The Showstopper. Mary Casanova

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СКАЧАТЬ “For our first rehearsal, we want to look calm and confident, not rushed.”

      “Take your time,” Michael said, walking ahead, “but I need to get to work.”

      “If there’s an audition,” Rebecca mused, “I could do something funny like I did on Coney Island. Or I could recite the speech I made at the strike site—standing up for the fair treatment of workers.”

      “Maybe I sing song from spring recital,” said Ana.

      They met each other’s eyes and shared a grin.

      “I still can’t believe we got permission to come back!” Rebecca said.

      “If…” Ana reminded her.

      Rebecca nodded. “Yes, if.”

      There were a lot of ifs. Their parents had agreed that Rebecca and Ana could return to Hammerstein’s theater, but only if Michael agreed that the roles were respectable for young girls. And they could work only until Uncle Jacob and Josef found work—or until school started in two weeks.

      Rebecca drew in a gulp of warm city air. “Let’s go.”

      Then the girls walked through the doors and up the stairs to try on their new costumes.

      “I worked all night,” Mrs. Rothstein said, removing two blue outfits from a rack. She pointed to two dressing rooms. “Try them on.”

      A few moments later, the girls stepped out in identical white blouses with puffed short sleeves, lightweight blue overalls, and long cotton stockings. Rebecca curtsied to her reflection in the full-length mirror. “Our costumes are adorable!” she said. “Even Bubbie would approve. Nothing scandalous!”

      Mrs. Rothstein handed them each a pair of knee-high rubber boots. “Not easy finding sizes for you, but here you are.”

      Boots? Rebecca’s smile shrank the slightest bit. The tall black boots were not pretty, and certainly not good for dancing. But, she thought, perhaps the costume was for a comedy routine. Boots like that could be funny, at least, even if they weren’t glamorous.

      She pulled on the boots. They fit perfectly.

      Mrs. Rothstein gave the girls an approving nod. “Okay. Now, up to the top with you!”

      “Thank you, Mrs. Rothstein!” Rebecca wanted to hug her. As she and Ana climbed the stairs, she practically skipped from step to step, forgetting even to watch out for rats. To the top! she told herself. We are on our way to the top!

      …

      Emerging from the stairway, Rebecca looked for Mr. Hammerstein, or someone who looked like a stage director, until a woman waving from outside the barn caught her eye.

      “Over here, girls!” the woman called. Her white puff-sleeve blouse, red corset-style bodice, blue skirt, and white apron showed off an hourglass figure. “Mr. Hammerstein told me to expect you!” She waved them closer.

      As they walked toward the barn, Rebecca looked back across the expanse of empty seats to the stage. “Mr. Hammerstein offered us supporting roles in the theater. Shouldn’t we be over there?”

      The woman’s laugh was high and breezy. “Well, you’ve got ‘supporting roles’ all right! You’re just where you’re supposed to be. I’m Flora. What are your names?”

      “Rebecca Rubin. But my friends call me Beckie.”

      “I’m Ana Rubin.”

      “Sisters,” Flora said.

      “Cousins,” Ana corrected her.

      Flora took a moment to study the girls from their boots to the crown of their heads. “You look perfect,” she said. “The question is, are you serious about chores? I can’t do all the farmwork myself.”

      Chores? As Ana nodded, Rebecca could only look down at her clunky rubber boots. She had a sudden feeling they had made a terrible mistake.

      “Do you like farm animals?” Flora continued.

      Ana’s face lit up. “I love all animals!” she said, then her face grew serious. “Except rats. I am very frightened of rats.”

      “Don’t worry,” Flora said soothingly. “You won’t be in charge of any rats here.” She put her hand on Ana’s shoulder. “You have a sweet accent. Where are you from?”

      “Russia,” Ana said, her smile widening. “We do not have farms on rooftops in Russia.”

      Flora laughed. “No, I suppose not. It’s unusual, even for New York City!”

      “But I thought…” Rebecca began. She swallowed past a growing lump of disappointment and tried again. “I thought we were going to be onstage.”

      Flora put her hands on her hips. “Everything’s a stage here, Beckie. This farm is a kind of theater. Customers come for the shows, food, and drink. That’s where I come in. They love to watch a Dutch maid milk the cow. I give them milk fresh from the bucket. They bring their children and spend hours enjoying this little piece of heaven on a summer evening. And it is your job to keep the farm tidy and in working order so that they may enjoy it.”

      Rebecca’s heart slid down a few notches. There would be, she realized, no singing or dancing, no comedy routines—only buckets and boots and boring chores. “I think there’s been some mistake,” she blurted, holding back tears. “I’d better talk to Mr. Hammerstein.”

      “No point in that,” Flora said matter-of-factly. “We may not be the Ziegfeld Follies, but we are one of the most popular stops in the city. If you want a job, this is it. Take it or leave it.”

      “We take it,” Ana said enthusiastically before Rebecca could respond.

      Flora smiled. “Good. I’ll show you around.”

      Rebecca trudged behind Ana as Flora led them through the barn, past animal pens, and alongside one of the vegetable gardens. Their work, Flora told the girls, would consist of cleaning stalls, washing out milk buckets, pulling weeds, keeping goats brushed, and making sure everything was “shipshape” before the customers arrived. When they returned to the barn, she handed each girl a broom.

      “May as well get started,” she said brightly.

      Outside the barn, Rebecca flicked her broom halfheartedly at a small clump of hay. She was working up the courage to tell Flora she was quitting when she spotted a lovely young woman approaching. The woman’s dress had so many layers of soft green fabric that it made a gentle swishing noise as she came closer.

      “Gee,” the woman said. “You look like you could be my little sister!”

      “I do?” Rebecca gazed up at the woman’s heart-shaped face and the soft tendrils of auburn hair escaping from beneath her wide-brimmed hat. That face! Rebecca would know it anywhere. “You’re Olivia Berry!” she gasped. “Prettiest Shopgirl in New York City!”

      “Shhh,” the woman said, holding a finger to her perfectly painted lips. СКАЧАТЬ