in a rainstorm and had to take shelter in that little shed and your dress got torn and there was a conveniently placed bed (for a shed) and things had gotten very, very interesting.
The angel on her right shoulder scolded her. Think pure thoughts. Or at least go outside and roll in the snow until you cool down.
She shook herself, and he looked a bit concerned. She smiled brightly and pinged the piano keys, then played Greensleeves. He watched in silence, and that made her feel flushed and giddy. It took her a moment to get her bearings again, and she plowed on.
"Well, we are putting on our little production about the art of acting on the eve of Christmas Eve and I was wondering if you'd like to take part."
"I'd rather go rafting again."
"Now, now, you'd barely have to do anything at all. Just walk on stage, stab Lee, and walk back out again."
"Really? What time, 'cause I'll be there. In fact, I'd pay you to let me be there."
That got him a narrow, remonstrative look, and he grinned.
The little 'playette', as Amos called it, was scheduled to premiere at seven o'clock on the night of December 23rd, and almost everyone in town streamed in, along with almost all of the hotel guests. Once everyone was settled, and Mike was ready and a nervous wreck with his trumpet, India came onto the stage and sat down, spreading papers in front of her.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, Merry Christmas and a very Happy New Year to you all. The Queen of Hearts Hotel is very pleased you decided to join us for this one-time presentation of 'The Art of Acting', which is a demonstration of some of the key points of stage acting, particularly that of the Shakespearean variety, as written by Mr. Amos Gillum, late of Galveston, Texas."
The crowed applauded, and Joseph asked where Elizabeth and Rosemary were, but only got a vague answer from Allie, who sitting in front of them.
"They're helping backstage."
"Who really believes Rosemary is just 'helping' in a stage production?" Joseph asked Minnie, who shushed him.
"Hey, I'm just glad I wasn't roped into being in the play. No way was I going for all that knee pain."
Lee came out, wearing an Elizabethan costume, including ruffled collar, tights and an anxious expression. His outfit got quite a few laughs, as he did look like Henry VIII's slightly jittery nephew. He settled a chair on the stage, on which sat a golden paper crown, a tankard and a pillow. He removed the tankard and set it down by the chair, then stood there, waiting, while India just stared over at him, slightly appalled. He did his best to not look directly at her, and she cleared her throat and waited for everyone to settle down, but they couldn't when he pulled the front of his shirt down a little, covering the codpiece.
(The codpiece had caused a major bust-up during final, full-dress rehearsal last night. Bill couldn't keep a straight face and Henry had to sit down because he couldn't breathe. Lee had initially found it embarrassing, but as things progressed he began to see its comic value.)
Finally, India returned to the papers. "At the center of the Elizabethan world sits the king."
Lee sat down, donning the crown.
"The King's character sets the general tone of the play, and so there are different kinds of kings. For instance, the benign king."
Lee crossed his knees and made exaggerated gestures, rolling his arm forward, forefinger out, in a passable imitation of the Royal Wave, bowing and smiling kindly.
"The benign king with a physical defect."
Lee's leg shot up, toes pointing at the crowd, and he continued rolling his arm forward, and laughter flowed through the room.
"The mad king."
Lee crossed his eyes, twirled his fingers around beside his ears, and stuck out his tongue.
"The evil king."
Lee scowled and shook his fist at the audience, which roared with laughter.
"The evil king hatching a plot."
Lee continued scowling and shaking his fist, but began blinking his eyes in a very evil fashion, at least for him.
"The mad king hatching an egg."
Lee went back to crossing his eyes and pretending to crack an egg. He pantomimed moving the pan and flipping the egg, getting into the act quite a bit, until he caught India watching him disapprovingly. He sat up straight, and India continued.
"A very vital device of the Shakesperean play, to keep the plot moving, was that of messengers, of which there are various types. One could be a messenger bearing good news."
Mike's trumpet blared out triumphantly, and Jesse came bounding in from stage left, holding up a scroll and waving it excitedly. He broke the seal and gleefully unrolled it, looking very pleased with himself, turning from side to side so everyone in the crowd could see, and mouthed a happy announcement. But he caught India's perplexed look, straightened up and went back behind the screen.
"Then there is the messenger bearing bad news."
Mike's trumpet blared sadly.
