This Golden Land (24 page)

     Sam Glass stared at Alice as men produced handkerchiefs and blew their noses and women wiped their eyes. He looked around and saw the faces of colonists far from Mother England and knew they were remembering loved ones left behind. He returned his eyes to the lone girl on the stage,
petite, slender, fragile. What was it about her? It wasn't just that she had a nice voice and could carry a tune—so far all auditioning singers possessed those qualities—there was something more in this pale, ethereal creature. She didn't just sing the song. It was the way she breathed, the way she emphasized some notes, softened others, threw in pauses where no one ever did, and held those high notes for longer than he thought her small lungs capable. Feeling his own throat tighten, Glass realized there was something almost spiritual about the way she sang, that filled one with sentiments of hearth and home, angels and the Virgin Mary.

"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me . . .
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.

     When the last note from Alice's throat had rung in the rafters, the silence remained, no one moved. They continued to stare at the girl with the disfigured face. Then they tore their eyes away, trying to understand how deformity and beauty could go together, and they looked at the sawdusted floor and then at each other, and conversations took up again, slowly somberly, with everyone wondering if it was all right to applaud a hymn.

     Sam Glass shot to his feet. "Christ Almighty! Where did all that voice come from? You're just a little slip of thing. Don't look capable of blowing out a candle, never mind belting out God's most blessed hymn."

     He gestured for her to come down from the stage, and when Alice reached his table, Glass spoke quickly. "We open in four weeks. I'll put you in the middle, so we're sure to get everyone's attention. I'll have some of the girls fix your face with cosmetics, and we can do something with your hair, too. I want you to dress to dazzle. A short skirt, mind, that gives the gents a glimpse of stocking. Bare arms. And the neckline cut low to reveal as much bosom as you can without getting us raided. What's your name?"

     "Alice Starky."

     He thought a moment, then said, "From now on, you are Alice Star. And you are going to be a sensation."

A
S
H
ANNAH GUIDED THE BUGGY ALONG THE SHADY DRIVE OF
Seven Oaks Station, she experienced two joyous emotions. The first was her feeling, as she approached the main house, of coming home. The second was thoughts of Neal. He should arrive in Adelaide any day now, and Hannah could barely eat or sleep with excitement. And now Alice was going to sing at the new music hall. The world, golden with blooming acacia, was glowing with promise.

     Hannah was not surprised to see Mary McKeeghan and her mother sitting in rocking chairs on the wide verandah, with the chubby, smiling Robbie in Naomi's lap. Mary had sent a message to Hannah at the Australia Hotel, informing her that both baby and grandmother were recovering from their spell of malaise. Mary invited Hannah to tea, and Hannah greatly appreciated the opportunity to make a friend in the district.

     As Hannah took a seat, Mary McKeeghan said, "I've already spread the word about you, Miss Conroy. We don't have a doctor out here, and God knows we need one. But I reckon you're as good as any doctor, and I know
that folks around here will be comforted to know that there's someone who can help in times of need. Perhaps you can look in on Edna Basset on your way back? She's down poorly with croup, at Fairview Farm."

T
HE SIGN ON THE MARQUEE SAID
: "G
RAND
O
PENING
! Entertainment for the sophisticated upper classes only: music, singing, plays and other outstanding acts. Rowdies and drunks will not be admitted."

     Carriages were lined up along the wooden sidewalk as ladies in evening gowns and gentlemen in formal attire stepped down. A crowd had gathered to watch the parade as many of Adelaide's prominent citizens came to attend the opening of Sam Glass's extraordinary supper-theater. Overhead, the southern sky's million stars winked down at them.

     Inside, a colorful and noisy throng milled beneath glittering chandeliers, to sip champagne and socialize in the lobby before finding tables in the main hall, where musicians tuned their instruments. A grand red velvet curtain hid the stage from view. Unlike traditional theaters, Glass's music hall, called The Elysium, had a liquor bar along the back wall, carved of dark mahogany, outfitted with mirrors, shiny brass beer taps, and pyramids of crystal glasses and schooners. The kitchen was adjacent to the theater, and
when the audience was settled at precisely seven o'clock, supper would be served by young waiters in white shirts, black trousers and white aprons. Tonight's offering was spring lamb, roast potatoes, and baby carrots, followed by French cheese and English custard. At eight o'clock exactly, the dishes would be cleared away, after-dinner drinks served, and the curtain raised.

     "I am so nervous, miss!" Alice said as Hannah waited with her backstage with other performers. Sam Glass had provided Alice with makeup so that her scars were hidden. It was not perfect, but with her blond hair combed a certain way and held in place with a rhinestone tiara and an egret feather, Alice's deformity would not be seen in the stage lights. Besides, with every gentleman in the audience smoking a pipe, cigar or cigarette, there was enough smoke in the air to make details indistinct.

