Massonville 2006
Randa put down her plate before she dropped it. She'd never believed that the hair could actually stand up on the back of a person's neck, but something was going on at the base of her skull.
“Rosalind Harder?” she said to Bill. “You knew Katie's mother?”
“Yes,” he said.
“She was here in Massonville? And no one bothered to tell us?”
“I don't think there's anyone around here who would know but me.” Randa watched Mike settle on the far end of a sofa. “Rosalind worked at the Venable Opera House,” Bill went on. “It was a professional theater back in those days—a summer theater. I was told it was registered with the actors’ union—I don't remember what it was called.”
“Actors’ Equity,” Randa said.
“Of course you'd know that; you're in the business.” So Mike had been talking about her. “The way I understood it,” Bill continued, “if a youngster wanted to be an actor or actress back then, they had to be a member of the union. How they did that was, they worked as an apprentice at a professional theater.”
“It's still that way,” Randa told him. “But about Rosalind Harder … ?”
“The youngsters at the opera house did everything from making sets to cleaning the restrooms. But it was all behind the scenes, I guess you could say. So unless you were hanging around the theater, you'd never know Rosalind was there in 1973.”
“But you were hanging around.”
“The Venable kids were my friends.”
Randa turned to Mike. “You knew about all this?”
“He didn't say anything because I didn't want him to,” Bill cut in. “I've only told two people what I'm about to tell you. And I didn't let Mike in on it until a few days ago, when I heard that a girl with the last name of Harder had inherited the opera house.” He paused. “I may have been wrong, not saying anything for all those years. But it wasn't my place—that's the way I saw it, anyhow.” He moved his wheelchair to the coffee table and poured himself some wine. Randa decided that screaming with frustration wouldn't make the story go any faster. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Mike watching her.
“How much do you know about what happened here in the summer of ’73?” Bill asked her.
“Just what my daughter has been able to research on the Internet and what R.B. Moultire has told Katie,” she said. “The woman who owned the opera house back then was Olivia Venable. And she was the one who was planning to put that fourth statue in the garden … where the empty plinth is now. ”
Bill nodded again. “But then something happened and she changed her mind.”
“And a few months later, she lost her son.” Randa picked up the thread. “After that she sold the theater. That's all I know. Oh, and according to my kid, there was another child in the family, a daughter.”
“Her name was Desdemona,” Bill said. “And the son's name was Hank. Well, it was Henry but everyone called him Hank. He was twenty that summer. I was eighteen, and so was Des—that was the nickname her father gave her before he died. If you called her Desdemona when she was little, she'd beat you up.” He leaned back in his wheelchair, and chuckled softly. “Des always was a pistol. Later on, Hank used to have to finish her fights for her. He was the toughest tackle we had on the football team—not the biggest, but he could do damage. He told me once he had to be that way, because his mother put him in a lot of her plays, and there was always some guy who had to be taught that the acting stuff didn't mean what he thought it did. I was the quarterback on the team back then.” Bill took a sip of his wine.
“That's not to say Hank minded working at the opera house. He loved the place. I was fascinated by it too. My folks were mill workers; I'd never met anyone like the actors who came to work for Miss Olivia. Those people had traveled all over; and they lived in New York City. That was heady stuff for me back then. And Des and Hank, and Miss Olivia, could hold their own with those big city people! They all used to quote Shakespeare for fun. They were special—”
“Pop, we don't need to hear about how great the Venables were,” Mike broke in. His voice was harsh; he didn't like this part of the stroll down Memory Lane.
Bill turned to Randa. “Yes, you do,” he said gently. “You really need to understand what it was those people managed to accomplish by keeping that theater going so long. And you need to understand what a tragedy it was when Miss Olivia sold it.”
An image of her father dressed as Rosencrantz came into her mind. “I think I do,” she said.
Bill Killian leaned back in his chair. “So, about 1973,” he said. “Something was a little off for Hank that summer. Even before Rosalind came. I didn't see it at the time, but now that I look back …” He trailed off for a second, then pulled himself back. “Des and I had graduated high school that spring and we were both going to college—the first ones in our families to do it. I had a football scholarship, and Des got one for being smart. We were both going out of state too—me to Pennsylvania, Des to Massachusetts. People used to think we were sweet on each other because we spent so much time together, but it was never like that with us. We were just two kids who wanted to get out of Massonville, any way we could.
“Hank hadn't gone to college, and he started working full-time at the opera house right out of high school. The plan was, eventually he'd take over running it when his mama was ready to quit. But that summer, with Des and me leaving, I think for the first time he realized how much he'd tied himself down. He and Miss Olivia started crossing swords, which was probably bound to happen because they were so much alike. Normally Des could have smoothed things over between them—she was the glue that kept that family together. But all she was thinking about was college and getting away.” Bill sighed. “I think the summer of 1973 was a real bitch for all of them.”
“Do you know why Olivia Venable ditched the statue?” Randa asked.
“That's something I never did find out. Hank and Des knew, but neither of them would say, although I think Des came close to telling me once or twice. It had to have been something bad, that much I do know, because that fourth statue meant everything to Miss Olivia. I always thought it was something Des did that stopped her mother from putting the darned thing up.”