Stagestruck. Shelley Peterson

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СКАЧАТЬ the entire world, A-a-bby Malone!” She stepped briskly to the right and grandly swept up her right arm, placing her left foot behind her in her own version of a regal curtsy. Holding out a splendid, imaginary gown with her left hand, Abby bowed deeply to her adoring fans.

      When Abby raised her head, the people were gone. The seats were dusty and drab, dirty cobwebs drooped from the lights, and the whole place was in bad repair. But the magic still hung in the air. Abby smiled, understanding that nothing, not even time, could remove it.

      A movement in the back seats caught her eye. A blur of bluish light spread up the right aisle and settled in a seat two rows from the back and two chairs in from the aisle. Abby stared, mesmerized.

      Cody howled softly, breaking Abby’s trance. She looked at him, sitting obediently in the front row, paw raised and head tilted. He howled again, but not fearfully or with any sense of urgency. Abby looked at the back of the theatre again, but the blur was gone. Hmm, she thought. Strange. Maybe she’d imagined it.

      Without warning, Cody dashed up onto the stage and stood protectively in front of Abby. He bared his teeth and growled fiercely.

      “Cody, what’s wrong?” Abby asked. Something was threatening them, and it was out there in the theatre. She backed up slowly until she could feel the thick curtains against her back, then quickly ducked under the heavy fabric. Cody scooted under, too, and Abby dropped the curtain to the floor.

      Heart pounding, Abby crouched motionless, straining her ears for any telltale noise. A minute went by. Cody stiffened and growled again.

      Attracted by a spot of light showing through the curtain, Abby crept over and found a small hole a few feet off the ground. Peering through, she saw nothing but empty seats and bare walls. She kept her eye to the hole, and arranged herself to settle in and watch.

      Abby had a troubling thought. Were her horses safe? Was she hiding here, afraid for herself, while the horses were in danger? She fidgeted, uncertain of what to do, when the latch on the door lifted with a sharp click.

      The door slowly opened. Holding her breath, Abby waited to see who or what would come in.

      It was the old farmer, Robert Wick. Relief spread through Abby’s body. She took a deep breath, realizing that she’d forgotten to breathe. Farmer Wick was a weathered man in his seventies, tall and lanky with a slightly spreading belly. His red and black checkered jacket was wet from the rain, and he wore green rubber boots and a soaked olive-green cap with ear flaps. He looked as frightened as Abby felt. Step by tentative step he sidled into the theatre, sliding his back along the wall, darting his eyes all over the large room. He carried a shotgun.

      “Mr. Wick?” Abby called.

      The old man jumped. “What?” he blurted. “Who’s there?”

      “It’s me, Abby Malone. I’m behind the curtain, and I’m coming out. Cody is with me. Please don’t shoot. Can you hear me, Mr. Wick?” Abby was nervous. She knew that a person with a gun could make a mistake when frightened, even Mr. Wick.

      Robert Wick lowered the shotgun. “Abby Malone.” He took a deep breath. “The gun’s not loaded. Show yourself. Where are you?”

      “I’m here, behind the curtain,” she repeated. “Here.” To show Mr. Wick where she was, she poked the fabric with her hand and shook it.

      “Okay, Abby, I see you. Come on out.”

      Abby lifted the heavy velvet, then emerged cautiously with Cody, trusting that the gun was empty.

      “Now, what the blazes are you doing in my barn, on my property, without permission, in the middle of a whopping big storm?”

      “I’m sorry, Mr. Wick. I can explain everything . . .” Abby began.

      “I can’t hear you. You’re mumbling. Speak up.”

      “I can explain everything,” Abby projected loudly. “We, that is my two horses and Cody and me, got caught in the storm and we needed to get out of the wind and rain but especially the lightning, so we found shelter in your shed, but I was cold and I thought there might be an old horse blanket in the barn, but when I got here I realized it wasn’t a barn but a theatre, so I couldn’t help but look around, and I hope it’s all right.” Abby took a breath. She’d been speaking very quickly, and when she stopped the theatre resonated with the echoes of her voice. Wick took his time.

      Finally he spoke. “I guess that’s fine.”

      Abby was relieved. “Thank you so much. Well, I’ll go now. I’m sorry. I really am. I’ll never do it again.”

      “I must say you scared the living daylights out of me,” Mr. Wick said, relaxing.

      “And me, too. You scared the living daylights out of me.” Abby and Cody had come down the stairs and were walking toward the door.

      “I come to check on the farm every few days,” said Mr. Wick, feeling more talkative. “It’s been empty for a long time, since my wife died and I moved into the bungalow, but until today nobody’s bothered with it, if you don’t count the ghost. That’s why, when I saw the lights on, I grabbed my shotgun. It’s not loaded, but it’s scary. I had no idea what I’d be facing. I apologize for that, Abby.”

      Abby stopped dead. “A ghost?”

      2

      THE RETURN OF SAMUEL OWENS

      HILARY JAMES CONTINUED TO STARE out the kitchen window at the rain. Her reflection stared back. Tall with shoulder-length, light brown hair streaked with blond, Mousie had grown into an attractive, intelligent woman of twenty-two. The show-jumping passion that had taken her and Dancer to the top of that world had been replaced by a love of ancient civilizations, a love that she shared with Sandy Casey, her fiancé. The two planned to join an archeological dig for a year in Belize, and they were practising their Spanish in anticipation.

      She was thinking about Abby Malone, the girl she’d first met two years earlier. Abby had been riding bareback, chasing hunting dogs away from her beloved Cody. Such spunk, Hilary thought. She remembered the day of the steeplechase, when Abby competed against some tough riders on her little quarter-horse mare. Mousie admired the younger girl’s uncanny ability with horses; but more than that, she liked her spirit.

      Now, Abby was somewhere out there with two horses and her coyote. Mousie thought over the options. The first, and most sensible, would be to wait and hope that they got back okay. And likely they would. Plus, as her mother said, where would she begin to look? They could be anywhere. Should she risk herself and Dancer getting struck by lightning, or mired in mud?

      The other option was to saddle up Dancer and go. Doing something, however rash, was easier than standing idle. At least if something awful happened, she could tell herself that she had tried.

      Hilary pulled on her rubber riding boots and zipped up her waxed canvas slicker. Pepper hopped around in excitement, thrilled at the prospect of an adventure. “No, Pepper. You stay.” Immediately, the little dog’s ears dropped and she slunk away to her tiny basket in the corner of the kitchen. Hilary threw on her hard hat and hollered, “I’m going to look for Abby, Mom. See you later.”

      “Mousie? Did you say something?” Christine’s voice floated up from the basement, where the laundry was in full gear.

      Hilary СКАЧАТЬ