A Time to Dance-My America 3 (5 page)

Later

I am terrified. I have never been so frightened. I thought writing in my journal might calm me, but it has not. My hand is shaking so badly I fear I will never be able to read what I am writing now.

I tell myself that there is nothing to be afraid of, but my heart will not stop pounding.

I must go now and stand in the wings and listen for Frank Wellborn to shout: "Ah!

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Better and better!" That is Waiting Woman's cue to go onstage.

Later

It is over. I am home.

My time onstage seemed to fly by. When I came off, I could not be certain I had spoken

any

of my lines. But Mr. Ponisi assured me I had spoken them all, and had done a fine job!

I am the happiest I have ever been. When Pa came to walk me home, Mrs. Wood told him I had the makings of a real actress!

When we got back, Jed, Jane Ellen, and Baby Abe were all asleep. But I insisted on waking Jed to tell him my news.

[Image: Two American flags.]

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Tonight I shall have my second performance as Waiting Woman. I feel a bit calmer, but not much.

I know Mr. Booth has played the part of Hamlet many times. I wonder: Is he also nervous before he steps onto the stage? I think I shall write to him and ask him.

Later

I have completed my second performance as Waiting Woman. I was not shaking so badly, and I believe I said my lines more clearly.

As I was leaving the theatre, the actress who normally plays the part whispered that I had done a good job. It is clear her voice will not return in time for her to perform again

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before the show closes. I tried to feel sorry for her, but I am afraid I was too happy for myself.

February 24, 1866

Tonight is my final performance as Waiting Woman. Pa, Jed, Jane Ellen, Baby Abe, Mrs. Edmonds, and Charles are all coming to see me perform.

Last night, when I said the line "I begin to feel faint," I pretended to swoon a little. The audience laughed. I think I shall try swooning a bit more tonight.

Later

Just before I went onstage, Mr. Ponisi told me not to swoon when I said I felt faint. Still, I think tonight was my best performance yet.

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After the show, everyone met me backstage. Pa clapped and whistled when he saw me. Jed said I had done a very respectable job and that he was proud of me. Jane Ellen wanted to know if I had had any trouble memorizing my lines. Charles said he thought I was funny.

But Mrs. Edmonds said the nicest thing of all. She put her arms around me and whispered that I was absolutely radiant.

February 25, 1866

I have spent all this Sunday afternoon thinking of different ways I might have said my Waiting Woman lines. I believe with a little more practice, I could have been even better!

I am already wondering what roles I might play in the future. A new show opens tomorrow night:

The Count of Monte

Cristo.

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Unfortunately, there do not seem to be any roles for women my height and size.

February 26, 1866

Pa told me this morning that I did not need to work as a dresser any more. He is proud to be able to support us all now, I think, and wants me to spend more time on my lessons. But I told him that I do not want to quit my job. I love the theatre -- even if I have to work behind the scenes for now.

So tonight I will go back to being a dresser, until I am given another opportunity to go on the stage.

February 27, 1866

Guess what? Now Jed is growing a beard, too! But Jed's beard has never been good. It is

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wispy and thin and patchy -- not thick like Pa's or President Lincoln's. Jane Ellen hates it!

February 28, 1866

We have all been teasing Jed about his beard. Today I found this notice in the paper:

WHISKERS AND MUSTACHES!

One Dollar! Dr. Briggs's Grecian Compound is guaranteed to grow a beautiful set of whiskers on the smoothest face in five weeks. This wonderful discovery has been used by the elite of both Paris and London. Entire satisfaction given or money cheerfully refunded.

I clipped the advertisement from the newspaper and left it on Jed's dresser.

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I have been reading the plays of Shakespeare, thinking of roles I might perform. I believe I should most enjoy playing Juliet.

This morning, I stood in front of the mirror and practiced saying Juliet's lines: "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?"

March 2, 1866

It is very late. I cannot sleep. That is because I cannot stop crying.

As I was laying out costumes tonight, I overheard a conversation. The actor who played Frank Wellborn was talking to Mr. Ponisi about my performance as Waiting Woman.

This is what I heard him say:

"Our young Miss Dickens was quite good, didn't you think?"

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And this is what I heard Mr. Ponisi reply: "Yes. It's a shame she's so plain."

March 3, 1866

I did not go to my job at the theatre today. I pretended to be sick.

Until yesterday, I had never even thought about whether I was plain or pretty. Now I know the answer without ever asking the question.

March 4, 1866

"It's a shame she's so plain."

I keep hearing those words over and over. Was my mother plain? I pulled out my locket today and looked at her picture.

She was indeed not plain, with her soft curls and sweet smile. What happened to me?

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I have written another letter to Edwin Booth. This is what I said:

Dear Mr. Booth,

I know you have not responded to my previous letters because of your busy schedule. But now I have a question of utmost importance.

Here it is: Must a girl be pretty to be an actress?

The girl who played Ophelia in your production of

Hamlet

was quite pretty indeed. It is difficult to tell if Mrs. Wood was pretty when she was younger, but I suspect she might have been.

I am not pretty. I am plain. Do you believe I can still have a career in the theatre?

