TWENTY
These Good Ideas Have to Stop

“Did you two enjoy church?” Mama asked with a smile as we ate dinner.

“I was surprised by how many people I knew,” Ian said. “And they were all so friendly. I was afraid we’d feel like fish out of water, but actually it wasn’t awkward at all.”

Isabel dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “Well, darling, they want us to come back.”

“Of course they do!” Mama said. “They want you and Ian to be a part of our community. Oh, I wish I’d been there! I really miss church and seeing all my friends. Did anyone say anything to you about the Christmas play?”

Isabel shook her head.

“Not one word. I found that a little odd. When you want to be in a play, you want the director to be familiar with you.”

“I know we’re going to have a great program this year, thanks to Isabel,” Daddy said. “Why, just think of it! Our church will have the very first professionally directed play ever seen in Cedar Ridge.”

If ole Isabel had been a bird, she would’ve preened.

That afternoon, after dinner, Grandma went for a drive with Rob Estes in his blue Buick LeSabre. I hoped Ernie Beason, who drove a Jeep and often took his dog, Rascal, on rides with them, did not call while she was gone, but if he did, I hoped I wasn’t the one who answered the phone.

Daddy excused himself to go take a nap, and Ian went off to Grandma’s house for the same reason. Me, my own personal self, I don’t like wasting a perfectly nice day sleeping, so I figured I’d go for a walk with Daisy. Maybe we’d go down by the creek after Myra and I got through washing the dishes.

Isabel and Mama sat at the dining room table with the play script, notebooks, and pens. They would’ve got started a lot quicker if ole Isabel didn’t have to puff a cigarette or two on the front porch first.

“Now, if you feel tired, Lily,” I heard Isabel tell Mama, “we must move our conference into the living room where you can put your feet up.”

Just the two of them at the dining room table was a “conference”?

“May I be of assistance?” Myra Sue asked them, all prissy, as we came out of the kitchen.

“Sure, honey,” Mama said. “You may sit right here by me.”

“Here, darling,” Isabel said. “Use this pen and notebook, and take notes for us.”

My sister smiled all over herself until Isabel glanced at me and said, “April, dear, would you help, too? I can always use a plan of action, and you have the best plans.”

Boy, ole Myra Sue gave me a look that said she wanted to snatch me bald-headed. I don’t think she liked it that Isabel wanted me there, too.

You know what I thought about that? Tough cookies, that’s what.

“Sure,” I said, pulling out a chair. “I’ll help, but I want to go on a walk with Daisy, so I hope I don’t have to hang around too long.”

“Now, Lily, darling,” Isabel said, ignoring my comment, “you’ve examined this script completely. Tell me what this play is about. I do hope it isn’t excessively religious.”

“I’m not sure what you consider excessively religious, Isabel,” Mama said kindly, “but it’s a fairly simple story. It is set in Bethlehem, Kansas. There is a young family, the Millers, who find themselves facing hard times. They have three children. He has lost his job, she’s expecting another child, and their bills need to be paid. They are in desperate circumstances that test their faith, but help comes from unexpected sources—”

“Hence this title, Three Angels for Bethlehem, I assume? Angels flutter down from heaven, strumming harps, with wings flapping, delivering pots of gold?” Isabel said this with some derision.

I did not like her tone or her smirk. “Isabel, your idea is the craziest Christmas story I ever heard of!” I declared.

Mama shook her head at me, and I hushed.

She answered Isabel, quietly and with courtesy, but also with the tiniest edge in her voice: “No, Isabel, angels do not flutter down and give them gold. The three angels are actually three regular people who cross the Millers’ paths: an elderly woman, a homeless man, and a blind girl. There are also four people who have the ability to help but do not—a store owner, a banker, and their wives. The three who have the least give the most and make a difference not only in the lives of the family, but in the whole town. By the end of the play, the merchant and banker and the wives begin to understand what true giving is.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. “Goodness, what a concept.”

“What do you mean?” Mama asked her.

The two women met each other’s eyes.

“I was expecting a more—oh, I don’t know—something deeper, something richer, something with significance,” Isabel said.

“I will grant you, the story is fairly simple,” Mama said.