Jesse poked just the top of his head out from behind the screen, then stepped out, nervously holding up the scroll as he approached the chair, where Lee was still seated. He tiptoed behind it, set the scroll on the floor by the chair, tapped Lee on the right shoulder, and then tiptoed away, back to stage left.
India blew her cheeks out, shaking her head, as the audience roared with laughter.
"The messenger arrives bearing indifferent news."
Mike blew an unenthusiastic blare from his trumpet and let it die off, notes going flat.
Jesse casually walked in, holding another scroll, and offering it around, first to Lee, who shrugged, waving it away, and none of his invisible cast members wanted it. He mouthed, looking a little annoyed, trying to get anyone interested. He shrugged and threw it down and went back behind the screen, his hand appearing at the top of the screen and pointing at the scroll.
"The messenger appears bearing bad news that he thinks is good news."
Jesse bounded back in again, holding a scroll in the air. He opened the scroll, smiling expansively at everyone, and rolled it out, beginning to read happily until he caught on to his mistake. His eyes ran back and forth wildly as he 'read', and he finally threw the scroll down, towards Lee, and started backing towards the screen.
"Death came swiftly and unexpectedly in this cruel and violent Elizabethan world."
Bill, dressed all in black, appeared from behind India and, with the collapsible dagger, 'stabbed' Jesse in his chest, and he cried out in pain and dropped onto his knees, wincing, with Bill disappearing behind the curtains at stage right. Jesse got up and staggered back behind the screen.
"Of course, often, death could come at the hands of a total stranger," India continued.
Lee stood and stepped out to center stage, smiling happily at the crowd, and Henry stepped out from stage right, strolling casually over to Lee from behind India. He was definitely not wearing tights, but instead just a cotton shirt, denim trousers and boots. Looking utterly bored, he pulled the dagger out and 'stabbed' Lee in the ribs, walked around Lee as he fell to his knees, yelping in pain, and disinterestedly walked out to stage left, pausing only to look back at his victim, shrug, nod and disappear behind the screen.
Fiona, sitting with Joseph and Minnie, said, "This might very well kill me!" She could barely catch her breath, she was laughing so hard.
Nathan strode onto the stage then, looking a little uneasy.
"Or one's death could come at the hands of one's closest friend."
Bill strode out, smiling expansively, and went to embrace Nathan, who spread his arms out as well. As they embraced, Bill pulled out a second collapsible dagger and went to 'stab' him, but was instead 'stabbed' in the belly by Nathan. He staggered back, holding the dagger to his belly, gasping, dropped to his knees, and yelped.
India, watching this, just looked a little bewildered, and consulted the page.
"Another common device, for death in a Shakespearean play, was by means of poison."
Lee strode out again, picked up the tankard, and raised a toast to the crowd, then pantomimed drinking. He waited a beat, gagged and dropped to his knees, yelping in pain. He stood up slowly, quietly went to the chair and got the pillow, settled it on the floor, India eyeing him rather coldly, and he strode back behind the screen again.
"And of course, the villain attempting to use poisoning on his unsuspecting victim."
Lee reappeared, picked up the tankard, and pantomimed pouring poison into it. He shook it to mix the contents into the ale, peered inside, shook it again and finally began stirring it with his finger, looking around in a totally devilish manner, then stuck his finger in his mouth. He immediately gagged and dropped to his knees again, only this time the pillow prevented further damage. Looking smug, he stood, put the pillow back on the chair, and strolled backstage again, to raucous laughter and applause.
"Of course, all of these are merely devices, with no meaning whatsoever, except to forward the actual story." She turned the page. "And at the center of the plot stands the hero, who is King."
Lucas strode out from stage left, looking incredibly handsome in black, with a metal breastplate, and wearing the paper crown. He stopped near India's table, hands confidently on his hips, lifting his chin and smiling smugly.
"Who has a brother."
Nathan came out from stage right, looking less uneasy.
"Who is a villain."
Nathan scowled and shook his fist at the audience.
"With a physical defect."
Nathan donned googly-eye glasses, then moved to stage right, out of sight for now.
"War comes, and the hero must lead his men into battle!" India said.
Lucas strode confidently across the stage, waving to imaginary crowds of well-wishers and rolling his arm forward, benign-king style.
"At the palace gate, the Queen bids her beloved farewell."
Elizabeth stepped out from behind the screen, wearing a pretty green dress and a gold circlet on her head, and she and Lucas kissed sweetly, then they exited to stage left, arm in arm.
