Timeless (37 page)

I’d worked hard on designing and making
everyone’s outfits. I considered it good practice for the wedding
dress I had started to make last summer. Damien and I had finally
settled on a summer wedding after graduation. That gave us enough
time to explore England for our honeymoon and then come back, ready
for college in the fall.

I was waiting any day now to hear from
several universities. Damien had also applied to the same schools,
and I thought he probably stood a better chance than I did of being
admitted. When he wasn’t with me, he spent his time poring over
books in the library, still anxious to understand all that had
changed since the thirteenth century.

My grades were okay, but I knew they could
have been better. In my defense, I had had a lot going on in the
last couple of years—my mother had died and I’d learned that I had
a past life. I knew I could use my power, but I wanted a university
to accept me on my own merit. Though I’d always expected to go to
college with Ben, all of that changed last year when I’d
experienced the strange dreams that led me to discover I was a
witch or “wise woman.” My past life had definitely affected my
present one, and I thought better of going to the same school where
I’d helped Ben to land a swimming scholarship.

The rehearsal was back underway. Out of the
corner of my eye, I caught Damien watching me, signaling that he
wanted to speak to me privately. I met him behind the castle
scenery.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I think Ben has had enough.” Damien said,
nodding in Ben’s direction between the tree props.

I turned to look, but Ben was speaking with
Mr. Ormond.

“He looks okay to me,” I said.

Damien looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t
think it was the outfit. It dawned on me that Damien might be the
one ready to call it a day. Seeing Ben embrace me several times had
likely tested his patience, which looked a little thin. We were all
tired after the sudden casting change, which made the dress
rehearsal longer.

Angela had suddenly come down with strep
throat, threatening to close down the entire performance, which had
sold out. She hadn’t thought to cast an understudy for herself, and
I’d been surprised that Mr. Ormond hadn’t thought of this before. I
supposed that Angela’s forceful personality had been enough to
convince him that she wouldn’t need one. But even divas got sick, I
thought a little maliciously.

Over the last few months, I had helped Damien
practice his lines, so I knew everyone’s part, including
Guinevere’s. And Aunt Jo had listened to me hum the tunes around
the house as I made costumes. Both of them had ganged up on me this
afternoon when it looked like Angela wouldn’t be ready for Saturday
night.

“What do you mean you want me to play the
part?” I’d said incredulously to them both earlier, two pins still
caught between my lips as I made a last minute adjustment to
Annie’s gown.

“Emmeline, you know this part cold. We didn’t
even use the script together last weekend when we rehearsed my
lines. And you know I’d much rather have you play Guinevere than
Angela,” he’d reasoned.

I couldn’t argue with him there. I didn’t
much relish the idea of him embracing Angela in several scenes.
She’d gotten a little carried away in the last rehearsal, and it
took all of my energy not to use my power to stop her. I’d dreamed
of suddenly having a trapdoor open beneath her. The temptation
almost proved too great the last time she’d tried my patience.

Aunt Jo hadn’t helped either. “But Emily, you
have such a sweet voice,” she’d argued. “Remember when you sang in
Oklahoma?”

How could I forget? I had been twelve at the
time, and Mom had made me enroll in the downtown summer theater.
I’d had a small—very small— singing part.

“But that was with other people, not by
myself,” I complained. “And besides, I don’t have a costume.”

“Emmeline, you have to play Guinevere. You’re
the only other person who knows the music and the lines. Otherwise,
they’ll have to cancel the show. Do you want to disappoint all of
those children?” Damien finished.

"That was low,” I answered him, but he knew
he’d won. He could guilt me into playing the part, knowing that we
were donating the money to a local children’s charity.

I hesitated for a few more moments but then
relented.

“Okay,” I said, “but you owe me. Big
time.”

I thought of the sultry way Vanessa Redgrave
had performed Guinevere, a part Angela played to the hilt. I wasn’t
sure I had it in me.

Damien smiled over at me, springing up from
the sofa where he’d been sitting to call and tell a delighted Mr.
Ormond the news that he’d found a new Guinevere.

Annie rushed to assure me I would be
fine.