“We don’t want something too complicated or lengthy, but you will find this play does have rich significance.”

Isabel blinked a few times, then said, “Very well. Let’s take a look, shall we? And, of course, I will take this book home and study it thoroughly.”

We all watched as she scanned the pages.

“We’ll have a casting call,” she declared when she finished. Her eyes were all bright and sparkling. “I shall put it on the radio and television. We’ll get auditions from all over the state—”

“Whoa, Isabel!” Mama said, laughing. “Slow down. This is just a church play, for the community. And it’s starring kids.”

“It’s quality I’m looking for, Lily,” she was saying. “Good actors who can bring the story alive. Some young people are good actors.”

“Like me, Isabel?” Myra Sue said, all fluttery.

“Yes, darling, I’m sure you are excellent.”

In a weird kind of way and in spite of her being hardheaded in her ideas, it was good to hear ole Isabel get all excited about something. But here’s what I have decided: there’ll probably always be something to get her all worked up, so it would be better for us all if we could keep her focused on something without going off the deep end.

“Isabel?” I said.

She dragged her intense gaze from Mama and said, “Yes?”

“If you try to make this a bigger deal than it is, no one will cooperate with you.”

“Well.” She blinked some more and shmooshed up her lips.

“I think a casting call is a perfectly marvelous idea!” Myra Sue said, sighing wistfully. “In fact, I wrote it down.”

Oh, good grief.

“This is gonna be the youth group, not the grown-ups, remember?” I said. “A casting call would be a Dumb Thing to do.”

“April Grace,” Mama said, reproving. She turned back to Isabel. “The way we usually do it is to simply assign the parts—”

Isabel sat up so straight, it was like someone had poked her with a sharp stick. “Oh, my dear. That is not the way it’s done.”

“No, Mother,” Myra Sue said. “Not done that way at all!”

I saw no reason for my sister to be so snooty to our mother.

“Then why don’t you tell us how it’s done, Myra?” I asked her. “Educate Mama and me, would you?”

Well, I reckon Mama did not like that, or maybe she didn’t like my personal snooty tone, because she gave me the Look. She did not chastise me aloud, but to tell you the honest truth, I couldn’t understand why it seemed she didn’t hear ole Myra Sue being snooty and uppity.

“Your idea of merely assigning parts will never work,” Isabel said. “Lily, if the wrong person plays a certain role, the entire play will bomb. This little play is . . . well, it’s not the most intriguing story line I’ve ever heard, so the acting must carry the play. We simply must have auditions. If you want me to direct this play, then it really has to be done the right way. I insist.”

The two women sat there silently, eyeballing each other. Maybe each was waiting for the other one to give in. Mama was the one who caved.

“I’m sure it’ll be just fine, Isabel, if you want to have the kids audition. And I’m sure the girls will encourage their friends to try out.” She looked at us. “Won’t you, girls?”

“Of course!” Myra Sue said, all but clapping her hands.

“Hmm,” I said. I was not at all thrilled at the prospect, but as long as I, my own personal self, didn’t have to try out, I was all right.

“Now, where is our stage?” Isabel asked. “I really prefer auditions on the stage rather than dry readings elsewhere.”

“It’s the church platform,” Mama said, “not a regular stage.”

“I beg your pardon?” Isabel said, all aghast-sounding.

“The play will be staged on the platform in the sanctuary,” Mama said.

“You aren’t serious.”

“That’s the only place we can do it,” I piped up. “Unless you want to have it outside in the parking lot.”

“April Grace.” Mama gave me a third look that said my sassy suggestion topped her list of Unapproved Suggestions.

Isabel blinked twenty-eight times, or thereabouts, then heaved a big sigh.

“Well, I’ll need to see it again. Then I must go through the props and costumes.”

Was she kidding?

“Oh dear,” Mama said, laughing a little. “Isabel, I hope you won’t be too disappointed, but the church has very little money for theatrical productions. We’ve just always made do with what we can scrounge up at home.”

Isabel made an O of her mouth.

“Well, we’ll see about that,” she said finally, about halfway muttering. “I intend to bring some culture to this backwoods, and no one is going to stop me.”

Oh brother. I was beginning to regret Big-Time what had seemed to be a good idea just a few days ago.