"As does the lover of the villain."
Nathan came back out from stage right, still wearing his googly eyes (and almost bumping into India's desk) and Rosemary stepped into view from stage left, decked out in full red and gold Elizabethan splendor (having won a battle of wills with Amos and India over how a villain's lover should really look). She curtsied elegantly to Nathan, looked around, grabbed Nathan and pulled him behind the screen. Kissing sounds were heard, and he emerged a few moments later with his face covered with lipstick marks and his own rather smug expression. India's appalled expression, however, made him flush with embarrassment and exit to stage left.
"The war rages on for many years."
Jesse and Lee bounded out onto the stage, fencing rather badly with épées, then bounded back behind the screen, the audience roaring with laughter.
"The messenger arrives, with the terrible news of the death of the hero."
Jesse's hand appeared from behind the screen, and a scroll was tossed at the chair, landing right on the pillow.
"And so the villain becomes King."
Nathan came bounding out from behind the screen, googly-eyes and the crown on, and looking otherwise triumphant. He stood there, grinning happily, then sat down in the chair, doing a good job at portraying both being pleased and evil at the same time.
"But the message was wrong, and years later, the hero returns."
Lucas walked out, swaggering a bit, from stage left, turning his back to the audience.
"In disguise."
Lucas covered one eye with a pirate's eye patch, and turned away, facing the wall.
"Revealing himself to the audience with a surreptitious wink."
Lucas turned and stared straight out, apparently winking with the covered eye, and moved over to the chair, standing behind it, his back to the audience, then casually wandered over to stand near the screen at stage left.
"But his brother, the villain, recognizes him, and they fight!"
Nathan turned and looked at Lucas, then scowled and pointed at him. Lucas looked surprised and pulled the eye patch off. Two épées were thrown to each man, from each side of the stage. They caught the swords quite deftly and begin sparring. Nathan, wearing the crown, was flailing his épée around wildly (possibly due to his physical defect) while Lucas casually flicked his in lazy circles, easily parrying each thrust, with his other hand rested casually on his hip.
"Finally, the villain is mortally wounded, and he dies."
Lucas 'stabbed' Nathan in the belly with his épée, and the Mountie squatted down, glaring over at India, unwilling to suffer as his castmates had.
"In character," she said firmly.
Nathan finally fell forward on his knees, yelling and growling, "Ow! A pox on ye!" before keeling over. Jesse and Lee came out and dragged him off the stage.
"And so finally, the hero reclaims his rightful crown, and celebrates with a frothing cup of ale, found beside his brother's throne."
Lucas, looking very pleased, sat down, picked up the tankard, and pantomimed taking a sip. He pretended to swish the ale around in his mouth, swallowed, coughed and then smiled at the sounds of concern from the audience, waving negligently, then gagged and dropped to his knees, yelping in pain, and the curtains went down.
The crowd's laughter continued for some time, followed by enthusiastic applause and even a few shouts of "Encore!" when the curtains were raised again. All the performers were there, and took their bows while India, Elizabeth and Rosemary accepted bouquets of roses. She insisted Amos come up and she introduced him, saying he was to be thanked most for such hearty laughter, and he got loud cheers as well.*
Not surprisingly, Henry was closest to the screen and the exits, and he took his leave as soon as he could, escaping out a side door and heading out into the cold night. He finally sat down in front of his office, listening to the laughter, and eventually, India singing, except it wasn't a Christmas song.
It's not complicated,
Or very hard to grasp,
But every time I see you I laugh.
I won't get too sappy,
I've had no epiphany,
I just enjoy your company.
You test my nerves, it makes me stronger,
So can you bother me a little bit longer?
Hate to say good-bye, good-bye
Hate to see the end, the end
It's been so long since I've made a friend
Hate to say good-bye, good-bye
Hate to see the end, the end
It's been so long since I've made a friend like you
Well I could dot the I's,
And you could cross the T's,
'cause letters alone are lonely.
Well I could be the blossom,
And you could be the bee,
And then I could call you honey.
Some like to be
Alone, independent and on their own
All alone.
I guess they're free,
but not me,
Not me…**
He stood, staring up at the stars and at the Christmas Wishing Tree, which was already covered with ornaments, and scowled at it as though it was his worst enemy. He went to the box of remaining decorations, which had been left on the boardwalk under Smoke's sign, and grabbed one. He dropped a dollar into the box and searched for a pencil, finally found one and sat down again, staring down at the star.
