1634: The Ram Rebellion: Section Fourteen

A NIGHT AT THE BALLET

by

Kerryn Offord

    Hi, my name is Elizabeth Matowski, but everyone calls me Bitty. It’s short for itty-bitty. Just like me. I’m what my loving son Joseph calls “vertically challenged.” Only the family knows about the Itty-Bitty, but they aren’t telling. I have compromising childhood and baby photographs, and they know I’m prepared to use them. I was born several weeks early. Family legend has it I came out running, and haven’t slowed down yet.

    Apparently, way back when I was five, Mom and Dad left my big brother Joe baby-sitting while they went out. Needless to say, this didn’t go down well with a sixteen-year-old male. His girl friend of the moment wanted to go to a ballet recital in Fairmont, and they ended up dragging me along. Joe claims I was a real pain in the butt, but they finally got me quieted down and concentrating on the performance while they did what teenagers do. I was hooked.

    For the next few years, until he enlisted, Joe happily transported me three times a week to after-school ballet lessons in Fairmont. I think dad paying for the gas and his girlfriend living in Fairmont had a lot to do with his attitude.

    From that first exposure to the dance, I progressed through the grades, even being a professional for a few years. I met and married Harvey. Then, just as I was starting to realize I would never be a prima ballerina, and was destined to a career stuck in the corps de ballet, I found out I was pregnant with Joel. I took the pregnancy as a sign. It was time to leave professional dancing and move back to Grantville to be near Harvey’s and my families.

    Harvey soon found a job through the family. Meanwhile, I hunted for a position as a dance teacher, finally hooking up with a good school in Fairmont. I taught there right up until the Ring of Fire, some twenty-one years.

    Early on, Harvey converted a shed into a studio where I could practice. Needless to say, all four of my children were taught to dance. Staci and Melanie, as girls, had no trouble sticking to dance. Joel, and Joseph, my baby, being males, came under intense peer pressure to quit such unmanly activities, especially as they entered their teens. But they had been caught young and were able to resist. Both boys were comfortable in the company of girls, a benefit of years of exposure to dance classes. This translated into social confidence around the opposite sex at a time when their peers were interested in girls, but lacked confidence around them. I played on this to suggest that peer pressure to quit was mostly envy.

    The Ring of Fire was a shocker, a really traumatic event. Those first few months were lost in the struggle to survive. Everyone had to help, doing “important” things. There wasn’t time for formal ballet lessons, nor the spare resources to pay. However, we, my family, all went religiously into the studio every day to do the exercises. Even Harvey joined in. I think it was one thing that kept us sane during that period. As the year progressed things gradually became easier. The starvation we had all feared didn’t occur. There was sufficient food for everyone, and nobody who was able to work, and did so, went hungry.

    As we went into 1632, GV Biogas and Methane Corporation, a new start-up business, drew me from the pool of available workers. Don’t ask me what it is they do. All I do is shuffle paper all day. Needless to say, I still had an itch to dance. So I looked into the prospects of teaching dance at the school. I needed something, anything that would get me back to my first love.

    I lucked out when Sherrilyn Maddox, the PE teacher at the high school, arranged for me to take a couple of classes after work, “Ballet for Beginners” targeting children, and “Dance for Fitness” for adults. Initially I found a lot of my adult students were down-time females coming in for the dance classes, hoping to make themselves more attractive to up-time males. However, over time I started to collect a number of down-time males. Soon I was in that most enviable position of all for ballet teachers. I had as many males as females.

    The students paid the school a small fee to attend my classes, and in turn the school paid my assistant instructors and me a flat hourly rate. I noticed that my dutiful sons, Joel and Joseph, had no qualms about unmanly activities when there was money to be had.

    This took us through that year. The only blot on the otherwise pleasant landscape was when a horde of horrid horsemen attacked the town and school. There were anguished moments when we first heard about the school being attacked, but they were soon alleviated when we heard that all students were alive and well.

    Because of the massive amount of construction going on and the call of the military, not all students could attend regular lessons. That meant most of my students were unable to progress as quickly as I would have liked. The lack of progress meant that for only the second time since I was five, I missed a live performance of Nutcracker.

    Quite frankly, I lacked the competent company needed to put on a performance. We did put on a recital made up of various parts from several ballets for students’ families though. There were a few simple pieces for the youngsters and the less experienced adults. However, the pièce de resistance was a new ballet that I wrote and choreographed. It was based on the stories circulating about Flo Richards and Brillo, her “favorite” ram.

 

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    Part of the fun was that Flo was ambushed. We managed to get her to the recital without revealing the content of the principal performance. Nothing was actually said, but everyone there had heard about the antics of Brillo and his harem of ewes. The whole performance was greeted with howls of laughter, with Flo joining in.

    We grabbed and held the audience from the beginning when our “Flo” stood between Brillo and her ewes, protecting them from the horrible nasty under-bred Ram, while the ewes looked at Brillo with interest. The attention held right through to the last scene where Flo, brandishing a big knife, gives Brillo a verbal warning after finding him asleep in the same paddock as the ewes.

    Carl Schockley danced Brillo. He was an out-of-towner in Grantville, part of the construction crew building a new high-tech factory of some sort. He first come to my notice a few months before the Ring of Fire, when he turned up at the dance school in Fairmont asking about classes to maintain condition. When my son Joel, who was originally cast as Brillo, was called away for military maneuvers shortly before the recital I had been desperate. Then Melanie, my youngest girl, casually mentioned having seen Carl on a Kelly Construction building site.

    Carl was magnificent as Brillo. First in his solo where he showed angst at the new ram Flo had purchased and determination to get to his harem, and then in the set of pas de deux with the four ewes. He became one with the music. He was Brillo. A critical eye could see he lacked practice. However, his Coupè Jetè en Tourants grabbed the audience. Such èlèvation as he danced around the stage, leaning back in the turns so that he was almost horizontal to the floor. It was obvious to me that sometime in the past he had fallen into the hands of someone trained in the Russian School of ballet.

    For the four separate pas de deux he gave the girls the confidence to excel. They knew they could trust him to support them and that he would be there when they needed him. The girls danced better than I had ever seen them dance before. All four managed to spend some time en pointe, and the audience loved it. They gave a standing ovation, calling back the cast to acknowledge the applause.

    And that’s when I realized something was up. There were more people in the audience than expected. There was one group at the back who absolutely screamed money, lots of money. It was something about their clothes and the way they carried themselves. As the cast did their final bows and retired to do their cool-down exercises, I turned and made my way to meet these interlopers, greeting parents and their families as I walked down the hall, accepting compliments on the performance as I passed. ***

    Helene Gundelfinger, a young widow who came to the “Dance for Fitness” class, was with them. She hurried over as I approached. In class I had noticed the respectful way other down-timers always treated Helene. I refused to ask questions, but my eldest daughter Staci was soon able to inform me that Frau Gundelfinger was very well connected locally. Not only had she married a very successful merchant, she was also very friendly with the local nobility. She had been the governess of the duke and duchess of Saxe-Altenburg’s only child for several years before leaving to marry. It seemed I was about to meet some of her local connections.

    Helene dragged me up to three of the most expensively dressed people I had ever seen. Then she made the introductions. “Duke Johann Philipp, Duchess Elisabeth, Duchess Elisabeth Sofie, may I present Frau Matowski, the maîtresse de ballet? Frau Matowski, His Grace and his family wish to talk to you of this ballet.”

    “Thank you Helene," Duke Johann Philipp said. "Frau Matowski, my wife and I wish to compliment you on such a magnificent performance. Frau Gundelfinger has related to us the story of ‘Brillo,’ and we were able to fully enjoy the finale. We were wondering if you would be able to put on a private performance of Bad, Bad Brillo for our guests on Twelfth Night, January the sixth?”

    “Well, it will depend a bit on the availability of our dancers. All of them have day jobs. As it is, Brillo was supposed to have been danced by my eldest son, but he was called away by the army. We were lucky to have such a competent understudy...” I was about to talk money when I felt my hand being squeezed. Following the hand that held mine I found myself looking into the eyes of Helene Gundelfinger. Her expression and the faint shake of her head caused me to hold back the words. “Anyway, if Your Grace were to let me have some more details, we will see if it will be possible to accommodate you. You do realize that we will need a space bigger than the stage you can see?”

    “Yes Frau Matowski,” His Grace replied smiling, “we have put on little entertainments before. I am sure we have enough space.”

    “Father.”

    I looked at the young woman tugging aggressively at the duke’s jacket, and stifled a smile at the picture they made as I waited to see what his daughter wanted.

    “Now Elisabeth Sofie, stop pulling at my coat. You’ll ruin the hang, and you know how much that upsets Matthias.” Holding his daughter’s hands in his left hand he brushed at his wrinkled coat with the palm of his right hand before turning back to me. “Frau Matowski, my daughter here wishes that I ask about dance lessons. It seems she wishes to learn to dance like Brillo’s ewes.”

    I had to smile at Elisabeth Sofie. There had been similar requests after performances before. It was the en pointe that did it. The girls saw a ballerina en pointe and immediately wanted to dance on their toes, just like a ballerina. “Your Grace?” I queried, hoping I had the style of address correct. It seemed strange calling a child “Your grace.”

    “Yes, Frau Matowski.”

    “Your Grace, what you have just seen are dancers with years of experience dancing en pointe. It is not as it may appear. They are not dancing on their toes. The human toe can’t support the weight of a body. I don’t want you trying. What they have is specially made shoes that make it look as if they are dancing on their toes. The problem is we don’t let girls who haven’t finished growing dance en pointe, because it can cause considerable damage to their developing feet. Also, it takes years to develop the muscles needed to support a dancer’s body en pointe. Are you still interested in learning to dance?”

