“OKAY, NOW I’M REALLY getting worried,” Scotty said, his voice loud in the silence they’d been cruising along in on their way to the school. He glanced at her, then back at the road. “You’re being awfully quiet over there. You’re not worried about your Munchkins, are you? Because even if they forget all the words to the songs, their costumes are cute enough to get a standing ovation. It’s more fun when the little kids screw up anyway. Gives the parents something to talk about for the rest of their lives,” he said, rattling on in the darkness. “I was a tree in the second grade, and my parents razzed me about rubbing my nose and scratching my backside until the day they died. And they all have camcorders now, so they can get it all on tape. Emotional blackmail. Parents live for that sort of stuff.” A very brief pause. “ ’Course, it’s only cute when they’re little. Kids expect more of themselves when they get older. Not screwing up becomes a matter of pride and—”
“Who’s worried here? You or me?”
He looked at her. “Me,” he said honestly. “I’m wondering now if maybe we shouldn’t have waited until after Christmas to do this. Maybe I rushed it. A few more weeks of rehearsal wouldn’t have hurt. Some of the juniors and seniors have been studying for the SATs during all this—”
“Scotty.”
Again he glanced her way.
“My Munchkins could do this in their sleep, and your kids are having the time of their life, if we’d waited till after Christmas vacation, we would have lost the momentum, it would have gotten old and they’d have been bored. They’re ready now. And if they flub up tonight, they’ll cover it up and talk about it at class reunions fifty years from now.” His gaze met hers and she smiled. “You can’t make everything perfect for them all the time. You can’t always wait for the right time and the right circumstances and the right position of the stars. If the opportunity presents itself, you lead them to it and then it’s up to them. You wanted it to be a learning experience. Success and failure are things they need to learn about too.”
“They’ll have the rest of their lives to learn those lessons. They don’t need me to—”
“But they won’t have the rest of their lives to learn how to handle it,” she said, cutting him off. “They won’t always have the support system they have now, with each other and with us. They’re going to be fine tonight. But even if they do make a few mistakes, they need to know that life goes on, that they’re going to make plenty of mistakes before they’re finished, and life will still go on.”
He cast her a considering look.
“So, snap out of it,” she said, and she laughed. “They’re looking to you for their confidence. And you look about as sure as a dentist with an instruction manual under his arm.”
He let loose a tight chuckle and sighed. She could see him mentally ordering his body to relax, his shoulders to straighten up, his worried frown to dissipate. Then his eyes narrowed, and he slipped another look at her.
“This isn’t your usual doom and gloom lecture. You’re the one who sees disaster around every corner, not me. Am I...would I happen to be...” he did a cocky little swagger with his head, “...rubbing off on you? Getting under your skin? Changing your perspective on life?”
“Humph,” she snorted.
“Well then,” he said, his tone of voice thankful and full of affection. “Tell me when you got to be so smart.”
“I’ve always been smart,” she said. I just didn’t know it, she thought.
Alissa Dumark of the Lullaby League was extremely excited and more than a little hammy, dancing alone well after the chorus started singing again. The Lollipop Guild and their striped tights were a huge hit. The children sang loud and a little off key. And Dorothy didn’t trip over a single Munchkin on her way out of town...So, all in all, Gus’s part of the play was a great success.
She and Carrie herded the children into the library to wait for the final scene. With a sigh of relief, she then turned her nail-biting to the rest of the play.
Backstage she helped with whatever she could, so pleased that whenever the Tin Man tripped over his feet he somehow made it look as if it were purposeful. The audience loved it. And when the stuffed Toto fell out of Dorothy’s basket, she ad-libbed a reprimand for him to stay put. Lisa Witt, who played the Wicked Witch of the West, had the most god-awful piercing cackle that night, it was blood-chilling. And Heather Preston didn’t teeter once as she sailed across the stage as Glinda, the Good Witch of the North.
Gus stood among the curtains stage right and watched them. The student actors, their families in the audience, their pals helping out backstage. Scotty smiled at her once from stage left but was too busy to see the impact the evening was having on her.