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I eagerly await your reply. Virginia Dickens

March 5, 1866

I returned to my job as a dresser tonight. I did not speak to Mr. Ponisi. When he said, "Sorry you were sick yesterday," I just nodded and quickly moved away from him.

March 6, 1866

I do not know what to do. Mr. Ponisi's hateful words will not leave my mind. I wish Mr. Booth would reply to my letter.

March 7, 1866

Tonight, Jane Ellen knocked on my door. She asked why I have been so moody.

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I had not intended to share my shame with anyone. But I could not stop my sorrow over Mr. Ponisi's words from bubbling forth. I even told Jane Ellen about my most recent letter to Edwin Booth.

Jane Ellen was furious! She said Mr. Ponisi must think a girl is pretty only if she curls her hair and paints her face and wears a tight corset! She said that my beauty was simple and natural, the sort that old fools like Mr. Ponisi are too blind and stupid to see!

I imagine Jane Ellen was only saying all this to make me feel better. Still, I am grateful for her outrage.

March 10, 1866

My work at the theatre has not felt the same since I overheard Mr. Ponisi talking about me. I wonder if perhaps I should quit soon.

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Today I received this letter:

Dear Virginia,

First, let me apologize for not answering your letters sooner. As you can imagine, my schedule is quite exhausting.

Now let me address your pressing question. You must not be concerned with your physical beauty. There is beauty in speech, in movement, and in language that far transcends mere "prettiness." That is the beauty you must always look for in your art.

You seem to have talents well beyond your skills as an actress. Indeed, it seems from your letters that you are already an excellent writer.

Remember that we still speak of William Shakespeare with reverence and

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respect, while the actors of his day are all forgotten.

You say that my performance speaks from the heart to the heart. That is a wonderful compliment. It is also the advice I would give to you. Always strive to speak from your heart directly to the hearts of others, and you will succeed -- in whatever career you choose.

The letter was signed "Yours Sincerely, Mr. Edwin Booth."

I will treasure this letter always -- but not because it came from Mr. Edwin Booth. In fact, Mr. Booth did not write this letter.

How do I know? Because in my letters to Mr. Booth, I never mentioned that I thought he spoke from the heart to the heart.

I told that to only Jed.

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I have decided never to tell Jed that I know he wrote the letter. But his words have stayed with me, especially these: "You are already an excellent writer."

Jed's opinion of my writing means everything to me. But in the days before I received the letter, I am afraid I would have quickly traded being a good writer for being a pretty actress.

That would have been a terrible mistake. I love finding ways to say what I truly think and feel. And what I truly think and feel right now is that I would rather be a good writer than anything else on earth.

[Image: Two American flags.]

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Tonight, during the play, when everything was busy and hectic, I decided to quit my job as a dresser. I want to read, and study harder with Jane Ellen, and go to a real school next fall.

I was suddenly so clear about this that as soon as the show was over, I told Mrs. Wood I would be leaving after this week. I told her I needed more time to spend on my schoolwork.

"I understand perfectly," she said. "But should you ever wish to return to the theatre, you will always be welcome here."

I

will

return to the theatre someday, but not as a dresser. I will be like Mrs. Wood. She became a theatre manager so she could hire herself. I will write a play so I can hire myself! And I will give myself the best part. The part

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will be a girl who some people think is plain. But, in fact, she is not. She is simple and natural, and she is an excellent writer.

March 15, 1866

This morning at breakfast, I announced that I was leaving my job at the theatre. I said I wanted to work harder on my lessons, and asked if we could discuss my schooling for next year. Everyone seemed pleased with my decision. And Pa assured me that next year we would find the best school in New York for me.

March 16, 1866

At supper tonight, Jed talked about a speech President Johnson gave that has angered many people. In the speech, President

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Johnson called the congressmen who do not agree with him "traitors." Jed said he thought that such behavior was shameful. Then he turned to me and asked what I thought.

I said I had to wonder what President Lincoln would think of President Johnson's speech. I reminded him how President Lincoln had called upon the "better angels of our nature." I said I did not think President Johnson was calling upon the better angels of

his

nature when he called the senators names.

Later, when I got home from the theatre, Jed asked my permission to use my thoughts about Lincoln and Johnson in an article he is writing for the newspaper. I told him I would be pleased for him to use my ideas.

In fact, I am more than pleased. I am bursting with pride.

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Today was my last day at the Olympic Theatre. Between the matinee and the evening shows, I took a walk with Charles Edmonds.

On our walk, we passed an organ grinder. He had a little monkey and, after every song, the monkey would take off his hat and scamper amongst the crowd, collecting pennies.

Charles laughed so hard that I thought he would fall over. Charles has a soft heart for animals. He told me he likes all kinds -- "monkeys, bears, giraffes, penguins, pelicans, and ostriches, just to name a few" -- he said.

I told Charles that I want to be a writer someday. He told me that he wants to be an animal doctor and play the violin.

[Image: Two American flags.]

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"Lately in my prayers, I have been talking with Elizabeth. I truly believe she will not mind if I marry again."

Those were Pa's opening words when he called us into the front room tonight.

Pa went on to say that he believes my mother requires only that he marry a good woman who will be kind to him and me and Jed. He then told us that he has found such a person. "She is Mrs. Charles Edmonds," he said. "And today I asked her to be my wife."