    “But Frau Matowski, I am almost fourteen, and I can dance. I have been taught to dance by the best teachers for many years. I want to learn to dance like them.” With that she pointed back up the hall, towards the four girls still in their white Ewe outfits, circulating with the other students.

    “Well, the classes are open to anybody. They start again in just two weeks. Can you come to this hall after school Monday, Wednesday and Friday?”

    “Two weeks! Can’t I start immediately? Can’t you give me private lessons? Please.”

    I looked to the duke and his wife for direction. All I got was two pairs of grinning eyes. Apparently they were accustomed to their daughter’s behavior and were watching to see how I handled her. “Well, I have a small studio attached to my home where a small number of students and my family and I train to maintain condition. If Your Graces wish, I am willing to add your daughter to the class.” Looking up to see His Grace’s gracefully nodding head in acceptance, I asked, “You don’t mind your daughter wearing the training clothes? Or being exposed to similarly dressed males?”

    “The clothes are necessary for the activity. As long as she does not walk around the streets dressed like that,” the duke pointed to the four Ewes, “then I have no problem. As for practicing in the presence of men, other than your family, I believe a Herr Carl Schockley is the only other male member of your practice group?”

    I was bemused by his knowledge of my arrangements, but after I nodded that yes, Carl was the only other male, all was revealed. “Helene has vouched for him. So, if you will please make arrangements with Helene, Elisabeth Sofie will turn up when and where you request. Thank you for your time Frau Matowski. Dear, Elisabeth Sofie, come, it is time we left.”

 

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    As the ducal party left the school hall I sighed with relief. An amused Helene Gundelfinger looked on. “It’s all right for you,” I said, detecting the smile. “You’re obviously used to dealing with nobles. That’s the closest I’ve ever been to one. I didn’t make any mistakes, did I?”

    “No, Bitty, you didn’t make any mistakes. It was good of you to talk to Elisabeth Sofie as you did. Still, I expect she will be trying to dance on her toes.”

    “They all do. I remember rushing home from watching my first live performance, and trying to stand on my toes. The warning was meant more for her parents, so they know what to watch out for. But what do I call the girl when she turns up to class?”

    “As her teacher you may call her Elisabeth Sofie, it will be a symbol of your authority. I will accompany Her Grace and her servants to the first session to introduce her and see that she is settled. Thereafter, only her servants will accompany her.”

    “Servants? As in, more than one?”

    “Surely. Her Grace is a young lady of good blood from a wealthy family. The family cannot afford to take risks. There must be no suggestion of impropriety, or her marriage prospects will be damaged. She must be accompanied by her maid, at least one footman, and of course, her coachman.”

    “Coachman?”

    “But of course. You can’t expect Her Grace to ride or take the common coach. It would be unsuitable.”

    “But what am I going to do with all her servants while I teach?”

    “They will wait. The coachman will return at the appointed time to collect her; however, Her Grace’s maid must be with her at all times. The footmen may be left anywhere convenient. They are used to waiting. Now, as payment for you allowing the duchess to join your private classes, I suggested a couple of gulden a week. However, my friend Carl Schockley pointed out that the other students didn’t pay more than a token, and that maybe the equivalent of about ten dollars a session would be acceptable?”

    I thought about that. Nearly two hundred dollars a week for adding the Duchess Elisabeth Sofie to the private classes would have been useful. However, it would have stunk of taking advantage of someone just because they had money. On the other hand, ten dollars a session was more than what students paid to take my normal classes at the school. “Ten dollars a session will be more than sufficient. It is more than the school charges for a student to come to my other classes, but with a much smaller class I will be able to give her more individual attention.”

    “Good, that is settled. Now, the duke and his family are spending this Christmas in their castle just outside Saalfeld. It is about an hour’s drive by carriage from Grantville to their home. I understand you will want a full rehearsal. Will it be possible for the servants and younger children to watch?”

    “If they don’t mind seeing mistakes.” Then I paused, hearing Helene’s words rebounding in my head. “Castle? They live in an honest to God castle?” At Helene’s nod I snorted as I swallowed a laugh. No wonder the duke was confident they would have enough room. Then another thought hit me. Horrified at the possibility, I looked to Helene. “The floor isn’t stone is it? Because that’s impossible.”

    “No, Bitty, the floor isn’t stone. The castle is not the fortress you imagine, but rather a comfortable home. The floors are wood.”

    I relaxed with a sigh of relief. Then I queried Helene, “That just leaves remuneration. How much can we expect to charge for the performance? I assume the duke is expecting to pay?”

    “Oh, His Grace expects to pay your people for the performance. How does twenty thousand of your dollars sound?”

    “Twenty thousand dollars?”

    Helene’s eyebrows went up and a pensive look crossed her face. “It is not enough? Carl suggested that it would be sufficient, but if you require more, His Grace might be willing to go a little higher.”

    “Oh, no, it’s quite sufficient. Really. It’s just I can’t imagine paying twenty thousand dollars for an entertainment that lasts less than an hour.” My brain was frantically trying to find an anchor point. Twenty thousand dollars? Of course, if I’d had time to think about it—which I didn’t, not then—it really wasn’t as absurd as it sounded. When you figured the start-up costs of getting a ballet company going, the hours and hours of training, all the rest of it, running a ballet on a professional basis was expensive. But I was still thinking like an amateur, someone who was basically doing it for the love of the art, and to be offered out of the blue twenty thousand dollars—

    “Bitty, you don’t realize how important this performance will be. It will be unique, the first public performance of en pointe ballet. Today doesn’t count. It was just a school recital. Nobody of importance was in the audience. You must realize who is going to be at this entertainment. The duke and his wife wish to impress some very important guests. Twenty thousand dollars for the chance to really impress his guests is, how you say, ‘peanuts.’ Some Twelfth Night entertainments have cost more than ten times the amount. Come. Let us join the others at supper. You can ask the other members of the cast if they are able to attend.”

    As Helene fed her arm through mine and we walked towards the supper tables, I considered what problems I might have getting a cast together for the private performance. Then I shook my head for wasting my time. For a share of twenty thousand dollars, they were all going to find a way to be available.

 

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    The girls had charged through, taking the showers first, so Joseph and Carl continued to cool down in the warm-up room. Joseph looked at the man stretching out beside him. About thirty, Carl had been dragged into the Christmas recital when Joseph’s brother Joel had become caught up in training operations with the army. He claimed to have been in the old United States Army back up-time, yet he was a skilled dancer. “Carl, why did you stick with dancing?”

    “How do you mean?”

    “Well, you said you were regular army since you were seventeen. I was just wondering why you stuck with ballet?”

    “You can blame my sister for that. Dad was career Air Force, and often wasn't around. Mom was a Thai war bride. She didn't really get along with the other service wives, so she saved on childcare by dragging me along when she took Chatrasuda to her classes. You could say I was caught young.”

    “Yeah. I‘m in much the same boat. With Mom teaching, there was no escaping it. What about when you were in the army? Wasn’t it hard doing... I mean, what did the other guys think?”

    “What did the other guys think of me doing such an unmanly thing as ballet?” Carl grinned before continuing. “I didn’t tell them, and by the time any of them found out, they also knew I was regularly scoring the maximum three-hundred on the fitness test. It’s pretty hard to question the masculinity of someone who is outperforming you on the fitness test.”

    “Well, why have you stuck with ballet? For a professional soldier, surely something more martial would be more suitable?”

    “Why have I stuck with ballet?” Carl’s eyes lost a little focus, as if he was looking in at himself in some other time and place. “Because you can lose yourself in the dance, become one with the music and forget everything but the flow of the dance. You can forget all your troubles for the duration of the performance.” With a gentle shake of his head Carl looked back at Joseph, his eyes regaining their focus, a wry grin on his face. “That’s getting a bit deep and intense, isn’t it? Just take it that ballet offers me more than any martial art. It gives me better balance, control, flexibility, and stamina than most black belts I’ve seen. And you meet a better class of people.”

    “What do you mean, ‘a better class of people'?”

    “Look at your average group of martial artists. Most of them are males, and overly aggressive ones at that. Compare that with ballet. It’s the complete opposite. It’s mainly females, they are in it for the love of the dance, and unlike in martial arts, they usually don’t come with boyfriend attached.”

    “Hey, guys, the showers are free. Hurry up, or all the food will be gone.”

    Carl and Joseph turned to see the girls, all dressed up for a party, at the door. “Then you should have let us go first. You could all do with missing a meal or two,” called out Carl.

    “We heard that!” they chorused back.

    With Joseph joining him on the way to the showers Carl called back over his shoulder: “You were supposed to. Remember who it was who had to lift you.”

    Four heads turned accusing faces to stare at Carl. “Are you suggesting that we are fat?” an anonymous voice hissed.

    Pushing Joseph ahead of him into the shower room, Carl looked back through the door, “Perish the thought. A true gentleman would never suggest that a lady was fat.” He quickly shut the door behind him before the girls could answer. ***

    Duke Johann Philipp’s carriages and a wagon arrived early in the afternoon on the sixth. They soon had us all aboard and safely on our way to his castle outside Saalfeld. The trip was uneventful, but I did worry a bit when I realized this was the same trip Elisabeth Sofie must have been making three times a week to attend class. I could now understand why her maid and at least one footman always accompanied her. I wouldn’t want my fourteen-year-old traveling these roads alone in winter.

    We arrived after an uneventful trip. Carl and a couple of the girls actually slept right through it, rough road and all. Me, I rubbernecked the whole way. It was the first time I had been outside Grantville since the Ring of Fire, and was my first sight of Germany. I didn’t want to miss any of it. Just over an hour after setting out the convoy entered the duke’s Saalfeld estate. The coachmen drove around to the tradesmen’s entrance, where servants assisted us from the carriages and unloaded the wagon.