“And you know,” she said, “you sing much
better than Angela does. I think she might be a little tone
deaf.”

We giggled. It was true. Angela didn’t have
the best voice in school.

I didn’t have time to make myself a costume,
and Angela was several inches shorter than I was. I remembered,
however, that I still had the dress I’d bought at the mall with
Annie over a year ago. I’d only ever worn it once, when Damien had
first arrived at my aunt’s house.

“Wear that,” Damien suggested.

“It might work,” I replied, still hesitating.
Most of the costumes I’d made were fairly elaborate.

“Don’t you think it will look too plain
beside all of the other dresses?” I asked. I didn’t think my simple
dress would work.

“It will be perfect. You’ll stand out in the
white dress amid all of the other colors. And with your long hair,
you certainly don’t need the wigs everyone else is wearing,” Damien
assured me.

“And I can make you a small crown of roses
for your hair, Emily. I remember doing that for your mother on her
wedding day,” Aunt Jo offered, becoming sentimental.

“I can tell you’re all conspiring against me.
Now I’ll have to do it,” I said, becoming a little nervous. The
dress rehearsal was just a few hours away.

That had been this afternoon. When we’d
arrived at the school auditorium, most of the cast thought Mr.
Ormond would cancel, not knowing that he’d found a
replacement—me.

Before the announcement, I could tell that
half of them were relieved at not having to perform after all. But
the other half, including the art students, were grateful to me for
stepping in. They’d worked for months to create the elaborate
backdrops for the stage. And, I thought, I had worked hard on the
costumes too. I hated to see my handiwork go to waste, even if I
wouldn’t be wearing any of it.

Ben had smiled at me when we took our places
for the first scene we had together, holding my hand in his just a
little too long. There were two places early in the musical where
Mr. Ormond wanted King Arthur to kiss Guinevere. He had told Ben
when we first started in January that he could ad lib whenever he
felt like it. So far, Ben hadn’t felt any artistic urges move him
with Angela. But in the dress rehearsal today, Ben had kissed me
four times. I could hear Damien grumbling behind me.

We were near the part where Lancelot saves
Guinevere from burning at the stake, when Ben hadn’t wanted to let
my arm go. Tensions ran high, and I could tell that Guinevere’s
betrayal had made him think of my breaking up with him last year
for Damien. I felt like Guinevere in more ways than one—she too had
had a difficult choice, loving the king, who was kind, loyal, and
good, but unable to keep away from her knight, the most perfect in
the realm. I understood her dilemma.

Thankfully, Mr. Ormond decided we’d had
enough for one rehearsal, and we left. I avoided Ben, waiting for
the stage to clear before we exited.

****

Later that night, Ramona put the finishing
touches on my face.

“Beautiful! I always knew it. Alabaster.
That’s your color. Now, just a quick flick of this brush, and we’ll
be through.”

I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror. The
girl who stared back at me didn’t look like a girl at all. Aunt Jo
smiled, her soft eyes misty.

“Emily, dear, you look lovely. Just like your
mother did on her wedding day,” she said.

“I thought I didn’t look anything like Mom,”
I said surprised.

“Well, you do today. And with those roses in
your hair…Oh, it takes me back twenty years!” Aunt Jo said, tears
in her eyes.

She was right. I did favor the picture of Mom
on the dresser with my hair rolled up with roses. And if I’d known
how nice the makeup would look, I might have started wearing it
sooner. I’d had my doubts about letting Ramona go to work on my
face for the show. She wore heavy black eyeliner, what looked like
false lashes, deep red lipstick, and very white face powder. Though
gothic had been a style during the Middle Ages, it wasn’t the look
I was going for tonight.

But I’d been wrong. She’d chosen a shade to
match my skin, creating a flawless finish that hid my freckles, and
the golden eye shadow she applied made my green eyes sparkle. All
together, it looked a lot better than I’d expected, though after an
hour in hot rollers and another waiting for Ramona to apply makeup
and Aunt Jo to pin the roses, I ought to look nice.