It was as if, after years of eating away at the earth’s crust—at her crust of self-doubt and fear—a new geyser had suddenly broken through, erupted inside her. Shooting forth a hot stream of understanding and with it some confidence and contentment, the steam filling the air around it with love and happiness and hope.
In a moment of intense peace, she saw herself in a thousand pictures that flashed through her mind. She knew who she was, who she had been, where she was, where she had been. She found a pristine pride in herself, something she’d never known before. She stroked it tenderly, fed it with memories long forgotten.
She felt free and giddy inside. And just as Dorothy was about to discover the true identity of the Wizard, Gus was discovering that she wasn’t some extraordinary creature with the power to crush other people’s hopes and dreams and expectations.
She was just a simple woman who could play a violin really, really well, who was head over heels in love with a man and his little girl—with only enough power to make herself happy.
Dashing back to the library to lead the Munchkins back for the finale, she knew exactly what spectacular feat she wanted to accomplish next in her life, and just exactly how to go about it.
“Oh! Auntie Em, there’s no place like home,” Dorothy cried out dramatically.
The floor vibrated and the rafters shook with applause. The curtains closed and opened on the citizens of the Emerald City, and the Munchkins bowed. Each character in turn took a bow.
And then the students and the audience began to clamor around Scotty.
Watching from backstage, her heart felt as if it were splitting at the seams with love and pride as she watched him. He exuded a perfect mix of humility and confidence as he walked out onstage with his students.
He might not be King Midas, she thought, knowing now that the mystery of his powers had more to do with hard work and determination than magic, but there was definitely something about him that made her heart feel golden.
A true master of manipulation, he took less credit than he gave, citing the students’ hard work and the selfless contributions made by members of the community—endearing him to the masses and stoking enthusiasm for next year’s project. When he finally got to the subject of Carrie Mutrux’s invaluable help and her own efforts with the Munchkins, he wasn’t happy to let them merely wave from one side of the stage, but motioned them over closer to him, center stage.
Smiling, she automatically took his outstretched hand in hers and waved at the crowd once more. He asked the ladies of the Garden Club to stand in appreciation of their work on the Kansas costumes, and while they were doing their own waving, she caught his eye and smiled at him.
“What?” he asked, the look in her eyes shaking something deep inside him, making him a little nervous. “What? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she said innocently, with a wily smirk.
He frowned at her, then announced the contributions of several local businessmen and women.
He cast her a suspicious glance during their applause and she said, “I was just wondering what you’ll do if I give you more daughters, instead of sons?” He gave her a startled look. “What if we have twelve children together and none of them are boys?”
He dragged his gaze from hers and gave a halting introduction to the parents who helped build the scenery.
“You’re talking about Plan B, right?” he asked as if they’d discussed Plans A-Z in depth. “The All Girl Kazoo Band that we take on the road?”
She laughed, and he called for the members of the Ladies Auxiliary to stand up and take credit for the lead characters’ Oz costumes.
“You still want to marry me, right?” she asked him, not even looking at him, her voice hidden under the thunder of applause.
“Absolutely,” he said, smiling out at the crowd. He called out a general thanks to all the parents and friends who had attended the play that night and during the final round of applause, added, “Right away.”
“Good,” she said, nodding her answer.
He turned to her then and, taking her by the shoulders, he kissed her. Right there in front of neighbors and friends and students and Munchkins and God and...everybody.
A whole new round of clapping rose up from the crowd, and they were laughing when they came apart. She looked into his eyes and, for the first time ever, saw a true reflection of herself. Her strengths and weaknesses, her joys and fears. She saw that she was capable of great things and huge mistakes at the same time, saw the lightness in that, the way it balanced her life—with the good always outweighing the bad.
Students and friends were closing in around them. She reached up and palmed his face to keep his attention just one second longer.
“You won’t be disappointed, you know.”
He smiled, slow and knowing, then said, “I never thought I would be.”