    Once in the castle the dancers hurried off to change into training clothes and start warming up. That left me to direct the servants and Harvey’s stage crew as they set up the scenery in the large room set aside for the performance. When planning the performance I had feared that there might be problems with lighting, the duke’s residence not having electricity. However, Helene had allayed those fears, informing me that the duke had been able to hire a couple of generators, as well as a couple of televisions and video players over the Christmas season. With generators we didn’t have to worry about batteries, and we could really go to town on the sound system. We could also have some real lights to illuminate the dancers.

    With the scenery set up, I examined the setting. There would be some problems keeping the spotlights on the dancers. The room, not having been designed with modern theatrical lighting in mind, had no handy places to hang lights, or to put the spotlights and their operators, but we should be able to project the general effect desired.

    While my husband Harvey led his work crew setting up the sound system and connecting the lights, I walked around the floor with Joseph, Carl and the girls. Carefully we plotted the dance movements, using chalk to make discreet marks on the floor. We checked that the spotlight crews could point their lights where we wanted them.

    Elisabeth Sofie and a couple of other children slipped into the room, and for the next hour it seemed as if I was forever tripping over them. They were rescued from a particularly hideous fate when they were called away. I directed a servant to guard the door in an effort to keep them out until we were ready to cope with visitors.

    Finally we were ready for a run-through. Humming the beat, I had Joseph, and then Carl run through their solos. Then I had Carl dance with each of the girls. We had to make slight changes because of the size and shape of the performance area, but we were ready for a full rehearsal to music. I asked Carl to let the servants know we were ready for them, and the room quickly filled with servants of all ages and some of the children of the duke’s guests and their governesses. With an audience of almost a hundred people waiting eagerly, Harvey started the generator and brought it up to speed. The lights were turned on, and then I started the music.

 

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    From the first notes the audience was spellbound. Brillo made his entry to cheers, and Carl played up to the audience. Joseph, as the young upstart Merino ram did well. He was greeted with hisses in true pantomime villain fashion, making me wonder just a bit what videos the people had been watching. However, his leaps and pirouettes grabbed the audience. There was many an oh and an ah as they watched. I couldn’t wait to see how they responded to Carl in his solo. The fact that Carl was half-Asian in appearance—something which was very exotic in Europe of the time—would make him somewhat fascinating to the audience anyway, I thought. Add onto that his tremendous talent and skill... If they thought my baby was impressive, Carl was going to blow them away.

    I was right. He had been practicing hard since the school recital for this performance, and it showed. The hesitation and momentary stumbling I had seen in that earlier performance were gone. He was moving faster, and leaping higher, with great sureness and confidence, seeming to hang in the air at times. The audience was so appreciative we had to stop the music until the applause quieted before going into the sequence of pas de deux. But finally the audience let the performance continue.

    The girls danced well. They weren’t giving their all; they were saving something for the evening performance. However, they put on a good show. There were gasps and applause at each gravity-defying lift, but it was the girls dancing en pointe that really stole the show. The sense of wonder I could see on many of the faces in the audience was a reward in itself.

    As the last strains of music faded the audience burst into spontaneous applause. Young servants presented each of the girls with small bouquets as they took their bows. It had been a good rehearsal. Nothing drastic had gone wrong. Occasionally the spotlights had lost the dancers, but hopefully they should be better in the evening.

    After the rehearsal we were led to a side room where a light supper had been set out. As everyone ate, the dancers sparingly, Harvey and the rest of his crew with gusto, we discussed the rehearsal. Nobody had any complaints or suggestions. We were as ready as we could be.

    It would be several hours before we were called upon to perform. We were an after dinner entertainment for the duke and his guests. So our little troupe passed the time as best they could. Harvey and his crew checked and rechecked the generator, lights, and sound system, talking amongst themselves. Most of the dancers huddled in a group talking, or sat and read. Everybody tried to get some rest, with varying degrees of success. Carl shuffled off into a corner, wrapped himself in his sleeping bag, and was out like a light, much to the envy of the others.

    Finally, around ten o’clock, the duke’s majordomo came to the supper room to tell us the guests would soon be ready for our performance. A couple of the girls slipped over to Carl, ready to prod him awake, but he was moving before they could get to him. Seeing his grin, and the way he poked his tongue out at them, I was sure that there was something I was missing. Seeing the look on the girl’s faces, I had the distinct impression that they had intended to be less than gentle wakening him. Joseph had also been watching. He appeared amused by what had happened. There didn’t appear to be any malice involved, but I made a mental note to ask my son what it was all about.

    The cast quickly got into costume and helped each other apply the stage makeup. They pulled on loose coverings before starting their warm-up exercises. With ten minutes to go they stripped to their costumes and wrapped themselves in blankets. Meanwhile, Harvey and his crew started up the generator and tested the lights and sound. We were ready to start.

    While we had been waiting in the other room, servants had been busy arranging extra seating and candelabra. Just before the guests started entering the room the extra candles were lit. When the last guest was seated, His Grace’s majordomo gave the signal to begin. With that, I gave a brief introduction of the piece to be performed before starting the music.

    It was, even if I do say so myself, a brilliant performance. Nothing went noticeably wrong. The spotlights tracked the dancers, never losing them like they had in rehearsal. Nobody stumbled or missed a beat. Joseph rose to the occasion, as did the whole cast. Carl was his usual dynamic self, and the girls were graceful and beautiful. It was some of the best dancing I had seen outside of a professional performance. Come to think of it, this was a professional performance, but I felt they had all earned their pay. Topping this performance would take some doing.

    As the music died and the cast took their bows to the applause of the audience, I took my first good look at the guests. I was tempted to cut and run. Other than the Swishers and Pierces from Grantville, I only knew the duke and his family, and Helene.

    As yet another duke and duchess complimented me on the performance, Harvey and Carl joined me. At last, someone to lean on. I latched onto my husband, a little afraid that he might leave me to the wolves. Fortunately Carl came to the rescue, his German being much better than mine. With Carl interpreting when necessary, I was able to talk about the performance they had just seen and about ballet in general.

    Talking with the guests I started to realize how much they had appreciated the performance, and how interested in modern ballet they were. Several of them asked when I would be putting on a full-length ballet, something like the ones they had been watching on video. I was flabbergasted. I hadn’t thought there would be the demand, and said so. The response was surprising. Apparently the guests, especially the males, were accustomed to performing “ballets” as part of the normal run of entertainments, but nothing like what they had seen on the videos.

    I stuttered a little before collecting myself. I ran through some of the problems. Mainly those had to do with the size of the pool of trained dancers, and a need to be able to pay them so they could spend the time training, but also the cost of costumes, and a need for somewhere to practice and to perform.

    That’s when Helene broke in. She had been quietly listening while I laid out the obstacles I saw. “So, the problem is money?” she asked. It was a brazen question, but it did cut to the crux of the matter. Given enough money I could recruit and train students to perform, but where to get that money?

    “Ballet doesn’t make a good investment,” I said. She just shook her head and waved a hand indicating the guests. She smiled and said, “Ballet might not provide a good monetary return to investors, but for some, there are things mere money can’t buy. For the merchants amongst us, there is value in advertising.”

    Then she dragged me off to talk money and just what it would take for me to create a ballet company capable of putting on performances just like those on the videos.

 

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    I spent that weekend worrying. The duke's bank draft for twenty thousand dollars was burning a hole in my pocket. I kept on touching it to make sure it was still there. I pulled it out constantly, tracing a finger over the strong handwriting, and all those magnificent zeros. It was more money than I had ever held in my hands before, and I couldn’t bank it until Monday.

    My loving son Joseph didn’t help matters when he suggested dramatically that I should think of all the interest I was missing. I worried about that until I spent a few moments on a calculator. Then I stopped worrying and started hunting. It came to less than five dollars a day at the on-call rates, and I meant to make it all up out of his hide for scaring me like that.

    As for what I was going to do with the money, we had all agreed on the distribution of the money when we agreed to put on the performance. Ten thousand would cover expenses, plus wages for everyone involved, leaving the other ten thousand to put towards a professional ballet company.

    Come Monday, I asked for time off work to go to the bank. The boss, Linda Jane, was a bit unbelieving, until I showed her the check. Then she dragged me straight to the bank herself. On the way back to work she asked me what I was going to do with the money. Her interest faded a bit when I told her how I was going to try to create a ballet company, but she managed to ask a few pertinent questions. Like, would I still be working full time for her, and did I have enough dancers to form a company. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any answers.

    Over the weekend I’d spent the time I wasn’t worrying about the bank draft thinking about starting a dance company. The first question I asked myself was: did I really want to start and lead a company? That was a no-brainer. Of course I did! All I needed was some trained dancers, and a supply of money. The latter would help ensure I had plenty of people willing to train.

    So I had to think about the problems. The big one was the makeup of the potential company. There were eight girls who had been dancing en pointe in the recital. There should have been nine, but Glenna Sue Haggerty’s mother insisted that she was needed to help around the house, and she had been forced to miss the recital. There were about a dozen other girls coming to classes who could develop into real performers, given a little time, and regular lessons.

    Then there was the girl I considered the jewel in the crown of my up-coming students. Cathy McNally had been taking dance with me since the first grade. Much to her mother’s distress, she just about lived to dance. At eleven going on twelve she was still growing, and I wouldn’t let her near pointe shoes. However, her ability was such that her performance really didn’t seem to miss it. When she started performing en pointe, well, up-time I would have said, “the sky’s the limit.” I’m pretty sure she could have won a scholarship to one of the best schools, maybe even Juilliard. She had real potential and, with the support of her parents, the world would have been hers for the taking.

    So I had a good core of girls. The real problem was guys. I had two leading men, Carl and my eldest son Joel. But the army owned Joel, while Carl was heavily involved in the local construction industry. It was unlikely that I could ever be sure of having one of them, let alone both of them. The next best males were my son Joseph and my nephew Mike Matowski. Both were coming along well, Joseph being the better dancer, something to do with training every day with me, Joel, and the girls.