     "You will be fine," Hannah said, trying not to be in the way of the men in tights, or clown costumes, or dressed like gentlemen in evening wear. They were singers, acrobats, magicians and actors. The women were garbed in glittering costumes that exposed a lot of skin. Alice, on the other hand, despite Sam Glass's instructions, had chosen to wear a simple white gown, Empire style, with a high waist and neck, long sleeves, and absolutely no skin showing.

     The stage manager came through, ordering all non-performers to leave as the show was about to begin.

     Hannah gave Alice a hug, wished her well, and hurried back to the table she was sharing with Mrs. Guinness. The curtain rose and the small band in front of the stage played God Save the Queen. The audience cheered and applauded the various acts that came out one after another, laughing at the clown, singing along with a balladeer and his banjo, jeering at a magician who kept dropping his wand.

     At the rear of the packed house, Sam Glass chewed his cigar and watched and worried. A few mishaps had occurred, but nothing the patrons could have guessed. The kitchen ran out of spring lamb and the bar ran out of claret, but everyone seemed happy. Glass had a lot invested in this venture. He was counting on this mob to go home tonight satisfied, and tomorrow tell all their friends about The Elysium.

     It was three-quarters through the evening when the curtain came down,
the audience grew restless with anticipation, but when the curtain rose again and Sam Glass saw Alice Star—wearing an Empress Josephine gown, looking like a choir angel—he felt a fierce throb at his temples. He had given her explicit instructions on the sort of costume she was to wear. So far the audience had been treated to bare ankles and low-cut necklines. They had been awe-struck by the lady trapezist in tights. Alice Star was supposed to follow suit.

     He chomped his cigar and spat juice into a brass spittoon. For the successful running of a supper-theater, it was necessary for everyone to obey the boss. What sort of chaos would ensue if everyone did what they chose? He would let her sing this once, and after the performance she was getting the sack.

     Alice waited on the stage. The audience grew restless, conditioned now to performances with brassy, explosive openings. The girl in the virginal gown and yellow hair did nothing to grab their attention. She just stood there. Hannah's heart pounded. Her mother had told her, long ago, of something called stage fright. Was that what gripped Alice now?

     And then she saw Alice nod her head ever so slightly, and the violinist in the band stood up and began to play. Alice drew in a breath and began to sing.

All in the merry month of May
When the green buds were swellin',
Young Jimmy Grove on his deathbed lay
For love of Barbara Allen.

     The audience released a collective sigh. It was a familiar song, a sweet song, and a sad one. People reached for their glasses filled with ruby-red liquids, or their tea cups, while they remembered the first time they had heard the song of Barbara Allen.

He sent his man to find her then,
To the town where she was dwellin'.
"You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen,"

     The audience grew hushed as they watched the girl dressed in white, standing alone in a column of light, her voice seeming to come from no human throat but perhaps from the whiteness of her dress. An angelic voice, many thought.

For death is printed on his face
And o'er his heart is stealin'.
Then haste away to comfort him,
O lovely Barbara Allen."

     Some began to remember bittersweet moments in their own lives, loved ones lost, nights of comforting, days without comfort. Tears sprang to a few eyes. Sam Glass's ire grew. His audience was sinking into sadness! He was ruined!

And very slowly, she came up
And slowly she came nigh him,
And all she said when there she came,
"Young man, I think you're dyin'."

     Sniffs were heard throughout the hall. Hannah herself needed to retrieve a handkerchief and dab the corners of her eyes. It was made of fine linen and was embroidered with the initial "N.S". Neal's handkerchief, which she carried with her everywhere, a memento made all the more precious as Alice's pure, clear voice reminded Hannah of her desire for Neal, and how she missed him. Mrs. Guinness swallowed painfully as she recalled a young man from long ago, whom she had not called to mind in years, but who now materialized behind her eyes, handsome, smiling, going off to fight Napoleon. She, too, needed a handkerchief.

When he was dead and laid in grave
Her heart was struck with sorrow.
"O mother, mother, make my bed
For I shall die tomorrow.

     The voice of gold, accompanied by the sweet-sad tones of the violin, held the audience captive, keeping them silent, frozen. Not a hand moved, not an eye blinked. Sam Glass wondered if they were breathing even. A fine thing. Promising them an evening of merry entertainment and giving them instead a dirge.

She on her deathbed, as she lay,
Begged to be buried by him
And sore repented of the day
That she did e'er deny him.

     The song was over, the hypnotic voice grew silent. No one moved and Sam Glass imagined a stampede for the box office, and demands for money back.

     And then the applause began, gaining momentum as Alice stood on the stage, with people getting to their feet and shouting, "Bravo!"