Damien was picking me up, while Aunt Jo had
decided to ride with Ramona in her Cadillac. Aunt Jo and Ramona had
become friends after I’d nearly drowned last year.

Aunt Jo pinned the last white rose to my hair
and arranged several large curls to fall over my shoulder when we
heard the doorbell.

“That’ll be Damien,” I said, quickly kissing
Aunt Jo and thanking Ramona for her help.

“I’ll see you both later,” I called behind me
as I ran down the stairs, putting on a shawl as I went.

I opened the front door, and Damien stood
before me looking spectacular. I’d only made part of his costume
since he wanted something at least partly authentic, and I couldn’t
make armor with only fabric. We’d looked through Ramona’s Halloween
catalog, Ghouls, Witches, and Other Halloween Designs, and ordered
something from there. The armor looked a little plastic, but it was
the best we could do. He’d offered to purchase an authentic
thirteenth-century suit of armor from a museum, but I advised him
against this, politely telling him he’d stand out a little too
much.

“Emmeline,” he said, his eyes taking in my
new face and hair. “You look...amazing,” he finally finished.

I blushed.

“Really? You don’t think it’s a little over
the top?” I asked, self-consciously patting my hair. Aunt Jo had
taken her job to heart, and I thought my head looked a little like
one of the blooming bushes at Sugar Hill.

“No,” he said quietly, “I don’t.” He took my
hand and kissed it, helping me down the stairs. I’d asked Aunt Jo
not to come downstairs but to wait to see everyone in their
costumes onstage.

We got into the Audi—a little difficult for
him with the bulk of his costume—but we managed anyway. He’d wanted
to buy a horse to arrive in style, but I suggested we just take the
car. I was unsure how my hair would hold up in the wind.

Everyone stood around, nervously anticipating
the evening and saying lines to themselves when we arrived.

Ben was the first to see me.

“Wow, Emily. You’ve never looked so
beautiful,” he said, his eyes widening. He came over and took both
of my hands in his.

“Yeah, you look nice. I wouldn’t have
recognized you,” Zack chimed in, laughing.

I stuck my tongue out at him but then
laughed. Zack had on his costume, which included plenty of hosiery.
I smirked.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I
said.

Zack rolled his eyes.

“If Romeo over there didn’t look ready to
kill me, I’d show you how much I appreciate the costume design.
Really, Emily, tights?” he asked, stalking off. But I knew he
wasn’t really upset.

Annie hid a smile in her hands. She had on
one of the long wigs that Ramona had lent us from her shop and tons
of makeup. Ramona must have gotten to her first.

“Places everyone! The show will begin in five
minutes!” Mr. Ormond called backstage.

I took a deep breath, trying to quell the
butterflies in my stomach.

“You’ll be fine,” Damien whispered in my
ear.

The cast turned to take their places. I was
glad that I wasn’t in the first scene so I could watch in the
wings. Ben had just spoken his first line when Angela came running
in carrying her wig in one hand and three packs of cough drops in
the other.

“Am I too late?” she croaked.

We looked at her, and I nearly laughed.
Someone must have called her last night to say that I’d been her
replacement. Mr. Ormond had announced last night that the show
would go on, with or without the questionable talents of Ms. Rossi.
That thought alone might be enough to kill her. She looked as if
she had trouble standing; I was unsure how she thought she’d manage
the dances.

Mr. Ormond looked disbelievingly at her as
Ben delivered his first lines to the audience.

“Angela, you can’t possibly go onstage like
that. Can you even talk, let alone sing?” he whispered angrily.

She tilted her head a notch, passed us by
like the queen she was, and put her long wig firmly on her head.
She literally marched onstage and delivered her first lines in a
voice that sounded like a dying cat coughing up a hairball.

We all cringed, and I thought Mr. Ormond was
going to pull his remaining hair out. But Ms. Shoemaker, the music
teacher, played the opening bars to “The Simple Joys of Maidenhood”
anyway. I had to concede that the lyrics seem made for her:

Where are the simple joys of maidenhood?

Where are all those adoring daring boys?

Where's the knight pining so for me

he leaps to death in woe for me?

Oh where are a maiden's simple joys?