    However, neither was strong enough to lift any of the older girls. At least the girls weren’t confident they could lift and hold them. That lack of confidence was important. It meant the girls would be constantly on guard. There might be easier ways to ruin a performance, but at least I could avoid that one. I’d have to restrict them to working with the schoolgirls while they worked on their strength and technique. Although I didn’t think I’d phrase it quite that way.

    So, where did that leave me? Up the creek without a paddle. I had a useful core of girls. The real problem was reliable males. An oxymoron if ever there was one. My two most capable males had commitments that meant they might not be available when I needed them, and the only alternative male dancers needed time to develop. Maybe next year, if they trained regularly, and the damned army didn’t grab them.

    It was with a heavy heart that I made my way to dance class after work. Without at least one male lead I couldn’t have a company, at least not one capable of putting on performances for paying customers. As I entered the room set aside for the dance class I passed a gaze over who was there. My eldest daughter Staci, and two of the other senior dancers, Casey Stevenson and Marcie Haggerty, were busy supervising the children’s warm-up. I was surprised to see Marcie’s half-sister there. Laurie Haggerty had been very forceful just before Christmas about how she didn’t want her Glenna Sue wasting her time on ballet, and had put every obstacle possible in the way of her training.

    All was revealed when the Marcie came up to me. “Miz Bitty, you better watch out. Glenna Sue’s mother is on the warpath. She doesn’t think it is right that neither her Cameron nor Glenna Sue were included in the private performance of Bad, Bad Brillo.”

    I can’t say I was totally surprised. It was a complete turnaround from Laurie’s position leading up to the recital. Then she had insisted that Glenna Sue was needed at home and couldn’t be spared for rehearsals for the recital performance of Bad, Bad Brillo. However, the envelope in my pocket was probably the reason for the about face. In it were bank checks made out to the cast and crew. Glenna Sue’s share, if Laurie had allowed her to perform as the ewe she was originally cast as, would have been worth about eight hundred dollars.

 

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    “Your stepmother’s heard about the payments for the performers?” I asked Marcie.

    She nodded her head, a wry smile on her face. “Saturday night Jonathan Fortney was at the City Hall Coffee House talking about what he was going to do with his share.”

    I sighed over that. It was a good bet Cora, the proprietor, was aware that Laurie had pulled Glenna Sue out of the cast for Bad, Bad Brillo. No doubt she had heard and passed on the tidbit. She had probably done so deliberately, with relish, and maybe a bit of malice. There was little love lost between them.

    “How do you feel about the performers getting paid?” I asked.

    “It’s the luck of the draw. I didn’t audition for one of the parts. Nobody thought of the piece as anything more than a bit of fun. Certainly nobody thought those people would pay for a private performance. The guys earned the fee. The money would have been nice. Maybe next time.” Grinning, Marcie asked, “There is going to be a next time, isn’t there?”

    I told her that I expected there would be similar evenings spread through the year. I wasn’t ready to tell everyone about my dream of putting on a performance of Nutcracker. Currently only my family knew how much the last two years without a performance had affected me. I had spent part of the Christmas break watching my collection of Nutcracker videos, but they knew it wasn’t the same as being there.

    After that I was caught up in teaching the class. Every time I looked at a student I found myself examining them, looking to see if they had what it takes to perform. I was reassured with what I saw. There were a number of promising up-time boys and girls who had been taking lessons for a number of years, and some who had only been coming since I started teaching after the Ring of Fire.

    What really interested me, though, was the number of down-time students who were doing well. Not only the girls, but there were guys, and some of the guys were late teens. For some reason, the down-timers didn’t have a problem with guys and dancing. It was similar in the advanced class. There was one guy about the same age as my youngest boy, Mathias Steinbach. I had high hopes of him. He had been coming for about a year now, and his suppleness had improved considerably. If I could keep him, he would make a great foil for Joseph in another couple of years.

    The long-term prospects were good. All I needed was a few good men to hold everything together until the youngsters were ready.

    After class I hunted for my few good men. I had checks for three of them. Joel I just wanted to talk to about his military commitments. Eventually I traced them to the gym. Through the windows in the door I could see them. Joel was running Carl, his cousin Mark, and his baby brother Joseph through some dance sword-fighting moves. That was something he had picked up while he was at college.

    Joel was directing Joseph and Mark, with Carl watching, when I tried to sneak in. Carl turned almost immediately. Seeing me, he waved me over. Apparently Joel, hearing from Joseph that I wanted to put on Nutcracker, had suggested that the fight scene between the Nutcracker and the Mouse King should be a real swashbuckling affair, and had been teaching the others the basics of performance fighting.

    Joel was pretty sure he would be based in Grantville for a while. He was being trained to be an officer and here and now, an ability to dance was, if not essential, very desirable. He was sure he would be able to continue training and maybe even drag along a few of his fellow officer trainees. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure where the army would be sending him when he was commissioned.

    Carl, on the other hand, could tell me he would be working just outside the Ring of Fire on a major building contract. With a bit of effort, and the cooperation of his fellow directors from Kelly Construction, he was sure he could, barring an act of God, continue training and, outside of the summer period, be available for any performances. ***

    Over the next few days it seemed as if I was forever dodging questions from parents about why their child hadn’t been involved in the Bad, Bad Brillo production. The worst of the offenders were those who had been against their sons and daughters being involved in dance in the first place. Fortunately, the real ballet mothers understood just how unexpected the request for a private performance had been. That didn’t stop more than a few of them dropping hints about how much their sons or daughters would love to perform if something similar was offered though.

    It soon got to the point that I called a meeting of students and parents to discuss where I thought ballet was going here and now. One of the first things I told the assembled horde was that profits from the private production were going towards providing pointe shoes, and the development of improved pointe shoes. This went down well with all the girls and their parents. Most of them had first hand experience of the bloodied torture devices called pointe shoes, or they had seen the damage.

    I then described how I wanted to put on a full performance of Nutcracker next Christmas. There was a mixed rendering of ohs and ahs from the crowd. Some had, like me, missed the annual performance and were happy that it was coming back. Others made it obvious that they didn’t want to wait that long. Many of the dancers just wanted to perform, but others were thinking about the money. They asked if there was any chance of me putting on performances for a paying audience like the private performance of Bad, Bad Brillo.

    I was honest. I said that I was in discussion on that very thing, but I needed to have something other than Bad, Bad Brillo to offer. Maybe a few selected acts from well-known ballets, but casts had to be small. Also, I warned them that I didn’t think future payments would be anything like the Twelfth Night performance. That performance had been the first performance of en pointe before a noble audience. One of the teachers suggested that we could put on inexpensive performances in the high school’s auditorium. Say ten dollars for adults and five dollars a head for children to see a full-length production or a selection of scenes from famous ballets. We talked about that. Would we be able to fill the auditorium’s seven hundred and fifty seats? How much would it cost to hire the auditorium? And would we cover our costs?

 

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    Then Deanna Matowski, ballet mother, piano accompanist, and programming planer for the radio station made a suggestion. What about getting an advertiser to sponsor the production of performance videos to be aired on the television as part of an arts program? Payments probably wouldn’t be very large until we could prove the economic benefits, but if we shot the performances before a live audience in the high school auditorium, maybe the advertiser would meet the production costs, and the ballet company could take the gate.

    The idea had promise. It would give the dancers something to work towards, and would generate revenue, something that would be essential if we wanted to hold onto performers. The only problem would be getting sponsors willing to do a deal. Maybe Helene Gundelfinger knew someone who would be interested in sponsoring some performances. I made a mental note to contact her.

    One of the parents asked if Harvey had video taped the Bad, Bad Brillo performance. Well, of course he had, that’s why I kept him around. He recorded all my school recitals, and had been doing so for years. It was suggested that maybe I could offer the video to the television for public broadcast, sort of checking out the market before looking for sponsors.

    I promised to review the video and then try to make contact with the television people. Staci piped up that the person to see was Janice Ambler, one of the O’Keefe clan. She then offered to arrange a meeting for sometime in the next couple of days. With everyone attending to the conversation I could only agree to the appointment being made, but I resolved to have words with Staci about putting her mother into an awkward position.

    A couple of days later I was able to talk to Janice Amber about broadcasting the video of Bad, Bad Brillo. She asked if I would introduce it, maybe even rope Brillo’s owner, Flo Richards, into joining me in the studio to talk about Brillo. Maybe even bring the real Brillo into the studio, or failing that, get some footage of Brillo. I told Janice about the epitaph that Flo added when talking about Brillo. Somehow I didn’t think “the Ram from Hell” should be brought into the studio. She agreed that maybe it might be better to film Brillo in his natural environment, and suggested that I arrange a time with Flo, and she would send some of the kids working on the television station round with one of the school video cameras.

    That Saturday I found myself face to face with Brillo, the Ram from Hell. He didn’t look that bad. He was fairly solid, with an impressive set of horns. Of course his wool was nowhere near as fine or luxurious as the Merino ram everyone in the ballet called “Young Upstart,” but I could see no reason for the “Ram from Hell” label.

    The students set up the camera and started taping Flo as she described her first meeting with Brillo, and of course, the event that I had made into a small ballet. All the time she was talking, Brillo postured, showing off his lines, just like a Mister Universe contestant. I’d heard about animals responding to being the center of attention before, but this was the first time I’d seen it first hand.

    There was a dangerous moment when the camera crew moved over for some shots of the Merino Ram. Brillo objected to sharing the limelight. The young upstart was aware of Brillo’s objection and scampered as far away from him as he could. The pretender routed, Brillo looked back at the camera crew, as if to ask, why do you want to waste your time with him, when you can pay attention to me?