He leaned back to listen to India singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen in the clearest, sweetest soprano, and finally wrote his wish on the star, then hung it on the tree, behind some others where it wouldn't be noticed. He put his hat back on and walked up the street to the livery, where he could sit in the warmth of the stables and watch the horses watch him. He could only barely hear the music and laughter coming from the hotel, but he was okay with that – just knowing the music was there made his loneliness less painful. It helped him relax, and he fell asleep on a bale of hay, leaning against a stall door, not minding its occupant snuffling at his hair.
"Henry?"
He shot to his feet, making the horse behind him squeal and withdraw, offended. India was standing there, still in her purple dress, wrapped up in a warm cloak.
"Why did you leave?" she asked.
"Uh… I'm not really very… social."
"So I've noticed. Mind if I sit?"
"Aren't you social?" he asked, sitting down again, and she sat beside him.
"When I want to be, and on my own terms. These past few days, with the rehearsals and the Battle of the Villain's Mistress's Outfit, I must say I'm pretty well knackered and tired of large groups of people. You were terrific, by the way."
"Oh… well. Um, thank you."
"Have you ever done any acting before?" she asked.
"Besides cons?" He shrugged. "I did a play once, in Montreal. The Scottish play."
"Oh, that one? Really? What part?"
"I was just the doctor. Only had one line."
Her brow furrowed. "And how did it go?"
He sighed, rubbing his palms on his knees. "Well, see, they had brought in this famous English actor to play the King. But he was mainly just the king of all jacka—er, he was rather unpleasant. When he found out I was Irish, he had all my lines cut except the main one."
"Oh?"
"We all endured him as best we could, and somehow got to the night of the performance without poisoning him. So he's out there, beating the part all to bits and has everybody just mesmerized—there was no denying he was a good actor—and my scene finally comes."
She pondered for a moment, running the acts in her memory until she remembered the doctor's lines.
"So what happened?"
"I came out and the king asks me, 'How fares the Queen?' and I'm supposed to say that she's dead. But instead, I said 'Oh, she's fine. She'll be up and about in a day or so, and she's already asking for tea and shortbread biscuits' and walked off, stage left. The reviews aside, I'd say it a theatrical triumph."
India started laughing, and he could only shrug modestly.
"I'd have done the same thing," she said, nodding. "Arrogant actors are the worst. Unless it's a one-man show, he should be only too happy to have a supporting cast."
"What about the ones that shoot Presidents?"
"We're not pleased with them, either. But we had a lot of fun tonight, and the audience loved it."
"I was worried I might make casually killing someone look a little too… natural," he said, rubbing his jaw. "But honestly, I've never killed anyone."
She smiled. "I've heard stories about your past, Henry. Which is still in the past, and should stay there, in its place, only to be brought out to learn from and otherwise to be left in a corner, alone and unloved." She watched his face carefully, catching the regret in his eyes. "But you are not alone. And you are definitely not unloved."
Blushing a little, she stood, brushing straw off the skirt of her dress. He stood as well, but didn't step closer. She looked out down the street, watching people slowing streaming out of the hotel to walk home. She finally turned back to look at him.
"Good night, Henry."
"Good night, India."
She looked up and smiled. A sprig of mistletoe hung inside the livery door. She stood there, waiting, and Henry finally stood and went to her. He hesitated, and she wondered for a moment what he'd been like as a little boy. He kissed her, and she felt a tiny shock of electricity that went right down to her toes. She slowly wreathed her arms around his neck, letting herself get lost in him, and sighed when he deepened the kiss. He slowly, and very reluctantly, released her, stepping back. It took her a moment to regain her senses, and then she just smiled at him, feeling lit up inside like a Christmas tree.
She curtsied, raising her skirts delicately, and he couldn't keep from grinning. He bowed, rolling his arm forward, like a benign king with just enough wickedness in him to keep her guessing. She lingered for just a moment, then smiled at him and walked away, back to the hotel, and he sat down. The horse began ruffling his hair, and he scratched its nose.
"And here I thought I was gonna have another crummy Christmas, Marmaduke. But it's not going so badly at all. Not at all."
*Comic scene adapted from Rowan Atkinson Live!, 'The Art of Acting'
**Lyrics by M. Ward & Zooey Deschanel