    The reporter with the camera crew asked Flo why she called Brillo the Ram from Hell. She was a little lost for words. I think she wanted to proclaim “because he is.” However, except for chasing off the other ram, something one expects when males are competing for the limelight, Brillo had been a perfect angel. He even went so far as to eat from the reporter’s hand and rubbed affectionately against her.

    In an attempt to show Brillo’s true colors, Flo walked right up to him. I’m sure she fully expected him to try and attack her, just like she had told me he normally did. Even her down-timer partner, Johan, could see the humor of the situation when Brillo let her walk right up to him. He even let her put a hand round one of his horns. Flo gave me a beseeching look, a real this-isn’t-normal type look.

    I think Flo must have been distracted, because she let Brillo get her between him and a wooden fence. Then he started to lean on her. The students thought it was cute, but Flo was well and truly caught. She couldn’t lash out at Brillo like she desperately wanted to, not while they were filming. She had to just grin and bear it.

    Eventually the television crew had enough material. They discussed how to edit it for the program going out later next week, asking both Flo and me what we thought. Personally, I thought that as soon as they were out of sight, Johan better get in there between Flo and Brillo, before they went after each other.

    Thursday night Flo and I dutifully made our way to the recording studio of the television station. I talked about ballet in general. About how we hoped to put on a few performances, including a Christmas performance of Nutcracker, and where I saw ballet in the near future. I talked a little about the ballet the viewers were about to see, Bad, Bad Brillo, explaining how it had been the first ballet performed in this universe with dancers dancing en pointe. I carefully didn’t mention that I was pretty sure it was also the first public performance using female dancers. That was something nobody needed to know.

    The presenter then introduced Flo. She was wearing a Merino-Angora blend knitted sweater and passed around a selection of wool and angora products as she talked about her farm and what she was trying to do. The presenter was impressed with the feel of the garments, and asked about them. Flo explained that it was due to the fineness of the fiber. She also commented that her merino wool was probably the finest available in the world, being the product of over three hundred years of selective breeding. Finally, she related her side of the story of Bad, Bad Brillo. While she was talking the viewers were shown the recently shot footage of Brillo at his sickeningly sweetest.

    With Flo’s introduction over, it was time to show the ballet. It was the footage shot at the recital that was broadcast. Harvey was an old hand at recording ballet recitals, and he had done his usual good job, catching the spirit of the story and the glory of the dancers. At the conclusion of the ballet the presenter, with a grin on her face, thanked us for our time.

    Finally, at last, the torture was over. Both Flo and I staggered out into the fresh air. We giggled together like schoolgirls as we discussed what we thought of our performance.

 

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    The television program on the Bad, Bad Brillo ballet went over well with the audience. Certainly a lot of people turned up at Flo’s place wanting to have a look at Brillo. He was turning into a real little moneymaker for Flo and her partner. Although I was a little surprised at just how big the interest in Brillo was. I mean, why would anybody be interested in the actions of a ram? But Brillo, and the stories attached to him, had caught the public imagination. He was a fad, just like the hula-hoop and Rubik’s cube, and who were Flo and I to ignore a fad? We had no idea just how long the Brillo fad would last, so sought to “make hay while the sun shines.”

    The positive audience response to that first show resulted in me being invited back to do a weekly Night at the Ballet program. In each show I introduced a ballet and talked a little about the story line and the history of the story. Then they played the video of that night’s ballet. Once a month, rather than show a ballet from my stock, I showed a compilation of the company performing scenes from ballets or, I’m a little embarrassed to say, performances from the continuing adventures of Brillo.

    Brillo was becoming a bit of an industry all of his own. Flo, acting with advice from my son, Joel, who was happy to put some of what he learned at college to good use, was now selling Brillo branded merchandise. The first thing Joel had done on the Monday after the Brillo story was broadcast was to drag Flo into town to register her claim to the Brillo brand. It wasn’t a moment too soon, as others were soon trying to jump on the Brillo bandwagon.

    Soon there were Brillo short stories by Lena Richards, Flo’s mother-in-law, and even a comic strip; author anonymous. There were products either featuring Brillo, like the Brillo soft toys, or claiming an association with Brillo. Of the latter, the one that most concerned me was the new Brillo dishwashing pad. Having licensed the use of Brillo’s image, the manufacturer was willing to sponsor the production of ballets of the continuing adventures of Brillo for the public and for the television. It was tacky, but it paid.

    So we had our first sponsor. The sponsorship payment barely covered the cost of producing and recording each performance, leaving only a pittance to distribute amongst the small cast involved in each episode. We could make a small income charging people to come and watch the performances being recorded, but the few dollars a head we were charging didn’t really compensate the efforts of the performers.

    However, we had a foot in the door. With the evidence of how the Brillo connection helped the manufacturer of the Brillo pads we started to get a few more inquiries from people willing to sponsor us, if they could somehow tie in their product. The most promising of these was a fabric merchant who wanted to show off his brilliantly colored fabrics. Not only would he provide fabric for costumes at cost, but also he didn’t require the company to perform Brillo-oriented shows.

    There was, of course, a price to be paid. His daughter was one of my students, and he expected that she be given important roles in every performance he sponsored. I don’t know what I would have done if she hadn’t been able to hold a place on her own merit. I like to think I would have stuck to my guns, but money is money. Fortunately, not only could she twist her father round her little finger, she was actually a good dancer, and one who was fully aware she still had a lot to learn.

    Young Miss Catherine Matzinger was fully prepared to use her power as her father’s daughter to push for the plum roles, but she had caught the bug. She wanted to be a prima ballerina, and my company was the only game in town. To achieve her dream, the company had to flourish. I managed to persuade her not to always push for the good roles.

    All it took was a few long drawn-out discussions on where I saw the company going, if it stayed solvent and continued to draw an audience, to get her to see reason. Convincing her mother and father took a little longer. In the end I let Catherine introduce them to her new dancing friend and competitor for some of the plum roles, Duchess Elisabeth Sofie. Somehow, that friendship seemed to negate most of their objections.

    Gradually, as the months rolled on, my little ballet company grew in size, confidence, and ability. The company started to perform monthly ballet days in the hall at the middle school. There was an early matinee for children, where the younger students could perform simple ballets and simplified versions of the continuing adventures of Brillo, and there were evening performances where the senior dancers could show their paces.

    Just before the second anniversary of the Ring of Fire we put on an evening of selected excerpts at the high school auditorium. I had carefully gone through my collection of ballet videos looking for scenes we could perform. Sorting out what was and wasn’t possible brought home to everyone how dependent we were on Carl and Joel. It was going to be a couple of years before we could develop our upcoming male talent into anything like their combination of technical ability, strength, graceful dynamism, and, well, to cut to the chase, showmanship.

    The evening was a technical success, and we even made a tiny profit. The audience was appreciative of the girls as they danced en pointe, and then Carl and Joel astonished them with their grace and strength as they performed, and when they lifted the girls, the seemingly effortless lifts drew loud applause. Now, if we could just pay the dancers a living wage, we would be set.

 

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    It was as we entered summer that my troubles started. First, there was the second anniversary of the Ring of Fire. It was an emotionally charged time, with people remembering family they had lost forever on that fateful day. A lot of people were feeling particularly vulnerable on the anniversary.

    The next problem was the male leads. First, as he had warned, other commitments ate into the time Carl could devote to the company. Then delayed spring fever hit my eldest son. He was suddenly very serious about Alice Abodeely, one of my senior en pointe dancers. I think this might have been another effect of the emotionally charged anniversary of the Ring of Fire, but it made for some really good performances. Unfortunately, the romance and intimacy Joel put into his dances with Alice didn’t carry over to the other girls, and his performances with them became as stilted as when he danced with his sisters. The performances were technically proficient, but they lacked any spark.

    Coming into June, I posted the proposed cast for the Nutcracker, and quickly ducked for cover. The male lead, Carl or Joel, was not a problem, my son Joseph as the Nutcracker and Nephew, again, no problem. It was the female roles that had mothers up in arms. It was bad enough I bracketed Joel’s girlfriend and my eldest daughter for the female lead. But when I put twelve year old Cathy McNally down as Clara, the second female lead, it was too much for some of the mothers.

    Again Laurie Haggerty was to the forefront. She demanded to know why her Glenna Sue wasn’t playing Clara. She pointed out vigorously that her Glenna Sue could dance en pointe, unlike Cathy, who was still limited to demi-pointe. Before I could point out that Glenna Sue was needed for other roles the rest of the combative mothers waded in.

    There were squabbles over whether their sons or daughters were to play mice or soldiers, who got which part in the Land Of The Sweets dances, who got to wear what color costume in the party scenes and what order they appeared on stage. Even pettier was the squabble over what color doll the girls were to be given in the party scene.

    Calm was only restored when Elisabeth Sofie asked what the problem was. Every mother knew just who Elisabeth Sofie was. In fact, she was a prime reason why some of the mothers were making such a fuss. They wanted their daughters, and in some cases, their sons, to be on the same side as the duchess.

    I put my foot down and said that the leads and Sweets dances were nonnegotiable. I indicated that assignments for the party and fight scenes could be negotiated, but that if I couldn’t get the right numbers for each group, I would resort to random assignment. Which I’m sad to say, is what I ended up doing. Colored tokens were put into a couple of socks and everyone drew one to determine what color they would wear in the party scene, and drew again to determine whether they played the fight scene as either a mouse or a soldier.

    Not everybody was happy with what they drew, so there was some trading of roles. It ended almost amicably, at least among the children. The mothers, well, if the children hadn’t been avidly watching, blood would have been spilled. ***

    Of course I hadn’t put up all the roles, just those I intended to fill from my students. I was looking for a few parents to volunteer as party guests and either soldiers or mice, and for a few “props” for the en pointe dances in the Waltz of the Flowers. Joel and Duchess Elisabeth Sofie between them delivered a number of down-timers either training as officers or known to Elisabeth Sofie’s family who were not only willing to participate, but could actually dance. Not ballet of course, but they could move in time to music without tripping over themselves or their partners. Additionally, they knew the current courtly dances, which I was assured would fit nicely for the party scene. That was one less problem. With a number of men and even some women who knew the steps, the party scene should be a lot easier to produce than I had originally expected.

    The icing on the cake was when a group of East Europeans came knocking on my door. They had seen the broadcast of Nutcracker and heard my appeal for people able and willing to put on a Russian-type dance for our production. They demonstrated one of their folk dances. It was impressive, very athletic, and reminiscent of what we consider “Cossack” dancing. With a little work it could be modified to fit the music. Then the women showed me their festival costumes. They were beautiful, such embroidery, and so much of it. Well, needless to say, that filled the Russian dance slot.

    So I now had a cast. With roles allocated, the dancers settled to learning their parts. Meanwhile I got busy arranging costumes and sets. The first step was to announce on the television and radio that we were interested in any clothes people might want to donate. The call got a good response. Not only did we have people willing to give us some of their surplus cloth, clothes and stockings, but also some of the older women offered to help make and embellish the costumes.

    Amongst the clothes we were given were quite a few colorful bridesmaids’ outfits. The sheer fabrics and vivid colors were perfect for costumes. Most of them had been sitting in their plastic wrappers since their one and only outing, having been buried deep in the darkest recesses of the bridesmaids’ closets, and their owners were only too happy to sacrifice them to a good cause.

    Shoes, and more importantly, pointe shoes, had been solved over a year earlier. My uncle Mark had owned a local shoe shop for years. He had done a lot of shoe and boot repairs while he had the shop, and when he sold out, he spent his retirement repairing and making boots and shoes in his workshop. Of course I had taken advantage of the connection, and Uncle Mark had made and repaired dance shoes for my students and me for years. He hadn’t made pointe shoes of course, just the common dance slipper.

    When I started teaching dance again after the Ring of Fire I asked him about making pointe shoes. He tried, he really did try, but they were little better than the torture devices I had worn when I was performing. They were better than nothing, but not by much.

    Fortunately, Uncle Mark and Auntie Mary had taken in a refugee family. Either someone was thinking when they made the allocation, or God was watching. Herr Bauer and his son were cobblers. The family had been on the run from marauding mercenaries when they stumbled into Granville with all their worldly goods and the tools of their trade piled into a handcart.

    Not only did Hans and his son Jacob adapt easily to the up-time machines in Uncle Mark’s workshop, but also, Jacob was a bit of an innovator. He worked out a way to make a pointe shoe that lasted longer than the classical shoe, and gave the foot more support. They weren’t as good as the latest up-time pointe shoes, but they were much better than the torture devices I had danced in.

 

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    As we hit late September, things threatened to go to hell in a hand basket. There had been a major naval battle that had sunk most of the Dutch fleet, and we were now at war with France, Spain, Denmark and England. Nobody seemed to know what it all meant, but there were rumors of an upcoming battle raging through the town.

    I was starting to worry what this could mean for my elder son Joel, so I made arrangements to visit the newlyweds. After their marriage in August, Joel and Alice had moved in with Casey Stevenson. There was no way Joel and Alice could afford to buy a house on their salaries, and renting their own place would have been crippling.

    But anyway, there I was, walking down the road to visit Alice, when what did I see coming out the drive? That damn son of mine was actually riding a HORSE. The fool, didn’t he realize what damage he was doing? I just about sprinted after him, but first things first. Alice was expecting me, and Alice I would see first. Joel could wait.

    It got worse. A tearful Alice greeted me at the door. She was bitterly denouncing the army as the tears ran down her face. I had just missed Joel, she explained between sobs. He had just been around to tell her they were sending him to Fulda until further notice. This was a disaster. My worst nightmare was coming true. I’d been banking on having Joel available for the Nutcracker performance. Carl had been even less available than expected, often going missing for weeks at a time. Now it looked like I was going to lose Joel as well.

    As Alice cried in my arms, I pondered the options. Either I rewrote the production without an en pointe Sugar Plum Fairy, or I bit the bullet, and ran my nephew Joe Calagna, as the Sugar Plum Fairy’s Cavalier. Either way, the dual parts of Soldier Doll and Mouse King would have to be redistributed.

    Neither option was attractive. I really needed to have an en pointe dancer as the female lead. But to do that I needed someone strong enough to support, lift, and carry her. The trouble was there was only one male left in the company with sufficient technical ability who could lift Staci or Alice. And he made a statue look dynamic. Well, okay, my nephew, Joe isn't really that bad. He could make the lifts look effortless, but I couldn’t hang a performance on his ability, not like I could Joel or Carl. I was just about in tears myself as I pondered what to do. ***

    As if that wasn’t enough, I received a letter from Magdeburg, from Her Ladyship herself. Mrs. Admiral Simpson had apparently heard that I was planning on putting on a full-length performance of Nutcracker. Mary Simpson was suggesting that wouldn’t it be nice if, instead of only the one performance, I was to put on a short season in the high school auditorium. No more than a weekend’s worth of performances of course. She had already talked to any number of important people in Magdeburg, and they were all indicating a desire to see a live performance of a modern ballet.

    I was horrified. I had heard that Mike Stearns had helped Tom Simpson’s parents be socially rehabilitated. It appeared that the rumors were true. There was little doubt that with Mike’s support, that if her ladyship put her mind to it, important people would be coming to Grantville to watch the performance of Nutcracker. I had met her type often enough before. Once started on their course they were unstoppable.

    Now it seemed that my fledging company had better be able to put on a short season of ballet, or else life wouldn’t be worth living. As I said, I’ve met her type before. If you deliver what they want and expect, they can’t do enough for you. Fail to deliver to their expectations, and watch out. Nothing is more dangerous than a Society Matron who feels you have made her lose face amongst her contemporaries.

    The postscript asking me to get in touch if I needed any help made me laugh. Need help? Of course I needed help. There was a world of difference between the friendly performance I had planned and what her ladyship wanted. There was no way I could put on the performances she wanted without Joel or Carl. Maybe she could use her influence to get Joel’s deployment deferred or postponed? And what about the expense? Who was going to pay for everything? And what about my performers?

    It was one thing to plan a single performance among friends. However, to perform in front of the people Mary Simpson was proposing to bring to watch, I really needed the dancers to train more intensely. However, they couldn’t live on air. They had to earn a living. There was no way they could afford to increase the number of hours they spent training, not unless they were reasonably compensated for their time.

 

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    The first indication that someone was listening to my prayers appeared on my doorstep a few days after the battle at Wismar. In the days since I sent that desperate reply back to Mary Simpson there had been no order canceling Joel’s posting to Fulda, so I was desperate for some good news. And there he stood, waiting to come in for the regular practice session, as if he had never been away. I retaliated of course, pushing him throughout the session, trying to make him suffer as I had suffered for all those sessions he had missed. Carl didn’t turn a hair.

    He also didn’t explain where he had been or what he had been doing. That didn’t matter, because he assured me that he would be available up until after the performances. I picked up on that. He seemed to have heard that instead of just the one performance originally planned, we were now going to be putting on a season of four performances. A smug smile and a tapping of his nose with his forefinger were all the answer I got.

    Anyway, the girls were pleased to see him, especially Staci. She hadn’t been looking forward to performing the lead with her cousin, Joe. For that matter, Joe just about fell on Carl as well. He hadn’t been that enthusiastic about dancing the male lead himself. The class started to bubble. With Carl confirmed as the male lead there was a new confidence amongst the company.

 

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    I was deeply immersed in guiding the dancers through the Waltz of the Flowers when the music stopped suddenly. My first look was towards Deanna at the piano. She was looking towards the back of the hall. My eyes followed her gaze. There were visitors. After indicating to the class to take a breather I made my way to the group standing at the door. I had recognized Mary Simpson with that first glance, now I looked at her companions. There was nobody I recognized.

    They were, judging by their style of dress, down-timers, and important ones at that. They were richly dressed, one of them really richly. I had thought that Duke Johann and his wife had been expensively dressed that first time I met them, but one of the ladies took conspicuous consumption to new levels. Acres of fine lace on top of a colorful batik style dyed silk overdress, with fine silk embroidery, in all the latest colors from Lothlorien Farbenwerke, and yes, gold and silver wire embroidery as well.

    I quickly looked to where Elisabeth Sofie’s guardian usually sat, to see if she knew any of them. Apparently she did. The new Countess Emelie of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt was already on her feet and moving rapidly towards the visitors. Even as I snatched up my woolen cardigan and struggled to put it on she was sinking into a curtsey that would have put most of my students to shame.

    As Countess Emelie rose and exchanged hugs with the most distinguished of the ladies I took my rapidly diminishing courage in my hands. I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and walked towards them, doing my best to glide gracefully along the floor. Anything to distract their attention from the tatty training sweats I was wearing.

    With the down-time ladies clustered around Countess Emelie, I approached her ladyship, Mrs. Mary Simpson. “Who is the young lady?” she asked, nodding her head towards Countess Emelie.

    “Countess Emelie, Count Ludwig Guenther of Schwarzburg-Rudolstadt’s child bride. She’s staying close to Grantville for educational reasons. She’s also acting as guardian to her cousin Elisabeth Sofie. That’s why she’s here now. She's waiting for class to finish.”

    “Elisabeth Sofie?” Mary asked, obviously not sure who the young lady was.

    I quickly searched the class. No, Elisabeth Sofie wasn’t around. She had probably already gone to shower and change. “The daughter of Duke Johan Philipp of Saxe-Altenburg. Really, I should have been more careful and said Duchess Elisabeth Sofie, but one of the perks of being her teacher is I can drop the title,” I replied smiling. “So, what can I do for you, Mrs. Simpson?”

    “Mary, dear. Please call me Mary. I’m sure we're going to be the best of friends, and friends should be on first name terms.”

    Swallowing a bit, mainly because I didn’t see us ever being close friends, I invited her to call me Bitty. “Er, Mary, how can I help you?” I asked.

    “My guests and I have come to Grantville for other reasons, but we would like to see how the performance is shaping up. Could you show them something from the ballet you are working on?”

    “Well, we were going through the Waltz of the Flowers. I was just going to have them run through the dance when you arrived. It’s about seven minutes long, if you have the time.”

    “Thank you, Bitty. I’m sure my companions would just love to see how the ballet is progressing. Come, I’ll introduce you to them.”

    By the time we arrived at the group of down-time ladies Countess Emelie was chatting away with a younger woman. She turned when I arrived and smiled while she let Mary make the introductions.

    “Your Grace, may I present Elizabeth Matowski, the maîtresse de ballet. Elizabeth, Her Grace, Dorothea Sophia of Saxe-Altenburg, abbess of Quedlinburg."

    I sank into my very best, thank you audience, curtsey, front foot fully turned out, left leg sliding back as I sank down graciously before bowing the torso forward. I thought about that Saxe-Altenburg bit. Did that make her some kind of relative to our Elisabeth Sofie? Was she here to check up on her? As I lifted my head up I caught a smile from Her Grace.

    “Brillo?” she asked, pointing to the Ram’s head logo on the breast of my cardigan, a wide grin creasing her face.

    As I rose to my feet I admitted that yes, it was indeed Brillo. The abbess nodded her head. “The princess, she is much enamoured with Brillo. She was very impressed by him.” She looked at the young woman talking to Countess Emelie. “Isn’t that right, Kunigunde? The princess really enjoyed her visit to see Brillo.”

    “Yes, Your Grace.” The young woman turned to face me, her face alight with remembered humor. “The princess is very impressed with the heroic Brillo. She has been buying anything associated with him she can find.”

    Starting with Kunigunde, the abbess introduced me to the other visitors. “Frau Matowski, this young lady is Kunigunde Juliane of Anhalt-Dessau, she is here with her Tante Eleonore, the duchess of Saxe-Weimar to visit her cousin, Emelie.”

    “That’s Mrs. Eleonore Dorothea Wettin, Dorethea. Remember, Wilhem has surrendered the title so he could stand for the Commons.”

    “Puh, rubbish. Just like a man, letting his duchy be slid out from under him. There is no need for you to forgo your title. You are not involving yourself in politics.”

    The abbess turned to me and continued, “This is, as you just heard, Mrs. Eleonore Dorothea Wettin.” The abbess finished the introduction with a significant snort, indicating, I’m sure, her opinion of Wilhem and his activities. As she passed from Mrs. Wettin, the abbess then introduced Madame Conspicuous Consumption. “And this is Sophia Hedwig of Brunswick-Wolfenbuttel, countess of Nassau-Diez. She is, as are the rest of us, visiting Grantville to see the sights, also to find out more about this ballet you are to put on for us.”

    I curtsied for the last time, then looked at the visitors. They were all looking hopefully at the men and women at the other end of the practice room. Taking the subtle hint, I asked them to wait just a moment while I asked the dancers to start.

    Once amongst the dancers I quickly told them who the visitors were, and that they wanted to see how the ballet was progressing. I directed the dancers to their starting places while Deanna got ready to start the CD player, then I returned to my guests. I arrived back beside Mary and the abbess to the sound of the first notes of the Waltz of the Flowers. My guests watched in silence, their eyes not leaving the dancers for the whole seven-minute performance.

    As the last notes died, I started forward to talk to the dancers. There were a few things I had noticed that needed work and I had forgotten about my guests. Seeing that the dance was over they started to applaud. The girls fortunately knew how to respond. They turned to face their audience and sank into deep, thank you audience curtsies. The men, all of them down-timers, seemed to have adopted the ballet style, and just bowed their heads, keeping an arm out to support their partner.

    I hung back with Mary as the down-time ladies surged forward to talk to the dancers. I was feeling a bit smug. Not only had the dance gone well, but the look on the faces of the male dancers filled me with hope. This evening was becoming a very good retention tool. Dance with the Grantville Ballet Company and meet important people. There were going to be a few families who were going to be really impressed by the names that their men folk dropped when they got home. Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have to replace any of this group of down-time dancers. It had been a bit of a pain over the months with the level of turnover I had been suffering among the male dancers. I just about turned around and hugged Mary there and then.

    Eventually the ladies returned. They had other places to go. Other places to be. As I walked them to the door Mary asked if I had recordings of any of the company’s performances they could borrow. “Especially anything concerning Brillo,” commented a smiling Kunigunde. “The princess has been told that she can see Bad, Bad Brillo and the continuing adventures of Brillo on ‘video.’”

    “Yes,” said Mary, “Mrs. Richards said you had copies of all your performances. If we could borrow them for the princess, especially any of the Brillo performances, you would have our hearty thanks.” That last was greeted by sounds of agreement from the ladies. Apparently this princess of theirs really liked Brillo. Well, Flo would be happy about that.

    As I shut the door on my departing guests a thought struck me. Princess? What princess? I called out to the dancers, asking if any of them knew who the princess was. There were some stunned looks shot my way. “The princess Kristina Vasa,” the men chorused.

    At my bewildered look they tried again. “King Gustavus Adolphus' daughter and heir,” a couple of the men said. I started nodding my head at that. I knew who Gustavus Adolphus was, of course. I’d even seen him when he passed through Grantville last year. It was nice to know his last name, though.

 

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    “Elisabeth Matowski to see the princess. I come bearing gifts.” I repeated to the strange woman who answered the door. The first time had been for the large down-timer that I assumed was a servant or something. I showed the contents of my basket to her. She touched the boxed videos.

    “You are the maîtresse de ballet?” At my nod she continued, pointing to the videos. “These are the ‘videos’ of the Brillo ballets?” Again I nodded. She burst into a smile, her face lighting up. Reaching out she guided me in. “The princess, she will be very happy to see you. Please, I am Lady Ulrike, come in, come in, follow me.”

    After shooing off the servant, Lady Ulrike led me to a large room set up as a television room. Elisabeth Sofie and her cousin Countess Emelie were already seated there chatting with a much younger girl. They all turned round when Lady Ulrike knocked on the open door. All three jumped to their feet. Elisabeth Sofie and Countess Emelie smiled at me and all three dipped their heads in token bows.

    The little girl looked at me. Elisabeth Sofie whispered something in her ear. She tilted her head to one side as she continued to look at me with a growing smile lighting up her face. Lady Ulrike started the introductions “Your Highness, Elizabeth Matowski, the maîtresse de ballet. Frau Elizabeth, Her Highness, Princess Kristina. Kristina, Frau Matowski has brought you some ‘videos.’ What do you say?”

    The princess gave me a sweet curtsey before approaching. She was wearing one of Flo’s finest quality sweaters. It was one of the special Brillo pattern range, with the horned head of Brillo blazoned prominently across the front. There were also other signs of the Brillo merchandising machine in the house, the ceramic cup, the branded back pack, the branded cap.

    There were even some of the new ceramic figurines being produced by Melba Sue Freeman and her collection of artists. Not just Brillo, but also some of the new range of ballet dancers. I smiled at that. There was a good chance the school might be getting yet another student, or at least a new patron.

    “They are Brillo videos? Oh, thank you, Frau Matowski!” It was all she could do not to clap her hands in joy, she seemed so happy.

    “Here you are, Your Highness. Please be careful with them. They are the only copies I have.” Kristina was too polite to actually snatch the basket from my hands, but it was a close run thing.

    “Would you like some refreshments, Frau Matowski?” She was totally the graceful hostess, but I was pretty sure that she would prefer I didn’t accept the invitation. There was no sign of impatience or anything, but the message was clearly there. She had her videos and now she wanted to watch them.

    “Thank you for the offer, Highness, but I have to get back to work. Perhaps after you have seen the performances we can get together and talk about them.” She smiled, her arms wrapped around the basket of videos. Then with a small curtsey she returned to Elisabeth Sofie and Countess Emelie. I waved to them as I turned and followed Lady Ulrike.

    “She really should have followed you to the door. What are manners coming to?” I turned my head to look at Lady Ulrike. She was slowly shaking her head at the lack of manners being displayed by her charge. “Thank you, Frau Matowski, for bringing the videos. The princess will take good care of them. Both Duchess Elisabeth Sofie and Countess Emelie know how to use the ‘video player’ so that should present no problems.”

    Just as we made the door I could hear clearly the opening notes of the William Tell Overture. I turned to Lady Ulrike and took her hand in mine and gripped it lightly. “I hope you do not come to hate me for bringing the videos. I think you are going to get very tired of that piece of music.” With a shake of her head and a smile, she waved me on my way. ***

    I bumped into Mary Simpson and her loyal lieutenants a few times over the next few days. They dropped into rehearsals to keep me up to date on progress, and what a lot of progress there was. Mary’s Mafia, as I had come to think of her gang of loyal lieutenants, had gone though town like a miniature tornado. A bank account was arranged so I could pay expenses and wages. Cloth was arriving for costumes. Artisans were building props and back drops. Even the programs had been sent off to the printer. They were going to print color pictures of the dancers in the program, at least for the first night and collectors program. There was some serious money being spent on this first season of ballet.

    As far as I was concerned, the most important thing Mary achieved was getting the high school auditorium for five days around the New Year, Wednesday through to Sunday night. Hopefully this would give us sufficient time to set up scenery and lights, and run a couple of dress and lighting rehearsals. I was thankful for her intervention. There was no way I could have persuaded the powers that be to give me full access to the auditorium for that period of time. Not with the demand for the facility being what it was.

 

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    The dancers moved into the auditorium on Wednesday, straight after morning training. Crews under the control of Mary’s lieutenants had been moving the scenery and backdrops into place before we arrived. While the technicians set up the props and scenery according to my plans, I chased up the lighting technicians, hoping to get the lights set up quickly so we could have a lighting rehearsal.

    Meg and Deanna Matowski, a couple of my cousins by marriage, led the ballet mothers as they checked out the changing facilities. Their reports weren’t promising. When we had used the auditorium for the Gala night we never had more than a dozen performers on stage at a time, and most hadn’t needed to change costume. Suddenly we had over forty performers trying to change, fix make-up, or stay warm and limber in an area not designed for that number of performers. It was going to be a madhouse.

    “Bitty, there’s no way my Glenna Sue is getting changed in those rooms. The only separation between the boys and girls is a few blankets hung over a wire. It’s not good enough. I demand that my daughter be given a proper changing room,” came a voice from behind me. It wasn’t actually bellowing, but it was close. That could only be the Ballet Mother from Hell, Laurie Haggerty. I turned around. Right the first time.

    “Laurie, there are NO changing rooms. There is that tiny Green room, or the showers. Otherwise the only other space is the couple of classrooms we have managed to grab. Believe me, I would love to be able to give your Glenna Sue a proper place to change and put on makeup. But we have to go with what we have.”

    “Well, can’t you at least have the boys in one room and the girls in the other?”

    “Sorry Laurie, but it's easier if rooms are allocated by role, the Mice in one room, the Soldiers in the other. Party guests in one room, Land of the Sweets dancers in the other. Otherwise we’d never keep track of the performers.”

    “Well, it’s not good enough!” Having had the last word, Laurie went off in a huff.

    She was right. It wasn’t good enough. However, it was the best we had. If someone ever built a proper theater for the performing arts it would be nice if they could actually build one that catered to the needs of the performer. Maybe, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath.

    I’d danced in too many less than ideal facilities in the past to think catering for the performers actually rated as important to the designers and people funding them. The problem was all those special features performers would love to have are hidden from the audience. Out of sight, out of mind.

    The punters like to see what they are getting for their money. So what if there is only one shower for all of the performers, and it runs out of hot water too quickly. The audience doesn’t care. ***

    Thursday morning the sun still hadn’t shown itself as I made my way to the high school auditorium. We were about to have some real fun, a morning of general rehearsals on the stage, followed in the afternoon by a full dress rehearsal before visiting officials and media.

    I just love performing to the powers that be and the media. They sit just there. You know you have to put on a good performance, but there is no feedback. Politicians and critics, as a rule, make a lousy audience, hardly raising a cheer or applauding. If they weren’t so important to the continued well being of the company I would have banned them. However, Mary Simpson had arranged for them to attend. So attend they would.

    To make best use of our limited time the company worked out in one of the classrooms that had been set up with temporary barres while various scenes were practiced on the stage. People were coming and going between the changing rooms as costumes were checked out, and students practiced quick changes of costume. Those playing soldiers would be worst. At least the mice didn’t need a lot of makeup.

    We had to run through the scenes several times before the lighting technicians learnt what and when to illuminate. The pas de deux between my two pairings of leads were real fun. I had let Carl talk me into trying to recreate the scene from the Covent Garden version of Nutcracker where Nureyev, as the prince, first appears just after the fight with the Mouse King. It looked like it might work. First Cathy McNally as Clara was lit, then Joseph as the Nutcracker, standing in the back corner of the stage, arms raised as the spotlight is suddenly turned on.

    It took three tries, but eventually the lighting technician worked out where to point the spotlight. It lacked a little of the dramatic impact of the original, but then, Joseph was no Nureyev. Other than that, it was mainly a matter of getting the technicians used to tracking the performers. They just weren’t used to tracking people moving with the speed of my dancers, but by carefully making notes of where the performer should be at what point in the music they finally started to keep the spotlight on the soloists.

    Then we tried the full dress rehearsal with the audience of politicians and media. Anything that could go wrong did. Fortunately, there was nothing the audience could pick up on. First, there were logjams as the party guests poured off stage to change for the fight scene. It threatened to degenerate into an all-out brawl. There was considerable pushing and shoving. Some of the children were whacked around the ankles with out of control hobbyhorses, and a couple of the girls retaliated with their dolls. A couple of the dolls lost heads and limbs. One of the ballet mothers picked up the pieces and chased after the girls. Hopefully repairs would be possible.

    Then the Christmas tree refused to grow. There was supposed to be the Alice in Wonderland type effect, with Clara shrinking to the same size as the mice and toy soldiers. But the tree refused to move. Oh well, I doubt any of that audience would notice.

    Then we moved into the fight between the soldiers and the mice. It was flowing nicely. Carl and Joseph were making a real production of the fight between the Mouse King and Nutcracker. And then one of the children, trying to “die” theatrically, tripped and fell heavily. The young boy was in tears as he marched from the stage at the end of the scene. I managed to give him a cuddle and compliment him on staying in character until he was off stage before he was led away for attention by one of the small army of stage mothers. Hopefully he would be ready to come back for the final scene. I made a note to use what happened as a warning to the others.

    The performance seemed to be going well. The mass en pointe dances went without a hitch. The Sweet dances all went well, and the lighting technicians were even able to follow Carl at his most dynamic. Finally the rehearsal came to an end. We even got some applause from the audience. Most of it was from family of the cast who had been invited in to watch. The politicians and media representatives were embarrassed into giving nominal polite applause. Not like the princess. She was almost bouncing in her seat. It was probably only Lady Ulrike’s heavy hand that was holding her in place. The cast bowed and curtseyed to the audience before the curtain closed for the last time. I quickly got changed from my costume so I could go out and talk to politicians and media.

 

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    Friday morning. The end of the beginning, or the beginning of the end, I didn’t know which it was going to be. Tonight we put on our premiere performance, according to Mary Simpson, to a full house. The future of my ballet company could live or die on tonight’s performance.

    Everybody who had any claim to being anybody, who wasn’t otherwise detained or required for military service, was going to be there. Half of the blue bloods from Magdeburg had already invaded Grantville. Most were staying in the houses of friends and acquaintances who had homes in the area. Duchess Elisabeth Sofie’s mother and father were back for the performance and had opened their Saalfeld house to guests. Count Ludwig, Emelie’s husband, was in attendance. The sudden influx of people and their money was pushing up demand and local prices for accommodation.

    On the merchandising front, Melba Sue and her team of ceramic artists were working overtime, and were still unable to meet demand for their range of ballet and Brillo figurines. Other artists were pumping out paintings of the performers, and hanging in pride of place in the auditorium foyer was a large oil painting of Carl and Staci as Cavalier and Sugar Plum Fairy in a scene from the ballet.

    Meanwhile, I had heard that Flo was being run into the ground with demand for Brillo merchandise. There was even a story going around that someone had offered some obscene amount to buy Brillo. The fact that he was still on Flo’s farm was, as far as I was concerned, proof positive that there was no truth in that story.

    Before class started I did a check for injuries. Franz Sprug, the boy who hurt himself yesterday, was a little bruised and tender, but otherwise okay. Nobody else admitted to carrying an injury. That was expected. Not only were the performers going to get paid for this short season, but tonight would be a historic occasion. Nobody wanted to miss it.

    My son Joseph played up a little, pretending to have developed a limp, but a whack on the back of the head with a thrown pointe shoe soon had him scampering away. I couldn’t be too hard on him. His fooling around had broken the ice and people were visibly relaxing.

    For the next four hours I worked everyone into the ground. We were all sweating heavily, and some of the dancers were starting to droop when I called an end to rehearsal. I was happy with how everything was going. I sent everyone out to clean up, eat, drink, and get as much rest as they could before the evening premiere. They had about five hours before the curtain went up. ***

    “Where the hell is Carl?” I was just about in a panic. The auditorium was starting to fill up and I couldn’t see him anywhere. Looking around I found Casey. “Casey, have you seen Carl? I’ve looked everywhere.”

    She pointed to a lump off in one corner of the Green room. He was sleeping. Again! How could he sleep at a time like this? I stamped my way over to him. A head poked out of the sleeping bag as I got close. “Is it time to start?”

    “Yes,” I just about roared. How dare he be so relaxed when I was so on edge? I watched as he slipped out of his sleeping bag, and bundled it into a corner. He then had the nerve to turn round and smile at me. “Warm up, you don’t want your muscles getting cold, not with how the soldier doll dance is supposed to end,” I said in a relatively controlled voice, all things considered.

    I was just turning away when a stifled chuckle stopped me dead. I turned and glared at Carl as stretched out on the floor, warming up. I was severely tempted to kick him. Just then I felt a certain fellow feeling for Flo when Brillo was being unusually agreeable.

    Amber Higham, the knowledgeable expert Mary Simpson had dug up to serve as theatre manager for the ballet season, waved me over to look at the audience from behind the curtain. The seats were filling rapidly. There was a central roped off area that was filling up with dignitaries, and I’m sure, the princess. There couldn’t be that many young girls who might be seated in the VIP area. Around the roped off area, the more expensive seats were rapidly filling. Amber had told me how much she was charging for those seats. I’d been horrified. Then she told me the latest scalper’s price. Ouch. It looked like someone was making money out of my show.

    Looking at the rest of the audience I felt that Catherine Matzinger’s father would be happy. It looked like half the audience was fitted out in clothes made from his fancy new colored cloth, and the women didn’t look too drab either. With their batik silk gowns topped with fancy shawls made by Flo’s ladies, they made a pretty picture.

    Receiving a signal from somewhere in the auditorium Amber pulled me back to the performers. It was time to start. A quick survey of the technicians brought a forest of up-raised thumbs. We were ready to go. “Places” I called. With the stage set for the opening scene, and the party guests ready in the wings, I took one final calming look around. In just under two hours the performance would be over. I could hold together that long. From my position on the wings I signaled Deanna to start the music.